ruminations
The prodigal son very likely had no time to clean up. Starving, smelling of pigs and hogwash, he made his way back home. His description of himself was accurate: he looked, smelled, and felt like a slave.Yet the Father embraced him and kissed him, not minding the stench or the filthy clothes. I need to remember that, and not let my filthy clothes and stench … Continue reading The Return of the Prodigals
SU’ICIDE, n. [L. suicidium; se and coedo, to slay.]: Self-murder; the act of designedly destroying one’s own life. To constitute suicide, the person must be of years of discretion and of sound mind. _ Noah Webster’s Dictionary 1828 It is a crime to commit suicide. No wonder Christ-followers are persecuted by the world, considered lunatics. “… if you choose self-sacrifice, giving up your lives for … Continue reading SU’ICIDE
Caveat: ask no questions; get told no tales. Sex, like a church service, is an experience, comprising various aspects. People have varied experiences when they attend a church. Some have bad experiences in the toilet, some do not understand what is being said, some members feel too hot and some people feel too cold. Some people like the music, some people do not like it. … Continue reading Experience
Originally posted on Tolle Lege:
“Narnia?” said the Witch. “Narnia? I have often heard your Lordship utter that name in your ravings. Dear Prince, you are very sick. There is no land called Narnia.” “Yes there is, though, Ma’am,” said Puddleglum. “You see, I happen to have lived there all my life.” “Indeed,” said the Witch. “Tell me, I pray you, where that country is?”… Continue reading “I’m going to live like a Narnian” by C.S. Lewis
Tall figure, swaying rhythmically. Creased forehead framed by the dazzling sunlight. I watch her advance, hand on chin, and wonder… about the furrowed brow, the hand on the chin… What has she sacrificed? Dreams, tears, youth?At which altar? Marriage, faith, family? Every altar is built by men, for good or for evil, for themselves or for others. Continue reading Altars
Wounds. Inflicted. Words. Flagellate. Invisible. Pointed barbs, buried deep inside. Twisted. Tearing. Ripping refreshed. We have looked in vain to man for healing. Blinded by the pain, bleeding, reeling, recoiling from Him who alone can heal. Rather than risk how it feels to sit with being exposed and in need. Brimming heart-wells stopped up, filled with earth. Shaking fists, in His face. “The man You gave … Continue reading Cowering
random ruminations 