Where's the Meat?

2 Timothy 4:2

Preach the word!

be ready in season and out of season!

reprove, rebuke, exhort,

with great patience and instruction!

*

The Red Queen

Hmmmm... 

I sure have been writing about manipulation and control lately. Theological and Sociological cults and their devastation and destruction in people's lives. 

Here I am again.  Today I am speaking of The Red Queen.   So have you met her?  

Of course, this is not her real name.  If it was, then we could probably avoid her, run screaming, or find another friend.  But if you are related to her...YIKES!...it is almost impossible to run.

If you do not do what she desires, she may not cut off your head like in Alice in Wonderland, but she sure can mess with your life and those you love.

A song which speaks of "The Red Queen's" danger:

Painting the Roses Red

Painting the roses red

We're painting the roses red
We dare not stop or waste a drop
So let the paint be spread

We're painting the roses red
We're painting the roses red

Painting the roses red
And many a tear we shed
Because we know 
They'll cease to grow
In fact, they'll soon be dead 
And yet we go ahead

Painting the roses red
Painting the roses red
We're painting the roses red 

(then Alice says) 
Oh, pardon me
But mister three
Why must you paint them red? 

Well, the fact is, miss 
We planted the white roses by mistake
And... 

The queen 
She likes them red
If she saw white instead
She'd raise a fuss
And each of us would quickly lose his head
Since this is the thought we dread
We're painting the roses red

(Alice)
Oh, dear, then let me help you 
Painting the roses red 

We're painting the roses red 

Don't tell the queen what you have seen 
Or say that's what we said
But we're painting the roses red 

Yes, painting the roses red 
Not pink 
Not green
Not aquamarine 

We're painting the roses red

From "Alice in Wonderland"
Music and Lyrics by Sammy Fain and Bob Hilliard

*

All kidding aside...in real life it is so very difficult if you know a "Red Queen"--- a cruel, controlling, manipulative woman.  Only what she says makes her happy, and you better do it the way she desires and with a smile.  

She is probably very smooth and calculating in how she speaks with you and how she manipulates you.  She is so good at what she does, and this is why we normal people do not realize  we are being controlled and manipulated by her.  

We can go for years, decades, and not realize the truth of "The Red Queen". 

Other times we just know that "something is not right", but we can't figure it out.  

On the other hand, if we do realize what has been happening, we have no control to stop her.  We can only distance ourselves, still being affected by her evil, and sadly, watching all the others follow her in their innocence. 

How do you stop a woman like this?  How do you deal with a woman like this?

I have only "escaped" her control, but I have never been able to stop her control.  This does not mean that she hasn't continued to affect my life, my friends, my family, and wreak emotional havoc through and through.

So... "The Red Queen".  Do you know one?  I, unbelievably, know three of them, and each one leaves their evil mark on me and mine. 

LORD, have mercy!

My hope and my strength is in the LORD.  He is my only solution in the devastation.

"Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly 
beyond all that we ask or think, 
according to the power that works within us, 
to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus 
to all generations forever and ever. Amen"

Ephesians 3:20-21 

*

Calvin at Show and Tell

Calvin and Hobbes
by Bill Waterson

You're Always a Role Model to Somebody #15

"My children, 
preserve sound judgment and discernment, 
do not let them out of your sight;  
they will be life for you, 
an ornament to grace your neck.  
Then you will go on your way in safety, 
and your foot will not stumble;  
when you lie down, you will not be afraid;  
when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet.""
Proverbs 3:21-24

Pack up Your Sorrows

No use crying, talking to a stranger

Naming the sorrow you've seen

Too many bad times, too many sad times

Nobody knows what you mean

But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows

And give them all to me

You would lose them, I know how to use them

Give them all to me

No use rambling, walkin’ in the shadows

Trailing a wandering star

No one beside you, no one to guide you

Nobody knows who you are

But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows

And give them all to me

You would lose them, I know how to use them

Give them all to me

No use roaming, going by the roadside

Seeking a satisfied mind

Too many highways, too many byways

And nobody's walking behind

But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows

And give them all to me

You would lose them, I know how to use them

Give them all to me.

But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows

And give them all to me

You would lose them, I know how to use them

Give them all to me.

by Pauline Marden Bryan and Richard Farina

Leg wrestling

Rose is Rose
by Pat Brady

Three Men

In my sphere of relationships I know three men who have allowed there wives to rule over them and their children, controlling and manipulating everything and everyone in their path.  


 Over the decades these men have allowed their wives to leave devastation in their wakes.  



Not only have people’s lives been affected, even destroyed, but all those dominated by these women have been left with wounds deeper than any physical scars.


As a Believer I can rise above the pain, but the scars will remain.  As a child of God I can be in His strength and I can come alongside those who lay wounded in their wake, but their scars will remain.



“Why is she allowed to do this?” was the cry I heard this week from one wounded soul. Her life has been nearly ruined, but by the grace of God, she was given freedom!  What a privilege it was to come alongside her in her woundedness.
 
She asked me, “Do you believe in God?”

“Oh, yes! I do!” was my reply to this frail woman.

I then asked, “Do you believe in God?”

“No!” was her agonizing reply. “How does a good God allow this to happen?”

What a gift from God to give me this bridge to the gospel!  Praise the LORD!  I was able to share openly the truth of the gospel, and she was receptive to hear of His mercy even in such unfair, unjust situations.

She will carry her scars with her, but I am praying for her to be revived by the One who can do more than we can imagine. 


THIS is the LORD working in the aftermath of evil.

Three wimpy men have allowed their women to cruelly control, connive, and manipulate all those around them. 
 

May God's mercy flow freely to  those who choose to hear His calling and may He be glorified in even this.



*
Ephesians 5:22-33
Wives should be subordinate to their husbands as to the Lord.
For the husband is head of his wife just as Christ is head of the church, he himself the savior of the body.
As the church is subordinate to Christ, so wives should be subordinate to their husbands in everything.
Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her to sanctify her, cleansing her by the bath of water with the word,
that he might present to himself the church in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish.
So [also] husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.
For no one hates his own flesh but rather nourishes and cherishes it, even as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body.

“For this reason a man shall leave [his] father and [his] mother
and be joined to his wife,
and the two shall become one flesh.”

This is a great mystery, but I speak in reference to Christ and the church.
In any case, each one of you should love his wife as himself, and the wife should respect her husband.


*

The true owner

Rose is Rose
by Pat Brady

The Anvil — God’s Word

Last eve I passed beside a blacksmith’s door,

And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime;

Then, looking in, I saw upon the floor

Old hammers, worn with beating years of time.

“How many anvils have you had,” said I,

“To wear and batter all these hammers so?”
“Just one,” said he, and then, with twinkling eye,

“The anvil wears the hammers out, you know.”

And so, thought I, the anvil of God’s Word,

For ages skeptic blows have beat upon;

Yet, though the noise of falling blows was heard,

The anvil is unharmed — the hammers gone.

Unknown

*

For the word of God is living and active 

and sharper than any two-edged sword, 

and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, 

of both joints and marrow,

and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.

Hebrews 4:12

*

Happy Autumn!

In your own words

Calvin and Hobbes
by Bill Waterson

An Arrow

Thinking of you, 
my precious son, 
and praising the LORD 
for our time with you.






















The LORD has heard the voice of my weeping.  
The LORD has heard my supplication, 
the LORD receives my prayer.
Psalm 6:8b-9

How Did You Die?

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble’s a ton, or a trouble’s an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn’t the fact that you’re hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth?  Well, well, what’s that!
Come up with a smiling face.
It’s nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there — that’s disgrace.
The harder you’re thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts;
It’s how did you fight — and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you played your part in the world of men, 
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he’s slow or spry,
It isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

Edmund Vance Cooke
From The Best Loved Poems of the American People

Tell them how I loved Jesus!

Today we attended a funeral in a mainline denomination church, where my Piper played Amazing Grace.   

The 84 year old man had lived a wonderful, productive life.  He had been a beautiful person and did many things in the church during his life.  We heard about his jobs, his hobbies, his failings, and we heard about his fears, but we never heard about his faith, his trusting faith.

How I longed to hear his triumphs in the LORD, but they were never spoken.

I ached over this while we sat there in the funeral.  He was a wonderful person, he attended a church where you can find the gospel, if you search for it, but I do not know if this man was saved by the blood of Jesus.   

After a while I turned to my Beloved and mouthed my plea.  He understood and motioned it for him also.  We both grieved over this man.

*

Now, if I die here on earth, please tell them how I loved Jesus!  Let them hear the gospel!  And let this be the main theme of my service!

Okay, so you can spend a moment on me, but please let that be so short!  

Tell them how I loved the LORD, that I lived for Him!  Tell them that I praised Him in my happy times and even in my sorrows!  When my sorrows overshadowed my days, tell them that I remembered Him and trusted Him even more!  Please let them know that the reason I could smile in my agonies was because of Him in me! 

The joy of the LORD is my strength!

This world is not my home.  I long to see His face and someday, in His time, I will.  And when that time comes...don't waste their time on me...

Tell them how I loved Jesus!

*

Be glad in the LORD and rejoice! 
Shout for joy, all you who are upright in heart!

You, LORD, are my hiding place!  
You preserve me from trouble! 
You surround me with shouts of deliverance!
Psalm 32:11, 7

*

Praise the LORD!!

You're Always a Role Model to Somebody #14

"How much better 
to get wisdom than gold, 
to choose understanding 
rather than silver!"
Proverbs 16:16

Life could be worse

Calvin and Hobbes
by Bill Waterson

The Hound of Heaven

by Francis Thompson (1859-1907)

  
I FLED Him, down the nights and down the days;

  I fled Him, down the arches of the years;

I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways

    Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears

I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
        
      Up vistaed hopes I sped;

      And shot, precipitated,

Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,

  From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

      But with unhurrying chase,
       
      And unperturbèd pace,

Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

      They beat—and a Voice beat

      More instant than the Feet—

‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’

          I pleaded, outlaw-wise,

By many a hearted casement, curtained red,

  Trellised with intertwining charities;

(For, though I knew His love Who followèd,

        Yet was I sore adread

Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside).

But, if one little casement parted wide,

  The gust of His approach would clash it to.

  Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.

Across the margent of the world I fled,

  And troubled the gold gateways of the stars,

  Smiting for shelter on their clangèd bars;

        Fretted to dulcet jars

And silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon.

I said to Dawn: Be sudden—to Eve: Be soon;

  With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over

        From this tremendous Lover—

Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see!

  I tempted all His servitors, but to find

My own betrayal in their constancy,

In faith to Him their fickleness to me,

  Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit.

To all swift things for swiftness did I sue;

  Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.

      But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,

    The long savannahs of the blue;

        Or whether, Thunder-driven,

    They clanged his chariot ’thwart a heaven,

Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o’ their feet:—

  Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.

      Still with unhurrying chase,

      And unperturbèd pace,

    Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

      Came on the following Feet,

      And a Voice above their beat—

    ‘Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.’

I sought no more that after which I strayed

  In face of man or maid;

But still within the little children’s eyes

  Seems something, something that replies,

They at least are for me, surely for me!

I turned me to them very wistfully;

But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair

  With dawning answers there,

Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.

‘Come then, ye other children, Nature’s—share

With me’ (said I) ‘your delicate fellowship;

  Let me greet you lip to lip,

  Let me twine with you caresses,

    Wantoning

  With our Lady-Mother’s vagrant tresses,

    Banqueting

  With her in her wind-walled palace,

  Underneath her azured daïs,

  Quaffing, as your taintless way is,

    From a chalice

Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring.’

    So it was done:

I in their delicate fellowship was one—

Drew the bolt of Nature’s secrecies.

  I knew all the swift importings

  On the wilful face of skies;

  I knew how the clouds arise

  Spumèd of the wild sea-snortings;

    All that’s born or dies

  Rose and drooped with; made them shapers

Of mine own moods, or wailful or divine;

  With them joyed and was bereaven.

  I was heavy with the even,

  When she lit her glimmering tapers

  Round the day’s dead sanctities.

  I laughed in the morning’s eyes.

I triumphed and I saddened with all weather,

  Heaven and I wept together,

And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine;

Against the red throb of its sunset-heart

    I laid my own to beat,

    And share commingling heat;

But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart.

In vain my tears were wet on Heaven’s grey cheek.

For ah! we know not what each other says,

  These things and I; in sound I speak—

Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences.

Nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake my drouth;

  Let her, if she would owe me,

Drop yon blue bosom-veil of sky, and show me

  The breasts o’ her tenderness:

Never did any milk of hers once bless

    My thirsting mouth.

    Nigh and nigh draws the chase,

    With unperturbèd pace,

  Deliberate speed, majestic instancy;

    And past those noisèd Feet

    A voice comes yet more fleet—

  ‘Lo! naught contents thee, who content’st not Me!’

Naked I wait Thy love’s uplifted stroke!

My harness piece by piece Thou hast hewn from me,

    And smitten me to my knee;

  I am defenceless utterly.

  I slept, methinks, and woke,
  
And, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep.

In the rash lustihead of my young powers,

  I shook the pillaring hours

And pulled my life upon me; grimed with smears,

I stand amid the dust o’ the mounded years—
  
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.

My days have crackled and gone up in smoke,

Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream.

  Yea, faileth now even dream

The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist;

Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist

I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist,

Are yielding; cords of all too weak account

For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed.

  Ah! is Thy love indeed

A weed, albeit an amaranthine weed,

Suffering no flowers except its own to mount?

  Ah! must—

  Designer infinite!—

Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it?

My freshness spent its wavering shower i’ the dust;

And now my heart is as a broken fount,

Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever

  From the dank thoughts that shiver

Upon the sighful branches of my mind.

  Such is; what is to be?

The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind?

I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds;

Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds

From the hid battlements of Eternity;

Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then

Round the half-glimpsèd turrets slowly wash again.

  But not ere him who summoneth

  I first have seen, enwound

With glooming robes purpureal, cypress-crowned;

His name I know, and what his trumpet saith.

Whether man’s heart or life it be which yields

 Thee harvest, must Thy harvest-fields

  Be dunged with rotten death?

      Now of that long pursuit
      
    Comes on at hand the bruit;

  That Voice is round me like a bursting sea:

    ‘And is thy earth so marred,

    Shattered in shard on shard?

  Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me!

  Strange, piteous, futile thing!

Wherefore should any set thee love apart?

Seeing none but I makes much of naught’ (He said),

‘And human love needs human meriting:

  How hast thou merited—

Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot?

  Alack, thou knowest not

How little worthy of any love thou art!

Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,

  Save Me, save only Me?

All which I took from thee I did but take,

  Not for thy harms,

But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.

  All which thy child’s mistake

Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:

  Rise, clasp My hand, and come!’

  Halts by me that footfall:

  Is my gloom, after all,

Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?

  ‘Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,

  I am He Whom thou seekest!

Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.’