Aura of Protection ~ Closing Thoughts

Greetings Dear Reader, 

We have lost much of our understanding of nobility.  I am not talking about a pridefully claimed station in society.  That is mostly rubbish.  What I do see is a lack of humans being noble with one another.  

As followers of Christ, we are supposed to protect the weak.  Whether their need is physical, social, or spiritual, it is our obligation to use our strength to care for them.  This is not limited to those who believe as we do.  It is to apply to all humans.  Power and love must radiate from us to draw others to see Jesus for who he really is. 

I must do all that I can to make others feel safe, loved, and blessed.  I must project an aura of kindness and compassion wherever I go and toward anyone I encounter.  The Father has provided me with armor.  He has equipped me with all that I need to love others.  The Spirit will radiate from me to help others see their need for the Son.  All I have to do is love the Father with all that I am and obey the command to love others in all that I choose to do. 

In accomplishing all of this, I must daily embrace humility.  In taking humility as my companion, I can learn to see others as better than me, Dear Reader.  I am not saying I must think poorly of my own self.  I am saying that I must seek to uphold the weak and count on the Father to uphold me.  I must cling to virtue and valor as my standard and depend on the Spirit to give me the power to live it.  I must seek the truth and remember that Jesus is the truth. 

In faith and following, I can build an aura of protection that radiates around me.  You can too, Dear Reader.  The world needs people who will cling to Christ, love the Father, and honor the old code.  I am determined by the Father’s grace to spend my remaining years becoming this.  I hope you will join me.  You are always welcome. 

The Vigil – Kemper Crabb 

Waiting for flame in eye of night, I am the fuel for your fire
Light calls ever unto light. Make me a fleshen pyre.
Touch my lips with the altering coal; leave your shining upon my soul.
Zion shall ever be my goal; Zion the telling of light. 

Scanning the silence with inward ears; life is a listening.
Enfolded in echoes of timeless years; the Word comes whistling.
Build my being from your throat; meld my meaning with every note.
Wrap me round in an aural cloak, so I may truly hear. 

Drawn towards destinies darkling kite, riven by reality
Riding the passion to terrible height, life upon death’s tree
Cause me to drink from the chalice of fire. Forge me anew in the heat of desire
Let me inhabit the holy empire and make war on the armies of night. 

Wishing you joy in the journey, 

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good. 

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:
#aramisthorn
Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
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“Waiting for flame in eye of night, I am the fuel for your fire.”

Second Thoughts ~ Water at War (the rest of the story)

Greetings Dear Reader, 

If you have not read part one of this story, you should go back and do so HERE. 

We will begin with my deluged devices.  Packing them promptly in rice seems to have preserved them.  They are dried out and fully functioning.  I am thankful that I was reminded to rice them instantly.  I am thankful that I remembered to travel with them powered off. 

The soggy dinner allowed me to stop for a hot meal which energized me for the ensuing night’s adventure.  The real angle is the angel that showed up to help me during the tornado.  Whether literal or figurative, I consider him an angel.  As I pulled under the bridge to seek shelter from the debris flying around me.   I pulled in and shut down the warning to take shelter blaring over my phone.  Then, my CB Radio blared to life.  I always have it on when highway driving.  A voice said, “Hey little Volkswagen buddy; you got your ears on?” 

Shocked, I grabbed the microphone answered in the positive.  The voice instructed me to look to my left.  Where there should have been a motorway lane there was the cab of a large semi-truck.  It was clean and white with rain draining off it under the bridge.  The radio came back, “If you will pull up under the larger second bridge, I will pull up next to you and block the debris from this side.  I am hauling 8 tons of dry concrete and nothing is moving me.” 

I complied and he pulled in close enough to touch if I stuck my hand out my window.  Just as we both got stopped a large tree fell across the road behind us.  We chatted as the tornado raged past us then for a little longer whilst wind and rain buffeted the world outside of our bridge.  I felt very little of the storm in my bridge and truck shelter. 

When the storm cleared enough for us to proceed, the trucker suggested that I follow him for a bit in the event of road hazards.  I agreed and did.  I stayed with him for about ten miles before he pulled off at a rest stop.  Now comes the odd bit.  As I reach for my radio to thank him, I recalled that it had not been working for two weeks.  It did not work when I tried to thank him either. 

I continued on my way south, skidding safely across that aforementioned ten-foot puddle.  Then when I pulled over in Georgia to avoid the next heavy rain, I realized that it was time for the first service at church.  I spent the time watching the sermon and enjoying a needed rest.  Just as the pastor began his closing prayer, the rain stopped and the remainder of my journey included only clouds and drizzle. 

Water may have gone to war with me on this adventure, but it did not win, Dear Reader.  Not even storms can stand against the Water of Life and his care for us.  There is more to this but that is enough for now. 

Wishing you joy in the journey, 

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good. 

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:"
#aramisthorn
Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
Novels: From My Publisher or on Amazon            
Web Page:  www.aramisthorn.com
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BLOG Archive:  http://aramisthorn.blogspot.com/ 

There is no storm in which the Father has not prepared what we need ahead of time.

Second Thoughts ~ Farewell and Hoping You are Safe at Home

Greetings Dear Reader,

On Saturday, April 30, 1966, the clouds held the air in a damp dishrag torpor.  Clouds threatened rain but we made our way to Atlanta Fulton County Stadium none-the-less.  My Grandfather parked in his usual place a few blocks from the stadium and we made our way to the gate an entire hour early for the game.

I would learn that this was his habit when it came to baseball.  That night was my first experience at the game I would grow to love beyond measure.  As we entered the stadium uniformed police officers would call my Grandfather by name.  He would stop and shake hands with each man and share a memory or a moment with him.  He would then introduce me.  Eventually, we found our way to our box seats right next to the Braves dugout.  We would spend many late spring and summer evenings here.  I did not get to see the Braves play in Autumn until many years later.

That night other officers came up to us as we dined on hotdogs and cokes.  One of them, a police sergeant, said to my Grandfather very cryptically, “Everything is set when you are ready.”  He nodded and signaled for me to stand up.  I did. Taking me by the hand he took me to the gate near our box seats and then down the stairs onto the field.  The sergeant met us there and walked us toward the Braves dugout.

As several of the players came out, my Grandfather began to introduce me.  I met Joe Torre, Eddie Matthews, Felix Millan, Henry Aaron, and just before returning to our seats Phil Niekro.  I would get to chat with all of them over the season as my Grandfather always got their attention.  I never learned why but the players always came out to see him and by relation to me as well. 

Phil Niekro pitched that night and I learned what a knuckleball was.  Later in the season during a rain delay, he came over and taught me how to throw the pitch.  He was always kind and always had time for my curious questions.  During his career, he was my favorite pitcher anywhere.  He is why I learned to pitch and why I became good at it. 

When I heard of his passing this week, it moved me greatly.  It was not until the Braves pitching staff of the nineties that I felt the awe for a pitcher that I felt for Phil Niekro.  He always was steady, dependable, and unshakable.  I send my condolences to his family and my gratitude to the universe that this professional had room in his schedule for a little boy who loved baseball.  Rest well, sir.  Thank you for the memories. 

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good.

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:
#aramisthorn
Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
Novels: From My Publisher or on Amazon            
Web Page:  www.aramisthorn.com
Bookings: aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
Facebook
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BLOG Archive:  http://aramisthorn.blogspot.com/ 

 

Bob Uecker; Braves catcher for Phil Niekro [On the best way to catch a knuckleball:] “Wait’ll it stops rolling, then go pick it up.”

Second Thoughts ~ A Christmas Memory

Happy Christmas Dear Reader,

In my book Sheetrock on the Road,  I tell many stories about my youth.  Most of those stories are conglomerates or fiction in one way or another.  The story I share tonight is one that happened just as written.  I gift it to you in hopes that you will find a way to open who you are to the possibilities that are real.

Miss Smith’s Second Cry

Sometimes, when you are just acting out of love, you find out that you have power.  The power of which I speak is that over the human heart.   It is the power to move it to places it did not intend to go or perhaps places that the heart did not know existed, but longed for just the same.  I mentioned earlier that Miss Smith cried three times; the first being when I asked her to be my mom, the third when she was forced from our classroom by politics.  Her second cry was all my doing.  I also mentioned earlier that I was in love with Miss Smith and that love and its pure and simple fruit is what brought tears to her eyes and changed the path of my life forever.

As in many of the tales about my youth, most of the events in this one happened when I was on the edge of my eighth year.  The crushing horrors to soon enter my life were not yet upon me and the tutelage of my Grandfather was still strong within me.  Had I known what was up the path I may have refused to go along it any further.  Had I had a choice I would probably not have gone any further at all.

Miss Smith’s second cry was the second to last best moment of my seventh year.  It shaped a part of me into the man who dares to ask you to read his meager scratching.  This singular event echoes still in my heart, mind, and soul. 

The other character in our short vignette is a typewriter.  That typewriter’s name is Deviled Ham.  It got this name during my adolescent angst years during which it was the victim of my very bad and dangerously hammy teenage poetry.

It is an Underwood Leader.  When I inherited it the ribbon was old, the keys stuck, and the carriage return sometimes came off when used.  Made in the early years of World War I, my Great Grandfather used it as a war correspondent in France, England, and eventually Germany.  I wish it could tell me the stories that it once told the first time the Western World tried to undo itself. 

This portable typewriter was gifted to me by my Mother and my Nana as a way to keep me out of mischief.  Had they imagined the mischief that lay ahead due to my writing, they might have burned the Underwood and punished me just on principle.

The Underwood, however, was mine.  I pecked and typed and pawed at it.  Mom showed me about the home row and proper typing but I had no interest in that until nine years later, but that is also a different tale saved for a later volume.  Miss Smith is the one who allowed me to release the true power of the Underwood Leader. 

Just eight short days before Christmas and only one day before Christmas break, we were told to write a Christmas poem.  Miss Smith said that it could be about anything concerning Christmas as long as it was neatly written and grammatically correct.  I was still in love with Miss Smith and ignored everything but my typewriter when I got home.  I would craft the best poem ever. 

My small mind imagined her face as she read the poem.  I could hear her rejoicing at the brilliance of my writing and begging me to come live with her forever.  Frankly, I was the sappiest second grader ever.  I spent four hours writing and typing.  I had no typing paper so I used the striped Blue Horse paper we used in class. 

Feeding the paper in carefully I struggled at first to line up the blued lines with the typing.  I soon realized that both were out of alignment and it would not work.  I typed on.  The Underwood had an old ribbon and was rarely clear.  I typed on striking the keys harder to get a clearer image.  The electricity went out and Mom brought in a candle so I would not be afraid.  I became inspired.  

I crafted 16 lines of pure literary genius in all caps.  It did not scan, the rhyme scheme did not work, and there was no definable tempo.  There is however the heart behind it. I retyped it but still had to XXXX out a word that was misplaced.  The poem was written. 

The next morning, I took my carefully protected sheet and placed it in the “in” basket on her desk.  To our surprise, just after the morning Bible reading, our recitation of the memorized Christmas story, and lunchroom mothers appeared with Christmas party treats and games.  It was not until the last hour of school that Miss Smith grabbed the stack of poems and began, one by one to read them.  It was obvious she was taking a moment to peruse each of them before reading them aloud.  All of them were on Blue Horse paper.  I could tell through the translucency of the paper when she had picked up mine.  It was the only one that was typed.

She paused longer than most before beginning to read.  She took a deep breath and her cheeks reddened.  As she read the first line one tear, then another slipped down her ivory cheeks.  She pressed on and read it with depth of feeling that I had not imagined my words could command.  She looked up at me, and through the gentle rain of tears whispered, “Thank you, Aramis.”  Lightning struck.

I realized in that moment that Miss Smith had been moved by my fumbling words.  Miss Smith was weeping at what she perceived to be beauty.  I had pulled the proverbial sword from the stone and the kingdom of writing became mine to command.  In that moment I knew that being a writer would be an amazing thing.

Years later, after Miss Smith had mostly faded from my mind, my mother gave me a gift.  It is perhaps the finest gift she has ever given me.  It sits on my desk at this moment.  It is a black iron picture frame.  In the frame under the glass is a single sheet of Blue Horse paper.  It has 16 lines of poetry and the date 12/17/67.  There is also a brown stain next to the second stanza.  It is the dried remnants of one of Miss Smith’s tears.

The path ahead held many painful and horrid moments for me.  Miss Smith’s love and kindness allowed me to keep some small footing through the things that evolved in my life over the next years.  I did not really write again until I was in the seventh grade.  By then what I wrote was messy and dark.  I think we will stay with the pleasant for the moment.  Miss Smith deserves her own bit of fame without the shadows that lay ahead for me. 

I am looking at that framed bit of Blue Horse paper and feel a longing to see Miss Smith smile just one more time.  A tear to match hers is in my eye.  I feel the happiness of that second grade me in a way I have not felt it for many years.  The love of that woman and her love of my meager writing set the stage for me to survive the vicious storm brewing on my horizon. 

Here are those lines that were so desperately and badly written by eight-year-old me.

A CANDLE MAKES ME THINK
THE FIRST STAR SO BRIGHT
BECAUSE IT SHINES XXXX
JUST LIKE THAT LIGHT
IT CAME UPON CHRISTMAS NIGHT
IT SHONE, IT SHONE
SO VERY BRIGHT
THAT THREE RICH WISE MEN
CAME THAT NIGHT.

COME YE WISE MEN,
COME, OH COME
BRING NO CANDLE
MY STAR IS BRIGHT
LIKE YOUR CANDLES
COME SEE THE LORD
BORN THIS NIGHT

12/17/68

I love you Miss Smith, wherever you are.  I am forever in your debt for your love, honesty, and encouragement.  If you read this and recognize me, I would love to hear from you.  If we do not meet until the end of all things, I will still have a big hug and the highest regard for you.  You made a difference in many lives including mine.

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good.

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:
#aramisthorn
Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
Novels: From My Publisher or on Amazon            
Web Page:  www.aramisthorn.com
Bookings: aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
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BLOG Archive:  http://aramisthorn.blogspot.com/ 

Here are those lines that were so desperately and badly written by eight-year-old me.

Second Thoughts ~ Fourth Sunday of Advent

Happy Christmas Dear Reader,

I am not going to make this very lengthy.  I am more interested in you taking the time to listen to the song.  Give yourself a break from all that is demanding your attention and spend some time pondering the idea that the Father really does wish peace on earth. 

We will talk a great deal this week.  Before it is upon us, let us take a breath, see an angel dancing in the air, find a silent night, and share the wish that Christ has for us to be at peace no matter what else is going on.  I love you, Dear Reader.

The Prince Of Peace – Trans-Siberian Orchestra

In the middle of a forest
There's a clearing by a stream
Where a mother holds her newborn
And the Child begins to dream

And He dreams of hopes unspoken
When the tears of man will cease
And His mother holds Him closer
For He is the Prince of Peace

And the moon is looking downward
Casting shadows through the trees
And the stars are shining brighter
As they whisper what they see

Let the bells ring out these tidings
Let it echo across the land
That a King is born in Bethlehem
And his Kingdom is at hand

Let the world rejoice together
As it looks upon the stars
Knowing every man's our brother
And that every child is ours

Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King
Peace on Earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled
Joyful all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With the heavenly host proclaim
Christ is born in Bethlehem
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King

In the middle of a forest
There's a clearing by a stream
Where a mother holds her newborn
And the Child begins to dream 

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.” 
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good.

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:

#aramisthorn
Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
Novels: From My Publisher or on Amazon            
Web Page:  www.aramisthorn.com
Bookings: aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
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BLOG Archive:  http://aramisthorn.blogspot.com/  

We light the fourth candle for peace.

Second Thoughts ~ Once in a Blue Moon

Greetings Dear Reader,

I am writing this whilst sitting under the blue moon.  It is chilly but not cold.  This place and time holds a uniqueness that is rare.  A blue moon on All Hallows Eve reminds me that everything in the universe is sacred at some level.

From the moonlight stream through the trees to the pictures of my friend’s babies in their first costumes there are moments that will never be again.  I am smoking my Savinelli pipe, a gift from Avalon that I cherish.  In it part of my diminishing supply of McClelland Black Cavendish lends its fragrance and warmth to the pale night.  This pipe tobacco is an endangered brand as the company is gone and what remains of it are all that I will ever have.  Again, even my pipeweed is hallowed under the pale light of the blue moon.

 I ponder friends whose uniqueness I will never encounter again this side of Home.  I think about the friends and family that I love that are not with me for one reason or another.  They too are a portion of the universe that is singularly unique.   On my own for the most part for many All Hallows Eves, I have learned to use it to launch my way into the season of gratitude and celebration. 

Further, I consider my Children and Grandchildren.  Even if there are billions of inhabited planets out there, each person is singular in his or her place in the universe.  Those that descend from me are treasures to my heart.  I love them more than they can see and value them more than life itself. 

Some of the unique lights that have shown in my life did not make it to tonight’s blue moon.  I hallow them as well.  The deeper I dive into my understanding of Christ, the more clearly, I see that every star matters.  Especially important are the ones that dance through our lives and impart a bit of the divine to us when we let them. 

As I sit alone here under a cloud tattered Autumn sky, I see all at once how insignificant and how vital I am to the cosmic dance.  I feel a cosmic loneliness that draws me home and gives me pause at the same time.  I know that I have work yet to do.  There are unique souls yet to discover.  I do have a dream in my heart but it is difficult to dream without a fellow traveler. 

What I will carry is that even though I end most days alone, I can count the moments where I have brought light and hope to others and they comfort me.  I can look to you, Dear Reader, and know that even though you are silent most of the time, you are there.  I can look to my lonely, lovely Jesus in the garden, who longs for us to love every soul he made with the love that the Father has for him and there I can find companionship that is unique.  I can sit under the blue moon of All Hallows Eve and know that I am seen, and loved, and solitary in my existence.   I can love the One who split the darkness to give us light so that we could find our way home and never feel loss or lack again.  For tonight, as the cherry on my Cavendish winks at the moon, it is enough. 

Blue Moon – Lizzie Naylor

Blue moon you saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for
You heard me saying a prayer for
Someone I really could care for
And then there suddenly appeared before me
The only one my arms will ever hold
I heard somebody whisper "Please adore me"
And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold!
Blue moon!
Now I'm no longer alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.” 
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good.

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:
#aramisthorn
Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
Novels: From My Publisher or on Amazon          
Web Page:  www.aramisthorn.com
Bookings: aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
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BLOG Archive:  http://aramisthorn.blogspot.com/ 

 Like all those with the Blue Moon as their companion, you are unique in all that ever was, ever is, and ever will be and I love you.

Second Thoughts ~ My Dead Pixel

Greetings Dear Reader,

On my one-year-old laptop, I have a dead pixel.  It is at the bottom center of the screen and really bothers me.  It sits right above the Windows Toolbar so every time I click something on that space, I see it.  There is nothing wrong with the laptop.  It runs great and has all the power I need. As I write this, I am running a movie on one screen, have the computer hooked to my external storage array and the video card is supporting three external monitors effortlessly.  Oh, and there is a dead pixel on the laptop screen. 

I contacted the manufacturer about the dead pixel.  The computer is still under warranty.  They let me know that the dead pixel is outside of the single dead pixel replacement zone.  I never knew there was a zone.  I do not want there to be a zone but someone decided there is a zone.  The dead pixel taunts me from outside the zone.

I asked the person on the phone if I could purchase just a replacement LCD for the laptop.  She giggled and asked if the dead pixel really bothered me that much.  I asked her if she had ever been taunted by a pixel.  She giggled again and said no.  After explaining that this particular pixel is both rude and intrusive, she full-on laughed at me.  She said I could get a replacement LCD for $100.   I reassured her that I could replace the LCD with ease as I have done so often.  She expressed that I would void the remaining two years of my warranty if I did.  There is a dead pixel on my laptop that laughed at me.

She was very polite and thanked me for being kind and for being funny.  I was trying to be kind and did not mean to be funny.  She verified my contact information and asked if I wanted to buy the LCD screen.  My wiser brain politely said no.  In case you forgot, Dear Reader, there is a dead pixel on my laptop who snickered as he realized that he would live.

I thank the service agent for her time and concluded the call.  I researched ways to hide the pixel and found a few that seemed foolish.  Resigning myself to the daily mockery of a slack, freeloading pixel, I went on to other things.  A few days later a friendly Fed-Ex driver delivered a large box to me.  In it was a laptop identical to mine with the following note:

"Dear Mr. Thorn, if everyone treated me with lighthearted kindness as you did, my job would be very easy.  I was near the end of my shift when you called and had had a very rough day.  People assume that their computer problems are your fault.  I could not solve your problem and you were still nice to me.  You even made me laugh.  Here is a replacement “LCD” for you.  Thank you for being a (NAME REDACTED) customer."

I set up my new laptop and wrote a thank you note on it.  I retired my older backup laptop, thanked the Father for His provision, and now there is not a dead pixel on my primary laptop.  The other one serves as the entertainment center and backup processor for my data.  Oh, and it has a dead pixel.  I have named it Mort.

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
 

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good.

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:
#aramisthorn
Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
Novels: From My Publisher or on Amazon          
Web Page:  www.aramisthorn.com
Bookings: aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
Facebook      
Twitter        
Medium         
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BLOG Archive:  http://aramisthorn.blogspot.com/ 

Haunted by dead pixels is the kind of horror that follows your every effort to be content trying to thwart it.

For Weal and For Woe ~ …and Taxes

 Greetings Dear Reader,

If we are honest, we all dislike paying taxes.  That thirty percent or more of our income could be used for much better things.  Still, Jesus makes it clear that we are to pay the taxes. 

We then object to the ways in which they are used.  I agree that homeless veterans and our elderly deserve more than our representatives from the billions of dollars that our government collects from us.  The waste that occurs bothers me greatly.  We have ways to object and to require better representation.  Unfortunately, we mostly leave it alone and complain.

For weal or woe, the use of our taxes is our responsibility but where I am thinking is a bit beyond that.  I must do my part to hold those who serve in government accountable.  I must not worry or complain about the incursion into my pay.  Jesus spent a great deal of time explaining and proving that we do not need to worry about money.  We are supposed to live by faith in the Father’s provision.

Beyond that, we are supposed to be generous and share what we have with others.  The poor are our responsibility, not the government’s.  We need to get this formula in our hearts and minds.  The Father will provide for our needs and we are to share with others out of love and compassion. Since the Father allows us to be taxed, we must lovingly speak our concerns and pray for our leaders.  Then, the smart thing to do is forget about that money and use what remains wisely.

I find that living this way creates great freedom.  I am free to see a need and meet it.  I am privileged to hear the Spirit direct me to help someone and respond without worry about my own situation.  This thought allows me to work and wait for the things I desire.  It even allows me to temper those desires in the right way.  It allows me to align my desires with the Father’s.

Our resources are provided by the Father whether we acknowledge it or not.  If I am to follow in faith, then I must accept that all that I have is a gift and it is all to be used to follow Christ more closely and share with others in their need and in my joy.  All that we have, Dear Reader, is meant to help us along the way whether it is taxing or not.  Whether things are good or ill, we are promised that our needs will be met.  Learning to trust that is part of the joy.

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good.

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:
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Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
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“Render unto Caesar what is Creaser’s and to God what is God’s”

For Weal and For Woe ~ Death…

Greetings Dear Reader,

If you have been reading me for some time, you know that I deal with death in a fairly straightforward way.  My first published book, Chronicles of Thanatos the Reaper is an explanation of the necessity of death.  Death is part of life.  It may be the part that we least accept as belonging.

We comfort ourselves with palliative placeboes about the dead and use the loss to our own purposes.  We do suffer genuine loss and we do feel real pain at that loss.  Rarely do we deal with death in a way that acknowledges the God who allows it.  I will not speak to the purpose of death here.  I would, instead, palaver about the way we walk with it.

Humans have astounding skills at avoidance.  When the topic, like death, clashes with our ability to cope, we can avoid it as if it does not exist.  Then death stops by anyway and we are unprepared for his visit.  If we do not ponder and palaver over the good aspects of death, we are not able to process its unwelcome invasion of our reality.  The difficulty there is that death is the reality and our avoidance is the fantasy.

Many are still grieving the loss of Chadwick Bozeman.  I think that he understood death.  When death did him the courtesy of telling him what he was fighting and how it would end, he lived up to his own words.  Mr. Bozeman had previously said, “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything You gave me.’”  His approach to his cancer was not to use it for public attention but to keep working and fighting.  Death is inevitable and I would laud Mr. Bozeman for his faith and integrity. 

Death is the transition that we all face.  It is the debt that we all owe for the life we are given.  We choose whether we accept him for weal or woe.  I try to choose it as the transition that will fulfill all the things of which I dream.  In a time where death is part of the daily conversation, I hope that I am living out my thoughts on it.  I see many around me who have just settled in fearing death but doing nothing with life as they wait for his unwelcome visit.

What I must do is listen to Chadwick Bozeman.  I must use the gifts given to me in each moment of life.  I must love life but also realize that it is only a dress rehearsal for the great adventure waiting for us beyond the horizon.  There are those who will mock me for my belief.  Instead of being offended, I intend to live life more deeply by loving them.  I am not better than them.  I am simply going to honor my Father by letting him worry about it.  We can see death as weal or woe Dear Reader.  The choice is ours.  We are accountable for how we live and for our attitude about death.  When he shows up for me, I hope that I have the faith and courage to welcome him as a friend who is there to guide me home.

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good.

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:
#aramisthorn
Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
Novels: From My Publisher or on Amazon          
Web Page:  www.aramisthorn.com
Bookings: aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
Facebook      
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BLOG Archive:  http://aramisthorn.blogspot.com/ 
 

Some things are inevitable and we choose whether they are for weal or for woe.

For Weal and For Woe ~ Opening Thoughts

Greetings Dear Reader,

 If you have not heard this phrase, it is an old one.  The word “weal” comes from the tree of language that gives us the word “well” as in you are doing well.  I think we all know the meaning of the word “woe”.  What the phrase means is that for good or for bad we will do whatever it is we have chosen to do.

There are things we choose no matter how the outcome and that is one facet of this phrase's use.  The other is that there are things to which we hold for weal or for woe.  No matter the circumstances, this is where we choose to stand.  No matter how good or bad times are, I hold to these standards.  It is something I value highly even though I have not always lived it.

As summer takes a long slow look at its last twenty-one days, I want to consider that the Autumn of this year will ask us the latter question.  Already people are hating the year as if the good and bad in our lives were ruled by the time through which it passes.  The good ship Earth carries us through time the things that unfold are not ruled by it but, rather, by the Father.

In the interesting times through which we pass, there are things that will try our faith and test our resolve.  I wish to ponder the things that are not subject to the weal and the woe of it for me to be what I should be as a follower of Christ.  I wish to ask the questions that I used to avoid and choose where I stand.  If there are questions you have concerning this, feel free to share them and I will address them.  As I have promised my Grandsons, I will never tell you what to believe but I will always tell you what I believe if you wish to know.

This will be a journey of values and standards.  They are mine even when I fail at them.  Failure on my part, however, does not diminish truth.  Rather, it is the truth that draws me back.  It is the standard of truth that gives me a place to stand when I am uncertain.  If we know where to stand, then whether the world turns for weal or for woe, we will weather it. 

The one we follow never promised it would always be good. He did promise that he would be with us and that when we reached our destination, all things would be made good again.  Until then, for weal or for woe, there are places we must stand.  Please walk with me as I ponder a few of these.  I promise that I cherish your companionship and long to hear your thoughts and questions.

Pilgrims to the City of God – Michael Card

Pilgrims of passion we follow the One
Who holds out a cross and a crown
We travel a dark road that has but one Light
For we have here no lasting town

Sometimes we run by the power of His might
On our own, at the best, we can plod
What we hopefully look for is just beyond sight
We are pilgrims to the city of God

The stigma of strangers lost in a strange land
In a fallen world that's not our home
But we are not homeless prodigals here
Because we have someplace to go

Sometimes we run by the power of His might
On our own, at the best, we can plod
What we hopefully look for is just beyond sight
We are pilgrims to the city of God

Behold you have come to Mount Zion
The City of Great King
To thousands and thousands of angels who've come
Assembled to joyfully sing, they sing

Sometimes we run by the power of His might
On our own, at the best, we can plod
What we hopefully look for is just beyond sight
We are pilgrims to the city of God

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Every human story is part of the great story that leads to the Father getting everything back to Good.

Contacts for Aramis Thorn:
#aramisthorn
Support Page on Patreon: www.patreon.com/aramisthorn
Novels: From My Publisher or on Amazon          
Web Page:  www.aramisthorn.com
Bookings: aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
Facebook      
Twitter        
Medium         
Instagram 
BLOG Archive:  http://aramisthorn.blogspot.com/ 

For weal and for woe, we have somewhere to go.