Wednesday, August 31, 2011

A voice in the wilderness

"A voice cries out, “In the wilderness clear a way for the Lord; construct in the desert a road for our God." Isaiah 40:3 





In the wilderness there is no one who can hear you, in the phrase "the voice of one crying in the wilderness" there is no one who will listen. John the Baptist is the person referred to here, and he complains that, although he is preaching of the coming of the Lord, no one (or few) will pay attention. It is the same today in the 21st century concerning the second coming of the Lord.



Monday, June 13, 2011

Where Fairies Fear to Tread

"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king." 
- the Fellowship of the Ring
by JRR Tolkien


Monday, May 23, 2011

This Kind of Love




You speak to me through a broken window
You are alive in an old oak tree
You hold me close when the winter wind blows
I hear your footsteps on the street

I feel your prsence in the early mornin'
I dream of you in the darkest nite
You call to me without a warning
I see your face in the fires lite

This kind of love you cannot hold
This kind of love it has no shame
This kind of love is never old
This kind of love you cannot hold
This kind of love you cannot tame

You found a way through all my secrets
And made my proud defences fall
This kind of love it has no distance
This kind of love it knows no walls

This kind of love you cannot hold
This kind of love it has no shame
This kind of love is never old
This kind of love you cannot hold
This kind of love you cannot tame

This kind of love is without blame

by Bill Miller

Friday, May 20, 2011

Ronnie Johnson Band Rocks




RJBand, Just like butter, Momma always said "the cream always rises to the top!" - SenecaWolf

Monday, April 11, 2011

Praise in the Midst of Trouble


"Let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually" - Heb.13:15

A city missionary, stumbling through the dirt of a dark foyer, heard a voice say, "Who's there, Honey?" Striking a match, he caught a vision of earthly want and suffering, of saintly trust and peace, "cut in ebony" - calm, appealing eyes set amid the wrinkles of a pinched, black face that lay on a tattered bed. It was a bitter cold night in February, and she had no fire, no fuel, no light. She had had no supper, no dinner, no breakfast. She seemed to have nothing at all but rheumatism and faith in God. One could not well be more completely exiled from all pleasantness of circumstances, yet the favorite song of this old creature rung:

"Nobody knows de trouble I see,
Nobody knows but Jesus;
Nobody knows de trouble I see--
Sing Glory Hallelujah!

"Sometimes I'm up, sometimes I'm down,
Sometimes I'm level on the groun',
Sometimes the glory shines aroun'
Sing Glory Hallelujah!"

And so it went on: 
"Nobody knows de work I does, Nobody knows de griefs I
has," the constant refrain being the "Glory Hallelujah!" 

until the last verse rose:
"Nobody knows de joys I has,
Nobody knows but Jesus!"
 
Troubled on every side, yet not distressed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed. It takes the good book to tell the cheer of that old black gospel song.
Remember Martin Luther on his sick-bed. Between his groans he managed to preach on these wise words: 
"These pains and trouble here are like the type which the printers set; as they look now, we have to read them backwards, and they
seem to have no sense or meaning in them; but up yonder, when the Lord God prints us off in the life to come, we shall find they make brave reading."
 
Only we do not need to wait till then. Remember Paul the apostle walking the hurricane deck amid a boiling sea, bidding the frightened crew "Be of good cheer," Martin Luther, the old black spiritual - all of them human sun-flowers.  -Wm. G. Garnett

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

To Be Human

We are human beings. It is time for us to recognize that we are human beings.

As human beings, we have intelligence and it is through this intelligence that we manifest our power.

As human beings, how we use our intelligence to perceive reality dictates how we will use the power of our intelligence.

As human beings, we have a responsibility to use the power of our intelligence clearly and coherently.

As human beings, we find ourselves in a dimensional reality where we feel powerless to deal with the various situations we find ourselves in.

As human beings, it is time to take responsibility for the power of our intelligence and use the power of our intelligence to think clearly and coherently and create solutions to the problems we are confronted with.

Simply put, as human beings, we are asking that human beings think.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Lewis Bennett (Deerfoot) (1828-1897)





Athlete

A member of the Snipe Clan of the Seneca Indians, Lewis Bennett showed extraordinary capacities as a long-distance runner in his youth. In fact, on the Cattaraugus Reservation in New York State, where he perfected his skills under his nation's traditional system of physical training, his speed and endurance gave rise to the legend that a horse had died of exhaustion after being outpaced by him for some thirty or forty miles. By the mid-1850s, Bennett was running professionally, and in 1861 he went to England to compete with the best runners in the British Isles. He lost his first contest there, but was soon winning on a regular basis and finding himself lionized in sporting circles. In the spring of 1863, his times for ten-to twelve-mile runs set new records that lasted well into the twentieth century. This photograph was taken in England at the height of Bennetts' fame there. As this picture indicates, Bennett reveled in reminding his English fans of his Indian origins, and he ran his races clad in wolf skin and a feathered headband. He is buried in Forest Lawn Cemetery, Buffalo, NY next to the grave of the Seneca orator Red Jacket. For generations, Native Americans have taken pride in running and in being fleet of feet. The Song of Hiawatha, attributed to the 19th century American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, described these traits:
Out of childhood into manhood,
Now had grown my Hiawatha,
Skilled in the craft of hunters,
Learned in all the lore of old men.
In all youthful sports and pastimes,
In all manly arts and labors,
Swift of foot was Hiawatha.
He could shoot an arrow from him,
And run forward with such fleetness,
That the arrow fell behind him.

My brother Ric & I on June 21, 2010

See the Woman

 
She has a young face
An old face
She carries herself well
In all ages
She survives all man has done

In some tribes she is free
In some religions
She is under man
In some societies
She’s worth what she consumes

In some nations
She is delicate strength
In some states
She is told she is weak
In some classes
She is property owned

In all instances
She is sister to earth
In all conditions
She is life bringer
In all life she is our necessity

See the woman eyes
Flowers swaying
On scattered hills
Sundancing calling in the bees

See the woman heart
Lavender butterflies
Fronting blue sky
Misty rain falling
On soft wild roses

See the woman beauty
Lightning streaking
Dark summer nights
Forests of pines mating
With new winter snow

See the woman spirit
Daily serving courage
With laughter
Her breath a dream
And a prayer
by John Trudell