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George MacDonald on Politicians

stainfreemedia — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 02:57:15 +0000

"It is not in the nature of politics that the best men should be elected. The best men do not want to govern their fellowmen."

-George MacDonald

George Macdonald

Becca — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 21:50:03 +0000

has been dead for 103 years. How is it that he is knocking the stuffing out of my complacency right now? I find it amazing that God can and will speak through a minister who hasn't raised an earthly pen or preached an earthly sermon in over a century.

I have recently picked up a few of Macdonald's romances. I emphasize the word because they are so philosophical and ethereal in nature that one completely forgets our modern connotation of the romance genre. Here is but a sample of what I have been reading lately:

Alister was a good man...A wrong thing in a good man becomes more and more wrong as he draws nearer to freedom from it. His friends may say how seldom he offends, but every time he does offend, he is the more to blame...any man is far from perfect whose sense of well-being can be altered by change of circumstance. A man unable to do without this thing or that is not yet in sight of his godly perfection, therefore not yet out of sight of suffering. For it is to the perfection of Christlikeness God calls us, and will bring about in us, no matter how many so-called believers would rather settle for something far less, thinking all God wants from us is that we "be ourselves." Clouds were gathering to burst...to the end that he might be set free from yet another of the cords that bound him to the earth. He was like a soaring eagle from whose foot hung, trailing on the earth, the line by which his tyrant could at will pull him back to his inglorious perch.

And another:

--Did you ever think of the origin of the word avarice?

--No.

--I think it comes from the same root as the verb have. It is the desire to call things ours--the desire of company which is not of our kind. We call the holding in the hand, or house, or pocket, or purse, or the power, having. But things so held cannot really be had. Having is but an illusion with regard to things. It is only what we can be with that we really possess. A love can never be lost; it is a true possession. But who can take his diamond ring, or his piece of land, into the life beyond?

Ouch?

On Age, Alpaca Spinning, and the Old Princess

slowjourney — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 21:08:48 +0000

I guess I got started thinking about the Old Princess because I'm currently spinning a beautiful rose-gray alpaca fleece. When I was very young, my great-grandmother Flora and her sister Lovada had silvery braids of this exact color twisted into crowns on the tops of their heads. Their backs--like the back of my grandfather--were bent with scoliosis. Although I missed out on the scoliosis, I am told I look like Flora; and expect my own hair to eventually turn this particular shade of silver.

Here is a bit of the raw fleece:

And here it is carded up into rolags, ready to spin:

I enjoy working with this fleece because it is, actually, a blend of so many different shades and colors. The guard hairs are black, which makes them easy to remove. The remaining fibers range from black to steel to a shimmery silver, almost white, which sparkles under the lamp as I spin in the evening. I am reminded of moonlight, the webs of spiders, and (horrors!) the wings of silver moths.

Meditations on age are appropriate this week, since I will be turning 39. Facing this means facing the fact that I will probably never have children . . . the fact of moving directly from maid to crone. I suppose, in thinking about my own croning, I have been looking for a role model: someone to make being old okay. The Old Princess seems like a fit.

Here is a picture of the alpaca on my spinning wheel:

And, here is a description of the Old Princess at her spinning wheel, from a chapter entitled "The Mistress of the Silver Moon," in George MacDonald's The Princess and Curdie:

. . . Curdie now caught sight of the wheel. Oh, it was such a thin, delicate thing--reminding him of a spider's web in a hedge. It stood in the middle of the moonlight, and it seemed as if the moonlight had nearly melted it away. A step nearer, he saw, with a start, two little hands at work with it. And then at last, in the shadow on the other side of the moonlight which came like a river between, he saw the form to which the hands belonged: a small withered creature, so old that no age would have seemed too great to write under her picture, seated on a stool beyond the spinning wheel, which looked very large beside her, but, as I said, very thin, like a long-legged spider holding up its own web, which was the round wheel itself. (MacDonald, George. The Princess and Curdie. New York: Penguin Books, 1976, pp. 27-8.)

Originally published in 1882, this book is no longer under copywright, nor is it printed in translation, so I think it's okay to quote!

On Knitting, Spinning, & Magic of the Old Princess

slowjourney — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 06:43:21 +0000

Remember the Old Princess at the top of the wormeaten staircase in George MacDonald's The Princess and the Goblin? The one who spun a thread so fine that it could not be seen? The one who spun a thread which, by feel, guided the young Princess through the darkest and most dangerous underground caverns and passages? Well, I called upon her myself the other night.

On a campaign to use up "uglies" I had plied some grossly overspun sky-blue merino with a variegating darker wool: possibly coarse alpaca. My chief goal was to get these several-years-old beginning attempts at spinning off the bobbins. The resultant yarn was interesting, but variegated, which I do not care for, and, as previously stated, overspun. I decided to whip up a scarf.

I knitted and knitted; after several days, and a trip back to the wheel to spin up all remaining bits of these fibers, I felt myself nearing the end of the project. With a limited quantity of yarn left, I began knitting edging onto one end. Whoops--I had underestimated the rate at which this particular edging would guzzle! And, there was nothing left to spin.

The prognosis was bad. My options included ripping the finished edging out, as well as part of the body of the scarf, and more wisely redistributing yarn. But, handspun is delicate. I didn't want to do this.

Another solution, equally bad, was to finish the scarf with a yarn spun from some other fiber. Aargh! Since I am broke, shopping for more merino, as well as for something approximating the mystery fiber, was simply not possible.

I decided to call on the Old Princess.

"Old Princess," I said, "I need your help. I need you to oversee this ball of yarn for me, as I knit. Right now, I don't seem to have enough yarn to finish the edging on this scarf. I need you to stretch this yarn out, as I pull it away from the ball, and see to it that I have enough."

Sure enough, from that point on, yarn began to disappear from the ball at a much slower rate than it had previously done, although I continued to knit at the same pace. At times, the ball did not seem to shrink at all. I finished the scarf with more yarn to spare than I had anticipated or thought possible; and, I expressed my gratitude to the Old Princess.

[caption id="attachment_13" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="This much to spare!"][/caption]

I am considering setting up some sort of a shrine on the marble-topped commode beside where I keep my spinning wheel, and asking her to take up permanent residence.

[caption id="attachment_15" align="aligncenter" width="223" caption="The finished scarf--pinned out."][/caption]

Living In His Presence

Steve — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 13:35:01 +0000

The soutar, especially while at his work, was always trying “to get,” as he said, “into his Lord's company,”—now endeavouring, perhaps, to understand some saying of his, or now, it might be, to discover his reason for saying it just then and there. Often, also, he would be pondering why he allowed this or that to take place in the world, for it was his house, where he was always present and always at work. Humble as diligent disciple, he never doubted, when once a thing had taken place, that it was by his will it came to pass, but he saw that evil itself, originating with man or his deceiver, was often made to subserve the final will of the All-in-All. And he knew in his own self that much must first be set right there, before the will of the Father could be done in earth as it was in heaven. Therefore in any new development of feeling in his child, he could recognize the pressure of a guiding hand in the formation of her history; and was able to understand St. John where he says, “Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be, but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.” For first, foremost, and deepest of all, he positively and absolutely believed in the man whose history he found in the Gospel: that is, he believed not only that such a man once was, and that every word he then spoke was true, but he believed that that man was still in the world, and that every word he then spoke, had always been, still was, and always would be true. Therefore he also believed—which was more both to the Master and to John MacLear, his disciple—that the chief end of his conscious life must be to live in His presence, and keep his affections ever, afresh and constantly, turning toward him in hope and aspiration. Hence every day he felt afresh that he too was living in the house of God, among the things of the father of Jesus.

From Salted With Fire by George MacDonald

On Knowing God

Steve — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 13:03:56 +0000

“I am glad of that, Isy! You see I know some things that make me very glad, and so I want them to make you glad too. And the thing that makes me gladdest of all, is just that God is what he is. To know that such a One is God over us and in us, makes of very being a most precious delight. His children, those of them that know him, are all glad just because he is, and they are his children. Do you think a strong man like me would read sermons and say prayers and talk to people, doing nothing but such shamefully easy work, if he did not believe what he said?”

“I'm sure, sir, you have had hard enough work with me! I am a bad one to teach! I thought I knew all that you have had such trouble to make me see! I was in a bog of ignorance and misery, but now I am getting my head up out of it, and seeing about me!—Please let me ask you one thing, sir: how is it that, when the thought of God comes to me, I draw back, afraid of him? If he be the kind of person you say he is, why can't I go close up to him?”

“I confess the same foolishness, my child, at times,” answered the minister. “It can only be because we do not yet see God as he is—and that must be because we do not yet really understand Jesus—do not see the glory of God in his face. God is just like Jesus—exactly like him!”

And the parson fell a wondering how it could be that so many, gentle and guileless as this woman-child, recoiled from the thought of the perfect One. Why were they not always and irresistibly drawn toward the very idea of God? Why, at least, should they not run to see and make sure whether God was indeed such a one or not? whether he was really Love itself—or only loved them after a fashion? It set him thinking afresh about many things; and he soon began to discover that he had in fact been teaching a good many things without knowing them; for how could he know things that were not true, and therefore could not be known? He had indeed been saying that God was Love, but he had yet been teaching many things about him that were not lovable!

From Salted With Fire by George MacDonald

First, do no harm.

Steve — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 21:12:10 +0000

"The part of the philanthropist is indeed a dangerous one; and the man who would do his neighbour good must first study how not to do him evil, and must begin by pulling the beam out of his own eye."

From Lilith by George MacDonald

"Masculine and Spiritual Initiation" by Glenn McClure

Glenn McClure — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 05:08:42 +0000

I have had a dream for the last few years--a dream of providing spiritual, masculine experiences for Fathers and sons.

I ran across this quote recently: "To accomplish great things, we must dream as well as act." (Anatole France, 1844-1924). It sums up what I'm attempting to do with and about that dream for fathers and sons. I began to act by talking to other men in our community who have sons and have been affected in deep ways by the Samson Society, New Adam Initiation Weekends, John Eldredge, Richard Rohr, Robert Bly, George McDonald. These and others have given us a language to speak a conversation that promises a great hope- Jesus offers men a deep spiritual and masculine healing that connects us back to the true Father. This connection compels us to invite our sons up to the same journey...a journey that will lead them to the Father.

God has brought four fathers together: Phil Davis, Tom White, Richard Roberts and myself, and we're excited about our vision for father/son masculine and spiritual experiences. These past few months we have been planning a Father/Son Adventure, and now the date is set for August 22-24! We are calling this "The Father's Heart Weekend Experience" and it is for fathers and their sons ages 5 - 12. This event will serve as a "stage one" of several stages of a boy's initiation process; this is the stage John Eldredge calls the "Beloved Son." We are desiring to create a father/son environment that will embody AWE: Affirmation, Wonder and Exploration for the boys. The overall message that we hope will be communicated to the boys will be: "You are your Father's delight" and "We love being with you-doing what you love." We desire to give our sons a taste of the heart of their true Father. The One who created and loves them perfectly.

How are you sharing your heart with your son/s? How are you pointing him to his true Father. Post a comment and let us know your ideas and experiences.

Awake, sleeper!

Steve — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 19:29:34 +0000

“That is a prayer-flower,” said the raven.
“I never saw such a flower before!” I rejoined.
“There is no other such. Not one prayer-flower is ever quite like
another,” he returned.
“How do you know it a prayer-flower?” I asked.
“By the expression of it,” he answered. “More than that I cannot
tell you. If you know it, you know it; if you do not, you do not.”
“Could you not teach me to know a prayer-flower when I see
it?” I said.
“I could not. But if I could, what better would you be? you would
not know it of yourself and itself! Why know the name of a thing
when the thing itself you do not know? Whose work is it but your
own to open your eyes? But indeed the business of the universe is to
make such a fool of you that you will know yourself for one, and so
begin to be wise!”

From Lilith by George MacDonald

Diary of Stumbling Soul

hasheldon — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 00:19:43 +0000

George MacDonald wrote in his Dairy of an Old Soul:

"Oh, let me live in Thy realities,
Nor substitute my notions for Thy facts."

"(One) must wake his soul unnumbered times a day,
And urge himself to life with holy greed."

"Who sees a glory, towards it will go."

"O Christ my Life, possess me utterly."

Each day I realize how true MacDonald's words fit me as well.

The Ideal

Steve — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 18:49:21 +0000

Then first I knew the delight of being lowly; of saying to myself, “I am what I am, nothing more.” “I have failed,” I said, “I have lost myself—would it had been my shadow.” I looked round: the shadow was nowhere to be seen. Ere long, I learned that it was not myself, but only my shadow, that I had lost. I learned that it is better, a thousand-fold, for a proud man to fall and be humbled, than to hold up his head in his pride and fancied innocence. I learned that he that will be a hero, will barely be a man; that he that will be nothing but a doer of his work, is sure of his manhood. In nothing was my ideal lowered, or dimmed, or grown less precious; I only saw it too plainly, to set myself for a moment beside it. Indeed, my ideal soon became my life; whereas, formerly, my life had consisted in a vain attempt to behold, if not my ideal in myself, at least myself in my ideal. Now, however, I took, at first, what perhaps was a mistaken pleasure, in despising and degrading myself. Another self seemed to arise, like a white spirit from a dead man, from the dumb and trampled self of the past. Doubtless, this self must again die and be buried, and again, from its tomb, spring a winged child; but of this my history as yet bears not the record.

Self will come to life even in the slaying of self; but there is ever something deeper and stronger than it, which will emerge at last from the unknown abysses of the soul: will it be as a solemn gloom, burning with eyes? or a clear morning after the rain? or a smiling child, that finds itself nowhere, and everywhere?

from Phantastes by George MacDonald

Do Something Worth Doing

Steve — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 17:51:54 +0000

“Alas! alas!” I cried. “I have brought this evil on the best and kindest of friends, who has filled my heart with great gifts.”

“Do not think of that,” she rejoined. “I can bear it very well. You will come back to me some day, I know. But I beg you, for my sake, my dear child, to do one thing. In whatever sorrow you may be, however inconsolable and irremediable it may appear, believe me that the old woman in the cottage, with the young eyes” (and she smiled), “knows something, though she must not always tell it, that would quite satisfy you about it, even in the worst moments of your distress.

Now you must go.”

“But how can I go, if the waters are all about, and if the doors all lead into other regions and other worlds?”

“This is not an island,” she replied; “but is joined to the land by a narrow neck; and for the door, I will lead you myself through the right one.”

She took my hand, and led me through the third door; whereupon I found myself standing in the deep grassy turf on which I had landed from the little boat, but upon the opposite side of the cottage. She pointed out the direction I must take, to find the isthmus and escape the rising waters.

Then putting her arms around me, she held me to her bosom; and as I kissed her, I felt as if I were leaving my mother for the first time, and could not help weeping bitterly. At length she gently pushed me away, and with the words, “Go, my son, and do something worth doing,” turned back, and, entering the cottage, closed the door behind her. I felt very desolate as I went.

from Phantastes by George MacDonald

Ruby Tuesday

Ellen — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 00:38:46 +0000

A favorite author of mine is George MacDonald and this is one of his stories that I really loved. It just happens to be Ruby bound so I'm sharing it.

And I saw these pretty little Ruby Flowers (Sweet Williams, thanks Lovella) at the Bellevue Botanical Gardens today and I'm throwing them into the Ruby post, too!

For more Ruby Tuesday Posts visit our lovely hostess Maryt at Work of the Poet.

courage is found in unlikely places

timothy allen brown — Sun, 06 Jul 2008 20:53:56 +0000

i love quotes. they're like little gems hidden inside a much broader context. or something like that (you know what i mean!). and few people offer so many gems as clive staples lewis, better known to us as c.s. lewis. lewis is my 2nd favorite author (flannery o'connor being tops), and his ability to go from writing children's stories to the most profound theological apologetics to science fiction to philosophical ramblings show what a wonderous brain the man had, and what a gift he has been to all who've read his works. to me he's like a johnny cash or a soren kierkegaard in that he keeps me holding onto the christian faith in spite of all the ugliness that surrounds it, as if to say "don't let the bastards grind you down, you've got us!" and he was homies with j.r.r. tolkien, who is credited for lewis' returning to the christian faith (tolkien was a committed catholic, a fact lost on most). can you imagine the two of them just sitting around, smoking their pipes and drinking tea, chatting? amazing. i had read that tolkien rebuked lewis when he presented the lion, the witch & the wardrobe to him, saying "you've got a talking lion and father christmas in the same book?!?!" hilarious. i would love one of the 365 daily calendars, with all lewis quotes. i should make one. i've got plenty of material to go from!

“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world”

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

“You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.”

“God, who foresaw your tribulation, has specially armed you to go through it, not without pain but without stain”

“Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn.”

“We were promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, ''Blessed are they that mourn.''”

“If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world”

“We're not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be”

“Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind”

"The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That's the deal.”

"A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word "darkness" on the walls of his cell."

"Christ died for men precisely because men are not worth dying for; to make them worth it."

"It was when I was happiest that I longed most...The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing...to find the place where all the beauty came from."

"Of all bad men religious bad men are the worst."

and there are many, many more which i could put in here, but you get the point. as the note i wrote and placed on my workers badge when i worked @ barnes & noble back in 2001 said - "read more c.s. lewis!"

Father Knows Best

Steve — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 18:15:51 +0000

Verily the God that knows how not to reveal himself, must also know how best to reveal himself! If there be a calling child, there must be an answering father!

From There and Back by George MacDonald

My past self

Melissa Orr — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 04:00:11 +0000

"What a hell of horror, I thought, to wander alone, a bare existence never going out of itself, never widening its life in another life, but bound with the cords of its poor peculiarities, lying an eternal prisoner in the dungeon of its own being! I began to learn that it was impossible to live for oneself even, save in the presence of others--then, alas, fearfully possible! Evil was only through good! Selfish but a parasite on the tree of life! In my own world I had the habit of solitary song; here not a crooning murmur ever parted my lips. There I sang without thinking; here I thought without singing. There I had never had a bosom-friend; here the affection of an idiot would be divinely welcome. 'If only I had a dog to love!' I sighed--and regarded with wonder my past self, which preferred the company of book or pen to that of man or woman; which, if the author of a tale I was enjoying appeared, would wish him away that I might return to his story. I had chosen the dead rather than the living, the thing thought rather than the thing thinking! 'Any man,' I said now, 'is more than the greatest of books!' I had not cared for my live brothers and sisters, and now I was left without even the dead to comfort me!" George MacDonald, Lilithe

Waiting

Melissa Orr — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 04:12:32 +0000

"But hark the herald of the sun, the auroral wind, softly trumpeting His approach! The master-minister of the human tabernacle is at hand! Heaping before his prow a huge ripple-fretted wave of crimson and gold, he rushes aloft, as if newly launched from the urging hand of his maker into the upper sea--pauses, and looks down on the world. White-raving storm of molten metals, he is but a coal from the altar of the Father's never-ending sacrifice to his children. See every little flower straighten its stalk, lift up its neck, and with out-stretched head stand expectant: something more than the sun, greater than the light, is coming, is coming--nonetheless surely coming that it is long upon the road! What matters today, or tomorrow, or ten thousand years to Life himself, to Love himself! He is coming, is coming, and the necks of all humanity are stretched out to see him come! Every morning will they thus outstretch themselves, every evening will they droop and wait--until He comes. Is this but an air-drawn vision? When He comes, will He indeed find them watching thus? It was a glorious resurrection-morning. The night had been spent in preparing it!" --George MacDonald, Lilithe

"what [he] actually did to me was to convert, even to baptize my imagination...The quality which had enchanted me in his imaginative works turned out to be the quality of the real universe, the divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic reality in which we all live." C.S. Lewis of MacDonald

"I have never concealed the fact that I regarded George MacDonald as my master; indeed, I fancy I have never written a book in which I did not quote from him." C.S. Lewis

"Surely, George MacDonald is the grandfather of us all--all of us who struggle to come to terms with truth through fantasy." Madeleine L'Engle

George MacDonald on the proper length of stories and the anatomy of reading

ericdarylmeyer — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 21:06:41 +0000

"And that is all my double story. How double it is, if you care to know, you must find out. If you think it is not finished---I never knew a story that was. I could tell you a great deal more concerning them all, but I have already told more than is good for those who read but with their foreheads, and enough for those whom it has made look a little solemn, and sigh as they close the book."

George MacDonald, "The Wise Woman or the Lost Princess" in The Wise Woman and Other Fantasy Stories (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1980), 108.

The Father's Hands

Steve — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 18:05:56 +0000

Think, brothers, think, sisters, we walk in the air of an eternal fatherhood. Every uplifting of the heart is a looking up to The Father. Graciousness and truth are around, above, beneath us, yea, in us. When we are least worthy, then, most tempted, hardest, unkindest, let us yet commend our spirits into his hands. Whither else dare we send them? How the earthly father would love a child who would creep into his room with angry, troubled face, and sit down at his feet, saying when asked what he wanted: “I feel so naughty, papa, and I want to get good”! Would he say to his child: “How dare you! Go away, and be good, and then come to me?” And shall we dare to think God would send us away if we came thus, and would not be pleased that we came, even if we were angry as Jonah? Would we not let all the tenderness of our nature flow forth upon such a child? And shall we dare to think that if we being evil know how to give good gifts to our children, God will not give us his own spirit when we come to ask him? Will not some heavenly dew descend cool upon the hot anger? some genial rain-drop on the dry selfishness? some glance of sunlight on the cloudy hopelessness? Bread, at least, will be given, and not a stone; water, at least, will be sure, and not vinegar mingled with gall.

The Hands of the Father from George MacDonald's Unspoken Sermons Series One

The Baronet's Song

Courtenay — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:35:10 +0000

Its made, it's made! Jennie from Bags for Zaza made me a custom bag. Its suits me so perfect. And Leah from The Informal Matriarch helped pick colours for my Bag and a matching ipod case too. Jennie names all her bags after books. Mine is called "The Baronet's Song" by George Macdonald. Its a great book. I read it a couple of summers ago and just pulled it out yesterday to read it again. If you haven't read it, you need too.

Emily was sitting in her highchair, where the great wealth of stories comes from, and she looked at Morgan and asked him "Do you want to see a trick Daddy?" Morgan said sure. Emily clapped her hands together and said "WOW!!!". Obviously someone showed Emily a slight of hand trick or something because it was so cute to see her try to recreate that without actually doing anything. She showed the trick again later in the day but added one thing to it. She put her hands behind her back and said "WOW!!!Its all gone!!!". She's making us laugh way to much.

On Saturday we are going with Jr. Glory House to Kamloops to the wildlife park. We've taken Emily to little petting zoos before, but not a real big Zoo. It should be so much fun. We have the church's new camera and our Still camera to take clips and pics with while we are there. There will be alot of other little kids there too from her class so there should be some great pics.

I just realized that in the midst of switching over my computer I hadn't put up some of the pictures I meant too. So heres a couple from the ladies retreat that I go to with My mom and sister every year. Note: if you get the chance, stop at Ella's Pizza bakery in Cache creek. It's worth it! Mmm

My new Shades

My Cousin Cydney Running in the Background.

Emily's playing in the sink - Yay my dirty kitchen.

The True Heart of One on the Ever Going Road

Steve — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 19:01:02 +0000

The true heart must see at once, that, however wrong I may or may not be in other things, at least I am right in this, that Jesus must be obeyed, and at once obeyed, in the things he did say: it will not long imagine to obey him in things he did not say. If a man do what is unpleasing to Christ, believing it his will, he shall yet gain thereby, for it gives the Lord a hold of him, which he will use; but before he can reach liberty, he must be delivered from that falsehood. For him who does not choose to see that Christ must be obeyed, he must be left to the teaching of the Father, who brings all that hear and learn of him to Christ, that they may learn what he is who has taught them and brought them. He will leave no man to his own way, however much he may prefer it. The Lord did not die to provide a man with the wretched heaven he may invent for himself, or accept invented for him by others; he died to give him life, and bring him to the heaven of the Father’s peace; the children must share in the essential bliss of the Father and the Son. This is and has been the Father’s work from the beginning—to bring us into the home of his heart, where he shares the glories of life with the Living One, in whom was born life to light men back to the original life. This is our destiny; and however a man may refuse, he will find it hard to fight with God—useless to kick against the goads of his love. For the Father is goading him, or will goad him, if needful, into life by unrest and trouble; hell-fire will have its turn if less will not do: can any need it more than such as will neither enter the kingdom of heaven themselves, nor suffer them to enter it that would?

The Truth in Jesus from George MacDonald's Unspoken Sermons Second Series

Bags for Zaza

Courtenay — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 03:37:33 +0000

Ahh how I love summer. Today was pretty stinking crazy at work, but I loved every minute of it. Especially my lunch break tank war with Coco. Have you played Wii tanks? Its fun. I went to the after school club again today. I love hanging out with all the kids there. They make me laugh so hard. There's like 40, 10-12 year olds just hanging out. I played soccer for a while with them and then we made a human pyramid. I'm still sore from being at the bottom of a falling tower. They showed me how to do a cart wheel too, which is really funny because now that I'm 25, a cart wheel isn't all that useful anymore. Why couldn't I have been able to do that in elementary school when things like that were important. I ask you why?

A sister of a friend of mine is selling handmade bags to raise money for her sister-in-law who is adopt a child from Columbia. They have affectionately called the girl Zaza until they actually meet her. I have a big soft spot in my heart for adopting kids. I'd love to adopt a kid from another country. Ooh should probably not have told Morgan that in a blog. hmm. I don't know if that's something we would ever do, but I totally support anyone who adopts kids. I think that's really really cool. So anyways. Jennie has actually been a friend of mine for alot of years because I was her baby sisters best friend back in the good old days and we are still good friends even now. Jennie makes these awesome bags and I'd describe them, but you should just go and look because they are awesome and you should buy one. I put my name on a cool one named after the book "The Highlander's last song" by George Macdonald. I think it was claimed before me, but I'm holding out hope of getting it. They are an awesome price for a sweet bag too. So anyways go there and buy a bag for Zaza.