Yuletide Faith

The man, young, restless and just out university, left his home state and his family behind. He settled in a popular city, where old folks take life easy. Little did know at that time; he was being guided by a providential instinct. . . into a destiny through which the Lord would bless those who blessed him, and he would eventually join all the people of the earth who have lived a life well-lived. He traveled through the sunshine, through the rain, past the panhandle of florid comfort. Although he didn't know it at the time, he was being directed to a destiny far above the sandy beaches because life is not a beach. And so he turned northward, finding opportunity in blue ridge, where new horizons were opening for him. And he prospered, and he found rest in the buncombe. But he was confounded when once, upon a midnight dreary, while he pondered, weak and weary, the dark wings of fate landed upon him and spoke, "Nevermore!" And he wondered, what the hell? Say what? Is there balm in Gilead? And so he took his journey westward, leaving Ur of the cawcawbird and traveling to the land of promise, although he didn't know it at the time. And a whole reel of adventures unfurled after he had received help from Melchizedek, the prince of Peace. He saw glory coming out, but he didn't know how. I think I'll change direction, here and now.  And the Lord assured him: "Do not be afraid. I am your shield and your reward." And the man believed the Lord; so he was given credit for being on the right side of the great divide. And he looked up into the night sky, and he saw a star pointing toward Bethlehem, a place he had heard about early on, when he was a kid, at Christmas. And the Christmas story became for him. . . not just a yuletide feast or a santa clause surprise, but the beginning of a new way of life, a path that would reveal purpose and redemption birthed in the strife of this life. Then one night he happened by the Junction and he met the girl who who became his other half, who would present unto him, as the prophet Micah had foretold, a new way of life, and although it was a new way, it was an ancient way that had been established long ago, when Abraham had looked up at the stars and the Lord had said that his progeny would be as the stars in the heavens. Smile, you're on camel camera, if you're a wise man, or woman.  And the stars were nice and they twinkled. . . but at the appointed time and at the appointed place, the place that Micah had foretold, the star directed the man, as he directs all wise men, if they are humble and willing to be led by the star, to a new birth into eternity where, as I once heard from a saved widow whose hubby had died. . . she said that he said to her in a dream: "It's like Christmas morning up here, all the time." And in the distance, I saw a shimmering face. . . I decided to stop for my life, the rest of my life. . .

And if you believe that, we've got some real estate in eternity that you might be interested in. Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah and may the Holy Spirit fly up into your understanding of what this life is really all about. Christ-believer

To Shoot or to Vote

To vote, or to shoot: that is the question. . . whether 'tis nobler, in a swarm of political troubles, to suffer the slings and nooses of outrageous insurrection, or take action against a wave of magamaniae, and by opposing, transcend them. To vote no more , and by that lapse to end, the democracy and the thousand Constitutional rights that Americans are heir to; 'tis an Amendment sadly to be tossed out. To mail-in votes, or to shoot, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub: for in that Constitutional clash what dreams may come. . . when we have shuffled off this mortal MAGA mess - there's the rub that makes calamity of so long a Republic's life.

There's a second amendment and a fifteenth amendmentFor who would bear the guns and votes of time? the Jan6 throng, or the mail-in working democrats? 2nd amendment guns, or 15th amendment votes : that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler to lock and load our gun rights, or to allow mail-in ballots so working folk can vote on Tuesdays when they have to go to work . . . or both, to keep everybody happy. . . that is the question. I mean, if Jan6 insurrectionists can be pardoned for their violent attack against our Congress, then surely working folk can be pardoned, by Congressional law, from their jobs, for an hour, or perchance to vote by mail. . . to go to the polls on election day! To shoot, or to vote: that is the question. Glass half-full

Samaritans

A lawyer asked Jesus what he ought to do gain eternal life. Jesus replied: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, all your strength and all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself." The lawyer asked, as if he didn't know, "And who is my neighbor?" Jesus replied and said: "A man was going down to Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among robbers, and they stripped and beat him, and went away leaving him half dead. And by chance, a preacher was going down that road; when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. Likewise a priest also, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by him by. But a Samaritan who was on a journey, came upon the injured man, and felt compassion for him. He medicated and bandaged up the victim's wounds. Then the Samaritan brought him an inn and took care of him. On the next day he made provision for the victim to be treated, and for the bill to be paid. Jesus then posed the question: "Which of these travelers proved to be a good neighbor to the man who had fallen into the robbers' hands?" And the questioner said: "the one who showed mercy toward him." Jesus said, "Go and do likewise." About 2000 years went by. A group of believers who wanted to follow the precedent that Jesus had set founded Samaritan's Purse, a Christian ministry that puts shoe leather on the gospel. The world headquarters of Samaritan's Purse is in Boone, North Carolina, where I live. In September, 2024, hurricane Helene twirled her way out of the gulf, rambled through the armpit of Florida, and blasted northward, rolling right over our Blue Ridge mountains, tore up many a house and home in Boone. Today, a year and three months after Helene's destruction, a few residents of the Boone area gathered to dedicate a newly-constructed house that has recently been built by volunteers who were laboring for the Lord Jesus Christ, through the auspices of Samaritan's Purse, and the thousands of supporters around the world who contribute to that Christian fund.

If you look close into the photo, you may see a descendent of the American pioneer, Daniel Boone, who had trodden his way through our area, back in the day . . .about 200 years ago. Like Daniel Boone's pioneering trek through the western frontier, Samaritan's Purse, has, in years past and present, blazed a trail through disaster areas around the world, providing medical care, food, shelter and security for victims of hurricanes, typhoons, famines, droughts, wars and the myriad of disasters that this fallen world is heir to. Glass half-Full

Smokey History

excerpt from chapter 9 of my 2011 novel, Smoke When the Bolsheviks tore down the Russian Czar's gilt empire, they immediately began exporting their revolution to the world. That's the way Marx had conceived their grand plan, and so that's the way they intended to liberate the working world from the rapacity of capitalistic exploitation. They stubbornly undertook their project in spite of severe infighting and confused disorganization. So in spite of themselves, the Reds were able to intimidate their moneyed nemeses in the West. Fearfully anticipating an onslaught of Communism from the East, the European houses of wealth and power were scrambling for defenses.  Thus did they mistakenly identify, in the late 1930's, the German reich, newly constructed under Hitler's forcefully vicious methodology, as a wishful bastion of European order and capitalistic vigor. Weren't the Germans the proud forgers of finely-tuned industry and disciplined authority?  The leader of the western world were slowly deluding themselves into a tragically misguided assessment of Hitler. Too many of them saw his rise as a potential defense of European order, and the wealth that sustained it.  This confrontation of semi-biblical proportions would hold as captors . . . The lessons of history are veiled in time, memory, and sometimes. . .

Smoke

Fiddler

Being a guitar player in the 1960's-70's was a big deal. Some of us were legends in our own minds. I managed to make a couple of LP record albums, plucking my guitar and gathering a little help from me friends. In Asheville, musicians would gather at Caesar's place and jam on old mountain tunes like Rocky Top or Soldiers' Joy. Now and then I would have the honor and pleasure of jamming with fiddlers like Fox Watson or Beth Youngblood. Long about the 1990's, I discovered baroque master musician Antonio Vilvaldi and his Four Seasons violin concerto. Being so amazed at the virtuosity of violin performers, I took up the instrument and learned to play it. After five or six years, I decided to leave that exquisite instrument up to the real performers, those who were trained to coax so much passion and perfect music out of a bow and four strings. Passion is a very important part of all great music and, in truth, of all great accomplishments in human history, all great projects. to establish life, liberty, happiness, justice, truth and beauty, for us all. The violin, or fiddle or whatever you call it, is the instrument best designed to sound out the passionate cry for life, liberty, happiness, justice, truth and beauty, for us all.

In Alex Haley's class historic series, Roots, Fiddler is an important character. His struggles, like all those enslaved folk of that era, is an epic tale of human endeavor that all of us who strive for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness can relate to. Somewhere in this life sequence of mine, I went to see a hometown production of Fiddler on the Roof at Lees McRae College in Banner Elk. In the very first scene of the play, Tevya steps on stage, speaking profound truth:

" a Fiddler on the roof . . . sounds crazy, no?. . . you might say everyone of us is a fiddler on the roof, trying to scratch a pleasant simple tune. . . without breaking our neck!" Now at age 74, I can relate. . . trying to stretch out a life. . . without the steep uphill slog of life breaking me! Glass half-Full

Our Better Angels

"But when the He comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. All peoples will be gathered before him, and he will separate them from one another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats." And he will: speak to those who are on his side, "You come with me. Inherit the life eternal life that has been prepared for you, even from the foundation of the world." "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger and you invited me in. I was cold and you gave me warm clothes. I was sick and you visited me. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was in prison and you visited me." Then his people will respond. "Say what? When did we do all that stuff? When did we, like, see you sick, or in prison, and come and visit you?" And he will answer, "Whenever you've done it to the least of these, my people, you've done it for me. Methinks those angels who are gathered with Jesus at the conclusion of all earthly events are the better angels. They are better than the angels who mounted an insurrection against the Lord Creator of the Universe, back in the day, long before men and women were even on this earth. And it seems to me that there's a connection between those better angels and the better angels that President Obama mentioned in his inauguration, in 2009, after Wall Street had gone hog wild and launched a financial crisis. These days, viewing our nation and the predicament that we have gotten ourselves into, it seems to me we would be well advised to return to emphasizing the better angels of our nature - our American nature - 

as We the People were endowed by our Creator, with life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. So let's get away from the rebellious angels who caused all the trouble back in the beginning of time. Let's get back to our better angels! Glass half-Full

The Paranoia of Power

When Herod the king of Judea was sitting in his palace, back in those ancient days, three magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem; they were making an enquiry about the location of an important child who might turn out to be a threat to his royal position. "Where is he who has been born king of the Jews?" Herod asked. Herod was a little paranoid. He knew these Hebrews had scriptures and traditions upon which their ancient kingdom had been founded; and he knew that the Jews revered the words of the prophets that had been handed down for generations. Being a king whose personal identity and fortune was all wrapped up in power and the protection of his power in Judea, he pretended to be curious, when actually, in a paranoid frame of mind, he was being sly, like a fox, when he asked the wise men to report the location of baby Jesus' birth, under the guise of "so that I may come and worship him". But the Lord of the Universe, the Creator of all things, warned the wise men not to return to Herod. So they did not return to Herod's palace. Jesus Christ born in BethlehemThe magi followed the star to Bethlehem and visited Mary and Joseph with their newborn; then they returned to their homelands in the east. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Herod, sly as a fox, had inquired of the chief priests and scribes where Messiah was to be born. They spoke truthfully to their king, revealing that Messiah would be born, according to the prophet Micah, In Bethlehem.

So Herod sent his goons out to find the child and put an end to whatever it this kid was supposed to be. And you know the rest of that story. Joseph and Mary had to escape to Egypt for a while, until the coast was clear and they could return to Nazareth.  About thirty-three years later, Herod did come face to face with the man whose life he had wanted to end so many years earlier. The apostle Luke later reported that Herod was "glad" when, a lifetime later, he finally had the opportunity to meet Jesus. He wanted Jesus to do a miracle, or something like that, but Jesus, not being a show-off or a carnival performer, and fully comprehending his own destiny and the necessity of the crucifixion that was about to happen to him, declined Herod's request. With all the accusations that were being tossed around by the religious people, Herod just took the easy way out; he only mocked Jesus and commanded his soldiers to take the prisoner back to Pilate, who was the big cheese for the Roman occupiers of Judea at that time.  So we see that Herod, like many self-obsessed powermongers, passed the buck, or the prisoner, as the case may be, back to someone whose authority is greater. And you know the rest of the story. Smoke

Time and half Times

In the days of yore, after the apple had been eaten to the core when the words of destiny first showed up on the wall the one chosen to outline the times, the times, times and half the times before the voice of one crying in the wilderness issued the call and after the one who was to come had sacrificed it all the times rolled by cuz that's what they do, waiting for the call. I'm just here killing time, just to tell y'all. As times do roll the times do take their toll I'd take measures to make sure my name is on the roll I would take my signal from the King of Soul when I chopped off half my life to make it whole when I flew the coup and ran away to Texas I swore off the blues and the spells and hexes. In the days of the twenty-first century, the here and now I see the end coming but I don't know exactly how

I've walked the road from birth to to destiny just waiting here, waiting now for eternity, although, truth be told, eternity is here and eternity is now it's like we see it bleeding into here but we don't know how. The one redeeming assurance is that there once was a man who walked on our earth in a thirty-three year span They tried him and tied him and nailed him to a cross. When his people saw him hanging they thought all was lost, But the glorious truth was yet to be found when on the third day he rose out of the ground and if you believe that we've got some real estate for you. Just believe in His power; that's about all you have to do. King of Soul

The Artist Time Capsule

Russ Ramsey pointed out that Vincent wrote a letter to Theo, back in the day, about two hundred years ago it was, noticing that cab-horses in Paris have big, beautiful heart-broken eyes. But going back in time even further than that, back to the original source of western literature and Judeo-Christian legacy, Moses took on an inspired glow, actualizing the principle that true glory is more than we, as mere men, can bear. From Ur to Egypt to Mount Moriah to Canaan & beyond. . .\. to Athens and Rome and Paris and London and New York and Los Angeles and to the edges of the civilized world, we notice that true artists carefully arrange, throughout their work, whether with paint, piano, or pen. . . they arrange vignettes that lead the viewer's attention, or the listener's attention, or the reader's attention to a story being presented. And we notice that we, people made in the image of our Creator. . . we are, by nature, creative beings. The cold, hard truth is that beauty and profundity arise from the train-wreck of life, probably more-so than the a walk in the park. Faith is born from this life of disruption, disappointment and even despair. Hope must rise in the darkest dark of night. So much beauty is born out of suffering. Like Simon Peter during the trial of Jesus, deep regrets can contribute to the deepest achievements in this earthly life. As Napolean had absconded Mona Lisa for a time, eventually he saw the light and restored her to the public realm. A century later, soldiers smuggled her out of Paris so that hitler would not get a hold of her. When the artist prolongs his inspiration by adopting a new approach to creation, the critics don't generally understand, like when Dylan went electric, back in the day. It's like when JMW Turner turned the eyes of English art from classical art to modern impressionism. He was charinting a new path that would ultimately lead to modern art, instead of the ancient imagery. Forging new paths, laying new tracks toward progress and history. . .

When Dylan turned from what he was to what he was becoming in Christ, his former promoters just didn't get it. They said "don't come no more, so Dylan took a slow train to muscle shoals where he find musicians whose relative faith and unjaded innocence, along with their down-south musical excellence, provided for born-again Bob an opportunity to transform his life purpose in a new direction that would glorify the Lord Creator of the Universe instead of the mammon of mainstream blahblah. And so Bob sang, even as Moses, or Isaiah, or Daniel or Peter or Paul or Mary might have expressed it. . . "So I walk out on my own, a thousand miles from home, but i don't feel alone, because i believe in you." And whether you like it or not, whether you notice it or not, every person will have to serve somebody in order to to make progress in their own personal path toward fulfillment, satisfaction. "It may be the devil, or may be the Lord",  And as Ernest had noticed back in the day . . . two roads diverged, and he had to choose one in order to move forward. He chose the one less traveled, an that made all the difference. Reading between the lines always did have its advantages.  Glass half-Full

Deja vu Again

I'm having deja vu here. . . as CSNY sang, back in the day, 1970's. . . "We have all been here before. We have all been here before." We have all seen a president being dismissed from his job: 1973, Richard Nixon understood that the charges against him were irrefutable. And Nixon's crimes were not even as serious donald trump's crimes. I'm having deja vu here. . . Senator Sam Ervin of my home state, North Carolina, chairman of the Senate Watergate investigation committee, watching those hearings. . . I'm having deja vu here. . .

Chairman Benny Parsons of the US House conducting their investigation into donald trump's instigation of the insurrection, all the testimonies, most notably from Cassidy Hutchinson, who was Mark Meadows' secretary in the white house. I'm having deja vu here. . . Mark Meadows' testimony in the court case wherein Jack Smith is dragging all this insurrectionary crime back into the public eye, and now, once again, in a courtroom, where it should have been long ago before Jack Smith ceased his prosecution because the magamaniacs had put trump back into the oval. But here's where the deja vu ends: Richard Nixon resigned when he realized that his criminality had been proven, and shown openly to the American people. Nixon did the right thing when he took his ball and went home. He was even able, later, to regain some public respect from US the people, because he saw the writing on the wall and did the right thing when he knew his time for giving up had come. Yes, the deja vu ends because donald trump is desperately clinging to his precious position in the rose garden, where he had stood, January 6, 2021 when he told the insurrectionists to "go to the Capitol" and to "be strong or you won't have a country any more" or some such bullsh**. The evidence trump now is overwhelming, and then there's the Hegseth disaster in telling military officers, illegally, to kill all the people on a boat in the Carribbean. We have all been here before, but I'm still waiting for trump's other shoe to drop, as a federal judge has ejected trump from her courtroom because of lawless disruption and his blatant contempt for Rule of Law. Let's expedite this removal now. Congress needs to get busy and impeach trump now! J.D. Vance would be a better president. Glass half-Full

River of Life

"Three score and ten". . . were the biblical words that my father quoted to me, back in the day, in the 1990's, just before lung cancer and Philip Morris dragged him down into the eternal realm. I will not know on which side of that great postmortem divide he landed until I arrive there. Chances are. . . or Providential destiny, based upon biblical directions, assure me, that I will land on the Heavenly side.  But getting back to the here and now. . . viewing this world and whatever antecedes it, I ponder the actual words printed in the King James version, Psalm 90:10: "The days of our years are threescore and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength, labor, and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away". . . In the here and now, on this day, sitting in Watertown, Mass., reflecting on the early days of my life. . . winter of 1971, when I was working in a restaurant in Nederland, Colorado. . . and listening to a folky trio, and the songstress, Casey, singing Joni's "River" . . . "I wish I had a river I could skate away on". . . https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvR7Dkg4NQU&list=RDMvR7Dkg4NQU&start_radio=1 and now remembering. . . then, after that 1971 holiday season, returning to Louisiana where there is no frozen river. . . "I wish I had a river I could skate away on. . ."

River Frozen At age 74, now, I'm not far away from skating onto that long-awaited river of eternity, the stream of divine revelation that will guide me into everlasting life, that everlasting realm where my faith in the man who came. . . the man who was crucified on a cross and rose again on the third day. . . his resurrection assuring that my life is, indeed, eternal, with Him who was born in a manger, died on a cross. . . and I will be resurrected, as He was, on the third day. . . if you can believe it. Those gospel accounts are, I discover, the stepping stones across this River of Life, which I will, someday, skate upon. . . Glass half-Full

Impeach trump Now!

Now. . . as I sit here in suburban Boston, recalling the historic words that were signaled by Paul Revere to his patriot connection in the Old North Church. . . "one if by land, two if by sea". . . The signal has been renewed by our Supreme Court, who have denied the power of trump to command America as a king! Just as our forefathers denied King George the power to rule our developing United States of America, a nation founded upon a Constitution, a bill of rights, and ultimately a Proclamation Declaration, as guarded by our Rule of law, our Constitution.  The oval office is not a throne! trump is impotent to think he can speak ex cathedra from the oval. He is living in a dream world in which he imagines himself a king. But no, we did indeed fight a bloody revolution to put the the king in his place, far, far away from our American shores? I am so glad that Warren Buffet has reported that the Justices have come to their senses, realizing, at long last, that their allegiance to our Constitution and our Rule of Law supercedes any imagined alliance that they might have had to the madman who appointed them. Now is the time for all men to come to the aid of our country!  Now is time for trump to take his ball and go home! We the People demand our Senators and Representatives to impeach trump now!

Representatives and Senators, come to the aid of our Justices, who have now come to the aid of US the people . . . Now is the time for our Representatives and Senators to impeach trump now. It doesn't matter that the two previous impeachments failed. Impeach trump now! Glass half-Full

Byzatntium Ravanchium

Oh yes, this is a world for old men, with the young slowly reconstructing, according to new digital paths. The boomer generation have cast their songs. . . the Beatle hits, the Deja Vu clouded seas, with Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young commending to all generations past, present and future. . . whatever is to be or not to be: that is the challenge: whether 'tis nobler in the ides of baby boomering persons. . . to tackle a screwed-up world, and by amending, unscrew it. Now an aging boomer is but an anti-dialectic thing, a patch-up coat hung upon a crescent moon, unless Soul clap its hands and sing. . .every remnant of a half-remembered song. . . for what it's worth. . . there's something happ'n'in here; what it is ain't exactly clear. . . and wooden ships, on the water. . .

 and then along comes the bard, the poet who was blowin' in the wind, every wind of news and views and multi-colored hues, and now he's ceased his blowin' in the wind. Now there's a new track laid upon the wide, wide prairies of American time, a slow train coming round the bend. . . "Man's ego's inflated; his laws are outdated. . . there's a man on the cross, and he be crucified for you; just believe in His power; that's all about all you got to do". . . It's up to you. King of Soul