The Cottage on the Moor is a place where I'll keep a fire going on cold winter nights and a breeze flowing through the windows on steamy summer days. There will be a "cup of warm" waiting for you to stimulate your mind. I'll try to keep it fresh by adding something every week or two. So come often. I hope you find something you enjoy.
of Christ among those
who are being saved and those who
are perishing. (2 Cor. 2:15 NIV)
I have no way of knowing
who is a Christian and who is not.
God has reserved unto Himself
I know Whom I have
and am persuaded that He
can keep all that I’ve committed
to Him until that day.
But I do have a metric by which
I judge what is and
what isn’t Christian,
Not who but what;
I lay each deed alongside the pattern
taught and demonstrated by the One
whose name Christianity bears.
By that metric I judge
malice, hatred, slander,
extreme partisanship, deviousness,
untruthfulness, selfish ambition,
to be unchristian behaviors,
and those who engage in them,
in my opinion, bring discredit
to the cause of Christ.
By the same metric I judge
love, joy, peace, patience,
self-control to be Christian
behaviors and those who engage
in them, in my opinion, bring credit
to the cause of Christ.
By that metric I am forced to judge
most of what I see and hear
from the opponents of the President
to be unchristian
By the same metric I must judge
the President’s response
to his opponent’s behaviors,
and his own behaviors in general,
to be Christian in character.
Is Obama a Christian?
Are his opponents Christian?
God only knows, but He has provided
us with a metric to judge the fruit
of men’s lives – His own life and words –
and by that metric Republican behaviors
over the last six years smell like rotting fruit.
To the one we are an
aroma that brings death;
the other an aroma that brings life.
And who is equal to
such a task? (2 Cor. 2:16 NIV)
awake to March today. That means that our average temperatures, no matter how
low they be today, will be inching upward in the coming days.
I grew up, in dreary central Illinois the coming of March could mean the total
disappearance of snow and the horizon-to-horizon appearance of mud. It brought
biting winds, but at last some green blades beginning to appear in places.
my mother, raised farther south in Illinois, remembered March as the windy
month of kite flying, we were encouraged to “go fly a kite.” In response we tried
to find a dry enough field nearby to loft our homemade newspaper and sticks
kites. Sometimes they flew well; more often they crashed and broke, and all we
got for our effort, besides exercise, was a lot of mud on our boots and
overalls. I suspect what our mother got was an hour or two with the kids out of
the house. For that she had to pay by laundering our muddy clothes and mopping
the mud from the linoleum floors when we clambered back into the warmth of the
house. She usually managed to corral us before we got very far into the house.
alas, there will be no kids flying kites this next week in western Wisconsin, I
fear. Instead they'll be wildly thumbing their video gadgets, chasing nefarious
characters down the corridors of virtual mazes, blasting them to smithereens,
splattering the walls with their blood and littering the floors with body
you imagine the size of the average man's hands a thousand years from now will
be twice what it is now?
all the discomfort and mess of those Illinois kite-outs, and despite their
remarkable lack of success, I still think they were better for us than sitting
around playing video games. But what do I know about the kind of precision
remote drone operators we are training by accident with those little machines.
And who knows, one day (or perhaps already today) a doctor in rural Montana,
trained as a child on video games, may be able to remotely operate a surgical
machine, saving a life, in a tiny Tibetan village.
sometimes worry about all that virtual blood splattered on virtual walls inside
those video games and wonder if there is any connection between their ubiquity
and all the violence in our society today. But then I remember the “cowboys and
Indians” games I used to play as a child, the “side arms” I strapped around my
waste, and the virtual bullets I fired into my brother’s heart. He is still
alive, and I own no guns at all, am very close to being a pacifist.
still . . . I worry about those video games and wish the kids could get outside
more, flying kites.