Archive for February 10th, 2017

1Jo 4. 4

“Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them:

because greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world.”

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“Learn to say No.

It will be of more use to you than to be able to read Latin.”

– Charles Spurgeon, uncertain of exact source

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The most historic and awesome events imaginable occur on the pages of Holy Writ but they are not drama. “Drama” is performed, it is played, it is imitation. God’s works have His seal of authenticity – they were actual events which took place on real geography and in real time. “Drama” has to be practiced. God’s works are un-rehearsed originals. Never, for your soul’s sake, confuse one of God’s historic acts with inferior, theatric, repetitious plays.

– eab, 2/25/16


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I’ve known the joy that only a boy                      

Could feel – the swing of a vine.

That’s entwined in a tree, for lads like me

To discover and enjoy. (Age? Nine.)


I’ve felt the soft nose of a horse at repose,

And jumped o’er the hindquarters bare.

And ridden baby cows or even some sows,

When the farmer or owner wasn’t there.


I’ve enjoyed the snow fall; drifts fences tall,

And the resulting thrill – no bus!

Sat with my feet on the oven door for heat,

That coal stove with ashes and fuss.


I’ve ridden through a bridge o’er the blue

That was covered and painted red.

Or walked or ran the bare-planked span;

That inside looked like a shed.


Ah, and, I’ve felt the pain of a leaving train,

When my lover was inside.

And watched the last light till out of sight,

Then turned on my heel and cried.


I’ve stood still and wet on the date set,

Waiting for that girl in white.

Perspiring that season, for more than one reason,

On the year’s last, hot, June night.


I’ve relished the smell of fall as it fell,

Time after burning-leaf time,

And drank cider sweet; it was hard to beat

Soft, amber, pure, sublime.


I’ve been privileged to hold the tiny mold

From which God makes a man.

And knew that his name and mine were the same;

Twenty-one years the span.


I’ve known what it means to have little but beans

And then miss a bean with a dip.

To have cookies is nice – but because of the price

A cookie without a chocolate chip.


I’ve walked the drifting miles; mid frowns & now smiles

Of students on Saturday hikes.

Or joined them near nine, asphalt roads to entwine

On our trusty, but soon tiring bikes.


I’ve been privileged to be three years near the sea.

O! The smell of salt in the air!

See it calm or forlorn or white-cappy in storm,

Return with it still in my hair.


I’ve walked up with pain the inclined plain

Of a mountain’s bristly backbone.

Provisions in pack on my back,

Miles and hours from a phone.


I’ve met and do know some of Christ’s best below

Saints, yes, saints above sod.

Who’ve worked in love, His power to prove,

Before they go home to God.


That’s not all I’ve had as a boy or a dad

There are, I’m sure, many more

In thirty one years, many joys, a few tears,

Since birth to seventy-four.                

– eab, 2/10/74

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Saints do NOT sin

Voice #1, “So-n-So is a sinning saint.” Voice #2, “No, he ain’t.”

Voice #1, “Ain’t is not correct grammar.” Voice #2, “You’re exactly right and the idea of a ‘sinning saint’ is not correct theology.” Please, friend, rid yourself of all theological theories which contradict the Bible. “We know that whosoever is born of God sinneth not…” (1Jo 5.8).

Correct grammar is pretty and good. Correct theology is beautiful and best.

– eab, 2/10/17

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