Trees are the answer.

A Cold Day in Hell.

1886 Chili

2 lbs cubed beef (stew beef works well, or brisket), 1 inch cubes, not ground (won't stand up)
1.5 cups chopped red onion
2 garlic cloves, minced
4 oz chili powder (Pendery's is best, Bolner's Fiesta and Gebhardt’s are the best grocery store powders, or Adams, or your favorite bulk style… but no Durkee’s or other yankee powder.)
2 tsp salt
1 tsp ground Comino/Cumin
1 10oz can of RO*TEL Diced Tomatoes and Green Chilies (Medium)
16 oz beer (Spaten Optimator is best. WARNING! The use of any Budwieser, Miller, or Coors product can result in severe abdominal cramps and/or diarrhea.)
1 tbsp Black Strap Molasses
1 tsp Masa Harina (corn meal will work)
1 dried Ancho pepper, crushed
1 smoked Jalapeño (large), chopped

Sear beef until grey. Drain off liquid. Add all ingredients to pot (or Crock Pot) EXCEPT Masa Harina.

Simmer 3 hours.
Skim grease.
Mix Masa Harina into a liquid paste and stir in.
Simmer for 1 hour, or until meat is tender.

Garnish with chopped white onions and grated cheddar cheese if desired.
Serve with saltine crackers, or on a bed of Fritos.  East Coast Liberals may use oyster crackers without penalty.

Serves 4 to 6 people. Adjust ingredients accordingly.

ACTUALLY TASTES BEST THE NEXT DAY AFTER SETTING IN FRIDGE OVERNIGHT.

WARNING! The use of any legumes in this recipe can result in intestinal gas, severe abdominal cramps and/or diarrhea.

33/67

In 1984 I hit bottom.

One night just before Thanksgiving, while working in my studio/duplex, I saw myself dancing in a slow, descending circle with the Author of Death himself. I fell to my knees and reached up to the bookshelf in desperation. I took down my previously seldom opened Book of Common Prayer that my grandmother had given me. I opened it ‘blindly’ to the martyred Archbishop Thomas Cranmer's "Prayer of Humble Access" and prayed...

"We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen."

The following Sunday, I went up to visit my parents and to make my semi-annual church visit, with them. I sat in the pew and fought back tears. Above the altar at St. Luke's, Denison, Texas, is a stained glass with the awkward quotation from the Gospel of Luke (18:16), "Suffer the little children to come unto me..." Right then and there I asked Jesus to help me. “I’m a child. I’m suffering. I can’t do this by myself, without you. If you’ll have me, I’m yours.” I gave myself to Him as I told Him that I was powerless to do otherwise.

 Waiting my turn, I went up to receive Holy Communion with my folks.

Kneeling, I received the Host ("This is the body of our Lord, Jesus Christ, given for you."), a small wafer of unleavened bread. Then I received the Chalice of wine to my lips ("This is the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, shed for you."). I felt a powerful surge of pure energy enter my body. Time appeared to stand still. The entire Sanctuary was filled with a white light that made the dark stained wood walls appear translucent and milky. What seemed to be several minutes was in reality a few seconds, as the chalice bearer moved on to the next communicate. I had come out of the water and breathed my first new breath.

Thanks be to God.

32/66

11-11-11

This is a picture from The Department of Defense of Joseph Ambrose, an 86-year-old World War I veteran, attends the dedication day parade for the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in 1982. He is holding the flag that covered the casket of his son, who was killed in the Korean War.

Reading the handwriting on the wall.

This past Sunday, I awoke to discover that a horrific attack had taken place in Orlando, Florida. When I read of the deadly carnage at a Gay nightclub, I thought of the homosexual friends/acquaintances I have in that town, of their safety, their fears, and their community. My first thought was that it was a jealous lover's revenge killing gone 'out of control', but then I saw the name of the attacker. "ISIS related," I thought.

I soon saw a Facebook post about the Lieutenant Governor of Texas, Dan Patrick, posting a Biblical passage on Twitter. I read the pictorial tweet, and I initially thought it was in response to the Orlando attack. It was a passage I know well (from Paul's Letter to the Galatians, chapter 6, verse 7), and one that I had just read on Friday morning as appointed by the Consultation on Church Union's Revised Common Lectionary for my daily morning prayer and Bible reading/study.

I know the context of the passage, and I assumed it was a reference to ISIS/ISIL/Radical Islam. The point of the letter is the Galatians turning from unearned salvation through God's Grace, to an attempt to earn salvation via the Law. This is a heresy that Islam is not only guilty of, but one that it is founded upon. The gift of Salvation by Grace, accomplished on the Cross by God in the person of jesus, is not something to throw away. God will not be mocked. By turning away from God's sacrificial atonement, we will reap from what we have sown.

But almost immediately, my Facebook feed was inundated with outrage, angry, hateful posts, accusing Lt. Governor Patrick of justifying the attack. Patrick's office posted an 'apology' for the regular Sunday Morning tweet of his, saying it was automatically posting Sunday morning, and that it was generated on the prior Thursday (well before the attack). His staff apologized for the pain it caused.

The furor didn't die down. Various newspapers ran with it, implying the post was an intentional response to the Orlando shooting, and all but accusing Patrick of lying. Shameful ignorance, or partisan misrepresentation?

Then it struck me. This was a modern-day version of the Old Testament 'Handwriting on the Wall' episode (Chapter 5, the Book of Daniel), and the fall of King Belshazzar. The tweet was not God's handwriting on the wall at a Royal Feast, but it was interpreted as such by the guests of 'The Feast' that our modern libertine culture has set us (and demands we all partake of).

The guests are outraged, for they know all too well that as they sow, so they will reap. Every contrivance to wash away the stain of guilt fails. "Out, damn spot!"

But the guilt remains, and is turned on others in unrighteous anger and vilification.

"Speak softly, and..." put your hands behind your head.

If you aren't offened, you aren't paying attention.

If not now, when? ...and why then?

Life and Death on Mars.

Pro life, anti death.

In 1919, a 13 year old girl in Oklahoma was raped. Rather than put the baby up for adoption, or turn to the arcane arts offered by some mid-wives at the time to terminate the pregnancy, the young girl and her mother decided to keep the child and raise it together (at great familial cost). That 13 year old girl was my grandmother. The baby was my mother.

In early 1950, my mother was told by her OB/GYN that she wasn't pregnant as she thought, but that she had an intrauterine tumor that needed to be surgically removed immediately. My mother declined the doctors advice, choosing instead to wait. They were both right.

On August 19th, 1950, I was born. My mother did indeed have a intrauterine non-malignant tumor that was removed about ten years later... six years after the birth of my sister. Perhaps this helps to explain my passion for the unborn.

In some ways, I am twice a survivor.

It can't be 'un-seen'.

Germany, 1945.

Houston, 2015.

Roar.

When 'Science' and 'Magick' agree.

There has been an odd coming-together of the followers of 'Science' and the 'Occult Arts'.

In the late 1960s, I ran with a pretty artsy/hippie crowd. Among my circle of acquaintances (and one friend) were some very serious professional/semi-professional astrologers (not astronomers, although I knew a few of them as well... later). I found what they did and believed entertaining and fascinating in an arcane sort of way, and I was flattered by the chart one of them drew for me based upon my moment of birth, but I never applied this gnostic knowledge more than using "Hey, what's your sign?" when meeting girls. The whole idea of a person's identity being set when they breached the womb just made no sense to me. 

But at least three times over the last few days, I have heard and read different, well educated people (two of whom I used to respect), people who often rely of 'science' as their appeal for support, state that a 'fetus' isn't a person until it is born. Before that, it isn't a human being at all.

These followers of 'science' voiced the exact same belief as did the followers of astrology I knew forty years ago: a fetus is 'formed' into a human being at the moment it breaches the womb (as if inclusion in "humanity" is accomplished by the inflating of the lungs). Before then, it is just a "product of reproduction."

True then, knowing it would be true now.

"Claiming to be wise, they became fools; and they exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling a mortal human being or birds or four-footed animals or reptiles.

Therefore God gave them up in the lusts of their hearts to impurity, to the degrading of their bodies among themselves, because they exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever! Amen."

Paul's Letter to the Romans, 1:22-25

Art history.

The death of science.

 

There's a problem here. It's more than a misunderstanding, and it's not simply ignorance. There is good dose of arrogance, however. Do you see it?

Yeti is a manufacturer of rigorously designed ice chests and accessories, including thermal drinking cups like this one (this is their 'small' size model). They really do apply some of the best available technology to create containers that will retain temperatures for long periods of time, hot or cold. Stainless steel, double-walled travel cups are no big deal, and this one far out performs the other name-brand ones I have. Far outperforms. I filled two vessels this morning (6:15 a.m.) with 200° F degree water. Within an hour, the contents of one cup had cooled to 152° F. The Yeti had cooled to 180°. Eight hours later, vessel #1 had cooled to room temperature (65°), while the contents of the Yeti were 112°. That's impressive performance. But...

"KEEPS YOUR DRINK AS COLD AS SCIENCE ALLOWS" is the marketing motto on the cup. Since when did Science have consciousness? 'Science' is a methodology at its basic level, a reservoir of knowledge at its highest level. At its basic level, it is a rigorous method of investigation, designed to leave nothing to 'chance' or prejudice. At it's highest level, it's an ever-changing amorphous, non-sentient, entity. It doesn't "allow" anything. It enables, at best, through discovery and application.

But in our culture, 'Science' has been deified by many, led by anti-theists (atheists), but mimicked by the gullible. In the popular culture, it's easy to see the word "science" used as a name, as "Science." This entity Science replaces (or co-exists in competition with) the notion of a god/s, with a Creator God, and with Yaweh (reducing Yaweh to a mere god, or replacing 'Him' with a new god). As a believer in the Creator God Yaweh, and as a believer in the investigative truth of science, this alarms me, because it's a dangerous disservice to both.

The outcome promises to be a great steaming pile of 'not good' for all involved. The heat will be retained at all costs.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Just thought you might like to see a photo of where I come from (literally... on a couple of levels).

This is a shot of my mother, Freda June Rice-Taylor Summer, taken in about 1971. We had just finished putting the horses back into the pasture after she and my sister had been on a ride. This was shot on our small piece of land in Grayson County, Texas. Situated on a bluff above the Red River, our property was right on the historic Preston Trail.

Of all the remarkable folks who traveled down that trail into Texas (one of the earliest entries into Texas was the Red River ford at Coffee's Fort, just a couple of miles down the road), none were greater in my eyes than June Summer. A believer of the first order, she would be 95 today. She passed into Paradise in 1988 at the age of 68.

Thanks for everything, Mom. Especially for the prayers. I know you're pleased with your great grand-daughter and namesake.

Once upon a time...

...I saw something almost exactly like this in a cup on the table. Wondrous love.




Image credits