How’s that Change Working out for You?!

Anchor

Hope, an anchor tossed,
Plummeting to fathomless deep,
Careless of the cost.
Hope, an anchor tossed,
Implacable, while storms accost.
Faith, the ground, the keep.
Hope an anchor tossed,
Plummeting to fathomless deep

Copyright Joann Nelander

(experimental triolet)

Perfected Through the Cross

Christogram with Jesus Prayer in Romanian: Lor...

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, the sinner"/ Wikipedia

I would like to offer You the perfect,
But all I have is me.
So, here I am,
Sorrowful, in all my misery.

In hope I approach You,
Through the gaping wound in Your Side,
Through which flowed Your Mercy,
Your Final Word.

Wash me, Son of God,
In that endless river,
Your Life poured out
Throughout Time.

I stand, I kneel,
Then prostrate
At Your Cross,
I wait to receive You.

You are taken down,
And placed in Mary’s arms,
It is in her arms,
I find You.

There with You,
I am held fast,
Giving and receiving,
The Love You have won for Me.

By Joann Nelander

Barak Obama – The Man Inside the Image

H/T Anchoress for directing us to this thought provoking article by Spengler writing about Obama with a view to his late mother,Ann Dunham, and his “rancorous wife, Michelle.”  David P. Goldman exams “Who Is Barack Obama?”

America has the great misfortune to have encountered Obama at the peak of his powers at its worst moment of vulnerability in a generation. With malice aforethought, he has sought out their sore point.

Be afraid – be very afraid. America is at a low point in its fortunes, and feeling sorry for itself. When Barack utters the word “hope”, they instead hear, “handout”. A cynic might translate the national motto, E pluribus unum, as “something for nothing”. Now that the stock market and the housing market have failed to give Americans something for nothing, they want something for nothing from the government. The trouble is that he who gets something for nothing will earn every penny of it, twice over.

“Evil will oft evil mars”, J R R Tolkien wrote. It is conceivable that Barack Obama, if elected, will destroy himself before he destroys the country. Hatred is a toxic diet even for someone with as strong a stomach as Obama. As he recalled in his 1995 autobiography, Dreams From My Father, Obama idealized the Kenyan economist who had married and dumped his mother, and was saddened to learn that Barack Hussein Obama, Sr, was a sullen, drunken polygamist. The elder Obama became a senior official of the government of Kenya after earning a PhD at Harvard. He was an abusive drunk and philanderer whose temper soured his career.

The senior Obama died in a 1982 car crash. Kenyan government officials in those days normally spent their nights drinking themselves stupid at the Pan-Afrique Hotel. Two or three of them would be found with their Mercedes wrapped around a palm tree every morning. During the 1970s I came to know a number of them, mostly British-educated hollow men dying inside of their own hypocrisy and corruption.

Both Obama and the American public should be very careful of what they wish for. As the horrible example of Obama’s father shows, there is nothing worse for an embittered outsider manipulating the system from within than to achieve his goals – and nothing can be more terrible for the system. Even those who despise America for its blunders of the past few years should ask themselves whether the world will be a safer place if America retreats into a self-pitying shell.

Hell – the Abandonment of Hope

We are made with a longing to look upon the face of God.  This is our hope; this is our fulfillment.  What eternal frustration to reject that for which we are made.

We catch a glimpse of  souls on the way to hell, frolicking and laughing in apparent merriment, quipping “How dull a place, heaven.”  Self-satisfied and mocking, they murmur one to the other, “Give me the place of movers and shakers”; “Yes, a place for interesting, unbridled, minds.” “Amen, a place for unleashed and raw emotion.”

Dante has the hell-bent, running in constant activity after a banner upon which nothing is written. To what end the writhing corruption of sin, the lust for feeling until nothing is felt at all.

We are made for so much more.

The Man and The Eagle

The Story