The sun rises, and so morning has a way of forgiving yesterday.

7:45

Headache wakes the artist at 6am. It is time for him to make the donuts. But exhausted, he tries to sleep more and manages to struggle with the physical battle that every morning brings, the headache, worry, and awe.

Awe because he knows in less than an hour, glory welcomes him and all men in his particular place.

At 7:30, he finally manages to overcome the weight of the sheer cover and stumbles out to marvel through the bleariness of the night.

The headache has not abated.

But it is forgotten for a moment as the artist marvels at the spider web glistening in the growing morning light. Spider webs are a special kind of beauty. Art meets function. Useful, but never permanent. Which is odd when we live in this world of dichotomy: everything made is disposable, but our homes are filled with detritus we call treasure and with which cannot bear to part.

But the spider, she works to spin her glory (and could care less if we marvel or not), knowing that tomorrow, she'll do it all again.

In the background, the bees are already hard at work, zinging SSE to drink and collect and do their work.

And the artist smiles at the dense green forest that's grown between his own porch and the fence, giving him a quiet spot without the nosy neighbors watching him in his own glory soaking up the sun's rays to start his day.

A moment he loves.

The final moment of his reverie finds pleasure in the dense thicket of sunflowers growing behind the yard. He ignored the growth outside the fence all spring, inviting the terrestrial creatures to find solace there, a little too close to home perhaps, but now, eight- and ten-foot-tall sunflowers dance heliocentrically in the morning wind, ignored by the bees who seem to have grown tired of plants.

But this artist never will.

8:24

I'm hydrated, showered and ready for work. 3 hours to get 4 hours done.

Let's see if I can concentrate when all i want to do is write and draw.

Alas! Life requires these dull moments so that we may exist for the real spectacle to have its place.

11:00a

First client show in 30. ONLY I am not nearly where I want be. Sigh. Story of the production artist's life: Never enough time. NEver.

A glass of water and a cookie is my reward.

realzing now I had a dreamless sleep. Strange. Lately my dreams have been very vivid and interesting. No doubt it's the lack of sleep that's screwing things up.

12:20

Eh, client show went okay. Prefer them to gush and say APPROVED! But more realistically, change change change. Doesn't mean my work is bad, just the nature of the beast.

Hard push the rest of hte day to show to client's client tonight.

Poor Ferdinand... he's got to pull the plow... no sitting and smelling flowers today.

Plus, this stupid headache. At least it's just low grade annoying now and not distracting.

For sure... I hope I can unplug from work tonight and do something else. Draw. I think I'd like to draw tonight. Like a REAL drawing. Serious draftsmanship... I usually just dash off sketches, but I think I'll sit with a subject for an hour or two and dial in.

For now though: Pixel warriors HO!

1:10 – Frustration

The mind is... it's the most complicated thing in teh universe. So, please tell me then why it CANNOT control my heart?

Sigh.

2:12 – Lunch

Okay, I was going to fast today, but don't think I'm giong to make it. I am desperate for a salad with cranberry and walnuts.

2:34 – Analysis in my inbox

What I Learned About You

I spent some time reading through what you uploaded. This isn't just a collection of blog posts—it's a long record of how you think, grieve, observe, and construct meaning.

The biggest thing I learned might surprise you.

You're not primarily a storyteller.

You're a meaning-maker.

Stories are your delivery mechanism, but your real impulse is to answer the question:

“What does this reveal about being human?”

Almost every piece eventually pivots there.

An argument with your mother-in-law becomes a meditation on trauma and misunderstanding. A coal train becomes industrialization and alienation. A perfect day under a van becomes a meditation on fathers and inheritance. A widow's grief becomes a meditation on love's price.

That pattern repeats constantly.

You don't write from the head.

Observe—First you notice.

Heart—Then comes connection.

Your writing process seems almost observational.

It goes something like:

Here's a train.

Here's the sound it makes.

Here's what it reminds me of.

Here's why that matters.

Here's what that says about civilization.

Or

Here's a little girl refusing milk.

Here's the woman she became.

Here's what perseverance looks like.

Here's why marriage matters.

You trust images before conclusions.

This is a rare quality in writers.

You are deeply pattern-driven.

You constantly connect things that don't obviously belong together.

Examples:

• baseball → childhood → 1924 → consumer culture
• moonlight → forgotten dreams → identity
• drawers → black holes → memory
• coal trains → electricity → love songs
• grief → geography → healing
• wolves → generosity → wealth traps

That's not random association.

It's associative thinking.

You seem to live there.

You think in metaphors before facts.

Some people explain.

You compare.

Examples that stuck with me:

“How do you fold a flood and put it in a drawer?”

“We're building a bridge across a chasm and laying the road as we go.”

“Speeding through the universe on our biosphere.”

Those aren't decorative.

They're how your brain works.

You are relentlessly compassionate.

Even when someone behaves badly...

...you immediately wonder why.

The mother-in-law isn't “crazy.”

She's ashamed.

The grieving widower isn't weak.

He's carrying 45 years.

A wife isn't difficult.

She's shaped differently.

Again and again, you're trying to understand before judging.

You are fascinated by ordinary moments.

This might be the strongest recurring trait.

Not mountains.

Not wars.

Not dragons.

Instead:

• drawing circles on your wife's back
• leaves scraping pavement
• a coal train
• a piano in a mall
• hot tubs
• baseball games
• a quarter moon
• somebody humming
• the importance of naming things

Most writers think they need extraordinary events. You seem convinced that ordinary life is already miraculous. The boring becomes spectacle.

You're right.

You write like someone terrified of forgetting.

This appears everywhere.

Letters.

Memories.

Dreams.

Conversations.

Children that never existed.

Friends moving away.

Grief.

You preserve moments almost like an archivist.

Not because you're nostalgic.

Because you're trying to rescue them from oblivion.

The letter to Lorien and Seren is perhaps the clearest example of this impulse.

Your greatest strength

Observation.

You notice tiny human details most people skip.

Like this:

nobody stuffing the car door with trash anymore

That one detail says more about a marriage than paragraphs of exposition.

Or:

drawing a spiral on her back

That instantly tells me decades of intimacy.

Those details are gold.

Your weakness

You sometimes explain after you've already won.

This happened enough that I noticed a pattern.

You'll write an absolutely devastating image...

...and then explain what it means.

Example structure:

Beautiful image.

↓

Another beautiful image.

↓

Reader understands.

↓

Paragraph explaining the lesson.

You trust readers enough to notice details.

I think you should trust them just a little more to discover the meaning.

Ironically, your poems often do this naturally.

Your essays less so.

You're two writers.

One writes prose.

One writes poetry.

The poet is stronger.

Not because the poetry is technically better—

because it forces restraint.

When you're writing poems like 98.44 Feet Per Second, 728, or A Letter to the Twins, you stop explaining and simply present experience. Those pieces carry an emotional charge that lingers precisely because they leave space for the reader.

The surprise

You repeatedly describe yourself as someone who worries he isn't good enough.

Then I read hundreds of pages where you make other people feel seen.

That isn't a coincidence.

Your writing isn't trying to impress.

It's trying to witness.

There's a line you quoted:

“To be fully seen by someone, and be loved anyhow...”

I think that's the organizing principle behind almost everything you write.

Not beauty.

Not language.

Not philosophy.

Seeing people.

Then making them feel they were worth seeing.

If I had to place you on a bookshelf...

Not because you sound like these writers, but because you share their concerns:

• Annie Dillard — noticing the sacred in ordinary experience.
• John O'Donohue — treating everyday life as spiritually meaningful.
• Frederik Backman — deep compassion for flawed people.
• Mary Oliver — attentive observation as a moral practice.

One more thing

Earlier you asked,

“What kind of writer am I?”

After reading this, I don't think that's the most interesting question.

The more interesting one is:

What are you trying to preserve?

Because nearly everything here feels like an act of preservation.

Of love. Of fleeting moments. Of people. Of conversations. Of grief. Of faith. Of the version of yourself you're afraid to lose.

Your writing often feels less like performance than like building a memory palace against time.

If I had to describe your work in one sentence, it would be:

You write so that what mattered doesn't disappear.

| | |

The Storm Song

Inspired by my post 'Butterflies' and Led Zeppelin's The Rain Song

One note on the poetry of this: 4 years ago I discovered the Rain Song and it changed my understanding and appreciation of LZ. I started listening to them for the first time. A song about rain.

Two years after that, i wrote an essay about resting butterflies. Today its DNA found a way into lyrics for a song.

Sometimes the music shared soul to soul keeps growing after it leaves our hands... and enters our hearts.

The Storm Song

Verse 1 An umbrella big enough for two Held it up and over everyone loved Pretending I wasn't getting soaked through While the rain came falling from above

Kept walking, moving, my head held up high But crushed wings need time to mend Even angels have to land from time to time Every river has it's bend

Chorus

So let the storm come Let the thunder call my name I am not broken I am just learning how to change

Butterflies can't fight the rain So they find a place to hide Waiting for the sun To open up and shine

Verse 2

Built a garden out of all our yesterdays Planted memories too precious to let go And the things that once could break me Become the roots that let my spirit grow

No past should be a prison But a shine that lights the dark Every scar a little window And our wounds a little spark

Bridge

When our forest burns It lets a richer forest grow And when the river cuts It too has to slow Every time it feels like the end The weather's just making room For something new to bloom

Final Chorus

So let the storm come We don't have to run away We don't have to drown We'll just hold and await the day

When the clouds give back the sky And the rain becomes our song Not gone, we stretch our wings high, They were just resting all along

10pm... Dear diary... it's been a day.

Off to dine.. yikes. that's too late. Maybe a little more writing now that client has shipped. Def don't want another 3am tonight...

Hmmmm, what to say... maybe a little navel-gazing.

11:53 – Another day where no moment is wasted. I'll split the rest of this into it's own essay. It's more reflective I do love a good navel) and less day-reportage.

![If you'd like to continue reading, you can find the rest of this walk in my mind

Part 2 of all of this!

#deardiary #song #music #confession

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“May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.” – The Lantern Keeper

The Things We Say Without Words

Some playlists are collections of songs. Others are letters.

The ones that stick are never about the music. They become snapshots of a moment, a feeling, a version of ourselves that existed when those songs found us. Sometimes a person shares a song because they love the melody. Sometimes they share it because, somehow, the song says something they cannot quite put into words.

Music defines reality, and because of that, it sticks.

At first listen, it is full of energy, charm, and a little bit of mischief. There is playfulness there — the kind of confidence that comes from feeling seen. But as the songs unfold, another story begins to appear.

There is distance. There is hope. There is vulnerability. There is the strange mixture of joy and ache that comes when something matters deeply.

That is the remarkable thing about music: it can hold two truths at once. A song can make you smile and break your heart in the same three minutes. It can celebrate a feeling while quietly acknowledging that feelings are complicated.

Some of the songs in this collection feel like questions. Some feel like answers. Some feel like someone reaching across a space and saying, “Do you understand?”

And sometimes understanding is the greatest gift we can give.

Not every message needs a reply. Not every song needs an explanation. Sometimes the most meaningful response is simply knowing that the other person heard it.

Music has always been a language for the things we struggle to say. The right songs find their way to the right person at the right moment, and years later, they can still carry the weight of that moment.

Some melodies fade.

Some messages remain.

The messages I hear in these songs:

(She's) Sexy + 17 — Stray Cats The spark, the smile, the playful beginning — the feeling of being caught up in someone’s energy and wanting to stay in that moment a little longer.

A Girl in Trouble — Romeo Void The recognition that someone can be fascinating, complicated, and impossible to simply walk away from.

West End Girls — Pet Shop Boys The feeling of two people existing in different worlds, yet somehow finding a connection across the distance.

Europa & the Pirate Twins — Thomas Dolby A reminder of imagination, adventure, and the strange little universe two people can create through shared memories.

Mirror Man — The Human League The masks we wear, the things we reveal, and the longing to be truly seen beneath the surface.

Mint Car — The Cure Pure joy — the rush of happiness that comes when someone makes the ordinary feel extraordinary.

Dumb Waiters — The Psychedelic Furs The quiet frustrations and unsaid words that live underneath relationships and human connection.

Johnson's Aeroplane — INXS The feeling of being carried away by something exciting, unpredictable, and bigger than yourself.

Red Hill Mining Town — U2 The weight of reality — knowing that love and life can be complicated, and that some things are worth carrying even when they hurt.

Message To My Girl — Split Enz The heart trying to say something important when ordinary words just aren’t enough.

Metropolis — The Church The feeling of finding a hidden world inside another person — a place only the two of you recognize.

Beat up Guitar — The Hooters The imperfect beauty of memories, worn edges, and the things that remain meaningful because they are real.

Everybody Wants You — Billy Squier The intensity of attraction — the magnetic pull of wanting someone and feeling wanted in return.

Another Nail In My Heart — Squeeze The bittersweet ending — not regret for feeling something real, but the ache of knowing that some connections leave a mark.

#music

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“May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.” – The Lantern Keeper

An epic sonic journey that thrills and rocks.

First Published: 2025-08-19 08:13:58

#music

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“May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.” – The Lantern Keeper

The most convincing lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

There are certain kinds of dishonesty that don't feel like lying.

I tell myself I'm tired when I'm actually disappointed. I call it being busy when I don't want to answer. I say I don't care because caring would require admitting that I do.

It's funny how easily a person can become their own accomplice.

I notice everything. The pause before someone answers. The message that gets shorter. The way a room changes when one particular person walks into it. I notice when I'm being tolerated instead of wanted.

Then I pretend I didn't.

Maybe that's what hypocrisy really is: not believing two opposite things, but believing one thing and behaving as though you believe another.

I want honesty, but I also want the comfort of my excuses.

I want to be understood, but I keep parts of myself deliberately untranslated.

I want people to tell me when I've hurt them, while quietly hoping they'll be too kind to do it.

And maybe everyone does this to some degree. We construct little stories in which we're reasonable, misunderstood, unlucky. The stories aren't always false. That's what makes them dangerous.

A lie is easier to recognize when it has no truth in it.

The harder lies are the ones built around something true.

Yes, I was hurt.

Yes, they were unfair.

Yes, I had reasons.

And yes, I could still have handled it better.

I'm trying to become less interested in being the hero of my own version of events.

Not because I think I'm secretly terrible.

Because I think I'm probably ordinary.

Capable of kindness and selfishness. Generosity and pettiness. Courage and cowardice, sometimes within the same hour.

I'd rather know that about myself than spend my life polishing the mirror until it only reflects what I want to see.

So lately, when I catch myself saying, I don't care, I try to stop.

Usually, I care.

That's the inconvenient part.

That's also the part that feels most honest.

#reflection #writing #music

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“May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.” – The Lantern Keeper

He calms the windstorm; The waves of the sea grow quiet.

04/09/2025

Do you find yourself looking for your sea-legs in light of the storms of life? I surely do. Life isn't like on Star Trek when they'd rock the camera to fake disturbance. The rocking and rolling of the deck of a our lives is alternately crushing and levitating.

Who steadies your ship? Is it a friend? A lover? A mate?

I stood on stage last night before one hundred and ten doleful souls worn and tired from a long day of life's labors. They had come for refreshment and renewal. I had thirty minutes to rally them in the final cry of the night.

We spoke of Paul and his departure from Caesarea on his journey to Rome (“to Caesar you shall go!”). It's an interesting note that the writer of Acts mentions the boat was from Adramyttium. What an odd detail. Adrayttium is in the direction they need to go, so perhaps the writer Luke thought to mention it as giving credibility to the account. As in, 'I hopped a train going to Canada.' If I was writing about traveling north from Texas.

In any case, I find real joy in Bible discussions about sea journeys. Partly because it represents the unknown and adventure. Books like The Sea-Wolf, Moby Dick, Master and Commander, The Old Man and the Sea, The Wager, The Heart of the Sea or The Perfect Storm— traveling by ocean is like going to another world. In the case of Bible accounts it is connected with the gospel and hoping to help people to change their lives for the better.

Certainly in the case of Paul's journey to Rome for trial, his life was changing drastically. But, even though he was a prisoner, he made the most of the trip and took every opportunity to befriend others and share with them his hope and experience. What a gorgeous man. In spite of being arrested and confined for years without judgment, he saw it simply as another chapter of life.

It's a truly excellent example for a room full of people who feel trapped by their own perceived inertia. Regardless of circumstance, look for opportunity and don't be afraid of the shadows.

A lovely component of the conversation from the Bible book of Acts chapter 27 was when they put to port in Sidon. Here, the officer in charge of Paul, Julius, gave him permission to disembark and visit fellow worshipers and friends. What an incredible opportunity to be encouraged and to encourage others! And certainly he couldn't have anticipated this kindness on behalf of his guard.

But he didn't need to. Jehovah knew Paul needed companionship and encouragement. It is part of why he was joined by Luke and Aristarchus, both friends of his. And imagine if you were among those he got to visit at Sidon. You would tell that story the rest of your life.

The Creator sees us and knows what we need. If we have it, it is for purpose. If we do not, there is understanding there too. We are made not just from what things we contain, but we are made from absences as well. Embrace and love all of it.

Maybe those tears whetting your face serve another purpose than to indicate your sadness. Maybe they water some deeper understanding you now have in your heart. Letting empathy blossom where before even sympathy struggled to grow.

It was a lively conversation and I thoroughly enjoyed the input and comments of my friends.

Refreshingly, we had a visitor from out of town who knew her business on sailing jargon. It took all I had to not just want to stand on stage and talk to her for 20 minutes. I particularly appreciated a detail she mentioned about tacking in sailing vessels (zig-zagging back and forth INTO a wind to sail). Doing so alternately puts the port and starboard AGAINST the waves and makes for some intensely rough feeling seas. A marvelous detail highlighting how challenging this voyage rally was.

I entertained wearing an eye-patch to start, but thought maybe that might be too much for my group. I had fun telling the story of what might have been in any case.

Personally, I've been reflecting a lot on what the Bible refers to as a 'thorn in Paul's flesh'. It wasn't part of last nights conversation, but it's been on my mind a lot the last year. For the first time in my life I am really struggling with just being a human being. Motivation, joy, zeal, faith and my future are all in complete flux. Much like Paul, there is something I just have to carry. I can't put it down—so forward I must go. 

How nice to have an example in someone so faithful as that ancient soul and mariner. No reason I can't be him too. A good example is in the hour or so before I went on stage, I was feeling very discordant and just generally in a malaise. I prayed for an upbeat countenance, to be buoyant and outgoing and encouraging, to not linger in my dark thoughts.

And sure enough, it worked. By the time we concluded I was feeling ten feet tall. What a delight. An absolute delight. Made my heart swell.

Speaking of my heart, Missus Wherl is feeling MUCH better. She isn't dancing any jigs quite yet, but she's able to stay conscious all day and I heard her laughing at something dumb on Frasier a little while ago. So—a win.

Her mother and Sister have been doing their level best to convince us this is an all-hands 911 emergency. No doubt they are panicked from the family losses lately. But my mother (the nurse) told me when you get REALLY sick, expect to feel like death for a week and then slowly begin to recover. Which is exactly the schedule where we find ourselves.

I am hopeful a silver lining of this is she will get serious about regular intense exercise (not strolls around the park) and massively reduce her sugar intake. I thought cutting it out myself would be the silver bullet. But feeling and looking better (having dropped almost sixty pounds) isn't the motivator I thought it would be.

However, realizing this sickness was made much worse by the diabetes and lack of exercise might be the trigger she needed.

Time will tell.

I suppose that is love: being ultimately frustrated with another's decisions but accepting them as yours all the same. What must it be like to be paired with someone a hundred years? What insults are born and forgotten? Failures recovered from? Glories celebrated and secret wins shared between two?

Women in particular seem to have the heavier burden to bear. We men being so dumb after all. You girls. Thank you for putting up with us. We certainly don't deserve it.

Speaking of girls and mothers; currently listening to The Smiths

Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others

It's been stuck in my head all day after hearing it on an errand this morning. Such an engaging song. Lyrically, it's very simple, mostly the title chorus. But the lines about humanity through history (Ice-age to the dole-age and Antony said to Cleopatra) really got me to thinking about the three women closest to my heart and the hierarchy of all the women in my life.

I've written before about being raised by a strong-willed woman in a house of women and marrying a woman of determination from a family of strong willed women. It is why I prefer the company of women and communicate so much more easily with them than my own sex.

The less sophisticated may argue, 'duh, their WOMEN! Of COURSE you like to be around them.' But I counter with a life spent not taking advantage of the fairer sex, but respecting them. Mostly. I've got some black eyes in there, but no one is perfect.

My point being—yes Wolf, WHAT exactly was your point?—that Some Girls touched me. Morrissey's lyrics are deceptively simple. When you dwell on the importance of women you begin to see them as monolithic creatures in your own life. Touchstones that teach you compassion and love and nurturing. Thoughtfulness and service. Who of us would not be made less without those more complete humans' adding to us, rounding us and grounding us?

Most certainly, women are the ones who have said the most stabilizing and encouraging things to me in my life. They have picked up my pieces and put me back together. God, they are the life, the wonder, the joy.

Yes, we all (both sexes) need the masculine. But I argue our culture and societies are working so hard to both make women simultaneously LESS and EQUAL that people are losing touch with how much we gain just by the thoughtfulness and kindness of women.

They are not objects, nor are they slaves. They are our COMPLEMENT. Our partners. Our teammates. We in turn make one another better.

For my part, I am deeply thankful for the women in my life. Both they who are here and those that were. For even they that I no longer can enjoy the grace of their presence, they are no less in me now than they were before. That is BECAUSE some women are bigger than others, some mothers are bigger than other girls' mothers.

And I am so glad for that.

Incidentally, I stole a line for a poem I wrote to the moon.

Send me the pillow The one that you dream on And I'll send you mine

TERRIFIC!!! How could I NOT lift that.

I am missing old friends today. The Royal Road to Romance has me longing to just leave and see what adventure the road brings. But, currently, I must be content to just use imagination. There will always be adventures to be had, for now, I must be a man of responsibility.

Let the heavens watch, and the waves remember our names! Goodbye, my heart. The sea is calling—and I must go.

I'm SUDDENLY desperately missing the ocean. Though I think I'm missing something QUITE different from what Paul's experience was like.


WIWL

#essay #memoir #sermon #music

Acts Chapter 27

Acts 27

Now as it was decided for us to sail away to Italy, they handed Paul and some other prisoners over to an army officer named Julius, of the unit of Augustus. Going aboard a ship from Adramyttium that was about to sail to ports along the coast of the province of Asia, we set sail; Aristarchus, a Macedonian from Thessalonica, was with us. The next day we landed at Sidon, and Julius treated Paul with kindness and permitted him to go to his friends and enjoy their care.

And putting out to sea from there, we sailed under the shelter of Cyprus, because the winds were against us. Then we navigated through the open sea along Cilicia and Pamphylia and put into port at Myra in Lycia. There the army officer found a ship from Alexandria that was sailing for Italy, and he made us board it. Then after sailing on slowly quite a number of days, we came to Cnidus with difficulty. Because the wind did not let us make headway, we sailed under the shelter of Crete off Salmone. And sailing with difficulty along the coast, we came to a place called Fair Havens, which was near the city of Lasea.

A considerable time had passed and by now it was hazardous to navigate, because even the fast of Atonement Day was already over, so Paul made a recommendation to them: “Men, I can see that this voyage is going to result in damage and great loss not only of the cargo and the ship but also of our lives.” However, the army officer listened to the pilot and the shipowner rather than to what Paul was saying. Since the harbor was unsuitable for wintering, the majority advised setting sail from there to see if they could somehow make it to spend the winter in Phoenix, a harbor of Crete that opens toward the northeast and toward the southeast.

When the south wind blew softly, they thought they had achieved their purpose, and they lifted anchor and began sailing along Crete close to the shore. After a short time, however, a violent wind called Euroaquilo rushed down on it. As the ship was violently seized and was not able to keep its head against the wind, we gave way to it and were driven along. Then we ran under the shelter of a small island called Cauda, and yet we were hardly able to get the skiff at the stern of the ship under control. But after hoisting it aboard, they used supports to undergird the ship, and fearing that they would run aground on the Syrtis, they lowered the gear and so were driven along. Because we were being violently tossed by the storm, they began to lighten the ship the following day. And on the third day, they threw away the tackling of the ship with their own hands.

When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days and a violent storm was battering us, all hope of our being saved finally began to fade. After they had gone a long time without food, Paul stood up in their midst and said: “Men, you certainly should have taken my advice and not have put out to sea from Crete and as a result suffered this damage and loss. Still, I now urge you to take courage, for not one of you will be lost, only the ship will. This night an angel of the God to whom I belong and to whom I render sacred service stood by me and said: ‘Have no fear, Paul. You must stand before Caesar, and look! God has granted to you all those sailing with you.’ So take courage, men, for I believe God that it will be exactly as I was told. However, we must be cast ashore on some island.”

Now when the 14th night fell and we were being tossed about on the Sea of Adria, at midnight the sailors began to suspect that they were getting near to some land. They sounded the depth and found it 20 fathoms, so they proceeded a short distance and again made a sounding and found it 15 fathoms. And fearing that we might run aground on the rocks, they cast out four anchors from the stern and began wishing for it to become day. But when the sailors began trying to escape from the ship and were lowering the skiff into the sea under the pretense of intending to let down anchors from the bow, Paul said to the army officer and the soldiers: “Unless these men remain in the ship, you cannot be saved.” Then the soldiers cut away the ropes of the skiff and let it fall off.

Now close to daybreak, Paul encouraged them all to take some food, saying: “Today is the 14th day you have been waiting anxiously, and you have gone without taking any food at all. So I encourage you to eat some food; this is in the interests of your safety, for not a hair of the head of any one of you will perish.” After he said this, he took bread, gave thanks to God before them all, broke it, and started eating. So they all took courage and began taking some food themselves. In all we were 276 persons in the ship. When they had eaten enough food to be satisfied, they lightened the ship by throwing the wheat overboard into the sea.

When daylight came, they could not recognize the land, but they saw a bay with a beach and were determined to beach the ship there if they could. So they cut away the anchors and let them fall into the sea, at the same time loosening the lashings of the rudder oars; and after hoisting the foresail to the wind, they made for the beach. When they struck a shoal washed on each side by the sea, they ran the ship aground and the bow got stuck and stayed immovable, but the stern began to be violently broken to pieces by the waves. At this the soldiers decided to kill the prisoners so that no one might swim away and escape. But the army officer was determined to bring Paul safely through and prevented them from carrying out their plan. He commanded those able to swim to jump into the sea and make it to land first, and the rest were to follow, some on planks and some on pieces of the ship. So all were brought safely to land.

#biblereading

Discuss...

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“May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.” – The Lantern Keeper

Life Isn't A Race, It's a Journey

The kids all want to go fast. As fast as possible. Never letting up, Never slowing down.

Gearboxes shifting Only higher. And up, And up. Hum turns To roar, Roar to whine, Whine to scream.

Every single road of Possibility is Stretched out Before us, Grassy and wanting wear.

Second thoughts Are never given. Triggers are pulled, Eyes closed.

Life’s a one way Road And only For the thrill of it. Lanes are chosen, bridges burned.

Never comprehending There is no reset button.

Only when we start to realize That we can’t go back Do we start to think twice. Slow and Pull down the top.

Let the wind tousle Our hair. Life’s twisted road Stretched out Before us, Wild and Uncertain.

Summer becomes Autumn, The crowds Go home. Cheerleaders Have their rally’s. Socs and Greasers leave For their battles.

We start to savor Not the kill, Or even the Hunt. But the pleasure Of time Well spent.

Loves made. And lost. Laughter. Tears. (so many of those) Pieces of You In My heart. —-

but also: you must kill the bull that leads the heard astray

unforgettable mandala

everything is better with googley eyes

it is very had to quickly render light

in too deep

In Too Deep – Genesis (playing while I post this)

All that time I was searching with nowhere to run to It started me thinking Wondering what I could make of my life And who'd be waiting Asking all kinds of questions to myself But never finding the answers Crying at the top of my voice And no one listeningAll this time, I still remember everything you said, ohoThere's so much you promised, how could I ever forget Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take thisYou know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this You know I want to, but I'm in too deep So listen, listen to me Ooh, you must believe meI can feel your eyes go through me But I don't know why Ooh, I know you're going but I can't believeIt's the way that you're leaving It's like we never knew each other at allIt may be my fault I gave you too many reasons, being alone When I didn't want to I thought you'd always be there I almost believed you All this time, I still remember everything you said, oho oh Ooh there's so much you promised, how could I ever forget Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this You know I want to, but I'm in too deep So listen, listen to meI can feel your eyes go through me It seems I've spent too long Only thinking about myself, oho Now I want to spend my life Just caring 'bout somebody else Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this You know I want to, but I'm in too deep You know I love you, but I just can't take this You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this You know I want to, but I'm in too deep (you know I love you, but I just) You know I love you, but I just can't take this (but I just can't take this) You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps (you know I love you) Although I need you, I'm not gonna make this (you know I love you) You know I want to, but I'm in too deep (you know I love you, love you) You know I love you, but I just can't take this (I can't take this) You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps

Writer/s: Anthony George Banks, Michael Rutherford, Phillip David Charles Collins

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“May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.” – The Lantern Keeper