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People we should know

Albert van der Heide’s passion for print

He’s been publishing and selling newspapers and books for more than a half century

*****

If you’ve attended a conference at a Reformed church in the Fraser Valley some time in the last 15 years, you’ve probably enjoyed browsing a book table manned by a friendly, knowledgeable gentleman, eager to discuss good resources and to steer you towards wise godly literature. Albert van der Heide, owner of Vanderheide Publishing, loves discussing ideas, recommending authors, and introducing Christian readers to Christian authors.

Albert ran The Windmill Herald (and Hollandia News) for 42, years, from 1969 to 2012, when the Herald published its last issue.

Anyone who knows Albert learns quickly that he has an almost encyclopedic memory and a wide range of interests. He is one of those people who discovered his life’s passions, and found a path to make a living doing what he loves. And he’s enriched the lives of others along the way. There’s much more to Albert than book tables!

Longtime friend, former boss           

When I was 13, my first job was working in the basement of Albert and Cobie van der Heide’s residence, gluing mailing labels to thousands of Windmill Herald newspapers, and bundling them up for different towns and cities across North America. I can still smell the ink of the freshly printed papers, the musty canvas of the Canada Post mailing bags, and the sweet glue of the labeling machines. (I can still smell my first paycheck too – thanks Albert!)

In the years before the Internet, The Windmill Herald connected Dutch immigrants to news from the homeland, advertised sources for Dutch treats and events, and profiled what kind of lives these new Canadians and Americans were able to build in North America. But as a kid, I had little understanding of how Albert had come into this industry, how he had built this business, and what drove him to continue to work every day long after ceasing to publish the newspaper.

I sat down with Albert recently to learn more about his work and his life. We met in the back office of his Langley, B.C. warehouse and store, surrounded by books and filing cabinets. A couple of times, the bell rang as the front door opened, and Albert jumped up eagerly to help whoever had come in to browse, to buy, or just to chat. He relished the interactions!

While he was helping a visitor pick up some books that she needed, I saw on the wall a certificate that looked pretty official, and then I remembered – technically, I was interviewing a Knight! Albert had received the title from Queen Beatrix in 1993 in recognition of his work in the Dutch community in Canada. Van der Heide is officially a Knight in the Order of Oranje-Nassau, the Dutch royal house. When he returned, I reminded him: “Glad you could make time for me today, Sir Albert!” Albert grinned as he remembered what his dad had said after he received the title: “Where’s your horse?”

Itchy feet at an early age

Albert was born in 1945 in Zwolle, the Netherlands, and grew up on the small family farm. Already as a 4-year-old, Albert wanted to emigrate to Canada! A favorite uncle had moved to Canada in 1949, and his father had relatives in America.

At age 11, Albert had some health challenges, and could not be as active for a period of time as he recovered. What joy then when he developed an even greater love for reading! His mom would bring him armfuls of books from the library, and he devoured especially the historical tomes. From then on, all of Albert’s pocket money went to books, particularly ones that described the adventures of emigrants and travelers.

Wise counsel

In 1964, at age 19, Albert joined a work experience program taking young farm workers to Canada. It was not expected to be a permanent move, but he still needed permission from both his father, and an uncle, his Oom Hein Vruggink, who was Albert’s additional guardian after the death of his natural mother. Oom Hein was a wise man whose counsel still echoes through the years all this time later. He said that sometimes a funeral is better than emigration, because at least at a funeral you know where the body is buried! But when someone emigrates, they can just disappear without a trace. In the extended family, there had been relatives who left Holland, left the Reformed faith, and were not heard from again.

But with these warnings, Oom Hein did give permission; he even said that if he were Albert’s age, he would go along! But this was only allowed if his nephew could serve the Lord in a faithful church in the neighborhood where he would be moving. Albert was glad to report that there were Christian Reformed Churches in the Fraser Valley that he would be able to join, and the preparations began.

After six months of life in B.C., Albert was ready to make the move permanent. He loved the freedom Canadians enjoyed, the lack of bureaucracy, and the many opportunities for a young hard worker. Despite his relative lack of experience, he was managing a dairy farm with 70 cows, which was quite large compared to the average herd of a dozen or so back in Zwolle. Albert was delighted that his family back home had no major objections, and he made the move to Canada permanent.

Opportunity knocks

After a farming accident resulted in an injury, Albert decided to find a different line of work. He began selling office supplies, and print orders for a Vancouver company, and this sales job brought him in contact with dozens of Dutch immigrants working all around the lower mainland. Albert found that he was good at sales! He loved meeting people and hearing their stories, and was not afraid to ask for a sale.

In 1969, Albert’s business connections to Blom’s Stores and Holland Shopping Centre helped him to purchase the bulletin these stores were publishing together for their customers. He eventually changed the publication to a bi-weekly newspaper, The Windmill Herald.

So began Albert’s career as a publisher. For the next forty plus years, van der Heide was always under a deadline: choosing stories, writing editorials, and covering local news events, always with an eye to the next newspaper issue. Although he did not have a university degree or post-secondary schooling, Albert showed an affinity for telling stories and digging into details that readers relished. The company began publishing a separate edition for the Ontario and eastern Canada market – that came about after the purchse of Hollandia News, another long running newspaper for the Dutch community. At their heights, The Windmill and Hollandia News reached over 13,000 homes in Canada and the U.S.A. (and each one had to have an address label glued onto it by a crew of hard-working youngsters and even some old timers, in the van der Heide basement!).

The same year he began publishing, Albert met Cobie Tanis on a trip back to the Netherlands. Albert and Cobie were married in 1971 shortly after Cobie moved to Canada. After losing their first child due to a collapsed lung, the couple was delighted to welcome daughter Karin in 1977. Karin married Art Louwerse, and the two have brought four grandchildren, and much joy, into Albert and Cobie’s family.

Over the years, Albert published or helped publish books for the Reformed community, the broader Dutch community, and for a general audience. Some highlights include To All Our Children by Albert VanderMey on Dutch immigration to Canada, and In the Shadow of the Sun by Ronny Herman DeJong on life and death under the Japanese on the island of Java during the Second World War. Albert is also thankful to have been involved with the series The Flame of the Word, a church history curriculum authored by Apko Nap and Pieter Torenvliet.

The next chapter

In 2012, after a long run of deadlines and stories, Albert made the decision to cease publishing The Windmill. While he still saw a market for a periodical for the community, Albert didn’t believe that he and his crew were well positioned to make the transition away from a mostly Dutch language publication. “I enjoyed the work from day one! But once I made the decision to close the paper, I never regretted it.”

Eleven years later, Albert is still actively involved in publishing and book distribution, but without the pressures of deadline day every two weeks. “I work every day, but I have no stress!” His passion for Biblical, Reformed literature is contagious (as anyone who has browsed his book table can attest!).

Customers who walk in to the storefront are often looking for Reformed Christian answers to a specific problem, and Albert is most often able to help them with a suggested title or author. Other visitors are just curious about what the company sells, often leading to a conversation about the Gospel news of Jesus Christ. Albert is thankful that the company’s biggest sellers are always Bibles.

History of a community

Over the years, Albert accumulated an enormous archive on the history of the Dutch community in Canada: books, newspaper articles, personal journals, self-published books, diaries, letters, pictures and memorabilia, altogether representing a rich treasure trove for future historians. There does not seem to be anything like these archives in Canada. “The Dutch are not controversial; we are an ethnic group that kind of flies under the radar,” said van der Heide.

In time, no doubt there will be more interest in digging into the history of our community, but for now, it is a huge challenge to continue to catalog, store, and maintain all this material. For now, the archives remain a labor of love. Van der Heide would love to find an institution that would be willing to house and care for these archives.

A rewarding calling

It was wonderful interviewing Albert, because it’s beautiful when a Christian finds a calling that is fulfilling and rewarding, where one’s interests, abilities, and passions align. This doesn’t mean that work is without stress or difficulty, because we live in a fallen word of weeds and sorrows. We obey the Bible’s command to “pray and work,” and leave the results in the Lord’s hands. Right at the start of our interview, van der Heide made it clear that he was not looking for praise. “I want to be known as a sinner! I need the Lord, and He is the one that deserves all the glory.”

Canadians can shop at Albert’s online bookstore ReformedChristianBooks.com, while BC residents in the Fraser Valley can check out his brick-and-mortar location in Langley at Vanderheide Publishing Co. Ltd., #201 20381 62nd Ave (604-309-3924).

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In a Nutshell

Tidbits – December 2023

“You better watch out!” It’s nearing that time of year again, when you might hear the chorus of a familiar Bing Crosby hit. I always thought it sounds a bit like he was talking about God (he's not). My friend's thinking went in a completely different direction, and he wrote his own ending... He knows when you've been sleeping He knows when you're awake He knows if you've been bad or good, We're in a surveillance state! Next issue for the Supreme Court? Despite dying over a hundred years ago poet William Cosmo Monkhouse (1840-1901) has his finger on the pulse of today’s culture. There once was an old man of Lyme Who married three wives at a time. When asked, “Why a third?” He replied, “One’s absurd! And bigamy, sir, is a crime.” Lyrics o’ the month In his song Screen Door, Rich Mullins seemed to be working through James 2:14-26, (and Matthew 7:15-20, Galatians 5:6, Hebrews 6:10, etc.). It's about as useless as a screen door on a submarine Faith without works baby, it just ain't happening One is your left hand, one is your right It'll take two strong arms to hold on tight Some folks cut off their nose, just to spite their face I think you need some works to show for your alleged faith Well there's a difference you know 'Tween having faith and playing make believe One will make you grow, the other one just make you sleep Talk about it but I really think you oughta Take a leap off of the ship before you claim to walk on water Faith without works is like a song you can't sing It's about as useless as a screen door on a submarine Faith comes from God and every word that He breathes He lets you take it to your heart, so you can give it hands and feet It's gotta be active if it's gonna be alive You gotta put it into practice, otherwise… Faith without works is like a song you can't sing It's about as useless as a screen door on a submarine T-shirt Christianity. the best kind Abort73.com sells shirt to direct people to their website, which offers up compelling and comprehensive information on the evils of abortion. You can buy this shirt and many others at Abort73.com here. And if you want to create your own t-shirt design, be sure to check out RP's t-shirt contest. Spurgeon spouting sense on… EVANGELISM: “Every Christian here is either a missionary or an imposter.” BEATING PROCRASTINATION: “The way to do a great deal is to keep on doing a little. The way to do nothing at all is to be continually resolving that you will do everything.” FINDING A PERFECT CHURCH: “If I had never joined a church till I had found one that was perfect, I should never have joined one at all; and the moment I did join it, if I had found one, I should have spoiled it, for it would not have been a perfect church after I had become a member of it. Still, imperfect as it is, it is the dearest place on earth to us.” LOVING GOD’S WORD: “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” Top 10 math jokes • Counting in binary is as easy as 01, 10, 11… • Do you hear about the mathematician who was afraid of negative numbers? He’d stop at nothing to avoid them. This is either funny or educational “There are just two kinds of people in this world: those who believe in false dichotomies, and penguins.” SOURCE: Spotted on a t-shirt  Laundry tips for guys Shirts have to be changed daily; jeans can last forever. No one sees it, and it doesn’t wrinkle anyway – don’t fold your underwear. Stress relieving tip: when buying black socks, make sure all of them are exactly the same. Pairing sports socks wastes time – make sure you've bought just one kind, then dump the mass of them straight into your sock drawer. No one knows how to fold a fitted sheet – don’t try. Washing your shirts in cold will keep your whites from becoming pinks. Only your underwear, towels, sheets, and workout clothes need to be washed in hot. Nothing like a good (or gross) illustration to clear away the confusion While it seems safe to say most Reformed Perspective readers didn't see Fifty Shades of Grey, many professing Christians did. And one of the justifications they used might sound familiar: “I’m not watching it for the sex; I’m watching it for the story.” This is a line that many a Christian has used to justify watching many a film that wouldn't meet with grandma’s approval. "But grandma," we say, "we understand the sex scene is vile, but we’re enduring it to get to all the other good stuff in the film." However, WORLD magazine writer Emily Whitten says Christians are just lying to themselves with this type of justification. She makes use of a simple illustration to help us see through our self-deception. "Here’s a quick reality check as to whether the played a role in your enjoyment: If all the sex in the movie were replaced with long scenes of the characters’ experiencing recurring diarrhea, would you still find the story as endearing or entertaining? Would you be willing to sit through something so disgusting to get to the love story?  If not, then you are seeing it for the sex scenes at some level." SOURCE: Emily Whitten’s “Five myths about Fifty Shades of Grey” I think I get it, therefore I am Rene Decartes walks into a bar. The bartender asks, “Would you like a beer?” Descartes replies, “I think not,” and then promptly disappears. SOURCE: Andy Simmon’s “25 Jokes that make you sound like a genius” in the Sept. 2014 issue of Reader’s Digest The Bible is a miraculous whole In my first-year English class our learned professor told the class that the Bible was most certainly the greatest book ever. He praised it for the excellence found in its many parts – I can still remember the quiet awe that came over him when speaking of the Bible’s poetry. But despite that awe, he wasn’t a Christian. I don’t think he understood how all those excellent parts came together in a remarkable whole. As pastor R.A. Torrey once explained, the unity of the Bible gives evidence of the One Mind behind it all. "The Bible consists of sixty-six books, written by more than thirty different men, extending in the period of its composition over more than fifteen hundred years; written in three different languages, in many different countries, and by men on every plane of social life, from the herdsman and fisherman and cheap politician up to the king upon his throne; written under all sorts of circumstances; yet in all this wonderful conglomeration, we find an absolute unity of thought. "A wonderful thing about it is that this unity does not lie on the surface. On the surface there is oftentimes apparent contradiction, and the unity only comes out after deep and protracted study. "More wonderful yet is the organic character of this unity, beginning in the first book and growing till you come to its culmination in the last book of the Bible. We have first the seed, then the plant, then the bud, then the blossom, then the ripened fruit. "Suppose a vast building were to be erected, the stones for which were brought from the quarries in Rutland, Vermont; Berea, Ohio; Kasota, Minnesota, and Middletown, Connecticut. Each stone was hewn into final shape in the quarry from which it was brought. These stones were of all varieties of shape and size, cubical, rectangular, cylindrical, etc., but when they were brought together every stone fitted into its place, and when put together there rose before you a temple absolutely perfect in every outline, with its domes, sidewalls, buttresses, arches, transepts–not a gap or a flaw anywhere. How would you account for it? You would say: 'Back of these individual workers in the quarries was the master-mind of the architect who planned it all, and gave to each individual worker his specifications for the work.' "So in this marvelous temple of God’s truth which we call the Bible, whose stones have been quarried at periods of time and in places so remote from one another, but where every smallest part fits each other part, we are forced to say that back of the human hands that wrought was the Master-mind that thought."...

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Articles, Movie Reviews

Top 10 films on PureFlix right now

Pureflix is a per-month subscription streaming service that provides Christian content on both sides of the US/Canadian border. While much of its content is mediocre, there are gems to be found. What follows is a Top 10 list of movies for mom and dad, some of which could be watched with the older kids too. And as a bonus, right afterward, is a Top 10 for shows that the kids might like. In many cases you can click on the movie title to find a longer review, and some of those longer reviews even include links to where you can watch them for free, though often in lower resolution. To watch these on Pureflix.com, Canadians and Americans can sign up for a free trial here. Movies for mom and dad 1. I Can Only Imagine This is the life story of MercyMe singer Bart Millard, or, more specifically, it’s the story of what drove him to write what might be the most popular Christian song of the modern era, "I Can Only Imagine." The focus isn’t as much on Bart’s transformation from troubled kid to successful singer, as it is about God transforming his abusive father. Cautions here that make this unsuitable for family viewing is that Millard’s father is indeed abusive, both physically, which we mostly don’t see, and verbally, which we do. However, for adults, this will be a remarkable film and a good part of it is J. Michael Finley, a good actor, and an absolutely fantastic singer. 2. The Most Reluctant Convert: The untold story of C.S. Lewis This is the story of Lewis’s conversion from ardent atheist to “the most reluctant convert,” bowing his knee to God not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t do otherwise. It’s also a story superbly told. If you already know Lewis you’re going to love this film; if you don’t, this film will soon have you loving Lewis for the way he could put into words the wonder God worked in his and our own hearts. 3. The Long Goodbye: The Kara Tippetts Story The remarkable documentary is a tearjerker about a mom facing terminal cancer, who offers us encouragement in her confidence that God has both her and her family. 4. Tortured for Christ Tortured for Christ is a must-see film about Richard Wurmbrand’s courageous and faithful stand against the Soviets when they took over Romania. 5. Sabina This is a sequel/prequel to Tortured for Christ, about how Pastor Wurmbrand's Jewish wife Sabina was willing to help even Nazi soldiers, because of her love for God. 6. Beyond the Mask When a young 18th-century assassin wants to leave his dark life behind his employer tries to have this loose end tied up, with a bomb. The assassin survives thanks to the warning of a passing vicar who ends up paying for his kindness by getting blown up himself. In search of a new life and a new identity, Reynolds adopts the vicar's identity, and meets Charlotte, a young woman who knows a lot more about God than this "vicar" does. Romance, intrigue, daring-do and plenty of explosions follow. A concern would be the violence, which, while never gory, is frequent – lots of fisticuffs going on here. That said, this is one of the better-produced, better-acted, better-written, Christian films. 7. Time Changer In the year 1890, seminary professor Russell Carlisle proposes teaching morality to the masses without making mention of God, reasoning that even if people don’t become Christians, it would be a good thing if they were at least taught that stealing was wrong. But after a colleague uses a time machine to send the professor more than a hundred years into the future, to present-day USA, Carlisle realizes that morals founded on anything but God have no foundation at all, and are just dismissed as opinion. This is a good-looking science fiction movie with an important and powerfully presented Christian message. 8. The Ultimate Gift Jason, a spoilt rich kid, is given an inheritance by his billionaire grandfather, but it comes with conditions. To get the money Jason has to complete 12 separate tasks, all of which are intended to humble and shape him. It’s a fun film, with a grandfather handing out tough love from beyond the grave in the hopes he can still teach and help his aimless grandson. Emily, a child with a terminal condition, also teaches Jason some important lessons, but her eventual death makes this one kids won't like. A sequel, The Ultimate Life, is only middling. 9. Extraordinary Extraordinary is based on the real-life story of Liberty University professor and ultra-marathon runner David Horton, who runs races not just hours long, but weeks long. That’s meant he’s left the homefront to be managed by his wife on her own. And she might have had enough. Overall, Extraordinary is a lightweight comedic drama about a doofus husband who takes a while to get his priorities right but who figures it out in time for a happy ending for all. That’s all it is, and on some evenings that’s really all we’re looking for. 10. The Amazing Adventure In this black and white calico, Ernest Bliss (Cary Grant) is a young man who has inherited a lot of money from his father. Yet he’s nervous, can’t eat, and can’t sleep. When he goes to the specialist and the doctor diagnoses him with “self-indulgence” Bliss is both offended and intrigued. What’s the prescription then? The doctor tells Bliss to earn his own living for a year and dismisses him with a wave, knowing that this pampered socialite will never follow this advice. But Bliss ends up making him a bet: if Bliss does do it, then one year from now he’ll expect a handshake and an apology from the doctor, and if Bliss loses, then he’ll give £50,000 for the doctor’s downtown charity clinic. That’s the setup, and the general plotline is as you might expect. Bliss learns some lessons about just how it can be for a regular Joe, and it isn’t too long before he’s secretly using his connections and money to help the struggling people who have befriended him. If you don't mind black and white, and its slower pacing, a couple of other classics worth checking out are Meet John Doe and The Jackie Robinson Story. Bonus: Top 10 shows for the kids There's a lot of fun and goofy content on Pureflix, but some of it is goofy in a theological sense too, so parents do need to exercise discernment on behalf of their little ones. Even the recommendations below include a caution or two. 1. Life at the Pond A Christian series aimed at the preschool set that, like VeggieTales, pairs simple animation with somewhat sophisticated humor – there’s yuks here for mom and dad to enjoy too. The four stars are aquatic: Bill the Duck is a regular joe; we are Bill the Duck Tony the Frog fills the role of wisecracking comic relief Floyd the Turtle is the most child-like, and often the straight man setting up Tony’s zingers Methuselah the Alligator is older, and a voice of biblical wisdom The first two episodes, There’s Something Funny in the Water and The Little Things, are calm enough for even the youngest, while The Alligator Hunter, Big Mouth Bass, and The Rise and Fall of Tony the Frog, have some tension, and even some frantic action, so might be best for 5 and up. 2. Buddy Davis' Amazing Adventures (and The Creation Adventure Team) Buddy Davis is a musician, dinosaur sculptor, and children’s entertainer. In his Amazing Adventures series, he’s teamed up with the folks at Answers in Genesis to share a half dozen expeditions – underground, to Alaska, Africa, the swamps, and more – that kids will really enjoy. In The Creation Adventure Team he pairs up with a robot dinosaur sidekick to investigate when the dinosaurs died, how they lived, and whether there were any on the Ark. These two videos feature pretty frenetic action, some decent special effects, and a number of clever spoofs. 3. Defense of New Haven Defense of New Haven is a wonderfully bizarre adventure: a steampunk Christian allegoric comedy adventure, with every character played by a child actor, even though the characters are adults. Our hero, Alec, is a one-armed man who gets recruited by a fully-bearded six-year-old to carry a secret message to the city’s miniature-steamboat-driving defensive forces so that they’ll be able to stop gas-mask-wearing raiders. That is a sentence I never imagined writing, but this is a movie I would have never imagined seeing. And it is both cheesy and fantastic. If you enjoy this, you’ll also like the producer’s earlier all-children film, The Runner from Ravenshead, which is also available. 4. The Legend of 5 Mile Cave The Legend of 5 Mile Cave begins with a bang, a fleeing cowboy being shot right off his horse by an eagle-eyed sheriff. And it begins with misdirection too: the sheriff looks kind of scary, his posse pretty mean, so are they the heroes? Or should we be rooting for the guy lying at their feet? It doesn’t get any clearer when we cut forward 20 years and see an escaping prisoner evade pursuing guards and their bloodhounds. Again, it seems like we’re supposed to be siding with the bad guy. What’s going on? Don't worry, things will eventually be set aright but it is quite the ride until then. 5. A Show about Anthem Lights A real-life Christian cover band, Anthem Lights, has turned itself into a cartoon. This reminded me of Duck Dynasty, with band members playing dumber, funnier versions of themselves. While other animated material on the site wasn't all that impressive, they do seem to have all or at least most of the VeggieTales. but only some are recommended. Click on the link to see which ones. 6. Storm: Luther's forbidden letter Storm Voeten is the 12-year-old son of a printer living in 1500s Antwerp. Martin Luther has written his 95 Theses and his ideas are a source of debate and division across Europe. That’s also true in the Voeten household, where Storm’s mother, a staunch Catholic, doesn’t even want to hear Luther’s name. But his father is interested in learning more…and he’s even willing to print Luther’s ideas. This is a pain-free way for kids to learn this important history. 7. Back of the Net A science geek girl, looking to spend a semester on the seas studying sea creatures, accidentally ends up at a soccer academy. Hijinks ensue, and while there is just a bit of boy/girl oohing and aaahing, that silliness is kept to a minimum, making this a fun one for the fam. 8. F.R.E.D.I A friendly football-sized and shaped robot is stolen from bad guys and ends up in the hands of a couple of teen guys. This struck me as almost the kid version of a Hallmark movie (the good kind) that is pretty light, fairly predictable, but just a pleasant 90 minutes spent. Just watched this one with my kids, and our 10 year-old daughter gave it a 9.9. I think I'd give it a solid 8 as a kids' flick. 9. Patterns of Evidence: Young Explorers This 5-episode series is based on filmmaker Timothy Mahoney’s documentary Patterns of Evidence about his search for evidence of Israel’s captivity in Egypt. The original was part mystery, part biblical history and this sequel covers the same territory, but this time with a group of kids along for the ride. This is now not simply a documentary, but a docudrama, with fact and fiction, education and entertainment, all mixed together. There is humor on two levels here, with pratfalls for the kids, and dry humor for the adults – there are some snort-worthy moments! The five episodes in order cover: The adventure begins when the kids hear about Timothy Mahoney’s work and are eager to help They learn that we may know where Joseph lived in Egypt The team searches for signs of captive Israel’s population explosion The Young Explorers go search for signs of the 10 plagues  The search continues on into Israel, where the team now investigates the fall of the walls of Jericho For another fascinating documentary series, check out Creation Proclaims – it's a nature series for kids, that takes a close look at all sorts of animals, and narrated by a former atheist whose university students won him over when they challenged him to look at just how amazing God's creation is. Episodes average around 10 minutes each, focussing on one animal, and there are 24 episodes in all. Mom and dad will find this pretty cool too! 10. Jack and the Beanstalk While this Abbott and Costello classic puts too much of the slap into slapstick, it's otherwise a pretty fun flick....

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Science - Creation/Evolution

Is creation worth fighting about?

Billions of years, or just six days, do we need to care?   ***** Does it matter? Of all the questions in the creation vs. theistic evolution debate, whether the debate even matters may be the biggest, and more important than how long it took, what method God used, or how to understand the opening chapters of Genesis. Christians understand we shouldn’t bicker with our brothers and sisters over minor matters – Jesus told us: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God” (Matt. 5:9). God doesn’t want us to make big out of little. He doesn’t want us to be quarrelsome, nitpicking all sorts of fights. However, God also warns against making little of big. There is a time and place for fighting, and we mustn’t be like the watchman on the wall who saw the danger coming and stayed quiet (Ezek. 33:6-8). It is a con to say “peace, peace” when war is at the door (Ezek. 13:10-16, Jer. 6:14). Now, in the creation vs. theistic evolution debate, there are a lot of Christians who aren’t prepared to pick a side. They aren’t loyal to 6 days or billions of years, perhaps believing they need a theology or science degree to be qualified to take a stand. They don’t want to be forced to pick one team over the other. However, when the question is “Does this matter?” then not picking a side is still picking a side. Refusing to choose is only legitimate if this is no big thing. So is it really no big thing… or is it huge? To answer that question, let’s look at both sides. Side 1: Who matters more than how Among the “can’t we all get along” folks, the focus is on just how much agreement there is between 6-day creationists and theistic evolutionists. Both acknowledge the God of the Bible as our Creator. We all agree He made us, and that His creative genius is evident in the whole of the astonishing universe around us. Whether we’re looking at the Sun that warms us from 150 million kilometers away, or the chubby toes of our newest grandbaby, we’re all in awe of what He hath wrought. And isn’t that basis enough for fellowship? The argument here is that Who did it matters much more than how He did it, or how long He took. Who matters more than how. As long as Christians all give God the credit, then isn’t everything else incidental? Side 2: How tells us all about Who On the other side there is a ready concession that Who does indeed matter more than how. After all, God matters more than His creation. But how He started it all isn’t incidental. It matters too, because how God chose to create reveals God’s character. How He created tells us about Who God is. So yes, both sides agree it is the God of the Bible who created, but that isn’t as significant as it might first seem. Consider the Muslims, who also declare that the God of the Bible created. And they say their Allah has no Son. That means their biblical creator god, isn’t actually God. Orthodox Jews worship the God who created, but deny Jesus is God. Mormons worship a biblical god who created and even has a son…but he also has a wife. And his son is said to be the brother of Satan. Their creator god is not our Creator God either. It is possible, then, to worship such a distorted image of the biblical Creator that you aren’t actually worshiping God at all. This issue is that big. The argument here is that how God created is an issue worth investigating because, in His chosen means, God is teaching us about Himself – God reveals Himself not only in His Word but also in His creation (Ps. 19:1-4). As Paul puts it in Romans 1:20: “…His invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made.” The how matters because it tells us all about Who. What do the two creation accounts tell us about God? What then, do the two different creation accounts teach us about God? Creationists worship a God whose power was such that He spoke into existence something from nothing, and made a universe appear in just 6 days. Thus the famed chicken and egg dilemma is no dilemma at all for creationists, who know the chicken sprung into being fully formed on Day 5. And while pagans worship the Sun, God showed His great power by creating light (Day 1) before even creating a light source (the Sun on Day 4). Both marriage and the two sexes, male and female, were created in this 6-day period. God affirmed again and again that what He made was “good” and, upon completion on Day 6, even “very good.” What is good? The perfect sinless world was good. And it was good, not only as it was on Day 6, but even as it was being made through Days 1-5 – God found the process good too. Creationists know that death appeared as a result of Man’s disobedience – we broke the world. But there is hope; this enemy, death, has been conquered by Christ’s perfect obedience. And it is through Jesus that the world will be made good once again. The god of theistic evolution took billions of years to form the universe. During that process neither the chicken nor the egg was first: they were preceded by millions of years of incremental evolution that necessarily involved a red-in-tooth-and-claw, survival-of-the-fittest, where the weak were killed off and the strong went on to breed. Death didn’t simply precede Man’s fall into sin, it preceded Man by millions of years. And rather than being the enemy, death was a key tool in God’s creative work. Marriage and gender weren’t always so, but evolved at some point, and who knows but that they may be evolving still. And it is this eons-long process of constant change – with its refining diseases, innumerable mutations, repeated disasters, and, yes, death, death, and more death – that God was calling good and very good in the opening chapters of Genesis. The implications extend to the present, where creationists can turn to Scripture for guidance on issues like homosexuality, marriage, and gender confusion. We can learn what is best for men and women by seeing how God made us at the beginning. But if we evolved, and that process was good, why couldn’t we be evolving still? Our forebearers, when once they were single-celled, weren’t divvied into two genders – that only came later. So if we could go from none to two genders, why can’t we evolve new additions like ze and zir? And why would we presume that marriage has to be between just the first two genders? What answer does theistic evolution have to the craziness of our age? Does theistic evolution present a false god? Thus the god of theistic evolution bears little resemblance to God of the Bible. But does that mean theistic evolutionists are without hope? Are they worshipping a false god? Thankfully, it is not our brilliance that saves us, but God’s grace. And that’s why, even as some theistic evolutionists worship a god of their own invention, we can hope and pray and expect that many others still worship the true God, though in their inconsistency. They might say they believe in billions of years of death, but their faith is still in the God who declared death an enemy and conquered it. They may doubt the accuracy of some of Jesus’s words – how he spoke of a literal Adam and Eve created in the beginning (Mark 10:6, Matt. 19:4) – and yet cling to His promise that there are many rooms in His Father’s house (John 14:2). They may mangle the first few chapters of Genesis, but then take God at His Word for the whole of the rest of the Bible. That doesn’t make this any less of a big deal. Over a lifetime people do work out their inconsistencies. Many theistic evolutionists will either come to acknowledge God’s Word as authoritative from beginning to end, or they’ll subject the rest of God’s Word to further review and revision by outside authorities. It’s no slippery slope fallacy to say that if you scratch a professing Christian who’s pro-choice or LGBT-affirming, underneath you’ll find an evolutionist. Conclusion Like Allah, without a son, the god of theistic evolution offers no hope. In seeing billions of years of death as good and very good, what need would such a god even have to send his son to die for us? Thankfully, the one true God did send His Son, so we can have not only hope but an assurance that our sins are paid for, death is defeated, sickness will end, and all of creation will be redeemed. The creation debate isn’t one any Christian can avoid – it is of the first importance, because it is about Who God is....

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Saturday Selections – Nov. 25, 2023

Refuting Mormonism – is there only one God? (9 min) It can be a bit confusing to nail down whether Mormons teach that we can become gods, and whether, consequently, there were gods before God. Official materials will seemingly deny it on the one hand, and on the other share how founder Joseph Smith taught his followers that God "was once as one of us," and how the fifth LDS President Lorenzo Snow crafted this couplet: "As man now is, God once was: As God now is, man may be." But as Jeff Durbin shows in this clip, that is not what the Bible teaches in Is. 43:10-11 and elsewhere. Turning cow poop into gas to run the tractors Some environmental sorts still see overpopulation as a threat to the planet. But God's people know He gave us a brain to problem-solve with, and two hands to put to work. So we can be creative like our Maker, and come up with intriguing energy-producing, pollution-reducing ideas like turning poop into fuel. Daddy has to work now... If your kids think work is the place that takes daddy from them, then they'll view it quite negatively. So how can we instill a biblical view of work in our kids? The insanity of denying free will To justify their rebellion against God, smart people can believe the craziest things... Potty humor from Old Testament times In 2 Kings 10:27 we read of Israel's King Jehu cleaning house by killing Baal's priests and tearing down his temple. But we get one more detail thrown in - the temple wasn't just destroyed, it was desecrated: "...people have used it for a latrine to this day." An archeological find shows that Judah's King Hezekiah may have done something similar, though more symbolically, one hundred years later. A "symbolic toilet" was found in a dig at Tel Lachish in what some archeologists believed to be a small shrine. They think the purpose was simply to desecrate the unknown false god's place of worship. Or as Newsweek's Kastalia Medrano put it: "Hezekiah's behavior basically stemmed from his belief that his ancestors hadn't worshipped piously enough by turning to other gods, a lapse he apparently intended to remedy by both literally and figuratively defecating on holy places set up to worship those gods." Does earth have methods to regulate climate? Here's an account of climate regulators that the climate models either haven't taken into account at all, or to the right extent. Billions of ways to die (2 min) The authors of Your Designed Body want us to understand while there are billions of ways to die, everything has to go just right for us to be alive. ...

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Saturday Selections – Nov. 11, 2023

How to help your kids establish Bible reading habits Dr. David Murray with help for parents in setting their family priorities... Your job is not your family "Calling a business, civic organization, or even school a 'family' may be well-intended but comes with unintended consequences that do an injustice to the necessary commitments that should be made to our actual families." Angels from on high – a Remembrance Day story In this WWII true story, the late W.H. Bredenhof recounts how God used some unusual angels to save him and his companion. Thinking smartly about global warming (15-min read) Bjorn Lomborg is willing "to concede that global warming is real, to some large extent manmade, and a serious problem" (a point I would not so readily concede) but still thinks our current attempts at climate management are more hysteria than help. Lomborg is not Christian, but where his worldview aligns with God's is in how he views human worth: if a proposal might supposedly help the planet in the future, but hurts people now, then he knows better than to tread on the poor. On John McCrae, the author of "In Flanders Fields" A look at the man behind the most famous Remembrance Day poem. The case against micromanagement God gave us government because people aren't saints. But governments are made up of people, so we shouldn't expect them to be saints either. And as this video shows, even when the folks in charge do act with the "best of intentions," that still doesn't guarantee the results. ...

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Saturday Selections - Nov. 4, 2023

Click on the titles below for the linked articles... One reason rent is high Rent control involves the government deciding for apartment building owners the maximum they are allowed to charge. While God does call on us to have compassion for the poor (Prov. 19:17), it'd be to miss the point if we were to understand this as a basis for government rather than individual action. An appeal could be made to the 8th Commandment to argue against rent control, as the more the government decides for you what you can and can't do with your property, the more there is a real sense in which they are taking over ownership from you. The 10th Commandment is also relevant here – such laws wouldn't be passed if we hadn't previously been looking over our back fence at how much our neighbor had. Another reason to believe such programs aren't biblical? No matter how well-intentioned, they don't achieve those intentions. We were designed for music Human beings are able to appreciate music, compose it, and perform it with instruments we've designed or with our own onboard equipment (our vocal cords). But evolution can't really account for these abilities, as they aren't necessary for our survival. Music, then, is one more way in which God is making Himself evident, this time by equipping us to be worshippers. The Christian poetry of John McRae As Remembrance Day approaches, Jonathon Van Maren shares how the author of In Flander's Fields wrote more memorable lines. Hamas attacks deliver clarity on Darwin, atheism, and determinism Michael Egnor notes that Hamas' attacks expose the insufficiency of the scientific dogmas of the 21st century: Darwinism, atheism, and determinism. If atheism is true, there is no Moral Lawgiver, and thus, no good or evil with which we can condemn the killing of innocents. If determinism is true, then we have no free will, and, likewise, can't condemn others' moral choices because they weren't choices. And if Darwinism is true, then the strong killing the weak is simply the natural state of things, and railing against it is as silly as complaining about gravity or the speed of light. But we all know that it was evil, and the terrorists made wicked choices, and that while evil is all too common, it isn't how it should be. So in condemning the Hamas attacks, the world has exposed the insufficiency of its worldviews. 8 steps along the path to wisdom "Really wise people have put a lifetime of effort into gaining wisdom. How do they do it? Here are eight steps." Famous climate predictions that never happened For the last 50 years and more, we've been told that a coming climatic cataclysm is nigh. And if not just around the next corner, then the very next one. Okay, maybe not that one either. This video is from three years back, but just as illuminating today. And as Dr. John Robson says, these false climate predictions would be amusing if it weren't for the poor millions who have to pay more for housing, food, and medicine because of the war on cheap fossil fuel energy. ...

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Amazing stories from times past

The Parable of Ryker and Samwell

“As water reflects the face, so one’s heart reflects the man.” Prov. 27:1 ***** Luke rightly says that out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. That is to say, the heart is the core of one’s most basic beliefs, and words provide a glimpse into Man's heart. It does not matter who a person is – butcher, baker or undertaker – words reveal his soul. CHAPTER 1 – A baby at last My birthplace of Harston in East Lincolnshire did not have a large number of inhabitants – neither before or after I was born. Hidden in rolling hill country, it was even considered backwater by some. But we always reckoned our burg, with its one to two thousand residents, as a decent size. This number did not even take into account the souls who lived in outlying areas, tenant farmers and scattered cottagers, all of whom had a certain predilection for country living. Our town proper boasted a doctor, a lawyer, a banker, teachers, and a preacher. Housewives, clerks, carpenters, grooms and saddlers either paced or ambled the packed-down dirt sidewalks and children visited the local park to feed the ducks. There was even a railway station on Station Road and a small but well-stocked library straight across from it. Mercer Street had textile shops, an inn, and a bakery. Harston's roads, although not paved, were well-traveled. Days prior to the bi-weekly market held just outside its east limits, were alive with bellowing and bleating during the summer months – audible signs of life as farmers drove their four-legged produce through the streets to the local butcher shop for slaughter. The day of the market itself was noisy as well, roads abuzz with clamant vendors and townsfolk eager to bargain for good deals. Although certain protocols were associated with living in our community, such as the few wealthier families having calling cards, the truth was that most of the citizenry were just common folk. A number resided in plain brick houses along the main avenues of Crown Street and Rudwall Lane. The balance of Harston's inhabitants, however, lived in modest thatched homes on lanes akin to alleyways, and they lived without the benefit of butlers, maids, or cooks. Households were a decent size, with four or five children in each home. The homes, mind you, were small, often only consisting of two or three rooms. We, my father, mother, and myself, lived on Hillbrook Street, a middle-class street, considered neither rich nor poor, and we had a small garden in the back of our two-story house. My father, who was a self-appointed teacher of sorts, greatly admired the writings of the Anglican bishop, J.C. Ryle. Thus when I was born in 1889, I was named and baptized Ryle – Ryle Harrison to be exact. My mother later told me that I had cried lustily when the water dribbled down my forehead and that my father had been somewhat embarrassed by these wails. Nevertheless, she told me, her eyes growing soft as she spoke, he had cradled me in his arms with great tenderness and love during the ceremony. Hearing this as a young boy prone to admire Goliath figures, I was a trifle embarrassed, feeling quite keenly one should not use soppy words like “tenderness” and “love” with regard to men. But inside my heart I was warmed by the thought that my father, a rather stern but just man to be sure, felt more than a modicum of affection for me. I was not a sturdy boy to look at. Rather skinny, fair-haired and prone to sniffles and coughs, there often rose within me a covetousness to be more strapping and robust. But I run ahead of myself. When my mother was expecting me, there was rejoicing in our home on Hillbrook Street – indeed, there was a very great thankfulness. A baby coming at last after my mother and father had hoped and prayed for years and years. We were, as I said, middle class and had the faithful, domestic help of a woman who had known Mother since she was a child. Plump, good-natured Cora, born and raised in Harston, was both our cook and maid, and she confidentially passed on to me many interesting paragraphs out of my parents' diary – details of past events which had happened before I was born or when I had been but a little tacker. "Master Ryle," she would say, often expressing an opinion in double negatives, "Your mother was quite sure she would rock no cradle, never. And seeing as to how she'd been married to your father for more than fifteen years, I was quite sure she was right. But then many's the time the stork's visited them thought to be barren. And isn't that the way of it?" Cora told me this while she was letting me lick out the bowl of pudding she had made for dessert that evening. With my mouth full of sweetness, it was difficult for me to respond. Not that Cora ever needed much of a response to what she was saying. She was as full of words as my mouth was of custard. My father often raised his eyebrows as she prattled on and I, ever trying to be like him even as I swallowed the pudding, raised mine. "Yes, sir!" she went on, oblivious to my apparent surprise, "and your mother cried tears of happiness. It's a good thing I was here to see to things – to cook and clean proper, mind you, because she wasn't up to doing nothing." "Yes, Cora," I mumbled, lowering my eyebrows again while I was licking the spoon clean, but she wasn't listening. "And that was the time, strangely enough, that the Sparrows moved into town. Not into Harston proper, mind you, but into the farmstead down Furrow Lane, to the south of here." I nodded again, scraping the bowl with the spoon for what was left. "And wouldn't Providence have it, but that Sarah Sparrow was expecting too. And wouldn't Providence have it as well, but that she and Sam had also been praying and hoping for a little one for many, many years." Here Cora stopped yattering, quite out of breath. I sighed, sorry that the pudding bowl was shining and clean. "And that's how," Cora ended her communication, "there was a friendship begun between Sarah Sparrow and your mother, Master Ryle." She lifted me off the counter where I had been sitting, patted my backside and shooed me out of the kitchen. “Now off with you, young Sir,” she called, “for I have work to do and surely you want dinner tonight." ***** It was true about the friendship between my parents and the Sparrows beginning at this time. Sam and Sarah Sparrow had freshly moved in from London during the time when both my mother and Sarah Sparrow were expecting their first baby. Sam, a burly, big fellow, was a farming tenant of one of the wealthiest farmers in Harston – Ryker Bitter. Ryker Bitter was the owner of one of the largest estates on the outskirts of Harston. He had lots of money, but possessed neither capacity nor willingness to share. As a tenant farmer, Sam Sparrow was better off than many farm laborers who occupied the very small and dank cottages of their employers. Although Sam did have to sign off a significant portion of his proceeds to Bitter, if he managed the rented property well, he could become fairly affluent. Sam and Sarah lived in a good-sized farmhouse and I loved visiting them. Sarah Sparrow was adept at weaving, spinning and quilting, and had come by Hillbrook Street one day to show Mother a comforter she had made. Sarah had heard from other townsfolk that Mother might be interested in purchasing one. As the two women interacted in the front room, they naturally began to speak of the coming births of their babies. A common bond was kindled because both had been forced to wait for more than a decade for their first child. Mother was due a month before Sarah Sparrow was expected to give birth. They promised one another that they would visit back and forth. They laughed with one another as visible kicks poked bumps into their aprons, and they discussed myriad names for their unborn progeny. CHAPTER 2 – The birth of Samwell When Mother began labor it was a week or two before her time, so Cora told me, and it was a misty and rainy night. Unhappily, the Harston midwife was visiting a daughter in London and the doctor was late in coming. To all appearances it seemed that I would be born without medical assistance. My father, Cora said, was in such a nervous state that he was ready to go and carry the man to Hillbrook Street on his back, but he did not want to leave my mother alone. "I thought a teacher and an educated man like your father," she spouted philosophically, "wouldn't have been so fretful." I stared at her. Cora then added matter-of-factly, "He didn't place no confidence in me delivering you neither." I nodded sympathetically, rather liking the fact that my birth had been the focus of such attention, and sat up straighter. Cora was polishing the silverware, allowing me to hand her the forks and spoons as she worked. "Did the doctor finally come?" I asked, even though I knew the answer. "Yes, he did," she sighed, even as she rubbed a cloth over a butter dish, "but he was a sorry case, he was. Wet with rain, he dripped all over the hall carpet, he did." "And then what happened?" I prodded her, even though I knew perfectly well what she would say next. "Well, your father yanked off the doctor's coat so fearfully hard that the man almost fell over, and then he proceeded to pull him up the stairs." "And he forgot his bag," I added, for Cora had forgotten that part. "Yes, indeed! And once he was up, didn't he have to go down and fetch it a minute later?" I smiled. Dr. Pillblight was a sour man, to say the least, one who rarely gave patients a smile. It was a game with me to try and make him do so, but his lips seemed permanently frozen to scowl. Yet he had been forced to walk down our stairs to get his black bag when I was about to be born. That was something which made me smile. "And then coming down the stairs, he tripped," I went on, "tripped and sprained his ankle." "Yes," Cora affirmed, her round cheeks quivering busily as she nodded her head, "and this was just when there was a knock at the door and when I went to answer, there was Sarah Sparrow standing on the doorstep." "And she livered me," I proudly went on. "Delivered, Master Ryle," Cora corrected, shaking her buxom jowls this time, "the word is 'delivered.' And she herself as big as a volcano about to erupt." So it came about that Sarah Sparrow helped Mother during the last part of her labor and she it was whose hands first lifted me up and laid me on my mother's belly so that she could see me. A skinny youngling, puling and oblivious to the people about me, Mother says I kept my eyes shut for two days. ***** Mother never let Sarah's act of kindness nor her expertise at midwifery slip from her memory. Father remembered it as well, and in this way a true friendship was forged between our two families – the families of Harrison and Sparrow – and, consequently, between myself and Sarah's baby. ***** It was during the month after I was born that Sarah's time of confinement also came. When Mother heard, via Cora and other townsfolk, that Sarah was in labor, she walked down to the farmstead where the Sparrows lived. Mother pushed me, a six-week-old baby, along in a pram. With big wheels and a wooden handlebar, it bounced me up and down, up and down, but it did not deter Mother's determination to go to her friend. A container of broth for Cora was positioned precariously on the blanket by my feet, and mother carefully avoided large potholes and mud puddles. Arriving at the Sparrows’ home, she gingerly lifted the soup out of the carriage and carried the pan to the back door. Met by Ruby, the midwife, she asked if there was anything she might do to help. Ruby took the soup from her hands, smiled and was about to send her home when a voice from the bedroom cried out. "Is that Maudie? Please, I want to see her." The midwife shrugged and stood back. Mother, however, did not walk in straightaway. She first returned to the carriage, and lifted me out. Then, with me in her arms, we both entered the farmhouse. I was sleeping soundly, drooling milk bubbles on my chin, so Mother later informed me, and thus do not recall a word of the conversation that ensued between mother and Sarah. Cora, who was close with Ruby, later told me that Sarah had been greatly distressed, distressed to the point of tears. "Something's wrong, Maudie," she had burst out while the midwife was bringing the soup to the kitchen, "I know something's wrong." "Hush," Mother replied, dandling me, "Hush, dear. I know things are difficult right now, but just wait. Before you know it, you'll be holding a little one just as I am holding Ryle." "No, I am afraid. Please pray with me, Maudie. Please!!" So Mother prayed. With me in her arms, she prayed for a well baby, a healthy life, and a healthy mother. "Pray it again, Maudie. Pray that the baby will be well." So Mother prayed the same words again. Years later, years after little Sam was born, my mother still vividly remembered that she had been sure that Sarah's instincts about her child had been right. At that moment she would, without fail, add these words: "But there is no sin in asking God for wellness, is there?" Ruby, who had been listening in the doorway as Mother prayed, was all ears, and it was mainly her blurting out that prayer to Cora and others in town that caused Sam's name tag to become Samwell. ***** Sheep farming and the wool trade brought profitable business to our area. I mention this only because Sam Sparrow raised sheep and he was good at it. Ryker Bitter rented out farmland to Sam Sparrow. He used that land, called in-bye land, for pasturing heads of sheep. As well, Sam hunted grouse and other wildlife on that land, and often sold produce at the market. The wool from his sheep, Lincoln Longwool, was much in demand and he did rather well in bartering with certain textile manufacturers. His sheep produced the heaviest, longest and most lustrous fleece and it made hard wearing cloth. Although a great deal of his earnings disappeared into Ryker Bitter's pocket, Sam himself also gained financial standing. The eastern port of Boston, not too far off, was a place of economic interaction. Centuries before, the merchants of the Hanseatic League had established their guild in Boston and many ships came to its port. There had been issues with water diversion to neighboring fens, but a canal had been cut, and a sluice constructed. The result of these endeavors was a navigable communication, of a lucrative nature, with a number of shires, our shire included. Boston was a major trading center for wool and Sam Sparrow had been born to raise sheep. My father sometimes joked that instead of herding children, he ought to herd sheep. But then mother would remind him that the children in his study were also sheep and he would laugh and pat her on the cheek. Samuel Sparrow was born later that same day – that day my mother had visited Sarah, pushing me in the pram. Baby Sam was born with a short neck, a flattened facial profile and his almond eyes seemed slanted. Ruby, the midwife, was a bit disconcerted by the way the neonate felt somewhat floppy in her arms; by the fact that he made no effort to squeeze her hands. Consequently, on the third day after his birth she sent for Dr. Pillblight who arrived carrying his black bag. After he had examined the baby thoroughly, testing reflexes, and peering at his toes and fingers, he took off his glasses. "Well," he finally slowly asserted, as Ruby laid the baby back down in his cradle, "Well, I may as well tell you straight off that the boy is going to be slow." Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed and holding Sarah's hand. Ruby retreated to the doorway. "Slow?" Sarah repeated, a worried look on her face, as she pushed her head back into the pillow, "What do you mean 'slow'?" Sam said nothing, but let go of Sarah's hand. Then he stood up and deliberately walked over to the cradle. There he remained, studying his placid child. "I mean," the doctor continued, and later Sarah told Mother that he had actually been quite kind and sympathetic, "I mean that this boy ...." He stopped and searched for words before he continued. "This boy has all the characteristics of babies in a study I have been reading by a Dr. Down, a Dr. John Langdon Down to be precise. He fully describes some things in this study which I see in young Samuel here." "What do you mean?" Sarah reiterated, "What do you mean 'slow'?" Dr. Pillblight settled himself in a chair opposite the bed. "I mean," he continued, "that Samuel will probably be slower in learning how to walk. He has poor muscle tone. He will also very likely be slower in his mental ability." Sam and Sarah stared at one another and Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "Although," Dr. Pillblight continued cautiously, "it has been recorded that some children with these characteristics ...." He could not finish because Sam interrupted him. "What characteristics?" "Well," Dr. Pillblight rose and walked over to the cradle and stood next to Sam as he discoursed, "characteristics such as the wide space between his big toes and the other toes. Also, note that he has a very short neck and that his hands are very short." As he spoke, he uncovered the child to demonstrate what he had just said, and Sam again stared down at his unperturbed and sleeping son. "Note also," the doctor went on, "the baby's slanted eyes." "I had noticed that his eyes were unusual," Sarah later recounted to my mother, "and suddenly, looking at the baby's face as the doctor spoke, I knew that what the man said was true. Also, Samuel's tongue often came out of his mouth, almost as if it was too big for him to hold in." Sam Sparrow broke the ensuing silence, albeit fumbling for words. "What .... What can we do?" The doctor shrugged. "Just take care of him," he answered, "the study shows that children with this ... this abnormality, are susceptible to ailments. Some die in infancy; others live longer. It's in the hands of God and you will just have to take good care of him." He stooped over, picked up his black bag, and then, after a greeting, was gone. ***** Once she had finished grieving over and contemplating the fact that Samuel was a delicate and different sort of baby, Sarah proved to be an excellent mother. For one thing, she was very innovative. She devised ways to help the baby sit up. Talking to him continually, she coaxed sweet smiles from the flat, little face, crinkling the almond-shaped eyes. Wrapped up warmly, Samuel was taken for countless strolls. There was no place in Harston which did not recognize Sarah and her son. Most importantly, when people stopped her to have a look inside the carriage, she would not be ashamed. She bragged on him as if he were the most important, delightful and charming baby in the world. And because this baby was so beloved, he never stinted in giving spectators beaming smiles. Sarah often took Samuel, or Samwell, as he was beginning to be called by everyone, to Hillbrook Street where we lived. CHAPTER 3 – A beginning of books As I said before, my father was a teacher of sorts. (Although I hasten to add that he actually had no need of employment because he was a gentleman. That is to say, he had a good personal income from his mother's side of the family.) But he loved reading, studying various kinds of books, and took much pleasure in passing on his knowledge. I cannot recall a single evening when he did not peruse a book or a magazine of some sort with me. It was not until much later that I realized the enormous benefits I had reaped from having such a father. The 1800s had been a time period of much academic poverty in England and Wales. Out of the four plus million children of primary school age, two million received no schooling at all. Religious institutions had been set up by the church to teach children reading, writing, arithmetic and religion, but they did not meet the needs of the growing population. In 1870, about twenty years before I was born, the Elementary Education Act had been passed in Parliament to address the issue of poor children who were not being taught. The Act specified that school places were to be given to all children between the ages of five and twelve in schools run by qualified teachers. A fee was required though – a varying fee of between one and four pence a week. If a family could not afford such a fee, children could attend classes for free. But not many did. Before father had begun to transform our very large back room into a classroom, there had been a school of sorts on the outskirts of town. It had been run by a Mr. Dauper, a man who, as my mother said, was as addicted to a bottle of wine as he was to caning children. Supposed to be overseen by board members, this establishment was not well-run. Father visited the school once in the second year he and Mother moved to Harston and he came home much incensed. After speaking with several local officials, Father eventually became the new teacher and our back room was transformed into a classroom. It was an unusual situation, but my father was an unusual man. (There was a school in a neighboring shire, and a number of local children did attend that school.) When I was little, Mother and I often visited the Sparrow farmstead and they, in turn, visited us. Consequently, Samwell and I became compadres, brothers almost. In the beginning, both in nappies, we just slept side by side in front of the hearth. Later we played together, with me usually being the leader and Samwell agreeing, smiling, and a willing partner to most of the things I invented for us to do. When Father read to me, as he did most days, and Samwell was present, both of us would sit on his lap. I usually fidgeted at Father's stiff, starched collar which he would eventually take off and drop on the floor. At first he read us A,B,C books, Mother Goose, Jack and the Bean Stalk and the like; later we graduated to Robinson Crusoe, Rip Van Winkle, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Children's Stories from Dickens. When we were at the Sparrows’ farmstead, however, it was Sam Sparrow who read to us and not Father. Sam, although he did not shun A,B,C books and such, tended to stick to Bible stories. I did like the timber of his well-modulated, heavy voice and I will never forget how he related the way in which God created Adam from the dust of the ground. Sam stood up for this story, and picked up some imaginary dirt from the ground. After this he straightened his position, held the dirt in his arms like a baby while he rocked back and forth, gazing on the imagined dirt tenderly. Then Sam Sparrow bent his head and breathed the breath of life into this earthen baby. Samwell listened intently. He always did. I can still see him leaning his large head back against the cushion of the rattan chair, almond eyes steadily fixed on his father. So we grew – grew out of our nappies and were breeched, although I was breeched a full year before Samwell. He did not get his first pair of pants until he was four. We grew on, Samwell and I, into bigger and bigger lads. It is true that many things, things such as the breeching, took longer for Samwell. Indeed, it sometimes took him years longer to attain a level that I had achieved in a few months. It did not impact our fondness for one another. Samwell was never scanty with his smiles and affection. Though he did not speak quickly as a young lad, he babbled on so incessantly and gestured so amiably to all who would pay attention that he was a favorite of many folks in town. Sarah, as well, often read to him during the day, and with the help of my father, she obtained picture books. When Samwell saw things illustrated, he learned much quicker. Sam Sparrow, when he was able, always came in for the noon hour meal, frequently bringing men with him who were helping him with the sheep, because such was his success with the sheep raising that he was able to hire others. On one such day, when Mother and I were visiting the Sparrows, and Samwell and I were about four years of age, Sam and two of his men were seated at the table. Sarah and my mother were serving them fresh bread and some soup. Before eating, Sam Sparrow took off his hat and motioned that his men should do the same. "Let's say grace, lads," he announced, his voice pleasant and sure. Then he began. "Our Father in heaven, we thank You for this fine food. Bless it we pray and we thank You for ...." He did not finish. The side door opened as he spoke and it opened with an intrusive creak. The noise trespassed into Sam's prayer and was followed by its architect, Ryker Bitter. The man strode in boisterously, blatantly ignoring those sitting quietly around the table. We boys, Samwell and I, standing next to the table, watched him enter with our eyes wide open. Ryker was a large man and he had to bend his head so as not to bump it on the low door lintel. "Well, praying are we," he began, "and what are we praying about?" Sam Sparrow scraped back his chair – a wooden upright one with a woven seat – and stood up. "We are thanking God for our meal," he answered simply and clearly. "And what are you eating today, Sam?" Ryker mocked, "Is it a meal worthy of thanks? Well, will you look at that! Some plain bread and some watery soup." He laughed and cracked his knuckles at the same time. "When God provides food," Sam Sparrow countered, "then it is a fine meal. And we ought to thank Him for it." "Has He blessed you with a fine son too, Sam? Has He given you a fine child as well? I hear tell he's a bit slow. It would be a long time before I would thank God for a child like that!" The truth was that Ryker and Alice, his wife, had no children. Mother and Sarah stood silently at the board as Ryker was speaking. Both were motionless. I was closest to the door and could feel the vibration of Ryker's boot as it tapped the wooden floor. His boots were made of black leather. "Now that's a frail-looking tyke as well," Ryker boomed on, inspecting my person, "But well, I've not come to discuss food or children. I've come for the payment due on the farmstead, Sam." Mother walked over and reached for my hand. Then she walked me back to the board and resumed her position next to Sarah. Samwell had said not a word, but stood dreadfully still, his hand grasping the back of his father's chair. After Sam Sparrow and Ryker Bitter had left the room, it was as if an audible sigh of relief swept through the room. Mother walked over to the table and ladled soup into the bowls of the men. Talk resumed. Samwell laughed and was lifted into his special chair by Sarah, and I climbed into mine right next to him. The truth was that Ryker Bitter was easily the wealthiest man in the area. There were very few who dared to contradict him; very few who would consider disagreeing with him over even such a small matter as the weather. If Ryker Bitter complained that the sun was too hot, many would nod even though it might be a mild day; and if the man suggested that it would rain, umbrellas were taken out even though the sky overhead was blue. CHAPTER 4 – Growing in wisdom My father, and here I repeat myself again, was a self-appointed teacher. He loved reading and writing and did much of both. He had transformed our back room into a classroom and it was a classroom free of charge. For many of the fathers and mothers in Harston's poorer section, however, sending a child to school, even a school free of charge, meant the loss of a much-needed income, for often a child would be working at a job. Attendance at the school which had been run by Mr. Dauper had been poor at best, especially at times of harvest. Father made it known, I don't know how, perhaps by word of mouth, that he was willing to teach at any time to anyone disposed to learn. And so a steady stream of local boys passed through our home at odd times. Sometimes they would come an hour or so in the early morning, and sometimes evenings were convenient. They would knock and Cora let them in. She would instruct them to take off their shoes in the hallway and to hang their coats on one of the many wooden nogs that father had attached to the wall in the corridor. After thus being properly introduced to the house, they were ushered into Father's study. When I grew older, I was usually seated at a small wooden desk, hard at work when they came in (provided they came in the morning). For me there was reading, writing and arithmetic. Later Father added grammar, geography and history, being most insistent on that last subject. And gradually I advanced to other subjects – Latin, French, algebra and geometry. The local boys, however, were taught mostly to read and write, add and subtract. They were a serious lot, these boys who came. From time to time, Samwell also came to school. When Sarah visited with Mother, Samwell would inevitably find his way into the study. Father never forbade him. Samwell was rarely distracting to those who were learning and the other boys tolerated him with rather good humor. At first Samwell would simply sit on the floor of the study and watch me and the others. Whether we were reading, writing, or attempting to work out a mathematical problem, he was fascinated. After a while he would stand up and peer over someone's shoulder. If I, or anyone else looked at him, he would tilt his head and flash such a huge smile that no one had the heart to send him back to the floor. Standing behind me, he would often count the fingers of his right hand. It had taken Sarah a very long time to teach him this, and he himself was very pleased with this accomplishment. Laboriously and slowly, he was able to say the numbers one to five with as much conviction as if they were the breath of life to him. The action pleased him to no end and he would do it over and over, proudly and loudly. Father would eventually shush him and he would sit down on the floor again, his voice dropping down to an almost inaudible whisper, his hand held up in front of him as if it were a slate on which to draw. There was another subject which drew Samwell like no other. That subject was religion, or Bible stories. Doubtless because Sam Sparrow read to him most evenings out of the Bible, the boy was replete with the commandments, the prophets and all the stories of the New Testament. Actually, to say that Sam read to his son is a bit of an untruth. The truth is that Sam chanted or sang the stories to his son. Samwell could retell, or re-sing them in his own fashion, the favorite-by-far story being that of the good Shepherd. Samwell’s rather large, and sometimes protruding tongue, sometimes made his speech less than clear. At times it caused some of the village children to make fun of him, especially if he was singing one of his favorite songs while walking down the street. But woe to these children if one of the boys who frequented Father's study was close by. Quick punishment awaited them and Samwell, hardly aware of the mocking to which he had been subject, generally smiled his way through town. Singing in his low-pitched voice, although he could barely carry a tune, did not deter him from interacting with other folks, many other folks. Samwell was good friends with Mrs. Dalfry, who lived just outside Harston on the east side. She kept a rabbit warren in an enclosed field by her cottage. She farmed the rabbits for food and fur. The dry and rather sandy meadow tract by her home was enclosed with water-filled ditches to stop the coneys from escaping and she had fences to keep out the predators. Her husband, long dead, had been a warrener, someone who kept rabbits. He had built several oblong “pillow” mounds with stone-lined tunnels for the rabbits to live in. His was a rare occupation but rabbit meat was a delicacy and the price of rabbit meat and fur made it a rather lucrative business. Being that she was close to the market, Mrs. Dalfry often ran a rabbit booth. Samwell loved visiting Mrs. Dalfry and her warrens and she was fond of the child, often inviting him in for a chat of sorts. They would stroll in the field and she would show him the rabbits. Affectionate and happy, it was obvious that he loved her as well as the rabbits. Mrs. Dalfry was not Samwell's only friend. I believe he visited more people in Harston on a regular basis than our pastor, John Solls, who lived but a few houses down the street from us. Samwell also frequented Mistress Toynder, the baker's wife, who often gave him a cookie as he passed by; as well there was Joe Cobb the chimney sweep, who betimes let Samwell follow him and watch him work as he climbed some of the wealthier chimneys in town; and there were the countless grooms, housekeepers, clerks, carpenters and maids, all of whom developed a fondness for the child, or, as the years went by, for the kind and simple-hearted man Samwell was on the way to becoming. There was one person, however, who truly harbored no love for Samwell. That person was Ryker Bitter. Ryker actually had no great liking for me either and it could probably be surmised that he had no great liking for anyone besides himself. Still, for the young lad Samwell had grown into, the wealthy landowner showed an especial aversion. I believe that Samwell himself was aware of the animosity exerted towards himself by Ryker. When street-children mocked him, or laughed at something he did, he laughed right along with them. On the other hand, when Ryker Bitter stopped him on a path, or singled him out in the farmyard by his house and made degrading remarks, Samwell was puzzled. His almond eyes furrowed and he did not smile. He did not understand. He could not fathom that someone might not like him as he himself liked others. It pained him somewhat to see Ryker Bitter deride him. Not for his own sake, but for the man's sake. There was this singular characteristic about Samwell in that he was uniquely loving. That is to say, he understood much more with his heart and mind that most people gave him credit for. He could not always express with his mouth what his heart thought, but he felt, oh, he felt much and he sensed that Ryker Bitter was unhappy. ***** School-leaving age was generally around the age of fourteen. When I was a year and a few months past that age, my father tested me and judged me ready and qualified to write an entrance examination into a higher school of learning. There were two examinations for the University of Cambridge: the Junior (for students under sixteen years of age, into which category I fit), and the Senior (for students under the age of eighteen). These examinations took place in local “centers” – places like schools or church halls. The subjects the students were tested on were many and sundry. They included such topics as English language and literature, history, geography, geology, Greek, Latin, French, and so on. School exams took place over a period of six consecutive days and were set in the morning, afternoon, and evening. My presiding examiner arrived by train at the Station Street station. He wore a black, high hat and appeared very impressive. Upon seeing him, Samwell immediately asked his mother for a similar headpiece. She laughed and told him to ask Joe Cobb, the chimney sweep who wore a stovepipe hat. My heart was in my throat as I walked towards the church hall the first day. Both my father and Samwell accompanied me to the door. Father shook my hand. "I know you'll do well, Son." Samwell beamed a grand smile of affection and followed Father's example of handshaking. "Do well, Ryle." ***** Much to my relief, I did do well. The questions were easier than I had anticipated. For example, one of the questions in History was: Name in order the Queens and the children of Henry VIII. On what grounds was he divorced from his first wife? In Religion one of the questions read: In what three ways was our Lord tempted in the wilderness? ***** These, and other questions posed, did not present much difficulty and I passed the examinations with flying colors in those particular subjects, as well as in some others, much to Father's gratification. The only discipline in which I needed help was French, and Father was to tutor me in that during the next few months. Samwell was pleased also. He had not understood much of why I had to be at the church hall and stay there for a length of time each day during the week that I was examined. But he did know that it was important for me and was always waiting when I came out the side door. "Do well, Ryle?" he would ask me with his guttural tongue. I would nod and he would clap his hands in glee and follow up by thickly shouting, "Good, Ryle! Very good." CHAPTER 5 – A good shepherd We hadn't seen much of one another that summer, Samwell and I, as I had been busy studying with Father preparing me for the examinations. But Samwell had been training with his Father as well, who was grooming him to become more self-sufficient. It seemed only logical that Sam Sparrow, the sheep owner, should prep his son to take care of his own little flock of sheep. Sheep can be kept in a barn or some other enclosure fairly easily. There was a small barn near the Sparrow farm. It stood on one and a half acres of land in which Samwell was now keeping ten sheep. He was inordinately proud of his little flock and spent much of his time counting the sheep on the fingers of his hand. He knew that if he counted his hand twice, then that was the number of sheep he had. Samwell was also meticulous in storing bedding and feed inside his barn. "Sheep don't get very cold, Ryle," he confided in me. "They are warm animals." I nodded. "Food for sheep has to be dry, Ryle." I nodded again. Truthfully, I did not know these things and was happy Samwell was learning a trade of sorts. "Sheep need room to move, Ryle. In the barn and outside." "You know a lot about sheep, Samwell." He grinned broadly, all teeth showing. Then he proudly went on to tell me that his sheep had to be careful. "Foxes kill lambs, Ryle." "Foxes?" "Yes, Ryle, red foxes. And," he added suddenly remembering, “badgers too, Ryle. They hunt lambs too." "You do know a lot about sheep, Samwell," I repeated, clapping him on the back, "and they are so happy, I think, to have you to look after them." "Mother likes wool, Ryle. When sheep stay outside, they have clean wool." "Will your sheep stay on this piece of land, Samwell? Won't they wander off?" "No, Ryle. I fixed fence with Father. See, I will show you." He did show me, and the stone wall that enclosed the section of land Sam Sparrow had given his son was in good shape, measuring some three feet high. "That's a sturdy wall, Samwell." "Father fixed most of it," he modestly replied, but then grinned, adding, "but I carried stones too." I believed it for Samwell's hands, though short, were strong. "Where do your sheep drink, Samwell?" "Trough in the barn, Ryle. I change water every day." "Samwell, I think you will become a teacher in sheep-raising and you can give lessons to all the children in Harston." Samwell chortled so hard that he almost fell over. ***** Father and Mother and I had a long talk about whether or not I was ready to leave Harston and go to Cambridge. "I waited for you so long," Mother complained, without looking at Father, "and now before you are sixteen you plan to leave us." "The boy will be home for holidays," Father interspaced, as Mother was gearing up to say a lot more. "Well, it wouldn't hurt him to study with you for another year, or at least a half a year," she pleaded. "He will probably learn much more from you than he would from all those strangers who don't really know him." "Maudie," Father tried again, "the boy needs to leave sooner or later. And the sooner he leaves, the sooner he'll be home again." "That's not true," she countered, adding with a sober face, "Sometimes I wish that Ryle was like Samwell. Then he'd stay home." Father and I looked at one another in astonishment. "Maudie," Father whispered, "you don't really mean that. God has given each boy talents – Samwell as well as Ryle – and each must use his natural ability as best he can." And in my mind, I could see Samwell standing by the sheep pen, hugging the lambs and leading the animals to a salt lick. And I could hear him speak with his hands, with his five fingers. Often his sentences had just five words. "My name is Samwell Sparrow" and "He said: 'Feed my lambs’" and, most telling of all, "Bring good news of happiness." They all fit on his fingers, those words. "What good news of happiness, Samwell?" I asked. "Jesus, Ryle. Don't you know? The good news of Jesus." He raised the fingers of his right hand as he repeated the last five words. And then he smiled. ***** The upshot of the matter was that I did stay home for another six months. It was a compromise of sorts between Father and Mother. Father did continue to teach me half-days with a strong emphasis on the French I had fallen short in. I was, truth be told, happy as a lark to put off leaving. Change was not my venue. I was not adventurous and often I spent part of these my reprieve-from-Cambridge-days roaming the woodlands with Samwell. He was a good walker and we saw bitterns, red kites, kingfishers, foxes, and hedgehogs. Samwell loved animals. One such day in the late fall, he stopped. " I show you something, Ryle?" We were walking down a path and had just stopped to eat a sandwich. "Sure, Samwell." Samwell held up his left hand and counted the fingers with his right. "The Lord is my Shepherd." Again, the words numbered five and fit on his hands like a glove. "That's good, Samwell," I praised. "Did your mother show you that?" He shook his head. "No, Ryle. I showed myself." "Well, that's very clever and true." "Can you do it too, Ryle?" "Yes, I suppose I can." I lifted my left hand and counted fingers with my right saying as I did so, "The Lord is my Shepherd." "Good, Ryle," Samwell approved. Then, aping my Father's often used words for himself, he added, "You are a good student." ***** A few weeks later we were out again. It was a day with a steady drizzle, every now and then upgrading into a firm rain. Walking proved mucky and difficult on the country paths. Stone walls guarding the side of the lanes were wet and shiny. Following along in ruts made by wagon tracks, Samwell stomped through puddles and cheerfully sang songs. He loved mizzling weather and, as he was frequently subject to colds, Sarah always made sure he wore a thick coat when he went out. Around one particularly steep bend, we suddenly stopped. Among the small copse of apple trees we were just skirting, there was a pitiful, bleating sound. Distressful and whiny, it crept past the Kirton Pippins with their yellowish-green skins and dull red flush, slid over the wagon ruts and halted by our boots. Samwell immediately began scouting the sides of the road. "That is a lamb, Ryle," he told me, and I nodded. We found the creature fairly quickly. Almost in the ditch, it was lying in a clump of wet grass. The apples suspended above the pathetic, whining sound, looked ready to be picked. Perhaps some farmer driving a flock to market and hungry for the sweet bite these apples offered, had stopped for a snack and perhaps because he was inattentive at this point, one of the lambs of his herd had been able to wander away from his protective custody. But I was wrong in my conjecture, for it was the very smallest of lambs which Samwell scooped up in his arms, a lamb still covered in wet amniotic fluid, a lamb that had its umbilical cord still attached. "Oh, Ryle," he called out, even as his round face coughed into the dankness of the place, "Oh, Ryle, this is a newborn baby. But no mother!" Samwell was almost weeping with concern. Unbuttoning his great coat, he cradled the lamb within its folds and informed me that this pretty, little ball of fleece ought not to get cold, because then it would die. ***** We set off at breakneck pace back towards Harston with Samwell breathing noisily and having a difficult time catching his breath. As we half-walked, half-ran, taking this path and that as we headed home, the thin shower of rain became almost negligible. A blue sky and a bright sun materialized. The lamb had stopped its mournful cries and appeared to be dozing peacefully against Samwell's chest. "We have to find mother, Ryle," Samwell kept repeating as he wheezed. "We have to find her." Fifteen minutes into our rush back, we had wandered onto the deer park adjacent to Bitter Hall, the home of Ryker and Alice Bitter. When Samwell turned towards it, I was a little hesitant and, voicing my objections, told him of my hesitancy about walking onto their property. Samwell, still sheltering the lamb, paid no heed. We were on the Servant's Trail, the trail used by those employed on the estate, those who helped keep the place running. Although a section of the trail was a short-cut back to Harston, Samwell seemed intent on heading towards the estate itself. "Ryker Bitter has ewes, Ryle. Ryker Bitter will have mother. Mother will have milk," he panted as we headed towards the large, thatched manor house. "But Samwell," I pleaded with him, "Ryker Bitter may not let you into his barn. He might not like it that you are here on his property." We could now see the stone and timber barn that belonged to the Bitter estate and that is exactly the place towards which Samwell's feet moved. "I've visited with Father. This way, Ryle!" he called out over his shoulder. "This way!" It was at this point that we met Jacob Crew and Daniel Shutter, two of my Father's old pupils, and big fellows they were. Both were efficient gardeners and thatchers. Indeed, there were many in Harston who hired the pair to repair their roofs. "Hey, there, Samwell and Ryle," they called out in a jovial manner, carrying shovels and rakes and pushing barrows, "what brings you down here?" Samwell stopped, coughed, smiled for a brief moment, and I explained to Jacob and Daniel what his mission was. Jacob was a little dubious and eyed the lamb reclining beneath Samwell's coat with a certain amount of disbelief. Daniel just shook his head. "I don't know," Jacob slowly worded, rubbing his chin, "I can take you into the barn and I'm quite sure there are a number of ewes who have recently lambed. Perhaps ...." He left off speaking, waved his hand, turned around and guided us towards the barn. "Ryker's not the easiest fellow for whom to work," Daniel confided as he too turned and walked along with us, "but I don't see why you can't check the ewes. Where's the harm in that? Nowhere, to be sure." With its thatched, hip roof and its white-washed stone walls, the barn was rather massive and overwhelming. As soon as we walked in through the large, double doors, a strong, musky odor hit our nostrils. Several casement windows let in a little light – only a little though, because they were dirty. Jacob maneuvered us through an initial half-dark section towards one of the wooden barricaded areas and peered over the edge. "Well, here we are then," Daniel said, following close at his heels and scrutinizing the pen as well, "and look at all the lambs." At this point Samwell breathed a huge sigh. It touched the wainscoting and landed on all the bewildered sheep huddled together in a corner. "They are a silly-looking bunch," Jacob commented, "and which do you suppose might suckle your little ewe lamb?" "Not silly, Jacob," Samwell countered. "Bright eyes and white wool. Beautiful." We were now, all four of us, standing next to one of the several sheep folds. It was dull in the large shed. Hay lay strewn about and we could hear pigeons cooing somewhere in the distance. At this juncture one of the mother ewes stood up and curiously approached us. "Maybe that's the mother," Samwell whispered. "Maybe she's ...." The barn door opened and shut behind us with a bang, all within the space of a second. Samwell's murmur dropped into the straw. Even as he stopped talking, two rough hands gripped his shoulders, turning him one hundred and eighty degrees. "And what would you be doing in my barn, young scallywag!" It was not so much a question as it was an accusation. Remembering this, I am still amazed that the enmity of the tone had not phased Samwell's resolve to help the little being snuggling within his coat. "I ask for help, Ryker." The words fell thick and Samwell's tongue threatened to leave the confines of his mouth. It appeared that Ryker was somewhat taken aback by this reply, for he did not immediately strike the boy as I had thought he was about to do. But then, both Jacob and Daniel were imposingly present and both, I am proud and relieved to say, stayed by the boy's side. "I ask for help, Ryker," Samwell repeated, rather louder this time, his arms caressing the lamb. " I have a new lamb. It needs milk. You have ...." "I have nothing which you can have, Boy," Ryker retorted. Then he suddenly reached down into Samwell's coat. Drawing out the small, white body hidden within that coat, he cruelly mounted it hard on the wooden gate post. The diminutive, woolly bit of lamb blatted softly. Then it piteously gasped, expiring before our eyes. Samwell fell down to his knees. "God loves all His lambs," he said, holding up his right hand. Fixing his gaze on the crucified lamb, he wept. He cried as the lamb had cried, and his round head lolled on his chest. Jacob touched my shoulder and indicated that we should leave. "The lamb's dead anyhow," he whispered, "and you can't do any good here any longer. Take the lad and go." I bent over and took Samwell by his right upheld hand. He gazed up at me, but did not see me as his eyes were filled with tears. "Come on, Samwell," I urged, "let's go home." And so we did. We trudged through the now foggy early evening and made for the Sparrow farm, Samwell coughing wretchedly all the way. CHAPTER 6 – The richest man in Harston After I had entrusted Samwell to the care of Sarah, who was quite anxious as to his shortness of breath, I set out for my own home hoping that Cora would have some hot soup and fresh bread ready, for I was cold and hungry. About an hour had transpired since Samwell's encounter with Ryker Bitter. As I neared Hillbrook Street, a man passed me riding a horse at breakneck speed, galloping past as if his life depended on it. I was home shortly thereafter, and had my mind fixed to speak to my mother and father about what had happened. However, I found Mr. Solls, our pastor, in the living room and did not think it proper to relate the incident in front of him. My mother served me bread and soup in front of the warmth of the hearth and I half-listened to Father and Mr. Solls discuss doctrine. I confess I almost fell asleep after I ate, so pleasantly warm was I and so worn out with the afternoon were it not for a sudden loud knocking at the door. "Open up. I must speak with Mr. Solls." We could all hear the voice, an insistent voice, abrasive and intruding. Cora answered the door. Not easily put out, she nevertheless looked out of sorts and rather shaken when she announced that Ryker Bitter was insistent upon seeing Mr. Solls. "Well, let the man in," Father said, "for Mr. Solls is here and our guest." Cora did not have to walk back into the hallway to issue the invitation, for Ryker Bitter had pushed his way through the study doorway and was standing larger than life in front of all four of us - Father, Mother, myself and Mr. Solls. "I need to ...." he began, stuttering and stammering, while wobbling on his feet, black riding boots encrusted with mud. "What need you to do?" Father mildly remarked, ignoring Ryker's obvious confusion and agitation. "I need to speak with Mr. Solls, but," Ryker jabbered, "I can speak freely in front of you all, I think. Yes, I think that I can." "Well, Man," Father said, "out with it. What is it that has you so riled up?" "I will die tonight," Ryker babbled, drooling somewhat out of the corners of his mouth, and I wondered that the man was presently so obviously inattentive to his person, as he had so often made fun of Samwell's outward appearance. "Die?" Mr. Solls and Mother spoke simultaneously. "Yes, I will die." "How do you know that?" This time it was Father who questioned. "I heard God speak. Indeed, He spoke directly to me saying that I would die. And I must prepare." "Ryker," this time Father spoke a little more gently, "sit down, Man! Sit down. I think you have had a dream or perhaps you've been drinking?" He got up and guided Ryker towards one of the cushioned armchairs, pushing him down forcibly. Appearing distracted, looking at us but not really seeing us, Ryker sat down shakily. His leather riding boots left soiled imprints on Mother's carpet. She did not appear to notice but was staring at Ryker with great eyes. "There was a voice," Ryker rasped out, "and it came to me from the roof of the barn. It was a great voice, a hollow voice, and it said, 'Ryker, tonight the richest person in Harston will die.'" "What ...?" Mother began, only to stop for she did not know what to say. Indeed, I wouldn’t have known how to reply to such a statement either. "I must know," Ryker's hoarse voice went on, "I must know how to die. You see, I don't know how to do that." Mr. Solls eyed Father who raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly. "Mr. Bitter," Mr. Solls began, "it's a strange tale you tell, and I must confess I rather doubt ...." "Doubt!" Ryker wailed, and surely wailing was the correct description of the eerie sound he brought forth, "I heard the voice, Man, I heard it. It surely was meant for me." There was quiet for a moment, aside from the fact that Ryker was breathing hard and was hitting the knuckles of his hands on the supporting wooden sides of the chair in which he was sitting. "Well," Mother said purposefully, standing up suddenly, "I think I will go and get you a hot toddy, Ryker. It will relax you some." She was out of the room in an eyeblink. Ryker made no comment. Father coughed and Mr. Solls seemed rather uncomfortable. This seemed rather strange to me as Mr. Solls, being the pastor of our church, of all people should be comfortable with talking about God and about death. As I was thinking this, he got up, walked over to Ryker's chair and knelt down on the carpet by his feet. "Ryker," he began, leaving off the Mister he had used previously, and repeating, "Ryker, you must tell us a little more. We'd like to help you but perhaps it would be beneficial if you told us exactly what happened." Mr. Solls was in possession of a liquid voice, a fluid voice as it were, and it was soothing. Ryker sighed deeply. "Very well," he conceded, "I will tell you. I was in the barn, you see. That young scallywag, Samwell, he'd been by together with ... well, together with your son, Mr. Harrison ...." I exhaled rather noisily at this point although I hadn't notice that I had been holding my breath. Ryker looked over. "Yes, I see you Ryle, and you were there." I nodded, not knowing what to say. The fact is that I dearly wanted to alert Father to the truth, to the fact that Ryker had been cruel to Samwell and had killed a little lamb. But I could not formulate the words. "Well, the young boy irritated me. Always pushy that one, with his big smiles and ...." "I don't think I want to hear any sort of blather about Samwell," Father interrupted. "He is as dear to me as my own son." Ryker went on, almost as if he had not heard Father. "Well, after Samwell and young Harrison here left, I checked around the barn. Wanted to make sure that there was nothing missing, nothing broken and that everything was in place.... Well, it was then that I heard a breathing, a loud sort of breathing. It seemed to be coming from the center of the barn roof ¬– thereabouts anyway. I looked up to see if there were pigeons flying about or if there was a thatching problem, but there's dim lighting in the place and it's been a dull day, you understand, and I could see nothing amiss. And then," and here Ryker's voice changed, "then a voice began. 'Ryker' it said, and very loudly too, 'Ryker, tonight the richest person in Harston will die.'" Mr. Solls, who was still kneeling by the armchair, took Ryker's right hand between his own hands. "Suppose it were true, Ryker," he posed, "suppose that you were to die tonight. What then would happen to your soul? It's not a bad thing for you, and for all of us, to think on. That is the truth." He got no further. Ryker pulled his hand away and held it up in the air even as Samwell had held his hand up. I reflected on how strange that was. Two hands and two thoughts. For even as Ryker's eyes bulged with fear and panic, he also blurted out five words. "And what is truth exactly?" His words hung in the air even as the lamb had hung on the wooden gate post. "Well," Mr. Solls responded, not exactly answering Ryker's question directly, but raising a good point nevertheless, "to think on death is healthy because it reminds us that sooner or later we shall all meet our Maker, Ryker." Ryker's hand fell down and he slumped over. "There is no cure for it. I am undoubtedly the richest person in town. So I shall die. I know it." Mother slipped into the room again. She carried a cup which, as she told us later, contained a sleeping draught. She passed it to Mr. Solls, who gently, with the assistance of Father, helped Ryker sit up. He drank the liquid almost greedily and then leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep. ***** It was only an hour or so later that the doorbell rang again. Ryker was still sleeping. The lamp lights had been turned off around him and there was darkness where his chair stood. This time Cora let Sam Sparrow into the room – Sam, the father of Samwell and husband of Sarah. "I came to tell you," he grieved, and his voice fell onto the soiled imprints that Ryker's boots had left on the carpet, "that our Samwell's years have come to an end like a sigh. The favor of the Lord rested upon him. His wheel has broken at the cistern and his spirit has returned to God Who gave it." All three pictures are by Havilah Farenhorst, a granddaughter of the author. ...

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Media bias

Dear Mainstream Media: 4 strikes and you’re out!

Like many of you, I grew up with the mainstream media being a part of our household. We got the Globe and Mail delivered daily; when they displayed too obvious a bias in favor of same-sex “marriage,” my dad switched to the National Post. We got TIME magazine weekly. When I moved out on my own for the first time – from Chilliwack to Calgary, Alberta – the first thing I did was get a subscription to a newspaper. But as the years went on, my “take it with a grain of salt” attitude to the mainstream media evolved into overt distrust. The feeble attempts at fairness largely disappeared, and brazen cheerleading for the movements destroying our society took its place. Strike 1: Hating babies One of the first breakdowns of trust between Christians and the press came with the issue of abortion. Christians view abortion for precisely what it is: an act of violence that ends the life of a developing human being. With only a few notable exceptions, the mainstream media in North America backed the abortion rights movement and opposed the pro-life movement. Dehumanizing language was deliberately used when referring to pre-born children. The issue, in most cases, was presented as a political struggle between the “pro-choice” movement and the pro-life movement, with the main characters – the pre-born babies at the center of the struggle – left entirely out. This bias has only grown exponentially, especially in the wake of Roe v. Wade’s overturn. The media deliberately misrepresents pro-lifers; it seeks to portray the movement in as negative a light as possible, and it actively ignores malfeasance on the pro-abortion side. I have read stories about people I know, in which I am quoted, that are obviously false. To read a story in the mainstream press about abortion is to see journalists assert, with complete confidence, that the baby in the womb is not, in fact, a baby. It is to read “fact-checkers” debunk objectively true claims on behalf of the abortion industry, and to see the pro-life movement portrayed as misogynists, religious fanatics, and, frequently, white supremacists. The mainstream media’s rule is “if it bleeds, it leads” – except when it comes to abortion. In fact, when David Daleiden and the Center for Medical Progress released bombshell videos in 2015, proving that the abortion industry was trafficking in baby body parts, the media promptly launched a massive investigation…into the Center for Medical Progress. The reality is that when you read a story about abortion in the media, it is almost certainly packed with disinformation and outright lies. Strike 2: Hyping hedonism It isn’t just abortion, of course. On virtually every issue, the mainstream press takes the side of the sexual revolutionaries – and when churches are covered by the media, it is almost always a story about a conflict between Christianity and the sexual revolution. It is not news that Christian institutions generally adhere to a Biblical view of sexuality, for example, but Canada’s state broadcaster and major newspapers treat us to an endless stream of breathless coverage reminding us of the fact. You have probably never heard about the community service work done by staff and students at Redeemer University. You probably have heard the stunning revelation that, as one CBC headline put it, this “private Christian university says no sex outside heterosexual marriage.” Progressive politicians and their media allies have put a lot of elbow grease into stereotyping conservative Christians, and it has been effective. While Christians are condemned for opposing an increasingly radical LGBT agenda, the press – especially Canada’s taxpayer-funded state broadcaster – has bent over backward to condemn parental rights, defend drag shows targeted at children, and justify a pornographic sex ed curriculum. Strike 3: Doubling down on death The same is true for the issue of euthanasia. With one exception – Andrew Coyne, who was then a columnist for the National Post and now writes for the Globe and Mail – the media was entirely in favor of legalization, and treated dissent as unworthy of coverage. I remember tuning into the CBC for a debate on euthanasia, only to discover that the debate was not between someone who opposed it and someone who supported it – it was between an advocate of the incoming law and a fellow who didn’t think it went far enough. In short order, the media wasn’t even calling it euthanasia or assisted suicide anymore – they’d switched the terminology to the sterile, soothing-sounding “medical aid in dying,” conveniently shortened to “MAID.” Only when the horror stories pro-lifers predicted began surfacing in rapid succession did some media outlets begin asking if we had perhaps “gone too far” – and none admitted that perhaps the pro-life advocates they’d ignored were correct. Strike 4: Celebrating castration But the nail in the coffin of the media’s credibility – not only amongst Christians, but in the broader public, as well – was their whole-hearted embrace of the transgender agenda. Prestigious media organizations with Pulitzer Prizes and foreign correspondents in a dozen countries began to publish articles with phrases such as “her penis” and “his breasts.” Scores of “human interest” stories about “pregnant men” – I’m not making that up – were (and are) published with full photo essays. The claims of the transgender movement on everything from suicidal ideation to the acceptability of subjecting gender dysphoric minors to double mastectomies and castration were accepted at face value, regardless of how ludicrous they were or how much contradictory evidence existed. Most damning were the countless stories about allegedly female criminals featuring photographs of ugly, snaggle-toothed men guilty of often horrifying violence against real women. Nearly all of them went viral, and the universality of the mockery was devastating for the media’s credibility. Trust in the press can survive mistakes – even catastrophic ones. But it is a different scenario entirely when the press consistently challenges its viewers and readers with obvious lies and asks them: “Who are you going to believe, us or your lying eyes?” I’ve even seen mainstream journalists such as Jonathan Kay (of Quillette and the National Post) make the observation on Twitter – the reason transgenderism is so toxic, he noted, is that “ isn’t just destroying trust in the educational/political elites when it comes to gender. It’s destroying trust, full stop. If elites…think waving a fairy wand turns boys into girls, what other crap do they believe?” Precisely. Over the past several decades, the mainstream press has revealed that it serves as the propaganda arm of the Sexual Revolution – and in the last ten years, it has abandoned reality entirely. You’re outta here This is undoubtedly a serious issue, because in the vacuum left behind, many people merely hunt for sources that back their preferred narrative on a given issue and independent platforms deliberately cater to this. I agree with the mainstream journalists who worry that the collapse of trust in the Fifth Estate is a huge problem. It just happens to be a problem of their own making. Jonathon Van Maren has written for the National Post, National Review, First Things, LifeSiteNews, and many other publications. He blogs at TheBridgehead.ca....

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In a Nutshell

Tidbits - October 2023

Halloween in a small American town I live in a delightful and occasionally comical small town where the church-attending Christians make up a solid majority of the population. This is such a Christian town that when Halloween comes around, one of the local churches will set up a hot chocolate stand for our area, and you'll see a dad or two dressed up as a monkish Martin Luther, tonsure and all. When I first moved here Halloween fell on a Sunday, and I was impressed to see most of the kids did their trick-or-treating on Saturday instead. Then I was quite surprised when one of the trick-or-treaters at my door – a little princess – told me "my brother is the devil." Sure enough, there he came toddling up the path, a two-year-old dressed in a bright red satin, forked tail wagging behind. Lynden: it's a town where trick or treating on Sunday is verboten, but dressing up as Satan ain't no big thing. “The free market is a bathroom scale” “The free market is simply a measurement. The free market tells us what people are willing to pay for a given thing at a given moment. That’s all the free market does. The free market is a bathroom scale. We may not like what we see when we step on the bathroom scale, but we can’t pass a law making ourselves weigh 165. Liberals and leftists think we can.” – P.J O’Rourke Are you wearing anything ten years or older? About ten years back, Christian Courier's editor Angela Bick shared that her friends were surprised to learn that they weren’t wearing anything as much as ten years old. The surprise was probably prompted by the realization that 40 years ago the situation would have been quite different. Kids’ clothing in particular was treated differently then, with patches (and patches upon patches) being far more common. Darning socks was more common, and the resoling of shoes too. Whenever one generation decides to do something differently than the previous, it is worth a moment’s reflection - if you aren’t wearing anything from a decade ago, why might that be? Is it a result of shoddy manufacturing and living in a throw-away culture? Are clothes simply not made to last like they once were? Are we financially blessed, to the point that we don’t need to wear worn out clothes? Are we financially irresponsible, spending money on clothes when that money could be put to better use? Is it a matter of clothes being less expensive to replace than they once were? Might it mean we are overly concerned with keeping up with the latest fashions? The way it was… and could be? In the 1940s, in the Netherlands, most men worked six days a week at physically-taxing jobs. So, come Sunday it could be quite a struggle for these men to stay attentive through the church service, especially when it came time to pray and eyes were shut and heads were bowed. And to make it harder still, the prayers were quite often fifteen minutes long. In his wartime biography The Way It Was, author Sid Baron notes that to help these men stay awake it was the practice then to allow the option of standing during prayer. So throughout the church, as most bowed their head to pray, many farmers and laborers would rise. This practice is no longer common anywhere in Reformed churches, most likely because ministers no longer tax their congregation’s attention with fifteen-minute prayers, and because far fewer members do heavy physical labor. Still, it might be a practice worth reviving for some particularly sleep-deprived folk: the mothers and fathers of newborns! Brother, can you spare a dime? by Gregory Koukl You can't help having mixed feelings when people beg for food on the street. Your heart goes out to them, but you have reservations too. Is there a real need here, or is this just laziness disguised? Here's a simple solution. Give food to the poor by helping fill the cupboards of your local church feeding program. If your church doesn't have one, find a Christian facility that does. They make sure food goes to people with a genuine need, and the Gospel goes out along with it. Another alternative is to make up a couple of bags of food and keep them in your trunk. Include the kinds of things that can be opened without tools and eaten without cooking. Include plastic silverware that's sealed together with a napkin that you get from take-out food places. Then give it in Jesus' name. Welfare is not God's answer to the needs of the poor. Instead, He asks for charitable, responsible, obedient giving. Don't give money to someone begging in the street. Instead, send your money to a reputable Christian agency in your area, or give food in prepackaged parcels. You'll have the peaceful confidence you've really done something for the poor and homeless. SOURCE: Reprinted with permission from www.str.org Biblical, musical ABCs Jamie Soles is well known among conservative Reformed churches in Canada, but for those that don’t know of him, below are the lyrics of a song from one of his children’s albums “The Way My Story Goes” which is available (along with more info) on the artist’s website SolMusic.ca. “These Are They” Jesus said, “You search the Scriptures For in these, you say, your life will never end, Don’t be misled; the life you’re looking for Is found in Me, for I am found in them. And… "These are they, these are they, These are they which speak of Me.” Adam, Abel, Abraham, Aaron, Ammon, Amnon, Andrew, Abishai, Abishag, Abigail, Ahab, tell the world of Me. Ahaziah, Amaziah, Ahimaaz, Ahasuerus, Ahithophel, Abiathar, Ahitub, too, Asahel and Absalom, Abner and Abednego, Asa and Amasa, just to name a few. Now… These are they.... Boaz, Balaam, Barzillai, Balak, Barak, Baal, Babel, Baasha, Baruch, Benjamin, all tell the world of Me. Barnabas and Bethel, Bezalel and Bilhah, Benaiah, Belial, and Bashan, too, Bethlehem and Ben-Hadad, Beelzebub and Babylon, The Bible bubbles over with Me; how ‘bout you? Now… These are they.... Caesar, Caleb, Caiaphas, Canaan, Cain, and Chedorlaomer, Cushi, Chloe, Claudius, all tell the world of Me. Corinthians, Cyrenians, Cyrus and the Cretans, Cornelius, Capernaum, and Chimham, see? These are only part of it This is but the start of it Stories are your biblical ABCs! Now… All these stories, they show My glories These are they which speak of Me. Top 10 verses: important omission BibleGateway.com is a website that includes dozens of different translations of the Bible. It gets more than 8 million visitors each month, and back in 2011. when they listed their site’s most-searched for verses of the Bible, Collin Hansen at TheGospelCoalition.org noticed a startling omission among them. While the top ten includes verses that are often emblazoned on shirts, or are held up on signs at sports events (John 3:16 was the #1 verse) none of the top ten most-searched-for-verses talked about sin! It isn’t until verse #19 that sin is mentioned: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” It’s not surprising that talking about sin is unpopular. But the Good News of the Gospel only makes sense after we understand our own sinfulness, and God’s hatred of sin. Then it is good news indeed that God has sent us a Savior and Mediator! So it isn’t a surprising omission, but it is a glaring one. It should be polite to ask a woman’s age Our culture worships youth, so it’s no wonder they think it’s rude to make mention of someone’s age. But why do we think it’s rude? After all, the Bible speaks quite highly of the elderly, as it is with age that wisdom can come (at least among the righteous). That’s why Proverbs 20:29 notes that “gray hair is the splendor of the old” and Prov. 16:31 tells us: “the silver-haired head is a crown of glory.” Among Christians old should be excellent! 30% of Gen Z Americans would welcome gov’t monitoring inside their homes Nearly a third of Americans under 30 would welcome a government surveillance device in their homes, in the name of reducing spousal and child abuse. Clearly they haven’t been taught about the surveillance states of the past, like the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany. And they must not know about China’s current “social credit system,” where citizens are constantly monitored and granted freedoms based on how obliging they’ve been to their government’s every requirement. And they haven’t read 1984 or any other dystopian fiction. That a third of American young people trust the government to watch their every move isn’t an endorsement of our political leadership’s trustworthiness, but is instead an indicator of how badly they are educating our youth in their public schools. Now Christians might think that if we aren’t doing anything wrong what does it matter if we are being watched? But do you spank your children? Might some government official somewhere want to recast as abuse what you know to be appropriate and measured? Do you teach your children that God made us male and female? Do you insist that marriage is between one man and one woman? What might the government think about that? To be constantly monitored is to be constantly assessed. And knowing, as we do, that our governments don’t measure right and wrong by God’s standards, we should fear the prospect....

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News

Saturday Selections – Oct. 14, 2023

Click on the article titles below to go to the linked articles... Evidence for design: the push-pull principle Evolution is supposed to happen in small, random steps. What it can't account for is the push-pull principle, when two independent systems are needed to start and stop a body function. This would require that these two systems evolved not in small random steps but in a tight simultaneous choreography. On Hamas: so this is what they mean by decolonization RP contributor Jonathon Van Maren encourages us to listen to what they are telling us. John Stonestreet and Timothy Padgett also weigh in, on the reality of evil: "Hamas didn’t simply attack Israeli military units or take out strategic targets. They mutilated the bodies of Jewish soldiers, killed entire families, kidnapped children and the elderly, and sexually assaulted women and girls before either killing them or carting them back to Gaza as trophies. One of the kidnapped is a survivor of the Nazi attempt to exterminate the Jews." The crisis of trust in science In recent years "Science" has been celebrated as our only reliable guide, and not really to be questioned. But how is this God-substitute doing? Well, in 2016, Nature reported that more than 70% of researchers had "tried but failed to reproduce another scientist's experiment, and more than half have failed to reproduce their own experiments." Homosexuality is getting pushed in evangelical churches under the guise of neutrality We've seen it happening in the CRC, and now mega-church pastor Andy Stanley is leading the way for sexual compromise in his influential mega-church. As Stand to Reason's Alan Shlemon notes: "Andy Stanley is either naïve or crafty. Either way, he’s dangerous. He’s naïve if he thinks he can host the Unconditional Conference and it will not corrupt the church’s teaching on sexual ethics. Or he’s crafty and is using this conference to change the theology of his church and possibly other churches. Either way, he’s dangerous." Why Johnny can't read.... but can spell G-A-Y God gave us His Word, and thus, Christians love and promote literacy. While the Enemy can misdirect literacy, he can also use ignorance, which might be the best explanation for why many of his schools aren't that interested in the ABCs. This article is a shocker. "With large majorities of their students incompetent in English and math, Los Angeles schools are ramping up efforts—for more gay pride and gender indoctrination." When artificial intelligence makes art, what becomes of the artist? A machine can make a picture, but can it discover meaning? Stop the slinging in politics (2 min) Potty humor aside, this makes an important point – insults don't advance an argument and don't win hearts or minds.  ...

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Human Rights

The biblical and historical basis for parental rights

With the onset of parenthood, couples suddenly find that this new role is now dominating their lives. Children have become a central factor in how time and money are spent, and these same children also become a source of anxiety. Are they okay? Are they alright? The well-being of their children becomes an overwhelming feature of parents’ lives. Parents want what’s best for their children so the decisions they make are with this objective in mind. Christian parents will want their children to be instructed about God and his Word because they understand that spiritual matters are of the greatest concern. This normally includes education in a Christian school or homeschooling. Historically, in the English-speaking democracies, parents’ ability to choose Christian education for their children has frequently received widespread support. Of course, parents can choose what education their children are to receive! Who else could make that kind of decision? Sadly, there are threats on the horizon. Powerful forces in the media and various governments are increasingly suspicious about parental influence in education. These kinds of threats make it imperative for Christian parents to understand the basis of their rights in making authoritative decisions for their children. One excellent source of information is American lawyer John Whitehead’s 1985 book entitled Parents' Rights. Many of the matters he discusses in the book are dated because it was written thirty years ago. But the biblical and historical information he provides about parental rights are still valid and useful to know today. The Bible In the Bible, God has ordained three key institutions: the family, the church, and the state. Each one has specific roles and responsibilities. Each one also has specific powers and authority. However, the power and authority are not inherent in the institutions themselves but are delegated by God. Family, church and state have “derivative” authority from God – it comes from Him. Therefore the authority they exercise must always be used in accordance with God’s revealed will. There is no just authority that can be exercised in opposition to God’s truth. To which of the three institutions did God give the oversight and care of children? Clearly, it is the family. Already in the first chapter of Genesis, Adam and Eve are told to be fruitful and multiply. Whitehead notes: "Not only is there a command to have children, but there is the teaching that children are from God. When Eve had borne a child, she recognized that she had not done this alone and understood that the Creator was the ultimate source of the child. She said: “I have gotten a man from the Lord.” In Genesis 33:5, Genesis 48:9 and Joshua 24:3-4, it is explicitly stated that children are given by God. As Whitehead explains: "These verses indicate that children are given by God to families and not inanimate institutions or governments. Not only are children given, but they are also called gifts and blessings: “Behold, children are a gift of the Lord; the fruit of the womb is a reward.” As such, children are not just given to any family. The implication is that specific children are given to particular parents as a gift from God." The centrality of the family in the raising of children is further buttressed by the primacy of the family as an institution: "The family was the first institution created by God, even before the state. Because it was the first, it can be considered to be the foundational institution upon which all others are built." History John Whitehead is American, so the historical discussion he provides about parental rights is primarily about the United States. Nevertheless, the USA is part of the broader Anglo-American culture (“Anglosphere”) that shares legal precepts descended from Britain. The other Anglosphere countries have operated under the same basic principles. During the first half of the seventeenth century, Puritan settlers from England began arriving in the North American colonies. This area became known as New England. Later in the century the colonies adopted laws requiring children to learn to read and to be catechized. It was clearly recognized that teaching children was the responsibility of parents and these laws reinforced that fact. As Whitehead points out, "All of these enactments were concerned simply with the basic education of children, and should not, therefore, be confused with modern compulsory education laws which require classroom attendance at state-approved schools." Parents in the colonies did, in fact, take their responsibility seriously and children learned to read on a wide scale. “At the time of the Revolution, literacy rates had reached unprecedented heights, and by 1800 literacy was virtually universal.” That is, decades before the public school system was created in the USA, almost everyone (excluding slaves, unfortunately) could read and write in that country. Universal literacy was not the result of public education. John Locke John Locke (1632-1704) has been one of the most influential political philosophers in the history of the English-speaking world. He was the key philosopher behind the founding of the United States, and his thought underlays many early American documents and institutions. Although there is a debate over the degree to which Locke reflects a genuine Christian perspective, there are some clear biblical ideas in his work. Locke understood that God had created the world and everything in it. As Whitehead explains, Locke saw children as being the creation of God: "Therefore, instead of belonging to their parents, children belong to the Creator. Parents, then, hold children in trust for God. This means that parents, as stewards, are to take care of their children for God. The child must be raised to live the sort of life which is pleasing to the Creator." Children, of course, are born without the ability to take care of themselves or make decisions for their lives. They will eventually develop those capacities and become independent adults. But in the meantime, it is necessary for the parents to care for them and take steps to see that they grow morally and mentally into responsible individuals. As Locke saw things: "the child’s weakness is a source of parental authority, which in turn is a source of parental obligation. Thus, parents are under a God-mandated obligation to “preserve, nourish, and educate” their children. This is not a choice parents have. The obligation is not to the child, but to God." In other words, parents are accountable to God, first and foremost, for how they raise their children. The children are really God’s children entrusted to the parents, so those parents must answer to Him for their child-rearing efforts. The courts Locke’s perspective on the position of parents reflects the Christian thought that dominated the US during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Whitehead states that, “it was this parental authority and obligation that was embedded in the law and protected by the courts.” Whitehead discusses particular American court cases from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that demonstrate how strongly parental rights were upheld in common law. He summarizes the situation thusly: "Parental power, the early court decisions indicate, is essentially plenary. This means it should prevail over the claims of the state, other outsiders, and the children themselves 'unless there is some compelling justification for interference.'" It is important to note that the erosion of parental rights that has occurred in recent decades is strongly related to the decline of Christianity in the USA and in the other Western countries as well. This is reflected in American court decisions: "The older cases specifically noted that they were relying on Christian principles. However, the modern phobia over the separation of church and state prevents any reference to the Christian principles in terms of them being truth." Parental rights were historically based on Christian ideals. As the Christian basis of the West has deteriorated, the foundation for parental rights has weakened as a result. There is still some support for parental rights in the USA and other countries like Canada. But Whitehead thinks that continuing support is best explained as being part of “the cultural memory” of the past “when the Christian idea that children are gifts from God was an assumed principle.” Conclusion Whitehead suggests that there are two key commitments Christians must make if they are to secure parental rights. “The first is, of course, the commitment to be good parents.” Parents must raise their children in accordance with God’s loving commands and expectations. In other words, parents must take their responsibilities and obligations seriously if they want their parental rights to be recognized. “Second, as Christians, we must be committed to stand strong for the truth.” Parental rights are ultimately rooted in Christianity, so it is especially incumbent upon Christians to advocate for them. The purpose and rationale for parental rights need to be explained. In the end, parental rights are not primarily for the benefit of parents, but for the benefit of children. Children need the loving care of their parents. No institution can take the place of the family in the lives of children. As Whitehead puts it, “The state is simply, and will always be, a poor and ineffective parental substitute.” This first appeared in the June 2015 issue....

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News

Saturday Selections – Oct. 7, 2023

The challenges and reality of climate modeling (5 min) Steven Koonin is a scientist whose experiences include time as undersecretary of science at the Department of Energy in the Obama administration. He's also written Unsettled: What Climate Science Tells Us, What It Doesn't, and Why It Matters and the point he's arguing here is that scientists need to speak with a lot more humility in acknowledging the uncertainty about the conclusions their climate models come to, since they are built on assumptions upon assumptions. For his 1-hour-long interview on the same topic, click here. What makes a man manly? (10-min read) Evolution and God have two very different answers to that question, as Nancy Pearcey explains. Evolution leads to bad science example #6819: human tails Once every few hundred million times or so, a child will be born with what looks somewhat like a tail. Charles Darwin pointed to these instances as examples of our evolutionary origins - throwbacks to tailed ancestors we once had. Then: "In the 1980s, scientists took this theory and ran with it. They argued that a genetic mutation, evolved by humans to erase our tails, could sometimes revert back to its ancestral state." It took a long time, but the facts finally overwhelmed the evolutionary assumptions - these are not evidence of our origins, and not tails at all, but major mishaps, typically associated with an improper fusing of the spinal column. Ranked Choice Voting (RCV) Though I myself am a fan of Ranked Choice Voting – where you rank all the candidates from your first preference down to your last – it does have its downsides, which are explored in the article above. While there is no perfect electoral system, some are better and others worse. For example, electronic voting machines are touted for their convenience, but their coding is most often a proprietary secret, which is just one reason they don't allow for the accountability and transparency that pen on paper ballots can offer. And of course, the problem with all democratic systems is that voters can be very wicked and they may just get what they voted for. COVID-19, hygiene theatre, masks, and lockdowns: “solid science” or science veneer? (15 min read) "In an ideal world, there would be some process by which our public health agencies, at least, could come to recognize and admit how badly they managed to 'follow the science' on COVID-19, and how vast was the gulf between their expressions of absolute certainty and what the scientific literature showed at the time was, in fact, a sea of uncertainty. Until such a 'truth and reconciliation' process takes place, it is hard to see how public trust in public health institutions might be restored." Unintended consequences: a reason for restrained government Chesterton is said to have quipped "If men will not be governed by the Ten Commandments, they shall be governed by the ten thousand commandments," his point being that if men won't be restrained by God, then the government will have to step in, and they'll do a hodge podge of it. As opposed to God's divine law, governmental rules and regulations are a clumsy tool, devised as they are by fallible men and often at a great distance from the problems they are trying to address. So it is then, that governmental "solutions" often cause bigger problems – unintended consequences. Understanding this reality, lawmakers should, in humility, use the tool of lawmaking only when they absolutely must. ...

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