HEAD(hed), (n.) 1. the top part of the human body or the front part of an animal where the eyes, nose, east and mouth are. "Your brain is in your head." DIBS(dibz), (n.) 2. a thick, sweet syrup made in countries of the East, especially the Middle East, from grape juice or dates. [Arabic "debs"]--World Book Dictionary, 1976.
I’ve been spending the last few months on something I’ve always wanted to do: write a book. I’m using every possible moment on this project and it’s really coming along. I am currently 7 chapters completed out of a potential 20. However, given the source material, each chapter is just a little bit longer than the previous. So who knows when I’ll be finished. I’m learning so much tho!
Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps
Two Evidences?
Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps
-
Our oldest son recently took me on an excursion to show me a back-woods trail that goes around the lake here on the campus of Columbia International University. While I instantly began planning how to incorporate this trail into my workout regimen, I was delighted by the sights, sounds and smells of the woods. I ran the trail it for the first time yesterday and though it was the most challenging track I’ve taken yet, I am most delighted that I don’t have to choke on the traffic exhaust as I usually run along the road.
I spoke with a friend recently about the trail and he discouraged using it because of the stones, spider webs and branches. When I ran it yesterday, for the first time in my life, I’ve never been so delighted to run head-on through a spider web. Instead of being repulsed (I loathe bugs), I was awed how all creation moves in a cosmic dance according to the design and to the delight of the Creator: the lights and shadows of the woods; the variant temperatures and humidity at various elevations; the range of smells introduced by various animals whose footprints are everywhere on the high places; the colors and textures; the view of the valleys and thunderheads billowing floating seas overhead.
This experience has been coupled with a realization that those who trust their Creator, holding forth that all things have a personal beginning and those who do not trust their Creator, holding forth that all things have always existed with no personal beginning and develop through evolutionary processes: both groups have the same evidence. The evolutionary scientist has no more evidence than the creation scientist. The most crucial difference between the two rests on the starting point: the evolutionist begins and ends with the evidence itself while the creationist begins with the personal source of the evidence.
Listen carefully to Bill Nye, the Science Guy talk about the two worldviews where he concludes “In another couple of centuries that worldview [Creation], I’m sure will be . . . just won’t exist. There’s no evidence for it.”
First, Mr. Nye's comment is a mere echo of statements that have been made for centuries (that Christianity will not last, in this case, "creationism" specifically). The evidence of Christianity's longevity speaks otherwise (just ask Voltaire). Second, “evidence” is not so easily removed. We are not discussion two different evidences. We are down to interpretations of the evidence from two viewpoints, or worldviews. There must be another viewpoint, otherwise Neil Armstrong could not have taken this picture from the Eagle Lunar Module.
[I wonder how many scientist are frustrated over the many things they cannot recreate in the lab, for the sake of science?]
Often we think of evidence as that which is left at a crime scene. If we remove the personal source, then Colonel Mustard could not have been in the Library with the pistol. The murder "just happened." Consider the implications: every criminal should go free because crimes just happen out of nowhere, out of nothing. Besides, who has the right to demand accountability?
I am honestly curious: If you hold the evolutionary theory, how do you enjoy your environment knowing that nature is against the weak? Also, what is your relationship with anything you have made?
Running up and down steep hills is not high on my list of enjoyment, but the journey is exhilarating. Slogging up into the quite woods and pumping fresh air in and out of my lungs is most enjoyable because I know these things point to our Creator, who loves us.
“ . . . turn from these useless things to the living God, who made the heaven, the earth, the sea, and all things that are in them, who in bygone generations allowed all nations to walk in their own ways. Nevertheless He did not leave Himself without a witness, in that He did good, gave us rain from heaven and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness.” (Acts 14:15-17)
I'm nearly finished reading Joan Didion's collection of essays, Slouching Towards Bethlehem. The book was discovered through another book I was reading, Jon Krakauer's Eiger Dreams . If Jon felt this book was good enough to pack along on a mountain climbing expedition, then I'm interested. Took me three tries, but I finally found my copy on Amazon. One of the best book buys I've made. Joan selected the title of this book from William Butler Yeats' classic poem, Second Coming . The book title is shared with one of her larger essays, a record of encounters with people in the 1960's drug culture. Didion's book is divided into three distinct parts: "Life Styles In The Golden Land," a collection of articles capturing the California experience of the 1960's; "Personals," a few of essays of the first-hand nature; and "Seven Places Of The Mind", some thoughts about those parts of California that are now long gone. One essay...
“VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews—sons mine … ah God, I know not! Well— She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What’s done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world’s a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask “Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace seems all. Saint Praxed’s ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: —Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped...