Jeremy tried to spark some vitality into his life, but reality kept blowing it out.
His dietician suggested replacing the stuff that went into his mouth with other stuff, but he didn’t like that other stuff. The family counselor suggested he forgive his wicked sister Felicity, but that wasn’t going to happen. His anxiety over unlikely disasters wouldn’t leave no matter how many shrinks he paid to worry about them.
Reality refused to repent of its evil ways. Over the years all it did was add to Jeremy’s baggage until he couldn’t get a good night’s sleep even after wicked Felicity preceded him in death.
The entrance from the street was locked long ago still George waited for the iron bars to rust away. Perhaps it would turn out as the dark spirits predicted, though everyone knew they were liars, that one day the whole doorway would collapse letting the riff-raff in, but now those crossed bars mirrored a knot of frustration in his throat he couldn’t swallow down.
George remembered how that very door swayed open allowing anyone ready to enter to do so. Unfortunately, that was when he didn’t have much oil in his lamp and his clothes were stained. When the door shut he knocked on it demanding management give him more time to get ready. That was when he got so, ever ever so, demonically annoyed upon hearing a strange voice say “I never knew you” that the iron bars had to be added for his own protection.
Brian’s cold was a regular part of his seasonal doldrums starting about November and lasting till Spring. The liturgy minister in the church he attended, knowing Brian’s talent with a guitar, wondered if he would like to join the Sunday worship band. Brian told him about his cold even though the cold didn’t stop him from doing anything he really wanted to do.
Without warning the minister put his hand on Brian’s shoulder and prayed out loud while everyone watched that Brian be healed. Embarrassed but courteous Brian accepted the prayer expecting nothing much from it. Three days later the cold was gone and it never returned.
Denise offers the word “band” to be used in this week’s Six Sentence Stories.
I am on vacation, but this story occurred to me and so I scheduled it for today without being able to participate in the link party.
The conclusions we draw from our interpretations of facts sometimes turn out to be wrong. When that happens we wonder: If we are rational human beings, how could we have strayed so far from the truth? Furthermore, accepting faulty interpretations may have resulted in more than some intellectual mistake. It may have negatively impacted our lives.
Having experienced the debilitating dead ends of faulty opinions and interpretations we look for ways to avoid such traps. However, the most we get from philosophy are reminders of the limits of reasoning and of science itself. For example, a mathematician may come up with a correctly reasoned proof, but that proof is only as good as the assumptions and the laws of inference he used. These are not proven. A real scientist (as opposed to a pseudo-scientist) knows enough not to even claim to “prove” something. The next experiment may falsify what he previously thought was true. The problem of uncertainty increases when one is trying to understand what happened in the past which cannot be repeated in an experiment.
Ultimately, the only ground we can reliably stand on is the Bible. That does require belief, but the belief is not arbitrary. It also provides a coherent explanation for why we are here faced with such problems as faulty opinions and interpretations.
Calvin Smith from Answers In Genesis Canada goes into these issues in more detail illustrating how negative the consequences can be for those accepting the faulty interpretations offered by evolutionists about our place in the world.
Although impoverished Jeff found a ride out of Blislisnis to attend his mother’s funeral held in the rural town that he left decades ago teased by vanity that never bore fruit. A former classmate carrying an oxygen tank with nasal tubing who came to offer his condolences surprised Jeff with how old he himself must now look as did other former companions who proudly told him of their grandchildren.
The pastor asked him if he would care to say a few words in memory of his mother. Standing near the casket with nothing to say he tried to form words, but the only thing people remembered him saying was I’m sorry, momma.
Friends of his mother offered Jeff a place to stay with work to do giving this prodigal son an opportunity, which he accepted, to forget Blislisnis. At the gravesite he silently prayed for the privilege of a few years of usefulness, of blessing not burden to others, before finding a spot of his own somewhere in that churchyard, out of the way perhaps, but hopefully not too far away from his family.