Please “Reblog” this post. Americans are asleep…please, help awaken the “Sleeping Giant!”
The Red Heifer and the 3rd Jewish Temple
Here is an excellent video updating the status of the Red Heifer which may, in fact, be a truly kosher red heifer, thus providing the missing ingredient needed for temple ordinances regarding purity. This elusive entity offers more than hope in the rebuilding of the Temple…
While we dared to dream, have we prepare our hearts?
The Temple Institute has been preparing for the 3rd Jewish temple for some time now, but the missing ingredient needed to re-establish the temple is the Red Heifer. Finding one that meets strict biblical requirements has been a task that seemingly has been impossible to meet…until now.
The ashes of the Red Heifer will be used to purify the temple for service and the heifer must be 3 years of age at the time of sacrifice. One has been found in the state of New Jersey, that so for, has met the biblical standards. She is beautiful and just turned two years old….
Watch the video below.
To learn more about the Red Heifer, read below:
The Wounded Child of No Regard
He sits alone in his room. In bitter anguish, he recalls the most recent exploits of his classmates, and he regrets the day he was born. The agonizing banter of their scorn resounds in his head; a mock parody for their entertainment! Finally, he curls into a near fetal position, in spite of his over-sized belly, and welcomes the night.
There is comfort gained from this disappearing act, and silently, he cries. His tears emanate a private manifestation of his sadness, and a reminder of his most solemn vow; never again would his classmates see him cry. Since he realized that crying incited a plethora of torment, he simply joined the laughter, which invited more hostility.
The day is over; and he prays that tomorrow will not come. His life, now veiled by despair, is no longer worth the trouble; being morphed from inconvenience to trepidation, horror, and an overwhelming dread that looms in the hallways, the locker-room and showers, and even on the bus ride home!
So, he’s fat! So what! He wondered why the kids at school were so compelled to remind him. Did they think he was BLIND? His struggle with obesity met several vigorous attempts to lose weight, but these efforts only fostered dashed hopes, because he wanted so badly to be accepted.
He would have been a great friend, given the chance, yet he was just the “fat kid.” No one was aware of his talents. For one, he could draw! He painstakingly drew with such detail that his canvases came alive, yet his art remained obscure and unnoticed. He sketched people. Children with bruises, mothers that frowned, and people with empty stares. His drawings offered solace by recognizing the plight of others, for he was bitterly familiar.
He also was a fierce collector of baseball cards. What began as a hobby had morphed into a collection that aspired appreciation across the internet. His online profile, a false reveal, worked to his advantage, for online…he was sharp and savvy! Here, he became a worthy contender, as his portfolio could attest.
His one trait of common knowledge was his love of food. He consumed food like an alcoholic consumes liquor, not realizing this compulsion paralleled band-aiding a slit throat. Eating became a subconscious attempt to deaden his pain; a pain so profound that he feared to ponder it.
His life had become despondent. A dismal fear, held dear, with such an entangled embrace that he no longer had the fortitude to endure it. With the decision made and the method researched, his only regret was awarding his classmates their ultimate trophy, the last laugh. Be so as it may, on the eve of his fifteenth birthday, he ended his life.
The heartaches of the wounded child of no regard are often unbearable, and it is the responsibility of every parent to teach children to be kind to others. Within diversity…be it race, creed, gender, and yes, obesity…is the opportunity to gain awareness through acceptance. Bullying has become so prevalent, and the effect of abusive words are such that the cause is lost by those who have forgotten that charity begins at home.
I marvel at the rhetoric pertaining to this crisis, even though the psychological effects of bullying are monumental, and suicidal ideation has become a notable trend among our youth. As a society, we must commit to re-establish lines that dare not be crossed on our school campuses, and in our communities.
States and school districts now have mandated policies and increased legislative practices that can prevent bullying, yet the bully prevails. Though old habits die hard, especially in the southern regions of the United States, but they do die…with applied pressure! Today, we have the tools at our disposal to ensure a safe learning environment for our children, tools that are deemed worthless when districts go unchallenged. If parents of bullied children must pursue a compensation claim against a school for negligence, so be it! Diligence and due process are critical, and necessary steps toward rescuing our children.
I Believe
I believe…
what is made mention
of the plan of G-d for man
was to purchase my redemption;
Jesus had a master plan.
His atoning blood, remarkable grace,
of these I do believe!
Yet, oft’ times in the valley,
it’s doubt that I perceive.
“Tis not the sound of unbelief
left ringing from these words,
but mercy without measure?
To me, that seems absurd.
His Voice, I know; and words I keep
hid deep within my heart,
His Psalms of hope to which I weep;
What glory they impart.
You see, in my darkest hours
it was faith that carried me.
If not for these…my testaments,
would I still believe?
****** The Sweetest Story *****
I know of a love story;
it’s the sweetest ever told…
How the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
Surprised the Heavenly Host.
“Let Us make Man in Our Image!”
A plan that soon would grow
into this sweet love story,
for we, He Loved the Most!
We were not supposed to die
for we were perfectly designed;
for from the earth our flesh was formed;
and with His breath, He gave us life.
Then, our destiny was challenged
as God’s enemy drew near,
and we knew not that serpent
for he was so cavalier!
We believed his lies of grandeur;
causing death to reign…so near!
The sons of God now swallowed up
in darkness, and in fear.
But God, the Father, devised a plan
to defeat this enemy,
and I glory in the Love
that was soon bound to a tree.
God, the Son, in this sweet story
took on our wounded flesh,
and it was in this highest office,
life, eternal, was re-addressed.
So, Death…Where is your Victory?
Death, Where is your Sting?
It was swallowed up in Jesus
Our King, who reigns supreme!
Easter or Passover…There Goes Peter Cottontail
Before I commit to this blog, let me say that I DO NOT believe that if someone dyes Easter eggs, and fills a basket with chocolate treats for the little ones to empty so they can collect the eggs that the Easter Bunny hid while they were sleeping, is going to hell. I say this because we, as a nation, have cultivated tradition as it applies to our Holidays so deeply that the mere mention of their pagan origins not only incites hostilities, it almost always ensures a “slammed door” on the conversation. You see, I not only ran with fervor as a child to fill my basket, I faithfully filled baskets for my children and stayed up late to hide the bunny’s loot! I get it. I am not suggesting that Easter Egg Hunts be outlawed, or that Peter Cottontail be tarred and feathered; but that the fun and games not overshadow the reason we celebrate Easter…the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ, Son of the living G-d. For the most part, we as Americans are not aware of the feasts, or festivals that were ordained by G-d as they, among other Torah perspectives, have been perverted from their original meanings. We forget that he first believers in Jesus were all Jewish and not until the salvation of Cornelius, in the tenth chapter of Acts, do we see that the Good News of the Kingdom was opened to the gentiles. When the gentiles became co-heirs of the Kingdom, major changes took place, first among the Jews, and also among the gentiles. The gentile believers were known as the “G-d-fearers”, who left paganism and incorporated the teachings of the Torah with some even attending Synagogue. It is certain that within both groups of believers, the working of Messiah within the Sabbath, the festivals, and customs were understood. In the year 66 C.E., the Apostle Paul died and the Jewish nation revolted against the Roman Empire. Four years later the Roman Legions encircled Jerusalem at the feast of Passover. Jesus was clear that the generation that was alive at the time of His death would see the destruction of Jerusalem. He had instructed that when the city was encircled by the enemy, they were to flee and this is what they did, enter, The Diaspora, or dispersion. The Jewish people became scattered throughout the Roman world, a world hostile to the Jews, where anti-Jewishness became popular and the opposite was interpreted as not being loyal to Rome. In spite of this, Jews were still becoming believers, as well as many Gentiles. Later, Constantine, the Caesar of Rome who, for political reasons, embraced a group that was now called Christians. In 325 C.E, The Council of Nicaea was formed. Included therein were the leaders of the churches throughout the land, with the exception of even one Rabbi. They prevailed to outlaw the Biblical Calendar, making the Sabbath a Sunday, as well as replacing Passover with Easter, in honor of the Babylonian goddess of fertility, and Sukkot with Christmas, for the Roman Sun God’s birthday. Hence, the “Christian Creed” and the New Testament Writings came forth from the findings of this council. The faith was now a totally different religion; having Greek names, concepts, and holidays that substantiated the gentiles. Yet, in the 23rd chapter of Leviticus, we see how the feasts, or festivals represent G-d’s appointed times. They are to teach of Messiah. In the festivals G-d explains, defines, demonstrates, and reinforces Himself, and His Plan. The Festivals are a picture of G-d’s plan for man. The first festival is called Passover. In Exodus 12, G-d instructed that on the 10th day of the month of Aviv (March 21), each family was to bring into their home a male lamb, without fault or blemish. For the next four days, they would nurture and inspect it. It is no coincidence that the Lamb of G-d entered Jerusalem this same day. We see in Mathew 21. 7-9, that Jesus, the Lamb of G-d, followed the procession of the Temple Lamb, after which, he was “inspected” for 4 days; and no fault was found in him. Finally, at 3:00, or the ninth hour, the priest would blow the shofar to announce the lamb had been slain; and we see Luke 23:44–46, that this is precisely the time Jesus died. The feast of Passover, when a sacrificial lamb would take away the sins of the world, was a “holy convocation” (Leviticus 23), or recital, which pointed to Jesus as the perfect sacrifice…Jesus was and is enough. It would be precarious for me to even hope that we, as a nation, would integrate the Levitical Feasts into our culture as a social norm, however, I can hope that consideration of the Feast of Passover be honored with a fresh understanding of G-d’s Love for Man.
Is It Too Late?
“…that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”–ABRAHAM LINCOLN
My fellow Americans, our nations bane hasn’t been caused, nor can it be blamed on any one person, or official, because our Constitution was framed to protect us from an overly imposing government.
While Legislative Bills and Executive Orders were redefining our Constitution and Bill of Rights, we slept. Now, we are faced with the unimaginable; America, rendered powerless to the grip of globalization!
The benefits of being an American have begun to dim, as our homeland bears little resemblance to the “Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.” No longer are the nations of the world motivated to respect us, and the oppressive nations ostentatiously bewail our demise by their acts of open aggression.
Though I am but one voice, I pray that many will arise; sounding like a mighty wind that will not be denied. We need to reassess the value of our freedom before it has been ceded to hostile subjugation. Otherwise, the obvious will prevail… “I didn’t recognize my enemy, because that monster looked just like me!”
Valley of Tears
An injustice brought by one’s failure to react to a situation that may have made a difference, or substantiated a change is as detrimental as an all out assault, with malice and intent. Though the perpetrator, being fearful and weak, may find mercy, the damage stays nestled in a valley of tears; The scars of the innocent last a lifetime.
The year was 1965 and Vacation Bible School was the order of the day. The event promised many opportunities to earn valuable rewards… Yo-Yo’s that glowed in the dark, and Barbies, and even a fancy Barbie Car. The rewards were to be distributed according to our participation in the VBS Outreach Program, which promoted the membership drive. I suppose the hope was that some of the kids we invited may get their parents to attend church. Now, I had one friend. He was my best and only friend. His mother worked for one of our neighbors and it was a rare occasion that we were not shooting marbles or catching crawfish in the ditch. I was attending third grade in Beaumont, TX; which was a hot spot in the civil rights struggle over segregation. Of course, I did not know about it nor would I have cared. I was 8 years old and playing was my predominant concern. I never realized that there was a difference between my friend and I. His dark skin and lovely face, topped with a wild array of beautiful black curls, was a sight to behold, and I loved my friend.
At this time in my life, I lived with my grandmother who was the love of my life. I remember crawling up in her lap, and knowing that I was loved, and protected, and that I mattered; And that she was perfect.
Finally, it was Sunday. This day assured my friend and I would be the proud new owner of at least one new toy, and the probability of more, because we were on top of the board that displayed our accomplishments with shiny gold stars. We had learned our bible verses and stayed late every day to help with cleaning chores. Oh, this day was bigger than Christmas Morning, because we had actually seen and touched the promises. As we quietly sat through the sermon I can remember being so happy when my friend looked at me, with tears in his eyes, as he stood up to walk that long aisle to answer the alter call. He had heard the preacher say, “come to Jesus and be saved because God loved us so much, that He gave His only begotten Son to die for our sins.” I watched as the preacher prayed for him and then the membership vote of acceptance, by the showing of hands, was carried out. This was normal, but suddenly, it became strange and awkward with no hands raised and no hallelujahs shouted. Where was my grandmother’s hand? Did she forget that she was supposed to vote “Yea”? Then, I watched my friend make his was back down the aisle, with tears streaming down his face and his chin quivering, because apparently, God only saved light skinned people.
The result of this experience was years of expressing anger in the form of agnosticism, and disengagement of all things demonstrative of virtue. Since my grandmother is no longer here to defend herself, I must fairly articulate what I believe led to her actions, or non-action, in this case. To have a better understanding, I have to remember that she loved me and she knew that I loved my friend, and that he was my first and only friend.
I was overweight and shy, the middle child of a tumultuous marriage between two teenagers from the lower social class. My father, a hard working man, and my mother, a strikingly good looking woman who got pregnant them married at the age of 16. You can be certain that much of her time was spent counting her mistakes, with disengagement in its truest form, at least toward me. My brother, 16 months my senior, seemed as though everything he touched turned to gold and especially the football. Much can be said of my sister, who is the apple of my eye, but growing up between such perfect specimens of humanity was an indicator of my many faults, shortcomings and failures, so it is no wonder that I lacked social skills.
With that being said, I repeat, she knew that he was my first and only friend. I do not doubt her love for me and that she had often exhibited volatile protectiveness over all of her children and grandchildren. But I also know that what she did was wrong; Though she never admitted it. Had she apologized, I would have forgiven her, and may have even forgiven the God who lied.
Something inherently stronger than love prevailed, and to this day I believe it was her fear of losing her place as a respected pillar of our community. I believe that her desire for acceptance and fear of rejection substantiated her actions on that particularly dreadful Sunday, the day I first experienced hate with all that it entails, and embraced the darkness where I could navigate my rage.
I did manage to find Jesus in my late teens… No, Jesus found me! I think that Jesus saw through the ugliness I had become, to the broken heart, and loved me into a relationship with Him. The story of this restoration is vivid and wild, but true. I look forward to penning it someday.
An Open Letter to Ministers
It is not uncommon for theological perspective to form concepts which, by a spirit of religiosity, doctrine, and ceremony, obliterates and perverts the simple message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Sadly, this religious orientation renders the theologian unobservant to the consequences of his actions.
Jesus preached primarily on the subject of The Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. He preached that He didn’t come to abolish The Law but to fulfill them (Mt 5:17). He said, this is my commandment: that you love one another…(Jn 15:12). A comprehensive review of The Parables from all 4 Gospels would serve as a reminder of our purpose in the army of The Lord…a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a Holy Nation…a peculiar people that show forth the Praises of Him who called us out of darkness into His Marvelous Light (I Pe 2:9,10).
There are so many people who appear ungodly and unlovable, many wounded from being rejected by shepherds who failed to discern them as a baby lamb, a lamb that the wolves have attacked, or a lamb that knew not a herd. They probably dress poorly, speak abruptly, and use alcohol or drugs as a coping mechanism for their pain. Beware! A quick review of The Parodical Son should serve as a reminder of The Love of God for the lambs you ignore and reject.
There was a homeless man who set out to find Jesus. He had met Jesus while in prison and the two of them spent a lot of time together. When he was released, he couldn’t find Jesus on the streets of the busy city, though he searched both day and night.
One day, he saw a church with a big, bright sign above its door…”COME to JESUS!” As tears flooded his eyes he rushed in and sat in a back pew. Oh, he wished he had new clothes, a haircut, new shoes… then suddenly, one of the Pastors approached him and asked him to leave and not to return until he made himself presentable! As the man left sobbing, his hopes forever dashed, Jesus appeared saying, “Dry your eyes, for I am not welcomed here either!”
My final admonishment is to remember the spiritual laws regarding mercy; and yes, there are spiritual laws which govern the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. Be merciful and judge not. Remember, you could even be entertaining angels unaware (He 13:2).
My Sally
When I awoke one morning, a bird was on my bed.
I asked, “What are you doing here?”
It winked at me and said…”Hi! My name is Sally and
I’m searching for a friend.
If you would be my bird, I will be faithful ’til the end.
I have the brightest colors, yellow, mango, green, and blue;
and my vocabulary is sure to tickle you!”
I thought for just a moment as she began her serenade
of “Good Morning,” and “Wha’cha doin’?” and
“Have a happy day!”
Then, she moved into our nest,
my kitchen, clean and bright;
Where we exchange our small talk
and consider our next plight.
A Dilettante's Soapbox 