This article has some very good points.
This article has some very good points.
Another Man’s War: The True Story of One Man’s Battle to Save Children in the Sudan
This was another recommended book. Sam Childer received the Mother Theresa Award for his work.
At the point, when I say this book is a “troublesome and moving read,” it’s not a result of the writing style or language used. The book is written in a self evident certainty, conversational way and it flows well.
No, the troublesome part is the topic: Massacres, wars, entire villages wiped out. Unimaginable atrocity running rampage.
Nothing is heard of these children from the Western perspective but they existed. This is a story of the innocent suffering the most as a result of war.
Sam Childers doesn’t holds back about his past as a street pharmacist, (drug dealer) a biker hooligan, and so forth. He adopts and employs indistinguishable strategy to his work as a Christian officer battling against the LRA in Southern Sudan, safeguarding kids that have been abused, mishandled and stranded by the rebellious volunteer army.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, this is a savage story… children are placed in a terrifying spot. Childers begins helping rooftop a structure for philanthropy and ends up setting up a orphanage right int he center of a combat area. War Zone.
He discusses his stroll with God, his motivation … furthermore, the urgent requirement for reserving lives that are forgotten.
This book was the motivation for a similarly troublesome and rousing film, “Automatic rifle Preacher.” Both are energetically suggested.
Charlize Theron won an Oscar for her performance as Aileen Wuornos in the movie Monster. Actually, I’ve seen several of Charlize Theron movies and I didn’t know she could act like so well. I have to say she did a heck of a performance in this movie. She truly brought this character to life.
Sadly, the woman whose life the movie was based upon didn’t live to see it. She was executed by lethal injection a year earlier. If what’s shown in the movie was true. This woman needed mental and social help, not a lethal injection.
Her girlfriend was no friend at all. If you ever watched the movie, then you’ll know why I said she was no friend.
Aileen Wuornos’ life was the dark side of the so-called respectable society. People who publicly profess one thing but secretly does another and will kill to maintain their public image.
This was a recommended book. Maybe I enjoyed it because this Bea is a lot like my Bea, but much older. This is my first time reading anything by this author. It reads more like a Lifetime movie. I think there was a lot of glossing over reality in the story and you aren’t going to find helpful people at every turn. The situation with Victor and his sleazy friend would have gone a lot different in real life than in the story. Overall it was a great story about friendship forming when we least expect it. Both Allie and Bea found what they were looking for or missing in their lives.
I think this is a very sad poem if you gasp the true meaning of what’s it’s saying.
The Raven By Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
“This was his first mistake: messing around with those “quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. People decided long ago those quaint and curious books were bad and it’s best to forget about them because who knows what may pop up when pondering weak and weary over them. ”
In the mid to late 1800’s there was spiritualism movement going on in America and Europe. But I don’t think it was the base for Poe’s poem. The man had lost many loved ones and is deeply grieving.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
“Oh boy, there’s something there alright. It stepped right off the page of those quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lores. ”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
Oh man! you really, really shouldn’t be reading this while so grief-stricken.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
“I always heard you don’t talk to those things. You really don’t want to hear their answers.”
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
“The stately raven’s arrogance sounds like an Immortal to me.”
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Wow! He’s much, much braver than I. I would’ve ran out into the night screaming. Gosh! He knew what it was and where it was from. He knew it was from hell.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
“I don’t rightly think blessing have anything to do with seeing this joker above your chamber’s door.”
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
“Hmmm I wonder if it’s a psychopomp? Anyway, I write scary stuff like this but if any of that stuff shows up…I’m so outta of here. There’s no way I’m sitting on a cushioned seat in front of something like “Cooter” perched on a bust above my chamber door;”
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
“’Bird of yore‘ means before creation. It’s older than creation….oh boy, it’s long passed time to call Angels, or Someone holy to get that thing out of your house.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
“No, man you don’t need to be guessing what’s on his mind. His fiery eyes are telling you. You need to be praying not guessing.”
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
“Again, you doing something that will bring more things like that Raven to your door. Stop that ‘divining’! Aren’t you deep enough into the occults?”
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“I guess the angels know that grief caused him to consult a demon about the whereabout of his beloved Lenore and came to keep it from carrying what it intended to do.”
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Nepenthe- a drug described in Homer’s Odyssey as banishing grief or trouble from a person’s mind.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
“Aidenn is the poetic spelling of Eden”
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
“Well, I wish things had turned out differently.”
To answer a question asked of me. I decided to answer it here on the blog. Why the theme of UnHoly Pursuit: The Devil on My Trail is demonic gangstalking. The main reason it was selected because the modern day phenomenon of gangstalking is demonic. There’s no nice way to describe it. Demonic gangstalking is designed to wear down the saints and decent people.
That’s what all the near death experiences of the characters are all about. The satanic side can’t defeat them spiritually, so they go after them physically.
2 young children dead after murder, attempted suicide in Chicago South Shore high-rise.
1. The Testaments by Margaret Atwood: Praise be! After almost 35 years, Margaret Atwood released the sequel to her pioneering work of speculative fiction, The Handmaid’s Tale, and it is well worth the wait. While The Handmaid’s Tale explored how totalitarian regimes come to power, The Testaments delves into how they begin to fracture. At 80 years young, Atwood is at the top of her game.
2. The Nickel Boys: A Novel by Colson Whitehead: Having earned a Pulitzer and a National Book Award with his last novel, The Underground Railroad, Colson Whitehead follows up with a story about two young black men sent to the infamous Nickel Academy in Florida. Set during the 1960s Jim Crow era, the story follows Elwood and Turner who, despite different backgrounds and world views, learn to lean on one another to survive.
3. Wild Game by Adrienne Brodeur: The subtitle seems to say it all: My Mother, Her Lover, and Me. And yet there is so much more to the story. Adrienne Brodeur was fourteen when her mother started secretly dating Ben Souther. What developed after that was a strange, uncomfortable, impossible-to-look-away-from triangle in which young Adrienne became cover for the trysts between her mother and Ben. This is an engaging and at times breathless memoir that builds with anticipation and continues to unfold with observations and revelations.
4. Quichotte: A Novel by Salman Rushdie: An exquisite satire on the world we live in, Rushdie’s latest novel pays Cervantes a great, clever compliment with this deliciously funny Don Quixote for modern times. An unusual romantic quest kicks off a road trip across America in an age that would be utterly surreal if we weren’t actually living it. An antidote to fear, bursting with intelligence and wit—Quichotte is exactly what so many of us need right now.
5. The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern: Almost ten years after she wrote The Night Circus, Morgenstern offers readers a shape-shifting, time-bending, otherworldly adventure of storytelling, where pirates lurk and doors lead forward and backward in time, where crowded ballrooms collapse into oceans, and where a young man must piece together the clues to uncover and protect his own life’s story. This magnificent tribute to tales of the imagination is absolutely magical.
6. Super Pumped: The Battle for Uber by Mike Isaac: Super Pumped is a masterful and highly entertaining work of investigative journalism into the evolution of Uber and its maverick founder Travis Kalanick. Perfect for readers who were captivated by Bad Blood, Mike Isaac’s Super Pumped provides an insider’s view of the stunning highs and catastrophic lows of the company that changed the way we use transportation.
7. City of Girls: A Novel by Elizabeth Gilbert: It’s the 1940s, and the frivolous and fun-loving Vivian Morris arrives in New York with the goal of “becoming someone interesting”—and in short order she is, but for all the wrong reasons. The latest novel by the author of Eat, Pray, Love is bawdy, bighearted, and wise.
8. They Called Us Enemy by George Takei, Justin Eisinger, Steven Scott, and Harmony Becker: George Takei’s vivid graphic memoir reveals the story of his family’s incarceration during the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II, beginning when Takei was only five years old. Even as the memories depicted range from unsettling to infuriating, They Called Us Enemy inspires readers to insist that our country treats fellow human beings with fairness and dignity.
9. The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides: In this psychological thriller, a couple seems to have it all until the wife is convicted of shooting her husband in the face. But she will say nothing about the crime—or anything else, for that matter. After a criminal psychologist obsessed with the case comes on the scene, dark twists and delightful turns follow, secrets (and a diary) are revealed, and you will likely find yourself racing to the end of this year’s must-read thriller.
10. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb: What happens when a celebrated psychotherapist finds herself on the other side of the couch? Maybe You Should Talk to Someone is an entertaining, relatable, moving homage to therapy—and just being human.