I’m relaxed, and that’s not good.

Lol…when I asked for suggestions in my last post, I was not prepared to have it liked at all, I was expecting comments more than anything else… 🙂 Anyways, moving on.

I am sure many of you have heard of the persecutions happening to the Christians, Yazidis, and other minorities in northern Iraq.  The atrocities committed are brutally savage and makes you wonder whether this ISIS militants are even human.

Here are a few news articles that I found with a quick search:

Hereherehere, and here(news video+written article).

It is times like this that should make us stop and reflect on our own walk with God.  In the country that I believe many of you live in, you are able to pull out the Bible, while on the street, and not get a potential death threat.  You are able to say out loud and in public that you attend this so and so church and not return home to find your house burned down.

Yet, do we even bother to spend at least a portion each day in opening up that Bible that we own and studying it diligently?  While in other places of the world, a person’s head can be lopped off for the crime of owning a Bible.

Do we just go to church for every service and act solely as a benchwarmer?  While in other places of the world, families are torn apart and destroyed for the crime of gathering as a body of believers to worship God.

It is very easy for us to get used to having freedoms like this, and I am sure we have all been guilty of taking these freedoms for granted.  I have.  In fact, if we stopped to think about it, Satan has used the method of infiltration rather than persecution in the countries with religious freedom.

“…for he [Satan] is a liar, and the father of it.” and the devil knows how to use various ways – especially the internet – to distract and sway us in our fellowship with God.  The social media is just out there waving their banner in our faces, getting our attentions.

How much better would the world be if we did as this popular saying states:



The King and His Castle

Here’s an original poem. If anyone would like to use part, or all of it, I would appreciate it if you would give proper credits! I also don’t mind if any of you have any kind of advice you would like to give. 🙂


The drums were a-beatin’, a-tearin’, a-roarin’,
Announcing the arrival of ten thousand marching.
Over the plains their feet were a-poundin’,
Approaching the castle, where the king sat a-grinnin’.

“For two score and three years, the castle stood unscathed and unharmed.
At the end of this war, I’ll have the last laugh!”
Said the king to himself.

“Beware of your pride!” warned the young king’s father’s adviser.
“You just might be defeated, destroyed, and a-plundered.”
This made the king mad, and had him beheaded.
With his blood thirst a-sated, he felt more elated.

He pronounced the entire city off for the day,
To prove the adviser wrong and turn in his grave.


The soldiers were coming closer and closer.
For two score and three years, they had been the losers.
But defeat after defeat had taught them great lessons.
And now the nonchalant son sat on the throne.

They knew this was the day they would finally prevail!
What followed after was more of a slaughter.
The castle was caught unawares and a-nappin’.
And according to the adviser’s foreboding,

The castle was “defeated, destroyed, and a-plundered.”
And so was the end of the glorious reign
Of a castle that ended because of its pride.

Appointment with Love

I just had to share this story. I suddenly remembered this from my literature book and had to hunt the story up again. This will probably be my most favorite short love story of all time! 🙂


Appointment with Love

S. I. Kishor


             Six minutes to six, said the clock over the information booth in New York’s Grand Central Station. The tall young Army lieutenant lifted his sunburned face, and narrowed his eyes to note the exact time. His heart was pounding with a beat that shocked him. In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 13 months, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had sustained him unfailingly.

          Lieutenant Blandford remembered one day in particular, the worst fighting, when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of enemy planes.

          In one of his letters, he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle, he had received her answer: “Of course you fear…all brave men do. Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you: ‘Yea, thought I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me.’” …He had remembered, and it had renewed his strength.

          Now he was going to hear her real voice. Four minutes to six.

          A girl had passed close to him, and Lieutenant Blandford started. She was wearing a flower, but it was not the little red rose they had agreed upon. Besides, the girl was only about 18, and Hollis Meynell had told him she was 30. “What of it?” he had answered. “I’m 32.” He was 29.

          His mind went back to that book he had read in the training camp. Of Human Bondage, it was; and throughout the book were notes in a woman’s writing. He had never believed that a woman could see into a man’s heart so tenderly, so understandingly. Her name was on the bookplate: Hollis Meynell. He had got hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address. He had written, she had answered. Next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing.

          For 13 months she had faithfully replied. When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, and now he believed he loved her, and she loved him.

          But she had refused all his pleas to send him her photograph. She had explained: “If your feeling for me has any reality, what I look like won’t matter. Suppose I’m beautiful, I’d always be haunted by the feeling that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose I’m plain (and you must admit that this is more likely), then I’d always fear that you were only going on writing because you were lonely and had no one else. No, don’t ask for my picture. When you come to New York, you shall see me and then you shall make your decision.”

          One minute to six. . . Then Lieutenant Blandford’s heart leaped.

          A young woman was coming towards him. Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears. Her eyes were blue as flowers, her lips and chin had a gently firmness. In her pale-green suit, she was like springtime come alive.

          He started towards her, forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips.

          “Going my way, soldier?” she murmured.

          He made one step closer to her. Then he saw Hollis Meynell.

          She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plum; her thick-ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes. But she wore a red rose on her rumpled coat.

          The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.

          Blandford felt as though he were being split in two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and upheld his own; and there she stood. He could see that her pale, plump face was gently and sensible; her gray eyes had a warm twinkle.

          Lieutenant Blandford did not hesitate. His fingers gripped the worn copy of Of Human Bondage which was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, a friendship for which he had been and must ever be grateful. . .

          He squared his shoulders, saluted, and held out the book out toward the woman, although even while he spoke he felt the bitterness of his disappointment.

          “I’m Lieutenant John Blandford and you – you are Miss Meynell. I’m so glad you could meet me. May – may I take you to dinner?”

          The woman’s face broadened in a tolerant smile. “I don’t know what this is all about, son,” she answered. “That young lady in the green suit, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you she’s waiting for you in that restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind o a test.”