tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-250167012024-03-17T12:22:51.840-04:00Reflections on Deeper ThingsPenn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.comBlogger318125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-55343236098869985892024-03-17T12:21:00.003-04:002024-03-17T12:21:54.985-04:00Masks, Veils, and Walls<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFsTiGcxmKeQZ-JIUOHGKoMlD62Z0w4JqRjrwjAZIn7T0J1UE1o3dSEgY49G7I5iJj7aHuhvgFEmvMFX1aomexYJhRA_JuNNGqCiXpBHBnxYjuRilA6wU9NRbrVD9nspM1aZ28fNwmXcYytbZdwfR7ZDMII7xhPaAS5aXS_MHhgWKwMFo9-S1F7w/s525/Invocation%20by%20Lord%20Fredric%20Leighton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="323" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFsTiGcxmKeQZ-JIUOHGKoMlD62Z0w4JqRjrwjAZIn7T0J1UE1o3dSEgY49G7I5iJj7aHuhvgFEmvMFX1aomexYJhRA_JuNNGqCiXpBHBnxYjuRilA6wU9NRbrVD9nspM1aZ28fNwmXcYytbZdwfR7ZDMII7xhPaAS5aXS_MHhgWKwMFo9-S1F7w/s320/Invocation%20by%20Lord%20Fredric%20Leighton.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>There He is! . .
. do you see Him? . . . He is beautiful. You asked me how I see Him so well for
you wished to see Him also, and I told you to lift that silly veil. You thought
to hide your flaws from Him, and how you thought such a thing I do not know.
Nothing can be hid from Him. Not our thoughts or frailties or even dreams we
hold onto secretly. With Him there is no such thing as “secretly”. Masks,
veils, and walls can never hide you from Him, but they will hide Him from you.</span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><br />
And now you have done it and you have not been disappointed. Did I not say that
He was fairer than all the sons of men? Do you hear me? . . . Hello? . . . I
knew that this would happen. It happens to everyone who sees Him clearly for
the first time. I'll just leave you to gaze in wonder for awhile. I told you
so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans; font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: The
Invocation by Lord Fredric Leighton</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-28191398149000200442024-03-10T21:41:00.002-04:002024-03-10T21:41:57.747-04:00When You're All Grown Up<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhK1YH0-FLGkqeBNYufl24Y_YVwLA6hhLjFU9sUJBspDnfPyt1NPa8Cv88Fa0iZ_2dYWO55dKNEul3DLSqrZc4pezSv0oyddjF4ntrribQWkLKjcm1WewEVU6Sr3x-kgTizvBWj0jEC9Qs0irIfe2aZB6yfnrUM8S9gwSaUUiiiUsBqgpeGpJFw/s960/en_penitence%20by%20Emile%20Munier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="635" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhK1YH0-FLGkqeBNYufl24Y_YVwLA6hhLjFU9sUJBspDnfPyt1NPa8Cv88Fa0iZ_2dYWO55dKNEul3DLSqrZc4pezSv0oyddjF4ntrribQWkLKjcm1WewEVU6Sr3x-kgTizvBWj0jEC9Qs0irIfe2aZB6yfnrUM8S9gwSaUUiiiUsBqgpeGpJFw/w265-h400/en_penitence%20by%20Emile%20Munier.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>"I want free everything!" she cries.</span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"I'm afraid you must work for it," I say to her, as she immediately throws her hands over her ears because she does not want to hear it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"I WANT IT AAALL!" she wails, kicking her little feet. "Health care is a human right! And by the way, so is food and clothing! And housing? That's a human right, too! I want all of it free for everyone and I want it NOW!! And I don't care who must pay for it!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"Is that all?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"Noooo!!" she wails again and rolls her eyes. "I want free college education and I want all the buildings ripped down and built again the green way, so those poor little polar bears don't suffer! (sniff, sniff) And I want everyone who doesn't think like me canceled from the world foreevver!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"I think it's time for you to go to bed now, dear. You're very tired. We can talk about it when you're all grown up."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: PT Sans; font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: En Penitence by Emile Munier</span></p>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-83377251044118554502024-03-09T20:06:00.002-05:002024-03-09T20:06:37.571-05:00They'll Be Drawn<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69PrF4yBMC_x5VAlcjLO9Gwi2wrhhYkQhdTX_PWazgU9-aKPSoC9sNGx3hbqnyCqOPqru6JY2RZjP5JTz2HcFTVfpsctD1h7y9YRee8QoGrn2aSNJuqmmu5wvzlebrLQmAi68EcdMRDptQJMDdAbQ2uTDRI2vG5f_zcA_ntzWUVkk0tFd7I1LsA/s581/Candle%20and%20Moth%20by%20Virgil%20Elliott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="581" data-original-width="260" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69PrF4yBMC_x5VAlcjLO9Gwi2wrhhYkQhdTX_PWazgU9-aKPSoC9sNGx3hbqnyCqOPqru6JY2RZjP5JTz2HcFTVfpsctD1h7y9YRee8QoGrn2aSNJuqmmu5wvzlebrLQmAi68EcdMRDptQJMDdAbQ2uTDRI2vG5f_zcA_ntzWUVkk0tFd7I1LsA/w179-h400/Candle%20and%20Moth%20by%20Virgil%20Elliott.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>If your light is burning, they will come. It is very simple. Like moths to a flame, they'll be drawn to His lovely light and you won't need to strive or force or make things happen. It just does.</span></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Just keep a burning flame in you. One flame is all it takes and everywhere you walk, they come. For His light is irresistible, you know. It fills your soul and glows deep within your eyes and everyone can see it. And if you stay close to Him your light will always burn.</span></span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Artwork: Candle and Moth </span><span face=""calibri" , sans-serif">© Virgil Elliott</span></span><br /><span face=""calibri" , sans-serif"><a href="https://virgilelliott.com/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">https://virgilelliott.com/</span></a></span>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-2615746991343639132024-02-28T18:05:00.005-05:002024-02-28T18:07:22.860-05:00Babies Down The Drain<div style="text-align: left;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "PT Sans"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeOpR4mGr_TBbmcsoaleKMwy31frlCK-SfItX4RJvoDH5U3Xq0zQqtZlSBjyyB3mE0J9sxxDHUhDxzmTqlqRDwYtfnN-4EOdnOo3-XkgFzc9GZwqVjjDFNCQUqjH10-CwFNxk5Ij-WNpxTcXpSv0TMnmaszQV3csbdQpARbVWYLsZsmzg9T_gWw/s534/The%20Lake,%20Sleeping%20waters,%20by%20Frederik.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="449" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeOpR4mGr_TBbmcsoaleKMwy31frlCK-SfItX4RJvoDH5U3Xq0zQqtZlSBjyyB3mE0J9sxxDHUhDxzmTqlqRDwYtfnN-4EOdnOo3-XkgFzc9GZwqVjjDFNCQUqjH10-CwFNxk5Ij-WNpxTcXpSv0TMnmaszQV3csbdQpARbVWYLsZsmzg9T_gWw/s320/The%20Lake,%20Sleeping%20waters,%20by%20Frederik.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">Babies down the
drain, flushed away as thoughtlessly as sewage. Rivers of babies have been lost
- 64 million in America alone. God said He sees us in our mother’s womb when we
are yet unformed. That would be an embryo just 2 weeks old—unformed and quietly
unknown by its mother. Yet, Father knows that tiny life and He says that in His
book are written all the days that He had planned for it, before it's ever born
and wakened to the world. Think of all His plans that never came to pass, all
the pages of His book that were torn out. Abortion is a grief.</span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">This is proof of how uncivilized
we've become . . . it is rivers of precious babies flowing down the drain.</span></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: PT Sans; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Artwork: The Lake, Sleeping Waters by Frederik</span></span></p>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-20554839757043274212024-02-11T09:58:00.003-05:002024-02-14T21:52:58.791-05:00As Sharks Will Do<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0HxbVMZAHSUTZic_bWtdRAjcbAmS61q28-8NM7qAQ2_ETgvJrEA_Ma3UC9UgAh6a46b9Kdy-hDFjdRegq-sr78XRZ6Gc0d3YLL7-qjdB2FyY-Hh7bZ_XRDOY78B0ionzyj4auhpu5VQSJp4bZMZoTfzYp8a8e_e0DWBYjEAsHSdLWFmdxd13QQ/s736/shark%20circling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="736" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0HxbVMZAHSUTZic_bWtdRAjcbAmS61q28-8NM7qAQ2_ETgvJrEA_Ma3UC9UgAh6a46b9Kdy-hDFjdRegq-sr78XRZ6Gc0d3YLL7-qjdB2FyY-Hh7bZ_XRDOY78B0ionzyj4auhpu5VQSJp4bZMZoTfzYp8a8e_e0DWBYjEAsHSdLWFmdxd13QQ/w400-h251/shark%20circling.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />The sharks smell blood. And, so, they circle round and round, as sharks will do.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">“It’s God who’s doing this!” they say. “It’s God’s
punishment and we, the righteous, shall devour him and kill him good! Cancel
him! Never let his name be spoken in this place again! It’s God exposing him;
it’s God whose meting out the punishment, not us!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">Watch them churn the water—biting, chomping, swallowing—till
there is nothing left of the poor soul but a tiny spot of blood. "Our work is done," they say. "He will never rise again," and off they swim with bellies full of self-righteousness and eyes bulging from their meal….and a wide smile of satisfaction
on their faces.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: PT Sans; font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: shark circling, unknown</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-28652904569082285372024-01-13T14:53:00.000-05:002024-01-13T14:53:16.159-05:00A Lovely Rock<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjJhOlVNTMmbja0P7xObHyAYcNHree5-e-13_Iv5VDmB98apZZVcMIaB4E94XUxQY7HjX8xSm69iuy4_VBOb_CM1fdn9R8unM5Gj2E7WfRgCoO-_N_zi3eH-6h_Nn03klge2md2-ZNyaXg-tcoss3LBrTqJAHIVrJJj9KKaUhp6IDJtcFLEu7oA/s327/house-upon-rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="327" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjJhOlVNTMmbja0P7xObHyAYcNHree5-e-13_Iv5VDmB98apZZVcMIaB4E94XUxQY7HjX8xSm69iuy4_VBOb_CM1fdn9R8unM5Gj2E7WfRgCoO-_N_zi3eH-6h_Nn03klge2md2-ZNyaXg-tcoss3LBrTqJAHIVrJJj9KKaUhp6IDJtcFLEu7oA/s320/house-upon-rock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A rock is underneath my feet, a lovely rock, a jewel from the brow of God; a steady rock, a cornerstone that all is built upon. And storms have come. And winds have pounded this small house I built upon it. And the walls have cracked. And the roof has leaned. And windows have been broken.</span></div><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><br />But the house still stands.<br /><br />Yes, the house I built still stands on a foundation stronger than my own small self. Of course, a few repairs are needed, but a firm foundation is a solid place to build . . . I could not have chosen a better or more lovely rock upon which to build my life!</span><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: House Upon a Rock, unknown</span>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-23306316169476778542023-12-01T23:28:00.001-05:002023-12-02T08:47:43.568-05:00Thin Ropes of Mercy<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWyx0VEGyFAIYHeENrPbQso_UzHye5g3xTO5pG-FpvohvMR_Ydm5gwZslJg-xKYP68k-Ye27zgSit2d3pJnwxnMGcT63Cq319_mZ4zZMaphWCsxWT3y0lYvgtOuhL0Ro2kh8MfZijm2FlZqVIfhM6-0JlWziWA47fR3hAn3RTWR3JiC18zlJenQ/s836/All%20that%20was%20left%20of%20the%20Homeward%20Bound%20by%20Riviere.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="836" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWyx0VEGyFAIYHeENrPbQso_UzHye5g3xTO5pG-FpvohvMR_Ydm5gwZslJg-xKYP68k-Ye27zgSit2d3pJnwxnMGcT63Cq319_mZ4zZMaphWCsxWT3y0lYvgtOuhL0Ro2kh8MfZijm2FlZqVIfhM6-0JlWziWA47fR3hAn3RTWR3JiC18zlJenQ/w400-h243/All%20that%20was%20left%20of%20the%20Homeward%20Bound%20by%20Riviere.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>So, there you are. Poor tired soul. Been adrift at sea for quite awhile now, haven’t you? If not for those thin ropes of mercy tethering you to that bit of salvage . . . you’d be drowned.</span></div><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><br />Now what? How does a shipwrecked life find healing anyway? Where is deliverance from the merciless wind that tears at your skin and the unkind water that grabs at you with its cruel, icy finger? And that gray sky, that sorrowful gray sky that stretches infinitely on, that threatens to banish the sun forever from your gaze – who can call back the blue and bright above and drive away the gray forever?<br /><br />I know who . . . and I know how . . . I know His name well. He is a brash lover of souls and a fearless one who is not intimidated by violent winds or cold waters that run perilously deep. He’s calling you – no, no, it’s not the wind you hear. It’s Him! </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Open up your eyes, dear soul, your deliverance is at hand!</span><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 12.48px;">Artwork: All That was left of the Homeward Bound by Riviere</span>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-88271612522249241002023-08-15T17:03:00.003-04:002023-08-15T17:03:24.887-04:00That Little Flame<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzXbP8vjUkrQzy3IVbd9gsanpjCqnnGnwAywccMvxw6FA6q3LDS-_j7F9lhNxRZfrMI0vLy5aeTuTqlDbymjAHZzGsmuvk3nT6L7q7q6Yj6EDrRlkUE7E3pZ3ht6Nwx7nIoZ34O7oNmJFopKn0UHpjfmT6yuOlczdZmpiQYNLgyXMfEUhzU3xtQ/s701/Dawn%20of%20Hope%20by%20Daniel%20Gerhartz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="701" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzXbP8vjUkrQzy3IVbd9gsanpjCqnnGnwAywccMvxw6FA6q3LDS-_j7F9lhNxRZfrMI0vLy5aeTuTqlDbymjAHZzGsmuvk3nT6L7q7q6Yj6EDrRlkUE7E3pZ3ht6Nwx7nIoZ34O7oNmJFopKn0UHpjfmT6yuOlczdZmpiQYNLgyXMfEUhzU3xtQ/w320-h214/Dawn%20of%20Hope%20by%20Daniel%20Gerhartz.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>"What is that?"</span></div><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">"Where?"<br />"Right there. What is that little flame that she is setting down?"<br />"Oh - that is hope."<br />"Hope?"<br />"Yes, a persistent hope."<br />"And who is that, the one lying down behind it?"<br />"That is one in need of hope."<br />"And who sent this hope?"<br />"He did - the One who loves her more than any other."<br />"But is that little flame enough? She seems so . . . so downcast."<br />"Oh, yes, more than enough. You see that little flame will grow."<br />"It will?"<br />"Yes. First it will fill her heart, then it will light her eyes, then it will make her rise up off the ground, and then she will shine."<br />"Shine?"<br />"Yes, like He himself."<br />"That brightly? Really?"<br />"Oh, yes. He <em>loves</em> to make His children shining lights!"</span><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><br /></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: Dawn of Hope (c) Daniel Gerhartz</span><br /><a href="http://www.danielgerhartz.com/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.danielgerhartz.com</span></a>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-78846915358680136862023-08-10T19:37:00.002-04:002023-08-10T19:37:22.887-04:00Off With its Head<p><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIEzSCCmBiuOV5Fs-0XaGnTODpWMP6dcdpRmpJKdY-2h-AMXdNCATO22FlGVtEgysdzrcMrE_gKWb8q7323aZQl31Igi42tCIW8JC6lWsFc4muulUgBJ0S_BBMrZN-y7rdonQQKTagu8yLcHB90Ol1B_Hy7k7nURGWkI7hYFdC-iz0M0VKuQJ5g/s600/David%20by%20Caravaggio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="600" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIEzSCCmBiuOV5Fs-0XaGnTODpWMP6dcdpRmpJKdY-2h-AMXdNCATO22FlGVtEgysdzrcMrE_gKWb8q7323aZQl31Igi42tCIW8JC6lWsFc4muulUgBJ0S_BBMrZN-y7rdonQQKTagu8yLcHB90Ol1B_Hy7k7nURGWkI7hYFdC-iz0M0VKuQJ5g/s320/David%20by%20Caravaggio.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">It's a stinking giant! That's all it is - a loud, evil, intimidating giant that has had you groveling to its demands for far too long. Rally, dear one, rally yourself and face it. God will make your stones fly true and hit hard. Just ask Him.</span><p></p><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">Off with its head! Silence its bellowing voice forever! Are you not tired of its demands, this giant that pounds upon you whenever it wishes? It has stomped through your life for many years now. It shouts . . . and you bow. It commands . . . and you capitulate. It threatens . . . and you tremble.</span></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">Off with its head, I say! It is just a stinking giant.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: David by Caravaggio</span></span></div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-63819995274101990572023-07-13T22:27:00.001-04:002023-07-13T22:27:43.834-04:00No Fear of a Moon-god<span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zhIWcqMn8bawPSN5IHqagI8VtL5mnv-CYS32Y1ACxcLhm9MlcFdWW78YW72YJeUdRxlAMsbnFU3t-8CWR11HUIecFC2qTkdLsD2FUlbyJPcMkTChZqdKwdk1LbDOcDfB2M6BRxlplMe1ufC3NNfWx1wdSYT0Ok3LIovUAV6E_Oy6tRwkjHfrxw/s626/crescent%20moon%20and%20star.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="626" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zhIWcqMn8bawPSN5IHqagI8VtL5mnv-CYS32Y1ACxcLhm9MlcFdWW78YW72YJeUdRxlAMsbnFU3t-8CWR11HUIecFC2qTkdLsD2FUlbyJPcMkTChZqdKwdk1LbDOcDfB2M6BRxlplMe1ufC3NNfWx1wdSYT0Ok3LIovUAV6E_Oy6tRwkjHfrxw/w400-h270/crescent%20moon%20and%20star.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />There was a man named Muhammad.</span></span><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">He married a 6 year-</span></span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans";">old girl and consummated the marriage when she was only 9 and he was an old man of 54.</span><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">In his day the Middle Eastern tribes worshipped 360 different gods, with Allah, the moon-god, chief among them.</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">His family worshipped this moon-god, so he created his religion around it.</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The symbol for the moon-god was a crescent moon, thus he took this as the symbol for his new religion.</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">He decided that this moon-god would be the only god, forcing all tribes to worship it alone.</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">He was a man of violence who beheaded all who refused to convert or extorted them for protection money.</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Mecca was built as a shrine to this moon-god.</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">And now millions of dear muslims have turned away from this moon-god for love of Jesus, the God who is love. Though they are killed or beaten or lose all that they own, they now know a love that is stronger and no fear of a moon-god can hold them.</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: Crescent Moon and Star, unknown</span></span></div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-5549676294510318822023-04-22T19:44:00.002-04:002023-04-22T19:44:32.170-04:00A Garden Awaiting<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDtafmgPAfSfwlV1W07HlG6IVrVWOA_7U5qCvd1qRoRLqOf1bxvBYnm4N_mTnyip1IC7m8tXaedAXLBll8CJUDPQQnj60VbqWoQ6Ugtw0e6SLwMxuLdSL3pV0wIbd4HU3_VhRjVUD5iEjpo3kP6-VLohEo3s9Yy1s2wQi9Ozj6AmT0neiM-8/s549/Poor%20House%20in%20Melk%20by%20Leopold%20Blauensteiner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="421" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDtafmgPAfSfwlV1W07HlG6IVrVWOA_7U5qCvd1qRoRLqOf1bxvBYnm4N_mTnyip1IC7m8tXaedAXLBll8CJUDPQQnj60VbqWoQ6Ugtw0e6SLwMxuLdSL3pV0wIbd4HU3_VhRjVUD5iEjpo3kP6-VLohEo3s9Yy1s2wQi9Ozj6AmT0neiM-8/s320/Poor%20House%20in%20Melk%20by%20Leopold%20Blauensteiner.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>It is right there. Can you not see it? Can you not see the flowers that returned for yet another year? Can you not feel the sun that silently crept into the garden without you noticing? Ahh, but your eyes are downcast. The flat, gray stone is all you see; the cold mud and hard brick beneath your feet is all you feel.</span></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span><br />Look up for it is coming . . . look up for change is near. So close that you can touch it if you just stretch forth your weary fingers. The world is alive with sweet color - do not keep your vision in the gray, rainy, dismal days of old.<br /><br />There is a garden awaiting!</span><br /><span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 12.48px;">Artwork: Poor House in Melk by Leopold Blauensteiner</span></span>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-59600182949765635142023-04-08T09:45:00.000-04:002023-04-08T09:45:21.843-04:00All Hell Tried<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVSDVx-PwjcrNUzYAzqP2BI_XIeBcACdDcL2copj6ALjhvJ2gSrqvRRYBwWoKWr8vzoV-JIa_hOJlGRg0mX9PD4UtB3RocfgjEIXev6TU1nCfgboASSfzwhKXwihIrnHWeyh04lfNnvD9DoS8EZ6aPV2U_YzibIHCg3V2pRMuzzYA8kI8ejE/s299/1907282_700833273296749_6742857297964870095_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="299" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVSDVx-PwjcrNUzYAzqP2BI_XIeBcACdDcL2copj6ALjhvJ2gSrqvRRYBwWoKWr8vzoV-JIa_hOJlGRg0mX9PD4UtB3RocfgjEIXev6TU1nCfgboASSfzwhKXwihIrnHWeyh04lfNnvD9DoS8EZ6aPV2U_YzibIHCg3V2pRMuzzYA8kI8ejE/s1600/1907282_700833273296749_6742857297964870095_n.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>He could not do it. Oh, he tried, alright. He tried and all hell tried with him. But to no avail . . . that third day came. THAT THIRD DAY CAME!!</span></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">It was quite a surprise, I'm sure. A terrifying surprise to him and all his cohorts in that other realm. They cried and whined and sniveled and screamed their rage: <i>"What is this? We had him! We defeated him! We took his life and buried him!"</i></span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">But then . . . that third day came. And they have been in a rage ever since.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: Jesus rising from the dead, unknown</span></span>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-79954682708352713152023-04-01T08:12:00.000-04:002023-04-01T08:12:24.413-04:00The Only Way Through<span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaUgqxtJb580bbNCMH3ZRqWqAPxLuBES702qi0Q2nktxZ-QWFHnS541iMKlWcgc5QCbTQICj2jI2c2h4Rdm6szhUimjWsxjO9GzYMZWyTNRcDBCEJbUIqVtNGVYQ9NLOteMqMMqs1xp_9uA1ILHoZkKxVuSbmkLkrcWtP6AZjcQEEG1TPijE/s594/Coming%20Glory%20by%20Mareesha%20D.S..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="474" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaUgqxtJb580bbNCMH3ZRqWqAPxLuBES702qi0Q2nktxZ-QWFHnS541iMKlWcgc5QCbTQICj2jI2c2h4Rdm6szhUimjWsxjO9GzYMZWyTNRcDBCEJbUIqVtNGVYQ9NLOteMqMMqs1xp_9uA1ILHoZkKxVuSbmkLkrcWtP6AZjcQEEG1TPijE/s320/Coming%20Glory%20by%20Mareesha%20D.S..jpg" width="255" /></a></div>"There is the gate."</span></span><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"Him? He is a person, not a gate."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"No, that is <i>the</i> gate."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"But a gate is what one 'goes' through."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"Yes, and they must go through Him."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"They might walk around Him. He is only one person, after all - not very wide."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"They might try. But He is the passage, the Way through. There is no other entry."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"Well, if He is the only way through, that makes for a pretty narrow gate."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"It does. And it is . . . narrow, that is."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"Not everyone shall like the idea of going through Him. They shall try all manner of ways to enter."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"They shall; in fact, many shall. But . . . there is only one gate . . . and it is Him."</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span><p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">Artwork: Coming Glory by Mareesha D.S. </span></span> </p></div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-91843536381901607002023-03-28T20:35:00.000-04:002023-03-28T20:35:23.976-04:00A Glimmer<span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-OZDKQbe5BQIyzyIpL9uSUkb766ebkhqmSuDRSFPRSKfzSE3r6bD5tLZA8qJycHZdtd8yAN0MPdVXYRuoOf7sBT0SK4nrrGfKhJ_OHJWgPS1vrd9aDNElMclrR-HFl1wDCbKJTnZLXv4bM4AUjG3-hJF8hSSH6jXYbiD3oGgbsAbrk4k8Szk/s620/Fireflies%20by%20Daan%20Michael%20Hoekstra.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-OZDKQbe5BQIyzyIpL9uSUkb766ebkhqmSuDRSFPRSKfzSE3r6bD5tLZA8qJycHZdtd8yAN0MPdVXYRuoOf7sBT0SK4nrrGfKhJ_OHJWgPS1vrd9aDNElMclrR-HFl1wDCbKJTnZLXv4bM4AUjG3-hJF8hSSH6jXYbiD3oGgbsAbrk4k8Szk/s320/Fireflies%20by%20Daan%20Michael%20Hoekstra.jpeg" width="227" /></a></div>"There! Did you see that?"</span><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"What? See what?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"Over there, there it is again. Did you not see it that time?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"I think I did. What is it?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"I am not certain . . . but I think . . . I think it is a glimmer."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"A glimmer? What's a glimmer?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"A glimmer! You know . . . a tiny glimmer of hope."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"Hope?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"Yes, yes, I'm certain of it now. I've seen that kind of glimmer before. Quick! There's one up there! See?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"Ahh, yes, I saw it that time. So <i>that's</i> what hope looks like."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"Oh, yes, that's exactly what it looks like - if you've got eyes sharp enough to see it. Not many have, you know. Not many can see a glimmer."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"I can see why. They rather sneak up on you, don't they?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">"Yes, they do."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">Artwork: Fireflies </span><span style="color: #29303b; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">© Daan Michael Hoekstra</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #29303b; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-40438172870382645892023-03-06T18:47:00.006-05:002023-03-06T18:47:55.864-05:00Swept Away<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtgMhU0B26zs7j9DLDkBPbh8-zsgshzrcPszvVXR_iCWpG9DgGjIyaqvqlg_iKGgfUMJHplZsKbOPS7we97saYCillpM7vwVKnD8E29aaAN4WInfK70E0cXjwi0D0S1GmIF-0Zdi_yvSbUhldP-4G6IDmO7nrvHT3cPfb0ZTtLShJko6yUgP8/s500/Inferno%20by%20Samy%20Charnine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtgMhU0B26zs7j9DLDkBPbh8-zsgshzrcPszvVXR_iCWpG9DgGjIyaqvqlg_iKGgfUMJHplZsKbOPS7we97saYCillpM7vwVKnD8E29aaAN4WInfK70E0cXjwi0D0S1GmIF-0Zdi_yvSbUhldP-4G6IDmO7nrvHT3cPfb0ZTtLShJko6yUgP8/s320/Inferno%20by%20Samy%20Charnine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Another one washed away. Another one is swept off by the shifting tide of culture. The shepherds of this flock lost their way a very long time ago. They moved this church from off the rock. They wanted softer ground on which to sit upon, something more like . . . sand.</span></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><br /></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">The sun was shining on the day they moved. The sand seemed quite inviting. They even removed the cornerstone of the foundation; what a silly thing to do. Remove the cornerstone? What builder would do that? But they did it, nonetheless.</span><br /><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><br /></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">And then the rains came. And the sand disappeared beneath. And every sheep within that building was swept away and lost . . . All because the shepherds lost their way a very long time ago.</span><br /><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><br /></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif" style="font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: Inferno (c) Samy Charnine</span><br /><a href="https://surrealism.website/Samy%20Charnine.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">https://surrealism.website/Samy%20Charnine.html</span></a><br /></span>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-27479230344699882562023-02-27T20:06:00.000-05:002023-02-27T20:06:47.527-05:00Written On Your Palm<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWEJY9BnV0LbQDV080Z2rjgdAf8-GbikwMxyh6O-b0zYMVHhmCOL0tF32Vp9fH5WFZJ-LMqHQfXnRL3RzPDZHFqdwgYtJC1sv6_zkIRE5yz8N2Yxmp2_jqyQKBGMEQRSCZFLiceOwDZbHlqclwBQ2cyDF_w5YB2X779sKYgc5sP2SNvTR3VKw/s631/I%20yield%20my%20heart%20to%20you%20by%20James%20Nesbit%20a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="631" data-original-width="399" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWEJY9BnV0LbQDV080Z2rjgdAf8-GbikwMxyh6O-b0zYMVHhmCOL0tF32Vp9fH5WFZJ-LMqHQfXnRL3RzPDZHFqdwgYtJC1sv6_zkIRE5yz8N2Yxmp2_jqyQKBGMEQRSCZFLiceOwDZbHlqclwBQ2cyDF_w5YB2X779sKYgc5sP2SNvTR3VKw/w253-h400/I%20yield%20my%20heart%20to%20you%20by%20James%20Nesbit%20a.jpg" width="253" /></a></div>I am a small one kneeling in the dirt, my God, my lovely Father. Yet I am someone you cannot forget - for so you said. You said my name is written on your palm and forever you'd remember who I am.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">Small but memorable to you and imprinted on your hand. Such love I cannot help but offer back. Let all the world hear me shout: <i>Such a God are you - so fierce! So shatteringly beautiful! An all-consuming fire that is merciful and kind! You are unlike any that has ever been, is now, or shall ever come to be.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">And here I am, kneeling in the dirt, a small one who shall never be forgotten.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, "serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;">Artwork: I Yield My Heart
to You © James Nesb</span><span style="font-family: Times, "serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;">it</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #29303b; font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 7.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://jnesbit.com/" target="_blank">https://jnesbit.com/</a><br /></span></div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-82100437465437927282023-02-18T10:50:00.002-05:002023-02-18T10:50:56.330-05:00Simple<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6Jmd1_6LygfOfIscNgXRnYlVhM5v-ohloXu7YMHQ-yZFtMfmRIctT3do-Nb9vWUeE8XzoYj3VIHEnK_nfbjjfcp5KlS4wC3OT7r8Lyg0YGE8-30zVC_6LurvapI7magfO8TEa8J8eZ6NwBXyagUeh-iEvwYmqUdFuhnuY7gpUD9F5InW2yg/s1024/Vision,%20The%20by%20Akiane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6Jmd1_6LygfOfIscNgXRnYlVhM5v-ohloXu7YMHQ-yZFtMfmRIctT3do-Nb9vWUeE8XzoYj3VIHEnK_nfbjjfcp5KlS4wC3OT7r8Lyg0YGE8-30zVC_6LurvapI7magfO8TEa8J8eZ6NwBXyagUeh-iEvwYmqUdFuhnuY7gpUD9F5InW2yg/w320-h320/Vision,%20The%20by%20Akiane.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>There it is, do you see it? Right there in her little face. It is what Jesus sees, and it makes Him smile. It is what He wants to see in all of us. What He demands, in fact. Nothing complicated here - just a simple, innocent, child-like heart, filled with trust for her Papa God.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">It is eyes like hers that can see the wonder of Him.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">Artwork: The Vision </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, "sans-serif";">© </span><span style="font-family: PT Sans;">Akiane</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><a href="https://akiane.com" target="_blank">https://akiane.com</a><br /></span></span></div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-37142648738283519252023-02-04T16:33:00.000-05:002023-02-04T16:33:36.083-05:00Bent Beneath the Load<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7yDcYlIneQ-6DYQui2OBcXiW1nHyAWw_AHlH7xl9epAJwUbf9lGjtIoGB-efIu3itEQKeTWWg8iY736ZWuncHlpphjfNHNuWN9zP8MYMiNhxvXN3oZOmnspw1o5EOVteT5lfC6PQaC-C9qdHMxuhIW8nwwTJr7XSQAsR-9q_YLd03B2oQzQI/s446/Burden.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="446" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7yDcYlIneQ-6DYQui2OBcXiW1nHyAWw_AHlH7xl9epAJwUbf9lGjtIoGB-efIu3itEQKeTWWg8iY736ZWuncHlpphjfNHNuWN9zP8MYMiNhxvXN3oZOmnspw1o5EOVteT5lfC6PQaC-C9qdHMxuhIW8nwwTJr7XSQAsR-9q_YLd03B2oQzQI/s320/Burden.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>There is nothing you can bring to me I need - I am the uncreated One, remember? I have no needs. I have no need for your works or deeds or honors or accomplishments or your position. And I can see that you have little need of them also, as your back is quite bent beneath the load. How long will you last carrying such weight? Will you make it to the end of the road? It could be a long road, you know, this journey you call your life.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Why not lay it all down and come to me empty-handed? ... That's a thought.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: Carrying a burden, unknown</span></div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-28904554095307816322022-12-07T19:43:00.000-05:002022-12-07T19:43:29.025-05:00Pounded Down With Nails<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZiPLKQqtBD_Tb0ZFqQmfpcAHc_MomcSGGmeyjTgeHrjAPQVY9PPu9SAKYP0_wRWYeleJGU7s9jlx_-S6q-c4hjqYPFuPQqevHxyc0rhDdWvO7qwDOctz5tvaoCwSnGjyIOtlyY1L6hpxe3nmYV1erCIWIOcQbpaC4vOsS8x_OOgFDNDRhek/s1024/Nails%20in%20the%20cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="1024" height="94" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZiPLKQqtBD_Tb0ZFqQmfpcAHc_MomcSGGmeyjTgeHrjAPQVY9PPu9SAKYP0_wRWYeleJGU7s9jlx_-S6q-c4hjqYPFuPQqevHxyc0rhDdWvO7qwDOctz5tvaoCwSnGjyIOtlyY1L6hpxe3nmYV1erCIWIOcQbpaC4vOsS8x_OOgFDNDRhek/w400-h94/Nails%20in%20the%20cross.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Every sin ... what weight it must have been. <em>Every </em>sin. Not just sin from one or two, not just sin from tens of thousands, but the sins of all humanity throughout the history of the earth were laid upon him. A world’s weight set upon his frame and pounded down with nails.</span></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><br />What sheer breadth and height it would have measured (if sin could possibly be measured thus): homosexuality, pornography, hatred, murder, lies, rebellion . . . countless sins in every shape and form as can be imagined in the heart of man.<br /><br />And at that moment of the laying of our sins upon him ... God's wrath was satisfied. The payment for our souls was made. Someone had to pay the penalty, and only he, who had no sin, could do it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: Nailed to the Cross, unknown</span></span>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-56476734591820320042022-10-28T22:21:00.000-04:002022-10-28T22:21:13.811-04:00Stuff Falling Off<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMIaesVWmLa1lX8OcMBcBDLhb3Uza4Q_WJvDSI_gFPxv96jbG4n4P3PwFBaX1_v1oP0jo9cg6IiehxJmuDleutluNer6dZFMlRs5AMSGXfk9nkwxijF8ejByp70k8uFQ7uJj2jakE-AOsmphYCrASLcvDjAk-xykGyBptwRP8h5vB6xd7tQ4/s700/Set%20Free%20by%20Deborah%20Nell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="509" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMIaesVWmLa1lX8OcMBcBDLhb3Uza4Q_WJvDSI_gFPxv96jbG4n4P3PwFBaX1_v1oP0jo9cg6IiehxJmuDleutluNer6dZFMlRs5AMSGXfk9nkwxijF8ejByp70k8uFQ7uJj2jakE-AOsmphYCrASLcvDjAk-xykGyBptwRP8h5vB6xd7tQ4/s320/Set%20Free%20by%20Deborah%20Nell.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>Welcome to the family! Did you know that you are now a royal child? Your father is a King (<em>the</em> King of kings) and you shall learn his ways now that you've been adopted into this large clan of his.</span></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">O, we can be a noisy bunch - we love to laugh! And you will find all sorts of stuff falling off you that you did not even realize you carried . . . burdens, that is. Ailments and griefs of various kinds. Baggage and trappings that never served you very well after all.</span><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">O-ho! Yes, welcome to the family. Such a good thing that you are here at last!</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: Set Free <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 11.5px; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">© Deborah Nell</span></span><div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 11.5px; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://deborah-nell.pixels.com/" target="_blank">https://deborah-nell.pixels.com/</a><br /></span></span></div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-60755630025821915182022-10-02T10:27:00.000-04:002022-10-02T10:27:15.337-04:00Let the Dreams Begin!<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFR3o331amlh6LNlXhPx7BvhP8kqHYLSb9wIQixsAXJrtkQAzZfYArHVeNb5WNCuJyqcWysRc2FbStsFE09N2gCsDLzKhDc14tXzOpQ7RuJ9zIdt5qEgmTdJTM5HLw1rfQnEHuClmiHei5X2RH7s_xLB4umiEtfusJrSabD5U57qJ0Epel64/s334/Jesus%20in%20a%20Dream.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="334" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFR3o331amlh6LNlXhPx7BvhP8kqHYLSb9wIQixsAXJrtkQAzZfYArHVeNb5WNCuJyqcWysRc2FbStsFE09N2gCsDLzKhDc14tXzOpQ7RuJ9zIdt5qEgmTdJTM5HLw1rfQnEHuClmiHei5X2RH7s_xLB4umiEtfusJrSabD5U57qJ0Epel64/w400-h230/Jesus%20in%20a%20Dream.png" width="400" /></a></div>He visits them in
dreams . . . and they believe in Him. By the thousands they are turning, bowing
knee to ground to worship Him who is the dearest of them all.</span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">And who can stop
the Son of God from entering into a sleeper’s quiet rest? No one can. Who can
stop dear Muslim souls from believing in their heart that Jesus saves? <i>No
one can.</i></span><span lang="EN"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">And the eastern
world accuses, “it’s a foreign plot to convert Muslims!” Oh, no, not a foreign
plot at all— it is a God plot! A Holy Spirit plot! An incredible plot thought
out by God Himself at the beginning of the world. </span><span lang="EN"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Night is falling
now . . . the eastern world is lying down to sleep . . . the trumpet blasts . .
. and heaven shouts, "LET THE DREAMS BEGIN!"</span><span lang="EN"> </span><span lang="EN"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans; font-size: xx-small;">Photograph: Jesus
in a dream, Jesus resurrection unknown</span></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-60660203236423407122022-09-19T20:22:00.002-04:002022-09-19T20:22:31.183-04:00Just the Beginning<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXg2jJJOCJNX7lHstTZkro9sZyMizZnsnajfmwMtulyeqRyauyUCzCSsadL5bsqV0Ha6SR8QQ_9j-lZs4eHkbsSreQg3dh9_hRAssrWIhDzB9ozZaysZzqiUjIQ8P_q3dZDu55yVrrrgZL2nWbLebxJQ4NkwezJAIXQK-8mPEk0VPgHs_6M3U/s678/Walking%20on%20water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="491" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXg2jJJOCJNX7lHstTZkro9sZyMizZnsnajfmwMtulyeqRyauyUCzCSsadL5bsqV0Ha6SR8QQ_9j-lZs4eHkbsSreQg3dh9_hRAssrWIhDzB9ozZaysZzqiUjIQ8P_q3dZDu55yVrrrgZL2nWbLebxJQ4NkwezJAIXQK-8mPEk0VPgHs_6M3U/s320/Walking%20on%20water.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>"Do you see that?!!"</span></div><span style="font-family: PT Sans;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"Yes, I do."</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"They're starting to believe!"</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"Did you doubt?"</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"Well . . . er, yes . . . I must say I did. And what now with such faith?"</span><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">"Ha! Walking on water is just the beginning."</span><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Artwork: walking on water, unknown</span></span></span>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-84032013944520019762022-09-05T11:46:00.000-04:002022-09-05T11:46:05.348-04:00Human Strength<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVAcrbeNFwDWQPnp1Z2_nIgKr6jnwnLc5QofHO6ZiTXWY9RCjhanwYDX33PFvO0JTrnXEoVFjaGQKM7470GlLdc3_oWmXZQ9bC9aktwKPsjXc-a19mlx-oe9BJG6KLk82fqKe1KBl2V0QiHXRuTUv11sL0S6bqrf9IW10cudoxnQCBfAF798/s550/man%20in%20chains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVAcrbeNFwDWQPnp1Z2_nIgKr6jnwnLc5QofHO6ZiTXWY9RCjhanwYDX33PFvO0JTrnXEoVFjaGQKM7470GlLdc3_oWmXZQ9bC9aktwKPsjXc-a19mlx-oe9BJG6KLk82fqKe1KBl2V0QiHXRuTUv11sL0S6bqrf9IW10cudoxnQCBfAF798/w320-h200/man%20in%20chains.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>“It is finally happening!”</span></div><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">“Yes, it is.”<br />“He looks very strong.”<br />“He is. But not strong enough to break his chains.”<br />“Ah, yes, the chains. They all have them.”<br />“They do. And in their human strength some can carry them for a very long time.”<br />“This one has a praying mother, doesn't he?”<br />“Oh, yes. And since he was in her womb she has never stopped interceding for him.”<br />“Does he know what brought him to this place?”<br />“Not completely; but he will. It’s enough for now that he is here.”<br />“This is exciting! I’ve never <em>seen</em> it happen. You know, actually been here at the moment. So now, when do the chains actually fall?”<br />“Any moment now, you will see . . . shh, listen . . . he is doing it. He’s asking Christ into his heart.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: xx-small;">Photograph: Man in Chains, unknown</span>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-30893110420081602062022-08-24T21:31:00.000-04:002022-08-24T21:31:12.914-04:00White-hot Metal<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNd55xTtg5jnmPJE8XFBvHM9DwRNaXonrRDJ3xcYznFayADZzD1RGmroRfJUEopiIaa45GooNTD2IDOKbsRz-7qPLUSQ08sydwZff71eGpIC34X-0yZw2Zo_NbKur3bPfBpO7D6UZd8qvGHyJImEU2FlwRAY1DDAyD_AiOFpkHQ8CNjLbgLFs/s1000/Innocence%20by%20William%20Bouguereau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="514" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNd55xTtg5jnmPJE8XFBvHM9DwRNaXonrRDJ3xcYznFayADZzD1RGmroRfJUEopiIaa45GooNTD2IDOKbsRz-7qPLUSQ08sydwZff71eGpIC34X-0yZw2Zo_NbKur3bPfBpO7D6UZd8qvGHyJImEU2FlwRAY1DDAyD_AiOFpkHQ8CNjLbgLFs/w205-h400/Innocence%20by%20William%20Bouguereau.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>Innocence is precious. We think of it as soft and pure—little lambs and babies. But there is a purity that is like white-hot metal, that burns into our souls, that purges all the dross. It is my Beloved One that grants me such a touch as this, a burning touch that cleanses my soul and restores my innocence.<br /><br />Christ, the sinless One, the daringly loving One, the One whose heart is ever longing for the lost ones He died for. It is His touch that restores, refreshes and makes clean. Such a feeling to be clean! Soaking for a thousand days in water would not let me feel as clean as one touch from His Holy Spirit.<br /><br />Who would not want the feeling of a clean soul? . . . if only they knew. Burning can be a very good thing.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Artwork: Innocence by Bougoureau</span></span> </div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016701.post-68890910856751441032022-08-22T21:22:00.001-04:002022-08-22T21:22:27.069-04:00Are We Not Gods?<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkRcxX-7d22fLBsqurwZSLF4iEfMjZPsh-x9S8XmeH3Y-1UqP-Uz3cQ23640pGH-L-uCV7pK5Nn80v-R3V-Qmz2FL9_HFtx7v0VWq-SbW8aeDOwrze2DnA_bRSX7ma7tyikFzUcPgDNnP8GzAbM_0iZarjTmDjp1YBF_gOqKoFZmfjoD0qe64/s400/Infant%20Jupiter%20by%20Sir%20Joshua%20Reynolds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="306" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkRcxX-7d22fLBsqurwZSLF4iEfMjZPsh-x9S8XmeH3Y-1UqP-Uz3cQ23640pGH-L-uCV7pK5Nn80v-R3V-Qmz2FL9_HFtx7v0VWq-SbW8aeDOwrze2DnA_bRSX7ma7tyikFzUcPgDNnP8GzAbM_0iZarjTmDjp1YBF_gOqKoFZmfjoD0qe64/s320/Infant%20Jupiter%20by%20Sir%20Joshua%20Reynolds.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>God is so creative! From out of His mind sprang the entire order of the universe - such an astounding thing that mere mortals find it difficult to grasp. We are boxed in by our little minds, refusing to believe in feats to which we ourselves cannot attain. We sit before our Creator with our chests puffed out and insist with presumed intelligence, “God did not do that! There is no god, in fact!” </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">We sit, determined to not heed anything that might say we are wrong. Wrong? Us? Are we not the smartest of all creatures? Are we not gods ourselves? Do we not have the power of the divine hidden down within only waiting to come out? What tragic, silly beings we’ve become. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">And God looks down upon those He made and sees the rebellious little children that we are.</span> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: 12.48px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Artwork: Infant Jupiter by Sir Joshua Reynolds</span></span></div>Penn Haydenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10385233793304563791noreply@blogger.com0