tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21008623728802093972024-03-19T02:16:29.210-07:00TIME FOR REFLECTIONSVictor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.comBlogger2704125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-40511672371661802872024-03-18T04:02:00.000-07:002024-03-18T04:02:49.609-07:00Hot Couture<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipEPC8oMYSmtmVSCivWmJKJXtdX1WVm0HXQgAVoAN-ef_iEHiyJuWNi4OuD1bWCAKoh4KRjBTB9Be_m7XqDM3W4rgaQ9MDmA5qGqxWkGpQTNXxYopmejEGhklB7T-o7MJt2oXuqL9t-_P7b52qNjn6iaRiQ5-Db-PGwpNh_Q4gYUxdgLSuNZiaXk3Kua6f/s566/abanana.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="566" data-original-width="352" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipEPC8oMYSmtmVSCivWmJKJXtdX1WVm0HXQgAVoAN-ef_iEHiyJuWNi4OuD1bWCAKoh4KRjBTB9Be_m7XqDM3W4rgaQ9MDmA5qGqxWkGpQTNXxYopmejEGhklB7T-o7MJt2oXuqL9t-_P7b52qNjn6iaRiQ5-Db-PGwpNh_Q4gYUxdgLSuNZiaXk3Kua6f/s320/abanana.tif" width="199" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="448" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7JNchRGqFc4" width="539" youtube-src-id="7JNchRGqFc4"></iframe></div><br />Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-19644878889762499112024-03-16T04:01:00.000-07:002024-03-16T04:01:40.129-07:00Christian lies and confusion<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzfsnlPopFn3W1zaap_OpURQZjXsncDlMW3WZFf__aEhGwa9mME5VzSIib0NhByvFEvfhaffJ0uB5eKvyOIMmcTWck-NX3so59FQfC1DT9uyK9mOASHijiNeYVn-jfA63CUW5aJY-hUabrBrlSQiG2sYxvcJ-CobHepYlrjNFWPlRsARj-95mfB2wTOpx/s744/a%20accuracy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="744" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzfsnlPopFn3W1zaap_OpURQZjXsncDlMW3WZFf__aEhGwa9mME5VzSIib0NhByvFEvfhaffJ0uB5eKvyOIMmcTWck-NX3so59FQfC1DT9uyK9mOASHijiNeYVn-jfA63CUW5aJY-hUabrBrlSQiG2sYxvcJ-CobHepYlrjNFWPlRsARj-95mfB2wTOpx/w510-h292/a%20accuracy.jpg" width="510" /></a></div><p>I wrote yesterday about "new wave" Christian teaching aimed at making people feel good and comfortable rather than proclaiming the Word of God.. </p><p>Sermons these days rarely confront modern style living which tends to promote selfishness, greed and anger. There's too much anger in the world today, and very little caring and empathy. Many have lost their way and turn to materialism as a means to soothe their confusions and frustrations. </p><p>Preachers seldom talk about sin and the influence of Satan in our lives. He is sidelined and treated as a euphemism for evil, or for being a little naughty. And he prefers it this way because it allows him to do his evil work "under the radar" undetected by most people.</p><p>What was once considered wrong and against God's teaching is now viewed in a more positive light as if previous beliefs were archaic and misguided.<br /></p><p>God is portrayed as a benevolent all-loving and caring individual that He will not really send anyone to hell for eternity. He will welcome all to Heaven and will eventually forgive everyone; even the devil. </p><p>Such "comfort blanket" Theology soothes lost souls into believing that all behaviour is acceptable as long as it is well intentioned. <br /></p><p>For example, there's the false belief that God loves us all and does not want us to suffer. So if someone is terminally ill with no hope of getting better, or is in a coma, God would wish for an end to their suffering and it is loving and considerate for us to terminate life in order to stop their pain. A similar argument is advanced in support of abortion. <br /></p><p>Every thought and action seems motivated by a feel good factor and permanent comfort and happiness. <br /></p><p>This kind of thinking has permeated into personal marital relationships. There's a view pushed around that we are not meant to be monogamous creatures. Married couples are encouraged to have an "open marriage" and to experiment with various partners, of either sex, as long as they both agree to do so. Such "open and honest" relationships would strengthen one's marriage (apparently) and in some cases threesome intimacies in bed with one's partner are depicted as invigorating a "tired" marriage.</p><p>There's even a TV program over here which encourages choosing one's partners on <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naked_Attraction" target="_blank">Naked Attraction</a> alone. Contestants are seen in full frontal close-up nakedness with various body parts discussed in details before a choice of partner is made.<br /></p><p>All in all, the pursuit of permanent happiness, instant gratification and indulgent greed is acceptable in a society which has lost its moral compass and does not know where to find it.</p><p>Christianity seems in retreat and Satan laughs quietly. </p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-90282077364041340862024-03-15T03:46:00.000-07:002024-03-15T03:46:43.482-07:00Sorry you're leaving us<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0RUdHskZBhTH_EeLIaVlm3Jno-94WU1WugxqkTeipOUKu-IwCuaGAt4ha0_CHk8df_UReeGvBjnliHf3DM98sHfXHRzqGmILmUYjtE_aujpnjYrkzxBo6nclrvxjUlm0y4rCkYlxDHXp_j93ONbi6Ihbx7YWfQItqny9jPHthvbqCf1udDkW0-yCJO40/s547/acchoice2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="547" height="405" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0RUdHskZBhTH_EeLIaVlm3Jno-94WU1WugxqkTeipOUKu-IwCuaGAt4ha0_CHk8df_UReeGvBjnliHf3DM98sHfXHRzqGmILmUYjtE_aujpnjYrkzxBo6nclrvxjUlm0y4rCkYlxDHXp_j93ONbi6Ihbx7YWfQItqny9jPHthvbqCf1udDkW0-yCJO40/w498-h405/acchoice2.jpg" width="498" /></a></div>Look folks, I feel that this post is likely to lose me some of my readers. I deeply regret if this happens, but what I have to say is too important not to be said.<p></p><p>We are living at a time when people seem to want all the good things in life as an entitlement owed to them by society, the world, the universe or whatever. </p><p>They want instant gratification, permanent joy and happiness, and everything to be well in life as of right. You see it in the adverts, in soap operas and reality shows, and on social media. </p><p>The message is that if you buy a certain product, or do a certain thing, then you will be happy for ever and the sun will always shine in your life. Constant subliminal messages aimed at vulnerable minds are influencing a new way of life, and a new way of death. Enjoy and be merry for tomorrow there's nothing.</p><p>This message is also pervading Christianity. There is the belief being preached by some that God loves us all, He created us all and therefore He will not allow any of us to go to hell. We are all welcome to Heaven and are destined to go there.</p><p>This is false teaching encouraged by the devil to lead us astray. He exists for sure and is cunningly, patiently, influencing people to peddle false lies to confuse naive minds who have not been taught anything about their divine origins as creations of God. </p><p>Satan is not omnipresent. Unlike God, Satan is not everywhere, but he has his legions of demons all over the world doing his work for him.<br /></p><p>The devil exists and tempted Christ. So we should not be much of a challenge to him. He waits for our weakest moment when we are tired, have gone through a difficult time, or we are in ill health and that's when he cunningly puts lies in our minds.</p><p>He speaks through people to spread his message. Using influential people, famous people, glamourous people and all those best placed to convey his false teachings in a sweet and gentle fashion to suit our lifestyles. </p><p>There is a concerted effort and a push to push us away from God. Remember, the devil used Peter to tempt Jesus. When Christ foretold His passion and death, Peter, influenced by the devil, took Him aside and began to rebuke Him. “Far be it from You, Lord!” he said. “This shall never happen to You!” To which Jesus replied, "Get behind me, Satan!" Matthew 16:22-23.</p><p>Today, the devil is just as busy and in some cases he is working through so called Christians who teach that all is well and that a loving God will not see any of us perish. I repeat that this is false teaching. Life is not a game of Monopoly and we don't all have a "get out of hell card" as an insurance policy to enable us to live as selfishly as we wish.</p><p>No ... we are not all destined to go to Heaven. No one goes to Heaven against their will. We are free to go elsewhere and many are sleep-walking their way to that destination.</p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-45208073883086383172024-03-14T03:31:00.000-07:002024-03-14T03:31:19.572-07:00Confessional Secrets<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmDH4rtMw9Q0_KSrqxUZAFrektuRY1AnBQtKnTgJ-_H9F0Kv3rFoH8JZtelHY5sEQamwo1pcjr3udTM_4tv4WGpclQKGYkW5hyfvwIPaf1sN8myjyn9ThHDyZZxzsqdBdyrILGTzJ_NdONwSzhJxKafAu6thCKI38hsOtfnB0J-qxNRLUuhkPD1MAoZOz/s460/acconfv2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="460" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmDH4rtMw9Q0_KSrqxUZAFrektuRY1AnBQtKnTgJ-_H9F0Kv3rFoH8JZtelHY5sEQamwo1pcjr3udTM_4tv4WGpclQKGYkW5hyfvwIPaf1sN8myjyn9ThHDyZZxzsqdBdyrILGTzJ_NdONwSzhJxKafAu6thCKI38hsOtfnB0J-qxNRLUuhkPD1MAoZOz/w479-h395/acconfv2.JPG" width="479" /></a></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Friday afternoon was
Catechism class with the youngsters from the local Catholic school. Father
Ignatius duly attended every week to face the eager pupils who expected
straight answers.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">He knew that at that
age he had to satisfy their curiosity as well as answer as honestly as possible
their questions on church dogma and the mysteries of Christianity. He was
blessed with a great sense of humour and certainly made liberal use of it to
press his point home, or to alleviate any tense situation which might arise.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Today’s Catechism
discussion was about the act of Confession.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Did you ever have to
hear a really naughty confession Father?” asked an inquisitive youngster.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“You know very well, a
priest never tells what he hears in Confession,” replied Father Ignatius.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Oh … come on Father …
tell us … you don’t have to give names,” pleaded another pupil.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“What’s the worst sin
you’ve ever heard?” added a third.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Did anyone ever tell
you they murdered somebody?” asked an inventive boy.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Their imaginations
were running wild and the priest knew when he was beaten. He had to humour them
in order to gain their attention. He gestured with his hands to beckon their
silence. He then smiled and said, “When I first came here to St Vincent Church
I did not know anybody. I arrived on a Friday evening and the next morning at
ten I had to hear Confessions.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“I entered the
confessional and said a few prayers whilst waiting for the first people to come
in. And sure enough they did, one by one as you know full well.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“One of the many
people coming to confession that morning said to me, ‘I am not from this town
Father; just passing through.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">‘Really?’ I replied.
‘It doesn’t matter who you are. I don’t have to know your identity.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">‘Yeh … I’m with the travelling circus … we’re only here for a few days,’ said the voice on the other
side of the confessional.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">‘The circus,’ I said
to the man kneeling there, ‘I’ve never been to the circus. Always wanted to as
a child. What do you do in the circus?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">‘I’m an acrobat!’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“I was really excited
to have an acrobat in my confessional. I’d always wanted to be an acrobat as a
child, before becoming a priest, and I’d never seen a real one performing in
the circus. So I decided to ask him something unusual.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">‘Tell you what.’ I
said to him, ‘Would you mind performing some of your act for me? I don’t have
time to come and see you at the circus. The church is empty now, and as you’re
the last one here, no one would know anyway. Would you mind doing some
acrobatics in the side aisle and I’ll hide here behind the curtain and watch
you.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“To my surprise and
relief the circus performer said, ‘Sure Father, it’ll be a pleasure. A bit
unusual, but a pleasure all the same!’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“He then got out of
the confessional and started his little show by standing upside down in the
middle of the aisle. Then he balanced on one hand and hopped about a bit; and
then he hopped on the other hand. He followed this with a few somersaults
backward and a few forwards in mid-air. Then he balanced a chair on his nose
whilst juggling with a few candles he picked up from a statue nearby. He
finished with a few more somersaults and hand-stands on the back of the pews!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“Gosh …” said a few
youngsters in amazement, “That’s fantastic. What happened next?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“What I didn’t
realize,” continued the priest “is that watching from the back pews were two
elderly ladies.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-pagination: widow-orphan;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“I heard one say to
the other ‘Let’s go home; this new priest is out of his mind. I’m not doing any
acrobatics as a penance for my sins!’ ”<br /></span></p>
Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-37819568296473110722024-03-12T03:42:00.000-07:002024-03-12T03:42:54.853-07:00Sitting by the pool<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2u8weIJviCtwvtwhG4Y2Ik-PzgCYBB0LcV0se9KLfDYSlx3_X71hUpHLmNvQr5i9yMVTh3YRc8aOjhhODdeFsZ_NpUA5FyNDeN9S0z61T7McNH4HCwrHi81BdKi-Ev2f5U4yYcOLWLtstgwYJEULkdLL6QFBI8gsNbU1em2EjOJERHYwkdOui7DoGA/s575/Jesus-Healing-the-Sick.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="400" height="531" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2u8weIJviCtwvtwhG4Y2Ik-PzgCYBB0LcV0se9KLfDYSlx3_X71hUpHLmNvQr5i9yMVTh3YRc8aOjhhODdeFsZ_NpUA5FyNDeN9S0z61T7McNH4HCwrHi81BdKi-Ev2f5U4yYcOLWLtstgwYJEULkdLL6QFBI8gsNbU1em2EjOJERHYwkdOui7DoGA/w371-h531/Jesus-Healing-the-Sick.jpg" width="371" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>JOHN 5:2 ONWARDS </b><br /></div><b> </b>Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic
is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralysed. For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled
the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped
in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had. <p></p><p>One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this
condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?” “Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when
the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes
down ahead of me.”</p><p>Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.”</p><p>At once the man was cured; he picked up his mat and walked. The day on which this took place was a Sabbath, and so the Jewish leaders said to the man who had been healed, “It is the Sabbath; the law forbids you to carry your mat.”</p><p><span class="p">There is so much for us to learn from this short passage in John's Gospel.</span></p><p><span class="p">I guess it was traditional for people to gather round that pool and await for the water to stir before jumping in. We are not told whether people actually got healed or not; but presumably so since people kept going there. </span></p><p><span class="p">Jesus too went there. He obviously did not want healing. But He went there for a purpose.</span></p><p><span class="p">He saw a lame man and learnt that he had been an invalid for years. He asked him an obvious question: Do you want to get well?</span></p><p><span class="p">Duh ... of course, otherwise I would not be here!</span></p><p><span class="p">But the sick man does not answer the question. He says that he cannot get to the pool on time because others more able than him jump in first; and it is only the first one in who gets healed.</span></p><p><span class="p">So Jesus simply says: Get up! Pick up your mat and walk! <br /></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span></p><p><span class="p">Note that this happened on the Sabbath. The day when the Jews were not allowed to work. And apparently, according to the Jewish leaders, they decided that carrying one's mat was in fact work. <br /></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span><span class="p"></span></p><p><span class="p">Jesus could have said: Get up and walk. </span></p><p><span class="p">He did not have to mention the mat. But had He done so, the man would have walked away unnoticed and that would have been the end of the story. </span></p><p><span class="p">Jesus went to the pool deliberately on the Sabbath. He certainly planned to make a point of healing someone on that day to test the reactions of the people. </span></p><p><span class="p">Rather than rejoicing and praising God for another miracle amongst their mist; and celebrating with the man who had been healed after so many years; the Jewish leaders were nit-picking and fussing about the minutiae of the law.</span></p><p><span class="p">Aren't we like that sometimes? Each interpreting our Christian beliefs our own way and certain that we are right and therefore everyone else is wrong.</span></p><p><span class="p">Rather than rejoicing in what unites us in faith, we argue about what divides us and sets us apart.</span></p><p><span class="p">Would we not much rather hear Jesus say: </span><span class="p">Get up and walk. Your prejudices have been healed.</span> <br /></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-48404930322299484032024-03-08T01:45:00.000-08:002024-03-08T01:45:47.921-08:00Speedy the tortoise<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgYUpogvX2j84zzvuU3WB7Fl9bTd107PKNnyjAUKhmPRlFK__QNhmlRv9PCSwB31T59Qxdt3UEPd2pnX3bolnMtGo-tTQwFaUJm3nOiXypj6-MHTsl-wlqNtbsZ1yKE8dPx0KMmWhV8xgwSndqDtnIQVSlP98_8pLe9p_7xZXjKvzapbgcaJFnn45P1-l/s640/ahat.tif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="234" data-original-width="640" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgYUpogvX2j84zzvuU3WB7Fl9bTd107PKNnyjAUKhmPRlFK__QNhmlRv9PCSwB31T59Qxdt3UEPd2pnX3bolnMtGo-tTQwFaUJm3nOiXypj6-MHTsl-wlqNtbsZ1yKE8dPx0KMmWhV8xgwSndqDtnIQVSlP98_8pLe9p_7xZXjKvzapbgcaJFnn45P1-l/w554-h202/ahat.tif" width="554" /></a></div>Any animal psychologists out there?<p></p><p>We have a tortoise which the family named Speedy Gonzales.
We also have a rabbit, a cat and a dog as well as a number of fishes in
the pond in the garden. <br />
<br />
Suddenly and quite recently there has been a
marked difference in behaviour in Gonzales the tortoise. Usually he sits
or sleeps sedately in his box, or chews on a lettuce leaf for ages and
does nothing else. But suddenly, perhaps inspired by our dog, his
behaviour has changed.<br />
<br />
As soon as I get home he comes rushing to me and jumps up high from the
ground trying to reach my chest. He runs round in circles and jumps up again
and again until I stoop down and pick him up. </p><p>When I do so he licks my
face happily and wags his little tail excitedly. It's very unusual
behaviour for a tortoise, but you should see his tail
wagging left and right as his tiny tongue attempts to kiss me. </p><p>I guess
it's his way of showing me his affection. It's like humans I suspect. Have
you never been so excited to meet someone you like that you jumped on
them and licked their face? No ... perhaps not.<br />
<br />When I'm out in the garden exercising our dog by throwing a ball
the tortoise runs as fast as it can to fetch it before the dog does. Of
course, the ball is too big for Gonzales' tiny mouth, so the tortoise
let's the dog pick up the ball and then he bites the dog's tail gently
so he could be dragged all the way back to me so we can start the game
all over again.<br />
<br />
Gonzales now insists on going out for walks with the dog. I have made a
tiny collar which I place round his neck and attach it to a lead and
take both creatures out together. I must say, for a tortoise he
certainly keeps up the pace with the dog. He even, every now and then, lifts up his back leg like the
dog, and pretends to do his business by a tree. The problem here is that
sometimes he loses his balance and falls over on his back and is unable
to get up again. He rolls backwards and forwards gaining momentum every
time in order to finally tip over to his normal upright position.
Either that, or the dog rolls him over with his nose.<br />
<br />
I don't know how long Gonzales' behaviour will last. The vet had
no explanation to offer and suggested it was "acquired transferable
behaviour", whatever that means.<br />
<br />
I wonder, have any of you readers experienced such unusual behaviour in
your pets? Have you for example ever had a parrot trying to learn to
swim? Or a guinea pig or hamster clucking like a chicken? Or any other similar
uncharacteristic behaviour?<br />
<br />
I had a neighbour once who liked to imitate birds. She ate worms. But that's another story!
</p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-17673740016962090362024-03-06T02:47:00.000-08:002024-03-06T02:47:11.644-08:00Stolen Treasures
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYG9RDJtnEm9FF3XuSdcRUniqfcjQvXysTRO4QhQddk8yvjL18s4oatoGpbZs_PyVIbdC46xJGkEFWolQHbYxqi-2JZ3pA9uF2gu0xtp9h2k4zMu2_GtEA8dvjxNZ3F3ek4_icBV54ajJuwwEyxERqruNjhat-PgugOuxc2seF2RCEW1PNjlZiQ82DNV2/s2048/ap3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYG9RDJtnEm9FF3XuSdcRUniqfcjQvXysTRO4QhQddk8yvjL18s4oatoGpbZs_PyVIbdC46xJGkEFWolQHbYxqi-2JZ3pA9uF2gu0xtp9h2k4zMu2_GtEA8dvjxNZ3F3ek4_icBV54ajJuwwEyxERqruNjhat-PgugOuxc2seF2RCEW1PNjlZiQ82DNV2/s320/ap3.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /></div><div>
St Vincent was the only Catholic Church in town so Father Ignatius’ parish covered a wide area including the countryside around the town.<br />
<br />
Because he was such an approachable priest it was not unusual for parishioners to either visit him unannounced to discuss a problem on their minds, or indeed to phone him and expect him to jump at a moment’s notice. As happened last week.<br />
<br />
He was about to settle down near the warm fireplace with a nice cup of hot chocolate and to listen to his favourite classical music when the phone rang and interrupted the London Orchestra.<br />
<br />
“Who could it be at 10 o’clock at night?” asked Father Donald.<br />
<br />
“It’s Mrs Montague …” replied Father Ignatius, “she’s just had a break in … she’s totally distraught and frightened and hasn’t even phoned the police … she phoned us instead …”<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-01dxaJZVDRRr6Qke2vnc0k0MR4ZH2Qx6u2Qqz9FsYmUlpd9h7KvYaq9ZTYkQg9wymuPgJfqop6gQYWzDvZ82HBSON1Mpldpu2NyOSyEEO0SxS_TrGIlr2NRoNwe7pycz8WpYutzcOke/s1600-h/o21.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="314" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413900418478882114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-01dxaJZVDRRr6Qke2vnc0k0MR4ZH2Qx6u2Qqz9FsYmUlpd9h7KvYaq9ZTYkQg9wymuPgJfqop6gQYWzDvZ82HBSON1Mpldpu2NyOSyEEO0SxS_TrGIlr2NRoNwe7pycz8WpYutzcOke/w201-h314/o21.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 200px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 128px;" width="201" /></a>Mrs Montague was an elderly widow in her seventies who lived alone in a small cottage in the countryside. As Father Ignatius jumped in his car and rushed to her home, Father Donald phoned the police.<br />
<br />
The priest could see the police car parked outside the house as he finally arrived at the scene. They had made a search of the property and the garden and found no one.<br />
<br />
Apparently Mrs Montague was asleep in her armchair in the living room and was awakened by the barking of Rupert, her little dog. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrhJqd_T7a3g-84COhfmakH3YTzEALY81I4-jL2KfSJWPWNVBAdCfn8QmzyGFcA6ci59m81NU7E-oj-XgJfiVufmeGQIPFg_Vz1Z4uTOUK7CcJKHVFO-kVDAFFMfwzQPjQyVdhe3nXDAC1/s1600-h/o3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413900574678670402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrhJqd_T7a3g-84COhfmakH3YTzEALY81I4-jL2KfSJWPWNVBAdCfn8QmzyGFcA6ci59m81NU7E-oj-XgJfiVufmeGQIPFg_Vz1Z4uTOUK7CcJKHVFO-kVDAFFMfwzQPjQyVdhe3nXDAC1/s200/o3.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 200px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 133px;" /></a>
Someone had broken into the kitchen and had plenty of time for a quick search and for making quite a mess. The kitchen door was closed so the little dog could not get to him. Eventually, the burglar must have run away, perhaps disturbed by her Guardian Angel. Luckily, he didn’t enter the living room and attacked the old lady, or worse.<br />
<br />
“Have they taken anything?” asked the policeman.<br />
<br />
Mrs Montague was too confused to even give a coherent answer. She looked around the kitchen, with everything strewn everywhere, and eventually realized that a small metal box was missing.<br />
<br />
“They’ve taken the biscuit tin …” she cried, “oh no … not that … I can’t live without it … not the biscuit tin.”<br />
<br />
“What biscuit tin?” asked Father Ignatius.<br />
<br />
“A metal tin … it was that big … an old biscuit tin I kept here in this drawer … it’s gone … my life is all gone …” she broke down in hysterical tears and was helped to a chair by Father Ignatius.<br />
<br />
“Did it contain any money, or jewellery?” asked the policeman. <br />
<br />
“No …” she replied as she calmed down a little, “it contained all the love letters my husband wrote to me when we were courting … I read them often to remember him when I’m lonely … and photos taken when we were young … I miss him so much … I’m so frightened and lonely since he died …”<br />
<br />
The two police officers made another quick search of the house and eventually left. Father Ignatius managed to hammer a few pieces of wood on the broken window to secure it for the night. As the elderly lady was far too distressed to be left alone, Father Ignatius decided to spend the night nodding off in the armchair, whilst Mrs Davenport, his housekeeper, came over too to provide her with moral support.<br />
<br />
The following morning, whilst Mrs Davenport was preparing coffee for the workers who came to fix the window and secure the house, Father Ignatius, prompted by some unexplainable feeling, made another tour of the garden.<br />
<br />
There under a rose bush he found the missing biscuit tin. No doubt the intruder found it full of worthless papers and discarded it in his hurry to escape.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Q-SUqT66jEPP-oQEVGftO4Z3cWVtqHiITYlAUjTePHxqrdnNMuabdlxzC3xY1XmG208UkLl3aGhDzx7Wq_c6QYINMQW5TqyUNfkoDsSUADyG1CTR2hZt3hUW5SyWjGGFIZHkdohTl81F/s1600-h/o4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413900677899987794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Q-SUqT66jEPP-oQEVGftO4Z3cWVtqHiITYlAUjTePHxqrdnNMuabdlxzC3xY1XmG208UkLl3aGhDzx7Wq_c6QYINMQW5TqyUNfkoDsSUADyG1CTR2hZt3hUW5SyWjGGFIZHkdohTl81F/s200/o4.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 200px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 133px;" /></a>
Worthless papers to him, but a whole life in a box to an elderly lonely widow.<br /><br /></div>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-20658968457947820942024-03-04T00:53:00.000-08:002024-03-04T01:06:24.701-08:00Angel on the move<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht4dUYS3EGLIXm2lqsjTJ9Vr5PIKITVb0d5ui34luFpbCAteYWUmpl7x4Fv-fs9hR-61xL-qLAZdsMb4miNfNxxiaK0GpbhutuXEJspXQqFpabRVR5OYgUwLsBZ-iE7_TFPSO8jkTNQex6beCDWC_ak5wNeIgLTPpzidVPFtN4asMWQmteMDzdcQ43_o7y/s900/sp.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="569" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht4dUYS3EGLIXm2lqsjTJ9Vr5PIKITVb0d5ui34luFpbCAteYWUmpl7x4Fv-fs9hR-61xL-qLAZdsMb4miNfNxxiaK0GpbhutuXEJspXQqFpabRVR5OYgUwLsBZ-iE7_TFPSO8jkTNQex6beCDWC_ak5wNeIgLTPpzidVPFtN4asMWQmteMDzdcQ43_o7y/w273-h432/sp.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>You remember I told you the story of the angel statue that I had moved from the old farmer's place to the cemetery, then back to his place, then back to the cemetery again. See <b><a href="http://timeforreflections.blogspot.com/2024/03/missing-angel.html" target="_blank">HERE</a></b>. <p></p><p>Well ... the saga continues. But before I tell you about it let me tell you about Ernest.</p><p>Ernest is a nice enough member of our church always eager to
volunteer to do anything that’s needed, although he doesn’t always get it quite
right. </p><p>When an elderly member of our church with no family died, a few of us, including Ernest, got together to arrange his funeral. After we sorted out the Order of Service, hymns, choir, burial and
so on, someone suggested that it would be a nice gesture if, as
the deceased was lowered into the ground, all those standing around the grave
would release white doves into the air as a symbol of peace. I thought it was a stupid idea but said nothing. Did I ever tell you I have a University Degree in cowardice?<br /></p><div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ernest volunteered to obtain the white doves at little expense
from a friend of his.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">On the day in question, as we all stood around the grave,
there stood Ernest with a large box in his hands. At the appropriate time he opened the box and started
handing out white gloves to all around him! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">That's Ernest. Eager to help but unable to listen.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">OK ... now back to my story. As you recall, we left it with me putting the statue of an angel in its rightful place on the grave of the old farmer's wife.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">The other day I got home late from work and ... SURPRISE ... the statue of the naked angel was in my front garden!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">What the ... How did it get there? I already have a beautiful statue in my front garden of a naked Superman with his hand outstretched towards the sky as he is ready to fly off. Now there's a naked angel next to it. What will the neighbours say? Whatever next? Michelangelo's David and Venus de Milo? </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I quickly had to hide the statue somewhere, but it is too heavy to lift into my garage. I can't ring any of my friends to help me as they will start wondering why I keep moving the statue from one place to another. As it is, they have all been complicit in one way or another in the moving of this naked angel. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">As I entered the house to ask the family what they know about the appearance of the statue, the phone rings. It is Ernest. He works as a gardener at the cemetery. He reminds me that we discussed the removal of the statue when he saw me placing it on the grave the first time, so to help me he and his friends removed it to my house as per my wishes ... WHICH ARE NOT MY WISHES AT ALL!!! </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Ernest got it wrong again. In trying to help me he is now guilty of removing it and put it on my property. If the police found out because a neighbour complained, seeing they already know of its previous removal when the old farmer reported it, they would now accuse me of stealing it. <br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">After a few expletive words down the phone I told Ernest that the statue belongs to the old farmer and he is to remove it pronto or else!!! He says he knows the farmer because he buys his vegetables from there! I slammed the phone down on him with a few more swear words ... I find it difficult being a Christian sometimes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I wish I had not lost my temper. Late that night, Ernest turned up when we were all asleep, and with some friends, he took away the statue and delivered it to the old farmer's front yard.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I only discovered the miss-delivery the next morning when I called on the farmer for vegetables.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">" 'Tangel's back!" he said, "Can't understand it! What's it doin' 'ere?"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Well ... what could I say? How can I explain that the idiot Ernest moved it from the cemetery to my house and from my house to the farmer's yard? Simple explanation to you my readers. But not so simple to the farmer as he would ask me why Ernest would move it to my house in the first place. To explain this would implicate me in the previous removals to and fro of the statue.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">As I said ... I find it difficult being a Christian sometimes. I only started all this in order to be helpful, and now we have a statue that has moved several times to the complete confusion of its owner.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I promised him to get it moved one last time and to get it cemented on the grave of his wife at my own cost.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">What would you have done? <br /></div>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-83537461675997033712024-03-02T04:26:00.000-08:002024-03-02T04:26:54.664-08:00Are you angry?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDEUA9by31vK6yf7xOfHnvY-ls7GYpMwVPwIjHvbj4s96V_tiWx3vgDkJkixmaYFZDsplZz_E_pD1rC76LPdPGJSaPvM6wnQkVhm7QG5zIwE9kHzFxCUSrOK6I8qGFg78rDrA6T5gr1AK78uoLY5vyEoCX5odcz2gGQMaaXLkgOAid5waKXh4MvzhGSw__/s342/at3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="342" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDEUA9by31vK6yf7xOfHnvY-ls7GYpMwVPwIjHvbj4s96V_tiWx3vgDkJkixmaYFZDsplZz_E_pD1rC76LPdPGJSaPvM6wnQkVhm7QG5zIwE9kHzFxCUSrOK6I8qGFg78rDrA6T5gr1AK78uoLY5vyEoCX5odcz2gGQMaaXLkgOAid5waKXh4MvzhGSw__/w459-h398/at3.jpg" width="459" /></a></div>Are you angry about something or someone? Is it righteous anger? Or is it you being your usual self?<p></p><p>Read what Father Francis Maple has to say about it <b><a href="https://www.catholic365.com/article/36783/it-can-be-right-for-us-to-get-angry.html" target="_blank">HERE</a></b>. <br /></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-25812295099973929202024-03-01T00:54:00.000-08:002024-03-01T00:54:02.960-08:00Missing Angel <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1joBltzNu0TTcfx-CEjblftu6gZI0NzSujO6-tVMEUsUetuipzYWCEVJuXYuSBji3ubcbh7Vud-N0ace3B8G839909_zru7emh39-ASMA4MYr9knnQGIlU099P-A9hq8qzXyQZgS1fe3vDvLW9fjSL722s9sUFHwXq6cIxI2ePpRv_gAAwwySr6NuraF/s900/sp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="569" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1joBltzNu0TTcfx-CEjblftu6gZI0NzSujO6-tVMEUsUetuipzYWCEVJuXYuSBji3ubcbh7Vud-N0ace3B8G839909_zru7emh39-ASMA4MYr9knnQGIlU099P-A9hq8qzXyQZgS1fe3vDvLW9fjSL722s9sUFHwXq6cIxI2ePpRv_gAAwwySr6NuraF/w271-h430/sp.jpg" width="271" /></a></div>About a mile or so down the road, just as you leave town, there's a small farm and an old farmer there who sells his produce by the way side. We visit him every so often for a chat and to help him out financially buying his vegetables at far higher prices than the supermarket.<p></p><p>He speaks in staccato monosyllabic mode with a lot of full stops (periods) in amongst his words. I call him "E I E I O" but not to his face, or his back even. Only when he's not there.</p><p>The other day whilst visiting his farm I saw a statue of an angel about three feet tall in his yard. I asked him about it. </p><p>"Wife grave," he said, "damn heavy. Can't move it by meeself!"</p><p>I felt sorry for him. He lost his wife last year and the poor man is still grieving. He's obviously bought the statue and cannot move it to the cemetery.</p><p>That evening I came back with a couple of friends of mine. We planned to take the statue to the cemetery on his wife's grave. He was not there, but the three of us managed to lift the heavy angel and put it on the back of the truck and to the cemetery.</p><p>The next day I went to see the old man to tell him what I did. He was furious. </p><p>"Thieving bastards!" he said, "took statue away. Called police. Missing angel!"</p><p>I panicked. I am good at it. The last thing I wanted to do is admit my good deed of the previous night. I sympathised and left.</p><p>That night I went back to the cemetery with another friend. It was raining heavily. With just two people carrying the heavy stone it slipped and fell to the ground. It got covered with mud. We managed to put it in the back seat of my car. It did not do the suspension any good, nor the back seat. Mud everywhere.</p><p>We waited until it was dark and put the statue back in the farmer's front yard and washed it quickly with water from a nearby trough for his cattle. </p><p>The next day I visited the farmer nonchalantly. </p><p>"T'Angel's back!" he said, "all by 'tself. Can't understand it. Meant t'be delivered t'cemtry! Not here. And it's had wash. Dirty it was!"</p><p>Well, the coward in me was in super-drive. I said nothing. But I wanted to help. It's pointless being a Christian if you do not help a poor man like him. What would Jesus do? Probably send a real angel not a heavy stone one!</p><p>That night I came back with yet another friend in another car. I hope all these friends don't ever meet and exchange stories otherwise they'll doubt my sanity. This time we planned to tell the farmer what we were doing. Taking the statue to his wife's grave.</p><p>We banged on the door. No response, Probably asleep. Or gone somewhere. </p><p>Have you noticed I've started talking in staccato mode like E I E I O?</p><p>We took the statue and put it on his wife's grave. <br /></p><p>Two days later I visited the old man again. Still nonchalantly.</p><p>"Can't understand it!" he said, "t'angel gone to cemtry by 'tself. Strange. Very strange I tell thee!"</p><p>I said nothing and bought some expensive vegetables we did not need.<br /></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-83927434282604517752024-02-29T03:36:00.000-08:002024-02-29T03:36:29.554-08:00Things you wished you knew and now regret knowing<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-q5bRflIu2I4hHiQBgOgYlDW_vhGm5o6_g4g-NjoJG0mbzqjOXJRoIR_e1sriuqUpCWiLhQAo2xuOUUNbaaBiHyyvbHAg2BsM4UTyDluc2TNlnkrZpV3VYw2Sav8LevRQ_jbDstH7xpVsGUlRMvXF4I-pA2NKXLxXdNaxetuamkRNxOVXxCmvJ_o8PLmH/s1044/adoor.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="1044" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-q5bRflIu2I4hHiQBgOgYlDW_vhGm5o6_g4g-NjoJG0mbzqjOXJRoIR_e1sriuqUpCWiLhQAo2xuOUUNbaaBiHyyvbHAg2BsM4UTyDluc2TNlnkrZpV3VYw2Sav8LevRQ_jbDstH7xpVsGUlRMvXF4I-pA2NKXLxXdNaxetuamkRNxOVXxCmvJ_o8PLmH/w466-h378/adoor.png" width="466" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal" dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A woman stormed up
to the front desk of the library and said, "I have a complaint!"<span> </span></span></span></div>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">"Yes, ma'am?"<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">"I borrowed a book last week and it was
horrible!"<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">"What was wrong with it?"<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">"It had way too many characters and
there was no plot whatsoever!"<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The librarian nodded and said, "Ah. So
you must be the person who took our phone book." </span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">======================<br />
The Sunday School teacher asked, "Now, Johnny, tell me, do you say prayers
before eating?" "No sir," he replied, "We don't have to. My
Mom is a good cook!"<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">======================</span><span style="font-size: 24pt;"></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">An 8 year-old girl went to her dad, who was working in the yard. She asked him, "Daddy, what is
sex?" <span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The father was surprised that she would ask
such a question, but decides that if she is old enough to ask the question,
then she is old enough to get a straight answer. He proceeded to tell her all
about the "birds and the bees."<span>
</span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When he finished explaining, the little girl
was looking at him with her mouth hanging open. The father asked her, "Why
did you ask this question?" <span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The little girl replied, "Mom told me to
tell you that dinner would be ready in just a couple of secs." </span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">======================</span><span style="font-size: 24pt;"></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A little boy was waiting for his mother to come out of the grocery store.</span></span></p><p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">As
he waited, he was approached by a man who asked, "Son, can you tell me
where the post office is?"<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
little boy replied, "Sure, just go straight down the street a couple of
blocks and turn to your right."<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
man thanked the boy kindly and said, "I'm the new pastor in town, and I'd
like for you to come to church on Sunday. I'll show you how to get to
Heaven."<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
little boy replied with a chuckle, "Awww, come on; you don't even know the
way to the post office!"</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">======================</span><span style="font-size: 24pt;"></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic school for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of
apples. The nun made a note, "Take only one, God is watching."<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Moving through the line, to the other end of
the table, was a large pile of chocolate chip cookies. A boy wrote a note,
"Take all you want, God is watching the apples."</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">======================<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Attending a wedding for the first time, a
little girl whispered to her mother, "Why is the bride dressed in white?"<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">"Because white is the colour of
happiness, and today is the happiest day of her life," her mother tried to
explain, keeping it simple.<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The child thought about this for a moment,
then said, "So why's the groom wearing black? </span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">======================</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">You know you're
getting old when...</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">...
you start each morning with snap, crackle, pop, and then you have breakfast.</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">======================</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">One day John asks
his friend Arty to borrow a Dollar.</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Of
course, Arty obliged and lent his friend the money without a second thought. <br /></span></span></p><p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A few weeks had passed by and every time Arty asked John if he could have his Dollar
back he would reply "no
worries mate, I'll have it next time I see you." </span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">This
went on for some time until one day Arty passed John at the local Supermarket store
and thinks to himself for sure he'll have that Dollar on him now he's at the
supermarket. </span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So,
he says "John mate you got that Dollar on you?" </span></span></p><p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To which John once
again replies that he'd have it the next time. </span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Fed
up with John, Arty leapt forward and grabbed John around the throat with both
hands strangling the life out of him. </span></span></p><p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Another shopper going about his business
tried to intervene but Arty jumped up and strangled him too.</span></span></p><p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
The next day the headlines read: Arty chokes two for a Dollar at the Supermarket!</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">======================</span></span></p><p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">They say you can’t get a decent job without education.</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp1294f9b0yiv2563599524ydpea0191abMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But look at Albert Einstein – he was a
school drop-out and still ended up being the first man on the moon!<br /><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5bC0E6FU9Dlim4_B1uNyDiMDvUl-LvNJp5g-ALDokoPgOR0yeEEhaVcAp6XU7zmNW9ZU4MQ-fwVY6nIDetPjVt9gIa26JaStW4SFQWEKg6771Dy_VhSbs2m7vg66toMnmfY1tLoz7UfoOSrlR9qTrkZ-u9PCbCpqq9rAiebCdm4ZmhSkxbP0_1h_LhRJ/s219/m2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="219" data-original-width="122" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5bC0E6FU9Dlim4_B1uNyDiMDvUl-LvNJp5g-ALDokoPgOR0yeEEhaVcAp6XU7zmNW9ZU4MQ-fwVY6nIDetPjVt9gIa26JaStW4SFQWEKg6771Dy_VhSbs2m7vg66toMnmfY1tLoz7UfoOSrlR9qTrkZ-u9PCbCpqq9rAiebCdm4ZmhSkxbP0_1h_LhRJ/s1600/m2.gif" width="122" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><br /></span><p></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-75146368521797019342024-02-28T01:52:00.000-08:002024-02-28T01:59:17.395-08:00The difficult questions<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTHpnBDwpmmOoP1Y8_HzNApnFR969bZZC_e6eY7OLbUWFclB7jPt75ELtrlvsGZk1F7mbEvhcJ3RTKpq_mxm2Ld4PxDkAGSBaDpQzynYwWhdvZ5LDjtAZh4U6vqYG9Diyy4b3wXtnmyOY7dB7ogFkTZ52jmirzfjlrv1F7HsIl6zplugykslkVYL7p5bV/s200/Trinity.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="141" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTHpnBDwpmmOoP1Y8_HzNApnFR969bZZC_e6eY7OLbUWFclB7jPt75ELtrlvsGZk1F7mbEvhcJ3RTKpq_mxm2Ld4PxDkAGSBaDpQzynYwWhdvZ5LDjtAZh4U6vqYG9Diyy4b3wXtnmyOY7dB7ogFkTZ52jmirzfjlrv1F7HsIl6zplugykslkVYL7p5bV/w326-h462/Trinity.jpg" width="326" /></a></div>Every so often I like to ask myself some difficult questions. Then I answer them to myself. Then I think about my answers and wonder if I answered them correctly.<p></p><p>OK ... do you want to play? Let's share these questions that come to mind every now and then.</p><p>If you were to die today are you sure, 100%, that you will go to Heaven?</p><p>Why? Why are you sure, or not sure?</p><p>If you are sure you'll get to Heaven what makes you so certain? Don't come up with stock phrases like because God loves me, Jesus died for me, because I am a good Christian and so on. If God asks you, and He might, "Why do you want to come into Heaven?" what will you tell Him? No fibbing now; He knows what's on your mind, "Why do you want to come into Heaven?"</p><p>Difficult questions don't you think? Why do we want to go to Heaven? Is it because we're afraid of the other place? Saying that "we love God and Jesus" are superfluous meaningless answers. </p><p>Is loving God and Jesus in itself enough to get us into Heaven?</p><p>Or should we do something else? How can we be good Christians? Is it by what we do? By good works?</p><p>Let's face it. There is nothing we can do that God needs from us. He will not be found wanting or lacking in any way if we do not do certain things. He is omnipotent, has always been in existence as a spirit, and all knowing Creator. He does not need anything from us. No amount of prayers, lit candles, flowers, good works or anything else will make Him greater, better, richer, happier than what He already is. He does not need us in that sense of us giving Him something in order to enter Heaven. </p><p>Good works will not earn us brownie points and a star to get us in Heaven. But ... and this bit is important ... if we are to live like Christ and to follow His example then we will do good works. Just like He did. Every time He met someone in need He stopped and treated that individual as an important person and spent time with him and responded to his needs.</p><p>Can we honestly say we do the same every time? Every time? How about that person you met the other day and did nothing to help?</p><p>See the subtle difference? Good works will not make us enter Heaven; but if we are to copy Christ's examples we will do good works. That's what will differentiate us between the sheep and the goats when Christ judges us.</p><p>And of course we need Faith. We need to believe because we believe in honest (best we can manage) Faith; not because we're afraid of going to the other place. </p><p>Heaven is open for everyone. But no one goes to Heaven against their will. No one is forced there.</p><p>As for the other place, God does not send people there. They choose to go there by their behaviour, attitude, stubbornness, defiance and enmity of God. </p><p>So there you have it. Difficult questions. Why should I be the only one struggling with them? Help me out with some answers because I think being a Christian is very difficult. </p><p>Do you find being a Christian easy going?</p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-71276545123099250542024-02-27T00:55:00.000-08:002024-02-27T00:55:04.196-08:00God needs your help<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoC4fi8CNw0nQXrath66NoopJE-YmaPlbvtoKgAuZLZGtau948tGhiwd1fRkrcXy4CWFEBthD2dOOpPg7fG-HHtDfL3f5EVL4LljvsQU_p01_NdY6YUJV4VssOgFLa41fgszBlTxueEp98ZVkuJRqNhwSDnC2s8yJZncajdNwAlA5H_9dq28BNwuHBc0be/s498/atim2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="498" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoC4fi8CNw0nQXrath66NoopJE-YmaPlbvtoKgAuZLZGtau948tGhiwd1fRkrcXy4CWFEBthD2dOOpPg7fG-HHtDfL3f5EVL4LljvsQU_p01_NdY6YUJV4VssOgFLa41fgszBlTxueEp98ZVkuJRqNhwSDnC2s8yJZncajdNwAlA5H_9dq28BNwuHBc0be/w443-h378/atim2.JPG" width="443" /></a></div>OK folks ... I've entitled this post "God needs your help." Surely that is wrong, blasphemous even, I hear you say. How can God need our help ... yours and mine? He is omnipotent and does not need us.<p></p><p>Let me explain. In Olden Times, at the times of the Old Testament, God spoke to His people through the prophets and the elders of the people. Individuals like Moses, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Noah, Jonah and many others. God spoke to them and they taught the people of Israel what they should do. The Ten Commandments were given to the people through Moses. The writings of the Old Testament, and the 300 or so prophesies therein about the birth, life, death and resurrection of Jesus, were given to the many writers by God through the Holy Spirit Who inspired them what to write.</p><p>Even today, God speaks to people through the Holy Spirit if we are willing and ready to listen.</p><p>So ... what has that to do with me? I hear you say.</p><p>Well, you are all good people. I can tell that by visiting your Blogs and reading what you write there. Often I leave a message there, and at times when I have visited many websites I just don't have the time to comment. I leave without saying a word. </p><p>We never know who visits our Blogs without commenting. I check the statistics of my Blog regularly and there are many more passing visitors than people who comment. About 70% of my daily readers are first time visitors; which is a good thing because I am spreading the net further day by day. I would guess it's the same with your Blogs. You have many more visitors than those who comment.</p><p>And that's where you come in ... where you can help God. The world is in a bad state now; perhaps more so than ever before. There's bad news everywhere and the Internet is full of negativity and darkness.</p><p>A post every now and then by you about God and Jesus would be like a beacon shining in a dark World Wide Web. </p><p>You don't have to be a theologian, a learned person with many University Degrees, or a pastor, preacher or whatever. Just be yourself. A precious child of God who has been gifted with the courage to spread His Word to a Faith hungry world. </p><p>Every now and then let us say a few words about God and what He has done for us. It may be something we have read or discussed at Bible Study sessions, or a sermon we heard recently, or an event we attended at a church; whatever God has placed in our hearts let us tell the world about it.</p><p>The world is full of half-truths and gossip right now. Let us not spread gossip, but spread the Gospel instead.</p><p>By whatever we write, who knows, perhaps one person somewhere may be encouraged to learn more about God. What a privilege for us to have been a channel for one individual to be saved.<br /></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-16244519683743344222024-02-25T01:15:00.000-08:002024-02-25T01:15:48.062-08:00Why do I believe?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqJJ6zVUpuOwJBk7NqW-JhlPk_6FqMth4LCangrE31W9y_d7C_w7KpUzczsn7PbVcHdfkVzZ9qjp1tuq5ArRbFiu5XTe0Cqq6uVAmcOSF9QvXup8vIzzdqfp1_EFeVS8o4nMseqYgaWPRGO8pLBzNmU627eKdWqwAcrNnEf6SayU6LipvqtLNgrP3_ZZJ/s425/Woman%20sitting%20on%20wooden%20chair.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqJJ6zVUpuOwJBk7NqW-JhlPk_6FqMth4LCangrE31W9y_d7C_w7KpUzczsn7PbVcHdfkVzZ9qjp1tuq5ArRbFiu5XTe0Cqq6uVAmcOSF9QvXup8vIzzdqfp1_EFeVS8o4nMseqYgaWPRGO8pLBzNmU627eKdWqwAcrNnEf6SayU6LipvqtLNgrP3_ZZJ/s320/Woman%20sitting%20on%20wooden%20chair.png" width="214" /></a></div>Father Ignatius' parishioners were generally pious people trying their best in life for themselves and their families. It would be fair to say that they knew the "basics" of their Christianity, having been brought up as Catholics and attended the local Catholic schools, and that they rarely engaged in deep religious conversations; preferring to rely on the guidance of their priests whenever necessary.<p></p><p>Every now and then, however, the priest encountered someone who got in deep philosophical or theological discussion without meaning to. </p><p>Margaret was such a case in question. She was a young, bubbly, always happy young student attending the local University. Father Ignatius visited there once a month, on a rota with other vicars from other denominations, to meet the students and to offer help or guidance when needed. One day, she walked into his room and asked politely if she could have a word. Father Ignatius recognised her from Sunday Mass and welcomed her with a cup of coffee and biscuits.</p><p>"Father," she hesitated, "you've known me for many years and I received First Communion and Confirmation at Saint Vincent Church."</p><p>He nodded and smiled, but said nothing.</p><p>"The thing is ..." she continued, "... this is confusing. The thing is, I don't know why I believe. You see, I believe in God, Jesus His Son, and all I've been taught about our faith. I believe all that. But then I ask myself, why do I believe all this? Do I believe it because it is my belief ... if you see what I mean. I believe it to be so. Or do I believe all that because I am afraid of the consequences if I do not believe?"</p><p>She stopped suddenly as if embarrassed by what she had said. He waited a moment or two. He was about to speak when she started again, almost repeating herself.</p><p>"Why do people believe in God?" she asked, "Is it because they believe, they know God exists? Or is it because they're afraid at what would happen to them if they don't believe?"</p><p>"That's a very deep and intelligent question," he replied calmly reassuring her.</p><p>She smiled. Inwardly relieved that she had not made a fool of herself.</p><p>"Let's take this one step at a time," the priest continued, "you did not choose God. God chose you. He knew you before you were born. He guided you throughout life, when and where you were born, your up-bringing, education and so on, and at some point in your life He tapped you on the shoulder and you came to believe. For some people this is a gradual process, for others it is sudden after an event. You came to believe.</p><p>"At some point in your life you knew God exists, and Jesus is His Saviour Son. Now ... some people keep this faith throughout life, and reinforce it in time, and others drift away and lose their faith altogether. I think everyone gets the opportunity to know God in their lives; and people respond differently. Some choose not to believe at all.</p><p>"In your case, as happens to many people ... you're not alone in this, Margaret, you are doubting your very motivation to believe. You're asking whether you believe out of fear."</p><p>He stopped to judge her reaction, and she nodded. He continued, "sometimes, perhaps more often than not, such fears, such doubts, are put in our minds by the devil to confuse us and derail us away from God. The closer to God we are the harder the devil works to tempt us away. <br /></p><p>"Of course, it is right and proper to fear the consequences of not believing in God. But there's an important distinction here. We should not fear that the consequences are that we'll go to hell ... and hell exists for sure. We should fear that by not believing we are in fact hurting God. We are rejecting His love, His creation of us and the whole universe, the sacrifice of His only Son on the Cross. That's our real fear ... the fear of hurting God, not His eventual punishment.</p><p>"God does not punish us by sending us to hell. We choose to go there by our behaviour and by not believing. His wish is that we all join Him in Paradise. His offer is open to all of us, but we should RSVP His offer. No one goes to Heaven against their wish.</p><p>"Do you remember the parable of the King who invited guests to his son's wedding?"</p><p>She nodded again and said nothing.</p><p>"The King is meant to be God, and
His Son getting married is Jesus; marrying His Church here on earth -
this means everyone, you and I included. We are all invited to God's Kingdom, but many don't answer the call. It seems to me that you have. You're doing well, and this is upsetting the devil!"</p><p>She smiled and said, "Thank you, Father."</p><p>"Do you pray, Margaret?" he asked gently.</p><p>"Yes Father, every now and then ..."</p><p>He smiled and said, "when you pray, ask God to help you when you have such thoughts, and thank Him for all He has done for you and is doing for you now and in the future. By all means ask Him for anything you need in life; like a child asks his parents. But don't pray to change God's will, rather pray that He might change you into a better person.</p><p>"You'd be surprised how many people want to serve God in an advisory capacity!" he concluded with a smile.</p><p>She left with a great weight taken off her shoulders; whilst he prayed for her silently.<br /></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-58047677326890363842024-02-23T02:12:00.000-08:002024-02-23T02:12:51.375-08:00Advice<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wk5R6PuXL6C1kBESL_IoRGJFzhFMkYa8mJ_oyNXCR1ZQPGR4tFGv7wmhj79uYBBi2vfofkdzboK3T4zGehdjZgKFktmRtk_NI4bFHDjOTsWBFaECcyvI-M9eOQ0Ytq_pJxv1zqB4YXI26kQE6IaSqrDkbsj-0ZF2YbJExeXsC8XBy2IMCoFVxMiwQoVg/s330/Satyres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="248" data-original-width="330" height="411" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wk5R6PuXL6C1kBESL_IoRGJFzhFMkYa8mJ_oyNXCR1ZQPGR4tFGv7wmhj79uYBBi2vfofkdzboK3T4zGehdjZgKFktmRtk_NI4bFHDjOTsWBFaECcyvI-M9eOQ0Ytq_pJxv1zqB4YXI26kQE6IaSqrDkbsj-0ZF2YbJExeXsC8XBy2IMCoFVxMiwQoVg/w548-h411/Satyres.jpg" width="548" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="description"><b><a href="https://timeforreflections.blogspot.com/2018/09/what.html" target="_blank">Omphaloskepsis</a></b></span> <br /></div><br /> Do you like giving advice to people? What kind of advice? Personal, medical, financial or what? <p></p><p>Do you give advice when asked or when you think it's appropriate even when not asked for? When you see something you consider is wrong or needs correcting, do you seethe in silence or do you give advice to put the person on the right track? (Kindly of course.)</p><p>Do you ask for advice? What kind? Personal, medical or financial, or other? </p><p>Would you discuss a medical matter with a friend first or a doctor straight-away?</p><p>Do you like receiving advice from people? When asked for?</p><p>How about advice you have not asked for?</p><p>My grand-father advised me years ago never to take advice from anyone. So I ignored his advice. Is that agreeing with him or not? Think about it.</p><p>Here's some free advice from me. If you go for a job interview, or meet an important person for the first time, balance a banana on you head. It will distract them and they'll perhaps talk about it. It would be a good ice-breaker to start a conversation. Either way you will certainly be remembered.<br /></p><p>Do you give God advice? </p><p>When praying do you tell Him what to do? Please help so and so, heal so and so, get me a good job, a promotion ... ... ... </p><p>You'd be surprised how many people want to serve God in an advisory capacity.</p><p>Are you one of them? Sure?</p><p>OK ... do you take God's advice? How many bits of advice from God or Jesus can you remember and quote below?</p><p>Try a few ... ... ...</p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-70350264274835244942024-02-22T00:39:00.000-08:002024-02-22T00:39:23.862-08:00Repetitive Me<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLb1dX3nYaetKZGVbRGvdah2rSZ74menhrW5YGTK1u3GsnNPfZqnQ2rPeGAiGB6jyhVjVQLc5Rn7-5dsVvYbVuTnzaKYYh_MGOqCnjqxFxbPbfdHheLWeLBU20PWEdZbWtFmg1aJQRXJSrnKjQB7qSx1GmQhYu15qfVj7P1DJ4_-EAqqhw0yh_ZxZ52na/s499/ZBookGif1.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLb1dX3nYaetKZGVbRGvdah2rSZ74menhrW5YGTK1u3GsnNPfZqnQ2rPeGAiGB6jyhVjVQLc5Rn7-5dsVvYbVuTnzaKYYh_MGOqCnjqxFxbPbfdHheLWeLBU20PWEdZbWtFmg1aJQRXJSrnKjQB7qSx1GmQhYu15qfVj7P1DJ4_-EAqqhw0yh_ZxZ52na/w291-h435/ZBookGif1.gif" width="291" /></a></div>Someone suggested the other day that my Christian books are repetitive. They talk about God, Jesus, The Holy Spirit and the Trinity and other things like sin, forgiveness and all that ...<p></p><p>Well ... in a way my books might be repetitive, but that is because the message is the same. God is the same as He always was, is and will be. Jesus is His only Son and together with the Holy Spirit they form the Holy Trinity. The Christian message of love and forgiveness is the same and should always be the same. </p><p>Jesus said: <span class="text John-13-34" id="en-NIV-26665"><span class="woj">“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.</span></span> <span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666"><span class="woj">By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” John 13:34-35</span></span></p><p><span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666"><span class="woj">He didn't say, "Love one another depending on the fashion of the day, or who it is you want to love!"</span></span></p><p><span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666"><span class="woj">The message that there is one living Creator God is the same. It doesn't change with trends and fashions and what is considered these days as "enlightened" thinking. There are many these days who would want us to believe in other deities like power, influence, riches, celebrity, fame and happiness.</span></span></p><p><span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666"><span class="woj">Basically, my Christian books divide into three categories. The devotional or educational ones where we discuss Christian issues that may have crossed our minds from time to time: Like does God really love us? Can we trust Him? Why does He allow bad things and suffering? </span></span></p><p><span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666"><span class="woj">And stand-alone novels and short stories collections, featuring the fictitious character of Father Ignatius, and tackling similar issues and questions as raised above.</span></span></p><p><span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666"><span class="woj">I don't expect anyone to buy all of my books, but perhaps someone somewhere may buy one book of whichever style they like, devotional, novels, or short stories, and therein perhaps find the message which they were looking for and may lead them to search further for a personal relationship with God.<br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666" style="font-size: large;"><span class="woj"><b><a href="https://victormoubarak.wixsite.com/victormoubarak/books-co77" target="_blank">CLICK HERE PLEASE</a></b></span></span></p><p><span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="448" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RdAoy5yhg3A" width="539" youtube-src-id="RdAoy5yhg3A"></iframe></span></div><span class="text John-13-35" id="en-NIV-26666"></span><p></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-59138958402983874772024-02-21T02:38:00.000-08:002024-02-21T02:38:19.223-08:00Now look here ...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGehCjerSVEQIDqQvFSd852H04E_8F-4x-dhH1hBMg1H6o617w3473q84a_ESVPMFHLWjSCfO4jJfyektbI9no6mWFOmhyphenhyphenQugkyr4pLCZgSkraETilCsuHgaIzKa3NrEqlv_CBuqgVsXmwix4cPw94e-HxVjB_Ux-OYOPxLL_H0g8go-BuVYP6TDcgRVJF/s640/fr1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="426" height="505" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGehCjerSVEQIDqQvFSd852H04E_8F-4x-dhH1hBMg1H6o617w3473q84a_ESVPMFHLWjSCfO4jJfyektbI9no6mWFOmhyphenhyphenQugkyr4pLCZgSkraETilCsuHgaIzKa3NrEqlv_CBuqgVsXmwix4cPw94e-HxVjB_Ux-OYOPxLL_H0g8go-BuVYP6TDcgRVJF/w336-h505/fr1.jpg" width="336" /></a></div>Years ago, I knew a Member of Parliament who often started a discussion, or to make a point, by saying, "Now look here ... ... ..."<p></p><p>He did not mean it in a patronising or demeaning way, to put you down or in your place. He was just making a point. A bit like today people who start by saying, "The thing is ... ... ..."</p><p>So I'll borrow his phrase and start with:</p><p>Now look here ... There isn't one person in the civilised free world that has not heard of God or Jesus. Everyone has heard of Jesus. Every generation since the Old Testament has had an opportunity to hear about God and Jesus.</p><p>But many do not believe.</p><p>I was thinking about that the other day. These people are not non-believers because of ignorance. Because somehow they've never heard of God. They have made the conscious decision not to believe.</p><p>At some point in their lives they heard about God, and His Son, Jesus, and either dismissed the whole "thing" as irrelevant to their lives, or consciously and deliberately decided not to believe. To them, God and Christianity are either nonsense or a human invention of some sort, a fairy tale without substance.</p><p>When a comedian on TV makes fun of Christianity, sometimes bordering on the blasphemous, he not only has decided that God does not exist, but is confident enough to ridicule the very notion and mocks those people who believe and practice their Faith. He has consciously decided to openly joke about belief in God and Jesus. He cannot in any way have the slightest doubt, or possibility of one chance in a million millions, that he might be wrong. To his mind, he is as sure as sure can be, that God does not exist. And, whether deliberately or not, his public utterances are influencing vulnerable young minds who are yet struggling about their beliefs.</p><p>He won't be able to say, "Oops ... I'm sorry ... I didn't mean it!" when he meets his Maker.</p><p>He reminds me of the Pharisees, Sadducees and scribes in the Bible. They were learned men. They studied the scriptures and the writings of the Prophets of the Old Testament. They knew, and probably believed, about God. They knew the Birth of Jesus was prophesied as the Son of God. Yet, they deliberately, obstinately, and in defiance stood against Christ time and again and accused Him of getting His powers from the devil. (<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Matthew 12:22 onwards).</span></p><p>So now look here ... most non-believers, in my view, do so as a conscious decision. No one is an atheist by accident any more than no one is a Christian by accident.</p><p>So what should we, Real Christians, (if we are such and not by name only), do about this?</p><p>Pray ... pray ... and pray again. Many a person changed his mind,</p><p>(Check out Saint Augustine on the Internet. He changed his mind and eventually turned to God and became a leading figure in the Church).</p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-32704346994970045472024-02-19T01:14:00.000-08:002024-02-19T01:14:06.244-08:00Laughter Time<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYr-sfPhBus85C3XdI_j012urFqYfGYGNCS06AsH7gvYKv8Ir818k-tUI-LEEYXGyyWUwyoBWA5JBgQ0c5T0_UAz3Hm9iag6O7hHhKk3-YDjob_T7feGLwKp20akAHvskrC_LKhdJgzzBQ40ZpfuzihxqGXRJI_DFcC88oU7ls0e-sO8qQjQhNDnHyTpXc/s80/Laughing%20Mutley.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="80" data-original-width="80" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYr-sfPhBus85C3XdI_j012urFqYfGYGNCS06AsH7gvYKv8Ir818k-tUI-LEEYXGyyWUwyoBWA5JBgQ0c5T0_UAz3Hm9iag6O7hHhKk3-YDjob_T7feGLwKp20akAHvskrC_LKhdJgzzBQ40ZpfuzihxqGXRJI_DFcC88oU7ls0e-sO8qQjQhNDnHyTpXc/w148-h148/Laughing%20Mutley.gif" width="148" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: scroll; background-color: white; background-image: none; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Two aerials get married. The ceremony was rubbish -
but the reception was brilliant.</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">=====================<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">An old lady
goes to the vet with her goldfish. "I think it's got epilepsy" she
tells the vet.<br />
Vet takes a look and says "It seems calm enough to me".<br />
The old lady says, "I haven't taken it out of the bowl yet".</span><span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">=====================<span> </span></span></span></p><p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
congregation were waiting in the church car park on Sunday waiting to get in
church. Suddenly Satan appears at the church door. Everyone panics. God's
greatest enemy is at the church door! They all jump into their cars and rush
away at speed. Everyone except a small man standing by his bicycle. Satan
approaches him menacingly. "Do you know who I am?" he asks the small
man.<br />
"Sure do ..." the man replies.<br />
"Aren't you afraid of me?" screams Satan angrily.<br />
"Nope ... I've been married to your sister for 25 years!”</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">=====================<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It is said that
God looked down on Paradise and noted that Adam, His first human creation, was
sad and despondent. God asked Adam why he was so unhappy in Paradise and Adam
replied that he was lonely and had no one to talk to.<br />
So God promised Adam that He would create woman for him. She will be his
friend, his soul mate and companion throughout life. She will love him, cherish
him and respect him. She will care for him, prepare him food and drink, and be
forever loyal, devoted and always by his side. She will be always cheerful and
will never have a headache or other sickness. She will bear his children and
look after them and look after their home, never tiring from her many tasks nor
from her eternal desire to please her man.<br />
Adam was pleased and asked God how much this would cost.<br />
God smiled and replied that it will cost an arm and a leg. Adam then asked what he would get just for a rib!</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And woman was
created.</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">=====================<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Two </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">men are</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> in Court facing theft charges. The </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Judge</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> asks the first: “Where do
you live?” “No fixed abode! Your Honour”, he replies. He asks the other</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> man </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“And you,
where do you live?” </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In the apartment above him!</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">=====================<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4d942535yiv6706661038ydpd21c3310yiv5879331139aolmailm7034098734920830405xxm9169478375464219554m-8650409460929118729yiv6748760580"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">A</span></span><span class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4d942535yiv6706661038ydpd21c3310yiv5879331139aolmailm7034098734920830405xxm9169478375464219554m-8650409460929118729yiv6748760580"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"> <span>little girl was talking to her teacher about
whales.</span> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
The teacher said it was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human
because even though it was a very large mammal its throat was very small.<span class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4d942535yiv6706661038ydpd21c3310yiv5879331139aolmailm7034098734920830405apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
The little girl stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale.<span class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4d942535yiv6706661038ydpd21c3310yiv5879331139aolmailm7034098734920830405apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
Irritated, the teacher reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it
was physically impossible.<span class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4d942535yiv6706661038ydpd21c3310yiv5879331139aolmailm7034098734920830405apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
The little girl said, 'When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah'.<span class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4d942535yiv6706661038ydpd21c3310yiv5879331139aolmailm7034098734920830405apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
The teacher annoyingly asked, 'What if Jonah went to hell?'<span class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4d942535yiv6706661038ydpd21c3310yiv5879331139aolmailm7034098734920830405apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
The little girl replied, 'Then you ask him'.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">=====================<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">There are more Catholic Churches in Las Vegas than
casinos. Inevitably, some worshippers on Sundays give casino chips when the
basket is passed around for collection instead of cash.<br />
The churches deal with this by collecting all the chips from the different
casinos and sending them to a nearby monastery for sorting and then taken to
the casino of origin to be cashed in.<span> </span><br />
This job is done by chip monks.<br />
</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">=====================<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A man walks
into a shop ... " Can I buy a wasp please?"</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
shopkeeper replied: " We don't sell wasps."</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">" You
have one in the shop window !!!"</span></span></p>
<p class="ydp5083d989yiv0022711297ydp4153cf67MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">=====================<span> </span></span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">My
eight-year-old daughter embarrassed me when I took her to the office with me
on, “Take Your Kid to Work Day.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">As we were
walking around the office, she starting crying and getting very cranky, so I
asked what was wrong with her.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: bookman old style, new york, times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">As my
co-workers gathered around, she sobbed loudly, “Daddy, where are all the clowns
that you said that you worked with?”</span></span></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-13762216384800791112024-02-17T00:10:00.000-08:002024-02-17T00:10:04.718-08:00A Cry From The Heart<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiL9kZH91nejwtoMvJFyp70O0ieOR3O_ZLaO9Li-sfqFC8KV4LjB90KuTThaLSt8KVXAC-PgEtMCqUFN4FoVNuWG5T0VZcjHYGOLsxTZEwHa7NjUbO2honagg4ktOgNBG8jKsykrIZmesK/s519/Maple+Francis+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="505" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiL9kZH91nejwtoMvJFyp70O0ieOR3O_ZLaO9Li-sfqFC8KV4LjB90KuTThaLSt8KVXAC-PgEtMCqUFN4FoVNuWG5T0VZcjHYGOLsxTZEwHa7NjUbO2honagg4ktOgNBG8jKsykrIZmesK/s320/Maple+Francis+1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://fatherfrancismaple.co.uk/" target="_blank"><b>FATHER FRANCIS MAPLE</b></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>His <a href="https://fatherfrancismaple.co.uk/" target="_blank">WEBSITE</a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>His <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?i=stripbooks&rh=p_27%3AFr.+Francis+Maple+OFMCap&s=relevancerank&text=Fr.+Francis+Maple+OFMCap&ref=dp_byline_sr_book_1" target="_blank">BOOKS <br /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="468" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_U9NWLO7hkk" width="563" youtube-src-id="_U9NWLO7hkk"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Mommy keep me safe, mommy keep me warm<br /></b>
<b><br />
Handle me with care, mommy help me to form.<br /></b>
<b><br />
I am ten weeks old, and I know the time will come<br />
when you will give birth to me.<br /></b>
<b><br />
The gift you gave to me are a pair of bright blue eyes<br />
So some day I will see you smile and love me.<br /></b>
<b><br />
I’ve already got my arms and a little podgy nose,<br />
And at the end of my feet I’ve got five little toes.<br /></b>
<b><br />
I look forward to my life, ice cream and slimy snails,<br />
teddy bears and little fairy tales.<br /></b>
<b><br />
Going for walks in the park<br />
Running home before it’s dark.<br />
And being tucked into bed with a kiss.<br /></b>
<b><br />
Where are we going today?<br />
Am I in a boat or bus?<br /></b>
<b><br />
Why are we lying down?<br />
Being drawn on four wheels?<br /></b>
<b><br />
And we go through the door <br />
and there’s people dressed in green.<br />
Everything seems so strange and so clean.<br /></b>
<b><br />
Mommy if they hurt you just let out a scream<br />
and I know someone will come to help you and me.<br /></b>
<b><br />
Mommy what’s going on I am starting to cry<br />
Come quickly they are forcing me to die.<br /></b>
<b><br />
They are killing me mommy, they are pulling me apart<br />
My arms and my legs and now they’re at my heart.<br /></b>
<b><br />
And I won’t see the sky, or the grass or the trees.<br />
and I won’t see the moon, or feel the breeze.<br /></b>
<b><br />
I love you mommy dear, you know I really do<br />
But I only wish you could have loved me too!<br /><br /></b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="477" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/k6lsMbnPGl0" width="572" youtube-src-id="k6lsMbnPGl0"></iframe></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ma_31PfznvGULhZEEx_5ZJmkk69x1_im9elj8LlGpH5aeHJk0ErwdbvolBhIa-ms4wSJ8bOj-utgK_xYJAAOiT2E5L39GTc3_7P3N__BmhqLtATwwQluISUpkAA4G3y1hMCzzqIJZkBG0Re4t_FUaqcS7yN-Q4OiiIJdEqwwgw8AE68wFySdMojKLvPv/s722/prayer.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="722" data-original-width="514" height="670" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ma_31PfznvGULhZEEx_5ZJmkk69x1_im9elj8LlGpH5aeHJk0ErwdbvolBhIa-ms4wSJ8bOj-utgK_xYJAAOiT2E5L39GTc3_7P3N__BmhqLtATwwQluISUpkAA4G3y1hMCzzqIJZkBG0Re4t_FUaqcS7yN-Q4OiiIJdEqwwgw8AE68wFySdMojKLvPv/w478-h670/prayer.png" width="478" /></a></div><br /><br />Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-12710197976722489512024-02-16T00:48:00.000-08:002024-02-16T00:48:35.395-08:00Golfing dilemma<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLgw3j0KsZTKvVMukqYIm43afncTQr3eA_BMZWCJVtwkMbpXBZL4847aLHgQiFn55f1R3JeSmm2aQqHNsBXfwQr6iI3Qy6ut1nEgckOl-wKlWpxpM9gTyQAx1dzNO6PkawSzE-Fi6q62B80QCKm5WM3uJ6D4w0vleN0jLQr1cvzqkOp9MTWTjlQOsNlnQS/s591/People%20uid%20963417.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="354" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLgw3j0KsZTKvVMukqYIm43afncTQr3eA_BMZWCJVtwkMbpXBZL4847aLHgQiFn55f1R3JeSmm2aQqHNsBXfwQr6iI3Qy6ut1nEgckOl-wKlWpxpM9gTyQAx1dzNO6PkawSzE-Fi6q62B80QCKm5WM3uJ6D4w0vleN0jLQr1cvzqkOp9MTWTjlQOsNlnQS/s320/People%20uid%20963417.png" width="192" /></a></div>I know nothing about golf. I don't play golf and I think it is most inefficient to hit a ball in a hole with a stick. But a business contact with whom I was negotiating a great deal suggested we meet at a golf club nearby in the "club house" and talk over dinner. Whilst there, we were introduced to a new member, a stranger to both of us. He suggested we play a round of golf. I declined and volunteered to "caddy" for my business contact - that is to carry all his sticks whilst he golfed. I needed that contract so I agreed to be his servant whilst he played with this new club member. <p></p><p>The first hits of the ball went well and they talked to each other in golf lingo whilst I walked behind like a lap dog.</p><p>At one point we found two women up front by the next hole playing slowly. Apparently, there's a system in golf where you ask the slow players up front to move aside for a while; you play your turn at hitting the ball with a stick, then when you overtake them they continue with their slow game.</p><p>My business contact volunteered to go ahead and ask them to move. We stayed put as he walked some hundred yards or so, stopped and came back. "I'm sorry," he said his voice shaking, "I can't approach them. One of them is my wife and the other is my mistress!"</p><p>"Don't worry old boy," said the stranger we'd never met before, "I'll do it!"</p><p>He walked a hundred yards or so, stopped and came back angrily, "What the hell ..." he growled, "one of them is my wife and the other is my mistress!"</p><p>I expected a fight between the two of them. But in golf you're always a gentleman, or a lady. They decided to continue the game and asked me to go ahead and move the two women along.</p><p>I walked away a hundred yards and then stopped suddenly. One of the women was the headmistress at our school and the other was my boss's secretary. <br /></p><p>We went to the club house for a quick drink and drove away swiftly. I never got that contract.</p><p>I hate golf.<br /></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-68383625935649804542024-02-15T02:29:00.000-08:002024-02-15T02:29:49.976-08:00My childhood gifts<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRvve8WoZdpuxIFFx-rmlo1ZFa_eUpNJZZy6L-zdJrZrNa2ifPrVCW7BPTJtfoQzbiLxEVh63oHr3w1fkcw7iNejPPQsOVgN2uhRsN_RiXOnx_9H2r1k3Liva8kcWAg9V3VYXJWAjzATk2mlx2FnwrHCwEu02LBXgRpZ2R91BBQgAsxJMZe-M7RT4OnrV/s564/ahrs2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="564" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRvve8WoZdpuxIFFx-rmlo1ZFa_eUpNJZZy6L-zdJrZrNa2ifPrVCW7BPTJtfoQzbiLxEVh63oHr3w1fkcw7iNejPPQsOVgN2uhRsN_RiXOnx_9H2r1k3Liva8kcWAg9V3VYXJWAjzATk2mlx2FnwrHCwEu02LBXgRpZ2R91BBQgAsxJMZe-M7RT4OnrV/w423-h339/ahrs2.jpg" width="423" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="MsoNormal">
Often my memories drift back to my
childhood and the many Christmases and birthdays we had with our family and siblings.
The lovely memories come rushing back and I
smile with nostalgia and a sigh or two.<br />
<br />
Personally, I don't like Nostalgia, whoever she is. Never met her but
old people around me always seem to mention her in conversation. The
other day an old aunt of mine, sitting by the fire, said "Nostalgia
isn't what it used to be!" So I took the bottle of whisky from her, and
the blanket that covered her, and went to another room to watch TV.
That'll give her something to remember!<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to my memories ... this is my Blog after all. Let my aunt get her own Blog and nostalge on it as much as she wants.<br />
<br />
I remember as a child I used to love playing hide-and-seek with my
siblings and parents too who used to join in. We used to go out in the
garden, I would lean against a tree and close my eyes and count to 100;
and then I would look for my parents and siblings. I would search for
them in Edinburgh, Glasgow, Manchester, Birmingham and even London. They
were very good at hiding from me.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I would get home from school and find out my parents had sold
it. What fun that was. When I eventually found them I could see from the
grin on their faces that my family loved seeing me again. They often
suggested widening the area of search to the whole of Europe and beyond.<br />
<br />
As a child, I was not a demanding kid at all. Apart from the odd piece
of bread, I sometimes asked for presents to mark the occasion of
Christmas or my birthday. As a joke my parents used to say that I was
not born as such; but dropped from the clutches of a tired stork which
had picked me up thinking I was a bundle of old clothing. One year, to avoid buying me presents, they told me that Santa died in a sleigh accident. <br />
<br />
Because of their love for me my parents often bought me books for my
birthdays and at Christmas. Books like how to maintain and fix a car,
how to unblock the drains, clean the chimney and so on. Dad used to say
that they were practical and would be useful should they need me to do
these jobs around the house.<br />
<br />
In my innocence I liked such educational books and knew that they could
be very useful in life. For instance, the Encyclopaedia Britannica set I
was given one year proved very valuable for many years. I soon
discovered that by putting two volumes on top of each other I could
easily reach the cookies jar. I then put the books back on their shelf
and my parents never worked out how the jar of cookies got a little
emptier day by day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also used to read the books given to my siblings on their birthdays
and Christmas. The thing is, I took the books I read quite seriously and
quite literally. Take Jack and the Beanstalk for instance. I always
worried what would have happened if Jack ate the magical beans and they grew big
inside him. Would they grow so big that the beanstalk would come out of
his bottom and raise him up to the sky like an elevator? And where did
the giant live exactly? Up in the sky? Was it another world up there?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And how did the goose come to lay golden eggs? Did it happen all of a
sudden or did she always lay golden eggs? What if you fed her
chocolates? Would she lay chocolate eggs all year round or just at
Easter?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And why did the three little pigs have to build a house of straw, and
sticks and bricks? Could they not afford a good mortgage from the bank?
And why did the surveyor and architect not warn them that a straw and a
sticks house would not withstand the huffing and puffing of the wolf?
They were probably badly advised by their accountants.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And was it the same wolf that ate Little Red Riding Hood's Grandma?
Riding Hood must have been very short-sighted not to recognise the wolf
in Grandma's clothing. Perhaps she should have visited an optician. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for Goldilocks! She should have been arrested for entering a house that does not belong to her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, as you can tell, I took all these stories seriously and believed
what I read. I used to ask my parents all these questions that crossed
my mind. They used to smile and suggest we go outside and play
hide-and-seek. <br />
<br />
One year I asked my parents for a real live unicorn for a birthday
present. I'd read about it in a book, and now I wanted one. They tried
to convince me that there are no such things as a real unicorn. I argued
that if that was the case, then the writer of the book would not have
written about them. Perhaps he should be prosecuted for
misrepresentation of the facts. Anyway, I still insisted on having a
unicorn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To satisfy my young desires, a friend of my parents brought in a horse
on which he had stuck a large carrot on his head. To me, this was a real
unicorn. Oh, I was so happy to be the only one in the world with a real
unicorn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My parents had nowhere to keep him. So he was kept at a nearby farm and I visited him every day for a week.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sadly, one day the other horses he was with ate the carrot off his head. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I saw this I was distraught to find my unicorn had lost his horn. I
was beside myself with grief. Which is quite an act considering there
was only one of me. Have you ever been beside yourself? If so, who else
was beside you at the time? <br />
<br />
My parents had no explanation to offer about the lack of horn on the
unicorn - lack of imagination I suppose. The friend who had brought the
horse in the first place explained that in modern times unicorns have
edible horns. So it was quite normal for the other horses to eat my
unicorn's horn. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I think I almost quite believed this. But I'm not sure though. What do you think? Are unicorn's horns edible or not?</div>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-3401227378910153892024-02-14T01:06:00.000-08:002024-02-14T01:06:38.994-08:00What's in this junk?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpielcVw0IJWgCYrf1jJIXSgr0YcStVMywLEXkvN6b_If3UlOVEEmKsRZeyvfq7WFssrJKQrPK_GItR85EBRZTYdm5dakrZ-RUSi4p7lQYTTzyGu7rwMNyCL0yIV3Yid4OrV9s70QRXppg_-bW7TPiNkwf90RuJzPxdFFONEBwbxex-nY1Om40vvhj3Mc/s320/Compo.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="286" data-original-width="320" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpielcVw0IJWgCYrf1jJIXSgr0YcStVMywLEXkvN6b_If3UlOVEEmKsRZeyvfq7WFssrJKQrPK_GItR85EBRZTYdm5dakrZ-RUSi4p7lQYTTzyGu7rwMNyCL0yIV3Yid4OrV9s70QRXppg_-bW7TPiNkwf90RuJzPxdFFONEBwbxex-nY1Om40vvhj3Mc/w408-h364/Compo.gif" width="408" /></a></div>You know folks ... I spend a fair amount of time visiting your Blogs and enjoying what you write there. You are an interesting lot, often inspirational with helpful Christian posts or wonderful articles and photos. <p></p><p>Now here's the thing ... more often than not, I leave a comment on your Blog just to say "Hi" and let you know I've been there. Sometimes these comments do not appear on your Blogs, or they appear for about an hour and they then vanish.</p><p>I've asked my techie about this, thinking that perhaps the ink cartridges in my printer had ran out of ink which is why my comments don't appear on your Blogs. He told me that sometimes comments go direct in the Spam folder or the junk folder and Bloggers should check there from time to time in case some comments are hidden there.</p><p>I told him I don't buy Spam and the junk is collected by the trash people every week. He told me to write to my Bloggers friends and they'll know what to do.</p><p>I hope you understand all this more than I do! <br /></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-9603790818582163152024-02-12T03:09:00.000-08:002024-02-12T03:12:42.709-08:00My Business Venture Failure<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYiS9j7ksTN1baRsoICS4cckvNbolWOcRwSCAhC5hn-09LCEtwrtc0mIvsz4JlPoGDrQ5LJY_CvEdwI1XxRAJQXnCzw4Txb8DVaIZMUrXK1_yV-0qMjWiRi7fXIsaIjl7kh56Jf1TFraIbGc8NxFj_qn0tL0uKyNWmL94kEydlaqJbh6D3323BD0O8bPt/s1600/Z57.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYiS9j7ksTN1baRsoICS4cckvNbolWOcRwSCAhC5hn-09LCEtwrtc0mIvsz4JlPoGDrQ5LJY_CvEdwI1XxRAJQXnCzw4Txb8DVaIZMUrXK1_yV-0qMjWiRi7fXIsaIjl7kh56Jf1TFraIbGc8NxFj_qn0tL0uKyNWmL94kEydlaqJbh6D3323BD0O8bPt/w492-h370/Z57.JPG" width="492" /></a></div>I regret to announce that my latest business venture has failed; and the Corporation I set up has gone into liquidation and bankruptcy despite my many attempts to surmount obstacles and difficulties.<p></p><p>As you know, the rhinoceros is very short sighted. So I set out to help these beautiful creatures by opening a chain of opticians stores in the jungle. The project was doomed to failure from the start.</p><p>Our first problem was getting the rhinoceros to sit in the optician's chair. He would not fit in. He wriggled left and right trying to escape. He knocked the whole place about with various equipment and lenses flying all over the place. At one point he kicked our animal psychiatrist in the head and made him reconsider the wisdom of his profession.</p><p>In a way, it was just retribution since it was the psychiatrist who encouraged me into this failed venture. He said that rhinos would be more docile and less violent if they could see properly; and the only reason they attack Jeeps and large vehicles is because they think it's another male trying to take over their herd.</p><p></p><p>We got a bigger chair, but that was no use. The size of the chair was not the problem. The animal was obstinate and in no mood to co-operate. Eventually, when we got him settled with the promise of a lollipop or a sweet if he behaves, we encountered our second problem.</p><p>The animal could not read the various sized letters on the chart. How can we check on his eyesight if he could not read? We tried to test the sharpness of his visions by placing various lenses on his eyes and asking, "Is it better this way? Or this way? This way? Or this way?" But he just grunted and not reply.</p><p>When at last we managed somehow to measure the creature's eyesight it proved impossible to get him to wear spectacles. He just shook his head and sent the glasses flying. Getting him to wear contact lenses was another failure since he could not pick up the lens with his big feet.</p><p>Our chain of stores in the jungle has not seen a customer for months. Despite many offers of 50% reductions in price or get one spectacle and get the other free. </p><p>I wonder whether dental care for crocodiles would be more of a success.</p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-21458403959717928672024-02-10T03:44:00.000-08:002024-02-10T03:44:05.307-08:00How to make people admire you<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRQy1myaDfoCrXMk7zOihYXBApJOpPIF1mOBa7AV3bg4vSvTil5m1r5uc6rDnmQx0p1T-He2_8896BcMAoOyY3_5oFpgwxyQCx2ajwgFkgycs9RNiXt67A2Tm9oRDqfaX03hwYogDF4RW_BPvJGYZLSlJJpLuw2tf9bEcJ6nJ43TkucQ8qOByLPXk7Ijr/s272/Couple.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="272" data-original-width="181" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRQy1myaDfoCrXMk7zOihYXBApJOpPIF1mOBa7AV3bg4vSvTil5m1r5uc6rDnmQx0p1T-He2_8896BcMAoOyY3_5oFpgwxyQCx2ajwgFkgycs9RNiXt67A2Tm9oRDqfaX03hwYogDF4RW_BPvJGYZLSlJJpLuw2tf9bEcJ6nJ43TkucQ8qOByLPXk7Ijr/w298-h447/Couple.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><p>Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who turn darkness to
light and light to darkness, who replace bitter with sweet and sweet
with bitter.(Isaiah 5:20) <br /></p><p>What the world needs now is a little bit of Integrity. Honesty. Truthfulness. Honour. Reliability. Uprightness.</p><p></p><p>I could go on, and the list would never end. In summary, the world needs good people. There are too many bad people in the world and the balance is tipping in favour of the bad people. They out-number the good ones X to 1.</p><p>And here's the thing. A lot of the bad people are Christians. Not all of them, but a fair number.</p><p>Let me give you a recent example. We've needed a tradesman to come and do some urgent work. We checked a number of websites, and phoned and e-mailed a number of them. Some never bothered to contact us despite advertising "No job is too small or too big for us". Others said they'll come to see the work that's needed and give us a quotation as to cost. They never turned up, or had the decency to phone saying they will not come.</p><p>Apparently, the norm these days is for a plumber, electrician, or other tradesman, to accept every offer for work that comes his way and say he'll turn up on a given day. And on the day only take up the job that is most profitable. They don't bother to contact the others who have waited in vain all day for someone to call.</p><p>This is the modern way to do business. It is called work smart not hard. Accept all work and then choose the most profitable at least effort. </p><p>And I repeat. I wouldn't mind betting that some of these people consider themselves Christian. They probably go to church too. Christians on Sunday and business people the rest of the time.</p><p>Years ago when discussing work issues a priest said to me, "You don't work for XYZ Multinational. You work for God. Whatever you do, God is always watching so do your job to the best of your ability. Christ was at one stage a carpenter. You would not expect Him to make a wobbly table or chair. So why should you make a bad job of what you do?"</p><p>Therefore we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were making His appeal through us. (2 Corinthians 5:20)</p><p>So when we behave badly whether in business or in personal life we are being bad ambassadors for Christ. </p><p>When a non-believer does something bad, people do not say, "Look what a non-believer did!" </p><p>But when a Christian does something bad, they say, "And he is Christian also, what an example!"</p><p>Christians must set the example. Christians must be excellent. There's no two ways about it. One bad Christian gives the rest of us a bad name.</p><p>How can we tip the balance from bad people to good people if Christians behave so badly?</p><p>Be excellent and let people admire you. See you as different. Having something special that they too would love to have.</p><p>The love and peace of Christ in their lives.<br /></p>Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2100862372880209397.post-40513920203899104872024-02-09T00:05:00.000-08:002024-02-09T00:05:37.800-08:00Rare Recording not aired before ... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilg6jRT5NHDClteK_pOrc8rgZgNvK1mpisptb2bblXMYRpYIadzVmqJ6XCTTtIcOhq_sFIc4MhUKao-zY1Le0BZIuI5DSzQwa2jzqtkW9y0ltJOecDDZdiIwiGp5QvqR6DtSRdhoN-PzmE/s1600/Bi+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="567" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilg6jRT5NHDClteK_pOrc8rgZgNvK1mpisptb2bblXMYRpYIadzVmqJ6XCTTtIcOhq_sFIc4MhUKao-zY1Le0BZIuI5DSzQwa2jzqtkW9y0ltJOecDDZdiIwiGp5QvqR6DtSRdhoN-PzmE/s400/Bi+2.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
Several years ago, when I was young and adventurous, I joined a scientific exploration team deep in the jungle in search of a very rare, almost extinct, bird. This seagull looking bird had learnt the uncanny skill of mimicking sounds it heard around it. Scientists believed this was as a defence mechanism to frighten predators away. Anyway, I was a young reporter at the time, in search of adventure, and I joined this team to record this bird in full song. Here is a sound track from a short film which we made ...<br />
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Victor S E Moubarakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04280638667651857296noreply@blogger.com16