What a Marvel is a Pen!

Ah! What beauty! What intricacy! All so diverse, and yet alike--have you not stopped, my friend, to marvel at these humble writing instruments? 

Look--ballpoints, felt-tips, fountain pens, gel pens--yet every single one serves like purpose. Each one leaves its ink to spell your thoughts. All can create beauty or monstrosity, for all have the common aspect of ink--ink which flow from the tiny hole or wets the whole tip--ink, contained within, perfect to stay on the page behind it. 

Think, my friends--what marvel of nature formed this wonder? Oh, we can see a little of it's evolution. From quill to fountain pen, to ball point, to fiber tip to roller ball, then finally, today, the height of glory: The noble gel ink pens. Richer colour, with greater diversity and faster flow--how fne a thing! To think that Mother Nature works such wonders without any outward help shows us again how great the forces of this earth are. Over the ages, slowly, the quills, fallen bird feathers, took form with tips and found ink to dip in--ink which, itself had slowly emerged from berry juices and from soot to blend and make a surer substance.Then, in time, as ink and pen grew ever closer, the ink made its way inside to form this glorious symbiotic union and thus become useful. By necessity, to prevent their ink drying, they developed lids and clickers to withdraw the tip, dividing into to families within the pen species--the lidded and lidless. 

And now, today, we can look upon this undesigned wonder and see purpose and profit in it's transformations. The diversity still visible today stands as a witness that no creator was needed. We have many links--like the rollerball which stands clearly as the descendant of the ballpoint and father of the modern gel ink pen. Be astounded, and look to the power of nature at work over the centuries.

What a marvel is a man.... 

Unpopular The Movie - RedGraceMedia Films

I do not typically post videos on this blog, but this one is incredibly good.

The whole gospel in its purity and strength, clearly and powerfully presented by several of the foremost theologians and preachers of the modern reformed movement.

So all I can say is:

Watch it, my friends. And think again of who God is, who you are, and where you stand before Him.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oD87a_xnj00&app=desktop

Chapter 9

By the third day, Eldan was growing restless. She came back mid-morning from a short hunt with two rabbits slung over her shoulder. It was a good catch, but she threw them down, muttering something about armies driving the game away. When Kalen rose to help her skin them, she passed one to Jaened instead.
"Here. Try carrying your own weight for a bit." Then, when Jaened clumsily slit the rabbit's throat rather than the skin, she coughed, "You think the Tassin will take you when you can't even skin a rabbit?"
"You know, I'm beginning to think I should have left you in that cell," Jaened snapped back. "I've been locked up for eight bloody years. How many skills do you expect me to have?"
Seeing the tension nearing a breaking point, Kalen took the rabbit and gently suggested that Jaened go find some wood for a cookfire. Eldan agreed, warning him to stay in sight because, "If you get caught, don't expect me to come to your rescue."
Kalen cut away in silence for a few minutes, then finally asked Eldan, "This isn't just about Jaened, is it? I mean, you've been getting tenser every minute for the past two days."
Eldan slit down the center and quickly gutted her skinless rabbit before replying. "We are being tracked. That's obvious. But why haven't they attacked yet? By now, they must know that we aren't going to lead them anywhere. If we are that important to them, they would have attacked us. If not, they would have turned back."
"How do you know we're being tracked? I haven't heard or seen anything."
Eldan pointed to their left. "They're just beyond those bushes. They are skilled--I seldom see or hear them. We only halt when I know where they are."
Kalen squinted where she indicated but saw nothing. "How many are there?"
"I don't know. There could be only one, or there could be a dozen." She glared resentfully at the still bushes. "We can't do anything until we lose them. We've led them on a wild chase, but we should have lost them long since. Even the best of the Tassin trackers couldn't have followed our trail. Even the Naresh would have lost our scent, and they don't have one with them. If Fellyre has trackers like this, they've been holding out on us. Who knows what else they've been hiding? Are they just playing with us?"
"It's just one tracker--"
"But it's not!" Eldan interrupted. "We've been getting hints. Our scouts have reported strange sights near Fellyre--fire and fumes and other weapons we know nothing of. Just last month, one of our families--mother, father, four children--simply disappeared. Even their shelter was gone like it had never been there. They were in the middle of our camp. No one could have come in and they couldn't have left. The lookouts saw nothing."
A dry laugh turned their attention. The bushes were moving now. Eldan sprang to her feet, sword ready as a tall, grey-clad figure emerged.
"Another step and you're dead." Eldan warned, readying her blade to throw.
The newcomer smiled. "You couldn't hit me from there. Your sword is ill balanced." She, for it was a woman, held up her hand, four short blades locked between her fingers. "But I do not have that problem."
Eldan stiffened and lowered her blade. "Are you alone?"
"You actually expect me to answer that question?"
Kalen caught Eldan's glance past the stranger. Jaened was silently approaching, a heavy branch in his hand. "You tracked us across the stream. How?" She demanded.
"I am not a tracker."
"What are you then?"
"Assassin." Jaened raised the stick--and, without looking back, the woman caught him by the throat with her left hand. He dropped the branch to claw at her fingers, and, with a twist, she forced him to his knees. "You were stalling. That won't protect you."
For the third time, Kalen realized that he was dead. Only this time, there was no way out. Eldan's eyes said it all as she dropped her sword point first into the turf. Their killer smirked. She was almost too tall to be a woman--her voice was the only thing which betrayed her gender. Kalen wondered if she would kill them quickly. But she didn't.
"You have food. I'm hungry." She released Jaened, who fell to the ground gasping, then ordered them to finish preparing the rabbits. Kalen had started hundreds of fires, but he fumbled over this one. He wondered if she would make them dig their own graves next.
She ate slowly, her eyes never leaving the prisoners. Her fingers played idly with the knives. Pray that your death comes by a sword. Dallaris had said that once, warning about the cruelty of short blades.
"We won't tell you anything." Eldan said at last.
The self-proclaimed assassin grinned. "What could you possibly know that I do not? We know where your Tassin camp is. It's just not worth our time."
"And we are?" Jaened asked.
"You are. Symorkhel wants you back. Your sister is essential to Zerak's purposes, and you alone, as the only one who knows and cares about her, could thwart his plans."
"I don't care about Zerak and his plans--or Ithein, for that matter. All I want is to know that Erissa is safe."
The assassin's jaw tightened. "But you are not Fellyrian. Surely you wish ill on Zerak and his servants."
"I don't care if Zerak rules the world. All I want is my sister."
"Then you're right. I should have turned back long ago and not wasted my time on you. I was not sent by Symorkhel. I came of my own accord--not to kill you, but to join you."
Eldan crossed her arms. "No you didn't. You came from Terraphel--if you were not sent, you at least have the priestess's permission."
"I could have killed you all and I didn't. Is that not proof enough that I am not your enemy?"
"Enemies come in many forms. Why would you turn on Fellyre?"
"I do not care for Fellyre--or Zerak and Ithien, like your friend. But I have reason to hate Symorkhel. The Sheela is her charge. Zerak would have her blood if she failed."
"Why are you so set against Symorkhel?" Kalen asked.
The assassin smiled coldly. "She is my mother."

Thus Far The Lord Has Led Me

Have you ever stopped to look at your past? What do you see?
A distorted maze of failures? A past version of yourself that you now loathe?
A thousand times a day, we are told not to dwell on the past. We are reminded that it does not define us, and it cannot be changed anyways. But today, I call on you stop and take a long look. Not at everything--we are search for something in particular.
See the mercy. See God's grace showered on your life. And, if you are in Christ, you will not find it hard to see. Face the person you were without Christ, and sing in triumph, for that person was slain with Christ. Look upon your sin and see how, though you fell, God has not forsaken you.
How can shame endure? Your sin is but another sign of grace as God drew back from the darkness. The stronger the foe, the more glorious the victory.
Rise, Christian, stand and raise the banner. See the sins that lie dead before your feet.
And as you struggle on against the flesh--against all that is in you that is not of God--look back and remember those conquests. The same God who broke those chains is fighting for you today. You will have victory--how can you not? Greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world. Christ has already overcome--these are but the final skirmishes against the lost and leaderless foes.

This is the time to say, as Joshua of old, "Thus far, the Lord has led me." Raise now your altar and fall before the Living God. Praise Him for the war won. Exalt His name as the God Who Saves, as He has saved you and saves you still. He that took that rebel sinner and made a saint for His glory, is He not more than able to keep you through these trials? More than able, He delights in sanctifying His people. This is our confidence, and the evidence of the past confirms it. Take comfort in this, weary saints. See what Christ has done, for He is still the same, yesterday, today, and forever.

"Now may the God of peace Himself sanctify you completely; and may your whole spirit, soul, and body be preserved blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

He who calls you is faithful, who also will do it."

-1 Thessalonians 5:23-24

The Slaves

Backs bending beneath the crushing load. Sweat. Groans. On and on they toil, weary beyond rest and beyond hope. The master's whip cracks. The pace accelerates. More, more, MORE! The feverish chant fills the air.
Slaves. By the thousands, by the millions, they throng the barren waste. The rattling grate of chains on stone echoes from the desolate heights.
Free them! Come and save the captives! But wait--see here a strange sight. The slave holds the chains--they are not locked. Yet still he toils on in servitude to the cruel master.
"Come--drop your chains and you are free! Rise up and breathe in liberty!" The cry rings out across the lands. But none will rise and none will look. On they toil, as their master laughs in evil pleasure. They are his as sure as if he paid for them. For he knows why they will not flee:
These chains are but a shadow of the chains within. Each one has willingly bound his heart to serve him. They are sold out--committed and secure, for him to use as he shall please. Each one believes the same lie. As they drag their great burdens, they think they do it for themselves. They see their labor as liberty, and the offer of freedom seems a trick to draw them under bondage. What can break these deathly chains? How can one escape who refuses to be free?
They love their work, though it is killing them. They cling to their chains for safety and comfort.

The Pits. That is what we call those lands. We, who live in peace in the free lands. But we have always been free, for we had no part in the rebellion. We have never touched those chains they so willingly bear. Our king is not of their kind, nor yet of ours. But he is raising his troops to free them. He sends his spies to live among them, to offer them freedom, but they reject them. They turn on them and kill them when they find them. So, at last he descends with his troops and takes the captives captive. In a great, bloody war, he overthrows their master and takes them from the Pits by force.
They fight back and resist the rescue. Their grasp on the chains must be broken and their burdens torn from their backs.
Only then, at last, as they are herded out into the light, do they see the lies they believed. Blinking in the sun, stretching backs long bent, they realize that they are free. Then they turn at last to the king, trembling, bloody hands outstretched. They have slain his servants. They have rebelled against him. The guilt of their rebellion is spread out before them in all its darkness.
The king turns to them. Then they see the truth. The wounds they thought they dealt his servants mark his face and body. The blood on their hands is his, for it was he who came among them in disguise.
They fall down at his feet, the fear too great to think of mercy.
"You are free. Arise, for I have slain your master." The king takes their hands and raises them to their feet. But they cannot stand, but kneel again to swear their service to this king. For, in freedom, without him, they know they would but take up their chains again and find new masters, crueller than before.
The king accepts their fealty and they rise, free to serve their liberator.

"Do you not know that to whom you present yourselves slaves to obey, you are that one's slaves whom you obey, whether of sin leading to death, or of obedience, leading to righteousness."

Romans 6:16