He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place.”
James Joyce
(The Mayor and Poppie/ during croopie time / Julie Cook / 2018)
Someone has gotten the “croop” so Moppie and Poppie have been called into duty.
With that said, I’m out of pocket for a few days…
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened,
and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”
Joshua 1:9
A christian martyrdom is never an accident,
for Saints are not made by accident.”
T.S. Eliot
“What Saint has ever won his crown without first contending for it?”
St. Jerome
(The Basilica of San Pietro in Vincoli / the Basilica of St Peter in Chains / Rome, Ialy /
Julie Cook / 2018)
So Peter was kept in prison, but the church was earnestly praying to God for him.
The night before Herod was to bring him to trial,
Peter was sleeping between two soldiers,
bound with two chains, and sentries stood guard at the entrance.
Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared and a light shone in the cell.
He struck Peter on the side and woke him up.
“Quick, get up!” he said, and the chains fell off Peter’s wrists.
Then the angel said to him, “Put on your clothes and sandals.”
And Peter did so. “Wrap your cloak around you and follow me,” the angel told him.
Peter followed him out of the prison,
but he had no idea that what the angel was doing was really happening;
he thought he was seeing a vision.
They passed the first and second guards and came to the iron gate leading to the city.
It opened for them by itself, and they went through it.
When they had walked the length of one street, suddenly the angel left him.
(Acts 12:5-10)
The bonds, according to tradition, once held fast the limbs of St. Peter the Apostle
and have been cherished by Christians since the first century.
The story of their veneration first appears in the ancient Acts of Saint Alexander,
an early pope who died as a martyr in AD 115.
As he awaited his own execution, he received a visit from Quirinus,
the nobleman who oversaw the prisons in Rome.
The man’s daughter Balbina was desperately ill,
and he had heard that Pope Alexander had the power to heal her.
She was completely cured when the pope touched her with his chains.
Balbina wanted to kiss the chains in gratitude —
but Alexander instructed her to find the chains of St. Peter and honor them instead.
Balbina became a Christian–and, according to some accounts, a consecrated virgin–
and she arranged for the construction of a shrine for St. Peter’s fetters.
It would be rebuilt and moved and expanded through the centuries.
As Rome’s Christians honored Peter’s chains from the Mamertine,
so the Church in Jerusalem kept his chains from the Herodian prison.
In the fifth century, the Christian empress Eudocia, the wife of Theodosius II,
sent a length of Peter’s Jerusalem chains to St. Leo the Great.
According to tradition, Leo held it beside Peter’s chains from the Mamertine Prison,
and the two miraculously, inseparably fused together.
There are abundant testimonies to the presence of these chains in Rome.
St. Gregory the Great, who reigned as pope from 590 to 604,
was intensely devoted to the relic and often sent small filings as gifts to dignitaries–
to Constantina Augusta, the Byzantine empress; to a bishop named Columbus;
to King Childebert of the Franks; to King Rechared of the Visigoths; and to Theodore,
the court physician at Constantinople.
He would place the filing in a key-shaped reliquary–
the key representing Peter’s authority.
He sent each particle with a prayer
“that what bound [Peter’s] neck for martyrdom, may loose yours from all sins.”
The chains are today exposed for veneration in a gold and glass reliquary in the
Basilica of San Pietro in Vincoli, on Rome’s Oppian Hill,
a church built in the fifth century during the reign of Leo the Great.
(Catholic Education Resource Center)
The Basilica of St Peter’s in Chains is what we consider, by Catholic Chruch standards,
as a minor basilica…meaning it is not one of the four Major Basilicas in Rome…
Rather it is a church of perhaps lesser significance but, in my opinion, it is still
significant none the less.
Say what you will about the Catholic Chruch, there is simply no denying that our roots,
our Christian roots, run deep in and through Rome.
That which had become known as the Latin West Chruch.
In the very dust of this city that is oozing with a vast array of sensory overloads,
rests the shadows of those who went long before us, all helping to create the history
we hold dear to this day.
At the time of Jesus’ birth, life, ministry, and eventual death, Rome was considered to be
the center of all that was and is.
A great and mighty empire who’s arms reached far and wide…even to the obscure
desert outpost of Judea.
The Roman Empire and the life of a Jewish carpenter were on a collision course.
Rome was considered the epicenter of this once mighty Empire…the seat of its government.
Scripture tells us that both Peter and Paul traveled to, preached throughout,
were each imprisoned in and were both eventually executed in this once important
center of all of humankind.
Yet today’s chaotic, trendy, chic and often very dirty city is a far cry from the city
that once “ruled the world.”
Just this past weekend there was a massive citywide protest as demonstrators took to
the streets showing their disdain for Rome’s crumbling infrastructure,
its overflowing trash and the fact that rats and even wild boar now roam this once
orderly city seeking out the overflowing trash.
Decades of inept and governmental corruption has taken its toll of what was once
Imperial Rome
https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-46003670
Yet Rome remains a rich treasure trove of our human history.
From art to architecture, from the sacred to the mysterious, Rome offers the curious a
fantastic feast.
The Basilica of San Pietro in Vincoli is but one treat in this Roman feast.
Many people come here not so much to see a box of old chains but rather they wish
to see a masterpiece of marble and craftsmanship–
up close and personal, that of Michelangelo’s Moses.
(all images by Julie Cook, Rome, Italy / 2018)
The statue of Moses is only a part of what was to be the massive tomb for Pope Julius II—
the same pope who had a lifelong love-hate relationship with Michaelangelo
The Pope had charged Michaelangelo to construct a massive tomb to be used after his death.
Yet during the same time, the Pope had commissioned Michaelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel.
As Michaelangelo never considered himself to be a painter but rather a sculptor only, he felt
a deep sense of angst over having to work on such a massive undertaking of painting.
A painting that millions of people now flock yearly to see.
He actually ran away at one point, attempting to escape the demands of the man who history
now attributes to be the pope who brought St Peter’s to the glory that we marvel over today.
The Pope actually sent his soldiers to Florence to retrieve Michaelangelo…
bringing him back to finish his commission, of which they did and Michaelangelo in turn
eventually did.
Fortunately or unfortunately, however, Pope Julius II died before Michaelangelo could finish
the massive tomb. Yet luckily today for both the curious and the tourist,
we may view this lesser monument here in the Basilica.
The statue of Moses is the central figure that draws all attention.
It is a single massive piece of Carrara marble.
Looking closely one sees that Moses has what appears to be horns protruding
from his head. But the horns are due to a mistranslation.
Michelangelo’s Moses is depicted with horns on his head.
He, like so many artists before him, was laboring under a misconception.
This is believed to be because of the mistranslation of the Hebrew Scriptures
into Latin by St Jerome.
Moses is actually described as having “rays of the skin of his face”,
which Jerome in the Vulgate had translated as “horns”.
The mistake in translation is possible because the word “keren”
in the Hebrew language can mean either “radiated (light)” or “grew horns”.
(Rome.Info)
And whereas I will always stand in awe and marvel anytime I have an opportunity to stand
and gaze on a massive piece of marble that a seemingly otherworldly gifted man managed to
coax out an unbelievable miracle of vision and craftsmanship,
it is to the box of chains that held my fascination on this most recent visit.
Those who are jaded or who scoff over the significance afforded to something, that may or
may not be what it claims to be, may certainly be that way and question.
And whereas I cannot say yay or nay as to the authenticity of these chains…
Were these the actual chains that held Peter?
I don’t know if any of us can ever say, and yet to me,
it is not whether they are or are not what they claim to be which is important
but is to where they direct my thoughts.
They have been on display since the year 115,
roughly 47 years following Peter’s execution in Rome.
I have sat in the Mamertine prison.
Sitting in the dark, on a small ledge, contemplating the fate of those who
were once kept in this underground dungeon.
It is, as it was then, a dark enclosed dungeon..an outcropping that now sits at the
foot of Capitoline Hill. A Christian church now sits atop this prison.
Prisoners were lowered by ropes down into this pit of a prison.
It is the prison said to have once held both Saints, Peter and Paul.
Peter was bound in chains when he held as a prisoner in the Herodian prison
as well as the Mamertine prison.
So as to this miraculous union of two separate sets of chains binding together as one,
again, is beyond my ability to say…
But what I do know is that these mysterious chains draw me back to scripture,
they draw me back to a mighty God who uses simple men and women to do mighty works.
No chain, no boundary, no weight, no limitation exists that can hold our Mighty God.
Small things such as a box full of historical chains are but a physical reminder of this.
Sometimes we need, I need, those physical reminders because my mind, our minds,
are so limited whereas our God is so limitless.
And so as Pope Gregory the Great reminds us…
“that what bound [Peter’s] neck for martyrdom, may loose yours from all sins.”
Amen…
(a pigeon rests on a statue placed above the ridge of the Assumption chapel at the corner
of Garancière street and Palatine street, behind the Saint-Sulpice church. / Julie Cook / 2018)
Back in the summer, back when the beach was consuming so many of our minds,
I offered a post featuring some shots I’d taken of some pelicans I’d seen while enjoying
our summer trip to the panhandle of Florida.
Nothing says beach and ocean like seeing a brown pelican sitting on an old weathered pier or that
of a formation of these gangly birds gliding effortlessly just above the surf…
Days such as today…days that are damp, windy, overcast and grey quickly push our thoughts
to warmer sunnier days. This as we are just entering into our darker colder days of the year.
I noted in that previous post how much, for reasons unknown, that I love pelicans…
They are my favorite birds oddly enough.
Birds that eat whole fish and hold them in their gullets for later…
my husband calls them nasty birds while I call them resourceful.
My previous post touched on the seemingly odd relationship pelicans have had in Christian lore
and tradition.
I did a little research and offered a bit of teaching from the information that I had gleaned…
The premise was that during times of famine, mother pelicans have been known to pluck their own
breasts until they bled in order to offer their own blood to their hungry babies…
offering life-giving sustenance.
A direct reference to Christ who offers His own blood for our spiritual hunger and
our own salvation.
So recently when visiting Paris, we were staying at a small hotel just outside of
the Luxembourg Gardens.
(just a tiny area of the Luxembourg Gardens with a shot of the Senate building behind/
Julie Cook / Paris, France / 2018)
This boutique hotel sits in the shadow of the second largest church in Paris,
Eglise Saint-Sulpice.
(Eglise Saint-Sulpice / Julie Cook / Paris, France / 2018)
I happen to really love this church as it is not Notre Dame.
(Notre Dame / Julie Cook / Paris, France / 2018)
It is not consumed by crowds and tourists.
It was the anchor to the neighborhood my aunt and I called home for a couple of
days about 8 years ago and the same anchor to the same neighborhood my husband and I called
home more recently….the Germain-des-Prés, Odéon of the 6th arrondissement.
Entering this historic building is definitly otherworldly.
It’s like walking into an ancient, silent and dark crevasse…as well as
stepping back into a far removed time…think pre-Revolution and pre-Bonaparte.
Yet the Revolution did hinder the finishing of the facade.
The original church was constructed in the 13th century but the building we see
today dates to the early 1600’s—finally being completed in the late 18th century.
Yet it suffered, as did so many in Paris, during the Revolution.
There are some famous paintings by Eugene Delacroix…
Along with some masterful statues and some simple but lovely stain glass…
Along with the scars from living through the days of a revolution down to
simple neglect and decay…
Add of course the massive and impressive organ
And yet there is reverence…
There is a deep and mystical yearning by many who come here…
those who come curious or those who come seeking.
They come to sit,
to pray,
to sleep,
to hide,
to rest,
to wander,
to wonder…
And so it was when I was actually outside on a side street…
walking alongside the perimeter of this massive hulking building that I looked up
and actually saw it…
the mother pelican sitting atop a spire of a side chapel.
The same imagery that came to mind back in July…and here it was again in September.
Found not at the beach and not in some warm tropical locale but rather in the midst
of a massively large city whose people are often too busy to glance upward albeit toward
their rather famous tower…
And yet here it was…as always, a powerful reminder of sacrifice.
Life, death, redemption, and salvation…
(all photos by Julie Cook / Paris, France / 2018)
Remember to always stop long enough to look up…
And may we now offer our prayers for our Jewish brothers and sisters in Pittsburgh
as well for all the first responders…
Lord have mercy…
https://cookiecrumbstoliveby.wordpress.com/2018/07/29/pelicans/
The goodness of God is the highest object of prayer, and it reaches down to our lowest need.
It quickens our soul and gives it life, and makes it grow in grace and virtue.”
St. Julian of Norwich
(The Mayor is all smiles…if only she knew what was coming her way…./Julie Cook / 2018)
Almost two years ago, before my husband sold out his business and before we had
The Mayor in our lives…
we had both already lost our parents, I was retired and our son and daughter-n-law
had moved away.
We knew we didn’t have much that was remaining keeping us here in our current community.
No family to speak of…so selling, downsizing or simply resizing seemed like a
viable thought.
We toyed with the idea of perhaps moving and in turn, started kind of looking around.
I like nature, the woods, the mountains, the ocean, water…
He likes nature, the woods, the mountains, not so much the ocean, but definitely water
as in lakes and streams.
Maybe someplace out west?
Someplace wide, unpopulated and quiet?
Maybe somewhere down in Florida’s panhandle…white sands or better for him, out on the bay?
Maybe up in the mountains of Tennessee or North Carolina?
It doesn’t hurt to look and dream right?
We actually came very close to pulling the trigger a year ago on a place in Florida
but walked away before going too far.
And it was shortly thereafter that we found out that The Mayor would be coming.
Sooooooo our vision changed. We couldn’t be far away.
The idea of The Mayor coming into our lives put a halt to ever being further away
then we are now.
The notion and thought of different, however, remained…particularly as my husband
sold out the business in June.
Maybe we should move closer to The Mayor?
Despite having grown up there, I hate Atlanta…
And my small town husband…well, I think living in the city would kill him or kill
me for having to live with him in said city!
Still, there just wasn’t anything keeping us here…albeit the house we built 20 years ago.
And it’s 5 acres are getting more and more overwhelming…
more than either of us can physically maintain…we have
more than enough bedrooms…let’s just keep looking…right?
So we thought we had found a place in North Georgia, up in the mountains and not much
further from The Mayor than we are now.
We got right close to closing on this latest pipedream of ours when we realized
the impending house was in worse shape than we actually were aware and that getting
it up to speed, to the necessary shape expected before the closing, just wasn’t happening…
and who wants to buy a house in bad shape for a price beyond its shape???
Not us.
So that was our wrinkle this past week, besides drawing the ire of realtors.
But such an investment needs to be worth what you’re paying for—not something you
want to be overpaying for…only to turn around to pay more down the road as an
unending fixer upper…think the classic movie The Money Pit.
We’re too old for that.
Add to all of that… we are both still dealing with the messes our respective father’s
each left us upon each of their deaths.
Besides having almost been house poor, we are currently a bit lawyer poor.
At some point, I will be free to write about these two messes we’ve inherited….or
perhaps I’ll simply write a book from our experiences…
Maybe I could title it…
“When it’s your time to go,
make certain those who remain aren’t left cleaning up after you!”
Sooooo…there we were Wednesday night, eyes glazed over, licking our wounds
when the phone rang.
It was The Mayor.
Well actually it was The Mayor’s father who was facetimeing Moppie and Poppie on
behalf of The Mayor.
Our son says…”Mother move away from the phone, just let daddy look”
Hummmmmm…what’s up with that I wondered???!!
Peeking over my husband’s shoulder, aka Poppie, I see The Mayor rolling about like
the wild rabbit she is…I notice she’s wearing some sort of new little shirt.
I can make out only one word, but it’s a keyword that has me instantly jerking the
phone out of my still clueless husband’s hand as I immediatley holler into the phone…..
OH MY GOD, ARE Y’ALL PREGNANT???????!!!!!!!”
The shirt reading “I may be small but I’m going to be a Big Sister”
WHAT THE HELLO DOLLY?????
(The Mayor is mad to be held still so Moppie can clearly read the shirt)
So yeah…not planned, but The Mayor is about to have an assistant…
The assistant, James Gregory, is due May 1…and yes it is a he…
and it’s a safe bet that Poppie is already planning a fishing trip…
So I just bet a lake may be in our future…who knows…
All I do know is that I only thought we were consumed by The Mayor…
now there will be two…under two…
Yes… God help us all!!!!!
“All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”
Julian of Norwich
There is no antithesis between hope for heaven and loyalty to the earth,
since this hope is also hope for the earth.
While we hope for something greater and definitive,
we Christians may and must bring hope into that which is transitory,
into the world of our states.
Joseph Ratzinger
(detail from Sainte Chapelle / Paris, France / Julie Cook / 2018)
I mentioned the other day the irony that as we…we being anyone,
work toward pushing our way toward a Godly life, a Godly
mindset, a Godly perspective as to how we live our lives…
the harder we work toward such, Satan, in turn,
goes into overdrive trying desperately to thwart any and all efforts.
I know this.
Hence why I’m opting to just walk around with an umbrella over my head 24/7.
But more about all of that later.
One thing that I have noticed that isn’t helping…isn’t helping my mindset, my demeanor,
my outlook, is this country’s quagmire of division and hatred and the constant news
feeds… be they from a liberal progressive henny penny the sky is falling slant or from
the more conservative slant of ‘oh woe is us’ (of which I tend to be more of the ‘oh
woe is us’ camp) it is enough to be driving me absolutely nuts…
so much so that I dare turn on a television or click on news…
and Heaven’s help us, when I get the world breaking news alerts on my phone.
And so it was a bit serendipitous to stumble upon the following quote by
Joseph Ratzinger…aka Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI
Joseph Ratzinger, as Cardinal Ratzinger who worked under Pope John Paul II as the
Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith,
was known as God’s Rotweiller.
He headed a Vatican department responsible for enforcing doctrinal orthodoxy, and was
the successor to the Inquisition.
A tough-minded man who once said that “rock music was “the expression of basic passions”
And he described homosexuality as a “more or less strong tendency ordered toward
an intrinsic moral evil”.
He did not mince the words of Biblical truths.
The former Pope, who now lives a reclusive, prayerful and scholarly life in a small
apartment on the grounds of the Vatican, is German by birth.
Hence the Rottweiler reference as well as being known as the Panzer Cardinal.
However it was as a youthful boy, Ratzinger’s heart was set on being a priest.
But Hitler and his Nazi monster reign put that dream on hold.
The family was very anti-Nazi, anti-Hitler.
The Nazi regime’s politics ran counter to the Ratzinger’s Catholic Christian faith.
So much so that the senior Ratzinger moved his family multiple times in hopes of living a life
somewhat free from the growing madness.
However time eventually ran out and as required of all young German boys during this dark time
in mankind’s history, this future Pope was mandated to serve time as a member of Hitler’s
Youth Group. Should he opt not to participate, the family would face financial penalties
and most likely worse.
During the dark, chaotic days of Nazi Germany, Ratzinger witnessed first hand the
horrors of what life was like under Hitler’s spell.
Ratzinger had a younger cousin who had Down’s Syndrome—
Such individuals were considered to be defective….imperfect and impure.
It was the likes of Josef Mengele, the physician who performed countless “experiments” of such individuals-who viewed people like Ratzinger’s cousin as living guinea pigs, had those like
Ratzinger’s cousin rounded up and taken away.
And so his cousin was indeed “taken away” from the family by the local authorities.
A short time afterward the family was given word that the boy had been killed for being one of the “undesirables”—an individual considered to be a flaw…
a weak and unpure part of the Aryan gene pool.
During his time as a Hitler Youth, Ratzinger was miserable.
In Ratzinger’s book Salt of the Earth, Ratzinger says the following “…
Thank goodness, there was a very understanding mathematics teacher.
He himself was a Nazi but an honest man, who said to me,
‘Just go once and get the document so that we have it’ …
When he saw that I simply didn’t want to, he said, ‘I understand, I’ll take care of it’,
and so I was able to stay free of it. (Wikipedia)
Later when he was of age, Ratzinger was drafted.
Three separate times his service was terminated, only to be reinstated and serving in various capacities
but never seeing active fighting on the front.
Eventually, he made the harrowing decision to desert.
Ratzinger has often stated that Heavenly angels watched over him and his family during those
frantic final days of Nazi Germany as there were multiple times when the authorities
discovered a young man of draft age who was oddly not enlisted—
and yet, his desertion was oddly never pursued.
As soon as the war was over, Ratzinger and his brother both entered seminary.
So if there is one who understands the attacks by Satan on those who attempt to pursue a
Godly life and of the role a political ethos plays in the lives of Christians
it would be Ratzinger…as well as Karol Woytjla, aka Pope John Paul II who
lived a life of labor, pain, and suffering in a Nazi-occupied Poland…
So may the following words of wisdom offered by Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI
speak to all of us today…those of us who are finding ourselves living
in these very uncertain and surreal political times…
True human objectivity involves humanity, and humanity involves God.
True human reason involves morality, which lives on God’s commandments.
This morality is not a private matter; it has public significance.
Without the good of being good and of good action, there can be no good politics.
What the persecuted Church prescribed for Christians as the core of their political
ethos must also be the core of an active Christian politics:
only where good is done and is recognized as good can people live together
well in a thriving community.
Demonstrating the practical importance of the moral dimension,
the dimension of God’s commandments—publicly as well—must be the center of responsible
political action.
Joseph Ratzinger
“It is part of the discipline of God to make His loved ones perfect through trial and suffering.
Only by carrying the Cross can one reach the Resurrection.”
Archbishop Fulton Sheen
(flowers in a stall in Zurich, Switzerland / Julie Cook / 2018)
“In the old days, people demanded ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’
and to repay evil for evil.
Patience was not yet on the earth,
because faith was not on the earth either.
Of course, impatience made full use of the opportunities the Law gave it.
That was easy when the Lord and Master of patience was not here.
But now that he has come and put the grace of faith together with patience,
we are no longer allowed to attack someone even with a word—-
not even to call someone a fool without facing the danger of judgment.
The Law found more than it lost when Christ said,
‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,
so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven’ (Matthew 5:44-45).
This most important commandment summarizes in a word the universal discipline of patience,
since it does not allow us to do evil even to people who deserve it.”
Tertullian, p. 104
An Excerpt from
A Year with Church Fathers
A poet ought not to pick nature’s pocket.
Let him borrow, and so borrow as to repay by the very act of borrowing.
Examine nature accurately, but write from recollection,
and trust more to the imagination than the memory.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Once I planned to write a book of poems entirely about the things in my pocket.
But I found it would be too long;
and the age of the great epics is past.
Gilbert K. Chesterton
(ode to a good ol pair of jeans / Julie Cook / 2018)
I’m currently out of pocket…
aka…not at home with no time to spend sharing the Good word…
or any word for that matter…
Things are “a changing” in our little world…for the good, I think.
But…
I have always read and truly believe that the closer one grows toward and attempts
to boldly speak the Truth of God’s word, Satan works overtime.
“Satan battles against us because we are God’s witnesses to the world.
When the apostle Paul described lostness,
he often framed it in terms of spiritual warfare.
Non-believers follow the prince of the air (Eph. 2:2).
They are blinded by the god of this world (2 Cor. 4:3–4),
bound in darkness (Col. 1:13, Acts 26:18), and caught in Satan’s snare (2 Tim. 2:25–26).
His goal is to keep us from proclaiming and living out the gospel that sets
people free.”
(International Mission Board)
So assaults are pouring on our heads…as we work toward some changes…
And so we are busy, tired and overwhelmed.
When Dad died, I inherited his messes.
Those messes are nipping at my heels.
When my husband’s father died, he also inherited his messes.
Those messes are continuing to bite our ankles.
Two steps forward and 5 steps back.
But more about all of this later on…when I’m back in the pocket.
Of which will be tomorrow afternoon.
I don’t know about how it is where you live, but fall and her glorious colors are
proving slow in coming…
They’re saying we had too wet a summer…hummm…
Yep, things are a changing….
He changes times and seasons;
he deposes kings and raises up others.
He gives wisdom to the wise
and knowledge to the discerning.
Daniel 2:21
You beat cancer by how you live,
why you live and in the manner in which you live.
Stuart Scott
Every now and then you hear a story that reaches deep down and touches
something in your soul.
It reminds you of what is truly important.
It reminds you that life is fleeting and very fragile.
It reminds you about resilience.
It reminds you that what is happening in our country, in our culture…
those things that we are doing and saying to and about one another are things that
truly don’t matter.
This is a story about a college, Perdue University to be exact, and about one of its students…
or maybe it’s a story about all of its students…
Perdue is a University in West Lafayette, Indiana.
The student body and the athletes are known as the Boilermakers.
In 1889, Purdue played Wabash College in Crawfordsville, Indiana,
and won the game 18-4. Students from the college and citizens of Crawfordsville began
calling the Purdue players “a great big burly gang of corn-huskers”, “grangers”,
“pumpkin-shuckers”, “railsplitters”, “blacksmiths,” “cornfield sailors”, and “foundry hands”.
The Purdue students experienced hands-on education at the university, including the maintenance
of a fully operational steam locomotive.
Purdue defeated Wabash College again in 1891, 44–0.
An account of the game in the Crawfordsville Daily Argus News of October 26, 1891 was headlined,
“Slaughter of Innocents: Wabash Snowed Completely Under by the Burly Boiler Makers from Purdue”.
Purdue became known as the boilermakers the next year. (Wikipedia)
We all have our sports teams that we love—teams that we follow with unabandon and yes,
teams we truly even adore.
We follow.
We cheer.
We scream.
We cry.
We support.
We become one on gameday.
We are the 12th man…we are the fans.
Some of us are bigger fans than others…for all sorts of reasons.
And sometimes being a fan spurs us on to will ourselves to literally live another day.
Or so it seems…
His name is Tyler Trent and as of this past week, he was a sophomore at the Perdue University.
Tyler is all of 20 years old.
Tyler had to withdraw from classes earlier this term because Tyler has terminal cancer.
Tyler has become an inspiration to his fellow Boilermakers because he epitomizes the
concept of what it means to be not only a super fan but Tyler epitomize what it is
to be a fighter.
The chant “Cancer sucks” has become the rallying cry of the student body this year…
the chant before each kickoff is no longer the traditional IU (their arch rival) sucks,
but rather the rallying cry is Cancer Sucks…
because it does.
Tyler is under hospice care.
Yet he wanted desperately to attend the big Ohio St Game Saturday evening…
but things throughout the week weren’t looking good.
Tyler was really really sick.
His body failing.
His doctors said there was no way that he’d make the game…
no one was certain Tyler would be alive for the game.
Perdue has an almost spilt win/loss season thus far this season
Perdue’s match with Ohio State was not to be in Perdue’s favor.
Perdue was not supposed to be any sort of match for the number 2 ranked Ohio State.
It was to be a pushover game for the Buckeyes as their sites are resting on dethroning
the number 1 Alabama Crimson Tide.
Perdue was just another team on the path to the dethroning of a more worthy opponent…
Heck, Perdue isn’t even ranked, no big deal right?!!
But…
Miracles of all sorts do happen…
Here is a link to the story from the Indystar regarding the big win and
how Tyler got to the big game.
Our prayers are with all of those who, like Tyler, are suffering due to illness and disease…
(as well as for Natalie who is close to my heart here in cookieland
as well as for my college roommate Carol)
Holy Spirit, drive away from me all forms of sickness and disease.
restore strength to my body and joy to my spirit,
so that in my renewed health,
I may bless and serve you,
now and forevermore.
Author Unknown
Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’
Or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’.
Bob Dylan
(the Mayor’s new ride)
Sadly the Mayor has come and gone…having returned to her official office in Atlanta.
In her wake, this satellite Woobooville office is now in a bit of disarray.
There is washing, cleaning, boiling of bottles and rearranging of a few moved rugs…
chores that this aide must attend to which help to ease the bittersweet sting
that comes with the here then there, the ins and outs of grandchildren coming and going.
Like any grandparent, I obviously love my grandchild.
I see so much wonderment and joy in her existence.
And like her parents…the sun rises and sets in this little girl.
So it only makes sense that we as her family look out and around this oddly
changing world of ours a bit warily.
Troubled by what we see and what we hear.
We wish to hold her just a bit tighter.
Holding her in the protection of our arms within a presumed assumption of safety
in this little corner of this world of ours.
As Bob Dylan sang in 1963…the times, they are a changing…
And the changing is not to my liking.
Friday evening I was watching the news.
There was a story complete with video—
because don’t we seem to video everything these days,
don’t we feel we must record every moment rather than simply living it????…
anywhoo, I digress—
…there was a recorded clash between two very different minded individuals…
and the clash was not pretty.
There was a lady standing on a busy street corner in Portland, Oregon who happened to be
wearing an NYPD ballcap.
Some punk, and yes the word punk is most appropriate, came up behind the woman and
began harassing her….all because of the ballcap.
He had a foul angry tirade directed at this woman for her obvious support of law enforcement.
Antifa came to mind and Antifa he was…
He cursed, berated and belittled this woman…He was crude, crass and vile…
all because she seemed linked to the police–a group he obviously held vehement disdain for…
She turned to the punk and told him that the hat was because her husband had been killed in 9/11.
Rather than backing down or even expressing a bit of remorse, his response grew even viler,
cruder and laced with a deep seething hatred.
I immediately felt my own blood pressure shoot up as I wanted to jerk this dude up by
the scruff of his neck and read him my own form of the riot act.
I call it having a ‘Peter moment’…
I really like both Peter and Paul—
I feel very much akin to their often expressed sense of unworthiness due to their faults and sins…
I know all about faults and sins…
all about not living up and yet thankfully all about redemption.
Yet I probably identify more with Peter than I do Paul.
Peter is more of an emotional hot head.
He often lead by the heat of the moment and of his heart whereas Paul was more
calculating in his actions…
he was full of thought and recourse.
A cause and effect sort of leader.
It was Peter during the height of confusion and conflict, on the night in the garden
during the arrest of Jesus, who draws his knife in a fit of rage and proceeds to cut off
the ear of one of the soldiers
He’s reacting as I would…defensive, protecting, frightened and angry.
Jesus screams out to Peter to stop.
Jesus rebukes him and then proceeds to heal the soldier’s ear…
Now why at that moment the soldiers didn’t all drop their swords and run away,
I don’t know… but that wasn’t to be the ending of the story now was it…
But the gist here is that Jesus rebuked that knee-jerk reaction of Peter’s.
Just as he would have rebuked me when I turned and dotted this jackass’s eye…an expression
my students would often say…”I’m going to dot that eye of yours…”
But the woman maintained her cool, for the most part, and only appears to curse the fellow at the
end before the light changes and they both, I assume, go on to cross the street.
That clash, that confrontation bothered me to no end.
First…who whips out a phone to videotape that kind of crap?
Who has a bunch of cronies standing behind them, snickering and laughing
when one of the members tells a widow that he hopes her husband rots in the grave…
all because he’s a cop.
I don’t understand Nancy Pelosi saying that anyone who disagrees with her party’s agenda
will simply be “collateral damage” and that they just don’t matter.
I disagree so therefore I’m collateral damage and I don’t matter.
I don’t understand Eric Holder telling his minions to ‘hit republicans
low and hit um hard’ —because his minions are taking that literally.
I don’t understand Rep Maxine Waters telling crowds to attack any and every republican
that they see out and about…make their lives miserable she extols the crowds.
I don’t understand what is happening.
I don’t understand the loss of civility.
There is a WWI cross memorial in Maryland that has been on public display since the end of the war
erected in 1925 to remember those Maryland boys who had lost their lives in “The Great War”, the war
that was to end all wars…
Its case is coming up for review at the Supreme Court as there is a suit that has been brought forth
attempting to have the cross removed because it now sits on Government property.
Never mind that the cross is a memorial to war dead.
And so now the hairs of the sites are set on Arlington.
What of all those crosses on graves in Arlington?
I think of all those crosses, and stars, in Normandy.
Foreign soil yes, but an Amercian governed Cemetery.
We have forgotten who we are.
From punks on street corners to leaders in office to people who view
memorials…we have lost our humanness… we have lost our sense of sensibility.
Some days I’m left shaking my head.
Some days I just want to keep my head under the covers.
Some days I simply hang my head
But every day, I need to lower my head to pray…
Lord have mercy on our souls…..
**Tomorrow I will have a story about what should and does matter—
It goes far beyond this idiocy we’ve allowed to consume us–
It’s a story that actually has something to do with a kid who loves his
college and his football and whose life is tragically very limited…
“When I think something nice is going to happen I seem to fly right up on the wings
of anticipation; and then the first thing I realize I drop down to earth with a thud.
But really, Marilla, the flying part is glorious as long as it lasts…
it’s like soaring through a sunset.
I think it almost pays for the thud.”
L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea
(woobooville’s satellite office awaits her arrival / Julie Cook / 2108)
Not many constituents or aides can get as excited over a mayoral visit as perhaps this
satellite Woobooville office does… as all the aides gathered here become
practically giddy with anticipation!
The Mayor would like all to know that she is showing her support to all law enforcement
members and to anyone who has an affinity for doughnuts by sporting a seasonal set of PJ’s.
Plus she is demonstrating her support for the notion of goodie gathering for all little people.
As she will be attending a cul-de-sac pizza party for the neighborhood children on Halloween
dressed as a pumpkin— a sentimental nod to her dad who was also a pumpkin 30 years ago
for his first trick or treating adventure.
The Mayor is sentimental in those regards.
The Mayor is here for only a quick weekend visit before returning to her main office in Atlanta.
But her aides and constituents are making the most of the joyous time spent together…
even poor Moe the moose who is having his brains shaken loose.
Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;
my body also will rest secure,
because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead,
nor will you let your faithful one see decay.
You make known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.
Psalm 16: 9-11
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