Broken Rib

Yep.  I've had a broken rib before, and so I know that it's true.  What I didn't know is that a back rib bone hurts a lot worse than one broken in the front.  At least it seems that way to me.  I'm moving like a 90 year old with arthritis all over.  The fall on the back porch was a doozey.

I'm working on Part 2 of yesterday's post.  Hope to have it up by tomorrow.

Knowing God: Part 1

Talk about a tough subject to tackle.  Why even try?

I will try, to a very, very limited degree, because of something that I've heard or read from people over and over, both on one extreme or on the other.  On the one hand, I've heard from people who have said the most outlandish, crackpot stuff while invoking the name or authority of God, at the other extreme are those who, while being correct about human inability to comprehend God fully, seem to believe that we can't know anything about God, so, why even try?  Which leaves them open to create a god in their own image, according to their own likes and dislikes.

This is a subject that actually requires a tremendous amount of background.   Like having a discussion on the fine points of flying an F-18 Superhornet and carrying out a mission involving multiple combat scenarios, you wouldn't attempt to include people who have never flown in a plane, let alone don't know anything about aerodynamics or avionics.  Therefore, I understand that I'm about to talk about stuff that will leave a lot of people in a fog if they happen to stumble on to this blog.  In the religious realm, this is like lecturing on eschatology when some of your audience has never even heard the terms; amillennial, pre-trib, or harpazo.

But this is what I feel led to do, so here goes.

I came to my knowledge of God, not based on some experience.  Thank you, Father.  I don't mean for that to disparage those who have, after all, look at Rabbi (apostle) Paul.  I came to my faith kicking and screaming, battling with my intellect the whole way.  By the time I was 25, I hated all forms of organized religion. But I couldn't shake the gut feeling that there was some kind of "higher power."  That brings up the issue of  being "spiritual, but not religious," but that will be another post.

Here is where you have to pay attention carefully.  I came to God out of desperation and in spite of my mind, while having a crisis of purpose.  He answered me and gave me some personal miraculous confirmation.  But I was a long way from any real knowledge of God and I had lot's and lot's and lot's of misconceptions and doubts.  I spent the first few years of my new life with God getting spanked and corrected in my thinking.  Actually that still goes on, but not quite as dramatically as it did in the first year.

I had a friend who led his family life as though God existed, but admitted to me in private his serious doubts about God's existence. His main problem was that he felt God should make His existence obvious to the point that no one could have any doubts about it.  I finally discovered his "bottom line" after giving him lots of evidence from several years of studying apologetics.  What I also discovered about my friend is that he really just wanted a consensus of  worldly "experts" to simply render a judgment and tell him it was true so he wouldn't have to wrestle with the hard thinking.  He couldn't understand why so many people he knew believed in God, while so much of the world of academe that he put his faith in, didn't.  I've lost touch with him, and don't know if he ever did come to an understanding of what faith really is.

Over time, I've discovered a consistent thread among those who wish to avoid any mental heavy lifting when it comes to theology.  The name for such people is agnostic.  They don't think of themselves as mentally lazy.  Instead they will declare that questions about God or knowing anything about Him or His existence is just too difficult for even the most brilliant intellects, therefore, it is unknowable.  They have decided to take their chance in the hereafter by pleading ignorance.  What's funny to me is the amount of mental gymnastics they employ to avoid the difficult choice. And while such people in the realm of religion are called agnostic, in the realm of politics, I call them moderates. Same thinking process, or lack thereof.  Atheists are a completely different animal and are so illogical as to be silly.  The rules of logic make that clear, and when you confront them with it, it nearly makes their heads explode or they shut down or switch position to agnostic, at least in front of me.

Which reminds me: this is where someone is going to think I'm horribly arrogant.  Showing any confidence at all in an argument is enough to reduce most moderates or agnostics into simply using the "arrogant" epithet and concluding that they don't need to engage the debate any longer.

How is it possible that little-old me has the chutzpah to think that I can really know something or anything about God?  Believe it or not, it is precisely because of my love of science that I came to believe in God.  It is because I like and appreciate logic and reason that  I embrace the existence of God and the pursuit of knowing Him more and more.

I didn't start out that way, as I said.  I had accepted, without reservation, everything that the average secular person believes about evolution, that the Bible was merely written by men who used religion as a way to control others, that miracles were myths, and that science had explained almost everything, and whatever it hadn't yet explained, it was just a matter of time until it would. In the Spring of my 25th year, had you told me that I would one day reject all of that and eventually be teaching creation apologetics and that the Bible was true, I would have said, "Screw you and the horse you rode in on."  But I would have done it in less polite language and with much gusto.

At first, I just wanted this warm fuzzy idea that I could be forgiven for all my shortcomings and that I didn't have to worry about some cosmic justice or judgment at the end of life.  I liked the "idea" of Jesus, but I didn't want anything to do with that Bible stuff.  And I could have gone along like that indefinitely had I only hung around the "Christians," because the vast majority of them were just like me in that regard. (A very sad statement about Christendom) The problem came because I was challenged by the secular world about being simple minded for believing in such a fairy tale as Jesus and the Bible.  That just didn't work for me.  I can't pretend that it's possible to compartmentalize what should be, what is,  the most ultimate question of the Universe from everything else I believe.  My logical mind was not going to let me get away with that.

I was forced into engaging in linear logic, Aristotelian thought, if you will.  Either Jesus is real, or he's not.  And it isn't just enough that he was a real historical figure.  If he simply lived and died, and all the information about him in the Bible is just a bunch of made up stories or embellishments, then it's foolish and self-delusional to think that he can somehow save me or make my life better.  If there is no certainty that there's a life after this earthly one, then I might as well get whatever pleasure I can while I'm here.  What's the sense of playing by a set of rules if the outcome is a guaranteed loss?  The flip side of that scenario is what happens if this Jesus guy is for real and all that stuff in the Bible about him is true?  That would mean that what I stand to lose goes up exponentially.

So, I made up my mind, with a tenacity like I'd never known before.  If I could come up with enough evidence to put to rest this idea that Jesus was anything more than a really charismatic teacher, then I could go on living my life the way I wanted and not have to worry about stories no more valuable than those of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny.  All I had to do was prove that the Bible couldn't be trusted.

I said out loud, "Hey God, or Jesus, or whoever you are; if you are real and if this book is really your word, you're gonna have to prove it to me."  No feigned reverence.  No pleading as if I was worried about losing anything.  I was my typical bull-headed, in-your-face punk.

The following day is when things got interesting.

To move on to the next part click on Knowing God: Part 2

No Questions Asked

I have personally played this game in public in various ways.  I never actually used a clipboard or tried to get people to sign a petition, but I would just start talking and within two to three minutes I could get most people to agree that this stuff should be banned.



The people I couldn't fool with this routine either had a solid science background or were skeptical conservatives who kept asking questions until they figured it out.

Transparency KGB Style

Don't like criticism?  Just take the people's money and buy it out from under them.  Suppress the truth.  It's for their own good.

Won't be long before they'll just step in and shut down anybody that doesn't agree with their agenda.

Scientific Scrutiny

For so many years now, I have been fascinated with seeing "discoveries" in the periodicals and then the amazing interpretations of them and how gullible people can be about accepting the conclusions therein.

It is amazing what people will simply accept as fact, when it is nothing but pure speculation or in some cases a "SWAG."  Daddy taught me that phrase.

I came across this recent discovery over at Bayou Renaissance Man.  Seems they found a Roman gladiator in York, England.  Now, you really need to click on that link and go there and look at the pictures.

The problem I have, like so many such things foisted on the public, is the idea that they can tell so much from so little material evidence.  Let me just work this problem like a prosecutor.

So, you don't have any bones from anywhere below the lower spine?  No pelvic girdle? No femurs, no tibula, or fibula, or any assorted foot bones, yet you claim that you can extrapolate from that little evidence how tall the subject was?

Based on only wound marks found on rather old and decaying bone, and the total lack of soft tissue, you can tell us he was a swordsman?    How does this tell us what the man did for a living?  Why does he have to be a gladiator?  What if he was simply a victim of stabbing?  How do you know how muscular he was?  Everybody had to work very hard before the advent of welfare states.

Given that the man was buried and not cremated as is the custom of the Romans, and given the wide range of diverse people who traveled the European area in the time frame you choose for this subject, how do you know what ethnicity the man was?  He could have been Nordic or Irish or Moorish or anything.

How many records are available from living subjects which accurately record their biometric measurements to tell us with some degree of certainty what the average height of a person was at that time? How do we know how homogeneous height was at that time.  History records plenty of discrepancies in biometrics going back thousands of years.   Since Roman practice was to cremate their dead, what evidence do we have to go on, that this information is correct?

Given the frauds of Piltdown man and Nebraska man, and the proven unreliability of radiocarbon dating, how do we know when this body was buried?

The number of questions far outweighs any "known" facts.  Yet you get the impression from the story that they know all about the poor bloke.  This is how people get taken in by hoaxes.  Just say that somebody is an expert and has credentials and whatever they say about a given subject must be right.

Beer and Taxes Story

Suppose that every day, ten men go out for beer and the bill for all ten comes to $100.
If they paid their bill the way we pay our taxes, it would go something like this:
* The first four men (the poorest) would pay nothing.
* The fifth would pay $1.
* The sixth would pay $3.
* The seventh would pay $7.
* The eighth would pay $12.
* The ninth would pay $18.
* The tenth man (the richest) would pay $59.
So, that’s what they decided to do.
The ten men drank in the bar every day and seemed quite happy with the arrangement, until one day, the owner threw them a curve.
‘Since you are all such good customers,’ he said, ‘I’m going to reduce the cost of your daily beer by $20.’ Drinks for the ten now cost just $80.’
The group still wanted to pay their bill the way we pay our taxes so the first four men were unaffected. They would still drink for free. But what about the other six men – the paying customers? How could they divide the $20 windfall so that everyone would get his ‘fair share?’
They realized that $20 divided by six is $3.33. But if they subtracted that from everybody’s share, then the fifth man and the sixth man would each end up being paid to drink his beer. So, the bar owner suggested that it would be fair to reduce each man’s bill by roughly the same amount, and he proceeded to work out the amounts each should pay.
And so:
* The fifth man, like the first four, now paid nothing (100% savings).
* The sixth now paid $2 instead of $3 (33%savings) .
* The seventh now pay $5 instead of $7 (28%savings) .
* The eighth now paid $9 instead of $12 ( 25% savings).
* The ninth now paid $14 instead of $18 ( 22% savings).
* The tenth now paid $49 instead of $59 (16% savings).
Each of the six was better off than before. And the first four continued to drink for free. But once outside the restaurant, the men began to compare their savings.
‘I only got a dollar out of the $20,’ declared the sixth man. He pointed to the tenth man, ‘but he got $10!’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ exclaimed the fifth man. ‘I only saved a dollar,too. It’s unfair that he got ten times more than I!’
‘That’s true!!’ shouted the seventh man. ‘Why should he get $10 back when I got only two? The wealthy get all the breaks!’
‘Wait a minute,’ yelled the first four men in unison. ‘We didn’t get anything at all. The system exploits the poor!’
The nine men surrounded the tenth and beat him up.
The next night the tenth man didn’t show up for drinks, so the nine sat down and had beers without him. But when it came time to pay the bill, they discovered something important. They didn’t have enough money between all of them for even half of the bill!
And that, boys and girls, journalists and college professors, is how our tax system works. The people who pay the highest taxes get the most benefit from a tax reduction. Tax them too much, attack them for being wealthy, and they just may not show up anymore. In fact, they might start drinking overseas where the atmosphere is somewhat friendlier.
For those who understand, no explanation is needed.
For those who do not understand, no explanation is possible.

Bright Side

I'm sitting here trying to be very still. Very, very still.  Breathe very slowly and smoothly.

I'm also sitting here feeling very, very . . . I dunno . . . silly?

I had commented to Twyla earlier this morning about how slick the steps were on the back porch.  They are made of the typical pressure treated treads.  They are thoroughly soaked from two days of melting ice and the temperature outside was hovering at 32° F.  It would have been nice to just stay inside, but chickens have to be fed, and especially the little ones.

It was the first tread off the deck.  There was that fleeting moment when I realized that my feet were airborne in an attempt to fly over the ridge about twenty feet in front of me, in spite of the fact that it was an impossibility. I distinctly felt my left posterior ribcage attempting to fold around the second or third step as all 180 pounds of my body came down somewhat horizontally. I then "bounced" . . . I think . . . down to the ground.  The tray of mash food for the chicks spilled to the ground and I can hear Pretty Face making that alarming screeching sound that chickens make when they are extremely upset.  The nine chicks all attempting to make some similar kind of sound but not nearly as loud as her.

I can barely inhale enough to groan. Short painful gasps.  I'm looking up at the sliding glass doors, wondering if Twyla has heard, or can hear what's going on.  Of course she did. But in that totally stunned moment when I'm wondering how much is broken and afraid to check for blood, I'm wondering how to call for help when I can't even breathe.  There she is, probably scared, but with many years of nursing experience keeping her cool and professional as she holds me and assures me she is there to help.

That was about two hours ago.  I'm managing to keep the pain to a minimum by staying very still.  I don't know how many days I'm going to be like this.  Hopefully not more than three or so.  There is wood to cut and lots of other chores.  It's not right that Twyla has to pick up so much slack for me.

Trying to look at the bright side, I'm going to work on organizing files on the computer.  I'm going to catch up on studying some Hebrew and Torah.  I'm going to work on a really big post to this blog that I've been putting off for a while.

I'm praising God that I'm not in the hospital right now.  I probably cracked a rib, maybe even two, but Twyla tells me that there's only an abrasion and it's red right now.  Might be purple by tomorrow, but it can't be all that bad.  I'm going to use the time the best way I can.