All that we have is a gift from God. Yes I mean ALL! Read the devotional at Alistar Begg's site today then come back here and finish reading this post.

The good times as well as the bad times are from Him who loves us most. When the bad times come it is to His Glory that we are brought through. It is a witness to the world around us of His greatness and continued provision, protection and love toward His people. His Glory is made manifest.

Which brings me to the title of this post, Credit Repair. A good credit rating brings God glory, especially one which has been restored from the ravages of life. Maybe the mess we find ourselves in are because of our own doing or because of forces outside of ourselves. The point of this post and the site I'm going to refer you to is not to point out blame, it is to offer help in restoring your credit rating to where it can be. It is a long process and not one that is done without the help of others. Take a look at Credit Report Repair and see if it isn't helpful.

Depending on when you read this post there may or may not be much material there. We've started July 17th 2007 and commit to grow the site steadily. If you have any feedback or helpful suggestions please leave them on the Credit Report Repair site. Thanks and God bless.

Was considering today what was it that caused the religious establishment of Jesus day to call him a glutton and a drunkard.

He is Risen!

What a veil is lifted up by these words, and what a disclosure is made! It will be humbling and profitable for us to pause awhile and see this sad sight. The iniquities of our public worship, its hypocrisy, formality, lukewarmness, irreverence, wandering of heart, and forgetfulness of God--what a full measure have we there! Our work for the Lord, its emulation, selfishness, carelessness, slackness, unbelief--what a mass of defilement is there! Our private devotions, their laxity, coldness, neglect, sleepiness, and vanity--what a mountain of dead earth is there! If we looked more carefully, we should find this iniquity to be far greater than appears at first sight. Dr. Payson, writing to his brother, says, "My parish, as well as my heart, very much resembles the garden of the sluggard; and what is worse, I find that very many of my desires for the improvement of both, proceed either from pride or vanity or indolence. I look at the weeds, which overspread my garden, and breathe out an earnest wish that they were eradicated. But why? What prompts the wish? So that I may walk out and say to myself, 'In what fine order is my garden kept!' This is pride. Or, so that my neighbors may look over the wall and say, 'How finely your garden flourishes!' This is vanity. Or I may wish for the destruction of the weeds, because I am weary of pulling them up. This is indolence." So even our desires after holiness may be polluted by ill motives. Under the greenest sods worms hide themselves; we need not look long to discover them. How cheering is the thought that when the High Priest bore the iniquity of the holy things he wore upon his brow the words, "HOLINESS TO THE LORD," and even so while Jesus bears our sin, He presents before His Father's face not our unholiness, but His own holiness. O for grace to view our great High Priest by the eye of faith!

Of first importance was the birth of my second granddaughter Sept. 25th. Her name is Dakota Ruth Harris. For those who are not internet savvy, visit her web site by clicking on the blue underlined words. According to my son Jake, Megan did a wonderful job from start to birth. Megan is a very active semi pro soccer player as well as a coach of a girls soccer team and stayed in fantastic shape throughout the whole ordeal. I did come across this neat book after she was through with her pregnancy but some of you may find it a blessing.

The other great happening was the return of my daughter and her family from Maine to California. They moved back while David was looking for work in Portland. He did find a great job and Whit and Renee moved north to be with David. The news got even better and when it is official I'll post that update.

As I think back over this year, I remember that it started for me in California. I was born and raised there. I have spent the last 54 years as a resident on the West Coast, now I find myself in the heartland of America. It has been a blessed time, not without challenges, but a blessed time nevertheless. I've become engaged this past year and am looking forward to a new start with a dear lady. I am home sick for California, but I sure don't miss their crazy politics.

The internet business I had hoped would provide some extra income has not worked out like I thought it would. I'm still plugging away at it but it is getting tougher. Speaking of plugging, its time for a commercial. : )

All-Natural Cure For Removing Moles And Warts In Just 3 Days!

One last update, I was blessed with a new job recently. I had been selling supplemental health insurance for the last 4 months. As the winter closed in and temperatures made it harder to get out, I started looking for something else. Just last week I started a job with the University of Nebraska Medical Center as the second shift supervisor of a call center they have. Money is very modest, but benefits are great and the temperature inside is wonderful.

I'm looking outside my third floor apartment window right now and it is raining. Snow is expected possibly later tonight or tomorrow. Time for a warm cup of tea. My favorite at times like this is a fruit and almond flavored one from Bigelow. My daughter Whitney was the last one to find a couple of boxes and I think I have one left. Anyone know where I can get any more? We're going to some friends tonight to play cards, only a couple of more nights left in 2006, wonder what 2007 will hold? One thing I'm sure of, the dear Lord is there and has many blessings prepared. May I live it for the Glory of the Lamb!

Adieu from Nebraska and 2006 and may God richly bless everyone who stops by.

Dennis

He talks about the struggle that the Christian life seems to be most of the time. Where is the joy, the triumphant life? Why is it so hard most, or a lot of the time, that resonated with me because it is where I spent so much of my time. I confessed to a dear friend just yesterday that God seems so silent. I can call a friend on the phone and hear his voice and get advice, encouragement and wisdom. I pray and God is still and silent. He tells us to ask for wisdom, we ask, and it seems like we're speaking into empty space. No answer comes back.

I'm aware that is only because God is so very good and kind He doesn't strike me dead or worse for expressing such thoughts and I'm sure not proud to recount them here. I do it for anyone who may be feeling the same way right now. You are not alone. I'm not sure how good the company is, but you do have plenty of it. Be encouraged, I was, to hear John recount some of his frustration and disappointments.

As Christ sees in the flawed, proud, fanatical or lukewarm Church on earth that Bride who will one day be without spot or wrinkle, and labours to produce the latter, so the husband whose headship is Christ-like (and he is allowed no other sort) never despairs. He is a King Cophetua who after twenty years still hopes that the beggar-girl will one day learn to speak the truth and wash behind her ears.

Lileks

But she went to school anyway. I emptied out a closet and moved everything out of the family room in preparation for the carpet cleaners. (Like I said: lots of stuff going on here at Jasperwood. I’ll tell you why in a week.) They also did ducts, and since I’ve never done the ducts, I figured the ducts should be done. The crew showed up – three guys, one of whom was holding out an Amazon box. At first I thought: this Amazon Prime is better than advertised. But that was part of their general modus operandi: here to help. They’re not alone. In the last few months I’ve had the plumber, the deliverymen for the washer and drier, the stone guys, the deliverymen for the china hutch, and a few others I can’t remember at the moment, and in each instance they were painfully courteous, cheerful, forthright, true, brave, etc. The fellow who led the crew today had a certain military bearing – the buzzcut and the Suthun accent and the use of “sir” may have influenced my impression, granted. He asked for a tour of the house to locate the vents, and off we went.

“That was about the quickest I’ve ever had that done,” he said when we were finished.

“Really?”

“Sure. 'Vent's there, there, there, there.' Usually folks take a while remembering where the vents all are.”

“I know my vents,” I said.

Well, I do.

They opened the main intake vent, and there were mutters of approval: clean filter. Gabba hey, one of us. I excused myself to let them work, and 20 minutes later he returned: “I’d be happy to charge you eighty-nine dollars to clean your vents,” he said, “but you don’t need it. They’re clean as it is.”

This is like the fellow at the oil-change place saying “drive off, sir, and have a fine day; your oil has another 3000 miles in it.” I was impressed. Then the tackled the carpets, and while they did a decent job they were unable to lift a patch of dog bile. That’s in there for gud, he said. He seemed pained. The man wanted to leave the carpets clean; it was a matter of honor. He was like the stone mason who did the wall yesterday: he talked for ten minutes about rock and its virtues. Loved his work. Now, neither of these fellows probably has much in the way of formal education, but they were both more cheerful and engaged and interested in their work than 80% of the white-collar guys I meet. Why not? Every day’s different, every challenge unique. In the end I cut them a check for $59, which seemed small. Three guys, an hour’s work – can’t be much money in it. But he tipped his hat and let himself out and wished me a great day.

Yes, yes, I know, they all live in terror of the home office, it’s all a sham, etc. Or not. I just recall the grim Soviet-flavored mood of people in DC, the sullen indifference, and it makes me glad again to live here. I forget sometimes what an effect it has on your mood when everyone’s generally pleasant. From Hell’s Heart, I Glare At Thee gets old. Immediately.

After I wrote a column and some checks – the stone wall was finished today, after two days of work – I finished up a video editing project then wandered down to the bus stop. I find myself sitting on the stone wall I commissioned four years ago. Now it has a purpose. Nice. The bus was late, but that’s okay. Halfway up the street to Jasperwood we stopped in the grass to look at the stuff she’d gotten in school; one of the papers was a picture with everyday objects hidden in the drawing. Find the wishbone, find the spoon, find the nuclear centrifuge, etc. It took a while, but we found them all. Then we read half a book – she’d checked out Madonna’s “English Roses,” which all the girls love – and then we headed back up the hill. I checked my watch: we’d spent an hour on the lawn, just reading and playing and looking up at the planes and clouds.

Lucky, lucky us. Lucky, lucky me.

So. Next Monday.

Well.

I think I’ll post the movie I threw together right after 9/11, cobbled together from footage I TiVo’d. I think I’m safe, and won’t have to field angry emails from people who think it’s biased or skewed or ignores the big Caterpillar bulldozers that miraculously appeared on the site within 24 hours, proving that the Shadow Government (Illuminati, Bavarian Masons, PNAC theorists, and the ghost of Jack Ruby’s dog) had pre-positioned materiel to cover up their nefarious plan. I probably won’t watch the ABC movie, because it’s been edited to conform to the complaints of complainers and reflect the fact that the MinProd chocorations were always 15 grams, not 20.

I don’t think this is the “veiled threat” some are calling it, because there’s no way on earth the Democrats would introduce legislation to strip Disney of its broadcast license. It’s like threatening to interrupt the broadcast with winged monkeys. Disney lawyers would say, correctly, well, you and what army of winged monkeys? But I don’t recall Congress getting so deeply involved in the content of a specific television show before. Chilling effect? Heck no, not if the result is the truth. And who can possibly be against the truth.

Just so you know: 9/11 reset the clock for me. All hands went to midnight. I’m interested in what people did after that date, and if the movie shows that before the attack one side lacked feck and the other was feck-deficient, I don't worry about it. It's like revisiting Congressional debates about Hawaiian harbor security in November 1941. Y'all get a pass. The Etch-A-Sketch's turned over. Now: what have you said lately?

While working and doing various things the other day, I lent an ear to the radio. The morning host was talking about pessimism, and how he’s sick of it. Sick! I agreed. It's not just specific pessimism about specific issues, which is sometimes apt and wise, but the overall glumness you get from the news media. Of course, you can find glumness anywhere. Swaths of the right are pessimistic about America because immigration will result in the national anthem sung in Toltec by 2018, and chunks of the left are pessimistic because Chimpy McDiebold may serve out his term without impeachment or interment. Everyone’s glum about something. But I listen to the news on the radio every hour on the hour, and it makes me want to saw ditches into my wrists. It’s the needling worrisome hectoring tone of the newscasters that annoys me. There's a a woman who handles the morning shift on ABC; she emotes every syllable, infusing them with a sense of impending disaster, and then she hands it off to Vic Ratnor, who likewise leans into every phoneme with worried urgency, regardless of whether it’s an oil shortage (which could rekindle inflation!), a discovery of a new oil field (which could cost billions to exploit!) or a study on the effect of global warming on popsicles (which could stain the rug!) The two of them could make a flooded antihill sound like the end of the Republic.

The news is never good. If the economy’s up, there’s an expert on hand from the Institute of the Possible Downside warning about unforseen pressure on the bond market, softening housing, hardening tensions, turgid wage growth, and explosive release of inflationary pressures. Have a cigarette. Was it bad for you?

TV news gives me the same impression, which is why I avoid it. All those earnest faces. Good evening, we’re deeply concerned, and powerless to do anything about it. Although we hope you infer from our brows the need to contact someone, and urge action on this issue. Now here’s a baby giraffe.

The formulation seems simple: The continued existence of problems at this late date in human history implies that we’re regressing. We’re screwing up, we’ve lost it, and we wander confused amongst the morass of the malaise and vice versa. Hard times, brother. Hard times. I’m not saying they should pretend we live in the Republic of Happy Bunnies Who Pee Champagne, but for God’s sake, sometimes you’d think the bread lines snaked from the Hoovervilles to the soup kitchens again. I’m probably confusing the sugar-coated recollections of early youth with actual history, but I grew up with a sense of optimism and confidence in the country. That really makes me sound like Mr. McFartus shakin’ a whittlin’ stick at the jaunty-hatted younguns, I know. But the icons in my dim early youth, either by absence or presence, were JFK and Humphrey. They weren’t defeatists, and they didn’t give off that rank stink of anger.

Of course, someone who's angry about different things is always unbalanced, right? I’m sure I’m regarded as a delusional tool because I worry more about Islamicists than global warming. But it comes back again to that theme I blathered about a few weeks ago, the idea of the eternal adolescent strain in American culture; to the adolescent, the cynic is the truth-teller. The optimists are the fools. (It takes an adolescent to think that people who believe in nothing are the best judges of those who believe in something.) It’s all a pose, for the most part, but after a while it feeds on itself. Pessimism produces its own coal, stokes its own furnaces. Optimism is harder. Optimism takes work. You have to roll your own.

Hah! The iPod just kicked on that fine messy song “Tubthumping.” I get knocked down. But I get up again. I get knocked down. But I get up again. You’re never going to keep me down. That's the spirit, ya commie buskers! I don’t listen to that song and wonder “what has he done to get knocked down?” I salute the boozed-up shouting chanty brio of the sentiment, which is the distant cousin of Cagney snapping of "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy." Really. Chest out, chin high, eyes bright, up yours if you're heart can't find the tinder to shout hoorah. Look: there’s always a place for the bitchers, the carpers, the griefers, the snipers, the angry marginal sorts flinging poo from the cages of their own beliefs. But it’s not the pessimists who will save the West. It’ll be those who believe the West is worth saving, and not because it is the least horrible option whose defense must be prefaced with endless apologies, but because it really is the best hope we have. Would you rather be a libertarian in China? A Christian in Sudan? A Zoroastran in Iran? A lesbian in Saudi Arabia?

But - but we supported the Shah, and -

Yes. Interesting how supporters of the Shah didn't storm our embassies or wage a 30 year Death-to-America campaign after we cut the Shah loose. Reset the hands. We can argue about all manner of strategies now, but there's one division that counts more than any other, and it’s fundamental and pervasive. Pessimism or optimism.One’s very satisfying. The other’s hard. I’d say we don’t have any choice, but we do, and that choice may undo us yet.

May, I said. I’m naturally pessimistic, and I hate it, and fight it. Cautious optimism: methadone for cynics.

Before the concert starts the orchestra comes out, takes their seats and each member starts to tune their instrument. At first there are individual horns and strings being tuned, but gradually as more artists take there seats, the sweetness of the sound starts to develop and come together.

Knowing the performance that is about to come, causes me to rise in my seat and start to appreciate each note and instrument. My appetite is stimulated for the rich feast that is about to be rolled out. My ears strain to recognize a few lines of the coming performance tied together by the artists, an then there is silence.

What follows for me is the closest I think I will ever experience of heaven on earth. It is a taste of the thing for which my soul longs. A picture of the King, seated upon His throne and the story of His redemption of a people for Himself.

Life here and now is that tuning of the instruments that will one day be part of that heavenly choir or orchestra. My wish for myself and all of you is that we might increasingly enjoy the "tuning of the instruments? I know I'm not there yet. God bless you all.

As you may or may not know, on the internet, traffic is what a person needs to make money. I have been trying to develope some web sites to the point they would be profitable. To be honest they have not been as successful as soon as I had hoped.

The conundrum for me is should I use this site as part of my income producing stream. Up until now I have not.

All the other sites I have, I use PPCs to get traffic to the sites. I use no form of advertising to get traffic to this page. It would be profitable to put some modest ads on here, but, and here is the question, would it be For the Glory of the Lamb?

I would appreciate anyone's input that may wander by, and may He be praised in the process.

P.S. Some of my other sites.

Health Issues Today
Information About Hair Removal
Hard Drive Data Recovery
Hawaiian Shirts

Like most weddings I've been to I went ahead and read from 1 Cor. 13, the "love" chapter. Mona, one of my sister's friends said it wasn't perfect but that was what gave it the personal touch. I think it was a compliment.

Well much catching up to do and clothes to wash. Bye for now...