separate from the Babylonian whore

SICKE SNYDER, A. D. 1533
About the year 1533 there was another pious hero and follower of Jesus, named Sicke Snyder, who, according to the counsel of the Holy Ghost, separated from the Babylonian whore, and all her false, self-invented, imaginary worship, which was all contrary to God, and accepted Christ Jesus; seeking to follow the unblamable footsteps of this true Lawgiver (James 4:12), and to hear only His
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voice as contained in the holy Scriptures: John 10:4. Therefore he obediently submitted to the example and ordinance of Christ, and in accordance with the doctrines of His Word received Christian baptism upon his faith, as the sign of a regenerated child of God, seeking thus to live and walk in obedience toward his Creator. For this reason: he was put into bonds and in prison at Leeuwaerden, in Friesland, and had to suffer much from the enemies of the truth. I Tim. 6:20. And as he could by no tortures be induced to apostatize, he was executed with the sword at said place, enduring it with great steadfastness; thus attesting and confirming the true faith with his death and blood. Rev: 2:13; 20:4. Hence he shall, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ, together with all true conquerors, be clothed in white, shining raiment, and inherit the blessing. II Tim. 2:3; Rev. 3:5; I Pet. 3:9.
from the Martyrs Mirror

to find a wifey

Once upon a time there were 4 men who tried to find a wifey.

The first man said, I want to find a woman, whom I can call wife. So, I will find out what one does to find a wife. His informants told him that he must play a game with whatever woman catches his fancy. He must play this game with many women to find out what woman plays the game best then he will have found the best woman. So he played dominos with many women and picked the one who could play it best.

The second man also looked for a woman. He made it into a science with assured results. He and his buddies studied and analyzed until they came up with a system that would catch them any woman they chose. They called it The System: no woman could refuse. It was the system for sure but it was also a game of sorts. Yet its rules and its cards kept changing to suit the winner.

The third was like the first he played a game, except this one played cards. He played it well. He played it often. He was born with a deck in his hand, they said. Rarely, did he or anyone else know the beginning or the end of the game he was playing, for he was always shuffling cards and laying them down. He both knew and didn’t know playing the game was the means of getting a wife.

The fourth man sincere and true decided he too must find a woman and looked high and low for her till he spotted her. He watched her carefully for many days, observing her method and manner. He had heard about playing games and The System. Yet he was a reasonable man who didn’t play games so much. So he reasoned with the woman and said, come now and be my wife. I will treat you right and we can live happily ever after. She frowned at him and called him daft, for she had first met the other three men.

Now the first man was sincere and true and most likely so also were his friends. They likely learned their game from others and the others from yet others until one does not know where it began. Yet he had not yet considered the women who did not play the game. Perhaps they too were sincere and true but somehow knew not the game. Such was the case with Sally who wrinkled her brow when the first domino was placed. Yet the second man and his cronies liked to play games and win, so they devised a game where they always won. Dear Sally wasn’t daft. She saw their weighted game. So when she was invited to play she turned up her nose and walked away. She met the third man. I see you would like to play a game with me, she said. You are wrong, said he. I’m just shuffling my cards. The fourth man too had a game, it was simply one you can’t see because no-one does not have a game with rules and methods, except of course your own kin and kind. Yet the game has nothing to do with life and in the end you still gotta live with your wife.

where's your line

I just saw “The Fog of War.” The one judgment/position that amazed me most made by McNamara was the one he made about where he drew his line between authorizing excessive unreasonable amounts of killing and necessary killing. He seemed to think that one in his position would have to authorize 10,000 to even 100,000 people’s deaths. However, to wipe out an entire people/country/nation was absolutely unacceptable. I suppose Hitler even passes the test with respect to the criteria here. He didn’t succeed in wiping out the Jews. I suppose wiping out Luxembourg would be over the top in comparison.
I was also amazed (now I'm beyond my one point) that he accepted the position of Secretary of State without consulting with his wife. Obviously, it wasn’t the first time he had “come home” with a “honey, guess what I did today.” I think I would have died early too, if I were her.

literal and subliminal #1: sending mixed messages

I did it again today.
Now you must first understand that I am a get it done, there’s nothing that one can’t learn how to do, spurn the ideals of the red tape route where there is an appropriate procedure for every activity on earth sort of mentality. I lived on a farm for half my life which is a location where one cannot have a “can’t do” attitude about anything. The quickest way to the finish line is to start the task right away if you are able and soon enough someone will notice and most likely come to help. There was none of this lengthy discussion on how to do something outside of the lengthy orations my brother gave my dad on why we should switch fertilizer brands and why we should switch to an automated feeding system.
With pragmatic default turned on, I tackled the boxes of paper that came in the delivery this morning. However, delivery guy hadn’t left yet when I showed up to haul the boxes upstairs. He had been asking the receptionist if there was an elevator and it was beginning to sound like he wasn’t authorized to bring them upstairs. Interestingly enough, his attitude changed completely when I picked up a box and started walking up the stairs. He came behind me quite rapidly with the other two and I was left to ponder the strange interaction.
I realized later, with a chuckle, that I was sending him subliminals that I never intended to send when I started hauling a box he wasn’t going to haul. I suppose the effect was intensified by the fact that I was a young woman in a slim skirt and heeled sandals.
I ran into the same scenario two months ago when I went to get my oil changed. They couldn’t get my hood open via the lever inside the car. They called me up to the desk, to tell me so. I began to explain to them that all you do is just reach up behind the front bumper and pull on the thin cable. The young guy began to stammer something that sounded like he was refusing me service when I, in genuine helpfulness, offered to open it for him. The supervisor overheard and immediately told me there was no problem and they would figure it out. Again, I was a little confused but remembered that I was a woman when I looked down at the skirt I had on. Wouldn’t that have been a sight to behold: a girl in a skirt under her car in their shop? It happened on my parents’ farm a lot, but this isn’t Mom and Pop’s farm. And I am sure the supervisor was simply trying to maintain the shop as a shop, not a peep show.

when literal and subliminal clash

In the Fundamentalist response to Liberalism a number of conservative evangelical groups became even more literal in their interpretation of scripture and consequently their interpretation of all written and spoken words and manner of living. It seems to me that the Anabaptist traditions who maintained their literal/actual interpretation of scripture throughout the years had even more incentive to remain as they were, in this respect, perhaps even step it up a notch.
When we were younger, my mother used to scold us severely when we used any metaphors. “It’s an oven in here.” “She’s so fat, she’s a pig.” We never learned—“It’s raining cats and dogs.” We were rebuked for lying if we happened to use any metaphor in her presence. There was an old guy in my church Sunday School who interpreted the Proverbs literally every time it said, “My son…” I don’t recall what they did with, “Isaac have I loved and Esau have I hated.” Hence, I never learned how to read subliminal messages very well. Sometimes I overcompensate. Sometimes I miss it entirely. My poor mother doesn’t get half the e-mail forwards I send her. Subliminals are usually the culprit. Acting was even a sin because you were pretending to be someone you were not and that was too close to lying. It wasn’t until eighth grade English that I learned what a metaphor was and how to use it. I learned much later in life that people often said one thing but meant another. Along these crazy lines of literal and subliminal, there have at times been funny clashes. I’ve come a long way in my understanding of the subliminals someone might send. But am often lost and confused as well. At other times, I would just as soon rip out all my hair and scream in frustration at the circular games folks play with each other.

Here’s a story from good ol’ Menno Simons himself, using the truth quite literally, such that, it seems, the spirit of the truth was altered quite radically.
Menno is on his way from one town to another via carriage. These are the days of Anabaptist persecution and there are some folks hot on his path attempting to arrest him and ultimately burn him at the stake. A group of such vigilantes pulled abreast the carriage Menno is on and ask if one named Menno Simons is in the carriage. Incidentally, Menno had been riding on top of the carriage with the driver. Instead of turning himself in, he bent down to poke his head into the carriage asking all inside, “they want to know if there is one by the name of Menno Simons in the carriage.” To which those inside responded, “No, there is none by such a name here.” Menno in turn responded to those who sought him, “They say that there is none by the name of Menno Simons inside the carriage.” The vigilantes rode off swiftly, attempting to catch him further up the rode. Thus, Menno is saved yet again from lying and from death, in the strange crag between the spirit of the truth and the literal truth.

girl interrupted #1: lies

(The girl interrupted series will be about innocence lost to the knowledge of good and evil. I thought I’d be past this “stage” by now but it keeps happening. It’s like the sex education (informal) I received in fifth grade at a public school. I knew nothing, literally! But my peers kept on talking about this something I didn’t know about and occasionally they harassed me with their new-found knowledge. I responded as I had always responded to anything they presented to me—“my religion opposes it” I would say. It worked and was true for nearly every other subject in the book. But for some reason they mocked me all the more in this instance. I decided I needed to educate myself. After a bit of research, I knew as much as they did or enough to get the general picture. Since then I’ve had numerous other such encounters with the knowledge of good and evil. Always, I’ve been able to confirm my realizations with a little research. We are the most self-analyzed people I know.)

Recently, I’ve been contemplating the numerous “lies” I have run into. Some have simply puzzled me. Others have been devastating. I’ve been trying to make sense of them…racking my brain, trying to look at them from another angle, other than that I've simply encountered people turned evil spewing out intentional twisted deceptions. Here are some “lies” I’ve run into…
He’s my friend but we make-out sometimes.
He’s my mentor but I’ve only chatted with him briefly once in the past 3 months and I never take his advice.
She was fired but the remaining employees in the company were instructed to say, “she left” when asked why she was no longer working.
It wasn’t a church split: it was a church plant.
How are you?—Fine.
I always have time to hang out with you—but when I’m with you I am so distracted I can’t remember a thing you’ve said.
In the heart of Minnesota nice I suppose it makes sense that it would be fairly common to run into those who alter their rendition of the truth so they and everyone else can live in a thinly lined utopia. Among the Mexican circles I’ve come in to, I’ve also learned that at all costs one must make their guests feel comfortable. It’s common to have people ask, “Ya sientes major?” My pragmatic reaction, backed up by my tradition’s 3-5 century’s worth of literal truth-telling causes me to respond, “It has nothing to do with how I feel!” (Yet if you are lying or I am lying, my conscience will bother me and then I will ultimately feel badly.) Basically, I realize between Mexican culture and Minnesota nice I am often told what the other person believes I want to hear (which to me is a lie) (which to them is something that would make THEM feel good if it were true).

Then, I ran across an article in a Yale news release entitled, Children Develop Cynicism at an Early Age. It basically says that “by the time children are in second grade, they know to take what people say with a grain of salt, particularly when the statement supports the speaker's self-interest.” I think I was standing behind the door the day they handed those grains of salt. I can’t believe it! I’m certainly the most daft person in the world! Or perhaps the most sheltered. Now like a child who has just learned to write her name, I’m applying this grain of salt EVERYWHERE! Never-the-less, it’s a second grade developmental piece that I am learning at 30. On one hand I feel stupid. On the other, I feel sad that my world’s balance is changing. The knowledge of good and evil—gotta live with it.

commentary: concerning the kingdom

It seems a lot of these parabolic dreams are about the church and how I relate to it. I’m the Martha in the Way to the New Jerusalem—and not a very good one at that. I’m the non-participant in the Beauty School. Obviously, the preparatory phase in the Christian life should not be an endeavor to secure outward beauty and I recognize that. However, non-participation usually is not the most effective counter-action. Perhaps, my most positive move is to go eat at the banquet where no one else seems to want to eat. The food theme seems to reoccur frequently. In one—there is no food, in another—no one is eating it, in another—there is only cake (served on the floor) and parties, and yet another—I’m damaging the only nutritious food that appears but even so nobody—else seemed to know how to prepare it. What does this suggest about the spiritual diet of the church?

the death of a believer

I was in my high school setting attempting to do some work. Yet I went to my Jr. College’s bookstore to buy appropriate, bargain cards to send off to people—which were of a pressing nature. I didn’t find what I was looking for exactly. The cards were expensive but I decided to buy them anyway and went back to my high school homeroom, the choir room. In the room, there were enough chairs set up for a choir to sit in but few if anyone was sitting in them. They actually were having some sort of a party because there was cake everywhere but all the cakes were set on the floor and people were eating them off the floor as well. It comes to mind that they were eating cake in like manner of the soldiers of Gideon, who drank with their faces in the river and were sent home. I sat on the floor as well intending to help myself to some cake after I was finished preparing the letters. I set the envelopes on the floor beside me as I worked, yet had to move them later because people were stepping on them and getting them dirty.
Suddenly, I was translated into another place. It was a rustic, historic, trading post building but had the atmosphere of a coffee house. Numerous people were there milling about and meeting with each other but there didn’t seem to be any buying and selling or eating going on. I met with some close friends, Amy and Jill along with other unidentified people. We were conversing about life. We talked about Jill’s new relationship. Yet I was utterly horrified when she announced to all of us with glee that she was pregnant. “We (me and my boyfriend) chose to do it this way,” she announced. I hid my horror but was even more disturbed when the unified response of all but me was a, “Good for you, Jill. We are so happy for you. We support you in your choice.”
I was translated to another scene where I was then talking to Jill and she in much earnest was telling me that I was out of line. Evidently, I had expressed my disapproval of her choices and she was telling me I was out of line in expressing my disapproval. I was confused. And Jill didn’t seem to be making any sense. I was trying to understand where she was coming from but we didn’t seem to be able to break through the cloud of confusion over us. The conversation was too brief to resolve anything. In the end, Jill simply said, “I’ve written a letter detailing my thoughts and I’ll get that to you.” I reluctantly agreed to address it in this manner.
A short time passage took place and I am again at the trading post, still distressed and crying when a close associate of Jill’s entered with a letter for me. I spoke with him for a little while, asking him to represent her and answer my questions. He could see my distress and knew about our confused altercation but was proportionally dispassionate to the situation. He was kind but condescending as he explained in all sincerity, as one would to a child, that Jill had made her choices and that we must accept them. I begged him to mediate for us but he said he didn’t think that was possible because she had made some other choices that were of further consequence to our situation. Very gently and with calm acceptance, he told me that Jill had chosen to commit suicide and that he funeral procession would be by presently. He told me that Jill had explained it all in the letter. He left me as fell to my knees doubled over in wrenching sobs.
Soon, Jill’s casket came by. I went out to follow in the procession weeping as I went. The casket was bourn on an old two-wheel style Mexican wagon/cart. Mexican nuns in their habits bour it away. All were in solemn acceptance including the nuns which seemed the very picture of evil dressed in religion to me. I looked into the faces of the nuns and to my utter dismay I saw the face of our other good friend Amy. My pain and distress turned into despondent grief as I continued following the procession.

the way to the New Jerusalem

There were numerous visitors at my parents’ house and we were all preparing to attend a service at the church of my childhood. These visitors had just recently converted to the faith, however, in retrospect they didn’t look anything like people who converted to my particular denomination. Regardless, without a second thought I accepted them as converts and we hosted them for the night. There was much discussion about the next day and the things that needed to be prepared. They had brought corn which they didn’t know how to prepare. I offered to get up early the next day to prepare it for them. The next morning was busy as a hive as people were getting up and about. I was preparing the corn but because I was doing all sorts of other things in the meantime, I burnt it and nearly half of it had to be tossed out. I was still not “ready” (whatever ready was) when it was time to leave for the service but went with the group anyway, planning to return to finish up later. We left on foot and met a large group of people also on foot journeying toward the meeting house, the church of my childhood. There were many more people than I had expected. There were Mennonites from my old church as well as all sorts of other people I didn’t recognize. But one thing I noticed was that the crowd that journeyed with us was very colorful. When we got to the church building, I made my excuses and began the journey back to my house but I ran into some trouble a short distance away from the church along with other meeting goers. There was a busy railway system with multiple tracks blocking my path. The trains and the people on them were as colorful if not more colorful than the crowd that we had come to church with. Some beings on the trains weren’t necessarily people either. One creature looked like a wookie, except that their coats were of brightly colored plums. It was certain that nobody on the trains was going to church. They were traveling elsewhere and this remote location was only a leg in their journey. There wasn’t even a crossing or a stop through which I could pass safely. I conversed briefly with the others attempting to cross. They acknowledged the danger, advising me to be careful. They even yelled at me to stop as I attempted to dodge across the tracks. I avoided getting run over by a train passing at a very rapid speed.

salvation—a migratory journey

There is a place down south where the sun rises and sets and the nights are cool and the days are warm. Here the geese find plenty to eat and are satisfied as they continually call out to each other and to the God who created and sustains them.
From the very beginning of creation, in the life of every human being there is a longing to be in a place of harmony and peace with fellow human beings, the rest of the created world and the Being that sustains them.
Yet before the geese ever arrive in that place down south, they lived in the north woods, where the days suddenly grew colder and the nights longer. At times it was so cold at night there was nothing to sustain them when morning dawned.
In the lives of people everywhere many have become aware of the encroaching darkness in the world about them. Relationships are empty. Life seems meaningless. Hopelessness gnaws on the spirit of humanity as they die a bit, every time they doubt the possibility of a life of peace and harmony.
When the geese begin to feel the cold they instinctively know they must respond. Thus, they take their migratory journey southward, filling the autumn sky with arrow formations pointing continually to their destiny as they migrate together.
There is within the spirit of every person, recognition of the sustaining power of peace and harmony. When the hopelessness and despair rage, and the sustaining Spirit of God speaks into spirit of every person. One by one they respond to the call to believe in the glorious destiny. Many join together in faith with other’s who hope after the promise.
While many geese respond to the encroaching winter and together begin their journey south, there are others who seem to have forgotten to listen to their instinct. They choose instead to stay behind by themselves, in the place they know best, the north woods.
Many people who encounter the darkness and hopelessness, respond to the invitation God speaks to their spirit and begin their journey with others to the place of experiencing more and more fully the peace, love and unity with God, humanity and the world. Others succumb to the darkness in despair and despondency.
As the geese journey south together, they call to each other; they call out to God and the rest of creation. They call to other geese who have not yet begun their journey south, calling upon them to join in the journey. At all times in their journey, they point to their destination, in distinct arrows across the sky. Nobody is left in doubt to the direction of their destiny.
As men and women turn from despair to faith, they begin their journey with others toward the destination of eternal peace and harmony, with God humanity, and all of creation. While they praise God and speak life and encouragement to each other, they call out to others, who have not yet begun the journey, to come and join them. Nobody is left in doubt to the destiny of this community.
The geese flying formation is both a sign and an essential formation to the success of the journey, which requires all to contribute to the direction and leading of the skyne. Their v-formation is both other centered and unified as each bird breaks the air for the other.
Men and women of faith recognize God’s call for them to give of themselves to others who are participating in the journey of faith. Each gives of him/herself according to his/her gifts and talents. The participation of all is essential to the success of the journey.

are you an ugly color?

My newest sister-in-law used to live with me. Now she lives with my brother. But I don’t think she much appreciated the way I decorated. She was often after me to paint this or that—the fence, the living room, the ceiling. I gave in to her occasionally. But the point is—somehow I was seeing something she wasn’t seeing. My kitchen walls were peach. I imagined them to be white, because after all, that was what they were going to be. I even bought red, blue, and yellow dishtowels to match because that’s what color my kitchen was going to be. One day I came home from the Re-Use It Center with a cupboard that was painted yellow and I hung it onto the peach wall in my kitchen. As I stood back admiring it, my brother and my future sister-in-law commented. “Wow! That is so cool!”—my brother said as he opened the doors, to determine if everything functioned. “Isn’t it the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.” my sister-in-law commented. “I’ll have to get some stripper for that paint,” I said, “the wood underneath will look amazing.”
I often see people like I see this cupboard. I’ll see the good wood underneath. I’ll appreciate its good function. I’ll even bring it into my house and install it in a place of honor. I’ll nod my head and agree with my sister-in-law—that it is really ugly. And I’ll talk about what to do about it. And as I use the cupboard, it’s not yellow to me, it’s the color I want it to be.

Please don't be offended if you need work.
The other day someone told me I had gained weight. I was offended. But I had to decide that being offended was a good thing. I was tremendously greatful. It helped me say no to the cookie I was offered today.

banqueting in the Kingdom of God

The setting was a beauty school; I have no idea why I was there. If you know me, learning beauty techniques is not even on my list of things to do. However, there I was dilly-dallying in my chair, in a classroom that looked much like my high school English classroom. Everybody but me was either fixing their hair, fixing their face, or fretting about what to wear. They were getting ready for a banquet. I was dilly-dallying in my chair. At one point someone asked me if I’m going to get ready or not. I responded, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go maybe I won’t. But one thing was for sure…I wasn’t going to be doing all this primping and painting.
[…]
I was seated at a table at the banquet. Again, I was dilly-dallying around in my chair like a kid. The lights were low. There was candlelight and everything was richly decorated and beautiful. Conversation was at a low hum while everyone was waiting for the food. The food was in the next room: buffet style. We waited and waited…then we waited some more! I grew tired of the waiting and asked my dinner companions when we were going to eat. Nobody responded. They simply continued to wait. Finally, I grew tired of waiting and got up to help myself to the buffet. I was handed a plastic bag with which to gather my food. The food was artistically arranged but it was all in the raw: onions pulled up by the stalks and laid on the table, potatoes with dirt still on them, celery with root and stalk. I was to gather my food then give it to the cook so he could cook it.

when nobody does anything wrong.

I ran into something that quite took me by surprise the other day.
I did something wrong. I did something I shouldn't have done. I took my axe and chopped down somebody else’s tree on somebody else’s property. I wasn’t supposed to do that, especially without asking the owner.
Now why would I do such a thing? Certainly there were many perfectly good reasons for which I could excuse myself the blame. Such as, the tree was once a weed in a fence line and then became a tree that was now pushing the fence over. Or I was doing my citizen’s duty and helping the property owner, which is the city, maintain its property. Regardless, somebody saw me chopping down a tree and mentioned, in front of the wrong person, that he could come help me with his chain saw and I was left holding the axe, in a manner of speaking. There was a flurry of e-mails about protocol and tree chopping (I am a tree hugger…really! I do love trees.) and who’s property it was and how the PED and urban forestry and the City of St. Paul needed to come out and look at this tree/weed the size of my forearm.
Okay now I’m beginning to excuse myself again in those little side comments. However, I’m still holding the axe and I did what I shouldn’t have done. But here is what I’m surprised by. I couldn’t believe the tone in an e-mail I got from that “wrong person” person who was all about protocol etc. I had said I was sorry and I apologized profusely. I also told her why I did it, but made sure I apologized in humility. In her response to me she seemed almost embarrassed. And she said, and I quote, “nobody did anything wrong…let’s all just forget about it.” Maybe she was embarrassed because she looked like the bad cop but a contributing factor is the “nobody did anything wrong” thing.
Why, I think I have landed on some words I could use as manipulation in the future, if I should choose to sink to that level of interpersonal relationship. I could say, “I’m sorry,” in feigned humility, causing the other party to feel embarrassed because those very words suggest he/she has accused me of wrongdoing. Now, this person must certainly be a bit more leftist and have a “there is no such thing as sin” worldview. However, since I have made a commitment to not participate in such manipulation, I won’t! BUT I find the dynamic, surprising! odd! interesting! and somewhat delightful. It’s also a little sad because a person of this worldview can’t repent and be forgiven of anything. One must instead alleviate guilt by being very good and by rationalizing everything they do which they are not proud of. Then you have to find a place for the Hitlers and try to figure out the lines between the sort-of-bad and the really-bad other. I’ve even seen Christians, try to live like that.
On the other side of manipulation, in genuine sincerity…I believe I’ve seen a little picture of how meekness wins. Certainly, I would have never perceived it had I not been abraded upon by my “heathen neighbors”. But I can just imagine my Amish relatives in a situation as such—there is nobody in the world as humble and ready to say sorry as some of those I find in the Amish-Mennonite circles (mind you, there are also the arrogant and proud). But what a picture of how meekness inherits the earth. And I guess I have inherited that tree/weed, not in meekness but with my axe.

concerning critical commentary

Am I vain to allow myself to indulge in long discourses, long critiques of the world around me, its people and its ideologies? about my troubles and feelings? How should my thoughts and my spiritual feelings be recorded? How should I most appropriately give them to the Lord? I wish to occasionally write an account of the traps the enemy of my soul has set for me and those around me, so as to remember to avoid them at a later date in case my sight goes cloudy or my brain goes fuzzy.
However, the spiritual dangers are so numerous and the pitfalls so many, I could concentrate my whole life to not falling into them. I cannot be the Frodo who should be seeing the path ahead but instead gazes into the eyes of the swamp and gets sucked in. Ultimately, I need somewhere else to look--something else to look at. It is in the face of Christ that I find my answer. My efforts to pursue God become futile as they are distracted by the dangers of the path before and behind me. I imagine the desired ideal to be…It is only as I see the Lord and I concentrate on his presence, that I am virtually unaware of the traps in the road and all but dance over them as a child in a minefield when she sees the open arms of her parent biding her to come. With this image in mind as the primary focus of the Christian life, I also consider it necessary to venture occasionally to the weapon factory of the enemy to discover the method of a particular arsenal. This is the intent and weight of my critical commentary…just to remind myself.