+C

Here is an amazing new lens through which to view the world. If you like it, please be sure to thank the author.

More Oeuvre

by Lara Jahzeel I. Onato

Have you ever heard of differential equations? Mathematically speaking, they are equations with a function and its derivatives. Unlike algebraic equations, differential equations are not just numbers. They revolve around functions and are essential in all sciences, engineering, and other areas of study.

Wait, do not bid farewell yet. I will not let your brain drain, I promise. Forgive me for speaking mathematical for a jiffy. I will skip the details and get to my point.

Differential equations are equations that describe how things in the world change. When you solve a differential equation, you will get a general solution. General solutions always have a +C which simply indicates a constant. That +C is necessary in all general solutions of differential equations because it is of crucial importance in finding particular solutions.

Okay, that was a bit mind-numbing. Alas, my point is that +C is…

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baby animals

Isn’t this the cutest?

Cool Fur Babies

baby animals

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Photo of the Week: May 16, 2018

Something I haven’t seen to this degree….Be sure to thank the photographer for sharing such beauty with the world.

TLP

Spring on the Mississippi

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Something Else!

 

If he could just make her understand that he knew what she needed, they might not be having this problem.

 

Squawking! Always this horrific squawking! If only she would just shut up for a while!

She was going to die. Not because he wanted her to. Not because she herself really wanted to leave this life. Nevertheless, if something didn’t change, death would be unavoidable. And at the rate she was going, the process wouldn’t take very long.

The father looked tenderly at his little daughter. She had been growing. A little. He could see that she had been becoming just a little stronger than she had been.

But all this strength had only enabled her to squawk more. She wanted this. She needed that. This needed to change. That did, too. But it needed to happen all at once. And to her exacting specifications.

He stifled a sigh. If she had only known what she really needed, he might have been inclined to give in to her whims. But her wants were endless. She seemed trapped at the bottom of a chasm of wants that went on forever.

Examining her surroundings, he wondered if there was more that he ought to be doing: beautiful, warm, cloudless sky. She wanted snow. Her bed was just uncomfortable enough to encourage her to get out more. She wanted a softer, more comfortable nest. From time to time, a few of the friends who loved her stopped by to chat or eat with her.

But she wanted more: more friends (some of whom would just end up using her for their own purposes), more freedom (though she hardly knew the dangers outside her protected world), more attention (even if it was the wrong kind), food that tasted better (whether it was good for her or not!).

He had much more patience toward her than she realized. But, in her excessive demands on him, she hardly realized how much—how extravagantly—he invested in her life every single day.

In spite of recent growth, she still wasn’t strong. Both of them knew that. Early in her life, she had been hen-pecked until she almost couldn’t move. When he stepped in, she could barely take one or two painful steps, or occasionally, a small, pitiful hop. Even under the best of conditions, which he was trying to create, it would be some time until she could really stretch her wings and fly—really soar above her circumstances and live the life he had created her to live.

This waiting, which was supposed to give her protection and strength, seemed rather to be wearing her out. He wanted to be able to explain his purposes to her. If she were only able to understand. Instead, he ended up just holding her gently against his chest where she could listen to his strong heartbeat while she cried herself to sleep.

While she sought ways to entertain herself and pass the time, he was out chasing away hungry predators, and seeking friends that could both build her up, and be blessed by what she had to offer.

And he brought her food. Constant supplies of food. But she turned away from most of it.

He brought her first of all food that her stomach could handle. It was soft and mushy, and already partially-digested. She choked on it, and blinked in surprise at some sort of strong taste she found offensive. “Eat it, Little One!” he urged her.

Turning slightly away from him, she found something else to do.

“Come on, now! You know you have to eat!” he cajoled.

“It tastes bad!” she spat back at him. “I can’t eat that stuff!”

For a few hours, he decided to just let her stomach do the talking. When he returned, with more of the same stuff, she balked at first. Then, tearfully, she allowed herself to be fed a small portion of the nasty-tasting stuff.

He smiled into her dripping eyes. “This is going to make you so strong!  You’ll see.”

She sadly shook her head, but continued eating, however slowly and reluctantly.

After a full night of restful sleep, she awoke feeling a little stronger than she had the previous day.

But she used that extra strength to complain.

He stifled a sigh, while offering her a slightly different food. This one tasted better, he knew, but did not contain nearly the accessible nutrients that the first offerings had contained. Nevertheless, she managed to choke it down, all the while telling him how it might be improved in the future: “I like it crunchy, Papa!” she squawked. “It needs to be crunchy!”

The next dinner was a little bit too crunchy. He had allowed her to select this one from a small list of limited choices that he knew she might be able to eat by now. She made a bit of a flap about it. “Too crunchy, Papa!” she screeched, leaving part of a wing and several legs, after timidly nibbling only the center portion.

She was weakening again.

“You need to eat a little more next time, my baby,” he told her.

She blinked and turned away. He was right, of course. But this food he was giving her! It was just too much! Too sweet! Too sour! Too big! Too small! Too chewy! Too dry! Too wet!

Anyone observing them would have noticed that any food he offered her would have fit comfortably into at least one of these categories.

To get her mind off her constant worries, he sang her one of his favorite songs. And tried to teach it to her. To drown out the many complaints she preferred to practice, he brought others to her side who could sing this song with him. Just in case she caught the joy and beauty of it and decided to join in herself.

She didn’t. The one song she preferred to sing was a dirge cataloguing the many sorrows of her short life. She had sung it so often and so loudly, that most of her friends—and a few of her neighbors—also knew it by heart, though not by choice. It was a very gloomy song. He wished she’d stop singing it.

And she continued losing strength, in spite of his best efforts to get her to eat, to take an interest in something outside herself, in a word, to do anything besides wallow in her old sorrows.

Perhaps there was one other thing he could do to liven up her dreary mealtimes. Swooping into the nest, he brought her a dinner that was still partly alive: a little earthworm that she could play with for a little while before swallowing whole, or in just a few small pieces.

But even this didn’t make her happy.

“No! No! No, Papa!” she squawked, almost as loudly as she could. “You’ve brought me the wrong worm!”

This night, he was the one crying himself to sleep. For he had done all he could to protect and strengthen his weakened little bird-daughter. But because she had constantly refused his help, as she drifted off to sleep, resting under the shelter of his tender wings, her little heart had slowed, then finally stopped. He could no longer hear her shallow breathing, and he sorrowfully realized that there was nothing more he could do.

The End

by Gwennonj

February 13, 2018

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Which Clothes Will You Wear Today?

Here is a compassionate but challenging article I hope you will enjoy as much as I did. Please be sure to thank the author for writing it.

Rejoicing In Hope


“My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion forever.” Psalm 73:26

If we are born-again Christians, we have two robes we can choose to put on.

One is the new robe – the glorious garment of grace personally gifted to us by our Heavenly Father. It was fashioned by loving hands to empower us to live as the child of the King that we are. With it, we publicly proclaim“I am loved, I am free, I belong!” And we can choose to wear this robe all day – every day – and it will never wear out.

But how often do we instead reach for that robe of flesh hanging in the back of our closet? You know the one. It’s a little grungy and baggy and frankly it looks like something better suited for the burn pile. But still…

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The Worst News Ever

It was the last thing I had been expecting, and the horror of it has only grown in the seventeen years since it happened. For those of you wanting to know how to talk during the tough times, let me tell you that this was one of those occasions when God really does give his children the right words at the right time, though I did feel terribly unprepared.

“Of course, I will be glad to pray for him,” I said.

Who wouldn’t pray for a sick three-year-old who looked dangerously close to death? Having only one relevant question for the man on the other end of the telephone line, I wasn’t anticipating the staggering blow with which, using just a few very thoughtless words, he proceeded to pummel my heart.

This may have been, if not the very last, at least one of the final last-straw moments that forcefully propelled my husband and me from the familiar comfort of the church of our roots and into the frightening world of Spirit-led churches. Looking back, I probably should have thanked the preacher for the insight that his short telephone conversation had afforded me.

But at the time, my primary response was a growing dread, accompanied by the fear that attaches itself to a tragedy that just might not be fixed in time. And time was already becoming terribly short.

Having no personal knowledge of the dying three-year-old’s parents, as gently as I could, I asked, “Has the child been taught to know Jesus?”

Now when I was growing up, maybe I was not anything like your average three-year-old. I know that by the time I reached three years of age, I already relished the Bible, Jesus, and church. By that ancient old age, I had already woven my heart into two favorite pastimes: singing God’s praises at home and in church, and learning as much as I could about God whenever my parents got out their Bibles.

Story time at night was my favorite time of day because that was when my mother would gather my brother and me into her lap, sing songs about Jesus, and read to us from a children’s Bible story book, the kind that showed dinosaurs in the Garden of Eden, and dinosaurs getting ready to board Noah’s Ark. As early as age three (but probably much sooner), thoughts of creation, a fallen world, sin, judgment, Jesus, and redemption filled my mind constantly, favorite television shows and movies notwithstanding.

For some reason, by then I had also deeply imbibed the idea that if I lived a great Christian life, like so many of Jesus’ followers in New Testament times, then somehow my name and my story would be included in the Bible. As far as I was able, I wanted to make sure that mine would be a good story that would make both God and me proud.

I remember sitting many times off by myself, pondering whether or not, like many of the people my parents read to us about in the book of Acts, I would have sufficient faith to die for Jesus, if circumstances required it. What if my faith wavered when the pain became too much? Already, I was discovering within myself an abysmally small pain tolerance, and the thought that I might turn away from Jesus at the point of a painful death absolutely terrified me.

However, I never mentioned any of this to my parents, whom I knew to be strong, brave, hard-working people, the kind of parents who might not quite understand the irrational fears of a three-year-old contemplating a martyr’s death. Though I didn’t know how my parents might react to my desperate dilemma, the one thing that I did know was that I didn’t want them to EVER find out. Whatever it took, I would never allow my parents to know that their precious three-year-old daughter was a dyed-in-the-wool comfort-loving coward. The shock of it, I assured myself over and over, would have just been too much for them. Because if push came to shove, if my amazing parents had had to die for their faith in Jesus, I knew they would have been unfailingly brave to the very end. Oh, how I endlessly longed to be able to say the same for myself!

With this in mind, you can only imagine my miserable surprise upon hearing the preacher retort in a rising voice, “How would that even be possible? He’s only three years old!”

And, I thought, if he hasn’t been taught about Jesus by now, whether he lives or dies, it may already be too late for him.

“Well,” I snapped, “You may be sure that he has already been made acquainted with Mickey Mouse!”

Almost immediately after that, my husband and I began the awful process of “church shopping”, determined that whatever happened, our little ones would be taught to know Jesus from the very beginning of their lives. To do anything less would be to set them up to enter eternity, at whatever age they did enter it, completely unprepared. Which terrible news would come to them already too late.

by Gwennon
February 7, 2018

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Eugenics, Euthanasia and The Resuscitation of Evil Against The Disabled

How well do we love our neighbor? This article provides a very scary answer. Please read prayerfully, and be sure to thank the author if you like it. Thank you.

TILJournal

Eugenics, Euthanasia and The Resuscitation of Evil Against The Disabled

As the year 2017 draws to a close, there will be inevitable reminiscing about the most important stories of the past 12 months. President Trump’s first year will certainly be considered one, if not the number one most important story.

Some might rightly claim that 2017 was the year of the “sexual scandals” that exploded in almost every area of the public arena. When one looks beyond the United States, the tragic economic collapse of Socialist Venezuela might top the 2017 list.

Yet, there was one rather ominous series of events that were virtually ignored in 2017.  These events mark a revival of eugenics and a resuscitation of evil intent against the disabled.

A Eugenics Revival

Eugenics is a pernicious philosophy which makes human existence a commodity. A commodity where each individual’s right to live is twisted into each individual’s worthiness to live.

The most infamous application of eugenics was the…

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