YE APRIL FOOL’S DAY— just another of the innocent, funny, ordinary human things which will be banned, forbidden, and punished if the Utopitards or the Shariacs take over the ruins of Western Civilization. Enjoy.
~ THE BINKS FAMILY is undergoing some trouble & sorrow, and has been for a while. Please pray for us, that we help one another, suffer well and not sinfully, and give glory to God for his mercy and help in time of trouble.
IT IS good for us to have trials and troubles at times, for they often remind us that we are on probation and ought not to hope in any worldly thing. It is good for us sometimes to suffer contradiction, to be misjudged by men even though we do well and mean well.
These things help us to be humble and shield us from vainglory. When to all outward appearances men give us no credit, when they do not think well of us, then we are more inclined to seek God Who sees our hearts. Therefore, a man ought to root himself so firmly in God that he will not need the consolations of men.
When a man of good will is afflicted, tempted, and tormented by evil thoughts, he realizes clearly that his greatest need is God, without Whom he can do no good. Saddened by his miseries and sufferings, he laments and prays. He wearies of living longer and wishes for death that he might be dissolved and be with Christ. Then he understands fully that perfect security and complete peace cannot be found on earth.
~ THE BINKS RECENTLY had a much-loved online friend who has known some illness, but not my heap of things, try to warn me that my soul was rotting away because I wasn’t trying to work for money while on disability. It was a unintended– and well-meant– kick in the throat.
I’ve been sharing a little more about ‘How I Am Doing’ now and again on The FB over the past few months, and this was (I was told) whinging and pity-seeking. Well, I’m alone at home most of the time, and sad as it is to say, you all are my friends, and extended fambly (even you, horrid Steve Skojec). Friends don’t go on and on 24-7, but a little info now and again (especially in the context of asking for prayers) is surely not verboten.
I worked sick & faked ‘being well’ throughout the 90s and 00s, until the body & mind quit, pretty much simultaneously. Crash landing: nearly deaded.
Never assume of your friends, family, and those you know to be ill or chronically ill with various things that (a) they just need to buck up, and (b) that you know what they are battling, and how bad can it really be anyway? I had a headache once, and that turned out fine….
Redeem The Time
And if you are yourself sick, or sorrowing, or chronically ill, or looking after someone who is unwell, or otherwise suffering, offer it up to God on behalf of others; ask for friends to pray for you and to help you where possible (our self-sufficient pride often keeps things bottled up), and so the blessings which God will give you, you can in turn share with others. Yes, that’s Bible. It’s a little version of what Jesus did on the cross.
“BLESSED be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. For as the sufferings of Christ abound unto us, even so our comfort also aboundeth through Christ.”
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ.”
Pass it on. Be the Christ-like Good Samaritan. Redeem the time.
O ye Whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord: / praise him, and magnify him for ever. O all ye Fowls of the Air, bless ye the Lord: / praise him, and magnify him for ever. O all ye Beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: / praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Children of Men, bless ye the Lord: / praise him, and magnify him for ever.
~ TRUTH BE TOLD, I do love ma wee doggie, Wee Wallace*. But, he’s a dog.
A creature of God, undoubtedly; a great companion; a funny little social being in his own way; a tiny wolf living in my home, who has literally saved my life. In 2009 when we got him (at the clamour of suddenly dog-loving twin Binklings), I’d been largely couch-bound for 6 years. Then, walkies.
Still and all, he’s a dog— nothing more, and nothing less. Not a human; not a fur-child (both options are lazy and wrong-headed and sentimental); not superior in the order of being; unlike my wife or kids, if he gets super-expensively sick, it’s the needle, not the bankloan. Treating him doggily is fair & proper– it is reality, not the often confusing mirage of feelings by which I seek to know him — then, all the feelings may follow the reality of his awesome little life as it really is.
Pitchforks & Torches!
Go ahead– I’m horrid, heartless, ungrateful, crool, I don’t deserve him, blah blah blah. Well, nature is not constructed according to my human feelings, possible confusions, or popular misunderstandings. He’s a dog– so I should doggedly learn about him, doggy nature, doggy social life, general dogginess.
If I mistreat him as if he were a little child, or member of the family with an equal say, he– being a wolfish critter, i.e. dog– will assume that he’s the Alpha or Alpha-Beta in the ‘pack’, with serious doggie wolf-pack social duties including endlessly giving orders, bossing people around, getting food ahead of others, yapping and nipping and biting to get his orders obeyed, and much more.
That’s what happens with dogs, especially the small yappy nippy surly and demanding ones. Their humans have done them the huge and, to the actual pooches, confusing injustice of not letting them know their place, so they can operate happily there. We often treat our kids & young people the same way: unreal lack of limits or rules or place in the family life.
Pity Thy Neighbour
There’s a nice man up the street who has one of these miserably confused beasts: part Bichon Frise, part Shih Tzu. I call her a Sh*tty-Frise.
He met me the other day walking his Precious Little Darling, who (of course) ignores Wee Wallace because he’s just a hairy smelly little DOG (whereas she, it seems, is a three or four year old human of some sort). Surreal.
“I was just out for a short walk”, says he, “but she decided different.” So, he continues to describe a nearly two mile trek he was dragged along, because the dog (clearly the boss in the relationship) decided the hairless monkey was going to follow her as long as she felt inclined to walk wherever she wanted. Alpha-dog attitude.
I said to the Missus after: it’s.. a.. Jeezly DOG!! Or, in our day, a cat, or-a-whatever pet. I’m the Alpha, Missus is the Alpha-Beta (dogs are not feminists, obviously), Wee Wallace is a whatever comes next down the line. NOT a fur-child. We did not ‘adopt’ him. D.O.G.
It is part of our insanity, malaise, and confusion in this age that we have many many laws against cruelty to animals, but (in Canada, say) none regarding our own pre-born offspring. We have astonishing medical advances in doggy chemo & doggy radiation treatment and doggy medicines– and yet cannot be honest with actual women about the horrid effects of birth control, of abortion, and endlessly delaying childbearing. We will sentimentally treat little fluffikins like a human, a surrogate child, a full ‘member of the family’, and do not feel horror at the encroaching culture of death & medicalized murder called euthanasia, threatening the sick, the suffering, the imperfect, the elderly.
He’s a dog. No more, and certainly no less. ~
Saith Teh Binks
* Following on my family habit, Wee Wallace has endless odd nick-names, not including ‘Nick’. He responds to most of the following: Wall, Wally, Walbert, Woglet, Wally Magoo, Weebles, Wobbles, Wobs, Woggitt, Dancin’ Dave, Dingus, Stink, Fungus, Craphound, Dog, Beast, Poodle, Killer, Wee Doggins, Destructor, Puppy, Pupper. Pupper-Doo, Pooch, Football, Evil Dog, Dementor, and Crazy-Bob. The latter two are for when he ferociously digs in his blankets as if tunnelling to the centre of the earth, or when he repeatedly races up and down the hallway as fast as mini-poodlishly possible.
~ PONTIFICATING on Robin Williams’ suicide is presumptuous, predictable, and reveals more about us than about him. The fact that the manic comedian had developed Parkinson’s (which boosts emotions) may explain why his already painful life became too much.. brilliant and driven, lonely and painful, as Stefan Molyneaux explains, from his childhood on up.
Some people live life like a raw nerve; they feel ten times more, suffer ten times more, rejoice ten times more, and find life wearing and wearying. Robin Williams lived his life in the public eye, and we saw his inside-out life and it entertained us.
We Need The Eggs
Who wants to cure the jester? Or as the old joke has it, the husband asks the doctor about his wife, who thinks she’s a chicken. “so you want to cure here?’ asks the doctor. “No!” says the husband, “we need the eggs.” Make us laugh, comedy-monkey!
Of all the movies which reveal the skills, and inner life of Robin Williams, it’s 1998’s What Dreams May Come which shows the most. It starts out as an afterlifey happy shiney magical land– but as William’s character searches for his wife (who committed suicide) she’s nowhere to be found. All of a sudden the shiney happy vanishes, and we end up on a Dantean quest through horrors and hell to save the wife from her self-murder.
For me, it’s a classic case of a screenwriter whose talent exceeds the bounds of the story; or, of a spiritual universe which is much larger and deeper and brighter and darker than it first appears.
Word is that Robin Williams was nominally an Episcopalian (Anglican), and I have no idea what he made of that, or of his relationship with God. The sad thing for those in such spiritual need that squishy liberal Protestantism has nothing strong enough to comfort or save or hang onto. The empty & smug elitism of much of mainline denominationalism leaves you spiritually like someone on the Titanic after the boats have gone.
In The End
I cannot say, with Disney or whomever “Genie, you’re free.” Suicide, like homicide, is about murder. It’s horrid and messy and cruel and leaves the victims angry with and grieving the same person. It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
Robin Williams now stands before God, his judge and Savior, as each of us shall, come death’s door. I do not know Mr. William’s spiritual state, nor if– with the last milliseconds of his life– he repented and wished to undo his doom. Let us, instead, look to our own souls, visit and help sick & depressed people (they are all around us, and I am one of them). ~
Sadly, her U.S. insurance company is insisting that the treatment recommended by her doctors so her life-crippling disease to go into remission is ‘exploratory’ and so medically optional. While her body attacks itself, slowly destroying her nervous system. CDIP is a bit like Multiple Sclerosis in the effects, and progression.
Prayers, wisdom, and any suggestions of how to make her case more public gladly will be all received.