“We’ll Put the Bendpak Over by the Breakfast Nook”

I am having a man moment. I am asking myself if there is any reason why I should not move my TIG welder to the living room.

I got a TIG early in 2017, and then we moved north. I was terrible at TIGing when we left. I didn’t get a lot of time to practice. My welder has been in my workshop ever since. It has been idle.

I planned to get 240V service installed, and I figured I would TIG once I got it hooked up. The electrician I contacted for an estimate flaked out repeatedly, so nothing has been done.

The other day, I was surfing and learning about TIG, and I realized my welder doesn’t require 240V service.

One of the welder’s selling points is its ability to work on 120V power. I discounted that, because I assumed it would only weld very thin metal. I looked into it, and I was wrong. I can weld 1/8″ metal, which is what I was welding back in 2017. Now that I think about it, welding very thin metal would be a good strategy, because it would be easier to prepare for welding, it would be cheaper, and it would require more skill. If I can weld thin metal, I can weld thick metal. If I learn on thick metal, I will still struggle with thin metal until I get used to it.

I thought about this, and then I made the next jump of logic. If I can weld on 120 in the workshop, I can also do it in the living room. With air conditioning and a big TV. Close to the fridge.

I have some concerns about damaging the hardwood floors, but TIG is not very messy. MIG throws crap around, but TIG is neater. I have never had molten metal leave a workpiece.

This could work. I’d have to move the birds to another room when I welded, in order to protect their eyes, but I could make it happen.

You know what? I’m a single man. I could move LOTS of my tools into the main living area. Maybe my ideas about getting real furniture were stupid. I have no woman to stomp around, giving me a hard time. What am I waiting for?

In other news, my dad and I shared a great experience today. The Veterans of Foreign Wars like to go around pinning medals on veterans in assisted living, and my dad’s hospice works with them. Today three people showed up at my dad’s ALF and held a pinning ceremony. They played the national anthem and God Bless America. We recited the pledge of allegiance. They gave him a certificate and a stand with three flags (American, Florida, Army).

The guy who ran things is a marine. He served in the 1960’s. His wife came too, but she forgot some things, so we had to wait while she went to get them. That gave us time to talk. My dad had a surprising conversation during that time. He and the marine had been to a lot of the same places, and because my dad’s military experience took place so long ago, he still remembered a lot of it well enough to be able to discuss it. They talked about Nevada and San Francisco. My dad was in the army band, and he served in San Francisco with Tony Bennett and Chet Baker.

It was shocking to see my dad speak so lucidly. He wasn’t completely on top of things, but he didn’t sound completely demented, the way he usually does. I didn’t know what to make of it.

My dad is not the same man he was a year ago. He got very emotional during the ceremony. He kept saying he didn’t deserve it. He talked about how moved he was. He kept telling us how much he loved America. I wondered what our visitors would have thought, had they known him when he was young. God has done wonders in my dad over the last couple of months. I hardly know him.

They’re going to have a bigger ceremony with more honorees soon, and my dad will get to enjoy being honored all over again.

The marine told us this county has the nation’s biggest military population, apart from counties that contain military installations. So apparently, Marion County is one of the world’s great military powers. We should invade somebody.

I have to think about the welder idea. It would be pretty hilarious, TIG welding in front of the TV.

Raconteur, Bon Vivant, Lover of Whale Bacon

I made a little joke yesterday, and it did not work out well.

I was writing about the way deaths seem to surround me right now. My dad is dying a little bit at a time. I just learned of the deaths of my second cousin and his mother. To make things worse, I found out a guy I knew from an Internet forum had died. I wrote this: “If most people I know could just remain alive through the end of this week, I would consider it a big favor.”

A comment then appeared, informing me that Steve Krodman, AKA Elisson, had died. It happened on January 11.

I think that’s sufficient for now. I will be just fine if I don’t get any more news of death during the coming week.

Elisson had several blogs. One was called Blog d’Elisson. Another was called Lost in the Cheese Aisle. He wrote well. He was funny. He was a very likable guy.

Back when I had an Internet radio show, Elisson appeared as a guest. He told me about the time he ate whale bacon. He was visiting Japan, and he found out they made bacon from whale meat, so he tried it. That was classic Elisson. It’s hard to think of another blogger who would come up with that story.

I looked at Lost in the Cheese Aisle (are there really stores with cheese aisles?), and I learned that Elisson had ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. It was a fast-acting variant. In his last entry (dictated), dated December 31, 2018, he said he got his diagnosis in March of last year, so he only lasted something like 9 months. He said he was unable to walk. He spent his time in a wheelchair and in bed, and he required oxygen.

I am not on his blogroll now. I don’t know if that means anything. I don’t recall any flaps between us. Of course, I have become a big proponent of Spirit-led Christianity, and he was Jewish, so maybe he felt I had gone off the deep end. It doesn’t matter to me; I thought he was a great guy. I can certainly understand how my new outlook on life would turn people off. I expect it.

I see he quoted me in his sidebar, with a link. Maybe he had not given up on me.

I wish I could say I think he’s in a happier place, but I can’t. I am very disturbed when I think about it.

I feel like I should hang a sign, like those workplace accident signs. “Nobody I know has died in __ days.”

Life gets serious after you get deep into middle age. When you’re young, you count on people in your age group being around if you want to contact them. Once you hit 50, every time you look someone up, you know you might get an unpleasant surprise.

I have a friend in Miami who is a little older than I am. Smokes like a stove. Smoking doesn’t just cause cancer. It causes COPD, heart attacks, and strokes. It can cause dementia. When I think about him, I get a little concerned. He is determined not to quit, though.

I know of three people from my law school who have died already, and there are probably more. Most people I went to school with were younger than I am.

Death is real, and it’s not far off at all. It’s always waiting to dash out and retrieve, like a ball boy at a tennis match. Or a turkey buzzard beside a busy highway.

When I think about mortality, it helps me adjust to giving my life to Jesus. I’m not giving him much. Barring a surprising outcome, I am much closer to death than I am to my high school graduation, which seems recent in my mind. The persecution I put up with here won’t last long, even if it starts in earnest today. People who are against God can attack me while I live, but they can’t keep me alive past my appointed date. Science has not reached the point where we can put death off indefinitely in order to torment people.

Hell is different, however. The people who end up there will be tormented forever because they won’t be able to die.

On a related note, I think we are working way too hard to extend life. The more I visit my dad in memory care, the more convinced I am. The place is full of people who simply lived too long. Pumping people full of statins, blood thinners, and insulin after their brains stop working is not a kindness. It’s like embalming the living so we can have viewings that last decades.

If we had real confidence in the afterlife and salvation, we would not claw and scratch to stay in this disappointing, unfulfilling world.

These days my dad talks a lot about how nice it will be to be with my mother again.

Steve Krodman was only 66. I wish he had been able to remain here considerably longer, and of course, I wish he had managed to get to know his Messiah. I wish I had known what was going on. At least I could have prayed for him.

For I am Sick of Love

I visited my dad at the ALF again yesterday. Things went very well. He keeps surprising me.

When he first moved out, he was very insistent on trying to find ways to work it out so he could come home to live. On one occasion, at his first ALF, I had to walk off and leave while he was trying to chase me out. It was disturbing. I had tried to find a place where he would be content, and it didn’t seem to be working out.

He used to get upset when I said I was leaving. He would start up again, trying to convince me we should live together.

As of this week, he no longer becomes agitated when I talk of leaving. He says things like, “I completely understand that you have things to do.” That’s a tremendous blessing. I don’t want to have to leave while he’s still fighting it.

Speaking of blessings, he keeps saying good things about me. He tells me I’m a success. He says I’m the best son imaginable. He even tells me I’m good-looking. I used to let this stuff blow by me, but I started thinking about the power of a father’s blessing, and now I try to receive it as such. I watched Derek Prince teach about the power of the things fathers say to their kids, and it reminded me that I shouldn’t turn my nose up. When I was a kid, both of my parents said a lot of things that were not blessings. They said I was lazy, selfish, fat, and so on, and they sometimes despaired of my prospects to amount to anything. If I had to take that, I might as well accept the blessings.

Occasionally, my dad will exclaim, “I love you!” He says it as if he can’t contain it. He says it as if he is concerned that I might not believe it.

I have thought a lot about the difference between 2019 Dad and, say, 1970 Dad, who was so unpleasant my sister and I used to urge my mother to get a divorce. Yesterday I realized I hadn’t thought enough about how different he is from 2018 Dad. I have been feeling guilty because I used to get mad at him and even avoid spending time with him. To be angry with 2019 Dad would not make sense because he is so much nicer to be around, and I look forward to visiting him. Last year, however, he was not like this. He was often selfish. He thought very little about my welfare and the very serious problems I endured because I had to care for him. He made things difficult when my friends visited. Sometimes he cursed at me when I was trying to help him or explain things to him. In retrospect, I can’t feel too bad about limiting my exposure to him. No one could tolerate it without long breaks.

I got angry at him from time to time, but I also used my supernatural tools to fight and get rid of anger. I never accepted it or approved of it. I was not that ignorant.

Maybe I didn’t do so bad. I didn’t have the benefit of a real baptism, and I was dealing with someone who was controlled by spirits that devoted a great deal of their time to pushing my buttons and trying to make me miserable. I had no help from other people, apart from prayer.

Now I wonder…what would he do if I brought him home and hired a CNA? Would his new self persist, or, with the threat of assisted living removed, would he revert? It seems like idle speculation, though, because I can’t make it work. Even now, with him 7 miles away, looking after him is a pretty big burden, and if he were here, I would not be able to cope with my other obligations.

I wish I could make it work.

I believe the staff at the ALF likes him. That’s a good thing. They don’t like all of their charges. There is a lady named Emma who wanders around making trouble. She takes food from other people’s plates, for example. She offends the other patients, and there are quarrels. I saw one of the attendants grab her and drag her away from another resident. The attendant was very angry. Not appropriate, but I suppose she has dealt with this dozens of times. She had to wrestle her across the room, and while she was doing it, she started yelling, “DON’T START TO FALL, EMMA!” Emma slowly dropped to the floor and refused to move. The attendant asked for help picking her up. Emma let out loud, strident shrieks, like a toddler throwing a tantrum at Walmart. She had to be dragged a few feet, or at least the attendant saw it that way.

I thought the attendant was a little rough with her, but I can’t solve everyone’s problems, so I did not insert myself in the situation. I am also reluctant to offend people who will have power over my dad when I’m not around. I did pray for them later.

My dad could have been an Emma. God spared him that.

A friend of mine put his mother in an ALF, and she fights the attendants. She’s obese, and when they lower her to the toilet, she drops suddenly in order to frustrate them. Of course, this makes it more likely that she’ll break a hip, but that apparently doesn’t matter to her. The remainder of her life will be harder than it has to be, because of her personality.

I continue to rearrange the house, and every change I make feels like an execution. I have a special refrigerator I got to keep my food free of contamination, and this morning I took everything out of it, moved it to the kitchen fridge, turned it off, and left the doors open.

I have frozen food I bought for my dad. He used to eat it every day. Maybe I should be ashamed, but I just did not want to spend an extra two hours every day, cooking and doing dishes. I got him Jimmy Dean biscuits, which are actually very good, and I also got him things like frozen Italian food, which I will never eat. I want to throw the Italian food out, but I will feel like I’m throwing my dad out with it.

I will keep it a little longer.

It feels as though I have been surrounded by death this week. A couple of days back, I checked my dad’s Facebook account to see if anything important was going on, and I learned that his Aunt Gladys had died during the first week of February; she was nearly 103 years old. I wrote about Gladys a long time ago. I met her in 2007, I believe. She was an incredible person. She got out of Eastern Kentucky and made something of herself. She spent her life teaching school. She also hunted and made her own furniture. I knew she had started to fail, but it was a surprise to learn she had died. Toward the end, dementia set in, so she had to move to a nursing home.

The next day, I found out her son Wade had died. He died roughly a year ago. Because my dad lost the ability to use computers, he didn’t keep up with emails and social media, and I suppose no one tried to contact him. Wade was a writer. He sold one book. He was a leftist, unlike his mother, and I believe he was also an atheist. He was about 8 years younger than my dad, and the last time I saw him, he looked very good, so learning of his death knocked me off balance.

I belong to a machining forum. Yesterday, I read that a guy I used to interact with had died suddenly. He had fluid around his heart, and when he went in to have it removed, his heart stopped, and he was placed on a ventilator. His doctors concluded that he had very little chance of recovering, so his wife let him go.

Ordinarily, I would not be all that moved by the death of an Internet forum member, but this week, it was just icing on the cake.

I prayed last night, and I let God know I was not feeling very good. I felt a lot of grief, and I was not interested in having it increased in the near future. Because God has given me a lot of supernatural weaponry, I am usually able to bounce back from things quickly, so I blame myself when bad feelings persist. I talked to God about that, and suddenly, I felt the grief abate. I felt as though Jesus were inside me, shining out love and peace like a lantern.

That was very nice, and I accepted it, but I wasn’t completely on board with it. Part of me wanted to be upset. When I was a kid, I learned that if I were upset, and people knew about it, they might give me things I wanted. I learned to manipulate. Last night, I realized I had pulled this trick on God a lot.

Part of me wanted God to fix things and make them perfect, instead of fixing me.

God has the power to make you feel peaceful and happy regardless of your circumstances. Human beings tend to set goals for themselves with the idea that once they get what they want, they’ll be happy. Life doesn’t really work that way. It feels good to get what you want or need, but in reality, you should not let your circumstances determine how you feel.

I mentioned that to my dad yesterday, and he said it was a deep truth. It made a big impression on him. I have him on my side.

Many times, I’ve asked God for things, believing they would alleviate my suffering. I should have asked him to help me not to tie my emotional state to my circumstances. God wants to give us things, but it’s more important that we become impervious to distress. Remember the story of Jesus, sleeping in the boat during the storm? He got up and calmed the storm, but while the storm was still raging and threatening to kill everyone on the boat, he slept in peace. He did not worry. We should be like that, and it’s possible to get there.

If God gives you peace without changing your circumstances, you can feel cheated or disappointed. I can, anyway. That’s childish. Something for me to think about in the future.

Covetousness comes from linking your happiness to your circumstances. “If I have my best friend’s girlfriend, I’ll be happy.” “If I have my boss’s job, I’ll be happy.” “If I have this year’s Iphone, I’ll be happy.” Satan puts bait in front of us, and we chase it. Then we find out the happiness it brings is shallow, fleeting, or nonexistent.

Speaking of circumstances, I had a weird dream last night. A woman I know showed up at my house. She was sort of adrift, like a homeless person. She needed rest and a place to get it together. I gave her a bed here. Oddly, she had her own food. She had saved a drink and half a sandwich from meal earlier in the day. She went and got it, and she ate it while lying in bed. We felt very close to each other, in a way that was romantic, which is not how our relationship works in real life. I haven’t heard from her in a long time. It seemed as if I had been given to her to provide shelter, rest, and comfort, and she had been sent to me for comfort and for the simple benefit of having someone to care for.

Someone who is not demented or close to death, I mean. A Christian, not a missionary case.

She leans to the left politically, because she grew up among self-pitiers and social justice warriors (redundant). We talked about that in the dream. I asked her if she prayed in tongues, because people who pray in tongues become more conservative (more appalled by leftism) over time, and she said she did it for 90 minutes a day. I wondered why she hadn’t experienced a shift. She’s a proud lady, though, and pride kills growth.

Since I woke up, I have been experiencing odd feelings of warmth and attachment for this woman.

Strange dream. Did it come from God? Did it come from another spirit? Time will tell.

It was not the kind of dream I would have asked for. When there is a lot of grief in your life, you don’t particularly want to be reminded of the things you have failed at. I am old and single. When I want to move heavy furniture, I have to wait until someone visits. When I have work done on the car, I have to sit in the waiting area because I have no one to drive me home. I am thinking of buying a back scratcher. I don’t want to have my face rubbed in that while I sleep. On the morning of Valentine’s Day.

Valentine’s Day is a phony holiday, like Mothers’ Day, made up to sell jewelry and flowers. For that matter, the “saints” are not legitimate; they were elevated and worshiped to please Christians who didn’t want to give up pagan deities. The day has never meant anything to me. But still.

To make things worse, the woman in the dream is very, very attractive. I would feel better if she looked like Captain Lou Albano in drag.

Next month should be more cheerful. Let me think. What’s coming up? St. Patrick’s Day (useless for sober people) and the anniversary of my mother’s death, not to mention her birthday.

Okay, April will be easier. I am sure of it. Let’s just plan on that.

If most people I know could just remain alive through the end of this week, I would consider it a big favor.

Anyway, I will pursue the peace and joy of the Holy Spirit instead of grasping at temporary fixes. If I can get the solution that works, the mirages and mermaids won’t cause me problems.

If You Want to Fit in, You’d Better be a Nonconformist

I watch a lot of car shows. I don’t care that much about cars, but I like watching people use tools. I love metalworking. Car shows are full of that kind of thing.

The other day I sat down to watch, and I made a remark to myself about how it was time to watch more guys with black T-shirts and creepy beards. Then I thought about what I had said.

The people who customize and restore cars on TV tend to fall into a certain demographic. They really do wear black T-shirts, and many of them have very creepy beards, like convicts. Many are covered with vulgar tattoos (redundant). Quite a few have fallen prey to the fad of body mutilation modification. They are neck-deep in modern hipster culture. Most are not what you would call devout Christians, although there are exceptions. There was a show called Fat & Furious which featured Christian car builders.

I’ve noticed something else. Many of them like to preach. They talk a lot about family, warmth, and doing the right thing. At least a couple of the shows (The Ride That Got Away and Overhaulin’) make a pretense of building cars out of altruism. They find people they claim are especially deserving, and they build cars for them (oddly, one free-car recipient was wealthy then-Depp-wife Amber Heard). One show modified a car so a disabled vet could use it. Another fixed up a car so it would lift a cancer patient up to the seat.

These shows feature what I call “the alternative righteousness.”

Christians are demonized in today’s American culture. We are seen as bullies and haters. Non-Christians love using homosexuality and sexual confusion to beat us up. When we offer correction, intending to help people get out of the clutches of Satan, we are characterized as vicious bigots.

Non-Christians love giving us Bible lessons. They have decided they own Jesus. They have learned one phrase from the Bible: “Judge not.” They have discarded everything else, including the verses condemning perversion and fornication, as well as the verses obligating us to warn people who are in sin. They tell us they’re more like Jesus than we are. They think Jesus’ entire message was this: “Be nice and never criticize anyone.” They aren’t interested in the Bible passages that say the lustful will not enter the kingdom of heaven and that Jesus will return and make his robe wet with the blood of sinners. He is returning, and what he will do will not be nice at all.

Many non-Christians have decided they’re better than we are, because (in their minds) they’re nicer than we are. To them, this is righteousness. They’re not interested in God’s righteousness, which includes justice and obedience. Whether they realize it or not, they think they’re better than God.

Satan has lots of gimmicks, which he recycles. If you don’t fall for one, he brings out another. The alternative righteousness is one of his current projects. He intends to convince unbelievers they don’t need Jesus, because they’re so good without him.

Today God showed me what’s behind all this. It’s the spirit of Antichrist.

“Antichrist” doesn’t just mean “against Christ.” It refers to spirits and ideas that are intended to REPLACE Christ. People who are caught up in the alternative righteousness aren’t just rejecting Jesus; they’re trying to prove they can do a better job than he would. They think they can give the world love, compassion, and kindness, plus homosexuality, fornication, drug abuse, and pride.

It doesn’t work, of course. First of all, they’re not really all that loving. They pretend to be, but it’s superficial. God wants us to have invincible love that comes from the Holy Spirit living within us. He wants us to have supernatural love. You can’t get that by wearing cause ribbons or getting tattoos featuring the faces of your dead relatives. Second, they’re working against themselves. You can’t indulge your flesh with sexual sin and pride without inviting things like anger and cruelty. Sexual sin and pride are selfish; there is nothing good or altruistic about them. You can’t give yourself to selfishness and self-sacrifice simultaneously.

If you insist on doing a thing your own way, on your own terms, you’re not doing it for anyone but yourself.

The alternative righteousness people are working to create a world in which man creates righteousness without Jesus. They will invite us to participate, while making it impossible for us to do so in good conscience. When we turn them down, we will be condemned for it. This already happened in Rome. The Romans had many false “gods,” and they were perfectly willing to include God himself, but Christians refused to acknowledge the fakes, and for that reason, they were considered divisive and dangerous.

A whole lot of “nice” people are going to try to drive us off the planet. They won’t all wear scary uniforms like the Gestapo. They’ll wear yoga pants and torn jeans and black T-shirts. They’ll be covered in tattoos that say things like, “In Loving Memory of Tito.”

It makes sense. The Antichrist himself is supposed to be a man who brings peace and prosperity to the world. He’ll suck people in by making their problems go away. He’ll be the nicest man who ever lived. When we criticize, people will think we’re against a shiny, happy world with single-payer healthcare, no wars, and no homeless people.

My guess is that the alternative righteousness will morph into open wickedness, including cruelty and murder, once the ball really gets rolling. Think of Islam. In places where Muslims are in the minority, Islam is called the Religion of Peace. In places where Muslims are powerful, they bomb churches and pass discriminatory laws. When the black T-shirts are too powerful to oppose, they won’t have to pretend to be nice any more, and their boss won’t want them to. Satan may pretend to be nice in order to get the upper hand, but he won’t be able to stomach it for long. He loves making human beings, who resemble their creator, suffer. He will want to fly his true colors as soon as the act becomes unnecessary.

People who think Jesus was always nice, or that he only cared about being nice, will make excellent dupes for the Antichrist. They already do, and churches are full of them. They don’t want to hear about God drowning the human race. They don’t want to hear about the time Jesus beat strangers with a whip, or the time Peter fatally cursed a man and his wife. They want us all to be pro-gay vegan Buddhist pacifist Christians who practice mindfulness. They’ve converted most American churches already.

I don’t know why I’m writing about this. It’s going to happen regardless of what Christians do. I suppose it’s good to see it coming, though.

I still like watching the shows, but now I remember to pray for the people who appear in them.

Tooling up for the Days Ahead

My dad now prays with me, with enthusiasm. During this strange new time, I am trying to make the most of our visits. Had we had a healthy Christian family, we would have prayed together so many times by now, we wouldn’t be able to count them, and praying together wouldn’t seem like a big deal. As it is, I know we will not have many opportunities, so I can’t squander them.

Two days ago, my dad said something so amazing, I transcribed it into my phone so I could put it on my blog. I told him we should pray together while I was there, and he said, “Will you make sure we do? Aw, good.”

Imagine the pope saying, “We need to get rid of all these statues and figurines, because they’re idols.” Imagine an Orthodox rabbi announcing that it’s okay to eat pork. That’s how strange it is for my dad to ask me to make sure we pray.

Whenever I start talking to my dad about God, I tense up, wondering if he’s going to tell me the Bible is all fairy tales. It never happens. He says it’s very interesting. He says getting right with God is the most important thing in the world. Sometimes he asks me if I really believe certain things, but he doesn’t do it in order to be argumentative. He asks with hope. He wants me to confirm things.

Yesterday I dug up some old CD’s of Wayne Cochran reciting helpful Bible verses. I have ripped two disks, and now they’re in my phone. I got a Bluetooth speaker, and the next time I see my dad, I’m going to play one of the recordings. I don’t know if he’ll be able to understand, but it’s worth a shot. I can also play worship music for him.

Today, a lamination machine will arrive at my house. I’m going to create at least one sheet of helpful scriptures for my dad, and I’ll leave it with him at the ALF. I don’t think it’s realistic to expect him to read the Bible, but he can get through a sheet without drifting off. He may forget what he read, but he will always have the sheets handy, so he’ll be able to read them again.

I don’t know what else to do.

I emailed The Last Reformation, asking if they had any advice on baptizing a dementia patient. They did not. That’s bizarre. It’s a need that should be filled. Many people turn to God when they become ill or disabled and have to let go of pride, and many of them are not easy to baptize. You would think every city would have mobile baptism trucks. It wouldn’t be expensive.

I wonder if anyone makes plastic Bibles. I’m checking. Amazon has waterproof Bibles, but it’s not clear if they contain the entire text. It would be nice if my dad had a Bible which could be cleaned.

I don’t believe baptism is essential to salvation, but it’s essential to a fully developed walk with God. Maybe it’s too much to ask for. Hell has been my big concern. I’m not going to complain if I can’t get anything better for my dad than salvation, because salvation is the most important thing there is.

The problems I have today are much better than the problems I used to have. As recently as a month ago, I was wondering if I had merely imagined that God had told me my dad would be saved.

There is nothing like hearing from God. He told me my dad would be saved, and he told me my sister and my former pastors were time-wasters. He said to quit praying for them. I continued working on my dad, which went against my own impression of his susceptibility to salvation, and I stopped wasting effort on tar babies who had no intention of changing.

Jesus told the disciples where to cast their nets. He still does that. Most preachers use dubious, manipulative bait instead of nets, and they fish wherever their limited minds tell them to. Many preachers don’t catch many fish, and some who have big catches are fooling themselves. There are big churches full of people who aren’t real Christians and are headed for hell.

I don’t know how long we’ll have together. Yesterday I checked Amazon for boxes suitable for cremation remains. I don’t want to have to shop at the last minute. They have a wide selection, and you can get something acceptable for around fifty bucks. My dad’s will says he wants a simple box.

I feel uncomfortable about ordering it, but I might as well go ahead. I don’t have to put it where I can see it. I can stick it in my storage room.

My dad is saved, and I know what to do when he passes. I don’t think things could be going any better, considering what we gave God to work with.

Black Thumb Can’t Stand up to God

Yesterday I got a very encouraging call from my friend Travis, whom I baptized a couple of weeks ago.

As has been discussed here earlier, I was re-baptized in December. I had been baptized before, in 1988, but the people who ran the show didn’t know what they were doing. They didn’t understand that baptism was supposed to have supernatural effects. They didn’t know how to prepare me for it with confession and repentance. They didn’t explain that I was to go forward as a person who had died to the flesh, giving myself completely to God.

After I was baptized, I found I had much more self-control. I needed that.

Without baptism, people (even Spirit-filled Christians) are controlled largely by demons. Most people don’t know that, but it’s true. You don’t have to be a serial killer or a mad bomber to have demons. We all have them, and if you don’t have God’s help, they rule you. Their influence manifests in physical problems, and it also gives us bad habits we can’t control. Examples are drug addiction, anger (emotions and attitudes can be habits), depression, overeating, laziness, self-pity, lust, fetishes (including homosexuality), and so on. They can cause mental illness.

Travis was trying to get improvement from God, and he needed more help. Like me, he had already been baptized, but the people who had performed his baptisms (more than one) had been incompetent.

Last night he called about something, and I asked him if he had received any benefit.

He told me he had found that he was able to control himself much better than he had in the past. He said he was getting a lot of help with humility. He’s a music student, and when he got to college, his instructors told him a lot of what he had learned was wrong. It was hard for him to accept it and change. Lately, he has been able to overcome his pride and make use of the correction he was receiving, and his playing has improved a great deal. He has also gotten help with other negative behaviors.

In short, like me, he has experienced greater self-control.

He told me something I didn’t expect. He said he is more accountable now. Because he can prevent himself from doing wrong, he can’t blame demons or other people when he gives in to temptation.

It was interesting to hear him say that. I suppose I knew baptism had made me more accountable, but I hadn’t thought about it.

His revelation was very helpful to me. I don’t want to profane the gift of Holy-Spirit-powered self-control. Jesus said that if you blaspheme the Holy Spirit, there is no forgiveness. The Holy Spirit is the last gift God has to offer us on this earth. He’s not going to send another Messiah with more gifts, so if you blow your chance with the Holy Spirit, you are in trouble.

I don’t think a person will automatically go to hell for opposing or insulting the Holy Spirit one time. If that were true, who would survive? I think Jesus meant that if we continued in it, we would be lost. The world is full of reformed pagans who used to blaspheme the Holy Spirit regularly as part of their religions. I don’t think God has made it impossible for such people to escape judgment.

If you have Holy-Spirit-given self-control, and you choose not to use it, there is no hope for you, because God has no more gifts for us to receive. The only thing left for him to do would be to override your free will, and he will never do that. He throws people into hell every day because he prefers it to taking away their free will.

It’s always good to learn something from a person I’ve taught. I am not Jesus. I am not right about everything. I am not the source of the useful knowledge I spread. I just pass on what I hear from God. If I do a good job, the people I communicate with will eventually hear from God, too (hopefully better than I do), and at some point, each of them should be able to teach me something.

If the people you teach never come back and teach you, you have failed.

Preachers tend to glorify themselves and set themselves up as little gods, especially when they have TV shows. They try to give themselves franchises; they convince their flocks that anyone who wants to hear from God in their churches has to go to them. It’s sick. Jesus is in the reproduction business. He wants to multiply himself. He doesn’t want us to worship popes and pastors. Each of us is supposed to communicate with the Father directly.

When I think about this, I always think about what I was told about the Iraqi army, which was the 4th-largest army at one time, yet which could not stand for more than a day or two against other armies.

When Iraqi commanders received fancy new equipment, they confiscated most of the manuals. If an officer was in charge of 50 tankers, for example, only he would have all the tank manuals, and when there were problems, people had to go to him. It was a bureaucratic strategy; the essence of bureaucracy is to put your own job security above the welfare of the organization. An officer who is the only source of vital information is automatically indispensable. You can’t demote him.

Because of this policy, the Iraqis were much weaker than they should have been. They had equipment they couldn’t run, maintain, or repair properly.

That’s the story, anyway.

When “men of God” convince their followers no one else is qualified to lead, they make themselves seem godlike and indispensable. Unfortunately, they keep their followers undeveloped, deformed, and vulnerable.

The Catholic Church has always been a huge offender in this area. They used to have a policy of punishing common people for owning Bibles, and of course, they tended to burn people who heard from God. They also conducted services in Latin, which few people understood.

The only reason God leaves saved people on the earth is to help other people get to know him and receive salvation. The Bible says so.

Moses was the humblest man on earth. Some of his followers tried to make him the exclusive representative of God; they complained that other people were prophesying. Moses said, “Are you jealous for my sake? Oh, that all the Lord’s people were prophets and that the Lord would put His Spirit upon them!”

Preachers are extremely disappointing, but we continue to insist on idolizing them. We love to worship things we can see.

I asked if anyone had shown interest in having Travis baptize them, and he said two people had. He is taking his time, however. He says he wants to be ready to do it. He wants to be improved to the point where he can do a competent job. I’m not sure he’s right to wait, but it’s wonderful to know that he’s aware that pride and rushing could cause problems. I can understand his hesitation. Before last month, he had been baptized at least 4 times, and the people who did it failed because they weren’t prepared.

Like Torben Sondergaard says, if you don’t do it right, it’s just a pool party.

It’s very rewarding to see that I have been of some use. I hope I see more fruit in the future. If the things you tell people are true, sooner or later, they will bring you a harvest, and after that, you will be blessed through the people you blessed.

Some People Carry Bad Weather With Them

I visited my dad again yesterday in the ALF, and things went pretty well. We prayed together again. He is now very enthusiastic about it. People who know him would have to see him to believe it.

He continues to complain that he wants me to be with him all the time. I have had to explain that almost nobody can be with their grown children all the time. It doesn’t seem to help.

Yesterday he told me that when I leave, it’s as though a dark cloud settles around him until he sees me again.

That remark hit home. For years, I’ve told people my dad seemed to have a dark cloud around him, because of the darkness of his heart and his distance from God. One of the benefits I hoped to receive when he moved was the removal of his cloud from this house.

The atmosphere around people who don’t know God is different from the atmosphere around Spirit-filled Christians. It has a cheap, dirty, tawdry feel about it. There is an air of denial around them as they try to convince themselves life without God is bright and sunny. It reminds me of Disney; the Disney combine strives very hard to replace the warmth of Christianity with a broadly marketable fake, but deep down, there is a very cold, dirty core.

Unbelievers can’t perceive the ambience of stress and dissipation that surrounds them. They haven’t been in God’s presence, or they’ve worked to forget it, so they think their situations are fine.

If you enter my home now, you will probably hear Christian music, if you hear music at all. If the TV is on, you will not see dirty or cynical movies or shows. You will see Christian videos or relatively harmless programming about things like technology. What do you encounter in non-Christian homes? HBO and Showtime. Marvel movies. Movies like the Jack Reacher and Equalizer films, which are essentially revenge porn. Rap music. Rock. Vapid dance music or sappy singers, if females are choosing the material. News shows featuring leftist extremists. You may smell weed.

When my dad was here, he watched a lot of garbage, and he kept the volume high. The area where he sat was dirty. He satisfied his flesh with ice cream and cookies. He was angry a lot of the time. The door to his bedroom suite was usually open, and when it was, you could smell it from the living room.

His cloud was with him. It sat in the central part of the house, demanding attention. It destroyed peace whenever it could.

Now that he says he feels that a cloud settles on him when I’m gone, I’m wondering if he misses me partly because my presence dulled the sensations his rebellion called down on him. It may very well be that his cloud was a cloud of demons, and now he has the cloud, but he doesn’t have me to offset its influence.

I wish we could live together, but I don’t want that cloud to be with me all day any more. There is no practical way to overcome the difficulties of caring for a dementia patient here, but even if there were, I would feel like I were spitting on God’s help if I brought my dad’s cloud back.

Many people who are rebellious go to church. They smoke dope and fornicate all week, and they like to say, “Only God can judge me.” They like to tattoo it on their bodies. They go to church the same way pairs of heavily soiled underwear go to washing machines. They’re looking for temporary relief, not lasting change. Church makes them feel clean, and it dulls their fear and the torment of guilt. Then they go home, fully intending to resume sinning.

People who are committed to rebellion are capable of drawing comfort from the presence of committed Christians.

When Saul was in rebellion, God sent him a tormenting spirit. The only thing that made him feel better was the presence of David, who went to him and played the harp. Saul didn’t repent, but he was still comforted while David was with him. I wonder if this is a picture of what has been going on between my dad and me. I’m not saying I’m as pleasing to God as David, but I know God personally, and I spend time in his presence. Many of the good things I’ve done for my dad were done because of my desire to please God. That also goes for harsh things I’ve refrained from doing and saying.

I keep telling my dad he needs to pray and draw comfort from God, not me. It’s very hard for him to learn, though, and I’m sure his entourage of demons makes it even harder.

I made him a laminated sheet of information, to bring him comfort. It has my phone number and address on it, among other things. I included some information about God and an admonition to pray. It has helped him. I’m going to make him a few more sheets with helpful Bible verses. I ordered a laminating machine. They’re cheap, and I won’t have to drive 15 miles to get sheets made.

He can’t read a book any more, because as soon as he puts it down, he’ll forget what he read. In order to read a long work, you have to be able to remember things from one day to the next.

I’m thinking about playing Bible verse MP3’s for him when I visit. I have a little MP3 speaker thing somewhere. I also have some recordings of Wayne Cochran (“the King of Blue-Eyed Soul”) reciting Biblical verses promising protection. Maybe it would help.

The Bible is full of promises, and most people don’t realize it. You can take the promises to God and call on him to fulfill them. Barring a miracle, my dad will never be highly knowledgeable about Christianity, but maybe I can help him access a few important things.

I know he uses the sheet I made, because last night, he called me. I was amazed. I had told him the ALF staff could help him call, using the information on the sheet, but I didn’t expect him to remember to use it. I don’t want him to monopolize my time from the ALF, but I was very glad to hear from him. It gave me a chance to offer him comfort and pray for him again. I wish I could do more. There are some things we have to do for ourselves.

God Doesn’t Hide his Face Forever

It’s time for an update on my dad’s situation.

I continue to be very impressed with the ALF where he lives. Every time I mention it to a professional involved with elder care, I am told how exceptional it is. This week, I talked to an attorney about getting VA money for my dad, and when she found out where he was, she told me it was the only ALF in the county with an ECC license. I don’t know what that stands for, but you can Google it and then pretend to be smart in a comment.

The basic idea is that this type of license will allow the ALF to provide care for my dad longer than other ALF’s. ALF licenses mandate that patients be moved to other facilities when they deteriorate past certain points, and all the other ALF’s here would have to ship my dad out much sooner, costing us money and causing disruption.

The lawyer was impressed, and that says a lot, because she was recommended by a friend of hers who runs a competing ALF.

God really looked out for me. I had no idea what I was doing. There are dozens of ALF’s around here. What are the odds I would find the best choice on my own?

Another bonus: just from a free consultation with the lawyer, I found out how to push everything my dad has out of the probate loop, and that saved us a great deal of money plus a prolonged hassle you would not believe. I didn’t know how much trouble we were in, but it’s all fixed now. So far, this has cost me nothing, and when I get together with the attorney again, I don’t expect our remaining loose-end fixes to cost much.

My dad has been stable for the last couple of days. He actually seems somewhat better. Yesterday, he remembered that I had a sister.

He still wastes a lot of our time together trying to work out a way to go home, and that’s unfortunate. By God’s grace, I learned that he changes channels when I talk about people who don’t have his advantages. Many ALF residents don’t get visits from loved ones. Many don’t have relatives looking after them at all. Many are in cheap, dirty, impersonal ALF’s that are essentially warehouses. When I tell him how good he has it, he begins to focus on that, and he regrets complaining. He starts talking about how blessed we are.

He keeps telling me what a wonderful son I am and how much he loves me. It sounds so strange; I haven’t forgotten how the family saw him when I was a kid. He was a scourge. How can that same person be so effusive now? I’m very grateful for the change, however. He could be telling me he hates me and that I’m a terrible son. In other words, he could be like my sister, who has assured me I’m going to hell.

I make sure we pray together every time I sit down with him. It’s something I used to dream about. I am going to do everything I can to make sure he goes to be with Jesus when he dies. That would more than redeem the time and suffering involved in caring for him during his decline.

I’m somewhat less sad about the process of fixing up the house in the wake of his permanent departure. I still don’t like it when I make changes that reflect the fact that he is never going to come home, but I’m getting used to it, and I am comforted by his sudden enthusiasm for prayer. Every parent dies, but not all of them turn their lives around before they go. One day I’ll see him again, in perfect health, with all his faculties.

Because he’s not here, I’m getting on top of things I allowed to slide. I finally got new tires yesterday. I would say the whole effort took over three hours. I had to sit at Walmart and do nothing for much of that time. When he was living here, I would have had to take an Uber to get back to him, and then I would have had to take another one to go get the car.

The first floor of the house is getting cleaner and neater. I can finally say my dad’s laundry is clean. I had to wash all the bedclothes twice, and I kept finding other things, like his bedroom slippers, that needed to be washed. I had to remove the cover from his mattress and wash and dry it over three days.

The living room has been dusted and re-dusted, and I cleaned all the furniture. I shampooed the rugs. Today I opened the fireplace flue to see if I could find out why I kept seeing wasps in the room. A bunch of wasps fell out and landed on me. Thank God they’re not aggressive. I sprayed some poison up the chimney, and I used my new cordless stick vacuum to suck up dozens of confused and possibly stoned wasps. I’m going to make a fire as soon as this hot spell ends. That ought to discourage anybody who is still squatting in there.

Back when I thought my dad’s mattress was hopeless, I ordered a new one from Walmart. When I found I could save his mattress, I thought about sending the new one back, but I decided to keep it for myself. My old mattress is from 1994. Last night I moved the old one to another room, and I put the new one in its place. Very nice.

It must be okay, because as soon as I lie down, I start to fall asleep. I don’t understand that. It may make prayer difficult.

I’m paying more attention to our investments, and things are shaping up. It shouldn’t be long before they become a source of peace as well as income.

I wonder how much of this can be traced back to my baptism on December 19 of last year. Things have continually improved since then. The road has been bumpy, but the upward trend has been consistent. I wonder how many good things Christians have missed out on by settling for false baptisms.

I would still like to get my dad baptized. I do not believe it’s essential for salvation, but it’s clearly essential if you want everything God wants to give you. It would be very hard to baptize him in his current state, especially in the winter.

I watched Derek Prince talk about baptism today. He was a Greek scholar at Cambridge. He said “baptism” meant full immersion or having water poured (not sprinkled) over you. I don’t know if he was correct, but “baptism” is a Greek word, so he may have known something. I can certainly get my dad into a shower and pour a bucket of warm water on him. I don’t want to do it if it’s the wrong procedure. Also, I don’t know if it matters when he’s so close to the end. Maybe we should settle for salvation.

I pray about it. The answer will come.

It’s always sad to think about what has been wasted, and that can’t be fixed, but apart from that, I am very satisfied with the way life is going. I believe it will continue to improve, and whenever I learn something new about God which may help with the process, I will make good use of it.

I think about people who don’t have God to help them. Many people have their lives spin out of control and crash, and they don’t know God will put things right if given a chance. It could have happened to me; I worked very hard to assure that I would be cursed. I’m very glad I received correction. I wish everyone had it.

I’m getting so confident, I may conceivably try to vacuum the pool today, and I may even fix the chainsaw. I can’t wait to be completely ahead of my responsibilities.

If you have problems you can’t get on top of, give God a chance, and don’t quit early. Keep looking for things you’re doing wrong. Keep asking for correction. Don’t mistake obstacles and diversions for permanent defeats; sometimes they mean you’re doing the right thing. God didn’t put you down here to flounder and die. If things aren’t going right, it just means there are things you still need to do.

God’s Provision is not Always Obvious

Today, once more, I got up and use the giant new living room TV for worship. I enjoyed the freedom. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.

I made a change in what I do.

For years, God has been giving me phrases and sentences. Isaiah got chapters; I get phrases and sentences. I suppose no one will ever call me a prophet! It’s very good, though, and if you think about it, the book of Proverbs is made up, for the most part, of discrete sentences. I may not be up there with Jeremiah, but Solomon would be very good company. Before he fell into idolatry and died in disgrace, I mean.

I created Word documents (it just occurred to me how funny it is that I used a program with that name) to preserve the phrases in a convenient way. I take these documents out and recite the things God told me. I claim them and ask God to make them come to pass, when appropriate. Not all of the phrases involve things that can come to pass. Some just contain information.

When things aren’t going well, God always tells me the same thing: “If you’re not doing what I’ve already taught you to do, why are you bothering me? Go back and do what I told you.” My practice of going over my lists is something he told me to do. When I do it, he gives me peace. Often, I start to fall asleep while I’m doing it.

Yesterday, I felt a lot of grief. On the one hand, I wish my dad could live longer so I would not have to part with him. On the other, I don’t want to spend another 5 years watching him die. Normally, grief is a short-term thing. Most people take less than a year to die. Their loved ones then experience a short spell of intense grief, and then they move on, unless they’re trapped in the past or desperate for attention. With a dementia patient, death can take decades, and loved ones may grieve the whole time.

I started wondering if I should join a support group. I’m reluctant to do things like that. I feel like it would be an unequal yoking. First thing you know, I’d be sitting in a circle of people led by a 23-year-old transsexual lesbian teaching them to do yoga breathing and advising them to smoke dope. Perhaps I exaggerate, but I would expect to receive non-Christian solutions or incorrect Christian solutions. I am also reluctant to give up on God’s one-on-one help. I always tell people about the great things God does for me. How can I take myself seriously if I say things like that and then run to shrinks and witch doctors for help? If I can’t get through this with God’s help, something must be wrong.

When I went to bed, I knew I was going to pray, as always. I thought about God’s advice, which was like a “sticky” in an Internet forum: “Before you give up on me, do what I told you to do.”

I started going through my lists, and I used other tools God had given men. Before long, I fell asleep.

This morning, I made sure I took my lists to the living room with me, and I went over them.

Before I did that, I watched part of a Derek Prince video. He talked about “the word of God.” He said something I already knew: “the word of God” doesn’t just mean the Bible. Abraham had no Bible, but he had the word of God, because God spoke to him. Early Christians had no New Testament, but they had the word of God because they were baptized with the Holy Spirit and able to receive knowledge from God.

When the Old Testament says, “the word of God,” it’s not referring to the Bible. I think reading that would set a lot of wigs on fire, but it has to be true. If the Bible doesn’t exist yet, and you mention “the word of God,” you can’t be talking about the Bible.

If “the word of God” isn’t scripture in the Old Testament, then it can’t always mean scripture in the New Testament. Think about that.

Prince said the word of God may be scripture, but it includes things that haven’t been written down (“scripture” is a word that means written language).

I’m always amazed to hear Derek Prince confirm things God has shown me privately. Derek Prince died in 2003, and many of the messages I’ve watched date back well over 20 years, yet he confirms the “new” things God has told me since 2007. I always wonder why his teachings didn’t catch on. Charismatics have been frantically wasting their lives on the prosperity gospel and the feel-good gospel, and they have listened to utter fools, but they let Derek Prince blow right by them, and he said things that could have saved them.

It reminds me of something Rabelais said about Parisians:

Some days after they had finished their refreshments, Gargantua went to see the sights of the town, and everyone stared at him in great wonder. For the Parisians are such simpletons, such gapers, and such feckless idiots that a buffoon, a peddler of indulgences, a mule with bells on its collar, or a fiddler at a crossroad will draw a greater crowd than a good preacher of the Gospel.

TBN has a lot of mules with bells on their collars, and they certainly have peddlers of indulgences. Give God your tax refund, and he’ll help you buy a new bass boat.

Prince pointed out that the Bible calls Jesus himself “the Word.”

I’m a big proponent of prayer in tongues. Yahweh speaks things, Jesus speaks them to the Holy Spirit, the Holy Spirit speaks them to us, and they come out as tongues. I always say that tongues are the word of God. It’s axiomatic. If the Holy Spirit says something, and the Holy Spirit is God, then what he says is the word of God.

It must also be true that the phrases God gives me are the word of God. Prince gave me confirmation that I was right to add them to my morning activities.

Prince said some things that surprised me. He mentioned these words of Jesus:

Jesus answered and said to him, “If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word; and My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our home with him. He who does not love Me does not keep My words; and the word which you hear is not Mine but the Father’s who sent Me.”

This confirms that Jesus repeats what Yahweh says. It also tells me this: if the Holy Spirit tells me something, I’m supposed to write it down or at least memorize it. The Greek word translated “keep” means “guard,” “maintain,” or “preserve.” By writing down my lists, I have been keeping God’s word! That means Jesus and the Father will come to me and make their home with me.

If you’re not hearing things from God on your own, you still have the Bible. You should be very familiar with it. You should have many, many important bits of it in your memory. If not, how are you “keeping” God’s word?

I’ve failed to record things God has said to me. That’s horrifying. I have to stop being wasteful if I want to keep receiving things.

If you’re not keeping God’s word, how can you love God? Jesus said, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” You will take care of anything you really care about.

I’ve let myself become spoiled. I figured the words kept coming, so it wasn’t that big a deal if I let some of them slip by me. But the vast majority of people, including tongue-talking Christians, don’t receive anything at all. Remember what our parents used to say when we wouldn’t eat liver: “There are kids in China who would do anything for a nice piece of liver.” You have to appreciate what you have.

I still hate liver. I want to make that clear before I go on. I’ll bet Chinese kids hate it, too.

It’s remarkable how the Bible starts to make sense when you spend time with the Holy Spirit. It’s also remarkable how wrong traditional carnal interpretations are. Men’s wild guesses have always caused problems after being transformed into doctrine.

I’m glad there is more room in my house for God now. Things keep improving. Today I bathed the birds (imagine their gratitude), did a lot of dusting, and laundered some of my dad’s bedclothes over again. I feel that the Holy Spirit is bringing order.

Dusting is surprisingly important. Even if you have superficial order, if you don’t dust, your house will start to feel smaller and less peaceful.

I told a friend of mine how things were getting ordered, and she sent me a Damon Thompson MP3. He said something about how each of us needed a place where we could host the Holy Spirit. If I understood him, he meant that a Christian should have a chair or a room or something, set apart for God. I can’t quite go along with that.

If you’re Spirit-led, your entire house should belong to God, and you should be able to spend time with him there. On the other hand, you should be able to be in God’s presence ANYWHERE. As happy as I am to be able to worship in the living room, I don’t depend on it. God is kind enough to show me his presence wherever I am. I would be in trouble if I literally had a prayer closet I had to sit in when I wanted to be with God. You can’t carry a prayer closet around with you.

I like having the new TV and the nice room in which it sits, but I can’t say I NEED them.

I’m not a huge Damon Thompson fan. It always seems like he’s trying to show off his intellect. Christianity is not like rabbinic Judaism. It’s not a faith where only the brilliant can excel. Your native intelligence means nothing to God. You can be a powerful Christian no matter what your IQ is. We’re supposed to have the mind of Christ on tap, and I can tell you that it works. I’ve seen very simple people teach perfectly, from revelation they received on their own.

The reason God created the universe is love. We get very proud of our revelations, as though we came up with them ourselves, and we forget about love. God used ignorant people to shame the arrogant teachers who disagreed with Jesus. There was a reason why he chose fishermen and a beggar instead of priests. He wanted to embarrass the proud in public.

When we finally understand the entire Bible, we are going to see that many things we were sure were true are nonsense. If you can hear from God on your own, he will help you find the truth and detect error. Then you won’t have to rely on human beings. That’s the state to which we are supposed to aspire. We should be so connected with God, it wouldn’t matter if every Bible on earth were burned or deleted. Abraham and Enoch got by with God himself, so we know it can be done.

New Prayer Partner: my Dad

I spent time with my dad today at the ALF. He was very worried. He said he was unhappy. He asked me if I had any sisters.

It was a very good visit.

Doesn’t sound like a good visit, does it? It was, though. Several good things happened. I got to spend time with someone who is likely to forget he knows me pretty soon. I got to pray with my dad, the former atheist, and I was able to talk to him about developing a relationship with God. Those things are worth a lot.

The problems would be there no matter what, but we could have ended up with a situation in which he hadn’t asked for salvation and refused to pray. Because we did not, I am grateful.

I think I understand why he keeps paying me compliments and telling me how important I am to him. I’m the only person he knows. He interacts with the ALF staff, but he can’t get to know them. He has forgotten my sister. My mother is dead. He has no friends left to come see him. One of his sisters is dead, his other sister has dementia, and none of his relatives are going to drop by. That leaves me. I can see why he has become more attached to me.

I’m not saying he never loved me or that selfishness is the only reason he craves my company now, but when you only know one person, that person will necessarily be important to you.

He finally knows he has dementia. He should have realized it a long time ago. Maybe a spirit helped him stay in denial. He wants to know certain things, in order to feel secure, but he knows that if I tell him, he won’t remember them after I’m gone. It drives him crazy.

He says that when I’m gone, he doesn’t know whether I’m ever coming back. He knows he can’t remember where I live. He knows he can’t recall my phone number. I said I would put some facts on a sheet of paper, have it laminated, and bring it to him. He can keep it by the bed. Maybe it will make him feel more secure. We have written things down already, but he misplaces the papers.

I told him he needed to start talking to God. Only God is available 24 hours a day. I told him God knew who he was, that he cared about him, and that he would help. I told him God was just waiting to hear from him.

When we prayed, I asked God to visit him and help him to be free from worry. I don’t recall my exact words, but I’m sure I prayed for God to help him to be close to him and to pray often. My dad agreed in prayer, and he was serious.

His problem is that he gave in to God after he became demented. He was not in the habit of praying, and now he can’t form that habit unless God gives him supernatural help.

For some reason, security is a huge issue for him. He has the idea that if we don’t live together, something could happen to me, and then he would have no one to look after him and see that he gets care. I had to tell him our living together wouldn’t protect me from things like that.

When I was a little boy, sometimes I thought about the possibility that my mother would die, and I couldn’t stand it. It seemed to me that the world would end if she were gone. Maybe that’s how my dad feels about me.

We talked in circles for a long time. “Why can’t we stay together?” “Taking care of you is too much work for one person.” “I can look after myself.” “I wish you could, but you’re not able.” “Try me.” “We tried it for several years, and it got so hard we had to give up.” “There has to be a solution.” “This is best solution I could come up with.” When we got far enough from the original question, he would go back to it, and we would start over.

I lost count of the number of times he asked me where he lived.

We got to pray together. I got to have another session with the man who raised me, before he forgets me. I have hope that we’ll be together forever. These are the things that matter. They’re why I’ll look forward to seeing him from now on.

God told me my dad would be saved. He has been telling me for years. Sometimes I doubted. Now he has pulled it off. That’s our God for you. Never say a word against him. He cares about every one of us, and he is completely faithful. I wish I could say he had told me every person I had prayed about would be saved. I can’t. I’m very glad he got through to this one, however.

Information I was Not Eager to Acquire

I think the master bedroom in my house is finally clean.

I am trying not to call it “my dad’s bedroom.” I’m very tired of grief. My belief is that the more I try to move forward, the better I’ll feel.

Since the beginning of the year, I have shampooed the bedroom carpet four times. I put bleach in the machine. It didn’t hurt the carpet. I thought the carpet was hopeless, but now it’s so clean I’m not afraid to walk barefoot on it or to put objects on it which I intend to pick up later with my bare hands.

Later this year, I’ll get a new carpet, but getting my dad started in the ALF was costly, and I don’t want to blow too much money in one month.

I put Murphy’s Oil Soap in warm water and used a rag to clean the wood furniture. I plan to get rid of the furniture because it got abused over the last year and because it reminds me of my dysfunctional family. Right now, though, the furniture is not hurting anything, and it will be of some use until I choose something else.

A few days back, I discovered a zipper on the cover of my dad’s mattress. I had been planning to discard the mattress (less than two years old), but when I found I could remove the cover, I decided to see if I could save it. The innards of the mattress were as fresh as the day it was made, so I filled the master bath with water, added laundry detergent and bleach, and soaked it for a long time. It did the trick. I rinsed it out and drapped it over some patio furniture for two days. I put it under a ceiling fan to dry it out.

Shoving a 14″ memory foam mattress into a damp cover is a real adventure, but I got it done, and now I don’t have to take the mattress to the dump. Unfortunately, back when I thought the cover could not be removed, I ordered a replacement, so now I have two memory foam mattresses. I guess this is a good opportunity to get rid of my own 1994 mattress!

His pillows already went to the dump. I think I’m going to give his sheets and pillowcases away. I don’t think anyone would want to use them, but my understanding is that Goodwill likes fabrics regardless of condition. There is a market for the fiber. I could keep a few things for use as dropcloths and so on.

When I go in his…the master bedroom now, all I smell is pine oil, Murphy’s Oil Soap, and bleach. I can’t even smell my dad. People’s bedrooms have a smell even when they’re not demented and being cared for by others. Their clothes, if nothing else, smell like them. I won’t smell that fragrance any more. I won’t smell the familiar odor of soap and shaving cream after he gets up.

He spent most of his time in the living room, so I shampooed the rugs in there. I mopped the floor. I’ve already dusted and cleaned the furniture. I’ll have to go back over it. I was somewhat lazy about cleaning his living area while he lived here. I didn’t want to spend a lot of time cleaning up areas that were somewhat gross to deal with. I should have done better. When you let your cleaning standards go, you generally have to clean things more than once to get things back up to snuff.

Yesterday I took everything out of the kitchen refrigerator and washed all the shelves. I don’t know how he managed to get refrigerators so dirty, but he did it all his life. It wasn’t terribly dirty, but it wasn’t satisfactory, either. It hadn’t been long since the last time it was cleaned out. He overcame that cleaning pretty quickly.

I have a second refrigerator which I bought to hold my own food; the clean food. I should empty it now and put everything in the kitchen. It’s a little weird running to the laundry room every time I want a beer or a soda.

I have to credit God with helping me clean up the house. I use the supernatural tools he gave me. I keep finding that I can’t rest after breakfast. I have to get up and clean. That’s not me, believe me. That’s the Holy Spirit.

I got up at 6:30 today and used the new living room TV for worship again. I played my Christian music Youtube playlist and prayed and sang. It was beautiful. My house is dedicated to God now; every room. I could not have that while my dad was here.

I thought about the fact that he couldn’t share Christianity with me. I used to tell him I was sad that we couldn’t share the most important thing in my life, but it didn’t make an impact on him. He used to complain that we had grown distant, but he wasn’t willing to put up with God in order to get closer. He wanted me the way I used to be. That was not an order I could fill. It was too much to ask.

He can’t share Christianity with me in the house now. I can’t bring him back. I can go to the ALF and pray with him and teach him, though.

It’s hard to make lasting decisions, because my outlook keeps changing. Before the ALF, when life with him was so unpleasant, I thought a lot about how pleasant things would be once I didn’t have to wrestle with him and his problems every day. I felt tremendous relief after he left, even though there was also some pain. I didn’t want to spend too much time with him at the ALF, because it would have undone a lot of the good of moving him. You put people in ALF’s because you can’t sustain the effort you’re putting into caring for them. I figured I would try to see him no more than three times a week.

Yesterday, he asked me my sister’s name, and it showed that he had deteriorated significantly since the week before. That, combined with his recent prayer for salvation, made me rethink things. I can talk to him about God now, and that’s important. That’s worth a drive and some of my time. Also, because he appears to be declining very fast, I now realize I may not have many more opportunities to talk with him. If that’s true, even if it cuts into time I need to spend on other responsibilities, I need to take advantage.

It’s like playing dodgeball. I can’t relax and settle on a course of action. I don’t know where the next throw is coming from.

If your dad has cancer, and you expect him to live a year, you can go on vacation for a week without missing much. If your dad is losing his mind, it’s another story.

Dementia is a black parody of childhood. When you raise kids, you treasure the stages they go through, and you love watching them develop. With dementia, you should treasure the lucid times and the early stages, because dementia patients develop in reverse. If you have a son, you want to be there to hear him say his first words. If you have a demented parent, you want to be there to hear him speak his last ones.

I don’t know if I could have done a better job. I think I could have, but sometimes I criticize myself and then reconsider when I look at the facts.

I didn’t have a coach. There are no coaches. I suppose I could coach someone else now. I’m all out of parents, so I don’t think my knowledge will help me much.

I knocked off one more problem today. I found out what cremation costs: $795. If you go with The Neptune Society, it’s more like $2800. Not sure what you get for that. I also learned you don’t need paperwork to move cremated remains by car. This new information makes things simple. When he goes, I’ll just call a cremation company. Three days later, I’ll be able to get in the car and drive to Kentucky. Boom. Done. During the time it takes to get him ready, I’ll be able to arrange for a service and whatever passes for a viewing. I’ll need to have my mother’s tombstone altered, too.

I suppose you can fly with cremated remains and no paperwork, if you don’t tell the airline what’s in your carry-on. That would be risky these days. They might think ashes were gunpowder.

In Florida, it takes two days for the legal requirements of the cremation process, and I figure an additional day for phone calls. This is how I arrive at the conclusion that I will need three days.

Because my dad has accepted Jesus, and because he seems likely to forget who I am in the very near future, I can see that my caregiving obligations are not going to taper off as quickly as I had expected. I’ll have to be patient a little longer. That’s fine. I will go ahead and spend more time with him. I plan to enjoy it. I will squeeze whatever benefit I can out of it. I am receiving good things I didn’t expect, so I shouldn’t complain.

This is my plan as of 1:15 p.m. Ask me tomorrow, and who knows what I’ll say? I hope I can go a whole day without any more plot twists.

Sister Disappearing From Dad’s Memory

Yesterday I avoided visiting my dad, and I got a great deal done. Today I figured it was time to drop by again.

Before I visited him, I went to the Calvary Chapel near his ALF. I had thought Calvary Chapel might be a good place to take him on Sundays. Unfortunately, I was disappointed.

I went there with the idea that Calvary Chapel was a charismatic church. That is true, but they tone it down a lot. They don’t believe every Christian can have the gift of prayer in tongues, and that’s a crippling error. They reject the prosperity gospel, as they should, but they seem to think it’s normal for Christians to have physical problems they can’t get healed.

Do these issues of doctrine really matter, when my goal is simply to get a demented octogenerian to attend church? Yes. Bad doctrine can have unexpected effects. The place I visited today was nearly devoid of God’s presence. Wherever I take my dad, I want him to sense that God is near. Taking him to a place with a dry, dead atmosphere won’t help him, and it might put him off Christianity.

When I got to the ALF, my dad was at a table waiting for lunch. I sat down, and we talked.

He asked me what my sister’s name was.

This is new. Last week, he had to ask me to tell him my mother’s name. That was startling, too. Demented people forget recent things first, so it’s a big deal when my dad forgets someone he met in the Fifties. Now he’s losing his memory of my sister, who came along a couple of years after he met my mother. The obvious conclusion: I’m next. There were only four of us, and he has forgotten the other two.

Today he kept telling me what a wonderful son I was. He said that if he could create a perfect son, he would be like me. I don’t know what to make of these things. My dad was angry and cruel when I was young, but he also felt affection for me. He felt more affection for me than anyone. Is he simply fixating on me for that reason, or is he just clinging fiercely to the person he depends on for everything?

I don’t know the explanation, but I would much rather hear positive things about myself than negative things. It would have been nice if he had been supportive when I was a kid, when it would have been a tremendous help. That boat has sailed, but I’ll take what I can get. Many people go their entire lives without getting approval from their parents.

When my dad asked about my sister, I wondered if I should contact her and let her know what’s happening so she would have a chance to visit him. I concluded that I should not. She is not interested.

We have heard from her twice in the last three years. The first time, she had been ejected (again) from drug rehab, and she thought my dad would pay for her housing, with about 12 hours of notice. My dad had just been diagnosed, and he let me deal with it. I told her he was no longer in any condition to help her, and after she heard that, she didn’t call any more.

When a person never contacts you unless they want something, it’s important to pick up on it.

The second time we heard from her, the communication was in the form of a Christmas card. There was no return address on the envelope, so the reasonable assumption is that she did not want to hear from us in return. The card didn’t mention me.

That was a little over a year ago.

She’s a grown (and old) woman, and she could have reached out (without demanding money) after he became disabled. She chose not to. She still chooses not to. She knows about his problem, and besides, he’s nearly 90, so she knows time is short. She hasn’t made a move. For me to stir her up would be a big mistake. If she did anything at all, she would only make things harder.

My dad also told me he was scared because he couldn’t remember things. It’s amazing that he took so long to realize it. Denial is really something. He used the word “panic.” I kept telling him he had people to remember things for him now. I told him I wasn’t going anywhere. I always tell him not to worry.

He insisted on having me write down my address. He likes to have things written down, and then he forgets he has them. He could not remember living in this house. He has made me write the address down before, but until today, he remembered living here.

When I told him I had to go home, he said that would be unbearable. He used that word. I had to go, however, so here I am.

Before I left, we talked about God. I told him God would help him with his problems. I told him he needed to pray. He has never had a prayer habit, so he doesn’t think about it. He said he would forget.

We prayed together. I prayed for God to help him with his fear. I prayed for God to help him to get to know him. My dad agreed with me in prayer, and that was the best I could do. I’m very grateful for the experience. Many American children pray with their parents every day. Look how long it took me to get to a point where my dad would participate.

Because my dad is forgetting family members, I think the end is not far off. Last year, I thought God told me my dad would go during the first three months of 2019, but I have made mistakes before. It’s starting to look like I was correct about his message.

I have to look into cremation. Unbelievable. That’s where I am now. Tomorrow, I have to call a few cremation companies and find out how to prepare. This week, a social worker actually reminded me to do that.

I assume they just show up, haul the body away, and burn it. I don’t know what else there is to do. It sounds unceremonious. It’s what he demanded in his will, though, so I’ll get it done.

What if my dad’s mind goes completely, but his body lingers? That could happen. I wouldn’t know what to do about visiting him. I suppose I would still go, if I could stand it. On the other hand, I would feel better about longer absences, for travel and so on.

What do you do when they cremate your dad? Do you just put his box of ashes in the back of your car along with a suitcase and drive him to be buried with his wife? I guess so. I suppose it’s that simple. What a strange experience that would be.

When my mother was on the verge of death, several relatives flew to Florida. We were together in her hospital room. We were together at my dad’s house. My aunt helped me get rid of my mother’s clothes. My dad and I weren’t alone when we bought the coffin. Then we went to Kentucky and had a fairly big funeral, followed by lunch at the church. People brought food. Afterward, we were still congregating and talking and so on. This time it will be very different. One guy in an SUV, with a wooden box, driving up I-75.

There will be a graveside service, and I suppose I’ll take his ashes to the funeral home so people can come pay their respects first. A few relatives will show up. That will be it. Afterward, the new orphan drives home and gets back to work.

It would be better if he went sooner, not later. If he died while he still knew me and could say whatever was on his mind, it would be much better than lingering until after he became unable to speak and unaware of who I was.

The worse he gets, the more I want to take care of him, but the time to make a change passed about 20 years ago. He could have been baptized. He could have gotten supernatural control over his weight. He could have given up alcohol. He could have developed a prayer life and learned how to receive healing. It seems like heaven is all he can hope for now.

Should I pray for him to be healed? I used to do it all the time. I think he would misuse the gift, though. Some people have to be in trouble in order to be motivated to stay close to God.

For several years, I’ve expected my dad to accept Jesus very close to his death; much too close. Yesterday, a friend reminded me of a dream I had had. To me, the dream seemed to be about the church. She felt it was about my dad. Here’s something I wrote about it:

I dreamed I saw my father. He appeared to be over 100. He had no hair, and he was skinny, like a cancer patient. His body was just about gone, but his mind was absolutely clear, and he was energetic and at peace. In real life, he is dealing with dementia, he has a terrible weight problem, and he has no peace.

He had just cleaned a bathroom that had been filthy. I was amazed. In the he dream I had been trying and trying to get him to understand how nasty it was, and to clean it up. It stank up the whole house, and he couldn’t smell it.

I was relieved to see it clean. It was like winning the lottery.

I tried to say things that didn’t sound like backhanded criticism. I didn’t want to say “Finally!” I told him I would be happy to help him keep it clean.

Then we were driving. We were north of Miami. We drove through a little planned neighborhood that was very neat and peaceful. There was a Chick-fil-A just inside the entrance.

We decided to have lunch. When we went in, the waiters stood in a group and started singing to us. They were that happy to see my dad.

It’s not surprising that it was a Chick-fil-A. That’s what the atmosphere is like at their restaurants. They don’t sing to you, but they treat you like an honored guest. Also, Chick-fil-A has become a symbol of Christianity.

When my dad expressed interest in tables, people rushed to get out of the way, even if they had been there first.

Hair, which my dad lacked in the dream, represents the glory of God. The more you pray in tongues, the more the glory of God grows in your life. It looks like my dad won’t be around long enough to accumulate the blessings of prayer in tongues, but it appears that he will be saved.

People who haven’t repented and haven’t been sanctified by the Holy Spirit are like people who refuse to clean their filthy houses.

I thought Chick-fil-A represented heaven, and the waiters represented excited angels welcoming my dad, who represented eleventh-hour Christians, to his new home.

Maybe the dream was about my dad, or maybe he’s just typical of the people it was about.

Looking around the dining area at the ALF, I reminded myself how important it was not to be a jerk. I’m going to get old, too, and I do not want to be the kind of ALF resident staffers and fellow residents can’t stand. I want them to be thrilled to see me every day. I also want to keep praying about my diet and health. Death doesn’t scare me, but I don’t want to end up in memory care.

It may be that you will soon see a blog post here, indicating that my dad doesn’t know me. I don’t know what’s going to happen. At least we now have hope that we’ll be together in heaven.

Dead Man Blogging

Today I got up at 6 a.m. and went to my computer. I created a Youtube playlist. A playlist is a set of videos that play consecutively. You select the first video and play it, and the others play automatically.

My playlist is made up of Christian songs. I needed music for my morning worship sessions in living room.

After I created the list, I opened a 10-hour MP3 of Julie True soaking music and started it playing. I went downstairs and left it on. When you keep Christian music playing in a room, it changes things, even if no one is there.

This sure beats living in a house where Christianity is limited to the second story. If life in a house with no unbelievers is this good, I wonder what heaven will be like. In heaven there are no atheists, Antifa mobs, botanicas, yoga practitioners, socialists, environmentalist nuts, angry vegetarians, weed activists, or women who insist on breastfeeding topless in public. Among Christians, there is no squabbling over doctrine, because everyone believes the same things. It must be nice.

In what may have been a bad idea, I looked at the news after worship and breakfast. I saw the story about Democrat Virginia governor Ralph Northam. He is going to leave office. He hasn’t announced it yet, but it will happen.

Someone found out that in 1984, Northam posed for a medical school yearbook photo. There are two people in the photo. Northam won’t say which is him. One person is in blackface, and the other wears a Klan costume.

Northam has been in the news because he made it clear he felt the law should permit mothers and doctors to allow undesired newborns to die. He said this in connection with his full support of a vile bill intended to permit the murder of the unborn right up to the moment of birth. I am not a Northam supporter. Nonetheless, I am against punishing people for 35-year-old photos that don’t reflect their current states of mind.

One of the weird things that happened during the spawning of the #MeToo movement is that leftists agreed to ban forgiveness. They go after people who did “offensive” things many years ago, as though those people were currently doing the same things. If leftists find out you used the N-word or put a beer can in the regular trash in 1992, it can cost you your job in 2019. That’s sick.

As a lawyer, I can tell you that courts are supposed to consider two things when they rule: the law, and public policy. “Public policy” means the welfare of the public. In reality, they shouldn’t think about public policy, because it’s none of their business. Courts are supposed to decide what the law says and apply it. My guess is that the notion that courts should consider public policy comes from the left, because it is used as justification for making rulings based on what judges, who are politically biased, think is good for society.

Anyway, courts consider public policy when they rule. They don’t want to issue rulings that cause problems. As a result, we end up with interesting doctrines. For example, when you sue a business over a dangerous condition that caused an accident, you may not be allowed to tell the jury about remedial measures they took to fix the problem. Why? Because it would discourage other businesses from taking remedial action, and more people would be hurt.

There are other examples of courts taking positions based on the notion that people have to be encouraged to repent and transform themselves.

The left’s new inquisition could take a lesson from the courts. If leftists continue destroying people for old “offenses” without giving them a chance to repent, they will kill people’s motivation to change.

Things weren’t always like this. Senator Robert Byrd was a Klan official at one time, and although leftists knew about it, they defended him with tremendous fervor. They said he had changed, and that was good enough for them. I doubt he had changed; he persisted in using the N-word in his old age. Nonetheless, they were right to give him a chance.

Arianna Huffington pretended to be conservative in order to help her career as an incompetent pundit. When she saw the leftist light (over a period of about 15 minutes) and switched sides, liberals accepted her. They knew she was insincere, but they took her in just the same.

Things are very different today. Kevin Hart was just driven out of a job hosting the Oscars (the closest thing homosexuals have to a major religious feast) because he used the word “gay” in a negative way in jokes eight years ago.

Leftists are busy establishing a policy of mercilessness. What a big, awkward word. There are no other words in English that capture the idea well. That shows that the idea isn’t a big topic of conversation among English-speaking people. People talk more about things that are important to them; they say Inuits have a whole bunch of words for “snow.” We have a lot of words that are at least roughly synonymous with “mercy” because mercy is important. Mercilessness is repugnant, and that’s probably why we don’t have many words for it.

It makes sense that leftists would reject mercy. Their father is a self-pitying fallen angel who could not get mercy from God. Jesus allowed himself to be tortured to death for evil people, but Satan and his friends were irrevocably disinherited. They can’t receive mercy. For thousands of years, they have known that the lake of fire was waiting for them, no matter what they did. I can see how they would want to make human beings, who are created in God’s image, feel what they’ve been feeling.

Why is Satan doing this at this particular time? I suspect it has to to with the Internet. Thirty years ago, you could say and do things with some hope they would be forgotten. Now everything is documented. Facebook is 15 years old. Twitter is around 13 years old. People have written a great deal of things online since then. Blogging is about 20 years old, and blog posts are very hard to get rid of permanently. Satan has a huge, unprecedented pile of evidence to use against people who oppose him. What good is his precious trove if they can escape punishment simply by repenting? Obviously, when he gets the power to drag Christians out of their houses and kill them, he will prefer to have a system in which mercy is not available.

Not too long ago, I committed what may have been a felony. I can’t say what it was. I did it out of absent-mindedness. It was unintentional, it was completely harmless, and when I realized I had done it, I undid it in less than a minute. There is no record, and it can never be proven. What if Google had had sensors trained on me, and my offense had been detected and recorded on the Internet? Given the right political atmosphere (one in which conservatives or Christians were shown no mercy), I could have been in big trouble. Without the benefit of a statute of limitations, I could have been in danger of prosecution for the rest of my life. Do we really want to live in a world where things like that are possible?

Ask Ralph Northam.

Think you’re not a criminal? You probably are. It’s hard to reach middle-age without committing a number of crimes. Have you ever guessed someone else’s password and used it on the Internet? Have you downloaded music or movies without paying? When you were young, did you ever steal a road sign as a prank? Have you ever fired a gun from a moving vehicle for fun? Ever drive drunk or stoned?

I know someone who set off a smoke bomb at an old folks’ home when he was a kid. Felon.

I know another person who used to shoot buses with his BB gun.

As for PC infractions, have you ever used a racial slur? I have. I don’t have a Klan hood or black face paint, but when I was very young, the N-word was considered acceptable usage in my area.

Almost nobody is really innocent.

Where there is no mercy, there is no incentive to repent or change. Human beings can’t live that way. We screw up all the time. Because we screw up more when we’re young, our errors often have the potential to ruin most of our lives, but for mercy.

Leftists have some strange beliefs. They want to put rapists and murderers back on the street early, but Kevin Hart and Ralph Northam, who are guilty of making jokes people didn’t like, aren’t eligible for parole!

It would be great to see Ralph Northam lose his job, based on his approval of the heartless slaughter of unborn babies. That’s the correct reason for driving him out. Going after him based on a 35-year-old joke that bothers people who have no sense of humor is not right.

I wonder why no one has gone after Robert Downey. He appeared in blackface in a movie, and in the same movie, he told Ben Stiller, “Never go full retard.” Gene Wilder did blackface. Should we jackhammer his Walk of Fame star and dynamite his grave? Quentin Tarantino used the N-word repeatedly in a movie, and he also wrote the script. Where are the torches and pitchforks?

It’s weird how certain people get away with things and others don’t. A long time ago, I saw a movie about a whorehouse in New Orleans. Louis Malle directed it. Brooke Shields appeared in it, and she was about 12. The movie featured full frontal nudity. Viewers saw Brooke Shields naked from every angle. Why weren’t the people who made the movie arrested? What about the people who own tapes and DVD’s? Aren’t they guilty of possessing kiddie porn?

The Dukes of Hazzard was a popular TV show and then a movie, and until a few years ago, it was okay to drive around in a tribute car with a Confederate flag on the roof. Then PC returned, and we found ourselves in a country in which a Confederate flag T-shirt was considered grounds for persecution. Tom Wopat and John Schneider got exiled from popular culture retroactively. How did Louis Malle escape the purge?

A lot of us are going through life with nooses around our necks, and we won’t even know it until they’re jerked tight.

I’m as good as dead, if leftists get their way. There is no way for me to recover, after all the blogging I’ve done.

I don’t particularly want to be on earth 10 years from now, but I would love to be able to travel through time and see what will be happening. I can’t help but be curious. It will be a fascinating and brutal time.

Genesis 50:20

The news today is excellent. I think my dad finally received salvation for real.

This morning he called me. I have no idea how he did it, because 1) his cell phone’s battery was discharged when I took him to the ALF, 2) I forgot to take the charger to him, and 3) generally, he can’t use the cell phone without help. He called me anyway. Is it a miracle? I don’t know. Maybe someone charged his phone for him.

He hasn’t had a charger for two and a half weeks.

I have an app that keeps track of him, and right now it says his phone is 65% charged.

When I realized his charger was at home, I decided not to take it to him. I didn’t want him to have a charger, because he wasn’t using the phone, and it was a hassle he didn’t need to deal with. Also, I was concerned he might find a way to call me over and over. I left the phone with him because it’s part of his daily uniform.

The call was distressing. He said he was brokenhearted because I wasn’t around. I never thought I’d hear him say a thing like that. He used the word “brokenhearted.” You can imagine how that felt. What happened to the big, scary guy the whole family used to be afraid of? This can’t be him.

I agreed to visit him in an hour. When I got to the ALF, he was unavailable. One of the employees thought they had found lice on him. Two employees were showering him, and the director was making plans to put him in a private room in order to quarantine him. I have been hoping he would be happy with a roommate because of the interaction would be good for him, and if they put him in a private room, they would charge us an extra $500 per month. It’s a losing proposition in every way.

I went to Wal-Mart to get him a couple of hoodies, and when I came back, he was glad to see me and extremely clean. It turned out he didn’t have lice.

I took him for a walk, and we sat in one of the TV lounges and talked. He kept talking about how he wanted to be with me.

This will sound strange to a Christian who doesn’t hear from God, but even before I went ot the ALF, I was very skeptical about the phone call. People who aren’t saved are heavily influenced by spirits, and my dad’s extraordinary desire to live with me is unusual. Most parents don’t expect to live with their kids. I wondered if spirits were pushing him to try to extend his control over me so he would continue making life hard for me. While I was driving to the ALF, I prayed for help. I figured I was experiencing an attack, so I asked God to turn it against Satan.

While my dad and I were talking, I told him that if he wanted to be with me now, he would want it even more in the next life. I told him he could be with me and my mother, as well as the Lord.

At this point, he said some startling things. He didn’t remember my mother. That’s new. Until now, he has remembered family members consistently. I had to tell him my mother’s maiden name. Once he was reminded, he said he loved my mother, but he couldn’t remember her face.

I felt this was a sign that the end was not far off. One day soon, in all likelihood, I will go to see him, and I’ll have to tell him who I am.

He said he was willing to do what had to be done in order to go to heaven, and he meant it this time. I didn’t see a trace of his former pride or rebellion. He talked about unbelievers as though they were crazy.

I told him he needed to do several things. He needed to confess that he believed Jesus was God and that he believed Jesus paid for his sins on the cross. I said he had to confess that he had sinned, and he had to repent. I said he had to forgive everyone who had sinned against him, and that he had to ask God to forgive them so he could be forgiven.

He got hung up on forgiving people. He said it was very hard. I took that as a good sign, because it showed he was serious. He was concerned about it. If he had had a frivolous mindset, he would have blown through the process and pretended he agreed with everything.

I told him forgiveness was a choice, not a state of mind. You don’t have to be instantly delivered from all anger; you just have to tell God, sincerely, that you choose to forgive. That made him feel better.

We prayed together, and then I told him it was important not to turn back. I said he shouldn’t turn around later and say Christianity was all nonsense or that he didn’t really believe. He agreed completely.

His mindset was much better than it was last year when he prayed for salvation, and this time, I made sure I covered every base. I think we finally got it done.

He kept telling me we should live together. I told him the ALF was the best answer I had for his problems. I said I had done my best and that I couldn’t fix everything. I told him he should pray to God for help. He was not happy when I left, but he accepted it.

My understanding is that he asks everyone where I am and why I’m not there. When people aren’t familiar with the situation, they must think I’ve completely forsaken him.

Day after tomorrow, I plan to take him to Calvary Chapel, and we’ll see what happens. I’m hoping they’ll have a way of baptizing older people who don’t have it together any more. They certainly should. Baptism is important, and a little difficulty doesn’t relieve us of the obligation to try. This area is packed with old people who are demented, so churches here should be very used to baptizing difficult cases.

As I told my dad, this is the best I can do. I’m not his savior. Maybe he’ll never be happy at the ALF, but at least he made a good, solid plea for salvation.

I feel that God turned this attack against the enemy in a big way. The future looks brighter. I hope I still feel this way a month from now. I hope he doesn’t back out again. I know my dad will eventually make it, but I would like to be sure he has turned the corner.

Welcome to my Christian Home

I have some interesting news to report, concerning my dad’s move to an ALF.

I think what I will write here will upset people who don’t know or understand God. They may think I’m blaming my dad for my problems or that I haven’t forgiven him. They may think I’m abandoning him. I can’t be responsible for the ways in which people with limited understanding misinterpret my words and actions, so I won’t worry about it. I’ll just write the truth.

For a long time, I have been praying for God to turn this property into a place of faith, obedience, peace, love, and prayer. I asked him over and over to make it a place where people were healed and raised from the dead. I asked him to make it a place where people were changed. It appears to be happening. I haven’t raised anyone from the dead today, but I am seeing big changes.

Before my dad left, he dominated the first floor of this house. One of the reasons I chose this place was that it had two roomy stories. He had a big bedroom suite downstairs, and he spent most of the day in the living room. I didn’t get to use the first floor much. It was sort of a makeshift ALF. I lived upstairs in a huge room with a big TV, computer, and workbench.

I used to pray for God to fix this place so he, not my dad and the spirits that rule him, dominated the first floor. I wanted to pray in the living room, not my upstairs hideaway. I wanted the whole property to belong to God.

TV is a big part of my Christian walk. I watch a lot of Christian Youtube videos. I use the TV and stereo to play Julie True music while I pray. I wanted to be able to do these things in the living room. After my dad moved, I cleaned his recliner with bleach, and I tried to use the circa-2005 42″ living room TV to watch Youtube.

The plan worked, but boy, did that TV look small. My upstairs TV is 55″. Another problem: there is no desktop computer downstairs, and the TV is not “smart.” To use Youtube, I had to hook up a laptop, turn it on, move the picture to the 42″ TV, and so on. Not a good solution for the long term.

I went out and got myself a 65″ smart TV, and I signed up for Roku. This is a streaming service. It seems a little stupid to require a service to connect to Youtube and Hulu, since TV’s can be made to do this without help, but this was the strategy the manufacturer chose.

The new TV was gigantic, but I wrestled it into the house, assembled it, and put it on the desk we have been using as a stand for the smaller TV.

This morning I got up and turned on the upstairs TV. I got Julie True going and went downstairs. I used the new TV to play worship music.

I can’t tell you how wonderful it was. I can sing in my living room now. I can do it all day if I want. I can keep Christian music going during the day. I don’t have to worry about my dad wanting to watch awful programs at top volume.

I went through a bunch of songs; Chris Tomlin, Nicole Mullen, Kari Jobe, and so on. It was magnificent. I sang in English. I sang in the Spirit. I was deeply moved. I watched a The Last Reformation video, too.

This house is starting to belong to God. My house is going to be a house of peace.

When I searched Youtube for good things, revolting suggestions came up. Nicki Minaj. Shallow secular TV programs. I felt truly sorry for unbelievers. I mean that. I felt bad for them. I feel bad for anyone who thinks that poison is healthy and alluring.

I’m taking my dad’s mattress to the dump today, along with some clothes he’ll never wear again. I keep cleaning and ordering the house to get rid of the nasty residue he left. I feel as though I’m erasing him from the world, and that’s not a pleasant sensation, but I love the way the atmosphere in this house is improving.

My dad is not a Christian. Like all unbelievers and like Christians who are not sanctified, he is ruled and tormented by black, filthy spirits. Wherever he goes, a cloud goes with him. He radiates anger and oppression. He creates clutter and disorder. He makes everything around him dirty. This is the simple truth.

Unbelievers are not like sanctified Christians. They live in a different world, and when we yoke ourselves up with them, that world starts to saturate us as well.

As badly as I feel for my dad, I love being out from under his dark, stifling presence. I have a remarkable combination of grief and relief. I feel both at once.

I believe Christians are like the people in Noah’s ark. We will be preserved, but like Noah and his relatives, who had to cope with the pain of hearing their drowning friends clawing on the hull of the ark, we will have to watch others sink, and often, they will sink very slowly.

You can give tell people to jump on the ark, but you can’t grab them and pull them in.

It’s very painful, watching my dad deteriorate when God and help are so close to him, but he chose it from the beginning, and he keeps choosing it. I hope I can get him to church Sunday. I know he will eventually be saved. I wish he had let go years ago instead of waiting until so much was lost.

To get back to the bright side, I have often said that my relationship with my dad will be my last unequal yoking. I knew life would blossom once he was placed at a distance, and it is coming true.

Thank God I’m not married to a rebel. It would be much worse. You have to be an utter fool to get involved with a non-Christian or a weak Christian (as I did in the past). It’s a sin. God has not sent you to rescue the wicked by dating, marrying, or otherwise partnering with them. You may tell yourself God put you up to it, but that’s a lie you tell in order to get what you have already chosen out of carnality.

Many, many people become strong Christians after marrying rebels. It’s a terrible thing to see. God won’t tell you to abandon a spouse, so you’re stuck with the chain you forged. It’s worse than having a wicked child, because you’re only trapped with a child for 18 years. A vile woman (or man) can devour your whole life.

Marriage to an unbeliever is a little bit like hell, because there is no escape. Unless your partner runs off or dies, you are imprisoned for life.

This is a Christian house! Permanently! I can finally say that. There will be no occult paraphernalia here. There will be no drugs. There will be no drunkenness. There will be no dirty TV channels. There will be no yoga, meditation, or “mindfulness.” No one will ever see poisonous women’s magazines or pornography here. This won’t be a place where people sit around watching sleazy reality shows or network television.

When I look back on the last 20 years, it seems to me that my relationship with my dad got much worse after I turned back to God. Before my change of heart, we used to fish together. I made meals for him. We went out to breakfast together once a week. After I started going to church, things deteriorated. Then dementia made things worse. It all makes sense. Jesus said he would divide families.

Here is what Paul said:

Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness? And what accord has Christ with Belial? Or what part has a believer with an unbeliever? And what agreement has the temple of God with idols? For you are the temple of the living God. As God has said:

“I will dwell in them
And walk among them.
I will be their God,
And they shall be My people.”

Therefore

“Come out from among them
And be separate, says the Lord.
Do not touch what is unclean,
And I will receive you.”

“I will be a Father to you,
And you shall be My sons and daughters,
Says the Lord Almighty.”

When you get close to God, the spirits that run your friends and relatives will know it, and they will pit them against you. It’s inevitable. If you’re a Christian in a peaceful, warm, close relationship with an unbeliever, chances are, you’re a weak Christian who isn’t seen as a threat. That should concern you.

The odd thing with my situation is that now that the yoking is being broken, I have a better relationship with my dad. I’m not cleaning and chauffeuring and being yelled at all the time, so I have time to talk with him and have relatively normal conversations. Unbelievers are easier to get along with at a safe distance.

I hope the things I’ve been writing will be good resources for other people in similar situations. I have received very little guidance since my dad’s decline became evident, and it would be nice to know that I helped other people find answers.