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.

Dad Finally Rescued from Third-Rate ALF

My dad is officially an ALF resident!

Today the new ALF sent someone to get him from the old ALF, and all day, I’ve been running around working on getting him installed. I moved his belongings from ALF to ALF, I signed the contract and wrote checks, and I bought Dad clothes and shampoo at Wal-Mart. Now I’m wiped out.

I had to go to Wal-Mart because my dad has a roommate. It would be gauche for my dad to continue sleeping without clothes. The ALF staff recommended some kind of stretchy pants and white T-shirts (bleachable), so that’s what I got him. When I dropped this stuff off, I didn’t go in and see him. If I keep doing that, he will never mingle.

I met his roommate. I was disappointed. I had heard he was talkative, but he didn’t say a word. Maybe he’s shy. My dad says he wants a private room, but he’s not getting one until he gives the roommate a fair shake. I don’t want him isolating himself alone in a room. I’m hoping the roommate will open up.

When I went to the old ALF to get my dad’s clothes, his room stank (even though he was gone). I made the right decision about that place. Some of the clothes that were hanging in his closet had already been worn, and his bathrobe had stains that were days old.

I called the new ALF and asked if I should launder everything, but they told me they would handle it. So they’re doing what the old ALF should have done. When I got to the new ALF with the clothes, they made me leave them out front. They knew the old ALF had roaches, so they wanted to make sure none came in with the clothes. Nice!

I spent maybe 45 minutes with my dad, and I didn’t smell one bad smell. That’s incredible. I walked all over the place, and everything smelled fine. Last week, I visited a ritzy place that wanted about $7000 per month, which is very expensive, and in spite of the opulence, it smelled a little.

While I was at the new ALF today, a couple of the other patients talked to my dad, and one of them helped him into a chair when he joined everyone in the activity room.

My dad’s attitude is far better than it used to be, but he is still making some effort to criticize assisted living. The ALF has several very nice sitting areas with TV’s, and when I pointed one out and noted how clean it was, he said, “They must make the inmates do it.” He was completely serious.

“Inmates”?

He admitted it was much nicer than the old ALF.

He still talks about moving back home, and he asked if I could move to the ALF. I think it shows how I’ve spoiled him. I don’t want to abandon him, but his notion of normal family unity is on the extreme side. The world is full of grown men who do not see their fathers every day. It’s not abuse to limit visits to every other day or even once a week.

I’m going to determine how often I need to visit him in order to be a good son, and then I’ll quit worrying about it. I can’t live his life for him. I think he has it pretty sweet right now. If I let him, he’ll turn me into a big part of ALF life, and that defeats the purpose of moving him there.

I can’t get over the difference between the ALF’s. It’s not just the cleanliness, the excellent maintenance, and the increased attention. I actually saw visitors at the new one. At the old one, I rarely saw anyone.

I feel like I hit the jackpot. I hope I continue to feel that way. I think I will. I’m pretty confident.

I had a hard time deciding what kind of arrangement to make. They offered a plan that allows people to pay a fee and lock in their rates for life. At first, I thought it was a stupid idea, because I knew my dad probably wouldn’t live long. Then I reconsidered. Unless he dies suddenly or has a huge stroke that puts him in a skilled nursing home, he is going to deteriorate considerably while he’s at this ALF. His needs and monthly rate could increase a lot. I decided to pay the fee and forget about it. We’re not poor. If he never needs more care, the loss of the extra money won’t kill us. If he does need it, I’ll be glad I’m still writing relatively small checks.

If he declines suddenly and then lives several months, the fee will pay for itself. If he lives two years, I’ll save a great deal.

I’m itching to get the house in order so I can adjust and settle down to relatively normal life. I have to throw his mattress out. I have to move his lift recliner to the ALF or sell it. I have to decide whether I should get new carpeting for his bedroom or settle for multiple shampooings with bleach.

I won’t feel this is for real until the house loses its nursing home feel.

True to my word, I am trying out streaming TV so I can get rid of DirecTV. I have Youtube TV and Hulu trials going. I think Hulu is the way to go. Youtube TV doesn’t have Motor Trend. Both companies do okay with Turner Classic Movies. I like Forged in Fire, and Youtube doesn’t have it.

It has only been one day, so maybe I shouldn’t judge, but I don’t miss “real” TV yet. Hulu, regular Youtube, and Amazon Prime will probably give me more than I want.

Even though I have been somewhat busy with the work of getting my dad moved to an ALF, I have been getting more done at home since he left. Today while I was running around for him, I put in about five hours, but when I knocked off, I still managed to take care of some things at home. I threw out some clothes and other unneeded items. I cleaned up a little. I located and bought tires.

I saw a dress shirt in his closet, and it had something unpleasant on it. I took it to the laundry room, and then I thought about it. The shirt is probably 30 years old. He will never wear a dress shirt again. To wash it and hang it up would be to engage in denial. I threw it out, along with a paint-stained shirt and his old plaid bathrobe.

He has directed that he be cremated, so there will be no viewing and no dress clothes to worry about when he dies.

Only two years ago, he got dressed up, and I took him to Ruth’s Chris for his birthday. I don’t recall, but he may have driven us there.

He will never go to a restaurant again.

Fatal, fatal, fatal. I should write the word “fatal” on a Post-It note and put it up where I can see it while I work.

His disease is fatal.

When he was living here, I never knew when I would be interrupted. It was hard to focus on things I needed to do. I was also decompressing a lot of the time. I might deal with my dad for an hour and then spend two or three hours winding down. I hid a lot, because when he saw me, he usually yelled for me to do something for him. Now I can walk through the living room with the expectation that I’ll be able to maintain a train of thought.

I don’t know what will happen to Gloria, the unhappy lady I met at the old ALF. Yesterday I saw her while my dad was being assessed for the new place. She was in the regular area where people aren’t locked up. A lady was with her; I assume it was the sister she told me about. Gloria can’t leave the memory care area without an escort.

I let the director of the new ALF know that I mentioned it to Gloria. I hope she’ll move.

It seems that every night, I think, “Tonight I can finally relax.” I don’t think I’ll truly let go until an entire day passes during which 1) my dad is in a permanent ALF, and 2) I don’t have to do one single thing to help.

He doesn’t have a TV yet, and I could take him one tomorrow. I don’t know whether I will. I don’t want to keep hovering over him, and the ALF has several common TV’s. I guess I could drop a TV off in the office without seeing him, but I think that would still count as a visit in my heart.

It would be neat if he started watching TV in one of the big common TV rooms. It would be nicer than his room, and he would be out and about.

One day not too long from now, they’ll give me a call, and I’ll find out all this work is finished. Or they’ll tell me he has been taken to the hospital, and then the work will end abruptly.

He has no DNR. He doesn’t want one. That’s okay, because it may give him more time to receive salvation, but it may give me some difficult days when things get bad.

Time to fire up Hulu and take the birds out. We will see how far I get tomorrow before I have to deal with my dad and the ALF.

ALF Quest Ends in 14-1/2 Hours

I thought this day would never come. My dad is scheduled to move to a permanent ALF tomorrow morning!

I can’t tell you how much I’ve hated the suspense since moving him into his current ALF. I stuck him in there, hoping it would be a good place for him to spend the rest of his life. I found out it wasn’t up to par, and he hated it, so I had to run around searching for better alternatives. Instead of making the house my own and getting back on top of my responsibilities, I ended up spending a large percentage of each day trying to help my dad; it was exactly what I had hoped to be done with.

Today the lady who runs the new ALF met with us, and my dad passed muster. She’s going to send someone to pick him up at 10 a.m. I won’t even have to drive him. I think it’s safe to breathe again.

I wonder if it sounds selfish to talk about making the house my own. You have to understand the situation. My dad’s bedroom furniture is a mess, and it needs to be given away. I had to dedicate the living room to him, so the only furniture I bought for that room was a lift recliner. We’re still using the awful Scarface-era glass coffee tables and a couple of end tables he bought for some woman he dated while he and my mother were divorced. That woman got better treatment than my mother; I don’t want to be reminded of her.

The fridge needs to be mopped out with bleach. I want to give away the old dresser he and my mother bought right after they got married, because it reminds me of the worst times of my life. I have two armchairs my mother got from my cousins after her sister died, and they’re terrible. I have extra sets of dishes and flatware I only kept so my dad wouldn’t contaminate my own things.

I still find myself reaching to hide food in cupboards instead of putting it in the pantry.

I have never been able to use the living room. It was just a place for my dad to sit and make a mess while he passed the time. I couldn’t spend time there because he would have monopolized my attention and made constant demands. Also, I didn’t want to touch anything because he was so dirty.

I guess I should move into the master suite, after replacing the carpet. It’s a little odd to live in an upstairs bedroom in your own house while the master suite stays empty.

Maybe I’ll get a double bed instead of a queen. Big beds suck up space, and I don’t need all that elbow room. I don’t understand the king size bed mentality.

Once I get him moved, I plan to abandon him for a couple of days so he will mingle. After that, I figure I’ll visit him three times a week. I can’t keep going every day. Maybe I can eventually cut back to two weekly visits. I want to do what’s right for him, but assisted living serves no purpose if I’m still dedicating too much time to him.

As much as I suffered with his care, and as bad as his attitude was at times, I miss him. When I planned the move up here, I didn’t think much about what it would be like to be without him in a big house. We needed the space while he was living downstairs, but now it’s just me and two birds.

Man. I’ll be able to travel after this week. I won’t have to look for respite care and cart my dad off, like last time. I can just board the birds, get in the car, and go. I could conceivably get on a plane again. I feel like flying to a place where they have mountains and taking a train ride.

I should drive to Tennessee and spend a week looking around, checking out various areas. Ocala is wonderful, but I feel like I want to be in Appalachia when I die. I don’t want to die on sand.

I can get rid of DirecTV this week! I’ll be signing the ALF contract tomorrow, and after that, I’ll feel like it’s safe to cut the cord. I have to decide what I want to do. I already cut it down to basic service.

It looks like Hulu might be a good bet for me. For $40 per month, I’ll get Turner Classic Movies, Motor Trend (formerly Velocity TV), Fox News, and some other junk. I can’t recall the last time I watched any channel other than Motor Trend and TCM.

This is going to be very strange. I’ll have to get used to having time to do things, as well as freedom to make quick decisions.

Today I talked to my dad, and he said some odd things. I told him there was a church near the new ALF, and I said I would like to take him there on Sundays. He said that when people are in the middle of their lives, they lose interest in church, but when they get old, they become interested again. I can’t figure that out, coming from the guy who hated God for so many decades. I seriously wonder if parts of his brain that helped him hate God aren’t working any more. Whatever the reason is, I plan to see what I can do about getting him to services.

Tomorrow I’ll sign him up, and then the restructuring begins. Tonight I plan to go to bed early and sleep so hard I make a permanent dent in the mattress.

Goodbye, Vick’s Vaporub

Today I met with the people from the ALF I’m engaging for my dad. Here’s one sign that things are looking up: when I got out of the car, I looked at the jar of Vick’s Vaporub I keep in the center console. I rub it on my upper lip when I visit my dad, to mask the smell of excrement in his current ALF. I was about to grab it, and then I remembered: the new ALF doesn’t stink. That felt good.

The “meeting” took about 10 minutes. I was given a contract to read. The director told me she would assess my dad today or tomorrow, and that he would then be admitted. I had already chosen a room with a roommate for him, and she said it was still available.

He should be moving on Wednesday. The new ALF will send someone to go get him. I considered doing it myself, and I would like to share the moving experience with him, because I think he’ll be very glad to go, but I don’t want him to get in the car with me and get the idea that he’s coming home. It would be inconsiderate to do that to him and then drop him at yet another facility.

I won’t have to buy him any furniture up front. The previous occupant’s stuff is still there. If it’s not great stuff, that’s okay, because it will be good enough to serve until I can have something better delivered.

I got him a lift recliner last year. I cleaned it today, and I plan to drop it at the ALF if there is room. Otherwise, I guess I’ll have to give it away. I don’t think I can sell a recliner that belonged to a dementia patient, even after using bleach on it. It will be unpleasant to see the empty space in the living room where it used to sit.

Tomorrow the contract will be signed, God willing.

The ALF gives people discounts depending on how much they pay up front. Every ALF has a “community fee” which you pay at the outset. If I pay a double fee, I’ll get a permanent reduction in the monthly rate. I don’t think I’m going for that. I don’t think my dad will be there long enough to make it pay off. Sorry to say it.

I’m not sure what’s happening with my dad. He has been very upbeat for several days, and he has also been walking faster.

My friend Mike, the hospice executive, says terminal patients often experience what is called a “surge.” It means they feel better and are more alert for a short time. It’s not a good sign. It means death is around the corner. Of course, a patient who has a miraculous recovery will also experience a surge, but that would be comparatively rare. I don’t know if my dad is having a surge or what. Mike thinks he is. Maybe God is speaking to him to make him easier for me to deal with.

I am not taking my dad any more newspapers. He has suddenly stopped reading them, so I might as well keep them for myself. He says he has stopped doing crossword puzzles, too, which must mean he can’t finish them. That has to be disturbing, for a man who used to find them extremely easy. When I visited him yesterday, I saw two unread newspapers on his walker, and he won’t read the last one I brought him, either.

I still haven’t seen anyone else visiting the ALF, except for a couple of people in the parking lot. Relatives should visit, because when the cat’s away, we all know what the mice will do. ALF staffers benefit from seeing caring relatives show up. It motivates them to do their jobs better.

I only visited my dad’s mother twice after she went into a facility, but I barely knew her, and she was 900 miles away. I admit, I only went because my father and mother went. I didn’t go to her funeral. I don’t know what my cousins thought of that, but then they are also people I barely know, so it’s not like their opinion would ever get back to me.

I have the feeling that very few people visit my dad’s current ALF. I suspect that I’m unusual.

Some of the rooms have shadowboxes outside containing photos and information. One lady has 4 kids. Where are they?

It’s chilling to look at the old pictures. They are classic 60’s and 70’s photos. Big hair. Clothing in off-putting colors like rust and avocado. They look like the old photos of my parents I would have, if we had been a normal family that took a lot of photos. People who were in their forties in 1973 are completely senile and physically wiped out. Was it really that long ago? My parents’ generation is pretty much gone!

Some of the shots of women remind me of my mother’s friends from my childhood in Miami Shores. I wonder how many of them are in ALF’s or graveyards.

There are older photos, too. Some are black and white. Let’s see; a 90-year-old woman would have been born in 1928 or 1929, so photos of women that age in their youth could have been taken as early as 1948. One of the women in the ALF was an entertainer, and her shadowbox has a photo of her in a short skirt, smiling at the camera. She appeared to be of college age. I couldn’t even guess which of the patients belonged to the photo.

One of the weird things about the ALF is that they have decorations that would be appropriate for people born in 1915. They also play a lot of old music. I don’t know if they realize they’re caring for the Woodstock generation now.

While I was writing this, my dad’s current hospice nurse called. She visited him in the ALF today. I told her I was moving him, and she said she loved the ALF I had chosen. She said it was one of her favorites. How about that? It looks like God led me to the right place, and that’s saying a lot, because you can’t throw a rock around here without hitting an ALF. There must be dozens. The odds against finding the best choice by yourself are very high.

Wednesday can’t come fast enough. I want to move on and start the next phase, and I want my dad out of the present situation.

Be Sure to Remove the Cartridges From Your Pocket Prior to Immersion

You could say yesterday was a good day for me.

Five weeks ago, I traveled to Clearwater to get re-baptized at an event held by The Last Reformation. Their Youtube videos convinced me that my first baptism was a farce, and they also convinced me that a real baptism would have positive supernatural effects. It’s not just a way to dedicate yourself to Jesus in front of a crowd. Since my real baptism, I have experienced new self-control. I feel much, much better.

The person who is most closely attuned to me on spiritual matters is my friend Travis. He’s a music student at the University of Miami. We have known each other for about 10 years now. We were armorbearers together at Miami’s corrupt and toxic Trinity Church. We both moved to another church, and that church dried up due to pride issues and a pedophilia scandal. We have had many, many prayer sessions together. God is changing both of us.

Before I went to Clearwater, I told a number of friends about it, but only Travis really got excited about it. A couple of others are interested, but Travis absolutely had to get what I got. He lives in a miserable county full of hateful people. He is constantly tempted by young college girls with post-2010 morals. He knows dozens of hostile, self-pitying victimhood junkies. He wants to have his desires changed. He wants power over his flesh.

Travis borrowed a car and drove up here day before yesterday. He had to work during the day, and then he got in the car and drove up here alone.

Yesterday morning, we had a discussion of baptism, and I did my best to help him understand what it was supposed to be. You’re supposed to repent of sin, for real (not just until the end of the current church service). You’re supposed to give your entire life to Jesus, putting all your desires on the altar and asking God to take whatever he wants (this is called “dying to the flesh”). You’re supposed to be baptized in the name of Jesus, not the trinity. You need to be fully immersed; sprinkling is a bizarre perversion that probably originated in cold countries.

You have to have complete faith in Jesus in order to be baptized; a baby can’t receive it. This is what Acts 8:37 tells us. Many Bibles don’t include this verse, but the historical record shows that it existed prior to the translations most Bibles rely on.

We prayed, and Travis put on white clothes (his idea). Then we had to decide where to baptize him.

My dad is now in an ALF, so for over a week, I have been working on cleaning up his bedroom suite. I shampooed the carpet with bleach. I mopped the bathroom floor with bleach, along with the doors, doorframes, counters, and tub. I keep going back and finding new things to clean. I don’t know when I’ll be completely done, but the bathroom is clean enough for a baptism. There is a huge jacuzzi tub in there. I had hoped we could use it (with nice warm water), but when Travis tried it on for size, it was too small for total immersion. That meant only one thing: we were going to have to use the pool.

When we went out to check the pool, the air temperature was 55 degrees. The water was very cold. We have had freezing nights. I felt vicarious terror when I thought about what Travis was about to do. He put his foot in the water and found out what he was in for. Nonetheless, he was determined. I got out some towels, turned up the heat in the house, and found myself a place on the patio where I could hold Travis by the hand and baptize him while getting as little water as possible on myself.

Hey, it wasn’t my baptism.

He did it. I could barely believe it. How desperate do you have to be, to sink your entire body in water that could be used to chill soda?

Here he is afterward.

We are hoping he’ll get the same kind of result I did.

I have never baptized anyone with water before. I baptized a friend with the Holy Spirit, which is not the same thing, and I helped baptize another person with the Holy Spirit. Travis is the first person I’ve put under. We have a friend in Miami who wants it, too, so Travis is going to baptize him. Our friend is another Trinity Church casualty. With any luck, no one else we know will have to come to my house in the winter and risk hypothermia. I can baptize people as well as the guys from TLR, and Travis can do it as well as I can.

To complete the experience, we got out a pistol and a couple of rifles and went shooting in my pasture. If only I had been able to get him to wear a MAGA hat and eat barbecue, the day would have been the perfect northern Florida Christian day.

I don’t have a MAGA hat. I was trying to be funny.

Travis has a talent for shooting, but he never gets to practice. Here is his pistol target, fired at 7 yards. Most people at gun ranges shoot a mess that spans about two feet. It’s remarkable, and what’s more remarkable is that many are content with that. They don’t look for instruction. Many men seem to be insecure about their marksmanship. They would rather put on special tactical pants and try to look like action movie heroes than actually learn how to shoot, because they don’t want to admit that they shoot badly.

It’s odd, because when your groups are huge, everyone can see that you shoot badly. You look bad no matter what you’re wearing. If you can’t shoot, no one cares how many zippers your 5.11 pants have. One would think insecure people would be more concerned about their shooting than their wardrobes.

Human beings are irrational.

I’m very happy about the way the day went. It’s tremendous. I was used to help Travis, and he will be used to help other people.

In other news, I talked to my new friend Gloria yesterday. Travis had to go to Orlando for a job interview, so I went to see my dad at the ALF, and while I was there, Gloria called me over.

She said my dad had been wandering around without enough clothing on, to put it mildly. I told her he was not a modest person and that I couldn’t do anything about it, but I said I was grateful for the information. Then we started talking about the new ALF I had picked for my dad.

Gloria does not like the current ALF, and I don’t blame her. It’s okay for ordinary old people who still have their faculties, but the memory care area, which is separate, is depressing and not as clean as it should be. She has blackouts from Parkinson’s, but her memory is fine, so she is not really like the other patients. She was put in memory care because she walked off during a blackout.

I told her about the place I found for my dad. One of their branches is literally 100 yards from where Gloria and I were standing. I told her both of their operations were extremely clean and that the branch close to me had a fanatical activity director who worked hard to keep everyone entertained. I told her it was cheaper than the ALF where she now lives.

She has an older sister who can move her, so she is considering calling her and setting up a visit.

I feel bad for her. She is tormented by an illness which may very well be demonic, and she is well able to perceive the problems with her living arrangements. Many memory care patients are so far gone, you could feed them cat food and bed them down on yoga mats in a common room, and they wouldn’t mind at all. The experience is much worse for someone who is still capable of functioning normally.

I told her that I would pray for her, and that I really meant it. I hope people who read about her will take up the cause.

My visit with my dad went well. Once again, he kept talking about how great he expected the future to be. He was pleased by my description of the new ALF, which he had forgotten about. He kept telling me what a wonderful son I was. He did ask about moving back home, but he didn’t harp on it or tell me I was selfish. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I can’t help thinking God has been speaking to him, preparing him for salvation.

It’s wonderful to look forward to seeing my dad instead of dreading it. I didn’t think that would ever happen.

I am hoping some of the other friends I communicated with will be baptized. Everyone needs to be properly equipped in this world. I don’t want to freeze anyone, but the need for baptism is urgent. In the Bible, new believers were baptized immediately after converting. I’m sure Satan is doing his best to keep them procrastinating.

While Travis was trying to come up here, he lost his wallet in an Uber car, and he called me, distrought. I think I wrote about this already. We had already talked about the certainty that Satan would try to wreck our plans, and we had prayed about it. I spoke God’s help to Travis in finding his wallet, and I repeated the words God gave me: “I am a son of God, and this is how things are supposed to work.” I refused to worry about it.

A few hours later, I hadn’t heard from Travis, so I texted. He said he had the wallet. My response: “Ha.”

Whenever you decide to obey God, Satan will look for a way to ruin it. Never get angry at God because you tried to serve him and then ran into trouble. Expect it, and pray about it before it happens.

I don’t know what today will bring, but after yesterday, I feel like I have already received everything from this weekend that I could have asked for. Now I look forward to hearing about the people Travis baptizes.

Confusing Torrent of Love and Support

Today was even weirder than usual.

I had an ALF lined up for my dad. Two days ago, I visited, and I thought they offered top-notch care for a reasonable price. Seemed like my search and my stress were over. I called yesterday afternoon, and when they got back to me this morning, they said they had just sold his room.

I went straight back to Googling. I didn’t even shower and dress first.

I rooted through endless reviews and search results. The reviews were unbelievably annoying. Maybe 60% of them were from ALF employees. “At Vista Oaks Regency, we take pride in giving your loved ones much better care than our sleazy, bedbug-infested competition. I’m proud to be part of the team! Free McDonald’s coupons with every signed lease.”

Here’s a tip for business owners: when you force your employees to write Internet reviews for you, it makes you look like a dirtbag. In fact, it kind of proves it.

I came up with four places to check out. I called one of them, and the lady who answered the phone told me something shocking. She said I could show up without making an appointment. She said that was the only way to find out what an ALF really looked like when they thought no one was looking. She told me some places make a special effort to tidy up before rubes potential clients show up.

Needless to say, I visited later on, without an appointment.

I’m not sure it’s proper to call a memory care facility an ALF, but I’m going with it, because memory care is definitely assistance.

The ALF was completely devoted to memory care. That meant it was not divided into two sections. Right now, my dad is in a place that has a nice main area and a disappointing memory care unit. When memory care is the sole service a place provides, presumably, the patients can’t have second-class status.

It was a small, square building with a courtyard. I would say the place was maybe 125 feet on a side. Each side of the square contained rooms. They were somewhat dated, but the paint looked like it had been applied yesterday, and everything was spotless. This was the first ALF I had visited in which I didn’t smell anything disturbing. It takes real effort to keep a place that clean when most or all of the residents are incontinent.

I feel like inserting a joke about Congress, but I won’t.

The dining room didn’t look as appealing as the ritzy dining rooms I saw in the high-end ALF’s I visited this week, but it didn’t look bad. The furniture was in fine shape, even if it wasn’t fancy. The room–a place where patients knock food on the floor and drop it in their laps–was absolutely clean. My guide bragged on the food as though she ate there, herself. Naturally, I asked her whether that was the case. She said she and the other employees ate there all the time. She said she loved the food.

If you haven’t been looking at ALF’s, you may not realize how unusual her response was. The stuff my dad is eating right now will keep him alive, and I’m sure it’s safe, but I wouldn’t eat it on a bet. If an ALF’s employees, who can smell and taste things, love the dining room’s food, it must be very special. And the fact that they can stand to eat in the ALF proves it doesn’t stink when visitors aren’t around.

It gets weirder.

She told me the company was a family business. She showed me a photo of three people: a woman and two men. She said the woman started the business. One of the men, her son, ran it after she retired. The second man, her grandson, runs it now. Here’s the weird part: she now lives in one of the company’s operations. She lives in a sister operation closer to my house. The company has three ALF’s.

If you are willing to live in your own ALF when you get old, maybe it’s a good ALF. Either that, or your ruthless descendants really have it in for you.

There was one thing I didn’t like: the place has an institutional feel. The other places I looked at this week were like 4-star hotels. My dad thinks he’s not like the “old people” he shares his current ALF with. He has called the place a hospital. I think he would feel better in a place that tries to fool him with hotel-style decor.

The prices were significantly lower than the prices at the other ALF’s, and I wondered if it was okay to put him in a place that wasn’t as opulent. I don’t want to shortchange my dad in order to save a buck.

Because they had another memory care location, I decided to look it over on the way home. I went to the one where the owner lives.

They were startled when I showed up, so I told them to blame the lady at their other operation. She was the one who told me to surprise them. The woman who gave me the tour told me it was perfectly all right, and she agreed that it was the only way to do it. A passing staffer butted in and agreed enthusiastically.

This ALF was bigger, but the basic idea was the same: big square building with courtyard. Like the first ALF, it was frighteningly clean. It had more rooms, and more of the residents were male. I thought that would be a good thing for my dad. He would probably enjoy lying to the ladies all day, but eventually, you want someone you can be yourself with.

The lady who gave me the tour was the activity director. She was loud and enthusiastic. Sounded like a New Yorker. She kept telling me about all the things she liked to do for the patients. This is Snowman Month according to her, so tomorrow she’s going to work dressed as a snowman. She has a bunch of other costumes she wears. She has people ride horses and motorcycles into the courtyard so the residents can see them. She brings little kids in for the residents to watch.

The rooms are very big. Even the small ones are pretty big. Right now, there’s an opening in a shared room. The guy who lives in it is a big talker, and he runs the projector on movie nights. I don’t know why they would have a projector. Maybe it’s a DVD projector or a big screen TV. Anyway, she said he runs around on movie nights, rousting people so they’ll show up.

I am not sure whether my dad should have a roommate. On the one hand, you always want to say you gave your parent the best, and private rooms cost more. On the other, dementia patients need to be engaged. Loneliness and boredom are my dad’s two biggest problems, and if he is allowed to hide in his room, they will get worse.

My plan is to call the ALF tomorrow and ask for the space with the movie guy. If he and my dad don’t hit it off, I’ll get him his own room.

While I was talking to the ALF manager, a somber-looking family was moving things out the front door. They exchanged some words with the manager, and she got teary-eyed. She told me they had just lost someone; a lady who had only been there four months. She was attached to the patient and the family.

I don’t know what happened to the guy my dad would be replacing.

Assuming I don’t have another catastrophic loss of opportunity from a someone grabbing my dad’s room before I call the ALF, I can have him in his own place on Monday.

My only problem with this ALF is their religious program. They have one church service a month, plus Bible studies. Unfortunately, the guy who runs it is Catholic. I don’t want anyone telling my dad to pray to an ordinary human being; it has to be God himself. I don’t want anyone sprinkling him.

As I drove home, I passed a Calvary Chapel which was very close to the ALF. Problem solved, I think. Calvary Chapel is a fairly good denomination or sect or whatever. It’s not ideal, but I don’t think they’ll try to get him to buy them a jet, and they definitely won’t have any statues to worship. If he moves to the ALF, I can take him to Calvary Chapel sometimes.

I’m not done with the weird news.

My dad has been a real pain ever since I put him in the ALF. He was a pain before he got there. He told me I was selfish. He said I didn’t love him. He said he would care for me personally if the shoe were on the other foot. He argued with me when I went to the ALF and even demanded I take him home. Yesterday, someone put him on the phone, and he called me and begged me to go get him. I was so busy I didn’t even visit.

Today I went to the ALF, figuring I was in for more misery. Instead, I met a new man. My dad had just had a hospice visit. He had been bathed, shaved, and groomed. He was happy to see me. He was eager to go out for a walk.

I took him for a walk, and we sat outside. I got him something to drink, and we talked. He kept telling me how much he loved me, as though love were something completely new to him. He told me I was good-looking. He said I was super intelligent. He said all he cared about was my welfare.

I wish I could have filmed him, traveled forty years back in time, and forced his young self to watch. I know what I would have asked him. “Why don’t you ever talk like this? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He kept saying he felt good about the future. He said he thought things were going to go very well. I couldn’t figure out what he was referring to. He said he felt like he had started a new life. I wondered if someone had been preaching to him.

More weirdness: my dad was walking much more normally than he did two days ago. He was talking real steps instead of shuffling each foot forward half an inch at a time. He no longer had what doctors call a “magnetic gait,” meaning he didn’t walk as though his feet were stuck to the floor. Maybe part of his recent gait problems came from falling down. Maybe he’s healing.

I told him I couldn’t take him home, and he didn’t fight with me. I said I was working hard on finding him a better place. When I had to leave, he said he would be bored, but he didn’t seem miserable.

I left him in the main room, not his own room. I was glad he was willing to mingle. He sat down next to a very warm-hearted dementia patient. She grabbed his arm and squeezed it. She said she could feel his blood pumping through her own heart, or something like that. Maybe that’s a German thing. She had an accent. She kept giving encouragement as I worked to take his jacket off and get him settled.

I can’t tell you how much better I feel. I got out of there unscathed, and I had a plan.

I saw my new friend Gloria again while I was there. She was sitting by the main entrance to the building. She wasn’t in memory care. Maybe they decided to give her another chance. I hope so. I prayed for her after I met her.

That’s all the news for today. If I can get him moved, I can start tying up all the ends that have loosened up while he has monopolized my time. That will be tremendous.

Tomorrow, my young friend Travis is supposed to drive up from Miami. He wants to be baptized in my pool. I hope that works out. I told him Satan would try to prevent it, and sure enough, he lost his wallet in an Uber car today. I am confident that God will put things right.

I think I’ll be able to sleep all night tonight. We shall see.