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The Power Of Vulnerability

This was a phenomenal week. Particular to Alfie's question: now that the eternal question is settled, now what? What’s next? This, of course, presumes we've all answered to our current satisfaction the three vital questions presented during the first segment of this series. If not, now is a marvelous time to earnestly revisit those. OK. Now, what? How would you answer this question?


  Is the butterfly a caterpillar?

Hello, Crystals & Seashorers! Your adventure has just begun. For me, it began like this: “Each day I awake I give praise. I give praise. Each day I awake I am grateful. I am grateful.” That’s me. What about you? What would you do next? What should you do? What if we reframe the questions? What can you can do? Who do you want to be? RECOMMENDATION: Have a personal reflection. 

Now let's look around for just a sec. How do you see the world around you? Honestly. Is there any class of folk whose only sense of worth, whose means of feeling good about themselves, whose gratitude for being what they are, is having someone, some other, to look down upon, to abuse, to berate, to blame and, by their own confession, by their own declarations, that’s their privilege, their pride? Toss that measuring stick. Fix your eyes elsewhere. You're about to experience a new wonder. Enjoy.

Permit me to present a new question.
Do you believe you are worthy
of love and belonging?

It was the fourth day. The lad had already packed. Dove arrived. It was not that the lad was so eager to leave the mountain where he had spent the last four days away from any semblance of civilization; it was that he was so eager to engage what was to be next. Eagle had said two experiences would equip him for a most extraordinary assignment - not that the lad gave any thought to how this experience would matter; his mountaintop experience was just so phenomenal in and of itself nothing else mattered in the moment. In fact, as Eagle would discover later, the lad's experience was phenomenal beyond even Eagle's anticipation.

Dove took the lads luggage and
as they left the mountain heading back to the cabiquecolo.the lad felt as light as a young bird, 

. . . . The Lad Believed This About Himself . . . .

I am born with potential. I am born with trust. I am born with greatness. I am created to be connected, I am necessary in this season. Ready or not, here I come.

They arrived. Eagle greeted him, as a father would a son. Aback of Eagle, framed on the wall, was the picture of a quote the lad had heard repeated by MC time and again at ceremonies.

The most mysterious phenomenon of the universe?

Eagle's dog wiggled wildly at the sight of the lad. Dove stood by. "Hurry on home. I'll see you in a while." That is all Eagle said to the lad before waving him on. The dog scampered across the meadow, over the mound, and across the bridge to bid the lad along. And, suddenly, it hit the lad; he had re-entered civilization, an awkward familiarity.

Is Not That We Are Inadequate
It is that we are powerful beyond measure
It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.

In the breaches of The Great Adventure, with Jesus' exquisite garment gambled off, The Scattered hid in grief. One of them, Judas, would soon commit suicide. Affixed in anguish and regret he will burst his guts assunder. Meanwhile, news of an emptied tomb, the tomb in which Jesus was buried, began to reach members of The Remainder. These, which included women who did not abandon the scenes of these horrific crimes, were about to be amazed. Again!

"Looking for me?"


"Stories matter. Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and malign, but stories can also be used to empower and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people, but stories can also repair that broken dignity." Chimamanda Adichie. Let's embrace all of our story. Let's own it all. Let it stand and it will stand the test of all time. LET'S EXPAND OUR PERCEPTION.



  Does an eaglet stay in its nest forever?

"How precious are Your thoughts to me, O God!
 How great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand;
 when I awake, I am still with You." ~ David in love.

Radio Ahhhhhh

P. C. Ritch, Esq.
24 Hrs.

   CURRENT   R E F L E C T I O N   

A Great Gift

The Joy Of Being
"Dare to Live."
This is your life; only YOU can live it.




Glittering fragments of a cracked vase sparkling with joys.

And Jesus said to them ... 

      whose soever wrongs you remit
      they are remitted onto them

      whose soever wrongs you retain
      they are retained
Oh dear-dear-dear. Fulllstop! Far better to search out and to discover with one's own eyes and ears and heart and mind what all is being said and to whom and why, in a manner that allows the truest revelation . . . and thus to think of such things, lest this jot or that tittle, innocently or wickedly rearranged, changes the map and leads someone or one's self into an infested swamp.
Withn this chapel, we strive continually to uplift, encourage, inspire and challenge each other to achieve our best in mind, body and spirit. We live, laugh, love, look, listen & learn.

new segment coming


Our Weekly Personal Story Or Reflection

As you know, I love the Book of Psalms, ever since a wee kid - its sounds, its rhythms, its poetry, its musicality, its grandness, the very soul of it.

Maybe it was the comforting sounds of my mother’s readings in the wee hours of sparkling starlight and, none too later, of me reading - whispering really - to us, that drew me into its cocoon.

It is pure wonder, I now know - and I am grateful - that I came to this book much like I would any other: reading from beginning through its middle to its climax, pausing here and there at wonderful gestures, observing amazing panoramas, experiencing the heights and depths and swirls and swivels of its drama, its passions and emotions, in the very manner I would traversing the vast terrains of any good book - aye, even a great book - yes, even partaking of its sumptuous meals, drinking its barrels of wines and inhaling its exotic aromas.

Oh, the joy of being!

I thus escaped the pitfalls, the dredges, the swamps, the swirling oceans, tsunamis and super-storms trapping billions who raid these books, grabbing dribs and drabs, as they do other scriptures, being  thrilled by sparkling bits - a piece here, a strip there, a tare expounded upon so well, stretched thin and poured over aplenty - all stored and sniffed, like cherished baseball cards.

Now, I do know, many have gathered great gems, which brought great riches, solace, and so on, and so forth, simply by owning these marvelous fragments, and by exchanging them in the market place, multiplying them a thousand fold, which, all in all, attest to the absolute wonder and incredible brilliance of scripture. Aye, its mighty power.

I do, however, also witness many good folks trapped - unable to swim to shore, or see the lighthouse, or climb out of deep holes, or escape dungeons - holding tight to that solitary plank keeping them afloat having been unduly caught in a storm, or onto a raft right and ready when their ship sank, or onto an aging limb that has kept them alive from a long fall; I too would want these there were it my turn, so I cannot afford to fault them; for these holding on so tightly are enduring witnesses to survival. To hope! Should these let go, who knows, they might drown or be swallowed up in a sink hole, or be singed by the dragon’s fire - a regrettable loss.

Unless! Unless a strong arm comes.

That being as it may, having come to the Psalms my childlike way - un-expounded then, and in full joy, even an escape, a comfort, a retreat, a shelter from the storm, a bunker beneath the battlefield, for so often it was - I still visit its many places, spots, scenery, and windows of wonder, which, for whatever reason, have captured my linger during those early jaunts.

Such is Psalm 139. A remarkable spot. It still lifts my pimples. It still comforts.

Seeing David there, and me living vicariously through him in those moments. Awesome!

Like a boy in a battlefield, knowing God will never leave his side, or abandon him to the enemy, a God who is more than any conqueror, capable way beyond any that can be imagined, with a reach so very far and so very wide.

Like a lover, desiring, longing, wanting; being assured that his lover will not slip away, or hide, or be unfaithful, or abandon him, but continually find him to be pure joy.

Like a king, who can sleep, never having to fear for his crown.

Oh to be David! A man after God’s own heart!

So it came as a hefty surprise, years later, discovering that Yo Massah had gotten hold of Psalm 139, like it is a baseball bat ready at the door of de-slaves; that it’s got de-slaves trembling at every reminder that Yo Massah is there in every moment, under de bed, atop de ceiling, in de outhouse, all across de bushes, listening to all conversations, ready to whip backsides and bash in faces with big swings of de-big-unbreakable-bat, for there’s no place to hide, pig-children - none - the only escape is to toe Yo Massah’s line.

Oh, Lord, what a marnin! I is done seen the devil. Got no mercy! Eyes of fire. Heart cold as ice. And look just like ordinary. Mhm!

Surprised me.

Well! Here is that bat! That whip. That chain! For whosever shall own it. Psalm 139.

And here is comfort, everlasting ease, almighty assurance, enduring strength, total loving, sweet serenity: Psalm 139.




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