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- Knock-Knock

Who's There?

Miguel C Asaestuya Sr. accepted his weekly meal delivery, called the lad inside then closed the door. "Smells delicious," he said. "Have a bite with me."

"I have lunch at home, sir. I'll vacuum your living room and dust the furniture if you'd like; I have time. Is your Hoover in the closet?"

"I'd rather us go at back: enjoy my secret garden, experience the breeze, observe life across the swamp," he gestured, grabbing his lunch wares. "Come with me."

"That's a very nice house," the lad said, seeing it beyond the trees.

"I'd say. Hold this for me," Senior
Miguel C Asaestuya said, passsing a large plate over to the lad. The old fellow scooped a portion of his meal into the plate, placed his fork there then said to the lad, "Eat with me. It's not a sin."

The lad smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"Haven't seen any movement there in a while," the old man said of the house. "I asked our neighborhood strummer to knock on the door, but haven't heard back."
As they were eating, the old man and the lad heard a duckling squealing. "Lost!" the old man said. "Not a nice feeling. Even worse if you've forgotten who you are. Terrible combination: Homeless and Nameless."

"It's extremely important to never forget who you are. Don't you agree?

"Yes, sir. And to remember where you left your pajamas."

The old man chuckled. "No one can know you if you don't know who you are. And if no one knows you, who will call you? Besides, if you don’t know who you are how will you know if you’re being called? Worse, you might answer the wrong call. Knock-knock."

"Who's there?"

"I AM," the old man announced with thundering profundity. "Know who you are. Exactly. Beware: there is always someone out there ready to decide who you are, ready to own you for a spit. Own yourself! Know who you are. Knock-knock, who's there?"

"I AM."

The old man smiled. "Take another bite. It's delicious." 


The Twelve Gathered
were in the midst of The Great Adventure while thousands were following Jesus, some looking to him for signs, some looking to find fault in him, some just looking. The Twelve experienced how Jesus provided for all, feeding five thousand with five loaves and how many baskets of loaves were left over, and how he fed four thousand with seven loaves and how many baskets were left over, and they considered what he said about the doctrine of the Pharisees and of the Saducees. What a man! These huge crowds following Jesus remained astonished at all that was being accomplished, but leadership can be exhausting.

  Jesus needed to replenish himself. He and his buddies went aside from the crowds, sailing into the coasts of Caeserea Philippi. There, Jesus asked The Twelve, "Who do the people say that I, The Son of Man, Am?" They told him, some say you are John The Baptist, some say you are Elias, others say you are Jeremias, and yet others say you are one of the prophets. 

"Hmm. Who do you say I am?"

Peter answered. "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God."

"Bless you, Peter. You did not discover this from flesh and blood. My Father told you. So I will tell you, Peter: Upon this rock I will build my church and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven. Whosoever you set free on earth will be set free in heaven."

 What A Man!




The lad, realizing it was time to leave, said to the old man, "Sir, you must be hungry; I brought you lunch and you fed me with it. That's not right."

"You brought me more than my fill, my lad. If sharing it with you is not very right, I don't know what is. Peace."



"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." ~ Jesus

Radio Ahhhhhh

P. C. Ritch, Esq.
24 Hrs.

   CURRENT   R E F L E C T I O N   

Taste & See
Entertain Angels
"R U the light or the watchman?"
This is your life; only YOU can live it.


You  Have  The  Option  To  Spoil  It

Ohh! Can I peek at what you're seeing; that titsy-bit of the letter you're reading? Hmm!

      Be content 
      with what you have

      for I will never leave you
      nor forsake you

      That's so we may boldly say:

      The Lord is my Helper
      I will not fear
      what others will do.
Woohoo! Suddenly, I'm all verklept. Kleenex please! Where was I? Don't tease me with these little tidbits; plunge in - head, hands, feet and all. Discover with your eyes and ears and heart and mind what kind of love this is . . . then think on those things; lest you miss the chance to entertain angels and never partake in full peace this feast of joy and love that surpasses all understanding.

Some have asked, how can I, having spent so long washing the deep wounds of so many lives brutalized, abused, disenfranchised and deceived, and knowing the many still being killed, neglected and oppressed, their dreams continually being crushed by religion and in the name of this god and that god and for the cause of this belief and that ideology and with the hammer of this doctrine and that teaching, how can I still deign to shine a light through the thick of that storm. It is a tough question with an easy answer.


I learned to swim - dangerously so - driven to it by a very traumatic experience. I learned to ride a bike by dint of a deception. Or was it faith? Or was it belief? Or was it trust?

My uncle arrived in response to an urgent call. Upon arrival, I fell in love with his bike. Nevermind the trouble I almost got both him and me into only minutes prior because I fell in love with his bike right in the face of that terrible urgency, I think most young uncles want to please their young nephews. Besides, he was once a boy too,  so he gave in to my longing and soothed my mother into letting me have my way just this once.

Except being towed, I had never been this close to a bike. Never rode a tricycle. Never rode a training bike. Never set my feet on the pedals of a bike before this day! Nevertheless, my uncle set about letting me achieve this dream of mine. He was going to teach me, just this once, how to ride a bike.

"Just this once!" My mother confirmed.

Just this once!

  I held on to the bike handles the way my wise uncle directed me to hold them. He placed my left foot on the left pedal and my right foot on the right pedal and told me that I would have to move each foot up and down, like so. Can you do that? Of course. Who can't do that? Then he promised my mother and I that he would hold onto the seat (I was, of course, not anywhere near tall enough to reach up and sit on his seat even though he was not that tall of a man) and that he would push me along to the end of the street and back. This was going to be so much fun. I was beside myself elated. I'm quite sure I was all teeth - head to toe - and our neighbors were out and about ready to observe my extraordinary hope.

  "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Uncle Pats."

"Start pedalling."

I pedaled and pedaled and pedaled and pedaled. The turns of the front wheel and the rhythm of my pedaling remain fresh with me to this day. I kept going and going and going - it was a good way along - and going and going, and the cross street was coming up, across which was a patch of grass, and beyond that was the trench (a fairly wide stream decorated with alive lilies and occupied by happy ducks with their ducklings). But you must know how uncles are with boys. They just love to push boys to the limit. He had not taught me how to pull the brake. That should not have been a problem, since he could readily pull the bike to a stop.

But the cross street and the trench kept coming toward me faster and faster with no slow-up by my uncle and all I knew to do was to pedal, so I kept pedaling - too dumb or giddy to stop pedaling.

"Stop the bike, Uncle Pats." He didn't. "Stop the bike. Stop the bike. Stop it. Stop it."

He didn't.

I looked around, still pedaling, to make him stop it before I end up in the trench and drown. Just then I heard him shouting from way back down the street where my mother was standing. "Pull the brakes. Pull the brakes," he shouted.

Of course, it didn't matter, for I went slamming into the grass and sliding toward the trench. And he forthwith came racing down the street to save me. And I right then did not care how many bruises I had or how much they were burning me, for in that dramatic moment, I realized what everyone in the neighborhood already knew. My uncle was never holding me up. I was riding that bike all the way along. Who-ah!

There are some lessons in life no one can take away from a boy. This is but one!

Call it what you will. I rode the bike. I still can.



I cherish the moments
  Every Moment Is Precious


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