Even though He's an unchanging God filled with compassion and love, Soon His Righteous Justice will be poured down on earth from above.
Throughout time God has reached down to earth with unmerited Grace, All who believe will be taken from the earth before this takes place.
Although through the years both Jews and Christians have been hated, The Eternal Will of a Holy Unchanging God will never be frustrated.
Because of God's long-suffering some men have said that He is dead, But these deceived and arrogant people have no idea of what's ahead.
God's patience will finally end in the time of a wicked generation, Then The Church will be removed and God will start the Tribulation.
The Time of Jacob's Trouble is the name for this time of tribulation, It's when God deals with His People and judges every other nation.
It will be just as in the time Noah, right before Jesus comes again, For He's coming the second time to judge the world and all its sin.
Because Israel rejected Christ the first time, according to The Word, Zechariah states the total of the nation left will only be one third.
Because the enemies of God are so filled with hate and so enraged, God said if He didn't cut short the time that no flesh would be saved.
God will end His Holy Wrath with a Spirit of Grace and Supplication, Again they will be His People and He will be The God of their nation.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
You Can Do Anything
Many years ago,my dad was diagnosed with a terminal heart condition. He was put on permanent disability and was unable to work at a steady job. He would be fine for quite a while,but would then fall suddenly ill and have to be admitted to the hospital.
He wanted to do something to keep himself busy,so he decided to volunteer at the local children hospital. My dad loved kids. It was the perfect job for him. He ended up working with the terminally and critically ill children. He would talk to them and play with them and do arts and crafts with them. Sometimes,he would lose one of his kids. In certain instances,he would tell the grieving parents of these children that he would soon be with their child in heaven and that he would take care of them until they got there. He would also ask the parent if there was a message they would like to send with him for their child.
My dad assurances seemed to help parents with their grieving. One of his kids was a girl who had been admitted with a rare disease that paralyzed her from the neck down. I don't know the name of the disease or what the prognosis usually is,but I do know that it was very sad for a girl around eight or nine years old. She couldn't do anything,and she was very depressed. My dad decided to try to help her. He started visiting her in her room,bringing paints,brushes and paper. He stood the paper up against a backing,put the paintbrush in his mouth and began to paint. He didn't use his hands at all. Only his head would move. He would visit her whenever he could and paint for her. All the while he would tell her,see,you can do anything you set your mind to.
Eventually,she began to paint using her mouth,and she and my dad became friends. Soon after,the little girl was discharged because the doctors felt there was nothing else they could do for her. My dad also left the children hospital for a little while because he became ill. Sometime later after my dad had recovered and returned to work,he was at the volunteer counter in the lobby of the hospital. He noticed the front doors open. In came the little girl who had been paralyzed,only this time she was walking. She ran straight over to my dad and hugged him really tight. She gave my dad a picture she had done using her hands. At the bottom it read,thank you for helping me walk.
My dad would cry every time he told us this story and so would we. He would say sometimes love is more powerful than doctors,and my dad - who died just a few months after the little girl gave him the picture - loved every single child in that hospital.
He wanted to do something to keep himself busy,so he decided to volunteer at the local children hospital. My dad loved kids. It was the perfect job for him. He ended up working with the terminally and critically ill children. He would talk to them and play with them and do arts and crafts with them. Sometimes,he would lose one of his kids. In certain instances,he would tell the grieving parents of these children that he would soon be with their child in heaven and that he would take care of them until they got there. He would also ask the parent if there was a message they would like to send with him for their child.
My dad assurances seemed to help parents with their grieving. One of his kids was a girl who had been admitted with a rare disease that paralyzed her from the neck down. I don't know the name of the disease or what the prognosis usually is,but I do know that it was very sad for a girl around eight or nine years old. She couldn't do anything,and she was very depressed. My dad decided to try to help her. He started visiting her in her room,bringing paints,brushes and paper. He stood the paper up against a backing,put the paintbrush in his mouth and began to paint. He didn't use his hands at all. Only his head would move. He would visit her whenever he could and paint for her. All the while he would tell her,see,you can do anything you set your mind to.
Eventually,she began to paint using her mouth,and she and my dad became friends. Soon after,the little girl was discharged because the doctors felt there was nothing else they could do for her. My dad also left the children hospital for a little while because he became ill. Sometime later after my dad had recovered and returned to work,he was at the volunteer counter in the lobby of the hospital. He noticed the front doors open. In came the little girl who had been paralyzed,only this time she was walking. She ran straight over to my dad and hugged him really tight. She gave my dad a picture she had done using her hands. At the bottom it read,thank you for helping me walk.
My dad would cry every time he told us this story and so would we. He would say sometimes love is more powerful than doctors,and my dad - who died just a few months after the little girl gave him the picture - loved every single child in that hospital.
UI for a headless server under power management
I've been working at setting up a server for a friend, the thing runs SC7.3.4 and various (file) services. There is a global power management routine that looks for server activity and puts the machine in suspend mode when idle (around 100W -> 13W)The machine has USB ports usable for data transfer/data serving. Without any interface, removing a USB device will inevitably lead to problems, so the USB devices are automounted and dismounted after few minutes of inactivity. My monitoring system watches current mounts, avoids sleeping when mounted, and reports which devices are mounted, and which can (should!) be unplugged since idle.Exact same idea and similar implementation for optical disks in the DVD drive.I've reported PM information into a plugin I hacked from one found in phpsysinfo 3.0-RC9. This gives the web page inlined here.Then because the server is headless, and because ejecting a device is done at the foot of the machine, in the basement, I have added a reporting mode to the power button (within 3 secs, press once for report, twice for the normal effect), and a vocal report that you can listen to with a headphones plugged in the front audio port.(can't inline file here: MP3 file too big [768kB], for the forums. Link will fade some time)The vocal report is built using espeak and MBROLA (I wanted a nice german speaker voice, as the machine is named Otto...). What you hear is the cue + the message you get when the button action kicks in. There are feedback beeps played through the PC speaker as well, can't record them.The report is updated every minute, so the system isn't bulletproof. But handled with a bit of care, my current tests show the machine is stable.I'm posting this to show off a bit. And perhaps to give an idea to more talented integrators than I am (I refrain from giving out the name of a nice all-in-one server targeted at squeezebox users, here...)
Attached Images
The Marks of Life
My teammates on the United States Disabled Ski Team used to tease me about the size of my chest, joking that my greatest handicap wasn't my missing leg but my missing cleavage. Little did they know how true that would become. This past year, I found out that for the second time in my life I had cancer, this time in both breasts. I had bilateral mastectomies.
When I heard I'd need the surgery, I didn't think it would be a big deal. I even told my friends playfully, "I'll keep you abreast of the situation."After all, I had lost my leg to my first go-round with cancer at age 12, then gone on to become a world-champion ski racer. All of us on the Disabled Ski Team were missing one set of body parts or another. I saw that a man in a wheelchair can be utterly sexy. That a woman who has no hands can appear not to be missing anything. That wholeness has nothing to do with missing parts and everything to do with spirit. Yet although I knew this, I was surprised to discover how difficult it was to adjust to my new scars.
When they brought me back to consciousness after the surgery, I started to sob and hyperventilate. Suddenly I found that I didn't want to face the loss of more of my body. I didn't want chemotherapy again. I didn't want to be brave and tough and put on a perpetual smiling face. I didn't ever want to wake up again. My breathing grew so shaky that the anesthesiologist gave me oxygen and then, thankfully, put me back to sleep.
When I was doing hill sprints to prepare for my ski racing - my heart and lungs and leg muscles all on fire - I'd often be hit by the sensation that there were no resources left inside me with which to keep going. Then I'd think about the races ahead - my dream of pushing my potential as far as it could go, the satisfaction of breaking through my own barriers - and that would get me through the sprints. The same tenacity that served me so well in ski racing helped me survive my second bout with cancer.
After the mastectomies, I knew that one way to get myself going would be to start exercising again, so I headed for the local pool. In the communal shower, I found myself noticing other women's breasts for the first time in my life. Size-D breasts and size-A breasts, sagging breasts and perky breasts. Suddenly and for the first time, after all these years of missing a leg, I felt acutely self-conscious. I couldn't bring myself to undress.
I decided it was time to confront myself. That night at home, I took off all my clothes and had a long look at the woman in the mirror. She was androgynous. Take my face - without makeup, it was a cute young boy's face. My shoulder muscles, arms and hands were powerful and muscular from the crutches. I had no breasts; instead, there were two prominent scars on my chest. I had a sexy flat stomach, a bubble butt and a well-developed thigh from years of ski racing. My right leg ended in another long scar just above the knee.
I discovered that I liked my androgynous body. It fit my personality - my aggressive male side that loves getting dressed in a helmet, arm guards and shin protectors to do battle with the slalom gates, and my gentle female side that longs to have children one day and wants to dress up in a beautiful silk dress, go out to dinner with a lover and then lie back and be slowly undressed by him.
I found that the scars on my chest and my leg were a big deal. They were my marks of life. All of us are scarred by life; it's just that some of those scars show more clearly than others. Our scars do matter. They tell us that we have lived, that we haven't hidden from life. When we see our scars plainly, we can find in them, as I did that day, our own unique beauty.
The next time I went to the pool I showered naked.
When I heard I'd need the surgery, I didn't think it would be a big deal. I even told my friends playfully, "I'll keep you abreast of the situation."After all, I had lost my leg to my first go-round with cancer at age 12, then gone on to become a world-champion ski racer. All of us on the Disabled Ski Team were missing one set of body parts or another. I saw that a man in a wheelchair can be utterly sexy. That a woman who has no hands can appear not to be missing anything. That wholeness has nothing to do with missing parts and everything to do with spirit. Yet although I knew this, I was surprised to discover how difficult it was to adjust to my new scars.
When they brought me back to consciousness after the surgery, I started to sob and hyperventilate. Suddenly I found that I didn't want to face the loss of more of my body. I didn't want chemotherapy again. I didn't want to be brave and tough and put on a perpetual smiling face. I didn't ever want to wake up again. My breathing grew so shaky that the anesthesiologist gave me oxygen and then, thankfully, put me back to sleep.
When I was doing hill sprints to prepare for my ski racing - my heart and lungs and leg muscles all on fire - I'd often be hit by the sensation that there were no resources left inside me with which to keep going. Then I'd think about the races ahead - my dream of pushing my potential as far as it could go, the satisfaction of breaking through my own barriers - and that would get me through the sprints. The same tenacity that served me so well in ski racing helped me survive my second bout with cancer.
After the mastectomies, I knew that one way to get myself going would be to start exercising again, so I headed for the local pool. In the communal shower, I found myself noticing other women's breasts for the first time in my life. Size-D breasts and size-A breasts, sagging breasts and perky breasts. Suddenly and for the first time, after all these years of missing a leg, I felt acutely self-conscious. I couldn't bring myself to undress.
I decided it was time to confront myself. That night at home, I took off all my clothes and had a long look at the woman in the mirror. She was androgynous. Take my face - without makeup, it was a cute young boy's face. My shoulder muscles, arms and hands were powerful and muscular from the crutches. I had no breasts; instead, there were two prominent scars on my chest. I had a sexy flat stomach, a bubble butt and a well-developed thigh from years of ski racing. My right leg ended in another long scar just above the knee.
I discovered that I liked my androgynous body. It fit my personality - my aggressive male side that loves getting dressed in a helmet, arm guards and shin protectors to do battle with the slalom gates, and my gentle female side that longs to have children one day and wants to dress up in a beautiful silk dress, go out to dinner with a lover and then lie back and be slowly undressed by him.
I found that the scars on my chest and my leg were a big deal. They were my marks of life. All of us are scarred by life; it's just that some of those scars show more clearly than others. Our scars do matter. They tell us that we have lived, that we haven't hidden from life. When we see our scars plainly, we can find in them, as I did that day, our own unique beauty.
The next time I went to the pool I showered naked.
A Womans Tears
“Why are you crying?” he asked his Mom.
“Because I'm a woman.” she told him.
“I don't understand,” he said.
His Mom just hugged him and said,
“And you never will”...
Later the little boy asked his father,
“Why does mother seem to cry for no reason?”
“All women cry for no reason”
was all his Dad could say...
The little boy grew up and became a man,
still wondering why women cry...
Finally he put in a call to God;
when God got on the phone, the man said,
“God, why do women cry so easily?”
God said...“When I made woman
she had to be special. I made her shoulders
strong enough to carry the weight of the world；
yet gentle enough to give comfort...
I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth
and the rejection that many times comes
from her children...
I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going
when everyone else gives up
and take care of her family
through fatigue and sickness
without complaining...
I gave her the sensitivity to love her children
under any and all circumstances,
even when her child has hurt them very badly...
I gave her strength to carry her husband
through his faults
and fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart.
I gave her wisdom to know that
a good husband never hurts his wife,
but sometimes tests her strengths
and her resolve to stand beside him unfalteringly.
I gave her a tear to shed，
It's hers exclusively to use whenever it is needed.
It's her only weakness...
It's a tear for mankind...
“Because I'm a woman.” she told him.
“I don't understand,” he said.
His Mom just hugged him and said,
“And you never will”...
Later the little boy asked his father,
“Why does mother seem to cry for no reason?”
“All women cry for no reason”
was all his Dad could say...
The little boy grew up and became a man,
still wondering why women cry...
Finally he put in a call to God;
when God got on the phone, the man said,
“God, why do women cry so easily?”
God said...“When I made woman
she had to be special. I made her shoulders
strong enough to carry the weight of the world；
yet gentle enough to give comfort...
I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth
and the rejection that many times comes
from her children...
I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going
when everyone else gives up
and take care of her family
through fatigue and sickness
without complaining...
I gave her the sensitivity to love her children
under any and all circumstances,
even when her child has hurt them very badly...
I gave her strength to carry her husband
through his faults
and fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart.
I gave her wisdom to know that
a good husband never hurts his wife,
but sometimes tests her strengths
and her resolve to stand beside him unfalteringly.
I gave her a tear to shed，
It's hers exclusively to use whenever it is needed.
It's her only weakness...
It's a tear for mankind...
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