Unfurl your colors

The idea of wearing battle colours or war paint extends far back into history. The red Indians dubbed stripes on their faces when they went into battle, to embolden each other, intimidate the enemy and display their commitment to victory. The Vikings also wore battle paint, as did the Normans. Both of those invasive forces influenced warriors like the Scots, whom Mel Gibson so ably depicted in Braveheart. Mediaeval battlefields also used war paint until the idea of uniformed forces was popularised.

Uniforms and flags enabled fighting forces to carry their colours and allegiances in a more formal way. Discipline and pride rejected the relatively untidy look of face paint, but time would expose such visible uniforms to real disadvantages. Perhaps it was the Anglo-Boer war at the turn of the last century that convinced England to move towards mufti, the kind of battle dress that now dominates all battlefields.

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Its almost over ... scarcely before it began

There is such sweet innocence in a child’s face. They are like a blank page, an unpainted canvas – pregnant with possibility and potential. In the hands of an artist, each canvas will be transformed to become a thing of unique beauty and wonder.

As life progresses that canvas then tells its own story – a weather-beaten, wrinkled and tired face speaks of years of sorrow or ill-living, but for every one of those faces I have seen many other older faces that reflect contentment, peace, fulfillment and dignity.

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And the trumpets shall sound ...

That annoying instrument is still on my mind. How do I get it off my mind? How can anyone ignore such a persistent and loud noise?

The picture attached shows a Vuvuzela trumpet being blown by light of moon. It is reminiscent of the howling of wolves or dogs, but if there's is an instinctive cry, a mating call or some other instrument of survival, what would we say of the Vuvuzela? It is not likely to attach a mate, unless she is deaf. It is not instinctive, its downright dangerous to one's health and if God wanted us to make such a noise He would have tuned our noses to B-Flat, made them larger and enhanced our lung capacity to support the kind of noise a cow makes when its giving birth. As for our ears, well maybe by now they would have evolved into muffs.  

Past civilisations have certainly regarded the trumpet as an instrument of survival - it warned of impending danger, sounded alarms or heralded the coming of an important event.

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The sound of trumpets

The FIFA world cup has had its highs - the opening ceremony, the arrival of teams, the national spirit of a land that has opened its heart to all, the celebrations and the general atmosphere of the occasion. The lowest moments have been where teams have been forced to leave the stage and head back home. It is already almost over, yet has scarcely begun. Oh and of course every team has criticised the Jabulani ball, which loves to curve and do its own thing at altitude, thanks to its superb aero-efficiency.

Then of course, there is that unbelievably annoying trumpet that has absolutely drowned out all noise at matches, the motorious vuvuzela. It plays a monotonous B-flat at such volumes that it is damaging to one's health. I have mentioned before that the name is drawn from its "Vu-Vu" sound.

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The longest day

This week two men brought the world to a standstill, as they grunted and sweated and aced their way to one of the greatest tennis matches of the modern era.

Here are the stats:

Longest match at Wimbledon

Duration: 11 hours, 5 minutes

Longest final set - 138 games

Greatest number of games: 183

The crowd was concerned that the players would collapse, but daylight had the last say and forced the game to extend to a new day. It was one of the greatest games ever and now Isner and Mahut will be linked forever. At the end, Isner collapsed and rolled on the court and then embraced his opponent.

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Thanksgiving - an appropriate prayer

Dear GOD:

I want to thank You for what you have already done.

I am not going to wait until I see results or receive rewards.

I am not going to wait until I feel better or things look better.

I'm not going to wait until people say they are sorry or until they stop talking about me.

I am not going to wait until the pain in my body disappears.
I am not going to wait until my financial situation improves.
I am not going to wait until the children are asleep and the house is quiet.
I am not going to wait until I get promoted at work or until I get the job.
I am not going to wait until I understand every experience in my life that has caused me pain or grief.
I am not going to wait until the journey gets easier or the challenges are removed.
I am thanking you right now. I am thanking you because I am alive. I am thanking you because I made it through the days of difficulties. I am thanking you because I have walked around the obstacles.
I am thanking you because I have the ability and the opportunity to do more and do better.

I'm thanking you because FATHER, YOU haven't given up on me.

Source: unknown

Have ball will play

There was a time, not so long ago, when youngsters could derive fun from the simplest of things. Washington found pleasure in unseating his squatting father and the great Sir Donald Bradman learnt to bat using a golf ball, which so attuned his eye that by the time he retired from world cricket he had established an unassailable record of 99.9 runs for every wicket he conceded. Newton also turned the simple pleasure of an apple into an idea, to which Einstein added, when an idea simply presents itself, then God speaks.

All over the world poor kids like the one in the picture, derive profound joy from flat balls, broken toys and unstringed instruments. My own boys have reshaped sticks, pipes, tubes, tables and whatever else they could lay their hands on, including the house and my face, to fulfill their insatiable quest for adventure, intrigue and fun. I once took them fishing along a river, with very basic equipment - though we caught nought, they had inexpressible fun just doing it.

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Show your colors

The news picture of a man lost inside his outrageous hat, is about as evocative of the world cup as one could ever hope to find. Apparently it weighs 25kg, over 50 pounds, so what it does to his head, neck and shoulders is anyone's guess.

There is no doubt that a world class event like the FIFA world cup, bring out the party in all kinds of souls. It is highly festive and guaranteed to bring ordinary souls to the wildest and most exaggerated forms of expression imaginable. That's great - we all need some respite from a tough life.

The wearing of headdress and garments to represent a team, is as old as the hills. The priests of old carried a mitre on their heads and a mantle over their chests, into which was pressed the 12 semi-precious stones that represented the tribes of Israel.

The priests carried their representation before God, offering up sacrifices and intercessions for the needs of their people. It was not just a garment, an external show. According to Hebrews 2, the priests had to be able to identify fully with the needs of the people - so they carried, if not individual names, then certainly the corporate identities of the tribes, before God.

However, Hebrews 2 is not directed at the general priesthood, but the greatest of all priests, one drawn from the order of Melchizidek, who was made subject to temptation and weakness, just as we are, so He could fully identify with our needs and offer a sacrifice worthy of our atonement. Now that same priest, Jesus, actually does have our individual names written on His heart and He knows the hairs on our heads. He faithfully intercedes for us before the mercy throne of God, to give us grace and help in time of need.

Jesus may not wear priestly garments, nor the outrageous garb of rabid fans, but He most certainly shouts for us and the trumpets do indeed sound as He leads us through life's trials, until we raise the trophies of grace.

(c) Peter Eleazar @ www.4u2live.net

Perfect peace

The attached picture appeared in the news, showing a young child sleeping peacefully through what must be amongst the noisiest occasions ever. A simple plastic trumpet, called a Vuvuzela (a phonetic name for its B-flat, Vu-Vu sound), which produces a noise similar to a cow giving birth and operates in the 130 decibel range. It is a profoundly noisy instrument, but when 60-90 thousand people blow them in the confines of a stadium it is so deafening that hearing damage is possible. Add to that the recent puncturing of a throat by an over-zealous player and you have a real health threat. All that said, the Vuvuzela is still the symbol of a wildly ecstatic football fan base. 

I am more intrigued by the peace a child can know in such tumultuous times. My youngest son is also capabe of sleeping through just about anything and will lie down to sleep wherever sleep takes him. Their's is an innocent peace, a God-given ability to switch off and dream whilst the world around them goes mad. It is a metaphor for their general innocence about life and the simplicity of their faith.

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Red card, yellow card

The rules of football are really quite simple. I don't know them, but they cannot hope to compare with the rules of Rugby Union or American Football. Of course Australian Rules Football is a misnomer for it seems to be a game sans rules. The only real rule is to thug the opposition, but in the midst of such hairy chested, bararian-looking, testosteronic madness, is the contradiction of an almost effeminate line judge, who goes to such trouble to ritualise his line calls.

Soccer's rules have always been simple, for that is the nature of the game. In a nutshell its: no handballing, no foul play, score through the goal post and of course there is also an offside rule. Foul play is a subjective thing, ruled by the whim of the referee, but basically guided by the principle of playing the man, not the ball.

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Tilting the odds

Once again I lay my ignorance of the game of football on the line. Officianados could bore you to tears with technical debate abut the nuances of what is called "the beautiful game" and I have no truck with that. I respect its place in our culture and dare not ignore the sheer magnitude of the game. 

However, as an aloof observer I can't help feeling that scoring is a lottery. A team visits its opposition goal area and takes a pot shot or two, with a generally low ratio of success, then they all go and camp on the other side of the field to allow the opposition their chance to have a go. That is over-simplifying the issues a bit, but it certainly looks that way. Scoring is a lottery, a pitching of odds that tilt in the favor of the attacking team under very trying circumstances.

The trick is to minimise the odds of the opposition scoring, through solid defence and effective goal keeping. At the same time, knowing that attack is the best form of defence, a team must tilt the odds of scoring in its own favor, by retaining possession of the ball, spending more time in the goal area, whilst positioning players as favorably as possible and ensuring as many shots on goal as possible. Other aspects that tilt the odds are fitness, agility, knowledge of the rules, avoidance of penalties and referee management.

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More than life and death

The adjacent face says it all. The FIFA world cup is a big deal for any soccer fan, a massive deal for Africans and beyond measure for South Africans.

Many years ago a famous Star Trek episode showed two colonies at war with each other. However, it was a virtual war, played out in the cyber world of computer games. The games helped to ensure that innocent lives were spared and civil infrastructure was not impaired.

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Simple joys

It passes all understanding how anyone could chase after a round ball for 90 minutes, produce no score or maybe a draw and occasionally a result, whilst really just going around in circles in a recurring lottery that occasionally yields a goal. It is especially ludicrous when one could be doing so much more with what was once a pig's bladder. Simply put, Soccer costs the average spectator about $150 per point, whereas rugby costs about $5 per point, so which is really delivering the greater spectator value?

The fact is that half the world could care less and the adjacent Netherlands world cup supporter, who was caught in a news camera, certainly cares less. Soccer is their game or football as they prefer to call it, even if that is actually a generic name for many sports.

So why is it so popular? Have you ever taken a ball to an unblooded two year old black boy. His response is written in his genes. He knows instinctively what to do with it and will not lose much time in setting up goals or coopting a few friends.

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Waka, Waka

I once stated that sport is close to the heart of God. I am not sure I would say that now, especially given the professionalisation of sport codes plus the politics, power and money involved.

I think my original idea was that sport is such a useful social integrator and nation builder. It is also team and character building. I certainly encourage my boys to participate, regardless of how well they do. I also perceive that people drawn from a sporting past, are generally more effective in leadership and teamwork. Who knows?

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Reversing the lost generation

I can Change the world and I refuse to believe I am part of a lost generation.

I realize this may be a shock but

"Happiness comes from within"

Is a lie, as is

"Money will make me happy"

So in 30 years from now I will tell my children

They are not the most important things in my life

My employer will know that

I have my priorities strait because

Work

Is more important than

Family

Once upon a time

Families stayed together

but this will not be true in my era

This is a quick fix society

Experts tell me

30 years from now I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of divorce

I do not concede that

I will be in a country of my own making

In the future

Environmental destruction will be the norm

.

No longer will it be said

My peers and I care about the truth

It will be evident that

My generation is apathetic and lethargic

It is foolish to resume that

There is Hope

And all of this will come true unless we choose to reverse it “

Read this backwards after reading it forward.

Source: unknown; image: http://www.sherricarterart.com/

Four Magic Words

A nurse ushered me into my grandma's room. Lying in the hospital bed, she looked so small. Her eyes were closed. I sat down quietly.

I was on my way to seminary and full of self-doubt. I had just given up a full scholarship to medical school, and everyone thought I was making a mistake. I desperately wanted Grandma's advice, but the nurse had warned me that she didn't have much strength left. After half an hour, Grandma hadn't stirred, so I just started talking. Suddenly she woke up, asking, "Danny, is that you?"

She told me how her faith had guided her all her life. After a few minutes, a great peace settled around us. I kissed Grandma and turned to leave, but then I heard her whisper some parting words. I leaned over to listen. "I believe in you," she said.

Grandma died that night, but in more than 20 years of work as a Christian psychologist, I have passed on her words many times. Four simple words can make a lifetime of difference ~ Dan Montgomery

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Peace in the storm

"It takes much building and rebuilding to establish a kingdom", said my youngest son. I had just lost months and months of work on my blog site, all accidently overritten in a moment of madness. My initial reaction was a mixture of sadness and anger. Even the postings had gone and that really saddened me, for each post represented a priceless moment of reflection. It was also just another brick in the wall, another setback amongst so many in a long journey with God.

I did not understand Daniel's counsel at first, but then my 12 year old added, "Dad, Israel was given to the Jews, yet it rose and fell, sometimes to the level of a smouldering ruin. It was attacked again and again and again, especially Jerusalem. But they carried on building it anyway."

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