Podcasts about chapter twelve

Vanessa and Matt explore the theme of Wisdom in Chapter Twelve of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. This week we discuss Fred and George's intuition about Quirrell, what a happy person might see in the Mirror of Erised, and the Restricted Section of the library. Throughout the episode we consider the question: what's the difference between wisdom and knowledge?Thanks to Elena for this week's voicemail! Next week we're reading Chapter 13, Nicolas Flamel, through the theme of Anger.--It's two sickles to join S.P.E.W., and only two dollars to join our Patreon for extra bloopers every week! Please consider helping us fill our Gringotts vault so we can continue to make this show. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Fourth-generation magician Liberty Larsen talks about growing up in and around The Magic Castle … And then we jump into Chapter Twelve of “The Ambitious Card.”The reading of Chapter Twelve starts at 00:32:46 LINKSThe Eli Marks Mystery Series: http://www.elimarksmysteries.com/Get yourself a Free Eli Marks Short Story: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/jj1r1yaavjListen to an Eli Marks Audio Short Story: https://BookHip.com/LZBPPMDBrookledge Follies: https://youtu.be/Y5UU--C8q8ELiberty on Penn & Teller Fool Us: https://youtu.be/idFyByK9krcBilly McComb (1990): https://youtu.be/JARqu3WZ1eoMalin Nilsson: https://youtu.be/5rpJBwk0zjwFloyd Thayer: https://geniimagazine.com/wiki/index.php?title=Floyd_Thayer“A Haunting We Will Go” Trailer (Laurel & Hardy and Dante): https://youtu.be/KzT8Lh1hOYc

Wherein we discuss the dumbest thing about the safeguards and incentive that push our heroes to read Hamilton Crane's book in Chapter Twelve of All This and World War II, a module in the Time Warp adventure series for TSR's Marvel Super Heroes roleplaying game.

Wherein we discuss the dumbest thing about our heroes' introduction to the Invaders and their prophesied need for a certain popular history book in Chapter Twelve of All This and World War II, a module in the Time Warp adventure series for TSR's Marvel Super Heroes roleplaying game.

Episode 190"Beneath the Rising" by Premee Mohamed, Chapter TwelveAn arrest, a fight, and a mysterious rescue. Anita finds Nick's psychology fascinating, while Scott pulls cats out of the Lovecraft Box.The Read-Along is a proud member of the Alberta Podcast Network (albertapodcastnetwork.com)! Follow us on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook @thereadalong, and join our Goodreads Group to get your discussion on! You can also follow Scott @scottybomb and Anita @nitabing, or e-mail us at thereadalong@gmail.com.The Read-Along logo by Erin Beever (@Erin_Beever), theme song and music by Kevin MacLeod at incompetech.com. This week's sponsors are:Park PowerTaproot EdmontonUntil next time gentlereaders! Cops Everywhere - "Beneath the Rising" Chapter Twelve

The New Testament is clear that children can need deliverance from evil spirits, and Jesus ministered to children during His earthly ministry. In this episode, Jake teaches from Chapter Twelve of Setting Captives Free, giving practical tips on how to minister deliverance to youth and kids. There is a spiritual battle for our young people, and God wants us to be engaged in the battle. Jesus is still in the business of setting children free! Order Jake's new book Setting Captives Free: How to Break the Chains of Demonic Influence. Connect with Jake at JakeKail.com. Keys for Deliverance with Jake Kail is part of the Destiny Image Podcast Network.

Vanessa The Wonderworker, Chapter Twelve, written and illustrated by Grace Brooks. Available on Amazon

In this episode we look at the dual themes of training and joy found in Chapter Twelve of The Book of Hebrews. Our existence is a balance between effort and celebration, stewardship and trust. The life of Jesus is like a pace-setting runner. Where He runs, we ought to follow. We also spend time in this episode talking about an interesting translation of charis (grace) and how it affects our lives.

Happy Thursday, Christmas fanatics! Welcome to the thirteenth official installment of "Another Christmas Story"! This week, Scarlett Alexandra of the always amazing and hilarious "NetfliXmas Podcast" will read to all of you Chapter Twelve of our tale, entitled "Christmas Wrapping". Within this chapter, we switch back to the perspectives of Joey Nazario and Mary Holiday as they cross paths again for the first time in the decade since their Christmas Eve blowout. Trust us when we say, Scarlett truly raised the bar this episode with her incredible reading of this chapter. And make sure to stay through the end credits to hear some hilarious bloopers of her recording as well!  We hope you like it! If you do, make sure to share this episode and our website, upon which the text of this installment is posted, to get it in front of as many eyes as possible! Make sure to check your podcast feeds for your regular weekly episode on Monday, in which the elves journey back to the wonderful world of Rankin/Bass to discuss the 1968 special, "The Little Drummer Boy", based on the song of the same name, and next Thursday for the thirteenth official chapter of this story - "Chapter Thirteen: Christmas Time Is Here", which Mike Westfall of "Advent Calendar House" will be reading to you! In it, we switch back to the points of view of Aaron Rankin and his classmates on their Christmas Eve field trip to New York City!

Join me as I break down Chapter Twelve of Fifty Shades of Grey - in which Ana develops a spider-sense and we play cliche bingo... 'Breaking Down Bad Books' is a podcast analysing trashy bestsellers from a literary perspective. Currently covering E.L. James' erotic romance Fifty Shades of Grey. Read along with me and let me know your thoughts on Twitter @PodBreakingDown or email me at breakingdownpod@gmail.com.Hosted by Nathan Brown, who you can find on Twitter and Instagram @nathanbrown90. Visit www.breakingdownbadbooks.com for more.Visit Booktopia to purchase any books featured on this podcast, or treat yourself to something that's actually well-written.Check out Vitable for daily vitamin packs tailored to your individual needs. Support this show http://supporter.acast.com/breaking-down. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

https://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/mm.aspx Chapter One: 0:00 Chapter Two: 23:13 Chapter Three: 1:03:31 Chapter Four: 1:26:56 Chapter Five: 1:47:22 Chapter Six: 2:16:16 Chapter Seven: 2:32:32 Chapter Eight: 2:54:55 Chapter Nine: 3:12:33 Chapter Ten: 3:34:57 Chapter Eleven: 3:51:28 Chapter Twelve: 4:12:44 Support the Patreon to see Exploring videos early and vote on new ones!: http://bit.ly/1U9QkPh Join the Discord!: https://discord.gg/eBHHHe5 Support the Series with official Merch!: https://t.co/aH0HApXp7v Follow me on Twitter for updates!: https://twitter.com/TES_Mangg Listen on Podcasts: https://anchor.fm/theexploringseries Exploring SCP Foundation Playlist: https://bit.ly/2whu8NA Exploring Dungeons and Dragons Playlist: https://bit.ly/348IZZu Exploring Warhammer 40k Playlist: https://bit.ly/2DoFZgu Exploring Celtic Mythology Playlist: https://bit.ly/2rTuHLm Exploring Norse Mythology Playlist: http://bit.ly/2EAHTda Exploring Elder Scrolls Playlist: http://bit.ly/2fgqQoY Exploring Star Wars Playlist: http://bit.ly/2lNtlN0 Exploring Middle-Earth Playlist: http://bit.ly/2cGNcty Exploring the Cthulhu Mythos Playlist: http://bit.ly/25OI9jY Exploring History Playlist: https://bit.ly/2w7XMqM My Gaming Channel: https://www.youtube.com/user/ManggsLPs --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/theexploringseries/support

A break-down of The Mandalorian, Chapter Twelve: "The Siege" (clips used are from Lucasfilm) MTFBWY.

On this episode, Dominic, Ben, and Chris are joined by SWU senior British correspondent Ciaran Duggan (Twitter), Kareem of Order 416 (Instagram), and Culture Slate's Lauren Scott (Instagram) to discuss Chapter Twelve of The Mandalorian, "The Siege". They discuss what this episode reveals about Moff Gideon's ultimate plans, including his army of Dark Troopers and what exactly is in those tanks in the lab. They also talk about the return of Greef Carga and Cara Dune to the series, and what's been going on on Navarro since we were last there. And, they speculate about what's to come next week. Plus, Din Djarin's questionable parenting skills, Imperial design flaws, and are there any Greg's in the Star Wars universe? All this and much more!

On this episode, Dominic, Ben, and Chris are joined by SWU senior British correspondent Ciaran Duggan (Twitter), Kareem of Order 416 (Instagram), and Culture Slate's Lauren Scott (Instagram) to discuss Chapter Twelve of The Mandalorian, "The Siege".  They discuss what this episode reveals about Moff Gideon's ultimate plans, including his army of Dark Troopers and what exactly is in those tanks in the lab.  They also talk about the return of Greef Carga and Cara Dune to the series, and what's been going on on Navarro since we were last there.  And, they speculate about what's to come next week.  Plus, Din Djarin's questionable parenting skills, Imperial design flaws, and are there any Greg's in the Star Wars universe?  All this and much more! Support The SWU on Patreon Buy an SWU T-shirt Website: www.starwarsunderworld.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/swunderworld Twitter: @TheSWU Subscribe and Review on iTunes Email: swunderworld@gmail.com Voicemail: 1-410-989-1138

Chapter Twelve of The Mandalorian Season Two has dropped – titled The Siege and directed by our boy Carl Weathers. We give our SPOILER HEAVY thoughts and opinions on the entire episode and where we might be going after this...(plus some Parisian accents and Motown references thrown in as well) For all your Sessions needs, head to starwarssessions.co.uk // Find and support us on PATREON at patreon.com/starwarssessions // Don’t forget to rate, review, subscribe and share! You can find us on Twitter (@starwarssession) and Instagram (@starwarssessions) so come talk the Wars with us! We post polls, questions and thoughts on both socials and the results/comments are featured on the episodes as well. Send your voice messages to hellothere@starwarssessions.co.uk and we'll get them on the show. Catch the show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify and all good podcast platforms. Thanks again for listening – your continued support is so appreciated by us. MTFBWY.

Queen Abigail the Wise, Chapter Twelve, written and illustrated by Grace Brooks. Create Space (2015) Available on Amazon

TailJar Radio proudly presents TERROR FORMING, a serialized science fiction/horror survival experience written, produced and performed by Jasper St Aubyn West. Set in the city of Adelaide - South Australia. TERROR FORMING is a first person account of a cataclysmic meteor shower which in an instant, transforms the “City of Churches” into hell on earth.Chapter Twelve is the season finale.…For more information please visit:http://www.tailjar.com/terrorformingOriginal score composed by TailJar & Sub Gusto.

Lompoc Federal Prison Camp / meeting Lee Nobmann / Writing books in prison. Chapter Twelve: 2005-2007 Months 209-231 ******* Mr. Smith is the camp guard on the evening shift. He likes war books, particularly those about World War II and the Third Reich. Generally, I avoid guards, as instinct tells me they’re out to score points with their superiors by writing disciplinary infractions. But someone told Mr. Smith that I’m a writer.  He likes to talk to me about my work and his career, especially about his time as a soldier in Iraq. Smith once told me that he likes violence, and that he’s “good at it.” He’s also disappointed that a reprimand for using excessive force on an inmate blemishes his employment record; that record, together with low scores on aptitude tests, hinders his chances for a job with the Highway Patrol. He dresses the part, riding into the camp each afternoon on his Harley, wearing a black, chrome-studded bomber jacket, a white helmet reminiscent of a Prussian soldier, and mirrored sunglasses in thin metal frames. I see Mr. Smith when I return to the camp after finishing an evening shift at the powerhouse. When I ask him for my mail, he hands it over and initiates a conversation. “Read your book,” he nods his head and squirts tobacco into his disposable cup. “Good stuff. Only objection I got is that you write prison guard ’stead of correctional officer.” “I’m describing prison from a prisoner’s perspective,” I explain. “It’s what I see. Why would that bother you?” “Because we’re not just prison guards. We’ve got training, policies we follow to maintain order.” “I don’t write ‘guard’ to demean anyone, but I’m trying to show the reader accurately what prison is about. In 19 years, I’ve never felt the system was trying to correct me, or anyone else. Although it’s called ‘corrections,’ and ‘correctional officers’ supposedly staff the system, the primary emphasis is on protecting the security of the institution. That’s guarding the prison, not corrections.” “Thing is, ain’t nothin’ much we can do to ‘correct’ half the knuckleheads we got runnin’ ̓round the joint. Only thing they understand is a swift kick in the ass.” “That’s where we disagree,” I counter. “The use of force instead of incentives is the main reason the prison system has such a high rate of failure, wasting billions of dollars in taxpayer resources.” “How’s it not workin’?” Mr. Smith smirks. “Ain’t no one escapin’.” “That’s because you’re guarding the prison, but you’re not correcting anyone. Incentives that would include mechanisms for prisoners to work toward earning freedom would change that. They would motivate more people to grow and prepare for success.” “Sounds like a bunch of liberal bullshit.” He spits into his cup. “Fancy yourself a conservative, do you?” “Damn straight.” He walks around the desk and drops into his chair. “Small government and all that?” “You got it, brother. Stars and stripes all the way.” “Then how do you explain your government paycheck and guaranteed pension? You’ve got what, a high school diploma, but you’re pulling down enough to buy a Harley, a boat, an RV, and you get more vacation than anyone in the private sector. For what?” “Maintain’ order. That’s what.” “I guess that’s your take. From my perspective, prisons cause more harm than good. I write what I see.” “You and I ain’t so diff’rent. I could see us on the outside, bringin’ the little ladies out for a bite while we chug brewskies and disagree over how the world ought to be run.” “That’s going to have to wait. I’ve got seven more years to be corrected.” ******* Lee Nobmann surrenders to Lompoc Camp in early July of 2006. He’s in his early 50s, clean cut with snow-white hair, clear blue eyes, and a stocky build. He’s alone, sitting at a picnic table that overlooks a lush valley on his first day. I’m at the next table and notice him as a new face, one that looks more like a businessman than a prisoner. I’m always fishing for prisoners from whom I can learn, especially businessmen whose stories I can write about in White Collar. While I’m stealing a glance at the title of the book he reads, trying to gather clues of his interests, our eyes connect. “Are you a fan of John Grisham?” I ask him. “What’s that?” he smiles. “John Grisham, the author of your book. Have you read much of his other work?” I walk toward his table. He flips the book over to look at the cover. “I just picked it off the shelf in the library. I was looking for something to kill time.” I put out my hand. “I’m Michael Santos. Welcome.” “Lee Nobmann,” we shake hands. “Have you settled in okay?” I ask. “I’m getting the hang of it,” he nods his head. “It’s a little slow.” “Believe me, it gets easier. How long are you going to be with us?” “About a year. How about you?” “I’ve got seven more to go, but they pass quickly, I know.” “Ouch. It hurts to hear you say it.” I smile. “It’s not so bad. I’ve been in for a long time.” “Really?  How long?  I’ve met some guys who’ve been in for several years?” “I’ve been in since 1987. I’m finishing my 19th year.” “My God! And you’ve got seven more to go? That’s an entire life. How old are you?” He asks. “I’m 42.” “What did you do? If you don’t mind my asking?” “No, I don’t mind. I didn’t pay my taxes.” “You’re kidding.” “Well, I sold cocaine, too, but that’s beside the point.” He laughs. “Are you serious? You’ve been in prison for 19 years? How come you look so normal? I thought you just came in too.” I nod my head. “What can I say? I’ve earned a gold medal for serving time.” “That’s the craziest sentence I’ve ever heard. Sorry to hear it.” “I’ve been blessed in many ways. I’ve got a great wife, and through writing I’ve found a way to connect with the world.” “What do you write about?” “Prison,” I laugh. “It’s the only world I know. I try to give readers a look inside.” “What do you write? Articles or something?” “I write books.” “No kidding. You can do that from here?” “I do.” “Are any of them published?” “A few. I’m writing a new one now for white-collar offenders, a book that can help businessmen and other professionals understand more about the system.” “I could’ve used something like that. I didn’t know squat about what I was getting myself into.” “What kind of work do you do?” “I’m in retail.” “What do you sell?” “Lumber.” “Is that against the law?” He laughs. “I’ve got a tax case.” “You mind talking about it? I like learning from guys like you.” “No, I don’t mind. It’s not that interesting though. I took some business deductions I shouldn’t have.” “It might not be that interesting to you, but I’m sure businessmen from across the country would like to know how taking deductions can lead to a prison term.” “When you put it that way, I guess you’re right,” Lee acknowledges. “Are you still in business?” “Oh yeah.” “Good size company?” “It’s fair,” he nods his head. “How many employees?” I look for a sign that will tell me who I’m talking to. “We’ve got close to 500.” “Five hundred employees,” I laugh. “You call that a fair size company?” He smiles, his eyes sparkling as he bounces his hand in the air. “Keep it down. I shouldn’t have said that.” “Why not?” “It’s probably not a good thing to have going around in a place like this.” “What kind of revenue does a company like that take in?” “We should do about 450 million this year.” “Four hundred and fifty million dollars? That’s a monster of a company. Is it public?” “No,” he shakes his head. “It’s a family business.” Lee and I talk at the picnic table until we have to go in for the 10:00 pm census. After the count clears, we return to the picnic table and talk until midnight, enjoying the warmth of summer and each other’s company.  He’s down to earth, really at ease. I prod him with questions about how he built his business and I respond to his questions about what it’s been like to live as a prisoner. I’m glad to have a new friend, someone I can admire and learn from.  For someone in prison, a friend is the greatest thing in the world. ******* It’s Monday, August 6, 2006, the day that Inside: Life Behind Bars in America hits bookstores across America. I wrote the proposal and sample chapter more than two years ago, and I’ve worked on the project in one way or another every day since. As I walk from my rack down the center hall of the housing unit to the bathroom, I check my watch. It’s only six in California, but nine on the East Coast and bookstores have opened in New York, Washington, Boston, and other big cities. I stand in line waiting to use the sink, wondering whether anyone’s reading my book. In only seven more years I’ll walk into a bookstore or library and see books on a shelf with my name on the spine. But now, I need to remove the rice, beans, and hair someone left in the drain filter of the sink so I can brush my teeth before work. My job in the powerhouse gives me a great escape from the crowded feeling of the housing unit. I like to spend time in what I’ve come to call ‘my office.’ It’s small, only enough room for one, and I’ve personalized it. From a guy with skills in arts and crafts, I bought a frame for a picture of Carole and me sitting beside each other during visiting. He wove the frame from discarded potato-chip bags, which is part of his prison hustle.  On the shelf above my desk, I have dictionaries, reference books, quotation books, and an almanac. When I close the door I’m alone, productive. The guards on duty leave me to my work, except when they need help with their own projects. “Did you see this?” Mr. Lime asks me. He works in the office next to mine as the shop supervisor, and he hands me an Internet printout from The Los Angeles Times Sunday Book Review. Ed Humes, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author wrote about my book, Inside, and the full-page review has my photograph. “Thanks,” I say. I feel validated, because although I’m a long-term prisoner, my work is now published in open society and this review will forever bolster my résumé. I strive to prove worthy of Carole’s love and of the support I receive from so many people. It thrills me to have the review that exposes my work to millions. “You got a copy of the book?” Mr. Lime asks. “I’ll have some this week, assuming the mailroom passes them through.” “Let me check it out.” “You bet, boss.” Two hours pass and I’m using a plastic spoon to dig tuna from its pack when Mr. Johnson opens the door behind me. I set the pack down on the credenza and spin my chair around to face him. His smoker’s rasp, out of the left side of his mouth since his cigarette is on the right side, adds to his East Texas hillbilly twang. I like him. “Caught that piece ̓bout ya in the paper,” he said. “Thanks,” I reply. He stands in the doorframe, papers in his hand, with the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. His tie is loosened, the top button of his blue shirt undone. Through brown reading glasses he studies the papers he holds. “Can I help you with something?” I ask, gathering that he wants something. “If ya please, I’d like ya ta take a look at some papers.” “Anything, of course.” “Job's comin’ up, project manager for the city of Santa Maria. I done filled out a résumé, cover letter, and what have ya. Seein’ as yer a writer and all, think ya could look it over for me?” “Absolutely.” Mr. Johnson passes me his papers and then stands watching over me as I read through them. I’ve been working as the powerhouse clerk for six months and we have an easy relationship. He uses profanity when he tells me stories about his weekends. He says that he watches a standup comedian by the name of Larry the Cable Guy. Despite the familiarity, I’m intuitively uncomfortable evaluating his shoddy writing and don’t know what I should say. “Would it be okay if I made some suggestions?” “You betcha. I was hopin’ ya’d fix it up.” “It would probably be easier if I retyped it.” “Fix whatever it needs. I know I got some weaknesses, seein’ as I didn’t finish college and they’re asking’ for a college diploma, but I’ll be retirin’ with 30 years in the Bureau, runnin’ facilities of ev’ry size. That oughta count for somethin’. Doctor it up as best ya can.” “I’m going to need a few hours.” “Take as long as you like. I’ll pick’r up tomorra.” He walks out, leaving me alone. ******* Jeff, a recent Lompoc arrival from Seattle, is in the beginning months of a 10-year sentence for selling cocaine. I’m standing in the narrow space between my bunk and my locker when he taps me on the shoulder. “Have you seen this article?” Jeff passes me the magazine section from The Seattle Times, Sunday, September 24, 2006. My picture is on the cover, showcasing a story by Stewart Eskenazi, the same guy who covered my trial for the newspaper. My letter to him in 1988 led to an interview and a front-page story where I expressed regret for selling cocaine and committed to using my time in prison to reform and contribute to society. The reporter’s follow-up story, two decades later, describes my progress. Jeff’s parents had sent him the magazine to encourage him as he began serving his sentence. I open the magazine and I flip through the pages. “I’ve read the text of the article. But this is the first time I’ve seen the magazine. My sister sent me a copy but I haven’t gotten it yet.” “Dude, I can’t believe you’ve done all that from prison.” Jeff nods in admiration. “It’s been a long time. Can I hold onto the magazine? I want to show it to a friend.” “Sure. My mom ordered your book for me.” “Cool, thanks for the support. I’ll give you back the magazine when I get mine.” “Keep it.”  He says. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” “No problem.” I walk through the narrow passage between bunks and turn down the crowded walkway to Lee’s bunk. He’s sitting on the metal chair in front of his open locker, wearing gray sweats and black reading glasses. He’s placing his crisply folded clothes on the locker shelves. “Can’t you pay someone to do that for you? CEOs don’t do the grunt work.” Lee laughs, brings his finger to his lips. “Some things a guy’s gotta do for himself. What’s up?” “Check this out.” I hand him the magazine.
“Whoa! Cover story,” he smiles. “That’s cool.” “I’ll leave it with you. Let’s meet out on the picnic tables after count.” “You bet. Thanks.” The guards don’t take long to count the 340 camp prisoners at Lompoc, and by 4:20, Lee and I walk with the crowd shoulder to shoulder down the dorm’s narrow hall as if we’re all part of a cattle herd. Some prisoners even moo. Once we pass through the door and we’re in the clear, he tells me how impressed he was with the article. The sun is still warm as we move into California’s Indian summer. “Why aren’t more of these guys doing what you did?” Lee asks. “Seems all anyone wants to do around here is play cards and waste time.” “It’s not really their fault. Prison has a rigid structure, and it doesn’t offer any hope for these guys. A prisoner can do any number of things that’ll bring him more problems, but there’s no mechanism that encourages him to better his life or shorten his sentence. Trying to get an education is almost impossible with all of the staff resistance. He can’t work toward improving himself, and since the system doesn’t see him for more than the crime that put him in here, the default response is to just give up and accept that prison is for serving time.” “You didn’t.” “It was different for me. I had so much time to serve that I knew prison was going to eat up a big chunk of my life. I didn’t want it to define me. I knew that I didn’t want to be prisonized, and I knew that if I didn’t educate myself I’d never be able to function outside.” “This system is messed up. We’ve got to do something to change it.” “That’s what my work is about. One advantage of having served this much time is that I have credibility with other prisoners. I hope to show them by example that with discipline they can develop skills that will prepare them to reenter society and have meaningful lives. Few want to live as criminals, but when they don’t believe in themselves, they give up. That failure pattern starts when they’re young. Without understanding the consequences, kids drop out of school, join gangs, sell drugs, and when they come to prison, they fall further into failure. Through example, I hope to show how they can climb out.” “But how? The people who need the message most don’t buy books. Many don’t even read.” “They only read about what interests them, and you’re right, they don’t buy books. But if I write about people they identify with, experiences and lifestyles they identify with, I can help. What I need is sponsorship. I need to find businesses and organizations with a social conscience that will buy and distribute the books to those who need them. When I’m out, I’ll find those sponsors. I hope you’ll help.” “Why wait until you get out?” Lee asks. “I’ll sponsor you right now. What would you like to do?” As we sit at the picnic table, Lee listens as I pitch two book ideas. I propose interviewing prisoners who will talk about their criminal histories. Specifically, I want to write about people who quit school, joined gangs, and became involved with drugs or crime. I suggest a book that would profile prisoners and be followed by a series of open-ended discussion questions for the readers to consider. With Lee’s sponsorship, I could produce and distribute the books free to schools with large groups of at-risk kids. Teachers and counselors could use the books to show actual stories of the consequences that follow criminal decisions. The second book would be for adults who are beginning their terms in prison. That book would also tell prisoners’ stories, but the stories would highlight steps they took to turn their lives around and to live responsibly. This book would show how anyone could use discipline and readily available prison resources to prepare for a successful life upon release. “What would you call that one?” Lee asks. “I haven’t thought it through yet, but I’d base it on what I’ve learned.” “I’ll sponsor those projects right now. Count on me for $75,000.  That should give you enough to write and print both books, distribute them at no charge, and take the pressure off Carole while she finishes school.” “Are you serious?” “Believe me, my family’s been blessed in many ways,” he says. “I’m completely serious. One lesson I’ve learned is that supporting worthwhile projects for society comes back a hundred-fold. Besides, after all the work you’ve done in here, you deserve it.  

Chapter Twelve: 2005-2007 Months 209-231   “What’s this scumbag here for?” The guard on duty barks as we enter the closed corridor inside the Special Housing Unit. Since he doesn’t know me I surmise that his obvious contempt extends to all prisoners. I stand silently, both hands still locked behind my back. “One for SHU. Captain’s orders.” The transporting guard uncuffs me and walks away. “Strip!” The SHU guard commands. I unbutton and remove my green shirt, then I pull my t-shirt over my head and drop it on the floor. The guard stands close, too close, staring as I take off my sneakers, my pants, my underwear, and my socks. “Take everything off.” I stand in front of him, naked, and I unfasten the rubber wristband of my Timex wristwatch, dropping the watch into his outstretched hand. “Give me the ring.” “I don’t have to give you my ring.” “What did you say, Inmate?” He takes a step closer and his breath hits my face. I hold up my left hand. “This is a silver wedding band, without stones. BOP policy says I can wear it at all times.”
 The guard takes off his glasses, closes them and slides them into his shirt pocket. He inches closer to me. “You tellin’ me how to run my institution, scumbag?” “I’m not resisting you. Call the lieutenant. He’ll know the policy.” “I’m in charge here.” The guard balls his fists, wanting to fight. “Either take the ring off, or I’m gonna take it off. It’s not coming into my unit.” Standing naked, I’m not in a position to argue for my rights. This guard thirsts for a violent confrontation, and if it comes to that, I lose. With the length of time I’ve served, I’m conditioned to accept that guards routinely cite their mantra about preserving security of the institution while they violate both human rights and civil rights. Despite the promise I made to Carole about never taking it off, I slide the band off my finger and I hand it to the guard. He steps back, puts his glasses back on, and then he continues the search. The guard issues me a green jumpsuit and a bedroll.  We walk down the cellblock. When he unlocks the metal door I see three prisoners inside. Rollo, a young prisoner, is on the top rack. He caused a stir at the camp several months ago when he decided that he’d had enough of confinement and walked away. Pueblo is on the lower rack, locked in SHU two months ago for fighting. Jerome sits on the floor in SHU because the guard in food services caught him going through the food line twice on hamburger day. I drop my bedroll on the floor for a cushion, and I lean my back against the wall, bending my knees to prop my feet against the steel toilet. “What’d they get you for?” Rollo asks from his rack. “Embezzlement. They say I transferred a million dollars from the prison’s bank account to my wife’s account.” “No way! Really?” Rollo would believe me if I’d told him I was locked in the SHU for not putting my napkin in my lap. He’s totally gullible. “I don’t know why I’m here. They just locked me up,” I admit and shrug. “Ay Rollo you so stupid, you believe anything.” Pueblo whacks him with his pillow from the lower rack. “It could happen!” Rollo defends himself. “Ain’t you never seen The Shawshank Redemption, Homie?” “Dat shit was a bad-ass flick,” Jerome says. “Rollo,” I ask. “Why did you walk away from the camp?” “I missed my ol’ lady.” “When he done showed up at her door, da bitch done called da FBI on his stupid ass,” Jerome says, finishing Rollo’s explanation. “Is that what happened?” I ask Rollo. He nods his head and laughs. “I’m facing five more years for escape.” “What were you serving before?” I ask him. “Twenty-two months for credit card fraud.” “You’ll probably get another year. You can use the time for school,” I say. “That fool ain’t goin’ to no school.” Pueblo says. “He can’t even play no cards.” I spend the entire day on the floor of the crowded cell, which won’t allow for Pueblo or Rollo to step off their bunks. When someone has to use the toilet or sink, I stand in the corner. Exercise isn’t an option here, and with the back and forth chatter, reading or writing will have to wait. In the evening, a guard unlocks the door and tosses me a sleeping mat. I slide it under the steel rack, then carefully crawl under the bed, head first, and I lie still. Pueblo’s steel rack is only inches above me, too close for me to turn on my side. I sleep lying on my stomach, using my crossed arms as a pillow. “Santos! Roll up!” I haven’t been asleep for long when I hear the guard kicking the metal door. He unlocks the door and opens it. I crawl out from under the bed, careful not to step on Jerome. The guard cuffs my hands behind my back and leads me out. I don’t ask questions and he doesn’t offer explanations. I strip, toss my jumpsuit into a bin and I stand for the search, eager to move out. “What size?” The guard asks. “Two-X,” I say. He tosses a roll of traveling khakis. After I’m cuffed and chained, I join a group of other prisoners and we climb into an idling bus. The sky is still dark. We drive through the gates and join a convoy of three other buses, two carrying prisoners from the Florence penitentiary and one from the ADX. As the buses turn right, leaving the Florence Correctional Complex behind, I look through the tinted windows and wonder where Carole lives. The house she rents is only two miles from the prison, she told me, but I don’t know where. The bus moves past the dark cross streets too fast for me to see her car parked in a driveway. No matter. It’s before dawn and she’s asleep, oblivious to a new uprooting of our lives. ******* I have a window seat as the plane takes off. I expect to sleep in the Oklahoma Transit Center again tonight and wonder whether I’ll see the Native American guard. I count how many times I’ve been on prison transport planes, and come up with 12, explaining why some of the U.S. marshals look familiar. I notice graying hair and new wrinkles in weathered faces; over the past 18 years I’ve flown with them throughout their careers. We’ve been in the air a few hours when my ears pop and my stomach lurches. While we’re descending, I glance out from the tiny window.  As our plane approaches the landing strip, I see evergreen trees that surround a lake I recognize. We’re approaching Seattle, the city where Carole and I grew up, where Julie and her family still live. Carole and I may have grown up here, but it’s no longer home. We’re nomads, a prison family. The plane lands at Boeing Field, right beside Interstate 5. I look outside and spot guards and marshals surrounding the plane for the prisoner exchange. I wish they would call my name, as I’d like to walk on Seattle ground again. I may be in chains, but I’m breathing the same air my sister breathes, though she doesn’t know I’m here. Even my wife doesn’t know where I am. After an hour we’re airborne again and I take a last look out the window. It’s 2005, probably eight more years before I’ll see the Seattle skyline again. The Emerald City fades away as the plane banks and climbs higher. In eight years I don’t know where Carole and I will make our home. We may want to make a start in a new city, or even a new country. I see Oklahoma City again as the plane taxis. It’s my fifth time here and I know the routine. Hobbling in my chains, I’m eager to fill out the forms and turn them in. The sooner processing begins, the sooner I’ll find out where I’m going. “Do you know where you’re going?” the woman in uniform asks. I shake my head “no,” and pass her my intake forms. “Santos, Michael,” she says and moves her forefinger down the list of names on her computer printout. “Big Spring, Texas,” she says, and my heart sinks. “No, wait, you’ve been re-designated. You’re going to Lompoc Camp.” ******* Among prisoners, Lompoc Camp on the Central Coast of California has a reputation of being the crown jewel of the federal prison system. For years I’ve heard that administrators reserved Lompoc Camp for politicians who’ve run afoul of the law and for powerful white-collar offenders. Traveling by bus up the Pacific Coast Highway, with the salty smell of the ocean filling my lungs, invokes pleasurable childhood memories of visiting my grandparents in Los Angeles while on summer vacations. I remember swimming with my sisters at different California beaches, jumping into the waves that roll endlessly onto the shoreline. As I look at the ocean, I try to remember the sensation of floating in water. I contemplate what it might feel like to submerge my body. For 18 years the only water I’ve felt has sprayed from a spigot. I can’t remember the sensation of buoyancy. In eight years Carole and I will bathe together and we’ll swim in that ocean. Klein Boulevard, the long thoroughfare leading into the Lompoc Federal Correctional Complex, is a crumbling asphalt road riddled with potholes. On my right is the fenced boundary of the medium-security prison, and on my left is the low-security prison. As the bus lurches along the dilapidated road toward the camp, prisoners in green uniforms walk freely on scenic trails winding between tall eucalyptus trees that fragrantly scent the air. I appreciate the natural beauty. After six hours of processing, guards hand us our ID cards and bedrolls. I join four other prisoners walking outside the gates from the Receiving and Discharge building in the higher-security prison. Walking ahead of the crowd, I pass the field where a group of prisoners play soccer. Further down the road several men pump iron at the camp’s weight pile. Pinecones that fall from the trees litter the path I’m on. The housing unit resembles a steel, prefabricated warehouse, and the laid back guard inside looks more like a member of ZZ Top, with his long beard, black sunglasses, heavy silver rings with Gothic designs.  Tattoos of double lightning bolts, flames, skulls, and cross bones cover his forearms. He’s in a messy office, holding a Maxim magazine with a young woman in panties, sucking a lollipop, on the cover.  He's leaning back in his chair, with crossed legs and heavy black leather boots resting casually on a gray metal desk. I stand in front of him with my bedroll and the other new prisoners begin to crowd into the office, lining up behind me. The guard ignores us while flipping the pages of his magazine. Green canvas duffle bags are scattered on the scuffed and dingy tile floors. A desk fan blows and a radio broadcasts hardcore rap music by Tupac. “Wazzup?” The guard finally lowers his magazine. I give him my ID card and the other prisoners follow my lead. “You guys the fresh meat?” he asks, turning down the volume of the radio. We stand still, waiting as the guard sorts through index cards.  He then pulls his feet from the desk and stands. “Follow me,” he says. We follow him out of the office and down the narrow hall to the right. It empties into an open space as large as a private airplane hangar. For the crown jewel of the BOP, it’s mighty tarnished. Six columns of gray metal bunks, 30 rows deep, fill the immense room. The noisy, crowded accommodations have a putrid stench. I follow the guard as he leads us down the center aisle and taps the fourth bed in column four. “Santos. This is you.” He keeps walking with the others. I put down my belongings and prepare to settle in. ******* “Santos!” I hear the loudspeaker. “Inmate Michael Santos. Number 16377-004. Report to the administration building. Immediately!” Not again, I groan inwardly. I’ve only been at Lompoc Camp for a day and I’m already being paged. I walk the short distance for yet another confrontation with BOP administrators. As I pass by a sparkling white Dodge Intrepid sedan with darkly tinted windows and three small antennae sticking out of the car’s rear end, I assume it’s from the fleet of the Federal Correctional Complex security force. A closer look at the elaborate communication system inside the car confirms my suspicions. Someone is here to interrogate me. Through the smoked glass of the building’s front door sits a receptionist. I knock, waiting for her to acknowledge me before opening the door. I’ve heard other prisoners refer to her as “the dragon lady,” so I don’t open the door until she indicates it’s okay. It’s a standoff, but I’m prepared to wait all day.  I prefer the wait to being scolded and bullied. After several minutes, she grasps that I’m not going to open the door, and I’m not going to knock again. She looks up, annoyed, and motions me in. “I’m Michael Santos.” I present my ID card. “I heard a page to the administration building.” Before she can answer, a stocky man with a chiseled face and a military-style crew cut steps into the doorway of the conference room. He’s wearing a heavily starched BOP uniform. “I paged you, come in.” He directs me to a chair at the side of the table. “Sit down. Do you know who I am?” “No.” I shake my head. “I’m Lieutenant Merkle. Special Investigative Services.” He opens a burgundy leather portfolio on the table. “It’s generally not a good sign when I call an inmate for a meeting.” “I’m familiar with the role of the SIS.”  These guards can’t intimidate me. “I’m sure you are.” The room is quiet as he flips through his papers. “So you’re the writer. Do you know why you’re here?” “Yes, I do.” I nod my head. “And what’s your interpretation?” “When I was in my early 20s, I sold cocaine. I’ve been a prisoner since then, and as a prisoner I’m susceptible to these kinds of summons.” The lieutenant glances up at me. “So you’re a wise guy?” “Not at all. That’s why I’m here. If I hadn’t sold cocaine, we wouldn’t be talking right now.” He stares at me. “But you did sell cocaine.  Now you’re an inmate in my institution.” He pulls out a page from his portfolio. “I received a letter from Lieutenant Knowles, SIS at Florence.” “Okay.” “You were transferred here administratively because your writing presented a threat to the security of that institution.” “How so?” “It doesn’t matter. Point is, you’re in my institution now and I’m here to give you notice. If you write anything that threatens the security of my institution, I’m not going to transfer you. Instead, I’ll bury you so deep in the SHU that no one will ever find you. Do you understand that?” “What do you consider a threat to the security of the institution?” “You’re a wise guy, you figure it out. But if I lock you up for an investigation, you won’t have access to telephone, mail, or visits. Do you understand?” “For what, though?” I gesture with open hands. “I’ve never written a sentence that threatened security. All my work urges people to act responsibly and to lead law-abiding lives. I live by that rule. Why would you consider my writing a threat?” “I ask the questions. I don’t answer them,” the lieutenant snaps, closing his file. “Can I ask if you’re placing me on mail-monitoring status?” “Inmate Santos, you’re starting here with a clean slate, no mail monitoring, no restrictions. Don’t threaten security in my institution and you won’t have any problems. If you see me again, it won’t be good for you.” “One more thing, Lieutenant. While I was in Florence I wrote a book about what I’ve observed in prison. St. Martin’s Press has the manuscript and intends to publish it in 2006. Is that book going to be a problem?” He rubs his chin. “We’ll visit that issue when the book comes out.”  

Chapter Twelve of Turing Test Copyright 2020 by E. M. FonerIn which Mark and eBeth throw a gambling party at The Portal for the Hanker landing and the A. I. hit the top shelf Scotch.Contact the author through Facebook or the E. M. Foner website.

After wandering down a mountainside, Alibi Jones found his way back into town, only to discover troopers milling about near his parked travel cube, his primary means of escape. Can he wait them out? Sneak past them? Or will Alibi have to completely alter his plans? Find out in Chapter Twelve of Alibi Jones and the Star Seeds of Earth! Brand-new work-in-progress, written and performed by Mike Luoma. Original, independent science fiction, Free to listen, download and subscribe since 2006 -- Glow-in-the-Dark Radio.   Promo This Week for Paul Cooley's DERELICT: MARINES : http://shadowpublications.com.      Support the podcast – Become a Patron: https://www.patreon.com/glowinthedarkradio.   Find links and details at http://glowinthedarkradio.com and http://mikeluoma.com.   Music by Kevin MacLeod (https://incompetech.com / https://filmmusic.io). Show theme - "Hitman". Star Seeds of Earth theme - "Echoes of Time".

The biggest, baddest, most-all consuming Cosmic Empire ever known is about to meet its match: An eleven-year-old Earth Boy, on the run from summer camp. Decoder Ring Theatre presents Bix Banderson Vs. The Universe, an intergalactic adventure par excellence written and read by Gregg Taylor, with additional voices by Clarissa Dernederlanden, Tessa Taylor and Maxwell Taylor as Bix Banderson! This week: Chapter Twelve – in which things get worse at least three times.

Book One, Chapter Twelve. Our heroes meet with the Blackbury escort and begin their journey to Tips Touch. Special guest Markeia McCarty.   Music by Erik DeLong   New episodes release Fridays, ya hear!   ig & twitter: @magicquestboys

Listen to Chapter Twelve of the new rendering of the Sri Sai Satcharitra by Divine Lineage’s Spiritual Director, Monika Penukonda. The original transcript of this sacred text by Hemadpant has been translated into an English language more accessible to modern English speakers. The benefits of regular reading and contemplation of the Satcharitra are innumerable, not only bringing wisdom and enlightenment, but the curing of any kind of problem and obstacles. It also brings support in all the endeavors of your life.

Time for a War Council. BC heads back to the Moon to meet with the Governor of Lunar Prime, the new Pope, folks from The Project, and the new Khalif of the UIN. The interstellar war continues in Chapter Twelve of Vatican Abdicator! Audio science fiction adventure from Mike Luoma, always free to listen, subscribe and download. Get a fix of original SF each week on Glow-in-the-Dark Radio!    Book News - New Colorist on Alibi Jones: Christmas Present – welcome Juan Carlos Quattordio!    Please support Mike and this podcast on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/glowinthedarkradio    Mike does pro voice work – see: https://www.glowinthedarkradio.com/voice-work   Join the mailing list: http://eepurl.com/0_Z7z    Promo is for The Melting Potcast: http://themeltingpotcast.com     Home(s): http://mikeluoma.com - http://glowinthedarkradio.com - http://alibijones.com

  Welcome to Missing in Ohio, a podcast devoted to telling the stories of Ohio’s Missing Loved Ones. I am your host Kelly Bruce and this is Chapter Twelve the Disappearance Of Shawn Antill.    Shawn Antill is a Missing adult from Cadiz, Ohio. He was last seen exiting a vehicle along US 250 on December 23, 2017. Shawn was 24 years old at the time of his disappearance and would be 25 years old today. Shawn is a white male approximately 5’3” and 120 lbs. with brown hair and blue eyes. If you have any information on the disappearance of Shawn Antill please call the Harrison County Sheriffs Office at 740-942-2197.     You can find Missing in Ohio on Facebook at  https://facebook.com/Missing-in-Ohio-170663570461528/   Join in the discussion on our Facebook group page Missing in Ohio Podcast.    Find us on Twitter @missing_ohio Instagram: missing_in_ohio   Missing in Ohio now has a Patreon Page. Through Patreon you can donate as little as $2.00 a month. There are multiple donation tiers to choose from, some that will even give you the opportunity to be a guest on an episode of Missing in Ohio. With the money that is donated we will pay for the production of this podcast, plan missing person’s events, supply fliers to families with a missing loved one, and many other things to help raise awareness. If you would prefer to make a onetime donation you can do so through our new PayPal page. Our Patreon Page can be found at patreon.com/MissinginOhio  or via PayPal at missingpersonsinohio@gmail.com  Every donation will be greatly appreciated and help raise awareness for Ohio’s missing loved ones.   You can follow Shawn’s Case on Facebook at    Follow Missing Person from Ohio at https://m.facebook.com/missingpersonfromohio/   If you like Missing in Ohio and would like to help us continue to raise awareness, please give us 5 Stars and a Review on whichever listening platform you enjoy.    You can listen to Missing in Ohio on Spotify, Podbean, iTunes, Google play, and Stitcher.    Thank you for listening to Missing in Ohio Chapter Twelve: the Disappearance Of Shawn Antill. Tune in next time for Missing in Ohio Chapter Thirteen .

Episode 95"A Memory Called Empire" by Arkady Martine, Chapter TwelveOut on the street again, Mahit visits a power player to try and finally get more answers, and somehow leaves with less. Anita and Scott try to puzzle out what's going on in the background, where we can't see it happening.The Read-Along is a proud member of the Alberta Podcast Network powered by ATB. Follow us on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook @thereadalong, and join our Goodreads Group to get your discussion on! You can also follow Scott @scottybomb and Anita @nitabing.Until next time gentlereaders! I Don't Trust All You Snakes - "A Memory Called Empire" Chapter Twelve

We're examining Chapter Twelve, The Mirror of Erised, in parallel with the story of Narcissus as told in Ovid's Metamorphoses. We discuss Harry's welcome into the Weasley family at Christmas, and the gift of the Invisibility Cloak with the message "use it well". We also consider the dangers of desire and obsession when it comes to the Mirror of Erised. We look at Harry and Ron's distinct desires reflected back at them, and muse over Dumbledore's words that "it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live"...

Chapter Twelve of Pastor Rob's book, "Enjoying the Goodness of God" read by the author. God showed me that He had redeemed my nine years of disobedience. By His mercy and grace, He had placed me where I would have been if I had done what I was supposed to do in the first place. The mercy and grace of God had redeemed my past. If God is leading you, He has already qualified you!

Episode 49"The Word is Murder" by Anthony Horowitz, Chapter TwelveWe take a whirlwind trip around a wake, learn a little bit more about our victim, and discover just a little too late that one of our suspects is in mortal danger. The body count rises in our murder mystery, as the plot thickens!Follow us on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook @thereadalong, and join our Goodreads Group to get your discussion on! You can also follow Scott @scottybomb and Anita @nitabing.Until next time gentlereaders!Temarzipan - "The Word is Murder" Chapter Twelve

Ever get your hand caught in an elevator door? The Adventures of Alibi Jones continue – this week, we'll discover if the "CRUNCH" heard at last episode's end was Alibi Jones' hand! Celebrating 12 years of free science fiction podcast adventures on Glow-in-the-Dark Radio. There's a short "story-so-far" before, so you can jump right into Chapter Twelve of Alibi Jones and the Hornet's Nest with author, narrator and host Mike Luoma. Free, independent science fiction every episode!    Join the mailing list: http://eepurl.com/0_Z7z     Mike's radio home, WBKM: http://wbkm.org    Promo is for The Shared Desk: http://theshareddesk.com    Home(s): http://mikeluoma.com - http://glowinthedarkradio.com - http://alibijones.com

Quem sobrevive, os amantes ou os guerreiros? "Chapter Twelve" é um episódio de Legion que olha para dentro - literalmente. Venha desbravar a mente de Syd conosco. O post Podcast | PontoCast: Review de Legion #04 – Chapter Twelve (2×04) apareceu primeiro em .

In this podcast, we consider Chapter Twelve of The Tao Te Ching. In this Chapter, Lao Tzu advises against sensory overload and excess in general. We contrast this approach with the Dionysian spirituality which uses excess, intoxication and the senses. We find that these seemingly contradictory approaches to living are not stark opposites and that Lao Tzu's advice, that we use a honed intuition to help us to know how and when to use the different modes of being available to us, is good. [Free. 25 minutes.]

This week’s episode features Chapter Twelve of Black Brick. Here is an excerpt from the show: SHANNON GRIMACED WHEN SHE heard Cherry’s voice and her demeanor changed. Before, Shannon had been alert and ready for anything. Now, her face tightened, and she twisted her neck to either side. I hoped she wouldn’t do anything stupid. If […]

Listen to Chapter Twelve of the new rendering of the Sri Sai Satcharitra by Divine Lineage’s Spiritual Director, Monika Penukonda. The original transcript of this sacred text by Hemadpant has been translated into an English language more accessible to modern English speakers. The benefits of regular reading and contemplation of the Satcharitra are innumerable, not only bringing wisdom and enlightenment, but the curing of any kind of problem and obstacles. It also brings support in all the endeavors of your life. Now let us see in this chapter how devotees were received and treated by Baba. We have seen before that the purpose or object of divine incarnation is to protect the good and destroy the wicked. But the mission of the saints is quite different. To them the good and the wicked are the same. First, they feel for wrongdoers then set them on the right path. They are like the agasti (destroyer) of bhavasagara (the ocean of worldly existence) or like the sun to the darkness of ignorance. The Lord dwells in the saints. In fact, they are not different from Him. Our Baba is one of these, who incarnated for the welfare of the devotees. Supreme in knowledge and surrounded with divine luster, he loved all beings equally. He was unattached. Foes and friends, kings and paupers were the same to him. Hear his powers. For the sake of devotees, he spent his stock of merits and was ever alert to help them. But the devotees could never approach him unless he meant to receive them. If their turn did not come, Baba did not remember them and his leelas could not reach their ears. Then how could they think of seeing him?Some men desired to see Baba but they did not get any opportunity to have his darshan..." Music Credits: 'Sai Natha Sharanam' by Christina Schmidt & Baba´s Bhajan Band

Chapter Twelve. Brought to you by Amber Sound.

The Edge of Mysterion, Chapter Twelve, by Richard Rene (Conciliar Press, 2011)

In this episode John and Gregg discuss Chapter Twelve from Not a Fan by Kyle Idleman.  John observes Idleman building this chapter around the idea that we are to go wherever God wants us to go and that it won’t be comfortable or easy.  What doesn’t add up here, when contrasted with other parts of the […] The post 28: Make Sure It Hurts | Chap 12 of Not A Fan by Kyle Idleman appeared first on Untangling Christianity.

In this episode of Verse Per Verse, Amichai explore the many faces of the word “Avodah”. This weeks torah portion Bo uses this word in Exodus, Chapter Twelve, Verse Sixteen, when it talks about how future generations will commemorate the Exodus from Egypt. But, why does this word have so many meanings? Work or Love, Worship or Bondage? Labor or Ceremony? And Amichai ends up looking at the eerie role that this word has played in more modern history of the Jewish people.

Chapter Twelve and Epilogue - Daniel is briefly hospitalized after his rescue from the railroad bridge. After returning home, he encounters the ghostly boy one last time before reuniting with a surprisingly sympathetic Vicki.

"Assam & Darjeeling" is the story of two children who set out to rescue their dead mother from the Underworld -- a nightmare place where the mythological desperately tries to keep pace with the world above. The children encounter cell-phone carrying demons, forgotten deities from defunct pantheons waiting tables, and one nasty character called Juniper who takes a particular, personal interest in their quest. The children run into a bad patch in Chapter Twelve -- and it's up to Edgar to pull them out of the fire.