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Empty, Unblocked, Unidentified Conditioned responses dissolve Buddha-field Compassion opens Neti-Neti staying un-grasped by Attributes Know the Knower - Ping Pong Eyes Mind hides Infinity No Limits Society ► https://bentinhomassaro.com/nls What is I? ► https://bit.ly/WhatisI High Level Perception ► https://highlevelperception.com
Today I want to share something more intimate with you about pain and living forward. Earlier this year, my family and I we honored the 10-year anniversary of our daughter Hadley's passing and her death in 2011. And I found myself for a couple months, just feeling the... I don't even know if weight is the right word, but just the honoring of the reality of learning to live each of us individually and collectively as a family how to live forward. How to actually move forward. And it's definitely become easier by the year but doesn't mean the the pain or the loss is not there. It's just a new way of learning to live holding both joy and pain at the same time. So I wanna share with you a poem that I wrote. Her birthday is upcoming. This month I always tend to be reflective as well. And our holiday seasons are always bookended by her birthday and then her anniversary of her passing. I'll share the poem with you now and then reflect on it a little bit with you, 10 years living forward, "Ten rings later in the oak tree. Ten rings later and the oak tree. Radius etchings tell the truth of living forward. Closer to fine. Empty bedroom, not to dinner. Quiet, deafening, disappearance. No search party assembled. Empty wheelchair affixed for helium flight. Unconvincing logic to limbic smells and sounds. Was that her shadow? Her cry? Hair clippers to mourn the reminder of not fine. Staggering, limping, walking, living again, rings seared chronicles of summers laughing. Winters ruminating, springs living. All the roots go deeper when it's dry." So as I reflect back on her death in passing, I envision this trees aging rings, a cross section of a log. And as you see like in the rings, each annual etching tells a different story. Some are like thick with growth. In a tree, it's like, "Oh wow, there must have been a lot of rain that year, was lots of moisture, easy for that tree to grow." Others are really thin, very small amount of growth, but the tree is still standing. And as I began to reflect on that as her passing, no search party assembled, she was missing at dinner. Her bedroom was empty. But we knew why. In our mind. But our soul and our body didn't. Our limbic brain, the part of our brain that stores meaning, and sense, and smell aroused by someone's presence. I remember just being haunted by that for years, "Oh, it sounded like her. Oh, that's not her. Was that her cry? No." And in the honoring of her passing, I had read a passage in the book of Job. And when Job's children had died, so many tragedies had become him. But it was the last straw when the house collapsed on all of his children. And the two things he did was he shaved his head and worship God. I remember having my kids, Averi and Holden, shave my head with me. And I wore my hair clipper down to skin for a year, just to remind myself, I'm not fine, and that's okay, but have a visceral reminder. I would go to touch my head in the morning and it would have these, you know, scaly bumps from no hair, or I'd be cold, or I looked not attractive in the mirror. But all of those were reminders. That's okay. I'm not supposed to be fine. And then as we progressed, moving through summers laughing, winters ruminating, and springs living, moving from staggering and limping to walking to living again, and all the roots go deeper when it's dry. So, friends, like you, I've lived long enough to know to live authentically, to become wholehearted requires us to embrace our humanities spectrum, and remind our souls that God is with us and for us, even when, even when. Friends, you can do this. It's worth it. You're worth it. Keep going, Aaron
LSU spread it out against ULM, using 5 man protections and Empty sets to kick the passing game into gear. Cody and Jacob break down the film and numbers to see what worked and how it might apply against A&M Saturday. Then Hester goes inside the film room with Max Johnson to talk about his best plays of the season. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/heyfightinpodcast/message
Here's what I invite you to try this holiday season to stay present and what I wish I would have known 37 holidays ago. Bonus: 10 quick mindfulness tips to thrive this season (and beyond). Full heart, empty mind article on Medium. For daily meditation tips, connect on Instagram: @innerrebel.co Meditate live with me on the Insight Timer app: @LaurenLee *Please note, speaking with your medical professional when incorporating meditation and guided imagery into your daily routine as a self-discovery and stress relief practice is important. Please contact your health care provider for additional support if/when needed. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/innerrebel/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/innerrebel/support
[00:30] Media Covering for Darrell Brooks (25 minutes)The left-wing media has been diligent about characterizing the Waukesha massacre in a way that's favorable to its agenda. Instead of calling it an "attack," networks have been calling it a “crash,” indicating it was an accident. Compare that to the Charlottesville attack from 2017 when the left-wing media characterized the incident as a “white supremacist attack” on the crowd. Facebook and Twitter have even rushed to erase Black Lives Matter-supporting posts from Brooks's accounts, which included posts endorsing Adolf Hitler and calls to "knock out" white people. [25:40] Releasing All Criminals (18 minutes)John Chisholm is the Wisconsin district attorney who is ultimately responsible for the $1,000 bail that allowed violent criminal Darrell Brooks to go free last week. Chisholm admitted in 2007 that his lenient approach to criminal justice would probably result in people being killed, but that was a small price to pay and shouldn't undermine the overall goal. Justice “reform” prosectors across the United States have announced that they are going soft on crime. The results are appalling. From San Francisco to New York City, residents, and even members of the media like Joe Scarborough, are complaining about the lawlessness in America's cities. [43:00] The Great Paradox of Knowledge (14 minutes)Why can't the same people who send men to the moon and back also bring peace and stability to the world, or even a single nation? With such an explosion of material knowledge, it would seem that our countries should be getting more and more peaceful and prosperous. But crime rates continue to soar, and evil men and seducers, as the Apostle Paul wrote, “wax worse and worse.” As Revelation 12:9 explains, Satan has deceived the whole world and has blinded mankind to what would solve every human problem on our planet—the true gospel of Jesus Christ.
We're approaching Thanksgiving, and I'm going into appreciation mode in a big way. My kids call this my sappy time of year because I'm in such deep gratitude for everything from sunrises and sunsets to family and my work. I get misty-eyed from feeling overwhelmed with all the goodness in my life. A big part of what I'm thankful for is you. Thank you for listening. Thank you for all the messages you send me. It is a joy to share with you what I've learned about creating a life you can love. And while today's episode may seem cliche since it's airing right around Thanksgiving, the message here is pure gold for helping you get what you want in life. For years my mom has had the practice of, as soon as she opened her eyes in the morning, she would give thanks — for breath, her pillow, blanket, for her healthy body… I've adopted the same practice, though it hasn't always been my practice. I know what it's like to wake up feeling anxious, scared, and totally stressed out. I did that for many years. Giving thanks hasn't always been easy for me, but practicing gratitude is just that — a practice. And it's worth it because it's so powerful that this seemingly small practice can change your life. Cultivating a gratitude practice is one of the most powerful things you can do to shift your perspective and your life in a positive direction. Today's episode is an invitation to do one simple process from now through the end of the year. Make a list of everything you're grateful for. No need to list why you're grateful. Just list the good stuff, one thing after the other. Empty out in one big session of thankfulness. Then each day from now to the end of the year, add one thing to the list. What you can expect is that as you focus on the good things in your life, you'll start to notice more good things in your life experience. It's just the way the mind works. Enjoy it. Bask in it. Play with the process. Have fun with it. Feel all the good feels and give thanks for the shifts and wins along the way. Thanks for listening! To share your thoughts: Leave a note in the comment section below Use the “I have a question” button Share this show on Twitter, Facebook, and LinkedIn Find Brenda on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest and YouTube Links from today's episode: Ask and it is Given by Esther and Jerry Hicks Check out our fabulous freebie section! To help out the show: Leave a positive review on iTunes. Your ratings and reviews help, and I read each and every one. Subscribe on iTunes or Stitcher or Libsyn
Jenny Rosenstrach is a food writer and New York Times bestselling cookbook author of Dinner: A Love Story, The Weekday Vegetarians and How To Celebrate Everything among others. She also authors the Dinner: A Love Story blog and newsletter. -- You can listen to a longer interview I did with Jenny on the Mom and Dad Are Fighting Podcast this week. -- Record your family history with help from StoryCorps!-- Call Zak with your advice at 844-935-BEST Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Blu introduces a lot of empty bags on this pod! He thinks he's in his bag but the bags are REALLY empty! We got a lot of topics this week: RIP Dolph, Kyle Rittenhouse NOT GUILTY, what kind of woman, and Zac Stacy ex NFL but current WWE
From policies to not enforcing laws to defunding and crippling our police forces, there are many places in America where the government is not fulfilling its promise to protect you. Even where those in government aren't blatantly leaving citizens without protection...
Empty | The Good Life - John LaRavia by The Salt Company (ISU)
Psychologist Madeline Levine noticed the fifteen-year-old girl’s “cutter disguise”—a long sleeve T-shirt pulled halfway over her hand commonly used by people who engage in self-harm. When the young girl pulled back her sleeve, Levine was startled to find that the girl had used a razor to carve “empty” on her forearm. She was saddened, but also grateful the teen was open to receiving the serious help she desperately needed. The teen in some way represents many people who have carved “empty”—perhaps not on their forearms, but on their hearts. John wrote that Jesus came to fill the empty and to offer life “to the full” (John 10:10). God placed the desire for a full life in every human being, and He longs for people to experience a loving relationship with Him. But He also warned them that the “thief” would use people, things, and circumstances to attempt to ravage their lives (vv. 1, 10). The claims each made to give life would be counterfeit and an imitation. In contrast, Jesus offers what’s true—“eternal life” and the promise that “no one will snatch [us] out of [His} hand” (v. 28). Only Jesus can fill the empty spaces in our hearts with life. If you’re feeling empty, call out to Him today. And if you’re experiencing serious struggles, seek out godly counsel. Christ alone provides life that’s abundant and full—life full of meaning found in Him.
Much is made of the importance of Peter's tears because for those who can't face their own sins, much is riding on them. But that's not how the story works. Richard and Fr. Marc discuss Matthew 26:69-75. Episode 407 Matthew 26:69-75; Music:SCP-x7x (6th Floor) by Kevin MacLeodLink: https://incompetech.filmmusic.io/song/6737-scp-x7x-6th-floor-License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license★ Support this podcast on Patreon ★
It's the Supernatural Finale Anniversary Special! Natalie and Cass are joined by Liliana, host of the Supernatural podcast St Alphonso's Academy of Squee and recent guest contributor here on Subjectify, to talk about the Supernatural series finale, and what the hell has happened since, a year after it all ended. Join us for a very special and very long celebration slash mourning slash something as we hype and gripe the demise of the show, air our worries about what's become of the fandom, and beg the cast and crew to just be normal about gay people. These shownotes are going to have a bit of a different structure to our usual here on Not About The Weather, for three reasons: a) this is an extremely long episode, b) it's probably going to be listened to by people other than our normal audience, and c) there may be parts that you want to hear and parts that you don't. So for the first time ever, we're including a detailed list of time stamps. We respect that some fans do not want to engage with any positivity about the Supernatural finale, however Not About The Weather is always structured to include both a "Hype" and "Gripe" from each host about their topic of choice, and, although no one here loves the finale, all the hosts on this episode have tried to take it in good faith. If you don't want to listen to our finale-related hypes - especially if you are triggered by Dean's death - that is all good. We don't really talk about it in detail, but everyone on this episode does accept that plot point as well as the Heaven endgame. We'd appreciate it if you keep things civil and don't come for our throats about the fact we don't have a moral objection to it. Just feel free to skip straight to 1 hour 30 mins to hear our grievances - that's where stuff starts getting really passionate, particularly the 45 minute segment griping about the attitude shift to "interpret" Castiel's queerness away. Good times. Here's the detailed breakdown by time stamp: 0m 30s - Introduction of hosts. 6m 53s - We recap the plot of the Supernatural finale in the off chance any listeners haven't seen it. 11m 40s - Most people we know hate the finale very badly, and wanted or were expecting a happier ending where everyone lives a good life finally free of Chuck. We agree this was a very desirable ending, however, we do not hate the finale as much as some people do - in part because we were anticipated something much worse. We check in on how Liliana is feeling about it these days. 15m 21s - We get the aim of Dean's death, but we don't have to like it. But we all agree that Sam's ending was possibly the worst of them all, just in terms of what it implied about his character's personality and growth and decency and all that. Even though they died, Dean and Cas both felt landed and whole, as characters. Sam's ending was just depressing. 20m 55s - Even though that she didn't expect it to happen, Natalie believes that after 15 years, the show definitely could have gotten away with a happier ending while still remaining authentic to the Winchesters' journey, but we suspect that, for whatever reason, the powers that be just did not see a happier ending as truthful to what Supernatural is all about, despite the characters having earned it. 24m 59s But surprisingly, the finale was still a happier ending than Cass and Natalie expected. Regarding Castiel in particular, the bar was on the floor - we believed Misha wasn't coming back, and we were expecting a cruel, tragic utter lack of resolution that implied he would be stuck in the Empty having trauma dreams forever. Hypes 28m 50s - The overall Chuck as the writer villain plot and how it has recolored the whole show from the very beginning. The best thing about the Chuck twist was that it gave us, as viewers, a whole new show. Supernatural, from day one, is a brand new experience, knowing the truth about Chuck, and it makes the whole thing that much better. Is there a chance that Ben Edlund had this idea in mind way back in the day? 46m 30s - The redux, repair and freeing of Heaven as seen in the finale. Over the years, we weren't sure if the show was aware of how messed up their version of Heaven was, but setting it right or changing what happens to human souls after they die was a huge priority for us as fans, because no matter whether we saw the boys die or not in the finale, they are human and will one day eventually die. We support that the finale showed us this, and feel we wouldn't have trusted it if it wasn't via Dean. We really hope that fandom will get interested in exploring more Heaven-based fic sometime soon. 1hr 11m 25s - The fact that so many former SPN cast members and writers are killing it in their careers - it's been a joy to watch because of course it's a huge group after 15 years, but a lot of them are reaching new heights (Kathryn & Shoshannah with Marvel, J2's shows, Misha's many pursuits, Ruthie & Mark S on Doom Patrol, Rich directing lots of TV) and how it's just lovely to see them thriving professionally while still remaining part of our community. Gripes 1hr 33m 08s - The cancellation of Wayward Sisters. Yes, we're still mad about it, but it's relevant today because we believe that if that show had been running in tandem with Supernatural, the Supernatural finale endgame would be entirely different. We feel absolutely certain that if Wayward had been picked up, none of the boys would've died at the end. 1hr 44m 48s - The COVID finale. If we're going to hate the finale, we want to at least hate the real version. We believe that the same plot points may have felt different if a different tone was taken, and the fact that there will always be a big asterisk next to the finale in terms of what it was meant to be, is infuriating. And don't get us started on Misha's absence. Plus, even if we didn't love the finale, the show deserved to get to do what it really wanted to do - not be hobbled by a pandemic. 2hr 02m 49s - The fact that people continue to invalidate the Destiel confession a year later. It was gay, it was romantic, just let us have it. Even the cast are walking back previous statements, which is really disappointing. It's dangerous, it's gaslighting, and it's a really bad look for a show with a significant queer fanbase. We really don't like that the concept of art being "open to interpretation" - a good concept that we agree to in theory - is being weaponized to basically say "if this character being queer upsets you, you can explain it away." 2hr 46m 19s - Two Truths and a Lie: Cass Edition, about Old Fandom Lore 2hr 54m 14s - Ask NATW Anything: “What do you all feel is the most important fandom shift post-finale? Do you think there has been one?” Let's just say we have a LOT to unleash for this one, including the loss of conventions, the puriteen police, and the fact that people still aren't ready to have differing finale opinions without getting extremely combative or traumatized. Liliana addresses plenty of this in the article she shared on Subjectify for the anniversary as well. 3hr 18m 30s - Bonus Ask NATW Anything: “What did I ever do to deserve this?” We apologize to a dear friend and explain how we three all met and spent time together at 2018 JIBCon in Rome. Christine Baranski was involved. Resources/Recommendations: Not About The Weather Episode #27 - featuring Cass Cass on Archive of our Own Liliana's Subjectify article about the finale anniversary Liliana's Supernatural podcast - St Alphonso's Academy of Squee Not About The Weather Episode #38 - platonic ideal of a normal Weather episode Not About The Weather Episode #33 - featuring Meredith Glynn Not About The Weather Episode #31 - featuring Meghan Fitzmartin Not About The Weather Episode #10 - featuring Davy Perez Some Things I Still Can't Tell You - Misha's poetry book Our review of 'Some Things I Still Can't Tell You' Roadfood: Discovering America One Dish at a Time - Misha's new PBS show Eric Kripke comments on Misha's Road Food Kathryn Newton will star in the MCU's Ant-Man 3 Shoshannah Stern is writing for the MCU's Echo on Disney+ Yadira Guevara-Prip stars in See on Apple TV+ Meghan Fitzmartin on writing Tim Drake, one of DC's Robins, as bisexual subjectifymedia.com @subjectifymedia on Twitter Subjectify Media on Instagram Subjectify Media on Facebook Subjectify Media on Tumblr This episode's hosts are: Natalie Fisher and Cass Cooper. Our special guest is: Liliana Luper. Not About The Weather skips the small talk to engage audiences with passionate, personal, in-depth discussion regarding the world of storytelling and entertainment. Featuring conversation, commentary and interviews with the Not About The Weather team and our special guests from all walks of life about whatever's got us fired up this week, be it movies, music, memes, TV, theatre, books, baked goods or bad days at the office. This podcast is the first general-interest, personality-based discussion show from a group of podcast hosts formerly dedicated to covering specific properties with a singular focus. In each episode, our Not About The Weather hosts and their guests will bring an obsession to share and a grievance to air from the their experiences in the world of pop culture, fandom, or sometimes, just plain old life. Follow Us: Twitter // Instagram // Tumblr // Facebook Listen and Subscribe: Audioboom // Apple // Spotify // Stitcher // Google // Amazon Feel free to leave us your questions or comments through any of these mediums! You can also email us at notabouttheweather@gmail.com or visit our homepage for archives and more information about our show. Not About The Weather is a Subjectify Media podcast production. Visit Subjectify Media for more shows, including Prophecy Radio, Not Another Teen Wolf Podcast , and ReWatchable, and for all our latest articles about the stories we're passionate about.
Brad Benbow with Business Growth Investments at Ardagh Group is joined by FreightWaves Director of Carbon Intelligence in this fireside chat.Follow FreightWaves on Apple PodcastsFollow FreightWaves on SpotifyMore FreightWaves PodcastsJoin the F3 Virtual Experience
There is just something about an empty nest. Sometimes you can't decide whether you feel grief or delight. You're caught between wanting to hold on to the past and letting go to grab your new freedom. Empty nesting can be a disorienting time, but it can also become the best season of your life, if you'll let it. Today author Jill Savage will guide you through this unpredictable season. She'll teach you what you need to let go of and what you need to hold on to. You'll get practical tips that will give you confidence and clarity. An empty nest can be full of joy, so stick around and find out how. And, if you're a mom whose nest is full, Jill will coach you up to make this transition easier when it comes! SHOW NOTES: 413Podcast.com/168
After the stupid alarm went off I thought let me do week 11 of NFL pick up before WW3 happens!!! --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/bigdcountry/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/bigdcountry/support
As we steam toward the weekend the buzz is all about inflation. From fuel to toys and that made for a rough day on Wall Street. Here's what we've got for you today: Court documents say Zillow...misled; Stocks faltered and the Visa story; Gasoline and President Biden and the FTC; Empty shelves and Thanksgiving...don't panic; The Dubai air show is a big deal for aviation; Are inflation worries...over inflated? The Wall Street Report; A stunning number of overdose deaths rock the U.S. Thanks for listening! The award winning Insight on Business the News Hour with Michael Libbie is the only weekday business news podcast in the Midwest. The national, regional and some local business news along with long-form business interviews can be heard Monday - Friday. You can subscribe on PlayerFM, Podbean, iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher or TuneIn Radio. And you can catch The Business News Hour Week in Review each Sunday Noon on News/Talk 1540 KXEL. The Business News Hour is a production of Insight Advertising, Marketing & Communications. You can follow us on Twitter @IoB_NewsHour.
On the way back from Murfreesboro, @Friedman_Dave and @mikepacheco81 reveal an unsettling start to the trip after recording Episode II. Also, they offer a recap of the trip and Winthrop's loss to MTSU.
Always on Empty: The Rest of God's Heart 11-14-21 by LifePath Church
Today's story is for this year's small batch of friends who will watch their youngest child leave the nest a few months down the road. It's an emotionally-fraught moment that can temporarily obscure all the good stuff yet to come.With a snippet of end music by Toad the Wet Sprocket.
Time Management That Focuses on YOU "I never have time to work on what's important to me!" I hear that every day from people all over the world. Every one of them is so busy attempting to master the latest productivity hack they end up spending most of their time running like a hamster on a wheel. Frankly, I was doing the same thing when my new business was sucking the life out of me and demanding all of my focus. One day, I realized my focus was in the wrong place. The problem was that I ran my day based on events on my calendar, and all of those red and green blocks were controlling my life. Without thinking, maybe to become more productive, I added more and more blocks to my day. While I got more done, I wasn't doing the things that were important to me. Out of pure frustration, I asked myself a question… "How do I want my calendar to look?" My honest answer was EMPTY! While it may sound like a silly goal, I have no interest in focusing on more colored calendar blocks, I want more time to do what is important to me. At that moment, I realized the secret I was looking for was hidden in plain sight - the space between events. Since then, I've seen the space on my calendar as 100% mine that I can use in any way I decide. When an event is scheduled, I interrupt my flow, deal with the event, and immediately get back to focusing on what is important to me. It's a small distinction that yields huge results. Now, to make this work, two things are required: 1) You must know what is important to you and have it at the forefront of your mind. Those goals become your primary focus and not a maybe/someday goal. 2) You must know what actions are relevant to getting the results that you desire. That's it. All that remains is for you to grab all the open space you can get and start having fun with your stuff instead of everybody else's stuff.
Susan Burton's memoir, Empty, is out now from Random House. She is an editor at This American Life, where the episodes she's produced include Ten Sessions, Five Women, and Tell Me I'm Fat. Her writing has appeared in the New York Times Magazine, Slate, The New Yorker, and others, and she is a former editor of Harper's. Her radio documentaries have won numerous awards, including an Overseas Press Club citation, and she received a grant from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting to do stories about teenagers. The film Unaccompanied Minors, which was directed by Freaks and Geeks creator Paul Feig, is based on one of her personal essays. Susan graduated from Yale in 1995. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and their two sons (one of whom she wrote about in Labor Day: True Birth Stories by America's Best Women Writers).Website: http://www.susanburton.net/If you want go from feeling hopeless to hopeful, lonely to connected and like a burden to a blessing, then go to 1-on-1 coaching, go to www.thrivewithleo.com. Let's get to tomorrow, together. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline800-273-TALK [800-273-8255]1-800-SUICIDE [800-784-2433]Teen Line (Los Angeles)800-852-8336The Trevor Project (LGBTQ Youth Hotline)866-488-7386National Domestic Violence Hotline800-799-SAFE [800-799-7233]Crisis Text LineText "Connect" to 741741 in the USALifeline Chathttps://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/International Suicide Hotlines: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.htmlhttps://www.nowmattersnow.org/skillshttps://sobermeditations.libsyn.com/ www.suicidesafetyplan.com https://scaa.club/
A Way with Words — language, linguistics, and callers from all over
Amid court-ordered busing in the 1970s, a middle-school teacher tried to distract her nervous students on the first day of class with this strange assignment: find a monarch caterpillar. The result? A memorable lesson in the miracle of metamorphosis. Plus, the story behind the slang expression Word!, meaning "Believe me!" The original version involved the idea that a person's word was their bond. And the expression Empty wagons make the most noise suggests that the person who boasts the loudest may actually be the least knowledgeable. It's a phrase that's had many versions over the centuries -- including one that goes all the way back to ancient Rome! All that, and nebby, beat-feeting, red-headed stepchild, corotole, undermine, fankle, and a wacky puzzle about Greek names. Read full show notes, hear hundreds of free episodes, send your thoughts and questions, and learn more on the A Way with Words website: https://waywordradio.org/contact. Be a part of the show: call 1 (877) 929-9673 toll-free in the United States and Canada; worldwide, call or text/SMS +1 (619) 800-4443. Email words@waywordradio.org. Twitter @wayword. Copyright Wayword, Inc., a 501(c)(3) corporation.
Luke 15:11-32 - The Parable of the Two Lost Sons | Rewind 2021 Series | Rewind from The Storyteller | Justin Hornsby, Worship leader | Preached 11-14-21 10:45am | Tag: Rewind, Parable, Jesus, Storyteller, Prodigal, Lost, Son, Father, Pigs, Les Miserable, Rebellion, Sin, Empty, Welcome Home, Grace
Empty hands are due to a full mind. Good or bad. Right or wrong. In your control or out of your control, empty your mind out. Play empty-minded, not absent-minded.In today's episode, you'll learn the cadence that I use when I am feeling less than and overwhelmed.This clip comes from episode 559. To hear the full episode, click the link. https://www.marshbuice.com/559-chop-wood-carry-water-how/Connect with me! www.marshbuice.com. Find hundreds of episodes, blogs, links to the socials where I hang out, and The Sales Life YouTube Channel. Would you SHARE today's episode with others? This will show your support and grow the show. I can't do it without you.
Hey Family! In this week's episode, we're asking the question... Is Your Cup Empty? Stay tuned, you don't want to miss it!
D.C. corrections officials have promised a “top to bottom” examination of operations at the jail.
Hey Family! In this week's episode, we're asking the question... Is Your Cup Empty? Stay tuned, you don't want to miss it!
HOUR 1 (Hour 25 of 28 in the marathon):The tank is nearly empty for Fauria in the "25 for 25". David Ortiz joins us to help raise money for the American Diabetes Association 11-11-21 See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Coach DJ Eliot joins us on the fifth episode of our Defensive Series to discuss the #1 ranked defense in the FBS, the Wisconsin Badgers. Coach Eliot has 20+ years of coaching experience in the collegiate rankings. Coach Eliot's pedigree includes coaching stops at Kansas, Florida State, Miami, Colorado and Kentucky, as well as time with proven winners and program builders Jimbo Fisher and Mark Stoops. Additionally, Coach Eliot is among a select group of defensive thought-leaders that regularly clinic around the principles of the 3-4 defense. Today we break down the #23 Wyoming Cowboys defense: -4-waying the TE/FB in man -Understanding the man coverage you are in to communicate how to cover -Practicing communications in inside skelly -Back to Backers drill for boot, play action, and bunches -Quarter/Quarter/Half coverage -Creating Bear fronts -Getting the offense to check into different protections -Variations of how to play stacked receivers -Playing sticks coverage technique -5 man pressure on 3rd down -Playing Orbit and Fly motions -Making motion adjustments look the same -Motion to Empty or from Empty -Cross face on Long stick and LB fits -LB coverage will take you to the run fit -Different ways of playing bunch -Man free sim -Aligning at different levels in man -2 minute QQH disguise Keith example that beat Quarter/Quarter/Half https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvoU2kTTBAQ For your chance to win the package from Glazier, go to www.glazierclinics.com/win Drawing is on the 5 year anniversary of the podcast on 12/12/21.
Story: Ruminating On An Empty Room Author: IndigoMuse Rating: NR Site link: http://web.archive.org/web/20000606122533/http://members.xoom.com/xffanfic/xcellence/stories/ruminatingonanemptywomb.txt Read by: red2007 Summary: I think the title says it all. Spoilers: Momento Mori & Emily I suppose... The characters in these works are not the property of the Audio Fanfic Podcast or the author and are not being posted for profit. ***Every effort was made to reach out to this author for permission but we weren't able to make contact. In the event they were to reach out to us and request it, this will be taken down and as such this track will NOT be available for download. Should contact be made and permission given, the option to download will be offered.***
What a gift to be able to look iconic drummer Russell Kunkel in the virtual eye and say, thank you. A lifetime fan, I've seen and heard Russ play more times than I can begin to count. His beat literally weaves through the musical Tapestry of my life (see what I did there). Add to that, a sweet, gentlemanly, romantic soul, he's all that and a bag of sticks. We started with The Immediate Family and came back around, full circle. I honored the time promised (it's Russ's last night with his beautiful bride for a spell, so we kept it to a tight hour), and he kindly indulged a few personal questions about Leah Kunkle (Cass Elliot's sis), his kids, Nathaniel, Elsie, Owen, Carly Simon, Nicolette Larson, and how he met his beloved, Shauna. Love that Leland played a hand without a bass in it. Of the almost uncountable iconic recordings and tours that Russ has played on, we started with John Stewart (Daydream Believer) of The Kingston Trio, where Russ claims to have been schooled by the talented consummate professional. And where he was discovered by Peter Asher, which for Russ was a game, and a life-changer. We talked James Taylor and Sweet Baby James, where Russ met Leland Sklar, Danny Kortchmar, and Craig Dorge, soon to be known as The Section, Carole King and Tapestry, Jackson Browne and Running on Empty, Joni Mitchell and Blue, Waddy Wachtell and Warren Zevon, Stephen Stills and CSN&Y, Carly Simon, Stevie Nicks, getting a call from Asher to grab his gear and head to CBS, cor what turned into a 7 hour recorded jam with George Harrison and Bob Dylan, which led to playing on Dylan's New Morning, a one-off with Barbara Streisand, a many off with Neil Diamond, of whom Russ has great affection and admiration and shared a lovely story, B.B. King with Carole King, 15 yrs with Lyle Lovett, the who, what, where, when and how of the making of The Immediate Family, adding MVP (according to Russ), Steve Postell, their EPs LP, Denny Tedesco's much anticipated upcoming doc on them, joining Carole King as she was inducted into the Rock 'N Roll Hall of Fame, their current tour, about to east coast it, returning to the Canyon Club on Dec 19th where I hope to be front row center. Well, with my hip thing and the pandemic, more likely, an isolation booth with walker access. With all the above, we barely scratched the Kunkle disc surface. And yet, I'm Russ sated. For now. Such a gifted talent, a gentlemanly humble soul, with a romantic spirit… ah… I think I need a cigarette. I hope to approach life the way Russ does the drums… listening more and allowing for space. Adore the man and all of his music. Russ Kunkle on Game Changers with Vicki Abelson Wed, 11/10/21, 5 pm PT, 8 pm ET Streamed Live on my Facebook Replay here: https://bit.ly/3ocrofk All BROADcasts, as podcasts, also available on iTunes apple.co/2dj8ld3 Stitcher bit.ly/2h3R1fla tunein bit.ly/2gGeItj Also on iHeartRadio, SoundCloud, Voox, OwlTail, Backtracks, PlayerFM, Himalaya, Podchaser, and Listen Notes Thanks to Rick Smolke of Quik Impressions, the best printers, printing, the best people people-ing. quikimpressions.com Nicole Venables of Ruby Begonia Hair Studio Beauty and Products, for the best dressed. http://www.rubybegoniahairstudio.com/ Blue Microphones and Kevin Walt
How full is your cup right now? Have you been telling yourself that you're just fine, because you're used to (or even addicted to) being busy, productive and perpetually on the edge of exhaustion?We spend so much time caring for other people that it's easy to forget that we need to rest as well. When we try to pour out of an empty cup for too long, we'll find burnout. Truly, we cannot be who God is calling us to be unless we are resting ourselves.The Bible says in Matthew 11:28-30:“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” - Matthew 11:28-30Even in the life of Jesus, we see that He took the time to remove Himself from the crowds and His disciples to be alone with the Lord and to pray (Luke 5:16). God tells us to come to Him, just as we are. We don't have to be perfect, or feel like we have it all together. If you are tired, if you are worn out, if you feel burned out, let Jesus be your rest. It's okay to take a moment and just hit pause.Start today and begin to cultivate the habit of checking how full your cup really is. You might be surprised by how low your reserves have gotten—far better to realize and remedy this now, than later.In order for us to really love our neighbor as ourselves (Mark 12:31), we first have to in fact, love ourselves. This involves making sure that our needs are met. Don't be ashamed of taking care of yourself. After all, you can't pour from an empty cup.
Chapter 276 - "I'm Very Blunt About My Opinions" ...as read by Gary Spears of EmptyThis week we welcome Gary Spears, frontman for Solid State Records band Empty to the podcast. Empty dropped their sophomore full-length, Made of Fire, back in October. Gary talks about the band's aspirations that led them to Solid State Records, the frustrations that come with being a non-Christian band on Solid State and the themes and musical shifts that define Made of Fire.You can snag Made of Fire (and Hope and the Loss of It) on cd at https://solidstate.merchnow.com/collections/emptyOr Stream Made of Fire at https://open.spotify.com/album/0gcDMBnjWOuzKumBCpzTiF?si=d966JUAJQJO2h3pOQkCh6g----------Chapter 276 Music:Empty - "Temporary High"Empty - "From A Chemist's Point Of View"Empty - "Still Standing"Empty - "Letting Go"Empty - "Close My Eyes"Empty - "Put Myself Through Hell"---As The Story Grows links:Help out at PatreonATSG WebsiteATSG Music and MerchJoin the Email ListATSG FacebookEmail: asthestorygrows@gmail.comYouTube - https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCNuP0_JUpT6DoIhhbGlwEYA?view_as=subscriber
Are you so focused on taking care of others' needs that you neglect your own? If this sounds all too familiar, your "cup" may be empty. In this episode, Kathleen and Andrea discuss the challenges facing those who are driven to help, heal, and offer comfort to anyone in need. They dive into questions such as:What are the responsibilities of the helpers and healers?Where do those responsibilities end? Or, do they?In a time of so much need, where does the responsibility to oneself fit in?Is it selfish to put oneself first?Is it possible to achieve a healthy balance between oneself and others?And more!Kathleen and Andrea share their thoughts, their personal experiences and struggles, as well as the lessons they have learned along the way. They also offer valuable tips and suggestions for self-care and achieving balance in your life, so that everyone benefits. The takeaway? Keeping your cup full through self-care and love is one of the very best gifts you can offer to others- and yourself. Connect with Us!Website: https://www.beyondthereikigateway.comKathleen's Website: https://universoulheart.netAndrea's Website: https://www.mainstreamreiki.comKathleen's Articles: Rest, Repair, and Restore Your Soul with ReikiEmbracing SurrenderAndrea's YouTube Video: Distant Reiki Session for EmpathsKathleen's Amazon Storefront Resources for Empaths, Intuitives , and Highly Sensitive PeopleFree Online EventEmpaths, Sensitives & Intuitives SummitNovember 15–19, 2021 presented by the Shift NetworkKathleen and Andrea may acquire earnings from any products ordered, at no additional cost to you. Support the show (https://ko-fi.com/beyondthereikigateway)
Why is the word “OM” considered so sacred and powerful? How many religions recognize it as a spiritually potent word? What association does it have with three of the most revered gods of the Hindu pantheon: Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva? Does it have any connection with John 1:1 as some gurus propose? www.thetruelight.net
Sermon by Joe Bauman Am I seeking to fill the void in my life with temporal things, or am I letting Jesus fill and satisfy my life?
Which mighty heroes shall we choose to round out the Company of the Ring? On what basis shall we choose?
Some do not want the Lord who speaks and relate to them. So they turn to things made animals and things and become angry. But God has the true way of the Blood of Christ to change us. (Romans 1:18-23; Genesis 4:4-6) Speaker(s): Thomas Schaller, Steven Scibelli Sermon 12193 9:00 AM on 11/7/2021
Elijah asks a starving widow to share her very last provisions with him. Trusting in God's promise, her meager resources last them through an entire year. Our Lord asks us for a similar trusting generosity in times of fatigue and discouragement. The Mass makes present Christ as true spiritual food, enriching enough for our earthly pilgrimage and a gateway to heaven. It also makes present Christ's redemptive sacrifice, powerful enough to overcome all evil and sin. To follow Christ, we need to avoid pharisaical self-righteousness. This is the temptation to trust in ourselves, to make ourselves good, while avoiding the blessed uncertainty and the messy humility of the "way of the grain." https://comeawaybyyourselves.com
Does it matter what I write in the episode description? Give us this week our weekly water, as we give water to those who water against us: Strawberry from GreenWise, Strawberry Lemon from Revive Sparkling Probiotic, and Strawberry from Spindrift. Also, the sparkling community would like to thank Bri Lavergne (of the Igers Tampa Lavergnes) for bringing me GreenWise sparkling water all the way from Publix in Florida.
In this segment of By Any Means Necessary, hosts Sean Blackmon and Jacquie Luqman are joined by Zoe Pepper-Cunningham, a journalist with People's Dispatch to discuss the empty rhetoric pushed by Joe Biden at the COP26 conference, the policies that push the limits of the climate that Biden is pushing at home, and the future of the climate movement.
The value of individual liberty is becoming apparent to far more people today than from just a couple of years ago. With government in everyone's face and attempting to coerce chemicals into everyone's body, the pain has become all too real. Individual liberty, free markets, and sound money are the only lifeboats that will actually float. Are enough Americans ready to jump into them yet?
This retelling comes from Genesis 37, 39-45, and it appears in Blood Covenant Origins: Biblical Retellings. Introduction: Joseph is one of my favorite biblical characters; he's such a great example of faith. It took thirteen years for his reversal of fortune to finally occur, and another nine years after that for the complete fulfillment of God's promise to him. Yet if he ever wavered in his faith that God would fulfill what He showed him in his two dreams, we have no record of it. This is even more incredible when you consider that Joseph had no written scriptures to cling to like we do. He wouldn't have even had an oral tradition of previous faith heroes similar to himself. While Abraham his grandfather had to wait 25 years for the promised child, the circumstances had little in common with Joseph's own circumstances. He couldn't read about the 13-17 years between King David's anointing and when he finally became king, for instance. Moses had not yet written Deuteronomy, telling him all the blessings he could expect if he remained faithful to the Lord. All Joseph had to go on were two cryptic dreams… but it was enough. It's fitting that the first dream showed his brothers' sheaves of grain bowing down to his, considering it was the famine and grain distribution that propelled him to second in command of Egypt in the end. The one charge leveled against Joseph by some is that he started out arrogant: after all, what was he thinking, telling his brothers (whom he knew already envied him, due to his father's blatant favoritism) that God had told him he would rule over them? Maybe this was arrogance, or at best, a decided lack of wisdom. He was only seventeen at the time, after all. Also, with the exception of the death of his mother when Benjamin was born, Joseph had presumably lived a charmed life: the coat of many colors that Jacob had given him was the attire of a great landowner, even though Joseph was the second youngest of twelve brothers. (Pretty foolish of Jacob, too.) It's no wonder this galled them. Even so, their response to him shows how evil his brothers were, at that point. Had they not sold Joseph into slavery, they very well might have killed him—that was what they meant to do at first, after all. Despite this, despite slavery and then imprisonment, God said Joseph was prosperous and successful (Genesis 39:2-3, 23). Even though Joseph himself was not paid for any of his work, the blessing of the Lord was upon him, and therefore his master got blessed because of him. This is an interesting concept, that the overflow of God's blessing upon us (Deuteronomy 28:2) can affect those around us who just happen to be in the way—including our bosses in this case, or our families as well (1 Corinthians 7:14). Joseph also happened to be very handsome (Genesis 39:6)—ordinarily a blessing, but under the circumstances it was a curse, as he drew the eye of Potiphar's wife. If she was this aggressive, probably this wasn't the first time she had cheated on Potiphar. I suspect that the other servants, and maybe even Potiphar himself could compare what they knew of her and what they knew of Joseph and deduce the truth. But if Potiphar did not choose to believe Joseph, what could the other servants do? And wouldn't it have disrupted Potiphar's life more to have believed Joseph? He surely couldn't have kept Joseph in his house with his wife; he had to get rid of one of them. So in my retelling, I assumed that Potiphar's pride forced him to believe his wife, even though deep down he knew the truth. I would imagine that if he had truly believed his wife's accusation, he would have had Joseph killed, rather than merely thrown into prison. So Joseph started out with two dreams of greatness, which led directly to his being sold into slavery for a decade (deduced from his age at the time he was sold, the number of years he was in prison, and his age when he was finally promoted). At the end of the decade, Joseph refused to commit adultery and sin against God (very interesting that he phrased it that way, Genesis 39:9)—yet for his integrity, he got thrown into prison. Most people would be bitter at this point, but“until the time that His word came to pass, the word of the Lord tested [Joseph]” (Psalm 105:19). Joseph was holding fast to the word that the Lord had given him through those dreams, even when it looked like every circumstance in his life was heading in the wrong direction. He did not yet know Galatians 6:9, but he seemed to understand the principle: “let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” Joseph continued to exhibit diligence and faithfulness in prison, and he must have even kept up a contagious good attitude—we can intuit this because when the butler and baker each had dreams, Joseph said to them, “Why do you look so sad today?” (Genesis 40:7). You'd think they would look sad because they were in prison without cause! But apparently their distress was unusual. Under Joseph's rule, the prison had become a cheerful place. Moreover, Joseph was not merely sulking about his own misfortune; he knew and cared about the other prisoners. Colossians 3:17 says, “And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.” Fictionalized Retelling: I whistled, absently twirling the cord of the colorful tunic Father had given me as I made my way back out to the fields where my brothers tended the sheep. I couldn't stop smiling, couldn't think about anything except the dream I had had last night. In it, the sun, moon, and eleven stars had bowed down to me! I pictured this over and over, relishing the thrill of it, knowing that these celestial bodies represented my entire family. I was already my father's favorite, but the Lord confirmed it—I was to be the greatest of them all! Moreover, it was the second dream of its kind; in the first, a few days ago, eleven sheaves of wheat bowed down to my sheaf. I knew upon waking what it meant: all of my brothers would bow down to me one day. I told them so the next morning. It went over went about as well as I'd expected. They already envied me, and my little brother Benjamin: we were our father's favorite, the only two sons of our mother Rachel, the woman Father had truly loved. He was duped into marrying Rachel's sister Leah, and then in a competition to see who could bear Father more sons, both sisters had given their maids to bear children when it seemed that Mother was barren. I was the first child to open her womb, and so I was much favored even from birth. Father didn't even try to hide it—in fact, he'd given me as a gift the multicolored tunic I now wore, of the same style as the owners of the great estates. This galled my brothers; it was a preference that should have belonged to Reuben as the eldest, and only after our father's death. Yet here I was dressed as the heir, the second youngest of twelve, while our father yet lived. I might have felt guilty for my father's obvious preference for me, but quite frankly, I could hardly blame him. My brothers were self-centered, lazy, and cruel. God clearly preferred me over them, also! Had I doubted it at all after the first dream, the second one clinched it. Would I somehow become a king? Maybe a neighboring nation would offer their princess's hand to me in marriage… that was possible, as I was the favored son of a great man, and I was also exceptionally good looking. I didn't say so out loud, nor did anyone say it to me… but I saw the way all the young women gazed after me with longing and admiration. I knew. But, it couldn't be marriage to a princess, I mused, because then I would only be a consort, and not the king. Unless it was of a nation with different customs, in which a king could ascend to the throne by marriage… “Oh look, here comes the dreamer!” sneered Simeon as I approached. He and Levi mock-bowed to me. “So! You're going to rule us? You're going to boss us around?” Simeon taunted. I shrugged. “I was just telling you what the Lord told me.” “Oh, sure,” cried Levi, “and I had a dream I'm going to have a harem like Pharaoh, every concubine more beautiful than the last. I know it's true, because I dreamt it!” I bristled, knowing he was trying to get a rise out of me, but unable to keep myself from responding. “I know it's true, and irrevocable, because I had another dream last night just like it! This time, the sun, moon, and the eleven stars bowed down to me!” Levi's expression froze for a beat. In that half a second, I knew he believed me. Simeon recovered first. “Oooh, bow down, guys!” cried Simeon, waving his hands in the air, “bow down to our perfect baby brother, the future ruler of the entire universe!” Every time one of my brothers caught sight of me for the rest of the day, he made me an elaborate bow. They continued mocking me before my father and stepmothers that evening once we came in from the fields, compelling my father to ask what they meant by it. When he did, Issachar taunted, “Ask your little prince here! He's got it in his head that he's going to be greater than all of us put together!” Father turned to me with a frown. “Joseph? What are they talking about?” Feeling slightly abashed, I repeated my dreams, and my father, predictably, rebuked me. “What's with all this dreaming? Am I and your mother and your brothers all supposed to bow down to you?” “I don't know,” I muttered, “you're the one who taught me that the Lord speaks in dreams, remember?” “Give him a pretty tunic, and suddenly he thinks he's God Almighty!” cried Zebulun. But I saw my father's thoughtful expression: he believed me, too. He had taught me that the Lord often spoke in dreams. He himself had a dream of a ladder from heaven to earth, with angels ascending and descending upon it—echoing the first dream God had given to our ancestor Abraham, in which He had cut a covenant with him. In another dream, the Lord had told my father to go home to Canaan. Father had also told me of how God had appeared to my grandfather Laban in a dream when he had fled from him, telling Laban to be careful what he said when he next encountered Father. Father knew of the power of dreams to both instruct and to prophesy. He knew my dreams must have significance, particularly since I had dreamt two that were very similar. But how could I, the second youngest son of twelve, come to rule over the other eleven? I had the same question myself—that was why I'd shared the vision. I realized, after today's taunting, that doing so had been foolish. I should have known better, considering my brothers' animosity and my father's obvious preference for me. Yet, why would God give me a dream of my future without interpretation, if He did not mean for me to share it? The next day, my brothers went out from the Valley of Hebron to tend to the flocks out in Shechem. I did not volunteer to go with them, as I preferred to keep my distance from them after the encounter the day before. But my father sent me to them later that day, asking me to send word on how they and the flocks fared. I cringed inwardly, dreading the ongoing heckling, but that was hardly a reason to disobey my father. So I went. I did not find them in Shechem, however. I had to ask directions from another shepherd I came across. “I saw your ten brothers several hours ago,” he told me. “They've left here, but I overheard them say, ‘Let's go to Dothan.'” I tracked them down in Dothan late that afternoon. I saw the flocks first, neglected as usual. I could tell that my brothers had seen me, though they were huddled strangely in the middle of the field, as if having an intense conversation. When I was close enough, I perceived that their council had ended, and they stopped talking, spreading out in a half circle as I approached. Their postures gave me pause: they looked alert, like predators. My steps faltered. “Our father sent me to you to see how you and our flocks fared—” I began. But no sooner had I begun to speak, Judah and Dan started toward me, followed by the other eight. “What are you—ahhhh!” I tried to fight them off as they lunged for me, but at seventeen years old to their late twenties, thirties, and forties, I could not have fought off even one of them, let alone all ten. The blows came at me from all sides. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground curled in upon myself, trying in vain to protect my face, which was a swollen, bloody mess. I felt them rip my colorful tunic from me. Then three of them picked me up, carried me a short distance, and cast me down into a dry cistern. I landed with a sickening crunch, and let out a fresh cry of pain. It took me some time to test my feet, and the boundaries of the cistern. I could hear my brothers' voices filtering down from up above me, so they were still there—but they were too far away to make out what they said. I began to cry out, “Help!” When there was no response, I tried again, “Someone let me out! Let down a rope!” I knew they heard me, as they stopped talking—but none of them bothered to help. I could just make out some sort of commotion up above—new voices had joined those of my brothers, interrupting the flow of their conversation, as well as the rumble of wheels and the characteristic jingle of merchandise. I strained to hear what they were saying, but could not. All of a sudden, Zebulun's face appeared up above, backlit by the sun so that I could not make out his expression. He tossed down a rope and said cheerfully, “Grab on, Joseph!” I asked no questions; I grabbed on, as he and Issachar hauled me up, squinting in the brightness when I cleared the top of the cistern. Then I discerned the Midianite traders, their camels laden with spices to sell, and saw the merchants hand silver to my brother Zebulun with a handshake. My eyes widened as I began to understand what was happening. Naphtali and Dan shoved me toward them, and I cried out as the traders caught me and pinned my wrists behind me, binding them and then my feet as they tossed me sideways atop one of their camels. “No, please!” I begged, “please! Help me!” My pleading gaze happened to fall upon Simeon, who sneered, “Let's see what comes of your grandiose dreams now, eh, little brother?” It was the last words any of my brothers spoke to me. After that, the caravan moved on. It was first an uncomfortable, then a painful journey. My position on the camel caused my abdominal muscles to spasm, and blood to pool in my head and feet as I bounced. Before long I had a splitting headache, which was no doubt worsened by my fear, despair, and previous injuries. None of the traders took any notice of me; to them I was only merchandise. The only exception to this was when they stopped to relieve themselves—they unceremoniously unslung me from the camel and made me lift my tunic right there beside it, so that they did not have to unbind me. Days passed—I lost count how many. I was constantly hungry and thirsty. The traders did feed me on bread, water, and strips of dried meat when they stopped, though never enough. I overheard one of them comment, “Don't want him to waste away before he gets to market, or he won't fetch a good price.” It was from this that I understood my fate for certain, though I had suspected before. I was to be sold as a slave. Once we were deep into the desert and there was nowhere I could have gone even if I had escaped, one of the traders unbound my feet so that I could ride astride my camel, rather than tossed over him between his humps like so much cargo. It was amazing what an improvement this made: my headache and abdominal cramps relieved, and at last I had some mental space to think about something besides my physical pain. Lord, I prayed. Then my mind went blank. I was so overwhelmed with my circumstances that I didn't know where to start. I wondered what my brothers would tell my father to explain my disappearance. All I knew for sure was that they would not tell him the truth. They would tell him I'd been killed—they must. How else could they explain my long-term disappearance? I had a vision of my father weeping for me as he had wept for my mother. I saw my little nine-year old brother Benjamin, my only full-blooded brother, weeping beside him. The vision made my chest ache with sorrow and longing. I closed my eyes and shoved it away as tears stung my lashes. I took a deep breath. I'm here now, I told myself, and at least at the moment, there is nothing I can do about it. After another few miles, as the sweat rolled down the sides of my face, I tried praying again. Help me, was all I managed. I had no specifics. I didn't know what else to pray. Presently I overheard some of the traders telling one another that they had made good time: only fifteen days, they said, when the glittering mirage of Egypt appeared on the dusty horizon. At first the sight of it filled me with dread, and terrible visions of oppression, whippings, and chains—but I shut these thoughts down, recognizing the futility of experiencing imaginary hardships before the real ones materialized. Within hours, we were in the heart of the bustling city. I was overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells—never had I seen so many people and animals and buildings all in one place. There was a profusion of both wealth and waste intermingled in a confusing array. The traders allowed me to dismount on my own, but then led me with a vice grip on one arm to a raised platform. I blinked, taken aback, when I saw the lineup of naked men upon it. I had only seconds to process this when the trader who had steered me toward it released my arm and in the same motion produced a knife in one hand, gripping my tunic with the other. Before I knew what he was doing, he had sliced half of it away. I started to resist when another trader pinned me so that the first could finish the job. Seconds later, horror and hot shame rolled over me as the traders shoved me up on the platform with the other woebegone men, my hands now bound behind me so that I could not so much as cover my genitals with my fists. Lord, I cried out in my mind, but again, I could not think how to finish the prayer. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to pretend I was somewhere—anywhere—else. Trying to tune out the jeers and the haggling of the buyers. It had never occurred to me in the long journey to Egypt that the slave trade required nudity, but now suddenly it seemed obvious: buyers wanted to inspect their purchase, to see what they were getting. When the haggling began over me, even though I did not speak their language, I gathered that the bidding was fierce. I heard the note of finality in their voices that I had heard in previous sales when the price was agreed upon, and opened my eyes to behold my new master as he stepped forward. He was a tall, swarthy man—as most of them were—imposing and probably at least twice my age, if not more. I had no experience with Egyptians, but his dress suggested a uniform. I wondered if he was an officer of some kind. The man beckoned me to join him, and I meekly obeyed. Nothing like public nudity to induce humility. He produced a small knife and sliced through the bonds that held my wrists behind me. I rubbed the raw places where the ropes had bitten into my flesh, not even bothering now to use my hands to hide myself. What difference did it make? Everyone who had wanted to had already gotten a good look. Though he could not speak to me, the man produced a simple blue tunic and a length of silken cord to secure it. My eyebrows raised as I saw it: both the dye and the material suggested wealth. I put it on at once, grateful for the renewed dignity. The man gave me a nod, and put a hand on his own chest. “Potiphar,” he pronounced, very slowly. “Potiphar,” I echoed, understanding that my new master was telling me his name. I placed a hand on my own chest and said, “Joseph.” “Joseph,” he echoed, and gave another perfunctory nod, beckoning me to follow. I gaped as I beheld my new home for the first time. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined such opulence as these marble floors, sculpted columns, and dyed silken curtains. I wondered what Pharaoh's palace must be like, if this Potiphar was only one of his officers. Potiphar introduced me to the rest of his household via charade, but I was already starting to pick up a few Egyptian words here and there. I was one of dozens of servants, male and female, their skin ranging from dark to pale and with all sorts of distinctive features of races I had never before beheld. As I made my halting introductions to the staff, an attractive woman in her late twenties approached Potiphar and languidly draped her arm through his. She drew my eye because I felt her gaze upon me, roving over my body in a way that made me feel like I was still naked. She wore fine blue silks, and her arms were spangled with bracelets. From this and from her familiarity with Potiphar, I gathered that she must be either his wife or his mistress. I looked away abruptly. The overseer of the household, an aging man who introduced himself as Babu, took me under his wing. With him, I learned to do all of the various chores, both in the estate and in the fields. Babu was also very patient with me as I learned Egyptian words, and within the next few weeks, I at least knew enough to communicate the essentials with a combination of halting Egyptian and hand gestures. I quickly grew wary of spending too much time indoors, though, as Edrice, whom I learned was in fact Potiphar's wife, always seemed to be wherever I was. She lurked in hallways and lingered in boudoirs, sometimes pretending to be occupied but always with her eyes upon me. At first this was all she did, and I ignored her when I could not avoid her. But as time passed and my Egyptian became more proficient, she began to engage me in smalltalk, which I could not avoid without rudeness. She'd comment on the weather, ask unnecessary questions about the progress of whatever task I was engaged in at the time, or sometimes ask me personal questions about how I had come to be in their household as a slave. I answered as briefly as possible, asked no questions in return, and excused myself. Years passed. In time I grieved the loss of my freedom, my family, and my identity, and I determined that I would do the work the Lord placed before me with all my heart. Babu and then Potiphar took notice of this. Babu, I learned, was beginning to suffer from poor health, and had been hoping to find a replacement for his position. He had recommended me to Potiphar for the job, so that he could take on less responsibility. Suddenly I found myself managing scores of servants on what I later learned was one of the largest estates in Egypt—and actually, I loved it. Even in my father's household, I'd never had either respect or responsibility. Here, I was trusted, and I rose to the challenge. Babu praised my management, telling Potiphar in my hearing that never had his fields or his wealth grown so quickly, never had his affairs run so efficiently, as they did under my care. The only blight upon my surprising happiness was Edrice. She grew increasingly bold over time, when I did not return her attentions to her satisfaction. When she started to inquire about my history with women, and whether I was still a virgin, I began to avoid her outright. At last I hinted about her behavior to Babu, who gave me a knowing glance, and said, “Edrice is a beautiful bird in a gilded cage. She longs for freedom, and will seek it where she can.” I blinked, understanding that he meant to tell me, without telling me, that she had been unfaithful to Potiphar in the past. “Does he know?” I asked at last. Babu hesitated, and then gave a very subtle nod. “Everyone knows.” “What do I do?” I whispered at last. Babu sighed. “I don't see that you can do any more than you have. Avoid her when you can. But do your best not to spurn her outright. Her pride is… easily wounded.” Babu's warning rang in my mind for days, particularly because I had sensed Edrice's growing irritation with me. I needed to appease her. So when I felt her eyes upon me across the room, rather than pretending I did not notice, I looked up and smiled. She blinked, and her scowl softened in response, replaced by a flirtatious gleam in her eye. I panicked and looked away abruptly. I'd meant to appease, not encourage her—but how was I to know the difference? I'd never done this before… She crossed the room to me, and before I knew what was happening, she was beside me, stroking my forearm with her trailing fingers. I was suddenly very aware that we were alone—I had no idea where the nearest servants were. Potiphar was away on Pharaoh's business. “Joseph,” she murmured, as if savoring my name, tracing my bicep with her fingers. “You are… so very handsome.” My heart hammered in my chest, though with fear or with arousal, or a strange combination of both, I could not tell. My throat felt too thick to reply. I just froze. Edrice gave a soft laugh. “I'm making you blush! Oh, I just love virgins…” Her hand trailed from my arm down my torso. I grabbed her wrist before it could descend any further, and found my tongue. “Look, my master doesn't give a second thought to anything that goes on here—he's put me in charge of everything he owns. He treats me as an equal. The only thing he hasn't turned over to me is you. You're his wife!” She puffed out her lower lip. “I know you find me attractive.” This was dangerous territory. There was no safe answer to that question. “That has nothing to do with it,” I insisted. “How could I violate his trust and sin against God?” “God?” she scoffed. “Your God allowed you to be sold as a slave. You owe Him nothing. And Potiphar has never paid you a day's wages in the almost ten years you've been with us. Don't you think it's time you got a little… reward?” The hand I had not seized by the wrist also went exploring before I took hold of it too. “I cannot do this! It is wrong!” I hissed. I let go of both of her wrists at once, and fled the room. Either fortunately or unfortunately, I could not tell which, Edrice did not take this as rejection, but as enticement. I could tell by her increasing brazenness that she thought I burned for her and could barely restrain myself. At times, I wondered if this was actually true—after all, I could not stop thinking about her, even though thinking of her was a kind of torture. I successfully avoided being alone with her for the next week or so, but I knew I could not do so forever. At last, one day after Potiphar again went away on Pharaoh's business, I was inside managing the orders for the kitchen after the morning meal. I stopped what I was doing, and frowned when I realized that the whole house was eerily silent—more so than I had ever heard before. Usually there were some servants chattering or clanging about at least in the distance. It was as if all of them had suddenly gone on holiday. A wave of foreboding passed over me, and then I sensed that I was not alone. I turned around and saw Edrice standing there in the most provocative gown I had ever seen. She rested one arm on the doorframe to give me the best possible view, her gaze inviting me to come and take her. “You know you want to,” she purred. “I promise I won't resist.” “Edrice—” my voice came out hoarse, and I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from her nearly exposed bosom, no matter how hard I tried. She grinned and sauntered forward, swinging her hips. I could not move. The next thing I knew, she stood before me, tugged on the cord of my tunic, and began undressing me. “Sleep with me, Joseph,” she whispered. I had one choice in that moment: stay and obey her, or run. So I ran. She had a firm grip by then on my tunic, and I nearly tripped and fell on my face, as it was half off already. Instead I wrestled myself free of it, leaving my tunic in her grip, and alas—fled naked. Some of the other servants who were outside at the time saw me. I saw the fleeting looks of confusion and shock. Then Edrice began to scream. There was a commotion after that. Several of the men went running into the house, and those near enough to me cast glances of alarm in my direction. I hid myself among the shrubbery, not sure what else to do, feeling like I might throw up. I didn't know exactly what Edrice was playing at, but I suspected I knew well enough. A few minutes passed. Babu found me and handed me one of his own tunics without a word. I saw the look in his eyes, of mingled worry and sympathy, and it alarmed me. “You should have just done as she wanted,” he murmured under his breath. “How could I do such a thing against Potiphar, and against the Lord?” I protested as I put on the tunic. Babu sighed, and shook his head. It was a long moment before he answered. “Joseph.” The way he said my name, with such regret, made my heart sink into my stomach. He bit his lip and then said, his voice barely above a whisper, “You spurned her. It's exactly what I told you never to do. All the servants know who and what she is, and I daresay Potiphar does too, but I don't think it will matter. She is accusing you of attempted rape.” Waves of horror washed over me. That was even worse than a consensual affair. How was it that by doing the right thing, I'd managed to make my situation even worse? “But… if everyone knows her ways…” I began weakly. Babu shook his head. “She is the lady of the house,” he murmured. “Any servant who dares to contradict her story will be subject to her wrath himself. The only one who might be able to challenge her is Potiphar, and while I suspect he knows, if he admits that she is guilty in this, it makes him a cuckold—not just this once, but the many times he has turned a blind eye in the past as well.” My breath came in short, ragged gasps. “What do I do?” Babu ran a hand through his graying hair. “I will… try… to convince Potiphar to merely sell you, rather than punish you.” I sank to my knees. Babu stood watching me. At last I murmured, “Shall I be killed?” “I do not think so,” Babu said with surprising conviction. “You would be if Potiphar believed her story, but he is not an evil man. He will want you out of his sight and out of his household, but he knows you are not capable of such a thing, even if he does not admit it to himself.” He patted my shoulder. “Stay in my chambers and do not show your face until Potiphar returns. I will attend to your needs myself, and discuss how we might best plead your case to him when he does.” The rest of that day was one of the longest of my life, with the possible exception of those first several weeks' ride to Egypt. Fortunately I did not have to wait longer, as Potiphar arrived back home unexpectedly that evening. I heard him in the vestibule, and I heard Edrice's renewed histrionic wails. I cowered in Babu's small chambers, catching words here and there—mostly my name in Edrice's high-pitched shriek, and Potiphar's angry growls. I closed my eyes, and tried to steel myself for what came next. Heavy footsteps pounded down the hall toward me, and the door flew open. I opened my eyes and beheld Potiphar's face. It was nearly purple with rage. He held my tunic in his hand like it was evidence against me. “What,” he seethed, “is the meaning of this?” In a split second, even though I knew it would likely make my own situation worse, I decided to try the truth. If I were married to an unfaithful woman, I would want to know. I stood up straight and said, “Your wife has been attempting to seduce me for years, Master, and earnestly for the last several months. You know this to be true. She has invented her current story because I spurned her and fled, and she kept hold of my tunic as I did so. I could not sin against the Lord and against you.” If possible, Potiphar's color turned an even deeper shade of purple. “How—dare you!” He threw my tunic down and took two steps toward me, hands balled into fists. I clasped my own hands behind my back as hard as I could, determined not to protect myself, should he strike a blow. But I looked him directly in the eye, knowing that doing so would communicate my truthfulness better than anything else I could do. It worked, at least on some level. Potiphar nearly snorted, he breathed so heavily, his face etched in a snarl. But he did not strike me. Behind him, three of the male servants who had grown quite fond of me in the last few years, and I of them, appeared in the hallway. “Throw him in prison,” Potiphar pronounced my sentence, and turned to stalk out. “I want him out of here tonight.” The three servants shuffled awkwardly, before moving forward to fulfill Potiphar's orders. One apologized as he began to bind my wrists. I shook my head. “That is not necessary,” I told him, and forced a smile. “You know I will not resist you.” The young man gave me a tiny nod, and the four of us marched out of the room with one abreast, two at my sides. I tried not to look around at the great manor I was leaving forever. This was the second time my home had been ripped from me; I did not think I could bear it if I looked and considered this. Edrice appeared at the entrance to the estate with one arm positioned brazenly on a marble pillar, a vicious half smile on her full red lips. She still wore the scandalous gown, which surprised me at first—wasn't that gown evidence of my version of the story? But then I realized, it doesn't matter. She knows Potiphar will refuse to believe her unfaithful, regardless of the evidence. She still wore the gown on purpose. It was evidence of her power over me. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” she taunted in a low trill as I passed by her. “Oh, how quickly your lust turns to hatred,” I returned, looking her straight in the eye. “The Lord sees what you have done, and will repay you for it.” My words hit the mark. Her gloating smile vanished, and she began to shriek after me, “How dare you, you filthy Hebrew slave! You should be hung on the gallows! I see to it that you're hung on the gallows—!” The door closed behind us, cutting off her threats. I took a deep breath of the night air, and one of the other servants murmured, “Empty threats. She's already exerted the extent of her power against you.” Another agreed, his voice still low, “We've seen her watching you for months, and watched you avoid her, too. We know you're not guilty. So does Potiphar, even if he won't admit it.” Tears pricked my eyes at this, and a lump rose in my throat. “Thank you.” We walked in silence the rest of the way. When we arrived at the prison and the other servants identified me as the prisoner to the keeper, he glanced at my unbound hands in surprise. “And… he comes willingly?” “I would not struggle against my brothers,” I said. “They are merely following orders. Besides, where could I go?” The keeper of the prison looked even more surprised at this, and looked to them for an explanation. They told my story for me, and I bowed my head. “You will never find a more capable worker or better manager, sir,” one of the servants finished, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Judge for yourself, but we are all very sorry to lose him.” The keeper of the prison let out a breath through pursed lips. At last he pronounced, “Well, this is certainly the strangest way I've ever been introduced to a new prisoner.” He took me by the arm and began to lead me inside, but the servants stopped him to hug me goodbye with some tears before they went their way. The keeper shook his head. “Curiouser and curiouser,” he murmured as he watched our farewell. Then he said, “Well, normally I'd take you to a barred cell, but with three witnesses such as those in your favor… you might just be a gift from the gods. I tell you, I've been quite overwhelmed lately with the number of prisoners, particularly managing resources from Pharaoh and directing labor. I could use the help of a skilled household manager.” I inclined my head. “Happy to be of service in any way I can.” “Splendid!” The keeper, who introduced himself as Shakir, took me to a small room with a cot and a desk near the cells where the prisoners were kept. It did have a small window though. “This will be your room, then. I'm sure it isn't much compared to your chambers in Potiphar's house, but at least it is neither a cell, nor the gallows, eh?” I managed a smile. “I am very grateful for your kindness. I will work hard for you and will not take it for granted.” Shakir blinked at me again and shook his head. “Poor kid,” he murmured at last, more to himself than to me. “Those good looks of yours are a curse.” With that, he left me alone and closed the door behind me. In the silence that followed, I approached the window, leaning on the sill and looking up to the stars. I reminded myself how many years my ancestor Abraham had believed the Lord for a son, looking at those very same stars. His descendants were not yet so numerous, but certainly my father had been fertile. My chest ached as I thought of my brothers, particularly of my little brother Benjamin. He had been nine when my half-brothers had sold me into slavery. He would be nineteen now. I wondered what he looked like. I wondered if he remembered me. I wondered if— No, I stopped myself. I had been about to wonder if my dreams would ever come to pass. They certainly looked impossible, as I went from my father's favorite son, to slave, and now to prisoner. But the Lord had given me two dreams for a reason: that told me that the future it foretold was not conditional. It would happen. It was not up to me to determine how, or when. I must continue to cling to that; I must continue to believe that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living, or my heart would faint. Especially tonight, of all nights. Many years ago, I'd had to release my anger and bitterness toward my half brothers, or it would already have eaten me alive. Tonight, the image of Edrice's scandalous dress and haughty smirk floated back to me, and I gnashed my teeth. She belonged here, not me… but I knew the memory came because the Lord wanted me to release her to Him too. He was a God of justice—I knew this, despite how things looked, because of the covenant He had made with my father Abraham. He'd said to him, “Your descendants shall possess the gate of their enemies.” The gate was the place of power and influence, was it not? I had had power and influence over Potiphar's house, relatively speaking. I now already seemed to have the favor of the keeper of the prison. Was that all God's promise had meant for me? Was this the extent of the blessing I could expect upon my life? No, I told myself emphatically, closing my eyes and deliberately conjuring again the memories of the dreams, now rather faded and possibly distorted with time. I saw again my brothers' sheaves of wheat bowing down to mine, and then the sun, moon and stars bowing to me. The Lord gave me those dreams in advance because He knew I would need them, in addition to what I knew of the covenant to His people in general, to sustain me through this dark period of my life. It would not last forever. It must not. Somehow, somehow—I would be reunited with my brothers and my family again. The Lord would place me in a position of power and influence. How prison was a stepping stone to anything, I certainly did not know. But He was God, and I was not. “I trust You,” I murmured aloud to the Lord. “I forgive my brothers, I forgive Edrice, and I leave their punishment to You. I trust You to bring Your word to pass in my life. Somehow.” I heard nothing back. I wished God would speak to me, the way He had to some of my ancestors, and even to my father Jacob. But I felt the comfort of those stars winking down at me from above, and I knew He saw me and He cared. I was not forgotten. Over the next days and weeks, I got to know the prisoners as well as Shakir, and learned the business of prison—for business it was. We had finances and shipments from Pharaoh for the upkeep of both prison and prisoners, schedules to manage and enforce, and some of the prisoners also engaged in labor as part of their service. I could see why Shakir had been overwhelmed before. But I applied the management skills I had gained in Potiphar's household to management of the prison, and within the first month, I gained not only Shakir's trust but his admiration and gratitude as well. He often referred to me as a “gift from the gods,” though he'd always look a bit abashed after he said it, conscious that he was profiting from my misfortune. When he apologized for the third time after a declaration like this, I finally smiled at him and said, “It is all right. The Lord is with me, and He will repay me for what was stolen.” Shakir blinked, and seemed to want to say something. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He walked away with a puzzled look on his face. In time, the prisoners and Shakir came to be a sort of makeshift family to me, just as Babu at the other servants had been. I was surprised to wake up one day and realize that I was happy again. Despite all, I found great satisfaction in doing my work well, and in the relationships I had formed with those around me. I genuinely cared about my fellow prisoners. I came to know their stories, and wept for those whose stories were even more tragic than mine. Of course there were a few actual criminals among them, but in short order I won over even them. I rejoiced with those whose sentences were completed or commuted when they returned to freedom, even though I was still imprisoned indefinitely, with no apparent hope of escape. They were perplexed how I could maintain such hope in such a place—so I taught them about the Lord, about the covenant He had made with my fathers. “That's all very well for you,” one of them grumbled at first, “but your god has never spoken to me or my fathers. What hope do I have?” “It's not about what He's said or hasn't said,” I insisted. “Yes, He made a covenant with my fathers to prosper and bless them, but how could I be assured that that blessing would extend to every one of their descendants, including me? Yes, I had two dreams that suggested I would be blessed”—I had told the prisoners the secret of my dreams, in due time—“but those were very obscure, after all. If I wished to doubt their meaning, particularly after all that has happened to me, I certainly could. What assures me is the character of Him who made those promises to my father Abraham. It isn't about what He has done, but about who He is. He told Abraham that through him, every nation of the world would be blessed, not just Abraham's direct descendants. That includes you, too! He is both good and mighty, as well as trustworthy. So yes, I have hope, and always shall have. You can have that same hope, if you want it.” A few months after I had arrived, the prison received two new rather illustrious prisoners from the Pharaoh's own household: his butler and his baker. I felt sorry for them, as they seemed exceedingly upset to have found themselves in such a predicament. We all understood; every one of us, even the guilty ones, went through a period of first denial, then anger, then grief, and ultimately a depressed sort of acceptance when we arrived here. It was even worse for the two of them, as the butler had no idea why he was there at all. The baker's cooking had apparently displeased the capricious Pharaoh one too many times. “I don't know what I said,” the butler moaned to me, his head in his hands. “I don't know what I did…” I clucked my tongue sympathetically as the baker sat beside him, patting his arm. “One never knows,” he murmured, “Pharaoh is like a child.” “Shh!” hissed the butler, horrified. “You must not say things like that?” The baker gave a short laugh. “Why not? What else is he going to do to me?” He gestured at the bars of their cell; they were currently in the same one, as I had allowed them to comfort one another as they could. “He could kill us, of course!” the butler hissed back, “the walls have ears, I'm sure!” “You are as safe as I can make you here,” I assured them. “We're all family here, right guys?” I called to the other prisoners. Shouts, claps, and grunts from the other nearby prisoners responded to this, and I flashed a brief grin at the newcomers. “We're here if you need us. Take your time.” It was a few weeks before the butler and baker worked their way through the various stages of acceptance of their new predicament. I marveled as I watched their fellow prisoners commiserate with them in the process, feeling how I'd imagine a proud father might feel as he watches one child comfort another in his distress. One day after both the baker and butler had adjusted to life in prison, and had grown cheerful for the most part, I noticed an abrupt change. Both of them seemed sad and troubled again, and did not perform their work as efficiently as usual. I frowned. “What is wrong?” I asked them. “Why do you both seem so sad today?” The butler said for both of them, “We each have had a dream, and there is no interpreter of it.” The vision of my own dreams to which I had clung for the past many years flashed across my mind as I said, “Do not interpretations belong to God? Tell them to me, please.” The two men exchanged a look, and then the butler ventured, “Behold, in my dream a vine was before me, and in the vine were three branches; it was as though it budded, its blossoms shot forth, and its clusters brought forth ripe grapes. Then Pharaoh's cup was in my hand; and I took the grapes and pressed them into Pharaoh's cup, and placed the cup in Pharaoh's hand.” My heart swelled as he spoke. I understood the dream's meaning, and I also knew, I knew this was to be my salvation as well! “Here's the meaning. The three branches are three days. Within three days, Pharaoh will get you out of here and put you back to your old work—you'll be giving Pharaoh his cup just as you used to do when you were his cupbearer. Only remember me when things are going well with you again—tell Pharaoh about me and get me out of this place. I was kidnapped from the land of the Hebrews. And since I've been here, I've done nothing to deserve being put in the dungeon.” The baker's eyes lit up too, and he declared, “Three days—that will be Pharaoh's birthday! That is often when he commutes sentences…” He turned to me and said eagerly, “Tell me what my dream means too! It went like this: I saw three wicker baskets on my head; the top basket had assorted pastries from the bakery and birds were picking at them from the basket on my head.” I blinked at the baker, and felt my heart sink to my stomach. He saw my expression and his own faltered too. I knew this interpretation at once, also, but wished I did not have to tell him. “This is the interpretation: The three baskets are three days; within three days Pharaoh will hang you from a tree, and the birds will pick your bones clean.” All the color faded from his cheeks, and his mouth fell open. The three of us sat in silence, not even looking at each other. At last I placed a hand on the baker's shoulder, who shrugged it off and hid his face. The butler and I exchanged a sympathetic look. “Well,” the butler said to me in a low tone, “at least we know that you do not hesitate to prophesy good or evil. In three days' time, we shall see.” I nodded, knowing full well what we should see. I reminded the baker, more soberly now, “Do not forget me.” “I won't,” he promised. Three days later it happened just as the Lord had shown me through the dreams. Pharaoh held a feast in honor of his own birthday, and summoned the butler and the baker from the prison in the middle of it. Shakir, who had been at the feast, arrived with guards to escort them. We all watched them go in dead silence. Everyone was nervous for them. Before they all vanished, I took Shakir by the arm, and asked, “Please return after the feast tonight, no matter how late it is, and tell us all what became of them.” Shakir gave me a strange look. “I thought you already knew.” “I do,” I confirmed. “But for the sake of the rest of the prisoners.” He gave me a small nod, and left, last behind the guards. Around the third watch of the night, Shakir returned again, looking haggard. Most of the prisoners dozed, but lightly. We all roused when we saw his lantern and heard his footsteps. I sat up first. “Well?” Shakir sighed. “It was as Joseph predicted,” he confirmed. “The butler was restored to the right hand of Pharaoh. The baker…” he shook his head and bowed it. There was a moment of silence. A few of the prisoners swore. One quietly sobbed. We had all grown quite fond of the two men. Despite my sorrow for the murder of the baker, I could not entirely forget that I now had an ally at the right hand of Pharaoh. I had reminded him several times not to forget me. Surely he wouldn't! Every day I anticipated a retinue of soldiers to come and release me as well. When they did not come after a week, I grew confused. When they did not come after two weeks, I sank into depression, for the first time since those weeks riding across the desert to Egypt. Even when I'd been thrown into prison, I'd maintained my faith, and bounced back quickly. But now, when I was alone at night, I cried out to God. “It's been eleven years!” I told Him in a hissing whisper, like He didn't know. “Eleven years!” I panted with rage, until I finally needed an outlet of some kind and pounded my fists against my wall. “Am I ever getting out of here? Did You forget about me? Do you care at all?” I knew the answers to all of these things by the quiet reproach in my mind as soon as I'd said them. At once, my rage melted away and I crumpled, giving way to tears for the first time in years. I buried my face in my hands and wept, feeling small and vulnerable, like the child I had once been in my mother's lap. She had died giving birth to my brother Benjamin, when I was only eight years old. I conjured her in my mind now, picturing her caresses on my back as I remembered them until I had no more tears left within me. They were followed by first a dull numbness, and then, inexplicably, a sense of peace. I fell asleep to the vision of the sun, moon, and stars bowing down to me once again, a reassurance that despite the apparent setbacks, the Lord had promised. He would fulfill His word. Over the next few days, I acknowledged to myself that it was the hope of an immediate fulfillment that had set me up for such disappointment; before, when I had placed no timeline on my deliverance, I had been able to thrive regardless of my circumstances. Now that it was clear that the butler had forgotten me, I let go of my expectations and became my old cheerful self again, caring for my inmates and managing them well. The Lord would deliver me when and how He might, but I'd just as soon not know until it happened. I never wanted to go through that again. Two more years passed before that moment finally came, and it was as abrupt as I could have wished for. I was in my office, calculating income versus expenses for the prison, when the palace guards arrived. “We are looking for the Hebrew called Joseph,” announced the guard. I frowned. “I am he.” The guard bowed to me—a prisoner. “You have been summoned to the Throne Room by His Majesty, Pharaoh.” My mind went blank. My mouth reacted first. “May I… be permitted to make myself presentable first?” I gestured at the filthy rags of an inmate I wore, and my long, unkempt beard and hair. “You may. Come.” A few of the prisoners whose cells were close enough to hear some of the commotion pressed their faces to their bars curiously. Shakir, who had heard the entire interaction, watched me with wide-eyed fear. I knew he was remembering what had happened to the baker. But that made sense—Pharaoh had known and been offended by him. He should have no knowledge of my existence. Unless… my heart beat faster as the guard led me to the river to bathe, and provided me with a razor, a servant, and a change of clothes. I bathed as quickly as I could, my nervousness only growing as I did so. I did not let my mind imagine, in case this was not what it appeared to be. When I emerged from the water, dried myself and put on the new garments, the servant combed and used the razor to trim my hair and beard before shaving my face clean. When he had finished, he gestured back to the water, inviting me to look at my new self. Tentatively, I did so, though I dreaded the change I might find—the last time I had beheld my own reflection was when I still served in Potiphar's home, three years ago. I feared that my ordeal in the prison might have aged me ten years or more. I blinked at the man who peered down at me, and swallowed hard, raising my hands to my own chin gingerly. I had not been clean shaven since I was a boy; the face I saw therefore looked significantly younger than the one I remembered. I might have been a teenager again, though I had turned thirty this year. The guard, who had waited for my transformation, now stepped forward and beckoned me. “Pharaoh is not a patient man. Come,” he said, and I followed. The whole thing felt incredibly surreal, as I crossed the threshold of the enormous vestibule of the palace. Potiphar's house had been a shack by comparison. The marble pillars held up a ceiling so high it might have been the sky. Colorful mosaics lined the floors, and intricate paintings of great exploits decorated the walls. The opulence astounded me; I could not stop staring, even though I kept pace with the guard. In the throne room were four men dressed in Egyptian finery. Three were gray haired and weathered. The fourth stood at a window with his arms clasped behind him, his forearms adorned with thick gold bracelets. He alone of the four wore a geometric headdress, his tunic bedecked with purples and golds, complete with a gold sash. He turned as we entered, and I saw Pharaoh's face for the first time. He had the swarthy, coppery skin of all of the Egyptians, his black beard close-cropped. I saw that he was not much older than I was. He might have even been younger. “Joseph the Hebrew prisoner, Your Majesty,” bowed the guard, and backed away, leaving Pharaoh and me to face one another alone. The other three—advisors? servants?—stood at a respectful distance, but close enough to hear. Pharaoh regarded me with an expression I could not read. I knew nothing of the etiquette; should I speak first or wait for him to address me? Should I bow? Surely I should bow. I had just made up my mind to do this and started, when Pharaoh abruptly began. “I dreamed a dream,” he announced. “Nobody can interpret it. But I've heard that just by hearing a dream you can interpret it.” This is it, I realized in dazed wonder. This is really it. I found my tongue. “Not I, but God. God will set Pharaoh's mind at ease.” Pharaoh searched my face. Something about my answer gave him pause. Then he went on, “In my dream I was standing on the bank of the Nile. Seven cows, shimmering with health, came up out of the river and grazed on the marsh grass. On their heels seven more cows, all skin and bones, came up. I've never seen uglier cows anywhere in Egypt. Then the seven skinny, ugly cows ate up the first seven healthy cows. But you couldn't tell by looking—after eating them up they were just as skinny and ugly as before. Then I woke up. “In my second dream I saw seven ears of grain, full-bodied and lush, growing out of a single stalk, and right behind them, seven other ears, shriveled, thin, and dried out by the east wind. And the thin ears swallowed up the full ears. I've told all this to the magicians but they cannot tell me what the dreams mean.” My mind whirred with images and understanding as Pharaoh spoke, as clearly as if there had been no parable at all. The second dream overlay the first in my mind, making me even more certain that my interpretation of the first had been correct. Thank you, Lord, I prayed silently. To Pharaoh, I said, “Pharaoh's two dreams both mean the same thing. God is telling Pharaoh what he is going to do. The seven healthy cows are seven years and the seven healthy ears of grain are seven years—they're the same dream. The seven sick and ugly cows that followed them up are seven years and the seven scrawny ears of grain dried out by the east wind are the same—seven years of famine. “The meaning is what I said earlier: God is letting Pharaoh in on what he is going to do. Seven years of plenty are on their way throughout Egypt. But on their heels will come seven years of famine, leaving no trace of the Egyptian plenty. As the country is emptied by famine, there won't be even a scrap left of the previous plenty—the famine will be total. The fact that Pharaoh dreamed the same dream twice emphasizes God's determination to do this and do it soon. “So, Pharaoh needs to look for a wise and experienced man and put him in charge of the country. Then Pharaoh needs to appoint managers throughout the country of Egypt to organize it during the years of plenty. Their job will be to collect all the food produced in the good years ahead and stockpile the grain under Pharaoh's authority, storing it in the towns for food. This grain will be held back to be used later during the seven years of famine that are coming on Egypt. This way the country won't be devastated by the famine.” I had watched the transformation in Pharaoh's face as I spoke. His hard features softened, his eyes widened, and I could see that the Lord had confirmed my words to him. He withdrew to consult with his advisors in low tones that I could not hear—yet I could hardly suppress the smile that stretched across my lips. Pharaoh returned to me, his advisors right behind him this time. “You shall be the one in charge of all you propose. No one is as qualified as you in experience and wisdom. From now on, you're in charge of my affairs; all my people will report to you. Only as king will I be over you. I'm putting you in charge of the entire country of Egypt.” I stared at him, my mind blank. I had expected that he would believe me; that he would favor me; even that I would never return to prison. But… what had he just said? His next actions confirmed it: he took a signet ring off of his own hand, took my own hand, and placed it upon my finger. Behind me, servants I had not seen enter the room draped my shoulders with a fine linen garment, and my neck with a gold chain. As they did all this, Pharaoh went on, “I am Pharaoh, but no one in Egypt will make a single move without your approval. We must do something about your Hebrew name, though. Henceforth, you shall be known as Zaphenath-Paneah.” I bit my lip to keep the surge of tears at bay—the new name meant in Egyptian, God Speaks and He Lives. I met Pharaoh's eyes, and to my utter amazement, I found him smiling at me fondly, like we were almost peers. More than that—like we were kin. This man just met me! How— I am restoring all that was stolen from you, the Lord whispered to my heart. Sevenfold. I found myself ushered along with Pharaoh's servants like a tide sweeping out to sea. The day played out like a dream: they helped me into Pharaoh's second chariot, and rode me around Egypt, introducing me to the people of the land by shouting before me, “Bow the knee! Bow the knee to Zaphenath-Paneah, second in command of all of Egypt!” I expected to wake the next morning back in prison. It took me several confused moments to remember what had happened when I saw the luxurious bed with linen curtains, and the window with a view of all of Egypt, through which the early morning sunlight streamed in. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, and sat up to see servants bustling about in a corner of the enormous room, laying out my breakfast. One of them looked up and said, “Ah, my lord is awake.” He brought the food over to my bed, and then beckoned to someone outside the room. One of the advisors I had seen with Pharaoh in my encounter with him yesterday approached and bowed, introducing himself as Lateef. “My lord Zaphenath-Paneah,” he began. “We have much to discuss. Would you prefer to eat in silence and seek me after, or—” “No, no, Lateef, please.” I gestured to a chair by the window. Lateef accepted it and seated himself as I ate. He then proceeded to tell me all of the plans Pharaoh had discussed with them on my behalf while I was riding around the city in Pharaoh's second chariot: where I was to live, who I was to marry (marry? I thought in amazement), and how I was to begin to implement the recommendations I had made to Pharaoh regarding the collection of grain. He rattled off the names of master builders they had already recruited to build both my home—to be constructed on land adjacent to the palace—and the massive storage facilities they would need to store up dried grain. Lateef was here to ask my preferences on the architecture and building materials for my home. Would I like essentially a miniature palace? Would I like a pool indoors and open to the sky, for bathing and recreation? Would I like my bedroom to face east or west? Did I prefer mosaics or simpler flooring and walls? All the questions made my head spin. I had been merely a servant in Potiphar's house, and now my own home would be many times as grand as his. I weakly indicated that I trusted the master architects' tastes and would be extremely gratified by whatever they chose. Lateef gave a short nod to this. Then he announced, “Pharaoh also hopes that my lord will be pleased to take Asenath to wife: she is the daughter of Poti-Pherah, priest of On.” I had heard about the Egyptian god On, of course; he was one of many Egyptian gods. I had a brief flash of concern that my wife would worship another god, but then I realized, what alternative did I have? The same would be true of any woman in Egypt. At least they were polytheists, and therefore would not object to my worship of the one true God. And, given the new name Pharaoh had bestowed upon me of God Speaks and He Lives, the same appeared to be true of Egyptians in general. “I would be most honored,” I told Lateef. He beamed. “Splendid. We shall arrange the wedding to coincide with the completion of your house, so that you may have a home for your bride.” Pharaoh recruited so many workers to construct my home and storage facility that both were completed within a few months. During that time, I met and courted Asenath, and was dazzled by her. Pharaoh had clearly selected her for me not only because of her pedigree, but also for her own merits. Beautiful, accomplished, and demure, she was one of the most highly sought women in the land. I was pleased to find that she was also very intelligent when I gave her the opportunity to engage with me on matters of state, and at least did not object to my worship of the Lord. I would hope for more than mere acquiescence to Him in time. I otherwise spent my days touring the land of Egypt, observing the abundance of the land, collecting and drying, pickling, salting, smoking, or fermenting one fifth of the produce of the land. Until my granaries were completed, I stored what I could, where I could, but I had designated store houses before long. One day on these tours, I caught sight of my old master, Potiphar. He saw me too. After a moment's hesitation, he bowed, his expression like stone. I approached him alone, motioning for some of my servants who usually moved with me to remain behind. I did not know what I would say until we stood face to face. “Zapthnath-Paaneah,” Potiphar growled my new name pointedly. “Tell me, does Pharaoh know your true identity, Joseph the adulterous Hebrew slave-turned-prisoner?” I searched Potiphar's face. “I believe you know, deep down, that I never betrayed you, and never would have done. As I told you at the time, it was your wife who attempted to seduce me, and left me no choice but to run. She accused me because I jilted her.” I watched as Potiphar's face turned red with suppressed rage, and he balled his fists at his sides. But as I was now second in command over Egypt, he would not dare assault me. “Your
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Empty shelves are becoming commonplace. And prices are rising. Charmaine Cozier explores the role that the pandemic, and a sudden demand explosion, have had on supply chains. Around the world workers are being slow to return to their jobs, the container shipping industry is struggling to get goods to their destinations and manufacturing disruptions are causing a reduction in vital components. And in addition to the pandemic, extreme weather events have resulted in ruined harvests. How long will it take for things to return to normal? Contributors: Jose Sette, International Coffee Organisation Stacy Rasgon, Bernstein Research Dr Nela Richardson, ADP Professor Alan MacKinnon, Kuehne Logistics University Presenter: Charmaine Cozier Researcher: Chris Blake Producer: Rosamund Jones (Image: Empty supermarket shelves: REUTERS/Henry Nicholls)
Tonight my friends from PsyOp Cinema join me on my channel to cover a few odd selections I wanted their takes on. Recently I joined them on their podcast linked below to review the odd Jungian surrealist film, Come True. Here we will dive into Besson's La Femme Nikita, the recent Empty Man, and Hardware, as we look for the deeper, hidden meanings and symbols in film and how they may relate to either MK Ultra or religious engineering. Live at 8PM CST Remember to boost that T naturally with 40% all products at Choq.com using promo code ‘JAY40'
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