Tonight, on Trackside with Kevin Lee and Curt Cavin, Kevin previews the upcoming show. Kevin talks about the Pacers game on national television, and how it compares to the race coming up at Thermal Club. Curt talks about how fans should keep an open mind for Thermal Club. They also talk about the NASCAR TV deal coming up, and how streaming only races will happen soon. They also compare the two TV schedules for IndyCar and NASCAR. Later in the first hour of the show, Kevin talks about NASCAR's Championship Banquet, and what NASCAR Drivers may compete in the Indy 500 in the future. They also talk about the coverage the Indy 500 is getting even though it Is still several months out. Kevin rounds out the first hour answering some questions from tweets. In the second hour of the show, Curt is joined by Dave "Poppy" Popielarz, who is a former crew chief and also restores race cars for the IMS Museum. He talks about how he got into racing, the first drivers he got to know well, and what kind of drivers he was a fan of growing up. He talks about restoring cars, and what he is focusing on right now. He also talks about people correcting the cars he restores. During the second hour, Steve Wittich of Trackside Online joins the show to talk about some silly season happenings. He talks about who is in the most demand right now, and how money buys speed. They also talk about the legacy that Canadian motorsports journalist Norris McDonald left. They also talk about the most exciting things about the 2024 season. Kevin ends the show looking at some tweets. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
We interview Darcia Narvaez, co-author of the book The Evolved Nest: Nature's Way of Raising Children and Creating Connected Communities. Darcia Narvaez, Professor Emerita of Psychology at the University of Notre Dame, is Fellow of American Psychological Association, American Educational Research Association, Association for Psychological Science, American Association for the Advancement of Science. She studies evolved morality, child development & human flourishing in a transdisciplinary manner. Her book, Neurobiology and the Development of Human Morality: Evolution, Culture and Wisdom won multiple awards. Recent books include Restoring the Kinship Worldview, and The Evolved Nest. Her short films are Breaking the Cycle, The Evolved Nest, and Reimagining Humanity. She is president of KindredWorld.org and founder of EvolvedNest.org.Follow us on Instagram.Check out our bonus YouTube content.Latchkey Urchins & Friends website.Audio mastering by Josh Collins.Song "One Cloud is Lonely" by Próxima Parada.Cover art by Claire Dierksen.
We have a end of year matching fund drive! Your generous gifts will be doubled, now through Dec 27! https://www.signpostinn.org/donate Please check out Restoring the Soul: https://restoringthesoul.com/ Join us this episode for an interview with Julianne Cusick about forgiveness and trauma. Julianne shares her own story of betrayal trauma and forgiveness and how God led her to minister as a betrayal trauma specialist. We talk about how to forgive, why forgiveness is so hard, and whether or not we really should forgive and forget. We pray this episode blesses you! Thanks for joining us! Follow us on Facebook and Instagram. Check out our website for more resources!
When I think about the power of the last 4 weeks of the year we are completing, and the first 4 weeks of the year to come, I wonder what it would be like if our culture reflected and supported people to: turn inward to their creativity ... turn toward each other in meaningful connectivity... and to tune into their body/mind/heart/spirit for what they needed to restore and regnerate at deep levels. I imagine a world in which we were taught that these last 4 weeks of a year cycle have so much wisdom and freedom to give us ... if we create the space to reflect and honor all we have done and become ... And as we turn toward the next cycle consciously consider what we choose to release and leave behind ... so as we step into the next cycle, we can more fully co-create the next while living the now. Last year, I realized that I had been doing year-end podcasts and blogs since 2007 - focused on avoiding holiday overwhelm, starting and ending the year differently, living with the cycles, completing the year clear ... so much wisdom and practice there still totally relevant - I put these episodes in the Series Library for You Here. This year ... I tuned into what we needed to support us in this bigger cycle shift we are headed into, to elevate the conversation, and open ourselves up to the co-creative power that is here for us ... if we create the space. Here's the Wisdom I Received:Create Space for Inspired Creativity + Meaningful Connectivity + Restoring Your Deeper Wellbeing Tune in and I'll lead you through this to apply in your life and reality now, including: Lean into & Embrace Creativity. Release the pull to more producivity. Use the practice of Reflow and Refocus to create space Create Space for what you are co-creating in the next year/cycle by Releasing the roles, responsibilities, and roots that you no longer need/no longer serve going forward Create Space for Restoring at deep levels - mind/body/heart/spirit - by saying NO to what subtracts from your creativity, connectivity, and wellbeing, and YES to what supports Try the Holiday Self Sustainability Practice - Choose 3 Harmonzing Words + Release 1 Sabotaging Habit and Embrace 1 Supportive Habit It's a juicy way to open to receive in ways that keep on giving, even after Jan 1, in ways that don't add calories or credit card debt :) With great heart, Christine P.S. Elevation Action: Share this podcast with a friend, so you can support each other real time. Invite them to join you for the Year End Reflection Ritual, and do it together. **** Upcoming Experiences 1. RSVP for the Year End Reflection Ritual and Power Pause - https://reflectionritual.com 2. Emerge Yearly Visionining and Intention Setting Experience - www.EmergeVisioning.com 3. Feminine Wisdom Way : Live, Lead and Succeed the Way Women Naturally Work Best. Join us to Vision, Focus and Co Create in 2024 - www.femininewisdomway.com Other Podcasts Year End and Year Start - https://christinearylo.com/category/podcast-feminine-power-time/power-pause-christine-arylo-year-end-new-year/
Welcome to another episode of Restoring the Soul with Michael John Cusick. In today's conversation, we dive into the practice of releasing our grip on judgment, control, and attachment to outcomes. Peter Zaremba shares an eye-opening personal account of encountering an irritating traveler, prompting a reflection on his quick-to-judge nature. This episode explores the liberating concept of being fully present in the moment and the pitfalls of becoming entangled with future expectations.Together with Michael, the conversation unfolds to reveal the challenges and benefits of detachment—from mental, emotional, and physical standpoints. We'll hear how expectations can cloud our holiday experiences and the transformative shift when we move from expectation to hopeful possibility. The discussion also delves into the significance of the Serenity Prayer, the wisdom of the Twelve Steps in recovery, and Michael's morning routine of surrender and letting go—all as paths to finding true peace and contentedness.HELPFUL RESOURCES:Episode 288 - Michael with Peter Zaremba, "7 Toxic Outcomes of Maintaining Control"CONTACT RESTORING THE SOUL:- Tweet us at @michaeljcusick and @PodcastRTS- Like us on Facebook- Follow us on Instagram & Twitter- Follow Michael on Twitter- Email us at email@example.com Thanks for listening!
In this episode of EMJ Live, Dr. Jones sits down with Mike from Restoring the Faith Media to discuss the recently defrocked Michael Voris of Church Militant. The Man Behind the Curtain: Michael Voris and the Homosexual Vortex: https://www.fidelitypress.org/book-products/the-man-behind-the-curtain
Join Premium! Ready for an ad-free meditation experience? Join Premium now and get every episode from ALL of our podcasts completely ad-free now! Just a few clicks makes it easy for you to listen on your favorite podcast player. Become a PREMIUM member today by going to --> https://WomensMeditationNetwork.com/premium Breathe… And slow yourself down. Become aware of the intricacies of your breath. PAUSE… Feel the cool air on your nose as you breathe in, And the warm air on your nose as you breathe out. PAUSE… Notice your belly rise with every inhale, And fall with every exhale. PAUSE… See if you can expand your breath. Inhaling a little deeper each time you breathe in, And exhaling a little longer each time you breathe out. PAUSE… Slow it all down, Sinking deeper and deeper, Releasing more and more, Feeling lighter and lighter, As you come into the quiet. LONG PAUSE… There's magic that exists in your breath. Profound wisdom in the air that flows in, And out. PAUSE… It feels, It knows, It heals. It flows. PAUSE… It all exists right here within you, The ability to heal, The ability to nurture and love, The ability to glow. LONG PAUSE… So find the rhythm of your breath, Honoring its journey in and out of your body. Witnessing the way it fills you, Refreshes you, And calms you. PAUSE… Become aware of the way it cleanses you, Clears you, Heals you. LONG PAUSE… Breathe in blue, And invite the healing energy to ride the waves of your breath, Inching its way into every crevice of your body. Repairing, Restoring, Healing. Breathing in blue. LONG PAUSE… If there are parts of you that are broken, Hurting, Or unsettled… In your mind or in your body… Let the blue energy find them, Embrace them, And heal them. LONG PAUSE… The healing breath covers you tonight, In her blankets of unconditional love. Open yourself now, Inviting restoration, And healing. LONG PAUSE… Namaste, Beautiful
Although colonial systems of oppression have radically damaged relationships between tribal communities and their traditional lands, a new generation of First Nations activists is working to restore those connections and safeguard Indigenous identity for future generations. They're protecting traditional territories and sacred sites from harm, and renewing Indigenous land stewardship. With: Eriel Deranger of the Athabasca Chipewyan First Nation, Valentin Lopez, Amah Mutsun Tribal Band, and Cara Romero, from the Mohave-based Chemehuevi Tribe.
Is it hard for you to allow others to help you or are you more comfortable doing things yourself? Do you feel like you always need to be strong in order to protect and defend yourself? If you said yes to these situations you might be living under the influence of the stronghold of the Orphan Lifestyle. In today's podcast I am going to talk about the characteristics of the Orphan Lifestyle. To learn more about the ministry of Restoring the Foundations International, please visit www.restoringthefoundations.org
In this episode of the Ohio Ag Net Podcast, hosts Matt Reese of Ohio's Country Journal and Dusty Sonnenburg of Ohio Ag Net talk with Ted Logan who is the current Ohio No-Till Farmer of the Year. Ted is a farmer in Morrow County that switched to no-till around 15 years ago. Initially, he switched to save on labor, but he now shares the benefits his soil has experienced since the switch. More in this week's podcast: Mike Heffelfinger, Van Wert County Farmer: Mike joins Dale to talk about a farmers perspective on the GrowNextGen program through the Ohio Soybean Council and Ohio soybean farmers. Ani Katchova, The Ohio State University: Ani is a professor at OSU and she talks with Matt about the farm income outlook. Tim Trotter, Edge Dairy Cooperative: Tim is the CEO and he chats with Joel about the legislative issues that are facing the dairy industry. Intro 0:00 Mike Heffelfinger 4:30 Ani Katchova 9:58 Tim Trotter 16:32 Main Conversation, Ted Logan 23:35
The latest news from home and abroad, with a close eye on Northeast Asia and the Korean Peninsula in particular
In today's episode, during listener Q&A, Stacy and Daniel discuss the passive refinishing method for wood floors. Later, as part of the ongoing young tradesperson series, Stacy and Daniel chat with Matt Riebs from Fort Wayne, Indiana. Matt does a little bit of everything related to old houses. He began dabbling in the trades as a child, and a chance to meet Nicole Curtis, his HGTV idol, further set him on his current path. To request a transcript of this episode, please reach out via the contact page. Visit www.truetalesfromoldhouses.com/giveaway and enter to win* a copy of Cheap Old Houses: An Unconventional Guide to Loving and Restoring a Forgotten Home by Elizabeth and Ethan Finkelstein. *No purchase required. The giveaway runs from November 27, 2023 to December 18, 2023. WE LOVE OUR SPONSORS The Craftsman Store - Another excellent resource from Scott Sidler of The Craftsman Blog. The Craftsman Store is a cozy online hardware store full of books, tools, and supplies. For 10% off, use the coupon code truetales. Sutherland Welles - Maker of exceptional polymerized tung oil finishes since 1965. To save 10% on your first order, use the coupon code truetales.
In this episode, Dr. T. Michael W. Halcomb (@tmichaelwhalcomb) shares 3 things he's thinking about, namely, Restoring, Dating, and Locating Greek Fragments. Tune in to learn more! #greek #koine #biblicalgreek #koinegreek #podcast --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/glossahouse/message
Mark P and Mike Curry run the pick and roll for this episode. As they discuss all the headlines around the NFL including tonights MNF matchup. They also provide best bets and reflect on a great day at the office. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/whats-the-line-podcast/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/whats-the-line-podcast/support
Friendships with the girlies isn't always a bed of roses - we go through it with each other too, and that includes friendship breakups. Resentment, drama, restoration and more, the girls talk about the real behind maintaining the friendships that need to stay, and breaking the ones that need to go.
Join Dr. Dravon James and go on a journey of spiritual healing with Krista Xiomara. Listen in as they explore a path to healing from religious wounding and trauma. Meet Dr. Dravon James host of Everyday Peace www.drdravonjames.com Bio: Krista Xiomara is the creator and host of I'm Awake! Now What? Podcast incepted in 2018 as an audio community for anyone who is on the path of awakening. Since its inception it has grown globally and has welcomed spiritual giants Mike Dooley, Susan Piver, James McCrae, don Jose Ruiz, Cory Allen, Oliver Nino, Kute Blackson and many more. The podcast is received in over 55 countries, with a listening audience of over 60,000 weekly. At the age of twenty-eight, Krista Xiomara decided to walk away from her religion of origin after suffering from religious trauma and wounding that led to internal separation and self-hatred. After emerging from this experience, her focus has been to help others heal and come home to themselves, by teaching the path to liberation, integration, and inner peace. In working specifically with individuals wounded by their religious experience Krista Xiomara provides an alternative pathway to the divine by creating space, expansion and healing outside of religious institutions. Krista Xiomara is a practicing Buddhist and incorporates the collective wisdom found in both Eastern and Western religions, spirituality, and philosophy. Krista Xiomara is the Founder of LightCasting, a spiritual media company. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
An interview about restoring ʻāina and creating a place of refuge for people dispossessed of the their land with Keoki Fukumitsu and Jasmine Slovak from Hoʻi Hoʻi Ea. Hoʻi Hoʻi Eaʻs mission is to (re)establish sovereignty through the reclamation of land, water, and nearshore marine estuaries in mālama ʻāina traditions and responsive campaigns, embodying the concept of aloha ʻāina. They are a multi-generational hui composed of traditional agricultural practitioners, educators, and organizers. Hoʻi Hoʻi Ea is currently focusing its efforts on the restoration of 29 acres of loʻi kalo in the Waikāne Nature Preserve in Waikāne Valley. Tags: Hawaiʻi, Hawai'i, Hawaii Website: hoihoiea.org
Keys To Restoring Spiritual Passion (2 of 2) | Pastor Shane Idleman Watch our services live at http://wcfav.org/ Free Downloads of Pastor Shane's E-books at https://westsidechristianfellowship.org/teachings/ Donate to Westside Christian Fellowship here: https://westsidechristianfellowship.org/give/ Free speech is being severely compromised. This new FREE SPEECH platform is amazing - many solid voices are moving over. You can follow Pastor Shane here on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. Westside Christian Fellowship is a non-denominational Christian church that meets every every Sunday at 9:00 am 11:00 am in Leona Valley, California (9306 Leona Avenue). For more info, or to read our statement of faith, visit westsidechristianfellowship.org/about-wcf/statement-of-faith/ To support this ministry financially, visit: https://www.oneplace.com/donate/1055/29
This week, Kelly talks all things oversized books, X-rated plants, old homes, and more. Subscribe to All the Books! using RSS, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify and never miss a beat book. Sign up for the weekly New Books! newsletter for even more new book news. It's happening, readers — we're bringing paperbacks! Whether you hate carrying around bulky hardcovers, you're on a budget, you want a wider range of recommendations, or all of the above, you can now get a paperback subscription from TBR, curated just for you by one of our Bibliologists. You can also gift it (and the holidays, they are coming.) Get all the details at mytbr.co. This content contains affiliate links. When you buy through these links, we may earn an affiliate commission. Books Discussed Hortus Curious by Michael Perry and illustrated by Aaron Apsley Entangled Life: The Illustrated Edition: How Fungi Make Our Worlds by Merlin Sheldrake Gastro Obscura by Cecily Wong and Dylan Thuras Cheap Old Houses: An Unconventional Guide to Loving and Restoring a Forgotten Home by Elizabeth and Ethan Finklestein Living Wild: How To Plant Style in Your Home and Cultivate Happiness by Hilton Carter The Rainbow Atlas: A Guide to the World's 500 Most Colorful Places by Taylor Fuller Big Thrift Energy by Virginia Chamlee The Catch Me If You Can: One Woman's Journey to Every Country In The World by Jessica Nabongo New Coffee Table Books 2022 Best Coffee Table Books A History of Coffee Table Books Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Welcome to another episode of Restoring the Soul with Michael John Cusick. Today, Peter Zaremba is our guest, and we'll dive into the intricate topic of control and its negative impact. Control has become a paramount issue, particularly during the pandemic and times of global upheaval. It's a universal human condition, a survival mechanism, but often, the desire to control is tethered to our outcomes, and that's where things start getting complicated. Join us as we share our journeys with control, our struggles, and the toll it has taken on our well-being. It's not always easy to accept what we can't control, but there's a certain liberation in letting go. We'll explore the concept of the 'circle of control' - envisioning those things squarely under our control and those that aren't. As we meditate on our collective challenges with outcomes and control, we'll face the hard truth - that our happiness doesn't stem from our control over outcomes. We'll explore the confusing difference between a healthy desire for change and an unhealthy attachment to results. We'll delve into how our craving for control can lead to emotional turmoil, relationship struggles, and even addictive behaviors. CONTACT RESTORING THE SOUL:- Tweet us at @michaeljcusick and @PodcastRTS- Like us on Facebook- Follow us on Instagram & Twitter- Follow Michael on Twitter- Email us at firstname.lastname@example.org Thanks for listening!
Join Premium! Ready for an ad-free meditation experience? Join Premium now and get every episode from ALL of our podcasts completely ad-free now! Just a few clicks makes it easy for you to listen on your favorite podcast player. Become a PREMIUM member today by going to --> https://WomensMeditationNetwork.com/premium Tonight, I'll guide you for just a bit, And then hand you over to the gentle arms of this magical sound bath. Allow yourself to settle, And find that sleepy position you know so well. PAUSE… Find your breath here, Opening yourself to the soft, circular waves of air. Flowing in, And out of your body. In… And out. PAUSE… With every inhale, Gather up the day, And any tension inside. Starting at your toes, All the way up to your head. And then as you exhale, Release it all, Handing it over to the night, And soften even deeper into your bed. LONG PAUSE… Feel the sounds surround you, Calming you, Relaxing you. PAUSE… Feel the sounds within you, Aligning you, Restoring you. Breathe… LONG PAUSE… Namaste, Beautiful
Keys To Restoring Spiritual Passion (1 of 2) | Pastor Shane Idleman Watch our services live at http://wcfav.org/ Free Downloads of Pastor Shane's E-books at https://westsidechristianfellowship.org/teachings/ Donate to Westside Christian Fellowship here: https://westsidechristianfellowship.org/give/ Free speech is being severely compromised. This new FREE SPEECH platform is amazing - many solid voices are moving over. You can follow Pastor Shane here on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. Westside Christian Fellowship is a non-denominational Christian church that meets every every Sunday at 9:00 am 11:00 am in Leona Valley, California (9306 Leona Avenue). For more info, or to read our statement of faith, visit westsidechristianfellowship.org/about-wcf/statement-of-faith/ To support this ministry financially, visit: https://www.oneplace.com/donate/1055/29
#StateThinking: Will Kyiv accept a ceasefire and negotiation for less than restoring the borders? ? @MaryKissel Former Senior Adviser to the Secretary of State. Executive VP Stephens Inc. https://www.realclearpolitics.com/video/2023/11/21/richard_haass_we_need_to_lower_our_goals_in_ukraine_be_happy_with_protecting_80_of_the_country.html 1903 Berlin
Welcome back to The Brand Is Female Podcast! In this episode, our host Eva Hartling unravel the extraordinary journey of Vivian McCormick, the innovative mind behind Wilet, a pioneering Canadian retailer revered for its exquisite 100% European linen bedding and home essentials.Beyond the realms of commerce, Vivian's narrative embodies resilience and transformation. A former lawyer turned community-builder and trusted advisor, her entrepreneurial spirit thrives in reshaping the landscape of rest and comfort.Vivian's vision for Wilet resonates with clarity—to solve rest-related challenges and cultivate a leading lifestyle brand centered on rejuvenation. Throughout this insightful conversation, she shares invaluable insights garnered from her journey, emphasizing the significance of goal-setting, strategic partnerships, and transparent communication.Join us as Vivian unravels the secrets behind Wilet's success, digging into her transition from a legal career to visionary entrepreneurship, her dedication to supporting underrepresented entrepreneurs, and her passion for fostering community and candid conversations, ranging from business intricacies to the art of folding a fitted sheet.This season of our podcast is brought to you by TD Canada Women in Enterprise. TD is proud to support women entrepreneurs and help them achieve success and growth through its program of educational workshops, financing and mentorship opportunities! Please find out how you can benefit from their support! Visit: TBIF: thebrandisfemale.com // TD Women in Enterprise: td.com/ca/en/business-banking/small-business/women-in-business // Follow us on Instagram: instagram.com/thebrandisfemale
Show notes: [0:40] How did Dr. Erin get into what she does today? [3:26] The difference between a naturopathic versus traditional doctor [4:30] Understanding stress and the body's response [14:17] All about cortisol and adrenal fatigue [18:56] On stress, diet, and exercise [29:10] Factors impacting exercise and hormone testing [32:48] Restoring balance in people's lives [40:24] Where to find more of Dr. Erin [41:35] Outro Dr. Erin Kinney is a Naturopathic Doctor, coach and speaker who helps her patients understand what is REALLY going on in their bodies so that they can take control of their health and get their life back on track. She is the founder of the Stress Reset Formula™. As a Naturopathic Doctor and coach, she helps stressed and burnt-out men and women with adrenal fatigue improve their mood, balance their thyroid, hormones or testosterone and cortisol, and increase their energy. Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/drkinney Podcast: The Dr. Kinney Show Website: https://drerinkinney.com/ Links and Resources: Peak Performance Life Peak Performance on Facebook Peak Performance on Instagram
More than one third of adults suffer from insomnia or some other kind of sleep disorder. Left unaddressed, lack of sleep can lead to debilitated health, lowered resilience, and decreased performance in all aspects of life. Restoring hope to the sleepless, psychotherapist Philip Carr-Gomm reveals how we each have the ability to unlock better sleep naturally. Combining his knowledge of sleep science and cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) with techniques drawn from spiritual traditions and insights from the emerging field of psychedelic therapy, Carr-Gomm presents a fast and easy-to-follow six-step program to help you sleep better. Helping you get a better night's sleep, this concise and simple guide shows you how to benefit from everything the night offers to body and soul.
The Haunter of the Dark By H. P. Lovecraft (Dedicated to Robert Bloch) I have seen the dark universe yawning Where the black planets roll without aim— Where they roll in their horror unheeded, Without knowledge or lustre or name. —Nemesis. Cautious investigators will hesitate to challenge the common belief that Robert Blake was killed by lightning, or by some profound nervous shock derived from an electrical discharge. It is true that the window he faced was unbroken, but Nature has shewn herself capable of many freakish performances. The expression on his face may easily have arisen from some obscure muscular source unrelated to anything he saw, while the entries in his diary are clearly the result of a fantastic imagination aroused by certain local superstitions and by certain old matters he had uncovered. As for the anomalous conditions at the deserted church on Federal Hill—the shrewd analyst is not slow in attributing them to some charlatanry, conscious or unconscious, with at least some of which Blake was secretly connected. For after all, the victim was a writer and painter wholly devoted to the field of myth, dream, terror, and superstition, and avid in his quest for scenes and effects of a bizarre, spectral sort. His earlier stay in the city—a visit to a strange old man as deeply given to occult and forbidden lore as he—had ended amidst death and flame, and it must have been some morbid instinct which drew him back from his home in Milwaukee. He may have known of the old stories despite his statements to the contrary in the diary, and his death may have nipped in the bud some stupendous hoax destined to have a literary reflection. Among those, however, who have examined and correlated all this evidence, there remain several who cling to less rational and commonplace theories. They are inclined to take much of Blake's diary at its face value, and point significantly to certain facts such as the undoubted genuineness of the old church record, the verified existence of the disliked and unorthodox Starry Wisdom sect prior to 1877, the recorded disappearance of an inquisitive reporter named Edwin M. Lillibridge in 1893, and—above all—the look of monstrous, transfiguring fear on the face of the young writer when he died. It was one of these believers who, moved to fanatical extremes, threw into the bay the curiously angled stone and its strangely adorned metal box found in the old church steeple—the black windowless steeple, and not the tower where Blake's diary said those things originally were. Though widely censured both officially and unofficially, this man—a reputable physician with a taste for odd folklore—averred that he had rid the earth of something too dangerous to rest upon it. Between these two schools of opinion the reader must judge for himself. The papers have given the tangible details from a sceptical angle, leaving for others the drawing of the picture as Robert Blake saw it—or thought he saw it—or pretended to see it. Now, studying the diary closely, dispassionately, and at leisure, let us summarise the dark chain of events from the expressed point of view of their chief actor. Young Blake returned to Providence in the winter of 1934–5, taking the upper floor of a venerable dwelling in a grassy court off College Street—on the crest of the great eastward hill near the Brown University campus and behind the marble John Hay Library. It was a cosy and fascinating place, in a little garden oasis of village-like antiquity where huge, friendly cats sunned themselves atop a convenient shed. The square Georgian house had a monitor roof, classic doorway with fan carving, small-paned windows, and all the other earmarks of early nineteenth-century workmanship. Inside were six-panelled doors, wide floor-boards, a curving colonial staircase, white Adam-period mantels, and a rear set of rooms three steps below the general level. Blake's study, a large southwest chamber, overlooked the front garden on one side, while its west windows—before one of which he had his desk—faced off from the brow of the hill and commanded a splendid view of the lower town's outspread roofs and of the mystical sunsets that flamed behind them. On the far horizon were the open countryside's purple slopes. Against these, some two miles away, rose the spectral hump of Federal Hill, bristling with huddled roofs and steeples whose remote outlines wavered mysteriously, taking fantastic forms as the smoke of the city swirled up and enmeshed them. Blake had a curious sense that he was looking upon some unknown, ethereal world which might or might not vanish in dream if ever he tried to seek it out and enter it in person. Having sent home for most of his books, Blake bought some antique furniture suitable to his quarters and settled down to write and paint—living alone, and attending to the simple housework himself. His studio was in a north attic room, where the panes of the monitor roof furnished admirable lighting. During that first winter he produced five of his best-known short stories—“The Burrower Beneath”, “The Stairs in the Crypt”, “Shaggai”, “In the Vale of Pnath”, and “The Feaster from the Stars”—and painted seven canvases; studies of nameless, unhuman monsters, and profoundly alien, non-terrestrial landscapes. At sunset he would often sit at his desk and gaze dreamily off at the outspread west—the dark towers of Memorial Hall just below, the Georgian court-house belfry, the lofty pinnacles of the downtown section, and that shimmering, spire-crowned mound in the distance whose unknown streets and labyrinthine gables so potently provoked his fancy. From his few local acquaintances he learned that the far-off slope was a vast Italian quarter, though most of the houses were remnants of older Yankee and Irish days. Now and then he would train his field-glasses on that spectral, unreachable world beyond the curling smoke; picking out individual roofs and chimneys and steeples, and speculating upon the bizarre and curious mysteries they might house. Even with optical aid Federal Hill seemed somehow alien, half fabulous, and linked to the unreal, intangible marvels of Blake's own tales and pictures. The feeling would persist long after the hill had faded into the violet, lamp-starred twilight, and the court-house floodlights and the red Industrial Trust beacon had blazed up to make the night grotesque. Of all the distant objects on Federal Hill, a certain huge, dark church most fascinated Blake. It stood out with especial distinctness at certain hours of the day, and at sunset the great tower and tapering steeple loomed blackly against the flaming sky. It seemed to rest on especially high ground; for the grimy facade, and the obliquely seen north side with sloping roof and the tops of great pointed windows, rose boldly above the tangle of surrounding ridgepoles and chimney-pots. Peculiarly grim and austere, it appeared to be built of stone, stained and weathered with the smoke and storms of a century and more. The style, so far as the glass could shew, was that earliest experimental form of Gothic revival which preceded the stately Upjohn period and held over some of the outlines and proportions of the Georgian age. Perhaps it was reared around 1810 or 1815. As months passed, Blake watched the far-off, forbidding structure with an oddly mounting interest. Since the vast windows were never lighted, he knew that it must be vacant. The longer he watched, the more his imagination worked, till at length he began to fancy curious things. He believed that a vague, singular aura of desolation hovered over the place, so that even the pigeons and swallows shunned its smoky eaves. Around other towers and belfries his glass would reveal great flocks of birds, but here they never rested. At least, that is what he thought and set down in his diary. He pointed the place out to several friends, but none of them had even been on Federal Hill or possessed the faintest notion of what the church was or had been. In the spring a deep restlessness gripped Blake. He had begun his long-planned novel—based on a supposed survival of the witch-cult in Maine—but was strangely unable to make progress with it. More and more he would sit at his westward window and gaze at the distant hill and the black, frowning steeple shunned by the birds. When the delicate leaves came out on the garden boughs the world was filled with a new beauty, but Blake's restlessness was merely increased. It was then that he first thought of crossing the city and climbing bodily up that fabulous slope into the smoke-wreathed world of dream. Late in April, just before the aeon-shadowed Walpurgis time, Blake made his first trip into the unknown. Plodding through the endless downtown streets and the bleak, decayed squares beyond, he came finally upon the ascending avenue of century-worn steps, sagging Doric porches, and blear-paned cupolas which he felt must lead up to the long-known, unreachable world beyond the mists. There were dingy blue-and-white street signs which meant nothing to him, and presently he noted the strange, dark faces of the drifting crowds, and the foreign signs over curious shops in brown, decade-weathered buildings. Nowhere could he find any of the objects he had seen from afar; so that once more he half fancied that the Federal Hill of that distant view was a dream-world never to be trod by living human feet. Now and then a battered church facade or crumbling spire came in sight, but never the blackened pile that he sought. When he asked a shopkeeper about a great stone church the man smiled and shook his head, though he spoke English freely. As Blake climbed higher, the region seemed stranger and stranger, with bewildering mazes of brooding brown alleys leading eternally off to the south. He crossed two or three broad avenues, and once thought he glimpsed a familiar tower. Again he asked a merchant about the massive church of stone, and this time he could have sworn that the plea of ignorance was feigned. The dark man's face had a look of fear which he tried to hide, and Blake saw him make a curious sign with his right hand. Then suddenly a black spire stood out against the cloudy sky on his left, above the tiers of brown roofs lining the tangled southerly alleys. Blake knew at once what it was, and plunged toward it through the squalid, unpaved lanes that climbed from the avenue. Twice he lost his way, but he somehow dared not ask any of the patriarchs or housewives who sat on their doorsteps, or any of the children who shouted and played in the mud of the shadowy lanes. At last he saw the tower plain against the southwest, and a huge stone bulk rose darkly at the end of an alley. Presently he stood in a windswept open square, quaintly cobblestoned, with a high bank wall on the farther side. This was the end of his quest; for upon the wide, iron-railed, weed-grown plateau which the wall supported—a separate, lesser world raised fully six feet above the surrounding streets—there stood a grim, titan bulk whose identity, despite Blake's new perspective, was beyond dispute. The vacant church was in a state of great decrepitude. Some of the high stone buttresses had fallen, and several delicate finials lay half lost among the brown, neglected weeds and grasses. The sooty Gothic windows were largely unbroken, though many of the stone mullions were missing. Blake wondered how the obscurely painted panes could have survived so well, in view of the known habits of small boys the world over. The massive doors were intact and tightly closed. Around the top of the bank wall, fully enclosing the grounds, was a rusty iron fence whose gate—at the head of a flight of steps from the square—was visibly padlocked. The path from the gate to the building was completely overgrown. Desolation and decay hung like a pall above the place, and in the birdless eaves and black, ivyless walls Blake felt a touch of the dimly sinister beyond his power to define. There were very few people in the square, but Blake saw a policeman at the northerly end and approached him with questions about the church. He was a great wholesome Irishman, and it seemed odd that he would do little more than make the sign of the cross and mutter that people never spoke of that building. When Blake pressed him he said very hurriedly that the Italian priests warned everybody against it, vowing that a monstrous evil had once dwelt there and left its mark. He himself had heard dark whispers of it from his father, who recalled certain sounds and rumours from his boyhood. There had been a bad sect there in the ould days—an outlaw sect that called up awful things from some unknown gulf of night. It had taken a good priest to exorcise what had come, though there did be those who said that merely the light could do it. If Father O'Malley were alive there would be many the thing he could tell. But now there was nothing to do but let it alone. It hurt nobody now, and those that owned it were dead or far away. They had run away like rats after the threatening talk in '77, when people began to mind the way folks vanished now and then in the neighbourhood. Some day the city would step in and take the property for lack of heirs, but little good would come of anybody's touching it. Better it be left alone for the years to topple, lest things be stirred that ought to rest forever in their black abyss. After the policeman had gone Blake stood staring at the sullen steepled pile. It excited him to find that the structure seemed as sinister to others as to him, and he wondered what grain of truth might lie behind the old tales the bluecoat had repeated. Probably they were mere legends evoked by the evil look of the place, but even so, they were like a strange coming to life of one of his own stories. The afternoon sun came out from behind dispersing clouds, but seemed unable to light up the stained, sooty walls of the old temple that towered on its high plateau. It was odd that the green of spring had not touched the brown, withered growths in the raised, iron-fenced yard. Blake found himself edging nearer the raised area and examining the bank wall and rusted fence for possible avenues of ingress. There was a terrible lure about the blackened fane which was not to be resisted. The fence had no opening near the steps, but around on the north side were some missing bars. He could go up the steps and walk around on the narrow coping outside the fence till he came to the gap. If the people feared the place so wildly, he would encounter no interference. He was on the embankment and almost inside the fence before anyone noticed him. Then, looking down, he saw the few people in the square edging away and making the same sign with their right hands that the shopkeeper in the avenue had made. Several windows were slammed down, and a fat woman darted into the street and pulled some small children inside a rickety, unpainted house. The gap in the fence was very easy to pass through, and before long Blake found himself wading amidst the rotting, tangled growths of the deserted yard. Here and there the worn stump of a headstone told him that there had once been burials in this field; but that, he saw, must have been very long ago. The sheer bulk of the church was oppressive now that he was close to it, but he conquered his mood and approached to try the three great doors in the facade. All were securely locked, so he began a circuit of the Cyclopean building in quest of some minor and more penetrable opening. Even then he could not be sure that he wished to enter that haunt of desertion and shadow, yet the pull of its strangeness dragged him on automatically. A yawning and unprotected cellar window in the rear furnished the needed aperture. Peering in, Blake saw a subterrene gulf of cobwebs and dust faintly litten by the western sun's filtered rays. Debris, old barrels, and ruined boxes and furniture of numerous sorts met his eye, though over everything lay a shroud of dust which softened all sharp outlines. The rusted remains of a hot-air furnace shewed that the building had been used and kept in shape as late as mid-Victorian times. Acting almost without conscious initiative, Blake crawled through the window and let himself down to the dust-carpeted and debris-strown concrete floor. The vaulted cellar was a vast one, without partitions; and in a corner far to the right, amid dense shadows, he saw a black archway evidently leading upstairs. He felt a peculiar sense of oppression at being actually within the great spectral building, but kept it in check as he cautiously scouted about—finding a still-intact barrel amid the dust, and rolling it over to the open window to provide for his exit. Then, bracing himself, he crossed the wide, cobweb-festooned space toward the arch. Half choked with the omnipresent dust, and covered with ghostly gossamer fibres, he reached and began to climb the worn stone steps which rose into the darkness. He had no light, but groped carefully with his hands. After a sharp turn he felt a closed door ahead, and a little fumbling revealed its ancient latch. It opened inward, and beyond it he saw a dimly illumined corridor lined with worm-eaten panelling. Once on the ground floor, Blake began exploring in a rapid fashion. All the inner doors were unlocked, so that he freely passed from room to room. The colossal nave was an almost eldritch place with its drifts and mountains of dust over box pews, altar, hourglass pulpit, and sounding-board, and its titanic ropes of cobweb stretching among the pointed arches of the gallery and entwining the clustered Gothic columns. Over all this hushed desolation played a hideous leaden light as the declining afternoon sun sent its rays through the strange, half-blackened panes of the great apsidal windows. The paintings on those windows were so obscured by soot that Blake could scarcely decipher what they had represented, but from the little he could make out he did not like them. The designs were largely conventional, and his knowledge of obscure symbolism told him much concerning some of the ancient patterns. The few saints depicted bore expressions distinctly open to criticism, while one of the windows seemed to shew merely a dark space with spirals of curious luminosity scattered about in it. Turning away from the windows, Blake noticed that the cobwebbed cross above the altar was not of the ordinary kind, but resembled the primordial ankh or crux ansata of shadowy Egypt. In a rear vestry room beside the apse Blake found a rotting desk and ceiling-high shelves of mildewed, disintegrating books. Here for the first time he received a positive shock of objective horror, for the titles of those books told him much. They were the black, forbidden things which most sane people have never even heard of, or have heard of only in furtive, timorous whispers; the banned and dreaded repositories of equivocal secrets and immemorial formulae which have trickled down the stream of time from the days of man's youth, and the dim, fabulous days before man was. He had himself read many of them—a Latin version of the abhorred Necronomicon, the sinister Liber Ivonis, the infamous Cultes des Goules of Comte d'Erlette, the Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt, and old Ludvig Prinn's hellish De Vermis Mysteriis. But there were others he had known merely by reputation or not at all—the Pnakotic Manuscripts, the Book of Dzyan, and a crumbling volume in wholly unidentifiable characters yet with certain symbols and diagrams shudderingly recognisable to the occult student. Clearly, the lingering local rumours had not lied. This place had once been the seat of an evil older than mankind and wider than the known universe. In the ruined desk was a small leather-bound record-book filled with entries in some odd cryptographic medium. The manuscript writing consisted of the common traditional symbols used today in astronomy and anciently in alchemy, astrology, and other dubious arts—the devices of the sun, moon, planets, aspects, and zodiacal signs—here massed in solid pages of text, with divisions and paragraphings suggesting that each symbol answered to some alphabetical letter. In the hope of later solving the cryptogram, Blake bore off this volume in his coat pocket. Many of the great tomes on the shelves fascinated him unutterably, and he felt tempted to borrow them at some later time. He wondered how they could have remained undisturbed so long. Was he the first to conquer the clutching, pervasive fear which had for nearly sixty years protected this deserted place from visitors? Having now thoroughly explored the ground floor, Blake ploughed again through the dust of the spectral nave to the front vestibule, where he had seen a door and staircase presumably leading up to the blackened tower and steeple—objects so long familiar to him at a distance. The ascent was a choking experience, for dust lay thick, while the spiders had done their worst in this constricted place. The staircase was a spiral with high, narrow wooden treads, and now and then Blake passed a clouded window looking dizzily out over the city. Though he had seen no ropes below, he expected to find a bell or peal of bells in the tower whose narrow, louver-boarded lancet windows his field-glass had studied so often. Here he was doomed to disappointment; for when he attained the top of the stairs he found the tower chamber vacant of chimes, and clearly devoted to vastly different purposes. The room, about fifteen feet square, was faintly lighted by four lancet windows, one on each side, which were glazed within their screening of decayed louver-boards. These had been further fitted with tight, opaque screens, but the latter were now largely rotted away. In the centre of the dust-laden floor rose a curiously angled stone pillar some four feet in height and two in average diameter, covered on each side with bizarre, crudely incised, and wholly unrecognisable hieroglyphs. On this pillar rested a metal box of peculiarly asymmetrical form; its hinged lid thrown back, and its interior holding what looked beneath the decade-deep dust to be an egg-shaped or irregularly spherical object some four inches through. Around the pillar in a rough circle were seven high-backed Gothic chairs still largely intact, while behind them, ranging along the dark-panelled walls, were seven colossal images of crumbling, black-painted plaster, resembling more than anything else the cryptic carven megaliths of mysterious Easter Island. In one corner of the cobwebbed chamber a ladder was built into the wall, leading up to the closed trap-door of the windowless steeple above. As Blake grew accustomed to the feeble light he noticed odd bas-reliefs on the strange open box of yellowish metal. Approaching, he tried to clear the dust away with his hands and handkerchief, and saw that the figurings were of a monstrous and utterly alien kind; depicting entities which, though seemingly alive, resembled no known life-form ever evolved on this planet. The four-inch seeming sphere turned out to be a nearly black, red-striated polyhedron with many irregular flat surfaces; either a very remarkable crystal of some sort, or an artificial object of carved and highly polished mineral matter. It did not touch the bottom of the box, but was held suspended by means of a metal band around its centre, with seven queerly designed supports extending horizontally to angles of the box's inner wall near the top. This stone, once exposed, exerted upon Blake an almost alarming fascination. He could scarcely tear his eyes from it, and as he looked at its glistening surfaces he almost fancied it was transparent, with half-formed worlds of wonder within. Into his mind floated pictures of alien orbs with great stone towers, and other orbs with titan mountains and no mark of life, and still remoter spaces where only a stirring in vague blacknesses told of the presence of consciousness and will. When he did look away, it was to notice a somewhat singular mound of dust in the far corner near the ladder to the steeple. Just why it took his attention he could not tell, but something in its contours carried a message to his unconscious mind. Ploughing toward it, and brushing aside the hanging cobwebs as he went, he began to discern something grim about it. Hand and handkerchief soon revealed the truth, and Blake gasped with a baffling mixture of emotions. It was a human skeleton, and it must have been there for a very long time. The clothing was in shreds, but some buttons and fragments of cloth bespoke a man's grey suit. There were other bits of evidence—shoes, metal clasps, huge buttons for round cuffs, a stickpin of bygone pattern, a reporter's badge with the name of the old Providence Telegram, and a crumbling leather pocketbook. Blake examined the latter with care, finding within it several bills of antiquated issue, a celluloid advertising calendar for 1893, some cards with the name “Edwin M. Lillibridge”, and a paper covered with pencilled memoranda. This paper held much of a puzzling nature, and Blake read it carefully at the dim westward window. Its disjointed text included such phrases as the following: “Prof. Enoch Bowen home from Egypt May 1844—buys old Free-Will Church in July—his archaeological work & studies in occult well known.” “Dr. Drowne of 4th Baptist warns against Starry Wisdom in sermon Dec. 29, 1844.” “Congregation 97 by end of '45.” “1846—3 disappearances—first mention of Shining Trapezohedron.” “7 disappearances 1848—stories of blood sacrifice begin.” “Investigation 1853 comes to nothing—stories of sounds.” “Fr. O'Malley tells of devil-worship with box found in great Egyptian ruins—says they call up something that can't exist in light. Flees a little light, and banished by strong light. Then has to be summoned again. Probably got this from deathbed confession of Francis X. Feeney, who had joined Starry Wisdom in '49. These people say the Shining Trapezohedron shews them heaven & other worlds, & that the Haunter of the Dark tells them secrets in some way.” “Story of Orrin B. Eddy 1857. They call it up by gazing at the crystal, & have a secret language of their own.” “200 or more in cong. 1863, exclusive of men at front.” “Irish boys mob church in 1869 after Patrick Regan's disappearance.” “Veiled article in J. March 14, '72, but people don't talk about it.” “6 disappearances 1876—secret committee calls on Mayor Doyle.” “Action promised Feb. 1877—church closes in April.” “Gang—Federal Hill Boys—threaten Dr. —— and vestrymen in May.” “181 persons leave city before end of '77—mention no names.” “Ghost stories begin around 1880—try to ascertain truth of report that no human being has entered church since 1877.” “Ask Lanigan for photograph of place taken 1851.” . . . Restoring the paper to the pocketbook and placing the latter in his coat, Blake turned to look down at the skeleton in the dust. The implications of the notes were clear, and there could be no doubt but that this man had come to the deserted edifice forty-two years before in quest of a newspaper sensation which no one else had been bold enough to attempt. Perhaps no one else had known of his plan—who could tell? But he had never returned to his paper. Had some bravely suppressed fear risen to overcome him and bring on sudden heart-failure? Blake stooped over the gleaming bones and noted their peculiar state. Some of them were badly scattered, and a few seemed oddly dissolved at the ends. Others were strangely yellowed, with vague suggestions of charring. This charring extended to some of the fragments of clothing. The skull was in a very peculiar state—stained yellow, and with a charred aperture in the top as if some powerful acid had eaten through the solid bone. What had happened to the skeleton during its four decades of silent entombment here Blake could not imagine. Before he realised it, he was looking at the stone again, and letting its curious influence call up a nebulous pageantry in his mind. He saw processions of robed, hooded figures whose outlines were not human, and looked on endless leagues of desert lined with carved, sky-reaching monoliths. He saw towers and walls in nighted depths under the sea, and vortices of space where wisps of black mist floated before thin shimmerings of cold purple haze. And beyond all else he glimpsed an infinite gulf of darkness, where solid and semi-solid forms were known only by their windy stirrings, and cloudy patterns of force seemed to superimpose order on chaos and hold forth a key to all the paradoxes and arcana of the worlds we know. Then all at once the spell was broken by an access of gnawing, indeterminate panic fear. Blake choked and turned away from the stone, conscious of some formless alien presence close to him and watching him with horrible intentness. He felt entangled with something—something which was not in the stone, but which had looked through it at him—something which would ceaselessly follow him with a cognition that was not physical sight. Plainly, the place was getting on his nerves—as well it might in view of his gruesome find. The light was waning, too, and since he had no illuminant with him he knew he would have to be leaving soon. It was then, in the gathering twilight, that he thought he saw a faint trace of luminosity in the crazily angled stone. He had tried to look away from it, but some obscure compulsion drew his eyes back. Was there a subtle phosphorescence of radio-activity about the thing? What was it that the dead man's notes had said concerning a Shining Trapezohedron? What, anyway, was this abandoned lair of cosmic evil? What had been done here, and what might still be lurking in the bird-shunned shadows? It seemed now as if an elusive touch of foetor had arisen somewhere close by, though its source was not apparent. Blake seized the cover of the long-open box and snapped it down. It moved easily on its alien hinges, and closed completely over the unmistakably glowing stone. At the sharp click of that closing a soft stirring sound seemed to come from the steeple's eternal blackness overhead, beyond the trap-door. Rats, without question—the only living things to reveal their presence in this accursed pile since he had entered it. And yet that stirring in the steeple frightened him horribly, so that he plunged almost wildly down the spiral stairs, across the ghoulish nave, into the vaulted basement, out amidst the gathering dusk of the deserted square, and down through the teeming, fear-haunted alleys and avenues of Federal Hill toward the sane central streets and the home-like brick sidewalks of the college district. During the days which followed, Blake told no one of his expedition. Instead, he read much in certain books, examined long years of newspaper files downtown, and worked feverishly at the cryptogram in that leather volume from the cobwebbed vestry room. The cipher, he soon saw, was no simple one; and after a long period of endeavour he felt sure that its language could not be English, Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, Italian, or German. Evidently he would have to draw upon the deepest wells of his strange erudition. Every evening the old impulse to gaze westward returned, and he saw the black steeple as of yore amongst the bristling roofs of a distant and half-fabulous world. But now it held a fresh note of terror for him. He knew the heritage of evil lore it masked, and with the knowledge his vision ran riot in queer new ways. The birds of spring were returning, and as he watched their sunset flights he fancied they avoided the gaunt, lone spire as never before. When a flock of them approached it, he thought, they would wheel and scatter in panic confusion—and he could guess at the wild twitterings which failed to reach him across the intervening miles. It was in June that Blake's diary told of his victory over the cryptogram. The text was, he found, in the dark Aklo language used by certain cults of evil antiquity, and known to him in a halting way through previous researches. The diary is strangely reticent about what Blake deciphered, but he was patently awed and disconcerted by his results. There are references to a Haunter of the Dark awaked by gazing into the Shining Trapezohedron, and insane conjectures about the black gulfs of chaos from which it was called. The being is spoken of as holding all knowledge, and demanding monstrous sacrifices. Some of Blake's entries shew fear lest the thing, which he seemed to regard as summoned, stalk abroad; though he adds that the street-lights form a bulwark which cannot be crossed. Of the Shining Trapezohedron he speaks often, calling it a window on all time and space, and tracing its history from the days it was fashioned on dark Yuggoth, before ever the Old Ones brought it to earth. It was treasured and placed in its curious box by the crinoid things of Antarctica, salvaged from their ruins by the serpent-men of Valusia, and peered at aeons later in Lemuria by the first human beings. It crossed strange lands and stranger seas, and sank with Atlantis before a Minoan fisher meshed it in his net and sold it to swarthy merchants from nighted Khem. The Pharaoh Nephren-Ka built around it a temple with a windowless crypt, and did that which caused his name to be stricken from all monuments and records. Then it slept in the ruins of that evil fane which the priests and the new Pharaoh destroyed, till the delver's spade once more brought it forth to curse mankind. Early in July the newspapers oddly supplement Blake's entries, though in so brief and casual a way that only the diary has called general attention to their contribution. It appears that a new fear had been growing on Federal Hill since a stranger had entered the dreaded church. The Italians whispered of unaccustomed stirrings and bumpings and scrapings in the dark windowless steeple, and called on their priests to banish an entity which haunted their dreams. Something, they said, was constantly watching at a door to see if it were dark enough to venture forth. Press items mentioned the long-standing local superstitions, but failed to shed much light on the earlier background of the horror. It was obvious that the young reporters of today are no antiquarians. In writing of these things in his diary, Blake expresses a curious kind of remorse, and talks of the duty of burying the Shining Trapezohedron and of banishing what he had evoked by letting daylight into the hideous jutting spire. At the same time, however, he displays the dangerous extent of his fascination, and admits a morbid longing—pervading even his dreams—to visit the accursed tower and gaze again into the cosmic secrets of the glowing stone. Then something in the Journal on the morning of July 17 threw the diarist into a veritable fever of horror. It was only a variant of the other half-humorous items about the Federal Hill restlessness, but to Blake it was somehow very terrible indeed. In the night a thunderstorm had put the city's lighting-system out of commission for a full hour, and in that black interval the Italians had nearly gone mad with fright. Those living near the dreaded church had sworn that the thing in the steeple had taken advantage of the street-lamps' absence and gone down into the body of the church, flopping and bumping around in a viscous, altogether dreadful way. Toward the last it had bumped up to the tower, where there were sounds of the shattering of glass. It could go wherever the darkness reached, but light would always send it fleeing. When the current blazed on again there had been a shocking commotion in the tower, for even the feeble light trickling through the grime-blackened, louver-boarded windows was too much for the thing. It had bumped and slithered up into its tenebrous steeple just in time—for a long dose of light would have sent it back into the abyss whence the crazy stranger had called it. During the dark hour praying crowds had clustered round the church in the rain with lighted candles and lamps somehow shielded with folded paper and umbrellas—a guard of light to save the city from the nightmare that stalks in darkness. Once, those nearest the church declared, the outer door had rattled hideously. But even this was not the worst. That evening in the Bulletin Blake read of what the reporters had found. Aroused at last to the whimsical news value of the scare, a pair of them had defied the frantic crowds of Italians and crawled into the church through the cellar window after trying the doors in vain. They found the dust of the vestibule and of the spectral nave ploughed up in a singular way, with bits of rotted cushions and satin pew-linings scattered curiously around. There was a bad odour everywhere, and here and there were bits of yellow stain and patches of what looked like charring. Opening the door to the tower, and pausing a moment at the suspicion of a scraping sound above, they found the narrow spiral stairs wiped roughly clean. In the tower itself a similarly half-swept condition existed. They spoke of the heptagonal stone pillar, the overturned Gothic chairs, and the bizarre plaster images; though strangely enough the metal box and the old mutilated skeleton were not mentioned. What disturbed Blake the most—except for the hints of stains and charring and bad odours—was the final detail that explained the crashing glass. Every one of the tower's lancet windows was broken, and two of them had been darkened in a crude and hurried way by the stuffing of satin pew-linings and cushion-horsehair into the spaces between the slanting exterior louver-boards. More satin fragments and bunches of horsehair lay scattered around the newly swept floor, as if someone had been interrupted in the act of restoring the tower to the absolute blackness of its tightly curtained days. Yellowish stains and charred patches were found on the ladder to the windowless spire, but when a reporter climbed up, opened the horizontally sliding trap-door, and shot a feeble flashlight beam into the black and strangely foetid space, he saw nothing but darkness, and an heterogeneous litter of shapeless fragments near the aperture. The verdict, of course, was charlatanry. Somebody had played a joke on the superstitious hill-dwellers, or else some fanatic had striven to bolster up their fears for their own supposed good. Or perhaps some of the younger and more sophisticated dwellers had staged an elaborate hoax on the outside world. There was an amusing aftermath when the police sent an officer to verify the reports. Three men in succession found ways of evading the assignment, and the fourth went very reluctantly and returned very soon without adding to the account given by the reporters. From this point onward Blake's diary shews a mounting tide of insidious horror and nervous apprehension. He upbraids himself for not doing something, and speculates wildly on the consequences of another electrical breakdown. It has been verified that on three occasions—during thunderstorms—he telephoned the electric light company in a frantic vein and asked that desperate precautions against a lapse of power be taken. Now and then his entries shew concern over the failure of the reporters to find the metal box and stone, and the strangely marred old skeleton, when they explored the shadowy tower room. He assumed that these things had been removed—whither, and by whom or what, he could only guess. But his worst fears concerned himself, and the kind of unholy rapport he felt to exist between his mind and that lurking horror in the distant steeple—that monstrous thing of night which his rashness had called out of the ultimate black spaces. He seemed to feel a constant tugging at his will, and callers of that period remember how he would sit abstractedly at his desk and stare out of the west window at that far-off, spire-bristling mound beyond the swirling smoke of the city. His entries dwell monotonously on certain terrible dreams, and of a strengthening of the unholy rapport in his sleep. There is mention of a night when he awaked to find himself fully dressed, outdoors, and headed automatically down College Hill toward the west. Again and again he dwells on the fact that the thing in the steeple knows where to find him. The week following July 30 is recalled as the time of Blake's partial breakdown. He did not dress, and ordered all his food by telephone. Visitors remarked the cords he kept near his bed, and he said that sleep-walking had forced him to bind his ankles every night with knots which would probably hold or else waken him with the labour of untying. In his diary he told of the hideous experience which had brought the collapse. After retiring on the night of the 30th he had suddenly found himself groping about in an almost black space. All he could see were short, faint, horizontal streaks of bluish light, but he could smell an overpowering foetor and hear a curious jumble of soft, furtive sounds above him. Whenever he moved he stumbled over something, and at each noise there would come a sort of answering sound from above—a vague stirring, mixed with the cautious sliding of wood on wood. Once his groping hands encountered a pillar of stone with a vacant top, whilst later he found himself clutching the rungs of a ladder built into the wall, and fumbling his uncertain way upward toward some region of intenser stench where a hot, searing blast beat down against him. Before his eyes a kaleidoscopic range of phantasmal images played, all of them dissolving at intervals into the picture of a vast, unplumbed abyss of night wherein whirled suns and worlds of an even profounder blackness. He thought of the ancient legends of Ultimate Chaos, at whose centre sprawls the blind idiot god Azathoth, Lord of All Things, encircled by his flopping horde of mindless and amorphous dancers, and lulled by the thin monotonous piping of a daemoniac flute held in nameless paws. Then a sharp report from the outer world broke through his stupor and roused him to the unutterable horror of his position. What it was, he never knew—perhaps it was some belated peal from the fireworks heard all summer on Federal Hill as the dwellers hail their various patron saints, or the saints of their native villages in Italy. In any event he shrieked aloud, dropped frantically from the ladder, and stumbled blindly across the obstructed floor of the almost lightless chamber that encompassed him. He knew instantly where he was, and plunged recklessly down the narrow spiral staircase, tripping and bruising himself at every turn. There was a nightmare flight through a vast cobwebbed nave whose ghostly arches reached up to realms of leering shadow, a sightless scramble through a littered basement, a climb to regions of air and street-lights outside, and a mad racing down a spectral hill of gibbering gables, across a grim, silent city of tall black towers, and up the steep eastward precipice to his own ancient door. On regaining consciousness in the morning he found himself lying on his study floor fully dressed. Dirt and cobwebs covered him, and every inch of his body seemed sore and bruised. When he faced the mirror he saw that his hair was badly scorched, while a trace of strange, evil odour seemed to cling to his upper outer clothing. It was then that his nerves broke down. Thereafter, lounging exhaustedly about in a dressing-gown, he did little but stare from his west window, shiver at the threat of thunder, and make wild entries in his diary. The great storm broke just before midnight on August 8th. Lightning struck repeatedly in all parts of the city, and two remarkable fireballs were reported. The rain was torrential, while a constant fusillade of thunder brought sleeplessness to thousands. Blake was utterly frantic in his fear for the lighting system, and tried to telephone the company around 1 a.m., though by that time service had been temporarily cut off in the interest of safety. He recorded everything in his diary—the large, nervous, and often undecipherable hieroglyphs telling their own story of growing frenzy and despair, and of entries scrawled blindly in the dark. He had to keep the house dark in order to see out the window, and it appears that most of his time was spent at his desk, peering anxiously through the rain across the glistening miles of downtown roofs at the constellation of distant lights marking Federal Hill. Now and then he would fumblingly make an entry in his diary, so that detached phrases such as “The lights must not go”; “It knows where I am”; “I must destroy it”; and “It is calling to me, but perhaps it means no injury this time”; are found scattered down two of the pages. Then the lights went out all over the city. It happened at 2:12 a.m. according to power-house records, but Blake's diary gives no indication of the time. The entry is merely, “Lights out—God help me.” On Federal Hill there were watchers as anxious as he, and rain-soaked knots of men paraded the square and alleys around the evil church with umbrella-shaded candles, electric flashlights, oil lanterns, crucifixes, and obscure charms of the many sorts common to southern Italy. They blessed each flash of lightning, and made cryptical signs of fear with their right hands when a turn in the storm caused the flashes to lessen and finally to cease altogether. A rising wind blew out most of the candles, so that the scene grew threateningly dark. Someone roused Father Merluzzo of Spirito Santo Church, and he hastened to the dismal square to pronounce whatever helpful syllables he could. Of the restless and curious sounds in the blackened tower, there could be no doubt whatever. For what happened at 2:35 we have the testimony of the priest, a young, intelligent, and well-educated person; of Patrolman William J. Monahan of the Central Station, an officer of the highest reliability who had paused at that part of his beat to inspect the crowd; and of most of the seventy-eight men who had gathered around the church's high bank wall—especially those in the square where the eastward facade was visible. Of course there was nothing which can be proved as being outside the order of Nature. The possible causes of such an event are many. No one can speak with certainty of the obscure chemical processes arising in a vast, ancient, ill-aired, and long-deserted building of heterogeneous contents. Mephitic vapours—spontaneous combustion—pressure of gases born of long decay—any one of numberless phenomena might be responsible. And then, of course, the factor of conscious charlatanry can by no means be excluded. The thing was really quite simple in itself, and covered less than three minutes of actual time. Father Merluzzo, always a precise man, looked at his watch repeatedly. It started with a definite swelling of the dull fumbling sounds inside the black tower. There had for some time been a vague exhalation of strange, evil odours from the church, and this had now become emphatic and offensive. Then at last there was a sound of splintering wood, and a large, heavy object crashed down in the yard beneath the frowning easterly facade. The tower was invisible now that the candles would not burn, but as the object neared the ground the people knew that it was the smoke-grimed louver-boarding of that tower's east window. Immediately afterward an utterly unbearable foetor welled forth from the unseen heights, choking and sickening the trembling watchers, and almost prostrating those in the square. At the same time the air trembled with a vibration as of flapping wings, and a sudden east-blowing wind more violent than any previous blast snatched off the hats and wrenched the dripping umbrellas of the crowd. Nothing definite could be seen in the candleless night, though some upward-looking spectators thought they glimpsed a great spreading blur of denser blackness against the inky sky—something like a formless cloud of smoke that shot with meteor-like speed toward the east. That was all. The watchers were half numbed with fright, awe, and discomfort, and scarcely knew what to do, or whether to do anything at all. Not knowing what had happened, they did not relax their vigil; and a moment later they sent up a prayer as a sharp flash of belated lightning, followed by an earsplitting crash of sound, rent the flooded heavens. Half an hour later the rain stopped, and in fifteen minutes more the street-lights sprang on again, sending the weary, bedraggled watchers relievedly back to their homes. The next day's papers gave these matters minor mention in connexion with the general storm reports. It seems that the great lightning flash and deafening explosion which followed the Federal Hill occurrence were even more tremendous farther east, where a burst of the singular foetor was likewise noticed. The phenomenon was most marked over College Hill, where the crash awaked all the sleeping inhabitants and led to a bewildered round of speculations. Of those who were already awake only a few saw the anomalous blaze of light near the top of the hill, or noticed the inexplicable upward rush of air which almost stripped the leaves from the trees and blasted the plants in the gardens. It was agreed that the lone, sudden lightning-bolt must have struck somewhere in this neighbourhood, though no trace of its striking could afterward be found. A youth in the Tau Omega fraternity house thought he saw a grotesque and hideous mass of smoke in the air just as the preliminary flash burst, but his observation has not been verified. All of the few observers, however, agree as to the violent gust from the west and the flood of intolerable stench which preceded the belated stroke; whilst evidence concerning the momentary burned odour after the stroke is equally general. These points were discussed very carefully because of their probable connexion with the death of Robert Blake. Students in the Psi Delta house, whose upper rear windows looked into Blake's study, noticed the blurred white face at the westward window on the morning of the 9th, and wondered what was wrong with the expression. When they saw the same face in the same position that evening, they felt worried, and watched for the lights to come up in his apartment. Later they rang the bell of the darkened flat, and finally had a policeman force the door. The rigid body sat bolt upright at the desk by the window, and when the intruders saw the glassy, bulging eyes, and the marks of stark, convulsive fright on the twisted features, they turned away in sickened dismay. Shortly afterward the coroner's physician made an examination, and despite the unbroken window reported electrical shock, or nervous tension induced by electrical discharge, as the cause of death. The hideous expression he ignored altogether, deeming it a not improbable result of the profound shock as experienced by a person of such abnormal imagination and unbalanced emotions. He deduced these latter qualities from the books, paintings, and manuscripts found in the apartment, and from the blindly scrawled entries in the diary on the desk. Blake had prolonged his frenzied jottings to the last, and the broken-pointed pencil was found clutched in his spasmodically contracted right hand. The entries after the failure of the lights were highly disjointed, and legible only in part. From them certain investigators have drawn conclusions differing greatly from the materialistic official verdict, but such speculations have little chance for belief among the conservative. The case of these imaginative theorists has not been helped by the action of superstitious Dr. Dexter, who threw the curious box and angled stone—an object certainly self-luminous as seen in the black windowless steeple where it was found—into the deepest channel of Narragansett Bay. Excessive imagination and neurotic unbalance on Blake's part, aggravated by knowledge of the evil bygone cult whose startling traces he had uncovered, form the dominant interpretation given those final frenzied jottings. These are the entries—or all that can be made of them. “Lights still out—must be five minutes now. Everything depends on lightning. Yaddith grant it will keep up! . . . Some influence seems beating through it. . . . Rain and thunder and wind deafen. . . . The thing is taking hold of my mind. . . . “Trouble with memory. I see things I never knew before. Other worlds and other galaxies . . . Dark . . . The lightning seems dark and the darkness seems light. . . . “It cannot be the real hill and church that I see in the pitch-darkness. Must be retinal impression left by flashes. Heaven grant the Italians are out with their candles if the lightning stops! “What am I afraid of? Is it not an avatar of Nyarlathotep, who in antique and shadowy Khem even took the form of man? I remember Yuggoth, and more distant Shaggai, and the ultimate void of the black planets. . . . “The long, winging flight through the void . . . cannot cross the universe of light . . . re-created by the thoughts caught in the Shining Trapezohedron . . . send it through the horrible abysses of radiance. . . . “My name is Blake—Robert Harrison Blake of 620 East Knapp Street, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. . . . I am on this planet. . . . “Azathoth have mercy!—the lightning no longer flashes—horrible—I can see everything with a monstrous sense that is not sight—light is dark and dark is light . . . those people on the hill . . . guard . . . candles and charms . . . their priests. . . . “Sense of distance gone—far is near and near is far. No light—no glass—see that steeple—that tower—window—can hear—Roderick Usher—am mad or going mad—the thing is stirring and fumbling in the tower—I am it and it is I—I want to get out . . . must get out and unify the forces. . . . It knows where I am. . . . “I am Robert Blake, but I see the tower in the dark. There is a monstrous odour . . . senses transfigured . . . boarding at that tower window cracking and giving way. . . . Iä . . . ngai . . . ygg. . . . “I see it—coming here—hell-wind—titan blur—black wings—Yog-Sothoth save me—the three-lobed burning eye. . . .”
Do you ever catch yourself saying, “Oh that's good enough?” I think we are being conditioned to accept good enough or second best. In this podcast I am going to talk about some of the reasons why we settle for second best and how that might be affecting our relationship with Jesus. To learn more about the ministry of Restoring the Foundations International, please visit www.restoringthefoundations.org.
Gratitude // Week 3 // Life's Secret Code1. Don't relive the past, instead kill it.Isaiah 43:18-19 (NIV)18 “Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. 19 See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.Isaiah 43:25 (NASB)25 "I, even I, am the one who wipes out your transgressions for My own sake, And I will not remember your sins. 2. Don't resent the present, instead embrace it.Psalm 118:24 (ESV)24 This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.I Samuel 1:8-11 (MSG)8 Her husband Elkanah said, “Oh, Hannah, why are you crying? Why aren't you eating? And why are you so upset? Am I not of more worth to you than ten sons?” 9-11 So Hannah ate. Then she pulled herself together, slipped away quietly, and entered the sanctuary. The priest Eli was on duty at the entrance to God's Temple in the customary seat. Crushed in soul, Hannah prayed to God and cried and cried—inconsolably. Then she made a vow: Oh, God-of-the-Angel-Armies,If you'll take a good, hard look at my pain, If you'll quit neglecting me and go into action for me. By giving me a son, I'll give him completely, unreservedly to you. I'll set him apart for a life of holy discipline.3. Don't rehearse the future, instead bless it. Matthew 6:34 (NIV)34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. 1 Samuel 2 (MSG)2 Hannah prayed: I'm bursting with God-news! I'm walking on air. I'm laughing at my rivals. I'm dancing my salvation. 2-5 Nothing and no one is holy like God, no rock mountain like our God. Don't dare talk pretentiously—not a word of boasting, ever! For God knows what's going on. He takes the measure of everything that happens. The weapons of the strong are smashed to pieces, while the weak are infused with fresh strength. The well-fed are out begging in the streets for crusts, while the hungry are getting second helpings. The barren woman has a houseful of children, while the mother of many is bereft. 6-10 God brings death and God brings life, brings down to the grave and raises up. God brings poverty and God brings wealth; he lowers, he also lifts up. He puts poor people on their feet again; he rekindles burned-out lives with fresh hope, Restoring dignity and respect to their lives—a place in the sun! For the very structures of earth are God's; he has laid out his operations on a firm foundation. He protectively cares for his faithful friends, step by step, but leaves the wicked to stumble in the dark. No one makes it in this life by sheer muscle! God's enemies will be blasted out of the sky, crashed in a heap and burned. God will set things right all over the earth, he'll give strength to his king, he'll set his anointed on top of the world! 11 Elkanah went home to Ramah. The boy stayed and served God in the company of Eli the priest. Questions:1. What strategies do you utilize to refrain from dwelling on painful past memories? What have been your experiences? 2. What are elements of the present that bring you stress and/or anxiety? How do you manage those feelings? 3. How do you approach the future? When you think about tomorrow or even further on, what is your immediate reaction?
Welcome to another episode of Restoring the Soul with Michael John Cusick. In today's conversation, we connect with Kevin Triplett, whose powerful transformation journey moves from despair to redemption. Kevin opens up about how he navigated through life marked by racism, struggled with addiction, attempted to find validation in the wrong places, and finally found solace in God's grace. Kevin's deeply personal journey reminds us that our brokenness is not a barrier but a bridge to an abundance of freedom, joy, and wholeness. He demonstrates his strength in vulnerability by sharing his darkest moments and how they became catalysts for change—a change that has not only touched his life but has nudged him to contribute to men's healing journeys. Join us as we delve into Kevin's self-discovery, faith, and redemption story.As the holiday season unfolds, consider embracing a new beginning for healing in the upcoming year. We are excited to announce that registration is available for the Restoring the Soul Men's Intensive Weekend from February 22-25, 2024, in Monument, Colorado. As a way of saying "thanks!" to our podcast listeners, we're offering an exclusive $200 discount on the regular price for those who sign up before December 25th. To take full advantage of this special opportunity, visit restoringthesoulweekend.com, navigate to the registration page, and use the code 'weekend24' during checkout.CONTACT RESTORING THE SOUL:- Tweet us at @michaeljcusick and @PodcastRTS- Like us on Facebook- Follow us on Instagram & Twitter- Follow Michael on Twitter- Email us at email@example.com Thanks for listening!
Welcome to season 7 everyone! I celebrated my 20th anniversary with my mare Diva earlier this month, and it fills me with gratitude to be continuously walking this journey of learning for the betterment of the horse, and to have all of you along for the ride. In this episode, I sat down with Karen Rohlf of Dressage Naturally to hear her perspective on the sport and discipline of dressage, which has attracted much scrutiny in recent times for its harsh and controlling treatment of horses. Karen walked me through some of her guiding principles, such as her Happy Athlete training scale, as well as her philosophy of making training choices based on conversations with the horse versus what she thinks the horse must or should do. This attitude was also reflected in her approach to training for correct biomechanics: good biomechanics feel good for the horse! It was refreshing to imagine what's possible for this discipline if more people learn to value building a foundation of welfare, trust and communication over simply achieving something that makes the horse “look” good. Learning from Karen is like having your own personal cheerleader. Her sense of responsibility to the horse, as well as her open, nonjudgmental, and fair-minded nature allows you to go beyond the rigid rules of specific disciplines and get to the heart of your mental, emotional, and physical partnership with your horse. Through her never-ending quest for personal self-improvement and her practice of authentic communication, she has become a powerful voice that helps guide riders to better partnership and results in harmony. Even after all the decades of being a professional trainer, instructor, and competitor at the Grand Prix level, she still wakes up everyday feeling like a little girl in love with horses… And you can too. Discover more of Karen's work at https://dressagenaturally.net
In our final episode for 2023, we speak with lawyers-turned-renovators Julie and Vincent Fodera who are restoring one of Melbourne's oldest mansions, a historic homestead in Caulfield known as Heatherbrae. The private property dates back to 1854 and is bit of a local landmark, which the couple have been the proud custodians of since buying it last year. Hear how they're lovingly updating the property, why their renovation journey has gained them 16k Instagram followers, and the importance of preserving magical heritage builds like this one. Take a look inside the remarkable abode here, and follow them at @heatherbrae1854 to see their progress! Follow us at @thedesignfiles and subscribe to our weekly newsletter so you don't miss a thing. Thank you so much for listening!
Welcome to Restoration Domination! In this episode, host Rico Garcia Jr is joined by special guest Lisa Lavender from Restoration Technical Institute. Take a dive deep into Lisa's insights as she reveals what distinguishes Restoration Technical Institute. It's not just about the technology; it's about fostering inspiration and innovation in the restoration industry. Explore the misconception that success in restoration hinges solely on equipment. Discover the crucial elements beyond gear that contribute significantly to success. Learn about the importance of continuous learning and development in the restoration field. Uncover the evolving nature of the industry and the necessity for ongoing certification and education. Join Rico Garcia Jr and Lisa Lavender on Restoration Domination for invaluable insights into the restoration industry. Don't forget to like, subscribe, and stay tuned for more episodes filled with expert advice!Key Takeaways:1. We explore what truly sets her training institute apart. It's not just about the tech, but the drive to inspire and innovate in restoration.2. We tackle the myth that it's all about the equipment. Discover the other vital pieces to truly succeed in this industry.3. Don't let that certification collect dust! We chat about the evolution of the industry and the need for ongoing learning.Find our Guest:LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/llavender/Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@rtilearningWebsite: https://rtilearning.com/Company Phone: 610-926-0223Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RestorationTechnicalInstitute/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rtilearning/LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/restoration-technical-institute/Sponsors: iink payments is a digital payments network that helps restoration professionals get paid more efficiently after an insured property loss. By using Promo Code DOMINATE at sign up, get 50% off the $299 one-time sign up fee on iink Pay. After that $149.50 discounted rate, iink Pay is FREE to use. Hundreds of contractors are using iink Pay to endorse, deposit, and disburse insurance claim checks when a mortgage company is not a payee on the check or has already endorsed checks—which can be done all right from a mobile device. Head over to bit.ly/3E0Brwj now and click sign up to get started. Subject to underwriting approval.Gerry Edtl is a specialist at referral revenue from insurance agents. Gerry expects a full time sales professional in 12 months to have created 40 agency partners who commit to send you at least 5 referrals a year. His process is unique, different from all the traditional insurance agent sales strategies. He can help you create long-term referral revenue from insurance agents. Schedule your free call today to see how Gerry can help you.
With the American Thanksgiving holiday coming up next week, we thought this would be a great time to talk about gratitude. We love our Thanksgiving tradition , but the heart behind it is really taking time to be grateful and to express our thanksgiving to the Lord.Have you ever considered that gratitude is a profound response to God's love and goodness? Join us as Neal and Jacqueline reflect on significant experiences of giving thanks. Neal mentions 1 Thessalonians 5, highlighting that it is God's will we express thanks in all circumstances.Neal and Jacqueline touch on several other scriptural passages: Psalm 136:1-3Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.His love endures forever.Give thanks to the God of gods.His love endures forever. Give thanks to the Lord of lords:His love endures forever.Give thanks in all circumstances. It's at the heart of our personal relationship with Him.Neal then offers suggestions for ways that we can grow in that act, in that discipline of giving thanks. Psalm 50: 23The one who offers thanksgiving as his sacrifice glorifies me; to one who orders His way rightly I will show the salvation of God! Colossians 3:17And whatever you do, in word or in deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him. Philippians 4:6Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.God's word makes it super clear that a thanksful heart is a heart that pleases Him. Listen today and have your thankful heart restored.Find Unbound and Abba's Heart. Join us at one of our Freedom in Christ conferencesSupport our mission and donate today!Check out Unbound and find other resourcesRelease: November 2023Music by Christian HarperArtwork by Rosemary Strohm at Command-S
Join Sarah Deloach and I today as we talk through how we can find joy in Christ, restore our bodies, and have grace with one another as we walk through the reality of trauma in our lives. Outline: What is trauma? Where did trauma begin? What are the different types of trauma? How does the brain respond to trauma?What is Biblical joy?What are practical tools that God has given us to help us reset our brains and bodies?How can we help someone else who has experienced trauma?Sarah R DeLoach, MSW, LCSWSarah R DeLoach is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker who practices Clinical Counseling and other Therapeutic Supports in private practice in Owensboro, KY. Sarah has extensive training in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy(DBT), Cognitive Behavioral Therapy(CBT), and Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing(EMDR). She is personally and professionally committed to helping individuals heal from trauma and other emotional sufferings to function well & create a life worth living with hope and purpose.Aside from her role as Therapist, Sarah is a wife to Stephen and a mother to her three kiddos Everett, James Shepherd & Willow. In her spare time, she is an avid DIYer who thrives on designing spaces in her home to be beautiful to look at and functional to use for her family.LINKS MENTIONED IN EPISODE: Brene Brown on Empathy: https://youtu.be/HznVuCVQd10?si=m--k_VQilf_fwD66 Thank you love for being with us today, and thanks for listening to Be Whole. Be Well. Be Wise.If you loved our podcast, please take some next steps to help us grow:1. Show some love for your new favorite podcast by leaving us a review on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or Amazon. 2. Make sure to join me on Instagram @shellytyler.dpt . 3. Join our private facebook group Overcoming Overwhelm for Christian Moms for exclusive (and free) health and faith-walk information. 4. Visit our website Fiddlewood Farmacy for more information about functional wellness services and more. Many Blessings, Shelly
We talk with Anthony Ballard, the Black Bear Program Coordinator in the state of Mississippi about the status of black bears in the state. We learn about the history of black bears in the state, their general life cycle and ecology, and also what types of research has been done along with what is currently ongoing. In this episode we try to tackle everything that's associated with black bears- the good, the bad, and the ugly. The hope is that if you listen to this episode from start to finish, you will be left with a better understanding and appreciation of the animal, as well as an understanding to why it's so important that we continue to work hard to restore them.
“Shadows and dust”Caleb and Michael talk about the philosophical themes in the epic movie “Gladiator.” It's the very first Stoa film review.(00:39) Introduction(07:26) Movie Review(09:32) Commodus as Anti-Model(13:57) Is Maximus Stoic?(17:03) Marcus Aurelius in Gladiator(19:50) Maximus is a Stoic Hero(23:28) The Afterlife(29:11) Proximo(34:37) Gladiatorial Games(37:19) Masculinity and Role Ethics(48:26) Restoring the Republic***Subscribe to The Stoa Letter for weekly meditations, actions, and links to the best Stoic resources: www.stoaletter.com/subscribeDownload the Stoa app (it's a free download): stoameditation.com/podIf you try the Stoa app and find it useful, but truly cannot afford it, email us and we'll set you up with a free account.Listen to more episodes and learn more here: https://stoameditation.com/blog/stoa-conversations/Thanks to Michael Levy for graciously letting us use his music in the conversations: https://ancientlyre.com/
Do you remember when you received information from only one or two sources? Today information comes at you from almost a limitless number of places. And not all of the information is going to lead you closer to God. That is why having your mind renewed to the truth is so important, especially today. In this podcast we will look at the why's and how of renewing your mind. To learn more about the ministry of Restoring the Foundations International, please visit www.restoringthefoundations.org.
Welcome back to another episode on Restoring the Soul with Michael John Cusick. In today's episode, we dive into deep end of church ministry and more specifically, the challenging transition between pastoral roles and secular roles. We explore the complex dynamics of leaving the community you've shepherded - the pain, resentment, and pressure to support still a church you've supposedly been let go from.Our guest today is Kevin Tracy, a former designer at Hallmark. He then spent his significant years in Peru involved in the church community, half of which was spent pastoring various churches upon his return to the States. He offers coaching programs to help people integrate Scripture into the workplace and navigate the transition process after leaving the ministry.We discuss the tension between meeting immediate needs and thinking long-term, the value of counseling, and personal experiences of trauma. We also underscore the skills gained through ministry roles that are transferrable and valuable in the marketplace. Kevin talks about his six essential steps for transitioning out of ministry, starting with clarifying the reason for leaving.We touch on controversial themes, including challenges posed by non-disclosure agreements and bullying tactics used by organizations. We end by sharing the resourceful website noholyhandcuffs.com and discussing the importance of creating a safe space for vulnerability, taking ownership of healing, and envisioning a healthier, more fulfilling future.CONTACT RESTORING THE SOUL:- Tweet us at @michaeljcusick and @PodcastRTS- Like us on Facebook- Follow us on Instagram & Twitter- Follow Michael on Twitter- Email us at firstname.lastname@example.org Thanks for listening!
What do you notice about your relationship? Jeanne and I have noticed that life is living us, we aren't living life. We identified this during the course of recording the podcast and I knew right away that we ceded ground once taken in victory to some of our biggest foes: being busy and complacency. Once you have lost connection, how do you devise a plan and execute it in order to recapture territory and maintain steady pressure against complacency? How do you approach this topic? What would a real-life convo between a married couple sound like? Have we got a show for you!!!Please rate and review the show! PAY IT FORWARD Share the show with someone you know! email: email@example.comCheck out www.quincymoran.com
Enjoy listening to Mike lead a panel discussion about restoring trust at the sold-out inaugural Lakelight Institute Good Work Summit. Panelists include Dr. David Miller (Director of Princeton Faith and Work Initiative), Mike Zafirovski (former President of Motorola) and Tom Tropp (Chief Ethics Officer at Gallagher).
Dr. Cori Stern is an advocate for all things natural. Her mission as a Natural Health Expert with over 20 years' experience is to help increase awareness of how food, water, medications, the air we breathe and everyday household products are either poisoning us or helping us live our healthiest life. While exercise and fitness are huge components of overall health and wellness, the toxins we face each day could be robbing us of optimal health. If you're interested in improved nutrition, life extension, transforming how your brain and body function, then today's episode on Strong By Design is just what the doctor ordered
Original Air Date: 8/31/2022 Today, as the news of Trump's various trials continues to drop out, we take a look back at this episode covering the long and illustrious history of powerful people avoiding prosecution in the United States. Be part of the show! Leave us a message or text at 202-999-3991 or email Jay@BestOfTheLeft.com Transcript BestOfTheLeft.com/Support (Get AD FREE Shows and Bonus Content) Join our Discord community! SHOW NOTES Ch. 1: Welcome to the golden age of white collar crime (with Michael Hobbes) - Pitchfork Economics with Nick Hanauer - Air Date 3-10-20 Why is right now the easiest time in modern history for the wealthy to get away with whatever they want? HuffPost reporter and fellow Seattleite Michael Hobbes join Zach in the studio for a deep dive into his most recent article about white-collar crime. Ch. 2: Flint Residents Outraged as Charges Dropped in Fatal Water Scandal That Poisoned Majority-Black City - Democracy Now - Air Date 5-30-22 Eight years after the deadly Flint water crisis began, the state's Supreme Court has thrown out charges against former Governor Rick Snyder and eight other former officials for their complicity in the public health emergency. Ch. 3: Obama Requests Immunity for War Criminal George W. Bush - The Majority Report w/ Sam Seder - Air Date 8-22-13 Obama's DOJ has requested that George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice, and Paul Wolfowitz be granted immunity in a case that is alleging that they violated international law with the Iraq War... Ch. 4: Obama on Investigating Bush Crimes: "Need to Look Forward" - This Week - Air Date 1-11-09 Barack Obama on This Week, January 11, 2009 Ch. 5: How George H.W. Bush's Pardons for Iran-Contra Conspirators Set the Stage for Trump's Impunity - Democracy Now - Air Date 12-4-18 In 1992, when Bush Sr. was president, he pardoned several Iran-Contra defendants, including Caspar Weinberger, Robert McFarlane, and Elliott Abrams. We speak with Greg Grandin, prize-winning author, and professor of Latin American history at New York Univ. Ch. 6: Pardon Me - Reveal - Air Date 7-6-19 Presidential pardons grab the headlines each time Donald Trump grants clemency to a controversial person. We tell the untold story of a pardon system that is completely broken and a pardon attorney's office that is being ignored by the White House. Ch. 7: Bryan Stevenson on the racial terrorism of lynching - Cape Up - Air Date 4-24-18 Bryan Stevenson wants us to confront our country's racial terrorism and then say, ‘Never again' Ch. 8: Justice Department Weighs Whether Or Not To Prosecute Trump - MSNBC - Air Date 8-29-22 New York Times Justice Department Reporter Katie Benner and former U.S. Attorney Harry Litman discuss how the inquiry into Trump's handling of classified documents poses an unparalleled test for DOJ MEMBERS-ONLY BONUS CLIP(S) Ch. 9: Restoring the Brotherhood of Union: Confederate Pardon and Amnesty Records, 1865-1877 - US National Archives - Air Date 5-21-15 "Restoring the Brotherhood of Union: Confederate Pardon and Amnesty Records, 1865-1877" Archives specialist John Deeben provides a brief legislative history of amnesty activity during and after the Civil War. Ch. 10: The power of presidential pardons - PBS NewsHour - Air Date 12-25-20 Pardons are among the most powerful tools a president has. While pardons can be politically motivated, drawing criticism, they can also change lives. FINAL COMMENTS Ch. 11: Final comments on the nature of pardons, accountability and hurt feelings MUSIC (Blue Dot Sessions) Produced by Jay! Tomlinson Visit us at BestOfTheLeft.com Listen Anywhere! BestOfTheLeft.com/Listen Listen Anywhere! Follow at Twitter.com/BestOfTheLeft Like at Facebook.com/BestOfTheLeft Contact me directly at Jay@BestOfTheLeft.com