Podcasts about today miles

Today Miles and Clark Review the twits with a guest Email us:bookclubforkidsbykids@gmail.com Visit us:bookclubforkidsbykids.com Buy our Merch:Teepublic --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/bookclubforkidsbykids/message

Today Miles and Clark review Heroes of Olympus  Email us: bookclubforkidsbykids@gmail.com Visit our website: bookclubforkidsbykids.com Buy our merch: TeePublic --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/bookclubforkidsbykids/message

Miles Perkins grew up in Berkeley, California. He starting playing the bass in elementary school, later playing in various jazz combos and eventually with his own band, Mingus Amungus. He studied philosophy at UCLA and got a job working nights at Skywalker Sound. After college he began work at ILM in San Rafael and eventually became the Director of Marketing and Communications. When Lucasfilm was purchased by Disney, Miles took on the job of Head of Corporate Communications during the transition. Today Miles works at Epic Games leading business development for the Unreal Engine for use in virtual production. Our chat is dynamic and wide ranging, diving deep into creativity, philosophy, inspiration, motivation, personal connections, and the universal power of narrative.

Today Miles and Clark review their first movie The Grinch!!!!(this movie is about Christmas but it is still good to listen to even if you do not celebrate Christmas) Email us: bookclubforkidsbykids@gmail.com Buy our merch: http://tee.pub/lic/xbbzN5R7Gp8 Movie on Prime Video: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07K6Y4GF2?tag=deciderrg-20 Movie on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/movie/id1440401528 --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/bookclubforkidsbykids/message

6-7-20 Sermon by Pastor Miles Larson.   Today Miles brings his final message as head pastor of Northgate Community Church.   

The more we work and serve alongside people who are different from us, the more readily we see the image of God in everyone. Former San Diego Chargers player Miles McPherson shares how he got mixed up in drugs and the wrong lifestyle in the NFL, but was saved by God when he called out to Him in his lowest moment. Today Miles pastors the Rock Church in San Diego shares that we all have one very important thing in common: God made us in His image, which means we’re all neighbors regardless of skin color. Since he was a little boy, Derek Evans knew he wanted to lend a helping hand to many. After a series of obstacles led him to question his purpose, God helped Derek discover how a small t-shirt company he’d started called Project 615 could change the lives of not only his neighbors at home, but across the world.  Links, Products and Resources Mentioned: Sarah Young Jesus Calling Podcast Jesus Calling books Jesus Calling devotional Jesus Calling for Easter Jesus Calling episode, Heavenly Connections: Kristin Chenoweth, Joanne Rogers, & Montell Jordan Miles McPherson Rock Church in San Diego, CA The Third Option: Hope for a Racially Divided Nation book Pop Warner football The Good Samaritan story   Derek Evans Project 615 The Bridge Ministry Made to Change the World book   Interview Quotes: “Every NFL team has a Christian contingent. They all have chapels. They all have chapel before the game. They all have Bible study during the week. And so there was a group on our team, and I watched them and knew that what they had, I wanted.” - Miles McPherson  “The big difference for me was having people in my life to hold me accountable and just be there to be an example.” - Miles McPherson, on life after becoming a Christian ”Every race conversation is about us vs. them. And the third option is that we honor what we have in common.” - Miles McPherson “Every time you see someone, rename them neighbor. You know, the greatest commandment is to love God with your heart, mind, and soul. And the second is just like it, to love your neighbor as yourself . . . If we would just start there and talk about people through the lens of a neighbor or brother or sister, we wouldn't say a lot of the things we say.” - Miles McPherson “Anytime there's change in my life, I'm more excited than fearful because I know that God always uses those opportunities to really strengthen us.” - Derek Evans  “The beautiful thing about being at rock bottom is that God truly uses that time to mold you, to really speak to you, to really transform your life.” - Derek Evans "As we're praying over [this homeless man], for the first time in my life, I felt God say, 'You're no different than this man you're praying for.'" – Derek Evans “God calls us to different things, and not only does He call for different things, He plants different gifts and talents inside of us that He uses to further His kingdom.” - Derek Evans “We must be the light, as Jesus calls us to be.” - Derek Evans ________________________ Enjoy these videos on Jesus Calling YouTube channel: Audio podcast: https://bit.ly/2uCnNM0  Original Series video podcast: https://bit.ly/2WzFY0O  ________________________  Connect with Jesus Calling Instagram Facebook Twitter Pinterest YouTube Jesus Calling Website

We all know exercise is common sense but to most people it isn’t common practice. Today Miles suggests some ways you can grow your business that don’t relate to just sales and marketing.

One of the bravest, most impactful good changes we can make is to care for our emotional wellness. Each day we carry so many thoughts, memories and dreams that shape the stories we tell about ourselves. When we’re ready to live a new story, or maybe learn a little more about how to better care for ourselves, therapy can be a long-lasting tool to help us take off our mask, heal our shame, and forge a path toward vulnerability and authentic, joyful living. Miles Adcox is the CEO of Onsite, an emotional wellness lifestyle brand that delivers life-changing personal growth retreats to help people discover a better future. Miles is known far and wide for his expertise and has been part of Dr. Brené Brown’s Rising Strong Day and TEDx. Today Miles tells us about his own emotional wellness journey and why therapy isn’t for broken people. He gives us a slew of resources about how to find the best therapist for us, and what we can expect to learn about ourselves as we take time to dig deeper. And probably the most encouraging of all, Miles reminds us we don’t just “need” therapy—we deserve it.

Today Miles and I discuss magickal practices related to the summer solstice, including the ones we've been planning, the role of the sun and moon in traditional astrology, as well as things to magickally consider as we move into summer in the western hemisphere!

This week on StoryWeb: Mary Chesnut’s Civil War. In her book on the American Civil War, Mary Boykin Chesnut, the wife of a Confederate general, describes a woman seeking a pardon for her husband: “She was strong, and her way of telling her story was hard and cold enough. She told it simply, but over and over again, with slight variations as to words – never as to facts. She seemed afraid we would forget.” This passage is but one of many in the book that signals Chesnut’s desire to tell the story of the South during the Civil War. She wants to document history so that her readers won’t forget. At the same time, she wants to record more than just the facts of history, by telling her story over and over again artfully. Thirty years ago, I first encountered Chesnut’s writing and fell in love (total love!) with her firsthand, play-by-play accounts of the Civil War. Chesnut lived in or visited various locations throughout the South, most notably Montgomery, Alabama, Columbia, South Carolina, and Richmond, Virginia, where she came into regular contact with the Jefferson Davises and the Robert E. Lees. In every location, she opened her home to others as a social gathering place. Visiting did not end for Chesnut and the other gentile Southern ladies of her community, but now their conversations turned to war. It was widely known throughout the community that Chesnut kept a detailed diary about her society’s comings and goings and the ladies’ conversations. Because she had had a ringside seat to the Confederacy, friends pressed her to publish the diary after the war. From 1881 to 1884, she worked on a version for publication. She deleted and moved sections, added dialogue and other novel-like detail to create a hybrid of diary, memoir, autobiography, and even to some extent, novel. She wove together accounts of her own experiences with stories that others have told her and created an anthology of anecdotes about members of the Confederate society, a crazy quilt of Civil War lore. Chesnut writes, “History reveals men’s deeds – their outward characters but not themselves. There is a secret self that hath its own life ‘rounded by a dream’ – unpenetrated, unguessed.” What she attempted to give us in her revision was the “unpenetrated, unguessed” “secret self” of the women in the Confederacy. To be sure, her diary gives us an intimate glimpse into the history of the day – the official, public activities of the men of the Confederacy – but it also brings to vivid life the stories and concerns of the women of the Confederacy. Her revised diary is filled with hundreds of pages of women’s talk, gossip, and conversation, suggesting that to understand the true story of the Confederacy one need only listen more attentively to women’s voices. Unfortunately, when Chesnut died in 1886, her manuscript was unfinished. A heavily edited and abridged version was published in 1905 as A Diary from Dixie. Gone are the scenes, the dialogue, much of the story Chesnut tried to bring to life in her 1880s revision. Fast forward to 1981. Eminent Southern historian C. Vann Woodward decided to resurrect the original diaries, creating the Pulitzer-Prize-winning volume, Mary Chesnut’s Civil War. This book is, quite simply, amazing – long and rambling but amazing! Woodward has been praised for meticulously bringing to life an historical account that otherwise would have been lost. He has also been criticized for not honoring Chesnut’s authorial intent. Though I have some misgivings about Woodward’s decision to reinsert passages Chesnut clearly meant to cut, I nevertheless love the more thorough eavesdropping I get to do when reading his version. Suffice it to say, if you want a gripping account of the Civil War from the perspective of the Confederacy, read Mary Chesnut. If you want to learn more about the ideal of the “Southern lady” (the white upper-class Southern lady on her pedestal), read Mary Chesnut. And if you just plain want to listen in on other people’s conversations, read Mary Chesnut. Should you read A Diary from Dixie or Mary Chesnut’s Civil War? Despite my quibbles with Woodward’s editing, I’d recommend reading his version. It’s full, lively, dynamic – and if you are a Civil War buff or a fan of Southern history, you’ll be in heaven! Stay tuned next week for another take on the Civil War, this one also from a woman’s perspective. Laird Hunt’s novel Neverhome features an Indiana woman who disguises herself as a soldier and fights for the Union Army. Listen now as I read Mary Boykin Chesnut’s diary entries from April 1861. These excerpts – which describe the beginning of the Civil War when the Confederates fired on Fort Sumter in South Carolina – are taken from Mary Chesnut’s Civil War (edited by C. Vann Woodward and published in 1981). --- April 12, 1861. Anderson will not capitulate. --- Yesterday was the merriest, maddest dinner we have had yet. Men were more audaciously wise and witty. We had an unspoken foreboding it was to be our last pleasant meeting. Mr. Miles dined with us today. Mrs. Henry King rushed in: “The news, I come for the latest news – all of the men of the King family are on the island” – of which fact she seemed proud. While she was here, our peace negotiator – or envoy – came in. That is, Mr. Chesnut returned – his interview with Colonel Anderson had been deeply interesting – but was not inclined to be communicative, wanted his dinner. Felt for Anderson. Had telegraphed to President Davis for instructions. What answer to give Anderson, etc. He has gone back to Fort Sumter, with additional instructions. When they were about to leave the wharf, A.H. Boykin sprang into the boat, in great excitement; thought himself ill-used. A likelihood of fighting – and he to be left behind! --- I do not pretend to go to sleep. How can I? If Anderson does not accept terms – at four – the orders are – he shall be fired upon. I count four – St. Michael chimes. I begin to hope. At half-past four, the heavy booming of a cannon. I sprang out of bed. And on my knees – prostrate – I prayed as I never prayed before. There was a sound of stir all over the house – pattering of feet in the corridor – all seemed hurrying one way. I put on my double gown and a shawl and went, too. It was to the housetop. The shells were bursting. In the dark I heard a man say “waste of ammunition.” I knew my husband was rowing about in a boat somewhere in that dark bay. And that the shells were roofing it over – bursting toward the fort. If Anderson was obstinate – he was to order the forts on our side to open fire. Certainly fire had begun. The regular roar of the cannon – there it was. And who could tell what each volley accomplished of death and destruction. The women were wild, there on the housetop. Prayers from the women and imprecations from the men, and then a shell would light up the scene. Tonight, they say, the forces are to attempt to land. The Harriet Lane had her wheelhouse smashed and put back to sea. --- We watched up there – everybody wondered. Fort Sumter did not fire a shot. --- Today Miles and Manning, colonels now – aides to Beauregard – dined with us. The latter hoped I would keep the peace. I give him only good words, for herwas to be under fire all day and night, in the bay carrying orders, etc. Last night – or this morning truly – up on the housetop I was so weak and weary I sat down on something that looked like a black stool. “Get up, you foolish woman – your dress is on fire,” cried a man. And he put me out. It was a chimney, and the sparks caught my clothes. Susan Preston and Mr. Venable then came up. But my fire had been extinguished before it broke out into a regular blaze. --- Do you know, after all that noise and our tears and prayers, nobody has been hurt. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. A delusion and a snare. Louisa Hamilton comes here now. This is a sort of news center. Jack Hamilton, her handsome young husband, has all the credit of a famous battery which is made of RR iron. Mr. Petigru calls it the boomerang because it throws the balls back the way they came – so Lou Hamilton tells us. She had no children during her first marriage. Hence the value of this lately achieved baby. To divert Louisa from the glories of “the battery,” of which she raves, we asked if the baby could talk yet. “No – not exactly – but he imitates the big gun. When he hears that, he claps his hands and cries ‘Boom boom.’” Her mind is distinctly occupied by three things – Lieutenant Hamilton, whom she calls Randolph, the baby, and “the big gun” – and it refuses to hold more. Pryor of Virginia spoke from the piazza of the Charleston Hotel. I asked what he said, irreverent woman. “Oh, they all say the same thing, but he made great play with that long hair of his, which is always tossing aside.” --- Somebody came in just now and reported Colonel Chesnut asleep on the sofa in General Beauregard’s room. After two such nights he must be so tired as to be able to sleep anywhere. --- Just bade farewell to Langdon Cheves. He is forced to go home, to leave this interesting place. Says he feels like the man who was not killed at Thermopylae. I think he said that unfortunate had to hang himself when he got home for very shame. Maybe fell on his sword, which was a strictly classic way of ending matters. --- I do not wonder at Louisa Hamilton’s baby. We hear nothing, can listen to nothing. Boom, boom, goes the cannon – all the time. The nervous strain is awful, alone in this darkened room. “Richmond and Washington ablaze,” say the papers. Blazing with excitement. Why not? To use these last days’ events seem frightfully great. We were all in that iron balcony. Women – men we only see at a distance now. Stark Means, marching under the piazza at the head of his regiment, held his cap in his hand all the time he was in sight. Mrs. Means leaning over, looking with tearful eyes. “Why did he take his hat off?” said an unknown creature. Mrs. Means stood straight up. “He did that in honor of his mother – he saw me.” She is a proud mother – and at the same time most unhappy. Her lovely daughter Emma is dying in there, before her eyes – consumption. At that moment I am sure Mrs. Means had a spasm of the heart. At least, she looked as I feel sometimes. She took my arm, and we came in. --- April 13, 1861. Nobody hurt, after all. How gay we were last night. Reaction after the dread of all the slaughter we thought those dreadful cannons were making such a noise in doing. Not even a battery the worse for wear. Fort Sumter has been on fire. He has not yet silenced any of our guns. So the aides – still with swords and red sashes by way of uniform – tell us. But the sound of those guns makes regular meals impossible. None of us go to table. But tea trays pervade the corridors, going everywhere. Some of the anxious hearts lie on their beds and moan in solitary misery. Mrs. Wigfall and I solace ourselves with tea in my room. These women have all a satisfying faith. “God is on our side,” they cry. When we are shut in, we (Mrs. Wigfall and I) ask, “Why?” We are told: “Of course He hates the Yankees.” “You’ll think that well of Him.” Not by one word or look can we detect any change in the demeanor of these negro servants. Laurence sits at our door, as sleepy and as respectful and as profoundly indifferent. So are they all. They carry it too far. You could not tell that they hear even the awful row that is going on in the bay, though it is dinning in their ears night and day. And people talk before them as if they were chairs and tables. And they make no sign. Are they stolidly stupid or wiser than we are, silent and strong, biding their time? So tea and toast come. Also came Colonel Manning, A.D.C. – red sash and sword – to announce that he has been under fire and didn’t mind. He said gaily, “It is one of those things – a fellow never knows how he will come out of it until he is tried. Now I know. I am a worthy descendant of my old Irish hero of an ancestor who held the British officer before him as a shield in the Revolution. And backed out of danger gracefully.” Everybody laughs at John Manning’s brag. We talked of St. Valentine’s Eve; or, The Maid of Perth and the drop of the white doe’s blood that sometimes spoiled all. The war steamers are still there, outside the bar. And there were people who thought the Charleston bar “no good” to Charleston. The bar is our silent partner, sleeping partner, and yet in this fray he is doing us yeoman service. April 15, 1861. I did not know that one could live such days of excitement. They called, “Come out – there is a crowd coming.” A mob indeed, but it was headed by Colonels Chesnut and Manning. The crowd was shouting and showing these two as messengers of good news. They were escorted to Beauregard’s headquarters. Fort Sumter had surrendered. Those up on the housetop shouted to us, “The fort is on fire.” That had been the story once or twice before. --- When we had calmed down, Colonel Chesnut, who had taken it all quietly enough – if anything, more unruffled than usual in his serenity – told us how the surrender came about. Wigfall was with them on Morris Island when he saw the fire in the fort, jumped in a little boat and, with his handkerchief as a white flag, rowed over to Fort Sumter. Wigfall went in through a porthole. When Colonel Chesnut arrived shortly after and was received by the regular entrance, Colonel Anderson told him he had need to pick his way warily, for it was all mined. As far as I can make out, the fort surrendered to Wigfall. But it is all confusion. Our flag is flying there. Fire engines have been sent to put out the fire. Everybody tells you half of something and then rushes off to tell something else or to hear the last news. Manning, Wigfall, John Preston, etc., men without limit, beset us at night. In the afternoon, Mrs. Preston, Mrs. Joe Heyward, and I drove round the Battery. We were in an open carriage. What a changed scene. The very liveliest crowd I think I ever saw. Everybody talking at once. All glasses still turned on the grim old fort. Saw William Gilmore Simms, and did not recognize him in his white beard. Trescot is here with his glasses on top of the house. --- Russell, the English reporter for the Times, was there. They took him everywhere. One man got up Thackeray, to converse with him on equal terms. Poor Russell was awfully bored, they say. He only wanted to see the forts, etc., and news that was suitable to make an interesting article. Thackeray was stale news over the water. --- Mrs. Frank Hampton and I went to see the camp of the Richland troops. South Carolina had volunteered to a boy. Professor Venable (The Mathematical) intends to raise a company from among them for the war, a permanent company. This is a grand frolic. No more. For the students, at least. Even the staid and severe-of-aspect Clingman is here. He says Virginia and North Carolina are arming to come to our rescue – for now U.S.A. will swoop down on us. Of that we may be sure. We have burned our ships – we are obliged to go on now. He calls us a poor little hot-headed, headlong, rash, and troublesome sister state. General McQueen is in a rage because we are to send troops to Virginia. There is a frightful yellow flag story. A distinguished potentate and militia power looked out upon the bloody field of battle, happening to stand always under the waving of the hospital flag. To his numerous other titles they now add Y.F. Preston Hampton in all the flush of his youth and beauty, his six feet in stature – and after all, only in his teens – appeared in lemon-colored kid gloves to grace the scene. The camp, in a fit of horseplay, seized him and rubbed them in the mud. He fought manfully but took it all naturally as a good joke. Mrs. Frank Hampton knows already what civil war means. Her brother was in the New York Seventh Regiment, so roughly received in Baltimore. Frank will be in the opposite camp. --- [No date.] Home again. In those last days of my stay in Charleston I did not find time to write a line. And so we took Fort Sumter. We – Mrs. Frank Hampton etc., in the passageway of the Mills House between the reception room and the drawing room. There we held a sofa against all comers. And indeed, all the agreeable people South seemed to have flocked to Charleston at the first gun. That was after we found out that bombarding did not kill anybody. Before that we wept and prayed – and took our tea in groups, in our rooms, away from the haunts of men. Captain Ingraham and his kind took it (Fort Sumter) from the battery with field glasses and figures made with three sticks in the sand to show what ought to be done. Wigfall, Chesnut, Miles, Manning, etc., took it, rowing about in the harbor in small boats, from fort to fort, under the enemies’ guns, bombs bursting in air, etc. And then the boys and men who worked those guns so faithfully at the forts. They took it, too – their way. Old Col. Beaufort Watts told me this story and many more of the jeunesse dorée under fire. They took it easily as they do most things. They had cotton-bag bombproofs at Fort Moultrie, and when Anderson’s shot knocked them about, someone called out, “Cotton is falling.” Down went the kitchen chimney, and loaves of bread flew out. They cheered gaily, “Breadstuffs are rising.” Willie Preston fired the shot which broke Anderson’s flagstaff. Mrs. Hampton, from Columbia, telegraphed him, “Well done, Willie!” She is his grandmother, the wife or widow of General Hampton of the Revolution, and the mildest, sweetest, gentlest of old ladies. It shows how the war is waking us all up.