Wee knead ownlee two studdie a langwidge uther than Inglish and soon beegin too diskover thuh mullteatood uv inncunsistenseas inn grambarr and spelling uv Inglish.
And isn’t it interesting that when Esperanto is introduced with its reason, logic and organized structure, we nevertheless prefer the disorder and confusion of our own language, be it English or otherwise? Needless to say, this is not the day of peace, harmony and wun tung four awl. Rite? Write? Reight? Right?
Ring rang rung, Bring brang brung,
Sing sang sung, Ding dang dung!
Rools Four Inglish Spelling
Wun. Teak lawjick, kut it down as aye bough and
throw it inn aye slough ore aye trough. Butt that is knot enough.
Too. Bee prepaired two bee confowndead, purpleckst
Therdlee. Eckspecked two suspecked loozing yore
Fore. Dew knot feal thair iz eckneething rong
Phive. Fourghet triying two halve aye shoor phyre
Sicks. Thee unfourchunit groop yule joyne iph
ignouring mie cownsull, and
Seaven. Rimes with heven four whitch yu must hoap
aund whitch iz whare yu mey think yu gow iff yu kwit inglish
aund teak up sum uther langwidge.
Lethbridge, 1984, 85
I was hurt by a vain professor of righteousness. Of that person I saw a vision. She was like her kind and her kind like her - light, treacherous, full of lust and hypocrisies. So are all those who "go to church" and think they do God a service.
Jesus said “Judge not according to the appearance but judge righteous judgment.” Therefore there is a right and true and valid judging. The problem is that many do not recognize the difference between the right kind and the wrong, and many lawless, hiding their own sins, refuse to acknowledge that there is a valid kind to which they might be subjected by judges who are used by God. What is the sure and fair standard? It is none other than the revelation of God, given to men who have died and received that understanding and wisdom in those matters they judge, having been given to know the secrets of the heart. The price is the beam by way of the cross. Measure me! How long am I? How tall? How big? How strong? Is there anything to measure When all is said and done? Do I compare to what I was Or what I will yet be? And what will I be? Do I compare to others? What standard will you use? What I have, will I always have it? Is it worth having to lose it in the end? Is the glory worth the shame? Vanity! Utter vanity! Our possessions aren’t two cents! One day they’re here and then they’re gone. Failure never relents. Judge me if you think you can; What measure will you use? Inner, outer, upper, lower, Do you have any clues? Appearance is not all there is In fact, appearance isn’t. It is NOT. But how will you know what is? Does reality not exist? Is it not available? Or is it here and unperceived Only because you are blind? There is an answer. Lethbridge,...
If and when financial blessings come, one comes into danger of straying after mammon. Mammon has a way of creating and whetting the appetite for more. More accurately, it has a way of rousing the carnal nature with what is already there. I began to be dissatisfied with what my money was doing in the bank at terrible interest rates, thinking I was a coward or a poor steward by not working the money to get better returns. I ended up in the stock market. Fear and Greed, two robust bullies, caught me in the back alley on my way to the bank and beat me severely. I lost two years of peace with my family and God knows how much more. My faith was greatly battered. One cannot play with fire and not get burned. A bitter lesson indeed. My boy had been such a joy to me and I missed him for a part of our lives. If you value life, flee mammon; don't rationalize; don't compromise; don't even think it...flee to God for your life. I wrote this during a fast a couple of years later, when I was expected to die. I've missed my boy since '93; Money was all that I could see; Even robbed him of maternity; Without my boy since '93. Hung a plaque up on the wall The words of which would say it all And failed my duty to heed that call Now all I can do is bawl and bawl. Son, don't ever cry, the fault's not yours; I'm persuaded the Lord will even scores. How does He do it? by the blood He pours, Reuniting us on better shores. Mom, please don't spoil ou...