Veils
“The internal journey of the soul into the enjoyed presence of God is beautifully illustrated in the Old Testament tabernacle. The returning sinner first entered the outer court, where he offered a blood sacrifice on the brazen altar and washed himself in the laver that stood near it. Then through a veil he passed into the holy place, where no natural light could come, but the golden candlestick, which spoke of Jesus the Light of the world threw its soft glow over all. There also was the shewbread to tell of Jesus, the Bread of Life, and the altar of incense, a figure of unceasing prayer.
Though the worshipper had enjoyed so much, he still had not entered the Presence of God. Another veil separated from the Holy of Holies where above the mercy seat dwelt the Very God, Himself, in awful and glorious manifestation. While the tabernacle stood, only the high priest could enter there, and that but once a year, with blood which he offered for his sins and for the sins of the people. It was this last veil which was rent when our Lord gave up the ghost on Calvary, and the sacred writer explains that this rending of the veil opened the way for every worshipper in the world to come by the new and living way straight into the divine Presence.
Everything in the New Testament accords with this Old Testament picture. Ransomed men no longer pause in fear to enter the Holy of Holies. God wills that we should push on into His Presence and live our whole lives there. This is to be known to us in concious experience. It is more than a doctrine to be held, it is a life to be enjoyed every moment of every day.”
A.W. Tozier in his book, “The Pursuit of God”
A Strengthening Faith Requires Concentration and Intentionality
Here’s a quote from the “Jesus Calling” by Sarah Young, entry for September 25. “Baby steps of trust are simple for you; you can take them with almost unconscious ease. Giant steps are another matter altogether: leaping across chasms in semidarkness, scaling cliffs of uncertainty, trudging through the valley of the shadow of death. These feats require sheer concentration, as well as utter commitment to Me.”
It’s the “sheer concentration” part that really gets to me. Are some of us in danger of losing our ability to do sheer concentration, each day, in meditation on passages of the Bible, on God in prayer? On deeply caring for and honoring our family and friendship relationships?
I succumbed, for awhile, to that danger and it was through spending too much time online. Not on any bad or even dubious sites, but simply on Facebook and on this blog creation. This, combined with the intensity of our travel schedule, caused me to go way down in my capacity to concentrate on God and on His Word, and this dulled down my DESIRE for God and His Word. Thankfully, I’m doing much better again now at prayer and meditation but that’s only through strictly limiting myself on time spent online.
You know, for Christians, I believe that Sarah Young is right on when she says that sometimes our daily walk with Jesus allows SUPER HARD BIG TRIALS or CHALLENGES to come into our lives, and that those events or circumstances require “Giant Steps” of faith that are like scaling cliffs, leaping chasms, or trudging laboriously through feelings of darkness.
In this postmodern, Internet-connected world, let’s guard our concentration and intentionality! Let’s shepherd and value our relationships! Both for our own health and well-being and productivity and in order to be equipped to help each other and ourselves when our “fiery trials”, our “deep chasms” that need to be leaped over, and our “cliffs to scale” appear.
And let’s not forget to walk the journey together.
A Strengthening Faith Requires Concentration and Intentionality
Here’s a quote from the “Jesus Calling” by Sarah Young, entry for September 25. “Baby steps of trust are simple for you; you can take them with almost unconscious ease. Giant steps are another matter altogether: leaping across chasms in semidarkness, scaling cliffs of uncertainty, trudging through the valley of the shadow of death. These feats require sheer concentration, as well as utter commitment to Me.”
It’s the “sheer concentration” part that really gets to me. Are some of us in danger of losing our ability to do sheer concentration, each day, in meditation on passages of the Bible, on God in prayer? On deeply caring for and honoring our family and friendship relationships?
I succumbed, for awhile, to that danger and it was through spending too much time online. Not on any bad or even dubious sites, but simply on Facebook and on this blog creation. This, combined with the intensity of our travel schedule, caused me to go way down in my capacity to concentrate on God and on His Word, and this dulled down my DESIRE for God and His Word. Thankfully, I’m doing much better again now at prayer and meditation but that’s only through strictly limiting myself on time spent online.
You know, for Christians, I believe that Sarah Young is right on when she says that sometimes our daily walk with Jesus allows SUPER HARD BIG TRIALS or CHALLENGES to come into our lives, and that those events or circumstances require “Giant Steps” of faith that are like scaling cliffs, leaping chasms, or trudging laboriously through feelings of darkness.
In this postmodern, Internet-connected world, let’s guard our concentration and intentionality! Let’s shepherd and value our relationships! Both for our own health and well-being and productivity and in order to be equipped to help each other and ourselves when our “fiery trials”, our “deep chasms” that need to be leaped over, and our “cliffs to scale” appear.
And let’s not forget to walk the journey together.
Remembering my “Aunt” with Joy
This, in the photo, is my “Aunt” Marabelle Taylor, a close family friend and colleague of my parents in Cameroun. When I was 19 I bumped in her truck down interminable red dust roads by her side, spending part of a summer learning from her in the context of a small internship for one of my university classes.
Aunt Marabelle was a cross-cultural worker with a huge God-given, life-long love for and commitment to underprivileged children and teenagers and their relatives. She saved hundreds, maybe thousands of orphans from the Babimbi Hills region of French Cameroun during the Basa terrorist uprisings of 1960 – 1965 and their long and horrible-for-children aftermath. Originally from the U.S., she was a nurse and invented high-protein baby and child “physical salvation” formulas out of local, easily-available ingredients like canned sardines and powdered milk and pulverized Australian spinach, to bring the war-starved orphans back from the brink of death. She became well-known in the nation in the sixties decade for being able to work her benificent “magic”, bringing a fragile infant back to health when nobody else could, and Camerounians in the aftermath of that war brought her orphan babies from all over the region and beyond. She spent 40 or 50 years serving in Cameroun, eventually retired and returned to America, lived to an extremely ripe old age and is now “graduated” to Jesus’ presence, joyful and problem-free for eternity with Him. What I remember most about my Aunt Marabelle is her love for me and her love for Jesus.
The other thing that most impresses me about her is the way she always seemed “charmed” and safe, no matter what happened to her and in spite of what many might term an overly adventurous and spartan life. I will never forget waking up each morning before the crack of dawn, from a hard borrowed bed, in one of her friends’ little flea and mosquito-ridden mud huts with a thatched roof, to the scrape of her placing the water kettle over the gas burner to make us each a hot cup of stale Nescafe! Meals seemed to consist mostly of canned sardines and crackers bought by the side of the road. She went through her days cheery and singing, traveling a tremendous amount, helping care for each of the beloved orphan babies, their extended families, small kids and “adopted” Camerounian high-school-aged “daughters”, two of whom she named “Agnes” and “Sweetheart”. Never choosing to marry, Aunt Marabelle had the biggest and most loving (to her!) extended family – from what I could see at the time it seemed to consist of the majority of the population of southern French-speaking Cameroun – of anyone I have ever known. One time, when I was 19, her Camerounian driver, Ibogo dozed off at the wheel and wrecked her vehicle – that’s what the photo shows. Aside from scrapes and bruises, both of them escaped unharmed. Thank God.
My Aunt Marabelle quietly, unassumingly, unsentimentally pointed every person she came in contact with to Jesus, trusting only Jesus hourly, daily, weekly, monthly and yearly to take CARE of her AND HER WORK, in His love plan for all the peoples of the world. This mindset allowed her to live with peace and joy.
She did talk of Jesus, softly, a lot. And she was silent sometimes too…….
Aunt Marabelle, you’ve been gone for awhile now, but I feel like I’m STILL learning SO MUCH from you! Thank you for including me in your life and letting me learn from you!
A Sense of Quiet Happiness (for the gift of being able to be working in this tiny slice of God’s universe)
“Someone once asked (Teresa of Calcutta) if she was spoiling the poor, to which she replied, “There are so many congregations who spoil the rich, it is good to have one congregation in the name of the poor to spoil the poor.” Father Angelo Scolozzi, who worked with Mother for over twenty years, remembers that when she said this, the room fell silent for a long while.” – p. 49, “Finding Calcutta” by Mary Poplin
PBS Documentary I love, CONT.
When one of the two medics would go outside the church building to find and bring in more wounded, he would check that his white Red Cross arm band was showing and had not become too soaked with blood and dirt to stand out. That’s because they’d noticed that the heavy shooting from both armies would wane, then stop for a few seconds, when they would walk back and forth across the large open square in front of the 11th century church, more often than not carrying or supporting wounded men.
They found out later that the village changed hands several times (German-controlled for an hour or two, then Allied-controlled for an hour or two, then back to German-controlled again.) The fighting and the shelling were heavy. It had gotten light hours before. The two medics did not stop to rest. Two medical doctors previously planned to meet up with them there, but neither M.D. made it. The boys had run out of plasma and many other basic medical supplies. Two American soldiers died, on the pews.
The church filled with more wounded Germans and Allied, the men sitting on the pews, lying and sitting on the stone floor. The two boy medics made and tried HARD to enforce a stern rule – all guns laid outside the church door before anyone entered!
The medics, both humble privates, organized the patients they thought would die soon into an area up behind the altar. Many of the wooden pews filled with blood, the stains in the wood remain until today.
About four o-clock in the afternoon, a mortar hit the church roof and a big chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling, hitting the medic from California on the head. His wound bled profusely, but he bandaged himself, and was okay. Another time, that afternoon, a mortar fell INSIDE the church and fractured the ancient floor, the mark of which is still there. Every pane of the priceless medieval stained glass windows of that sanctuary was broken out by the afternoon of the 7th of June. (Nowadays, those arched window alcoves have stained glass showing figures of two young American paratroopers, with medical boxes, and American flags, and bald eagles, and the staff of Hypocrates!)
Incredibly, at about four-thirty, shelling heavy on the steeple and roof of the building, the inner door to the belfry BURST open and two scared-spitless German soldiers materialized as if by magic INSIDE, yelling and waving their machine guns! They’d emerged from the steeple staircase, had been hiding IN the bell tower of the church since the evening before! The medics said it was a close call, right then – a firefight almost broke out inside the church, since many of the wounded men had small arms concealed under their clothing, and pulled them out at that point, if they were strong and able enough to do so! So much for all arms having been left outside the door!
Our two young medic heroes kept on working to save lives. They treated almost as many Germans as Allied! By some point in the next day the worst of the fighting had started to move on, inland a bit further, and conditions started to quiet down. The medics began getting a little sleep, now and then, taking turns. Help arrived, and the wounded were transported to field hospitals, cautiously, in farm wagons, over the course of several days. One of the medics received orders to move on inland together with some of those wounded, and the other was told to stay there for a few more days, which he did, still finding and treating wounded men. On the sixth day of the fight, June 12, a fourteen-year-old boy stumbled in through the then open doorway of the church, his eyes huge with shock. He was the only survivor of a local farm family of seven siblings, a mom and a dad. The rest of his family had been killed and he had been hiding in the woods. The medic treated him and tried hard to make connections for him to be cared for. The medic had orders in hand to move on, inland, and rejoin his platoon, so, he left the lad in the village square, saying goodbye, and marched on.
That 14-year old survived, healed, stayed in the village and today is one of the elders and select persons of that town. June 6th, every year, the two young American medics are honored in a ceremony, in the church, and a memorial has been built to the two and to others who fought for and healed people, in that place. The old wooden pews, all of which still remain, have been cleaned and varnished, but still bear the bloodstains of the many wounded, from both sides of World War 2, who were saved and helped by two brave American teenagers.
a very new and young assembly we went to visit and help with, with their own traditional musical instruments
M.C.M. Bearing Fruit
– Guest Post by P.B.
“Feliciano Rios lives with his wife and five children in Chillavi, a small Andean town located in the high mountains to the north of Cochabamba. Like almost all of the residents of Chillavi and the surrounding villages, Feliciano and his family live off subsistence agriculture, farming small parcels of land. They also have small herds of sheep and llamas.
Feliciano has been a believer for 24 years, since before he was married. Feliciano didn’t grow up in church, nor in a Christian family. He has never been to a Bible school or seminary of any type. However, for the past four years Feliciano has been the itinerant leader of 19 little churches spread out through the mountains around Chillave. How does he do it? Where did he learn the Word of God?
As Feliciano will tell you, “M.C.M. short-wave radio has taught me the Bible. The programs encourage me, teach me how to educate my children, how to be a good husband and father, how to resolve the challenges that come up in a family. The Radio has shown me how to grow and mature. While I listen to the programs, I take notes in order to share with others in the 19 churches I help. M.C.M. has been my teacher.”
Feliciano has listened to M.C.M. radio since we started broadcasting almost 15 years ago. It is great to hear of the Radio’s impact on his life, and the manner in which that has gone on to impact the lives of so many others.”
The Joy of the Lord
“The choir sings; on a mauve wall Rembrandt’s Christ breaks the bread, Communion, and the words of Teresa of Avila play in my head, a beckoning refrain;
Just these two words He spoke,
changed my life,
‘ENJOY ME’.
What a burden I thought I was to carry!
(A cross, as did HE).
LOVE once said to me, ‘I know a song,
Would you like to hear it?’
And laughter came from every brick in the street
and from every pore in the sky,
After a night of prayer, HE
changed my life when
HE sang,
‘Enjoy ME’.
That’s His song! ‘I rejoice in you. Come rejoice in ME.’ The song that plays the world awake, the song that fuels joy; “Enjoy ME! Enjoy ME!”
Is there a greater way to love the Giver than to delight wildly in His gifts?”
pp. 218, 219 from “One Thousand Gifts” by Ann Voskamp
White City – a Poem about Racial Discrimination in South America
-by NinadesusOjos
Jewel city of the Americas,
Pearl spun into stressed fabric of Andes life,
Where folks still sense silken whispers,
Glimpse, in memory, inlaid tortoiseshell haircombs,
Pompadoured raven locks of fine ladies,
curves of white cheekbones,
Sheepswool-white, pearl-white, cotton-white.
Long swallow-tail coats on gentlemen,
Imperious be-jewelled white fingers “SNAP”!
beckon for the lady’s fan.
Quechua slaves, dark brown, scurry, obey, eyes cast down.
Tiered stone mansions, spreading stairs,
An historic tapestry of old, white-washed buildings, red clay roofs, tiles,
textured, textiles, speckled – pink, blue, peach.
Deceptively spacious, these ornate estates
discreet behind massive carved doors,
CLOSED.
In the streets OUTSIDE, hunkering on gray greasy pavement,
green-hued teeth chewing leaf,
(to kill the hunger pangs)
homespun striped ponchos, stained,
cover dark brown trembling skin.
A silent myriad Quechuas still sit,
lower gaze beneath stares of white men.
On the subject of stress management…
On the subject of stress management Dr. Roger Mellot said, “Identify your values and support them behaviorally”. (Decide what’s important to you, and then live in a way that’s consistent with those values.) – David Posen, M.D.
Scraps and Pieces from a Good Textbook: “Effective Biblical Counseling” by Lawrence Crabb
” the results of the Fall include separation not only from God and from others, but also from ourselves. we “come apart” as persons, unable to genuinely accept ourselves as we are. Our consequent struggle to be, or to pretend to be what we are not explains much of our deep discontent and personal suffering.”
White City – a Poem about Racial Discrimination in South America
-by NinadesusOjos
Jewel city of the Americas,
Pearl spun into stressed fabric of Andes life,
Where folks still sense silken whispers,
Glimpse, in memory, inlaid tortoiseshell haircombs,
Pompadoured raven locks of fine ladies,
curves of white cheekbones,
Sheepswool-white, pearl-white, cotton-white.
Long swallow-tail coats on gentlemen,
Imperious be-jewelled white fingers “SNAP”!
beckon for the lady’s fan.
Quechua slaves, dark brown, scurry, obey, eyes cast down.
Tiered stone mansions, spreading stairs,
An historic tapestry of old, white-washed buildings, red clay roofs, tiles,
textured, textiles, speckled – pink, blue, peach.
Deceptively spacious, these ornate estates
discreet behind massive carved doors,
CLOSED.
In the streets OUTSIDE, hunkering on gray greasy pavement,
green-hued teeth chewing leaf,
(to kill the hunger pangs)
homespun striped ponchos, stained,
cover dark brown trembling skin.
A silent myriad Quechuas still sit,
lower gaze beneath stares of white men.
The Kids
Spending time with the kids is…something else. The large group of 3 – 6 year-olds can tend to be unruly; I don’t think there is any space in their lives in which they are made to obey anybody on little, medium-sized or huge issues, aside from threats of violence. So they are not used to being orderly. Also, they are not used to there being ENOUGH of any good thing. Colored pencils to do their drawing paper with. Food. Treats. Play-doh to model with. They exhibit a HUGE worldview of scarcity and have trouble believing their turn will come in 3 seconds, so they scramble and compete.
There’s not another separate space, indoors, for me to use as a classroom. Last time I went, I brought a large, clean old sheet and as soon as I’d arrived, spread my sheet on the dirt outside (we don’t have a blade of grass in the whole Center), plopped my teaching bag down on it with myself beside it, and waited for the kids to be sent to me, one by one, as they finished their other homework, from their schools, for the day. An hour later, with everything working smoothly if a bit exhaustingly, I’m still sitting there on the sheet with 14 little kids clustered all around me, their sheer numbers having caused them to overflow our sheet and be sitting in the dirt also. I hear some muffled choking noises from behind my back! I crane my neck around, then reach out in horror and grab this little guy’s jaw! “Jhonny, OPEN YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW!”
Jhonny is scarfing down the home-made play-doh by cupfuls! His filthy little hands are wet with saliva and spit-diluted play-doh, he has a deadpan, funny expression on his face. The other teacher has come out and we get Jhonny to open up and we extract the rest of the soggy play doh from his mouth, having no idea how much he has already ingested. Johnny gets a scolding, threats of visits to the hospital and stomach pumpings. I murmer to my colleague, “Don’t worry, it’s not toxic, though he might get a whale of a tummy ache and be very thirsty for awhile.”
“NO,” she said. “Let Jhonny THINK it’s poisonous and then maybe he won’t eat it again, and also eat DIRT.”
“Eat DIRT?”
“Yes, he often eats the dirt. He has to be watched, for that. He’s hungry. They don’t feed him at home. So he eats dirt.”
I looked at our little Jhonny boy, with new eyes, closely. Yes, I can certainly see it now. He’s tiny, absolutely TINY, for four years old, and his little arms and legs are like toothpicks, his face like a little old man’s. He is malnourished and underweight.
Writing and Editing
I think that, when you decide to pursue a career as a writer, you’re deciding on a career as a writer and an editor. A SELF editor, for sure, if nothing else.
-Niña de Sus Ojos
The Joy of the Lord
“The choir sings; on a mauve wall Rembrandt’s Christ breaks the bread, Communion, and the words of Teresa of Avila play in my head, a beckoning refrain;
Just these two words He spoke,
changed my life,
‘ENJOY ME’.
What a burden I thought I was to carry!
(A cross, as did HE).
LOVE once said to me, ‘I know a song,
Would you like to hear it?’
And laughter came from every brick in the street
and from every pore in the sky,
After a night of prayer, HE
changed my life when
HE sang,
‘Enjoy ME’.
That’s His song! ‘I rejoice in you. Come rejoice in ME.’ The song that plays the world awake, the song that fuels joy; “Enjoy ME! Enjoy ME!”
Is there a greater way to love the Giver than to delight wildly in His gifts?”
pp. 218, 219 from “One Thousand Gifts” by Ann Voskamp
First Part of Psalm 19
“The heavens declare the glory of God. The skies proclaim the work of His Hands. Day after day, they pour forth speech. Night after night, they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.”
from Sara Young in today’s entry: “(God)’s nature is to communicate, though not always in words. He flings glorious sunsets across the sky, day after day. He speaks in the faces and voices of loved ones……….Ask His Spirit to sharpen your spiritual eyesight and hearing. ……..Practice looking and listening for HIM during quiet intervals.” (p. 179)
Update on the Children’s Work.
The kids seem to be doing great, and are on their long school vacation. Spending the afternoon with them today, there was a new little girl whose name was K., and she has developmental difficulties of some kind, not speaking clearly or making much sense, but she’s cheery and gets along great with all the other kids. Every time she saw me, she’d run and climb up in my lap. But, two times, while on my lap, she suddenly moaned with pain and put her hand protectively over her right ear. I asked her if her ear hurt, and she mumbled, “yes”.
We did an old puzzle together, for about an hour, and it wasn’t a very nice puzzle – the people portrayed on it looked like monsters or vampires or something, plus many of the pieces were missing. Nine or ten kids and I – a very mixed age group, worked on the puzzle and the kids never quarreled but shared the pieces around without having to be told, and never criticized one another.
At one point it was time to have four-o-clocks and, as the tables were being set, we were asked to move to the other room. Four-0-clocks was a “small bread” each and a grungy plastic cup full of warm and sweetened purple cornmeal drink. At least we didn’t have mushy, half-rotten bananas today. The puzzle wasn’t done yet, and one boy ran and got a big chart and held it below the edge of the table while the rest of the kids slid the puzzle onto the chart and carried it to the other room. Never a word of complaint, and a huge age spread working and playing together; they seemed to me to conceive of themselves as a community.
They are happy and excited about our Christmas program coming up on Sunday afternoon and it’s clear that they love being a part of this day outreach and think of it as their place of belonging.
White City – a Poem about Racial Discrimination in South America
-by NinadesusOjos
Jewel city of the Americas,
Pearl spun into stressed fabric of Andes life,
Where folks still sense silken whispers,
Glimpse, in memory, inlaid tortoiseshell haircombs,
Pompadoured raven locks of fine ladies,
curves of white cheekbones,
Sheepswool-white, pearl-white, cotton-white.
Long swallow-tail coats on gentlemen,
Imperious be-jewelled white fingers “SNAP”!
beckon for the lady’s fan.
Quechua slaves, dark brown, scurry, obey, eyes cast down.
Tiered stone mansions, spreading stairs,
An historic tapestry of old, white-washed buildings, red clay roofs, tiles,
textured, textiles, speckled – pink, blue, peach.
Deceptively spacious, these ornate estates
discreet behind massive carved doors,
CLOSED.
In the streets OUTSIDE, hunkering on gray greasy pavement,
green-hued teeth chewing leaf,
(to kill the hunger pangs)
homespun striped ponchos, stained,
cover dark brown trembling skin.
A silent myriad Quechuas still sit,
lower gaze beneath stares of white men.
A word aptly spoken…
“A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.” Proverbs 25:4
Encouraging principles gleaned today from Genesis 12 and 13.
1. GOD initiated the personal relationship of Himself with Abram, and Abram’s role was to respond to Who God is.
2. God communicated expectations that He had for Abram, and Abram chose to hear and obey, the best he could, even from an almost certain “place” of feeling of reluctance and inadequacy, and a “place” of real and gross imperfection and weakness!
3. Abram always kept on worshipping God. Everyplace they stopped, he built an altar and called on (worshipped) God.
4. Abram did not cling to his “rights” and his normal, understandable entitlements in the eyes of mankind. He gave these up willingly in order to obey and follow God. (ex: the way he dealt with his nephew, Lot, when both of their peoples and animals became too much for one camp.)
White City – a Poem about Racial Discrimination in South America
-by NinadesusOjos
Jewel city of the Americas,
Pearl spun into stressed fabric of Andes life,
Where folks still sense silken whispers,
Glimpse, in memory, inlaid tortoiseshell haircombs,
Pompadoured raven locks of fine ladies,
curves of white cheekbones,
Sheepswool-white, pearl-white, cotton-white.
Long swallow-tail coats on gentlemen,
Imperious be-jewelled white fingers “SNAP”!
beckon for the lady’s fan.
Quechua slaves, dark brown, scurry, obey, eyes cast down.
Tiered stone mansions, spreading stairs,
An historic tapestry of old, white-washed buildings, red clay roofs, tiles,
textured, textiles, speckled – pink, blue, peach.
Deceptively spacious, these ornate estates
discreet behind massive carved doors,
CLOSED.
In the streets OUTSIDE, hunkering on gray greasy pavement,
green-hued teeth chewing leaf,
(to kill the hunger pangs)
homespun striped ponchos, stained,
cover dark brown trembling skin.
A silent myriad Quechuas still sit,
lower gaze beneath stares of white men.
A Sense of Quiet Happiness (for the gift of being able to be working in this tiny slice of God’s universe)
“Someone once asked (Teresa of Calcutta) if she was spoiling the poor, to which she replied, “There are so many congregations who spoil the rich, it is good to have one congregation in the name of the poor to spoil the poor.” Father Angelo Scolozzi, who worked with Mother for over twenty years, remembers that when she said this, the room fell silent for a long while.” – p. 49, “Finding Calcutta” by Mary Poplin
On the subject of stress management…
On the subject of stress management Dr. Roger Mellot said, “Identify your values and support them behaviorally”. (Decide what’s important to you, and then live in a way that’s consistent with those values.) – David Posen, M.D.
GlobeRoamer 