The Spirit-and-Flesh.com Blog

I asked a friend who has crossed 70 & is heading towards 80 what sort of changes he is feeling in himself? He sent me the following:

1. After loving my parents, my siblings, my spouse, my children and my friends, I have now started loving myself.

2. I have realized that I am not “Atlas”. The world does not rest on my shoulders.

3. I have stopped bargaining with vegetable & fruit vendors. A few pennies more is not going to break me, but it might help the poor fellow save for his daughter’s school fees.

4. I leave my waitress a big tip. The extra money might bring a smile to her face. She is toiling much harder for a living than I am.

5. I stopped telling the elderly that they’ve already told that story many times. The story makes them walk down memory lane & relive their past.

6. I have learned not to correct people even when I know they are wrong. The onus of making everyone perfect is not on me. Peace is more precious than perfection.

7. I give compliments freely & generously. Compliments are a mood enhancer not only for the recipient, but also for me. And a small tip for the recipient of a compliment, never, NEVER turn it down, just say “Thank You.”

8. I have learned not to bother about a crease or a spot on my shirt. Personality speaks louder than appearances.

9. I walk away from people who don’t value me. They might not know my worth, but I do.

10. I remain cool when someone plays dirty to outrun me in the rat race. I am not a rat & neither am I in any race.

11. I am learning not to be embarrassed by my emotions. It’s my emotions that make me human.

12. I have learned that it’s better to drop the ego than to break a relationship. My ego will keep me aloof, whereas with relationships, I will never be alone.

13. I have learned to live each day as if it’s the last. After all, it might be the last.

14. I am doing what makes me happy. I am responsible for my happiness, and I owe it to myself. Happiness is a choice. You can be happy at any time, just choose to be!

Why do we have to wait to be 60 or 70 or 80, why can’t we practice this at any stage and age?

TwoEdged Sword KJV, on FB, says “Not at all surprised Osteen said this. Billy Graham or Ravi Zacharias never did expose the errors of Mormonism. That is because they like so many others are cowardly compromisers.”

“QUESTION: [From an interview of Joel Osteen by Chris Wallace, 12/23/07]:

C.W.: And what about Mitt Romney…? Is a Mormon a true Christian?

J.O.: Well, in my mind they are. Mitt Romney has said he believes in Christ as his savior, and that’s what I believe…. I am not the one to judge the little details of it. So I believe they are….Romney seems like a man of character and integrity to me. I don’t think anything would stop me from voting for him.

ANSWER: Osteen is either astonishingly ignorant about Mormonism or about biblical Christianity, or both. Here are just a few of the facts about Mormonism that he apparently considers to be “little details” of no importance–raising the solemn question whether he is a true Christian himself.

The “god” Romney believes in is only one of an infinite number of such “gods” whom, in distinction to the others, Mormons identify as “the god of this world,” one of Satan’s titles (2 Cor:4:4). He is a glorified once-sinful man who was “redeemed” by another “Jesus” who died on another cross on another planet (one of an infinite number of each in Mormon theology). Over eons of time, this Mormon man, having gone through the temple ceremonies on that “earth,” died. His spirit ascended through further temple-like initiations and finally became the “god” who created this earth on which we live.

Mormonism teaches, “As man is, God once was; as God is, man may become.” Joseph Smith holds each Mormon’s destiny in his hands. His successor, Brigham Young, warned, “No man or woman in this dispensation will ever enter the Celestial Kingdom of God without the consent of Joseph Smith….He holds the keys…” ( Journal of Discourses , 7:289). Another Mormon President, Joseph Fielding Smith, declared, “[There is] no salvation without accepting Joseph Smith..” ( Doctrines of Salvation , Vol 1, pp. 189-90).

Romney is going through the essential secret temple ceremonies. As a “temple Mormon,” he wears the magic “temple garment underwear” day and night for protection from evil. He has the ambition to become another god who will create its own earth with another Adam and Eve and fall. Sex with his many wives will produce a multitude of spirit children (including another spirit “Jesus” and “Lucifer”), another “Mary” for him to have sex with to provide a body for the “spirit Jesus” to inhabit in order to become a god after dying on another “cross,” etc. Mormons such as Romney must believe this fiction in order to get to Mormon heaven.

The “Christ” Romney believes in, (making him the “Christian” Osteen says all Mormons are), was the half-brother of Lucifer in the pre-existent state. They were each born to the same polygamous “father god” but probably to a different one of his many, many wives.

Brigham Young said, “The devil told the truth [about becoming gods]. I do not blame Mother Eve…for…eating the forbidden fruit.” Like Joseph Smith, he taught that only polygamists can become gods ( Doctrine and Covenants , Sec. 132).

The salvation and “eternal life” Romney looks forward to is exaltation to polygamous godhood, which could take eons of time after death. Woodruff, fourth LDS president, declared, “If we were to do away with polygamy…then we must…give up our religion altogether…” ( Journal of Discourses , Vol 13, p. 166).

Among the many bizarre Mormon beliefs: when the gods with their physical bodies have sex with their many “goddess” wives who also have physical bodies, the babies they produce to populate the earth (that this “heavenly father god” created) do not have physical bodies but are spirits. Yet, oddly enough, babies born to people on earth have physical bodies.

Thus, each spirit baby produced by the gods in heaven must come to earth to inhabit a newborn baby in order to get a physical body–as did “Jesus.” Mormons have large families because so many spirit children, youth, or grown-ups wait anxiously in heaven for bodies to live in on earth.

Mormon Apostle Orson Pratt explained why we don’t remember our pre-existent spirit state in heaven: our spirit bodies had grown so large that when they were squeezed into a baby’s body on earth it caused a loss of memory.

Romney’s Jesus Christ was not born of a virgin but to the “Mormon Mary” after the “god of this world,” in his man’s body of flesh and blood, had sex with her. For documentation of the above (and much more), see The God Makers book and or DVD.

I don’t think that a man who bases his hope for eternity upon such delusion could possibly be fit for the White House.”

— Dave Hunt

Mormonism is not Christianity. It is a curious mix of Satanism and Freemasonry. Joseph Smith was a con man, a storyteller, and one who communed with demons who were posing as dead people.

See: Link To Mormonism Article at spirit-and-flesh.com

For an in-depth look at the foolishness called Mormonism, obtain a copy of Mormonism: Shadow or Reality? by Jerald and Sandra Tanner, from Utah Lighthouse Ministry, P.O. Box 1884, Salt Lake City, UT 84110. Go online at Utah Lighthouse Ministry.

Also view the online book The Changing World of Mormonism by Jerald and Sandra Tanner at The Changing World of Mormonism eBook.

“Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!” My father yelled at me. “Can’t you do anything right?”

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn’t prepared for another battle.

“I saw the car, Dad. Please don’t yell at me when I’m driving.”

My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts…. dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon .. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn’t lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn’t do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.

At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor’s orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.

Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.

Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad’s troubled mind.

But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, “I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article…”

I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me.

I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world’s aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.

Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hip bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. “Can you tell me about him?” The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. “He’s a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we’ve heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.” He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. “You mean you’re going to kill him?”

“Ma’am,” he said gently, “that’s our policy. We don’t have room for every unclaimed dog.”

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. “I’ll take him,” I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. “Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!” I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. “If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don’t want it” Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. “You’d better get used to him, Dad. He’s staying!”

Dad ignored me. “Did you hear me, Dad?” I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw…

Dad’s lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad ’s bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne ’s cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father’s room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad’s bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad’s peace of mind.

The morning of Dad’s funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.

And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

“I’ve often thanked God for sending that angel,” he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article… Cheyenne ’s unexpected appearance at the animal shelter… his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father… and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live while you are alive. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second chance.

And if you don’t send this to anyone — no one will know. But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.

God answers our prayers in His time… not ours…

God doesn’t give us what we can handle, He helps us handle (stands with us, and gets us thru) what we are given. In other words, God’s Grace keeps Pace with what we Face!!

Aren’t you glad you read this to the end ?? Please say “Yes” if you did ♥️

—–2 Corinthians 12:9