By Miranda Innaimo
Everyone thought the zombie apocalypse would have been caused by a mass bacterial infection, a black plague of sorts, an illness spread through modern society crippling the central nervous system of our race, something causing the dead to rise.
That didn’t quite happen.
I would tell you what people think the cause of the zombie apocalypse to be now, but I can’t, because hardly anyone thinks at all anymore.
I was always rather “rural,” one of those country bumpkins who was never quite up-to-date on modern fashion or the latest trends; I couldn’t tell you who was running for the Senate or which politician was on the outs for the most recent scandal. If it wasn’t about the weather or farming techniques, I couldn’t point my way north on any of those situations. Now, pointing my way north, that I could do; drop me in the middle of a summer-high cornfield, I could find my way home without the use of GPS or smart gadget.
Living without modern technology had never seemed like a bad thing. I still had my morning coffee brewed hot on a wood burning stove; I ate my lunch out in the fields among the produce, half the time, recently gathered as part of my meal. Life was simple. Life was good. I was happy, in that, I didn’t realize- while the rest of the world needed their technology, so did I; if for nothing else, but their sake.
It isn’t quite prudent of me to say, “it started slow,” as for some effects were instantaneous. First the internet went down, which was well enough, as only my neighbor three farms down had an old dial-up line- one of those screeching connections that tore through the soul and made me wonder what anyone saw as worthwhile about it.
Then bank cards and government assisted food cards failed, which, again, didn’t effect me much; our town stores still allowed bartering, and my tomatoes alone would bring home enough bacon for a cold winter’s haul.
No, it wasn’t until some slow, meandering pedestrians ambled onto my property line, just north of the creek and through the backwoods, that I realized something was amiss; they were scorched about the eyes; burnt from staring towards the sun as they moved. Sometimes they would reach up towards the bright light of the sky until their muscles ached (I assume) before collapsing and lying panting on the ground. After a while, you’d see them get up again- these vague wanders- and you’d watch them resume reaching towards the sunshine.
I tried to help, only that first time: when I approached they turned on me; it was easy enough to fight their fatigued limbs away from myself; a quick shove or a swift jab would knock them back to the ground. Then I felt sorry for my brute force used against these weak vessels, and moved to help them back to their feet. The first one- when looking into my eyes- must have thought the light from my own optical orbs was as brilliant as the sun, for they tried to gouge my face, their long nails scratching at my eyelids; another one tried to bite me.
So I did as any self respecting land owner should do: I blew their brains out. It was more of a civilized thing to do; take them out of their misery. Turns out I was right, as when I rushed to my neighbors, they had encountered similar folks, wandering around; my neighbor tried locking them down in the cellar, but after jars of pickled eggplant and cans of corn beef had been smashed and cracked open (merely for destruction, not for eating) I realized I had been in the right, and something was awfully wrong with the state of the world.
This was one of my first jam sessions on bass guitar. It’s a throw back, but I thought I would share it here today.
I found C.B. Stone on acx.com, and immediately delighted in her audition script. I spent three days rehearsing, rereading, and practicing my dynamics before finally- just today- making my official demo and submitting it.
Rehabilitation, Unbelief Series Book 1 is a dystopian fiction, about a world where belief in anything irrational is considered highly illegal: this most certainly means believing in GOD is a punishable crime.
The series continues with two other books:
About C.B. Stone
Author Bio from Amazon:
C.B. Stone is sometimes called author, writer, or purveyor of stories. One might even dub her a yarn spinner if you will. It’s very possible she might be considered just a little left of normal by most, but she’s cool with that. Really, she’s too busy avoiding normal to care. On any given day, you might find Stone pounding away at a keyboard in sunny Miami, contemplating waves, contemplating life and dreaming up more exciting stories to share with readers.
Except Sunday’s of course. Sunday’s are God’s day, so you’ll often find her making her best “joyful noise” with her local church praise team. When not pounding poor fingers to bloody nuggets and reinventing the definition of eye strain, C.B. Stone enjoys living it up, doing the family thing, the kid thing, and the friend thing. And in her downtime, reading the minds of fans.
Also being invisible. Being invisible is fun.
Want more C.B. Stone? Here she is around the internet and social media sites:
So, wish me luck. I hope to obtain this glorious project!
poetry by Miranda Innaimo
If I could drift
down the halls
of your mind
what doors would
open for me?
Could I find
or salient dreams?
May I notice
the light you cast
upon my image:
basking in the aura
of love you have for me.
If I could sift
through the sands
of your mind
what gems would
await for me?
Could I find
May I notice
the glimmer you cherish
set by my image:
a diamond in the rough,
the woman you see in me.
If I could lift
up the spirit
of your mind
what answers would
await, opened for me?
Could I find
May I notice
the glow you procure
seeing my image:
true friends forever,
the wife you have as me.
Image provided by Flickr
My backyard leads to an expanse of forest preserve, access attained by crossing a creek. Yesterday- amidst the lovely spring weather of Chicagoland- I traipsed about the woods. On my return, I had to cross the threshold of the creek once more.
Now, on the bank of the creek, there is a large pile of stones. I needed to come to a decision about the best use of my free time during the final moments of my afternoon adventure: to build a stone bridge, or a rock pile? Given the impending wet season, there was no way I could build a bridge worthy of crossing with dry feet: whatever I built would be either under the current or washed away with a few heavy rains.
This rock pile was built instead.
As March ended, and April began, I realized- with some contempt- that I haven’t maintained many articles on my lovely blog. I digress, I’ve been very preoccupied with many creations, but not of the literary sort. This post is an update of what’s been going on in MI life, and the joy encountered, of which I hope to share with you all today.
It won’t be long now before I leave my hometown to move from the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois, up to the great state of Michigan. My husband took a job up there, and- after some weeks- we’re ready to allocate our own Michigan dwelling place, and reunite in the marital blissful situation of cohabitation.
We were fortunate enough to have some time together last month; Mr. Innaimo came to visit me for a week, and it was as if no time apart had ever happened. He is my best friend, and our hours united are comfortable, soothing, a balm for my soul which aches daily in his absence.
One of the most loving comforts I have during my daily routine are these two kitty boys, Charlie (right) and Rico (left). They are a profound source of companionship and love. Their hourly cuddles or occasional naps upon my lap remind me of the family Mr. Innaimo and I have together, and soon, oh so soon, we will all be together again.
I will admit, have the two kitty jerks has made finding adequate housing difficult. No matter. Why would we want to live in a place that believes pets (the joy! the joy) to be a burden or nuisance within life? We don’t, we won’t. The hunt goes on.
The biggest time-thief I have encountered has been my new skill set of crochet. I’ve been a mad-crochet artist these past few weeks, learning many skills from YouTube, as well as taking a four-week crochet class.
I’ve made serval hats, scarves, infinity scarves, and fingerless gloves. I’ve collected a half dozen hook sizes, and worked with a variety of yarn types. This craft has prove very therapeutic, as well as beneficial. I’ve made gifts for many friends- including the lovely and talented Katie Cross.
This is my current project, of which I’m four skeins (rolls of yarn) accomplished so far. You’ll never guess what I’m making, so I’ll just show you my inspiration photo:
It’s called a mermaid lapghan, and I’m making it for my little sister’s birthday in September; while I know I have months to go before her special day, I’ve been dedicating the past few days towards the project; I hope to work daily until it’s done, ’cause that’s just how I stitch. Ha!
Well, thank for tuning in, stopping by, and giving a care towards MI life. I appreciate your support; as I can’t believe how well my site’s stats have appeared to being doing even without my maintenance. Thanks pals! Much love.
The extremities of a soul
reach for honest love;
and while the stretch
may seem strenuous-
taking time, truth,
flexibility is faithfully acquired
by genuine dedication,
the merit of enduring patience
throughout vigorous trials,
in hope sustained:
the grasp is attainable.
Back in the spring of 2013, my husband, our new fur-babies, and I enjoyed a spectacular photography session with the talented photographer, Julie Hermes. This throwback post includes photos not yet seen on this blog.
Find more of the exquisite work by Julie Hermes on Facebook.
Or visit her website juliehermes.com
FLASH SWEEPSTAKES ALERT! With Valentine’s Day just 4 days away, Book Country thought it would be fun to give away one Book Country notebook to 10 random contestants of Book Country’s Give a Character a Valentine Sweepstakes! To enter, answer in the discussion thread: What fictional character would you give a valentine to?
You may also email your submission to email@example.com with the subject line “Give a Character a Valentine Sweepstakes.” You have until 11:59pm ET TONIGHT to enter! Good luck!
Without question, the recipient of my Valentine would be ten-year-old Fanny Price, from Jane Austin’s Mansfield Park. Removed from her home, taken to live with rich relatives, poor Fanny was neglected, verbally abused, and emotionally accosted. This poor child, without the comfort of her eight siblings, must have felt awfully lonely within the grounds of Mansfield Park. And while she is my least favorite heroine of all the Jane Austin books, this is why I have chosen her: she is timid, shy, and most deserving of a lovely Valentine card.
When I was in high school, I read a lot. I remember, my freshman year, the month of February, I read a book a day. Granted, they were YA books, meticulously selected from the school library, and only roughly three-hundred pages each, but I poured over them and blazed through each tome as if it were my best friend.
As high school progressed, my avid love of reading did not dissipate. My school was massive, with nearly three thousand people within the East campus. As the hallways were so crowded- where I felt like cattle being steered into the barn- I was able to read during passing periods. How? you may ask. A simple technique of simultaneously seeing the words on the page, and the feet of the person in front of me: I shuffled along from class to class, reading whatever my heart desired.
The point of telling you all this is simple: I found out after graduation that many of my peers thought I was some sort of snob, an intellectual “too good” to engage with my classmates.
I was confounded when I heard this “well-understood” opinion of myself.
Because I read to ease my own loneliness. I read because it was easier to bury myself in literature than to join in the banter of my schoolmates. Books would never reject me. Books would never think my ideas petty or stupid, inadequate or lame.
It amazes me, to this day, how others can form opinions of us based on their own observations. Natural enough, what else can be done?
We each move through life with our own perspective, making judgments and assessments of those around us.
I write today with a simple message at the core: if we look at ourselves closely enough, we realize that who we are on the inside is much greater, more beautiful, more profound and wonderful than most of us have the ability to express onto others.
That said, it is my hope that the next time you form an opinion about someone else, remember this message: who we are on the inside is not often easily seen.
We are given fleeting moments to make an impression upon others; like snapshots, these occurrences happen so fast, they are usually over before we realize what impression has been made.
This last summer, I underwent a series of “manic episodes,” some so severe, I am ashamed to this day. I have all but disgraced my own name, the name of my husband and his family. This is something I live with daily, and will spend the rest of my days overcoming; because what others see of us can effect so many things: career opportunities, community respect, friendships and family relationships.
While I accept that I must and do take responsibility for my actions during this past Summer, I can’t help but hope that people will understand: mental illness can be socially damaging. While some may see and hear me acting erratic, speaking nonsense, and making a downright fool of myself, what is happening on the inside can only be described as traumatic: a misfiring of neurons within the brain is occurring, and without medication, I am powerless to control myself.
I have been back on my medication for some months now, and it’s been a journey of picking up the broken pieces of my life. While many family members have been loving and forgiving, others will still not speak to me: I still love and miss them truly.
In closing, I just ask, once more, that before you assign anyone with your opinion of who you think they are as a person, you will realize: it takes a long time to really know someone, and it is a continual effort we must put forth to love, honor, and cherish those around us as much as we hope they would feel the same for us. This life is too short to hold grudges, and more-so, too precious to sacrifice time that could be spent together by feeling angry or hurt over the past: forgiveness is something required even for our own inner peace; and to withhold such, causes more pain than the scathing incident does to begin.
I hope the best for you all.
At a little distance, love emerged, entirely. I began to think about it, now unforgettable- day and night for the best; with him somewhere far away as he was, I assured, now I told myself- I wanted to see him again: I thought in those months- thought fondly, we’re married; realized that he as his right, his duty to start whole, might try to be ready.
Photo Curtesy of modernmedievalism.blogspot.com
The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.
In the days to follow the wedding and during the month of King Lemuel’s honeymoon with his wife, he noticed a new peace wash over him, as if his inner man was attributed with another half: his wife was the perfect complement to his knowledge-hungry life; they spent as much time embracing marital bliss in the royal bedchamber as they did in King Lemuel’s extensive library. The pair of reigning monarchs was secure in studying the scriptures, the writings of Kings and Queens gone by, and the wisdom of generations was ascertained in the unity of mutual respect and fondness. King Lemuel felt that GOD had blessed his providence with a wise woman, one fit to assist in leading the land, governing the women and servants of his household, and rearing children that would one day uphold his throne.
The new Queen bid the King’s mother to stay much longer at court; for the prophecy included instructions for a life as a good wife in the eyes of their shared GOD. It was of the Queen’s utmost aspiration to serve King Lemuel and their people with a pristine heart, one with understanding and fortitude of righteousness.
“Tell us more, mother,” the Queen bid to her elder.
The mother of King Lemuel- with joy in her heart, at last a woman whose son was introduced to the joys of marriage- cleared her throat with temperance, and continued where she left off. “The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.”
King Lemuel looked to his wife, and with a shrewd idea, offered a test unto his new bride. “My dear Queen of all my lands, and partner in all of my estate: I’ll have you know that my vaults below are heavily guarded, day and night, for I have the most esteemed treasures within all the land. If I were to allow you full access and disposal of my riches, what would you have done, in the name of our reign?”
The new Queen pondered deeply for a few minutes; the court was a bustle of mirthful noises of glee and anticipation, to hear what deed she would have done.
“My Lord,” the good woman began, “it is my belief in our GOD that I will serve you so that you may be confident in my decisions; I hope to make you secure in my ideas, and bold in support of that which I shall do.” She smiled, the beauty of love upon her face. “Therefore, I would do nothing to your riches, and allow the best governor of our finance, which is you, my lord, to be handled directly.” The crowd within the throne-room burst into hushed whispers and deep murmurs. “That said, I would hope you allow me to achieve other tasks, to complete duties to further our income opposed to depleting our wealth. Once a surplus is added to our vaults, I would hope- together, you and I- would offer assistance to the poor and the needy, the fatherless and the widows, providing ourselves as benefactors to them, and enriching the lives of the less fortunate.”
The King found his trust in his new wife to grow greater and more valuable in the days and weeks to follow.
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Today, I am honored to present my public apology. While it has taken several weeks for me to compose this, even the delay comes with great explanation.
I have bi-polar type one, which- when unmediated- causes serve mental delusions in the form of psychoses. Without the aid of modern medicines, I become another person: a person I am not and a person to become: I would not wish on my worst enemy.
This past summer, I chose to deliberately stop taking the medicines; this is not an uncommon occurrence among people with mental health issues: they believe- after a period of much help from the medicine- they are capable, without assistance, to maintain mental regularity: this simply is not the case.
While my intentions were good- to prove to myself and those around me that I could maintain mentally, allowing a “natural state” of biology, and having the ability to procure healthy children- the results were detrimental.
It took but a few weeks off of the medicine before I become someone that I am not: an unstable mess, making decisions I would never make when of right mind. This hurt those around me as much as it hurt me; while I could not understand longevity or ramification of my decisions, I acted impulsively, flippantly, hurtfully, and belligerently.
I want to clearly state: my actions were not of my own control; without going into the actual, in-depth, scientific explanation of misfiring neurons within the brain, all I can say is that I do take responsibility for choosing to stop the medicine; and yet, the actions that followed thereafter were not of my control. As hard as it is to believe, please ponder this scenario: should a diabetic or someone with heart disease stop taking their insulin or blood pressure medicines, would there not be drastic ramifications, occurances outside their control, such as pancreatic or heart failure? Death, or unfortunate hospitalizations would probably also occur. This is much the same of someone with mental illness.
This apology comes so late because I wanted to wait until I had regained full mental stability before making such an announcement; I wanted to be sure that I was, once again, within the spectrum of my true nature, my genuine thought processes, and healthy mindset before allowing such a dictation to be made. It is with the utmost sincerity that I apologize for the embarrassment I have procured upon my Innaimo and Gothard names. I hope for forgiveness, and understanding: I will do my part to achieve redemption.
I long for nothing more than to be reunited with my husband; to achieve a natural state of marital living is my greatest aspiration. How I took for granted the blissful state of rising each day in his presence, something I miss more than anything; the ability to complete simple chores alongside my husband, to discuss matters and make decisions together.
I know now that there is no reason I would ever again jeopardize our marriage, for it is the greatest treasure within this earthly life.
Thank you. I love you. And I hope the best for our promising future.
Photo Curtesy of cracked.com
Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.
Meanwhile, the chief official of King Lemuel’s dealings had been busy seeking out the fairest maidens and most noble daughters within all the land; set on finding a wife for the King, many beautiful and wealthy women were brought to court for the King’s inspection.
The women were rude- shoving their ladies off on hurried errands within remote locations within the city, only to show little gratitude when the task was complete. All of them were lovely, but in arrogant and highly superficial ways: King Lemuel assumed these women spent as much time getting ready each day as he when preparing for battle; and while he respected their efforts (only in the slightest way) he found them all ill-suited as a partner in his most important business matters and strict royal affairs.
“Mother, what can be done?” The King inquired, leaning close to her before continuing, “My peoples need a queen! There are many issues that must be handled by a woman, and yet I see no one woman capable of upholding such pertinent issues. Maybe I should do as past Kings have done and take up a quorum?”
The mother of King Lemuel, slightly aghast at such a notion of seven wives, rolled her eyes, and continued- as a GOD fearing woman- with the prophetic wisdom she had traveled so far and stayed so long at court for the intention of sharing wisdom and aiding her son in finding his perfect wife: “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.”
Frustrated, the King adjourned the noblemen and their brood of haughty daughters from his court; some of them had begun bickering among themselves, and when dismissed without their pride and vanity satisfied by royal marriage, at last broke into attacks upon one another: the women’s gowns were ripped and hair was pulled amidst shrieks; their fathers threatened war upon each other’s land in deep, booming shouts: the attendants worked vigorously to remove them all from the King’s throne room.
Still, with much business left upon the daily agenda, King Lemuel called for his three stealthy servants, still set at the task daily of following the woman of the city; but one returned within the hour of his call.
“Where are your partners?” the King asked, eyeing the manservant- who was very much winded and his clothes were torn asunder.
“My lord,” he begun with great effort, panting slightly and attempting to straighten his attire. “My lord, the woman,” he gasped heavily, “the woman of the city… she is in great peril. I left my fellow servant at her aid! It seems those who practice the occult upon the high mountain know not of your fondness of her, and have chosen her as their next blood sacrifice.”
“Where is she?“ King Lemuel jumped from his throne, bidding his mother to stay put; a troop of guards could barely assemble themselves as quickly as King Lemuel, who- in a mad dash- grabbed his sword and mounted his stead.
The team on horseback, led by their king, raced through the city and towards the outskirts; the high mountain lay just beyond the river, which was crossed in a moment, the horses splashing and moving with their riders still atop them.
“Hurry, men! We must reach the top now!” The horses were no match for the steep climb and were left tied within a mountainside olive grove.
As King Lemuel climbed farther and faster than any one of his guardsmen, he could hear the woman of the city mocking the occult practices, “My blood will not be spilled today! Your gods are dead! Your idols are made by your own hands! They cannot help you! They will not protect you! They cannot hear you! Your worship but the demonic forces, the legions of angels fallen from the Heavens my GOD made. You will be destroyed before any harm will come of me!”
Rejoicing as such fierce faith, and the fortune of their timing, King Lemuel and his men reached the pinnacle height of the mountain.
“My Lord!” A man dressed in a hooded gown singled to his fellows to bow low to the King. “Have you come to gain your share of power? We have found the perfect sacrifice: a woman unspoiled by man, and a believer in a phony god.”
King Lemuel- of regal poise and shrewd craftiness- chuckled at the words of the hooded man. “Hahaha, let us see which of you- this woman who believes on the Most High God, or you all, who believe in many gods, can first achieve that which is believed should happen today?”
The members of the occult practice began laughing along with the King; the man dressed in the hood bowed again, “As you wish, my Lord,” and pulled a slender knife from within the depths of his robe.
In silence and profound understanding, the woman of the city remained quiet and still atop the alter of which she had been tied upon many hours earlier, and watched the events unfurl: as the chief member of the occult moved to lower the dagger into her heart, King Lemuel made one swoop of his sword, cleanly removing the head of the occult leader. In a flash of brilliant metals and swift movements, all of the occult members were dead, and the mountaintop was stilling with pools of their blood.
“Are you all right?” King Lemuel asked of the woman as he loosened her ropes and helped her sit upright up on the alter.
“I knew my GOD would not allow me to die today; not by the hands of the heathens I have dedicated my life to overcoming in His good name. Thank you my Lord. Our GOD smiles upon us today.”
“He does indeed,” King Lemuel announced, taking the woman’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “And now I ask of you but one favor: in return for bringing my men up here today, and for rescuing your life.”
The woman of the city smiled keenly, “Anything my Lord! I am forever your servant! Ask of me and it shall be done!”
King Lemuel, without a moment’s pause, continued, “Be my wife, and queen of all my lands.”
Within a fortnight. it was upon that very mountaintop that King Lemuel and the woman of the city were sealed in holy matrimony.
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Photo Curtesy of womeninthebible.net
Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.
Returning to the castle at the end of a long day, the three servants came from their royal errand of following the woman of the city. King Lemuel saw their entrance into his throne room; yet before he would hear of what they had witnessed, he bid his mother to tell him the next portion of the prophecy.
His mother spoke stoutly, “Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.” She folded her arms across her chest and watched the expression on her regal son’s face.
Within the ornate chamber of the King’s palace, many officials and dignitaries met to speak with the King. Fully away of protocol, the reigning patriarch took certain measure to attend business matters before speaking with his stealthy servants; he listened to the merchants complaints about taxation; he instructed the tax collectors more leniency towards the merchants; he turned his nose up at a noble from a distant land who had brought his daughter for marriage unto the King; the young noblewoman was haughty, proud, and loud: the very sound of her voice was scathing to the Kind’s ears.
At long last, when all matters of the court were finished, the three servants came forward, looking as eager and as full of anticipation as King Lemuel felt. “Tell me: what did you observe of the woman?”
The chief servant announced, “My Lord, no such woman of faith and strength resides in all of your city! We saw her today attending to the sick, those also ridden with unclean spirits; visiting some of the worst slums of the city, she ministered to the pour souls who cannot take care of themselves, often praying over them and calling on the One True God. Not once,” he continued, “Not once today did we see her eat more than a morsel of bread, of which she shared with some beggar children.”
When the servants had told of the woman’s affairs, the court began to assemble for dinner; the woman of the city slipped quietly into her usual seat at the far end of the chamber, reserved for the lowliest of the court.
“Bid her to come here,” the King said to a nearby attendant, pointing towards the woman and watching as she was summoned; at first, she looked startled, but rose swiftly, approaching the King boldly, and making a low and humble bow before his throne. “Tell me of your day, my lady.” King Lemuel inquired, intrigued to hear of her day from her own perspective.
With full modesty and in such dignified brevity, she spoke, “Just my usual tasks, my Lord. Nothing extraordinary, nor worthy of the King’s ear.”
The King asked, with straightforward concern, “How many are there? How many possessed are within my city?”
The woman stood upright, and met the King’s eye with fierce composure. “More than I can number, my Lord.”
“Why do you think this is so?”
For the first time since they had met, the woman of the city looked mortified; she thought heavily on her own words before speaking. “Oh, good King, I know of your faith in the One True God, and yet, the priests within the city are…” she paused, weighing carefully what she intended to say, “lax, and frankly, they are lazy. They take of the offering for themselves, and do not minister to the sick or give to the poor. They seem to scorn those of unclean spirits and keep to the wealthy and healthy members of their congregation, those who are pleasing to the eye and of sound mind.
“Furthermore,” she continued, “the occult of the city run ramped; they summon dark spirits they cannot control, and then the dark forces are let loose upon those already of weak minds. I know not what to do, but pray and attend to them daily.”
With his hand upon his beard, King Lemuel was perturbed by this information; he felt that this lacking by the priests was upon his own shoulders, and knew something must be done to aid the sick in spirit. “Come, sit here by my mother and I, and tell us what you would have done.”
The woman of the city bowed again, and took her place of honor near the King’s throne.
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Photo Curtesy of magnoliabox.com
Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all such as are appointed to destruction.
King Lemuel saw to the care of both the woman of the city and her father possessed of unclean spirits; the King pitied the man, and enjoyed the pleasant sight of the young woman.
Staying at court as well, the mother of the King allowed the prophecy to be told slowly; her son thought it prudent, allowing keen wisdom to be absorbed slowing, ascertaining sound doctrine within subtle and lasting increments.
After breakfast one day, when the servants were clearing the banquet hall, the mother of King Lemuel was asked to utter forth the next portion of her prophecy: “Open thy mouth for the dumb in cause of all such are appointed to destruction.”
This sensible instruction weighed upon the king, who- sitting upon his throne- could still see the lovely woman of his city and her ill father: struggling on the other side of the royal feast chamber, ushered away by the King’s physicians and prayer warriors, the sick man was taken from the window ledge of which he was currently trying to throw himself. The wise King observed the woman’s composure; she was lovely, without hysteria, and entirely refined.
She rose smoothly from her place at the table, kindly thanking the doctors and servants assisting her father, and when she moved to leave the chambers of the palace- with full intention of maintaining her duties and obligations within the city- a disheveled manservant burst through the door and was thrown nearly at her feet.
The woman of the city let a quick gasp escape her. “Oh, Holy God, have mercy!“ she said unto herself a bit louder than intended. “This man! He is of my father’s household, and he is also possessed!”
The captain of the guard and his men were laughing together. “Your highness,” the captain announced, making a low bow and rising again, ignoring the words of the woman. “We found this trespasser. He is quite the nuisance. What shall you have us do with him?”
King Lemuel, fully aware of the state of this wretched man, called for his royal doctors, and commanded the guards return to their duties. Meanwhile, the woman bowed her head in submissive appreciation, and quietly slipped from the palace: the King bid three servants discretely follow her and report directly to him of her daily business affairs.
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Lifehacker.com taught me how to make banana pancakes. This post is a visualization of the process and results.
So I was hungry, and I wasn’t sure of my breakfast options. I wanted something delicious and satisfying, and yet with my food-sensitivity, I didn’t want something that would be so savory scrumptious that I would slip into a food coma afterward.
Having plenty of bananas, I sought out a recipe for banana pancakes.
Life hacker’s recipe blew my mind, and thus:
– 2 mashed bananas
– 4 eggs mixed in
– 1/4 teaspoon baking powder
– cinnamon to taste
Cook as you do regular pancakes.
And enjoy! I used slight amounts of butter and powdered sugar for additional enjoyment.
Although they don’t replace actual pancakes in texture,
they are still might delicious…
I nearly ate the full serving, and best of all, I didn’t fall asleep after breakfast.
If you try this recipe, once again:
– 2 mashed bananas
– 4 four well mixed-in eggs
– 1/4 teaspoon of baking powder
– cinnamon to taste
and let me know what you think!
I asked Author Sydnie Beaupre’ if I may feature her and her outstanding writings on this website of mine; delightfully, she agreed.
Sydnie Beaupré lives in her own imagination; a post-apocalyptic, zombie-inhabited world, where magical creatures and supernatural occurrences are simply the mundane. Outside of that, Sydnie can be found in Montreal, Quebec where she was born and raised. When she’s not writing you can find her reading, playing the violin, singing, or spending time with her amazing friends and crazy family.
I sigh to myself and stand. My wings unfurl and a sad smile dances its way across my lips, as I look at her as she sleeps, surely dreaming. I can’t help but fleetingly wonder if she has ever been in love with somebody, if that’s who she’s dreaming of now. I can hear people’s thoughts if I am close enough to them, but I’ve never been close enough to her to even get a glimpse into her mind; I only ever watch her from afar, not close enough to know anything about her other than what she shows the world– the way she rambles or bites her lip when she gets nervous, or how she squints her eyes and crinkles her nose when she’s thinking. I know nothing of her inner thoughts even though it is my duty to protect her and keep her safe at all times. If I don’t– I don’t even want to know what could happen to her. But I was the one who volunteered for this job, and it is I who must make no mistakes. If I do, she’ll surely pay tenfold and I will lose the only thing that has any real meaning to me.
As always, I am honored to feature another author, and I sincerely hope you enjoy her outstanding writing style. That’s all for now folks.
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Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remember his misery no more.
As King Lemuel led his mother, the sick elderly, and the young maiden into his decorative chamber, the servants of the palace were arranging wide feast upon the many ornate tables. “How long has your father been like this?” The King asked, placing himself atop his royal throne.
“As long as I have remembered,” the woman began, “he has flashed in and out of spells, as if the demons allow him the mockery of sane moments so they may torment him with remembrance of the foul behavior he has endured by their control.” Tears filled her eyes. “To even mention the mischief my father has done! He is a good man, he would never do if he were of a right mind. But the spirits of dark force lay hold.”
“How have you managed?” King Lemuel inquired.
The woman straightened her posture, and looked straight toward the King by means of such fierce composure of certainty, “Our household has managed by the power of GOD alone,” she briefly uttered to the King, a great air of dignity in her poise and mannerism.
The King’s mother sat along her son and the woman, speaking further on the prophecy, “Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remember his misery no more.”
King Lemuel ushered for prayer warriors and the physicians of his palace to attend to the elderly man with unclean spirits, and called for strong drink. “Your father has never tasted such an ale; my master brewers ferment this combination of all the land’s finest wheat and hops., barley and choice fruit. Give this to your father, for I have prayed over his cup, and have asked the GOD of Almighty to bless him.”
The people of the court raised their glasses in sincere praise of the Most High God, asking for the sanctification of them all, and redemption for the man ill of unclean spirits.
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Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts.
The men of the King’s team made a quick job of putting the city official and the rich citizens under arms; the men from the tavern, already exhausted from a day of drinking and having good sport of taunting the slack-jawed beggar man.
Holding the hand of her father, the daughter and a fair lady of the city knelt down upon the ground.
King Lemuel put his mother’s care to his chief guard, and rushed to the side of the fallen elder and the maiden;.
“Good King! Praise our GOD the Lord for his mercy! You are here, and you have saved my father from these men. I thank you, and still I beg of you, please help my father! Please ask of our Most High God who hears you and I daily, to rid my father of his demons; there is a great legion upon him.”
While the woman told of the sorrow of her family, the King watched in observance: the father was standing and falling repeatedly,, shouting out misguided, fragmented statements.
The mother of King Lemuel moved again beside her son and observing the poor sorrows of the man roiling around on the ground, continued, “Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts.”
Hearing this prophetic wisdom, the King bid his men to release the city official and his rich friends; King Lemuel gave order unto his chief guard, “have the men carry this man, and send word: he and his daughter shall be set at dinner upon this day, and remain in my court.
The daughter rose, and thanked the King as he motioned to the party towards the direction of his palace.
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Lest they drink, and forget the law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted.
As King Lemuel listened intently to his mother while surrounded by the troop of guardsmen, the King noticed one of his chief city officials exit the alehouse; a large group followed the official and an uproar could be heard among them. The men of the group following the official were all rich citizens; yet a lowly beggar trailed behind.
The King could tell in a moment’s glance what was transpiring: the beggar had be used as crude entertainment, was made as slovenly intoxicated as the other men- who having their fill of fun, were ready to leave the beggar behind while the official and other men moved onto more suitable entertainment.
It was a sad display: the toothless mouth of the beggar was slack jaw, and uttering words of companionship as if he intended to be treated as equal with the official and his rich friends. It was a quick blow by a heavy boot swung swiftly through the air that knocked the beggar from clutching the official’s hem of a well-embroidered coat.
“Lest they drink, and forget the law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted,” the mother of King Lemuel stated sadly, wincing at the sight of blood pouring from the lowly man’s mouth.
The King was quick then to signal to a few of his guards to grab the team of rich ruffians led by the city official; yet it was a passing maiden that made it first to the beggar man.
“Father! Father, I told you these men were vile heathens,” she spat the words out of her mouth, reaching under her father’s arm and hoisting his drunken body back onto his feet. “Come on let us leave this place,” sternly said the maiden.
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It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine; nor for princes strong drink:
The team surrounding King Lemuel and his mother passed through the city streets and came upon a favorite tavern. Simultaneously eager and hesitant, the men of the guard wondered how the King would ever enter with his mother a place renown for brawls, gambling, and drunkenness.
“Mother, wait here with some of my men; look at the beautiful wares of the merchants while I have a quick drink.”
The King seemed very pleased with this idea, until his regal mother continued with the prophecy: “It is not for king, O Lemuel,” she bemoaned, knowing the hardness of the prophetic truth she shared, and how it would impact her son- whom with great valor of uprightness, would obey her words, “it is not for kings to drink wine; nor for princes strong drink.”
It was a new and sudden weight upon the King’s heart the instant his mother’s words were spoken; he knew of the wicked deeds men achieved when drunken, while imbibing the intoxicating and fermented drink., and the carelessness of mind.
Posturing upright, the King commanded honorable intentions, and regulated his heart towards a more judicious decision. “Come along men; we will not be stopping here any more. I, King Lemuel, am in need of a proper wife, and I shall never find her within the walls of such a business.” Some of the soldiers looked disappointed, while others saw their King with new regard: that of admiration and respect.
The captain of the guard, an aged gentleman whom has served the preceding three Kings, especially approved, having seen many rulers fall away from prudent understanding by means of foolish decisions, ultimately ending their reign over the kingdom, leaving the citizens to mourn with confusion.
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Give not thy strength unto women, nor thy ways to that which destroyeth kings.
The regal King felt a need to adjourn his court, and swiftly taking his mother by the arm, ushered for the royal guard to accompany them out into the city surrounding his palace. With great speed and excitement, the King, his mother, and a team of strong and vigorous men left the castle walls.
The city was alive with flourishing activity; there was vitality in the air: a livelihood of business and prospect. Yet there were also unseemly things lurking in the shadows: the mother of King Lemuel nodded towards a couple engaged in obscene and ludicrous behavior.
The King chuckled, knowing the woman was a harlot, and the man was one of his gamekeepers; he felt a surge of excitement, imagining the sort of business she encouraged, as well as the prowess of his employee.
“Give not thy strength unto women,” the mother whispered harshly- with a fierce tone of prophetic dedication- into her son’s ear; with the full intent of obliterating the opinion of such satisfaction within her son, she continued, “nor thy ways to that which destroyeth kings.”
The mother was stern with the reigning son: she insisted he achieve a higher moral character and abolish such behavior. “Without a wife, these women are sure to destroy you: what may seem a simple whore could very easily be an assassin, and rob not only you of your life, but your kingdom of their king.”
“No woman could overtake me,” he insisted.
The King, his mother, and the guards moved on through the city. “No, perhaps not; yet she could distract your from more pertinent matters in life, making you a useless ruler.”
King Lemuel raised an eyebrow, never before considering his pleasure in life a possibility for such a demise.
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What, my son? And what, the son of my womb? And what, the son of my vows?
The mother of the King knew in a moments glance- despite the noise and bustle of the gathering crowd within the throne room- that something perturbed her royal son. She began to inquire of him, leaning in closely, and understood in a moment the issues at hand.
“When the good Lord and merciful Heavenly Father bestowed your life into my womb, I made a sacred vow,” the mother spoke in a stately voice. She began telling of her own marriage to the preceding king and the oath she had given to serve their One True God.
“You were promised by angelic messengers to achieve greatness, as I had offered your life upon the alter of the Lord.”
The King smiled, holding his eyes above the gathered assembly, and appeared to see far-away ideas; broad notions came into his mind as he steadied himself, ready to hear more of his mother’s prophecy.
“Go on woman,” the King said fondly to his mother. “Allow not another moment to pass. You have traveled great distances to share with me such powerful information. Allow me not to be ashamed for my own weaknesses, but built stronger in the courage ascertained by your wisdom.”
The mother of the King smiled, and steadied herself. She indeed felt weary from travel, but knew of the signs of the times and understood the weight of the information she bore.
“All right, my son, you are a good King. I will do as you have asked. I will tell you more of the prophecy.”
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The words of King Lemuel, the prophecy that his mother taught him.
The day of triumph was quickly becoming a day of trouble. The King’s mother had traveled a great span of distance- over the rolling meadows of the kingdom, down narrow lanes and through quaint villages- to tell her son something pertinent, something that would change his status from bachelor regal to married patriarch: a great prophecy was ordained deliverance on that day, and the King was certain to change his course of ruling for evermore from there on after.
Yet therein the telling of the prophecy there was a burden, an utterance of doom spoken from a mother’s lips into the ears of her son.
The great King was troubled: he wrung his hands in an anxious clasp, and his eyes flittered about the throne room, vaguely noticing the nearby attendants, who were, of course, listening with as much eager attention as the King.
The message was a chastisement against certain behavior; the mother admonished (as a wise woman was capable of doing) the King as if he were still her child, for without a wife, she felt entitled to do so from a lawful perspective.
While King Lemuel had spent his time reigning strictly serving with great fortitude of spirit, the One True God, and in his opinion, his mother’s instructions were viewed as a keen lesson that would only narrow and ease his search for a queen in which his GOD would approve of him marrying.
Little did he know: such specifications for reformation of his own behavior, and finding himself with new scrupulous standards in a wife certainly would prove his quest more difficult: a challenge he had but one choice to make, and that was to proceed onwards until victory was attained.
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