
Articles
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3 weeks ago |
heidelblog.net | Zach Keele
O, to be a kid again! It is pretty safe to say that nearly everyone makes this wish at least once. You are full of adulting; the bills keep coming in, the diapers do not end; your body hurts for no discernible reason, and your hair cannot decide whether to thin or go grey. Amid all this, youth looks pretty attractive, when you could sleep long, eat whatever, and had no serious duties. Of course, youth does not live up to all the hype.
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1 month ago |
heidelblog.net | Zach Keele
How do you greet a champion? What is a fitting celebration for the hero returning home? In the present season, we have seen several such festivities. DC adorned itself with pomp and galas for the inauguration. Columbus spilled into the streets for their Buckeye champions. Yet, what makes the party tasteful verses out of line? There is always what the Philly fans do. When their team loses, they climb the lampposts and tear up the streets.
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Nov 21, 2024 |
heidelblog.net | Marilynne Robinson |Zach Keele
Within the bookstore of biblical studies, an alarming variety of works rest upon the shelves. Erudite tomes of philology and archeology, collections of sermons, thematic monographs, devotional series, and popular commentaries intermingle like diverse species in a rainforest. Arguably, each type has its place and purpose; yet, if you spend much time in their pages, a common ailment weakens many of them.
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Sep 11, 2024 |
theaquilareport.com | Zach Keele
Jesus notes a proverb that was just proven true. A prophet has no dishonor, except in his hometown. When a prophet goes on tour, he is applauded and respected as God’s authoritative emissary, but he comes home and gets no respect. And Jesus extends this proverb to include his relatives and his own household. This implies that his mother and siblings are not supportive of Jesus. They are ashamed of him and judge him as taboo. Our Lord forms this proverb based on the Old Testament.
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May 1, 2024 |
heidelblog.net | Zach Keele
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,Still first to fly where sensual joys invade;Unfit in these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; 1In general, it is accurate to notice that poetry has fallen on hard times. Amid skyscrapers of glass and steel as monuments to utilitarianism, with A.I. in our devices prophesying a future of ease, the old-growth lumber of poetry, reflective and meditative, struggles to maintain relevance.
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