I've put my identity upon frail foundations.
A major part of myself into ideas that flee.
& but a small portion into that which is true, and constant.
Yet my shame does not keep up with such forgiveness, that has been forever offered to me.
I'm so weak---- yet in this unfamiliar, unworldly stability--- I am o-so-strong.
Incomprehensible.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Saturday, October 27, 2012
a mere notion
Smiles present such a simple action---yet thought and interrogation of one's own thoughts precede such a gesture. While it may be the gunshot to the trigger for one's response, it often displays an alias. The attempt, or success, of dressing up one's frailty-----confusion---rage------maybe sorrow. A selfless action it may seem. For the receiver of the smile may return it as well, an immediate reaction. perhaps, or maybe dismantled by the sweet gesture. It remains unknown. Such suspicion a small movement from a scintilla portion of the human body can erect. Mentality, curse you.
Monday, August 27, 2012
ethnocentrism
Two stallions, both frozen within their differing settings.
Both unexpected of a nearby, eager rider.
The first, a lad of fourteen. This shall be his first ambush
attempt. The Mongolian chill bit only encouraging his adrenaline, as he waits among
a group of giant grass, peering at the wild Mongolian horse.
Across the Pacific, a somewhat similar depiction resides.
Yet the only existing chill comes from the product of a
practical air conditioning system. This rookie-rider—of four years—overflowing
in energy, as he beams at the petrified imported horse (of China), decorated in
ornate bridal and saddle.
Only one of these stallions can comprehend the nearby action
to follow, although the other has experienced the occasion far too many a times
to recall—for it is the loveliest of its herd in the eyes of youth.
The Mongol breed continues to graze, as its gaze grows
guarded and blind to the one about to leap. The teenage boy, in exclamation,
charges the mare; the meadows inhabitants biting his calves, a
thistle-at-a-time. Coming upon the tail of the creature, he commits two long
strides, and gracefully clings onto the top rear of the animal, pulling himself
to its arch. Startled, the stallion starts off to another opining of land, as
the young man gently grasps the mane’s tips for control, while his knees
sandwich the ribs of the horse. He would not be manipulated.
The wait no longer rusting, deteriorated, it has. The
toddler, escorted by his mother, hurries over to the patient stallion. There is
no reaction from the horse, as the mother lifts and hurriedly places her son on
the stern saddle. The animal, unlike its natural self, remains. Grabbing the
hard-shelled horn, the youngling throws his body forward and fro, as his mother
lassos his body, and buckles him tightly. The creature stalls, and waits for
the others—in parallel—they begin. As they move in unison, music and in the
same movement they go.
As the venture through Mongolia’s plains canters through,
the young man grins to the sound of the warm wind, as he approaches the
unfamiliar. Such an expedition executed exceptionally well, as the challenged
was not only accepted, but embraced freely.
The wind continued to greet.
As the music grows shallow, and the herd mellows to a trot,
the boy cries for more, although he’s reviewed the same scenery over, and over,
and over again. It was an effortless notion, his mother returns to the gate to
pay for another ride.
The music begins again.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
"Don’t you sometimes feel that this
is the kind of life we were meant to live on this earth? Everything we
need, everything, right here, right at our fingertips. You know, if only
people could have all this and be satisfied, I don’t think there’d be
any real problems in the world."
------Swiss Family Robinson
Sunday, March 25, 2012
It was in a church in Munich that I saw him, a thin, light-haired man in a gray overcoat, a brown felt hat clutched between his hands. People were filing out of the basement room where I had just spoken, moving along the rows of wooden chairs to the door at the rear. It was 1947, and I had come from Holland to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives.
It was the truth they needed most to hear in that bitter, bombed-out land, and I gave them my favourite mental picture. Maybe because the sea is never far from a Hollander's mind, I liked to think that that's where forgiven sins were thrown. "When we confess our sins," I said, "God casts them into the deepest ocean, gone forever."
The solemn faces stared back at me, not quite daring to believe. There were never questions after a talk in Germany in 1947. People stood up in silence, in silence collected their wraps, in silence left the room.
And that's when I saw him, working his way forward against the others. One moment I saw the overcoat and the brown hat; the next, a blue uniform and a visored cap with its skull and crossbones. It came back with a rush: The huge room with its harsh overhead lights, the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in the center of the floor, the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see my sister's frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment skin. Betsie, how thin you were!
Betsie and I had been arrested for concealing Jews in our home during the Nazi occupation of Holland; this man had been a guard at Ravensbrck concentration camp where we were sent.
Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: "A fine message, Frulein! How good it is to know that, as you say, all our sins are at the bottom of the sea!"
And I, who had spoken so glibly of forgiveness, fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take that hand. He would not remember me, of course--how could he remember one prisoner among those thousands of women?
But I remembered him and the leather crop swinging from his belt. It was the first time since my release that I had been face to face with one of my captors and my blood seemed to freeze.
"You mentioned Ravensbrck in your talk," he was saying. "I was a guard in there." No, he did not remember me.
"But since that time," he went on, "I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well. Frulein,"--again the hand came out--"will you forgive me?"
And I stood there--I whose sins had every day to be forgiven--and could not. Betsie had died in that place--could he erase her slow terrible death simply for the asking?
It could not have been many seconds that he stood there, hand held out, but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.
For I had to do it--I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: That we forgive those who have injured us. "If you do not forgive men their trespasses," Jesus says, "neither will your Father in Heaven forgive your trespasses."
I knew it not only as a commandment of God, but as a daily experience. Since the end of the war I had had a home in Holland for victims of Nazi brutality. Those who were able to forgive their former enemies were able also to return to the outside world and rebuild their lives, no matter what the physical scars. Those who nursed their bitterness remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible as that.
And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an emotion--I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart. "Jesus, help me!" I prayed silently. "I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling."
And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.
"I forgive you, brother!" I cried. "With all my heart!"
For a long moment we grasped each other's hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God's Love so intensely as I did then.
And having thus learned to forgive in this hardest of situations, I wish I could say I never again had difficulty in forgiving! I wish I could say that merciful and charitable thoughts just naturally flowed from me from then on. But they didn't. If there's one thing I've learned at 80 years of age, it's that I can't store up good feelings and behavior--but only draw them fresh from God each day.
It was the truth they needed most to hear in that bitter, bombed-out land, and I gave them my favourite mental picture. Maybe because the sea is never far from a Hollander's mind, I liked to think that that's where forgiven sins were thrown. "When we confess our sins," I said, "God casts them into the deepest ocean, gone forever."
The solemn faces stared back at me, not quite daring to believe. There were never questions after a talk in Germany in 1947. People stood up in silence, in silence collected their wraps, in silence left the room.
And that's when I saw him, working his way forward against the others. One moment I saw the overcoat and the brown hat; the next, a blue uniform and a visored cap with its skull and crossbones. It came back with a rush: The huge room with its harsh overhead lights, the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in the center of the floor, the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see my sister's frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment skin. Betsie, how thin you were!
Betsie and I had been arrested for concealing Jews in our home during the Nazi occupation of Holland; this man had been a guard at Ravensbrck concentration camp where we were sent.
Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: "A fine message, Frulein! How good it is to know that, as you say, all our sins are at the bottom of the sea!"
And I, who had spoken so glibly of forgiveness, fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take that hand. He would not remember me, of course--how could he remember one prisoner among those thousands of women?
But I remembered him and the leather crop swinging from his belt. It was the first time since my release that I had been face to face with one of my captors and my blood seemed to freeze.
"You mentioned Ravensbrck in your talk," he was saying. "I was a guard in there." No, he did not remember me.
"But since that time," he went on, "I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well. Frulein,"--again the hand came out--"will you forgive me?"
And I stood there--I whose sins had every day to be forgiven--and could not. Betsie had died in that place--could he erase her slow terrible death simply for the asking?
It could not have been many seconds that he stood there, hand held out, but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.
For I had to do it--I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: That we forgive those who have injured us. "If you do not forgive men their trespasses," Jesus says, "neither will your Father in Heaven forgive your trespasses."
I knew it not only as a commandment of God, but as a daily experience. Since the end of the war I had had a home in Holland for victims of Nazi brutality. Those who were able to forgive their former enemies were able also to return to the outside world and rebuild their lives, no matter what the physical scars. Those who nursed their bitterness remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible as that.
And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an emotion--I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart. "Jesus, help me!" I prayed silently. "I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling."
And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.
"I forgive you, brother!" I cried. "With all my heart!"
For a long moment we grasped each other's hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God's Love so intensely as I did then.
And having thus learned to forgive in this hardest of situations, I wish I could say I never again had difficulty in forgiving! I wish I could say that merciful and charitable thoughts just naturally flowed from me from then on. But they didn't. If there's one thing I've learned at 80 years of age, it's that I can't store up good feelings and behavior--but only draw them fresh from God each day.
Monday, January 30, 2012
without notice
As I reorganized my duffel, bold thoughts entered in.
I had my passport, license, debit card, unnecessary gift cards that I’ve been saving, clothing, my Bible, journal, and Dr. Zhivago for entertainment.
The possibility to go elsewhere, than home.
I was so near to international waters. It would be so easy——perhaps, but my mind believed that I could handle it with God’s guidance.
Glancing at my unnecessary- of-mobile-communication-technology… My parents would be supportive.. perhaps…. They would need to adjust to the idea for some time… But then I had three days until my returning flight.
Three days before I return to my second semester at a community college, wonderful friends, most of my loving family, and far too much comfort for habit.
But where on earth would I go. Seriously.
I was willing for my plans to be skewed… Yet here I am, typing away as I wait to go to the grocery store with my lovely sister and adorable nephew.
Opportunity’s afloat, yet stationary it lays… lazily among the tarnish and debris.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
~
"Play blank white page! Blank white page!"
A tired, scratchy voice propelled behind me, into my ears.
My beer-battered feet--from my resistance of wearing shoes--shifted as the herd of people flocked closer to the clear sound of instruments produced by their artist. Many in this miniature venue, were ambitious in their attempt to meet the foot of the stage.
The strum.. The blow.. The notes.
A new song began to breathe. Although it was not a song of adolescence, everyone found it necessary to encourage the lyrics as they sang along. And from this the song grew strong, although dependent.
My eyes strayed from the cello and its player, as I met the immediate environment and its beings.
Sounds and lyrics, often understood, continued.
Yet hands were raised.
Accompanied by shut eyes.
These were not mere musicians, but gods (to some).
While there are those (& perhaps the majority) who would claim otherwise, there are those who would be willing to debate.
We are an adulterous people.
I have a friend who speaks a lot; but when they do, I am eager to hear what they have to say. And this reminds me of what they once said to me:
If humanity were to follow the first commandment, God would not need to provide much more than that.
_"you shall have no other gods before Me."
Man is incapable of doing this.
Whether the circumstance be----the fall of Adam & Eve, gluttony, envy, cheating... We are at fault.
For the placement of ourselves, power, or attention (etc.) overrule the possibility of the virtues of God.
Sometime ago, I heard/read/possibly imagined this quote:
When we are not content with what has been given to us, we are saying 'God is not enough.'
Ai-yai-yai.
How often I seek for brief summarized satisfaction, as I neglect the entire, eternal works that He offers.
God is enough.
Just
Be still.. and know that He is God.
---and do something about it.
_Exodus 20:3
Monday, November 28, 2011
will yours' be
a Home, bombarded with walls of the dusty, often enjoyed writings of the obscure and distinguished..or.. a House, that though it is charmingly approachable, contains piles of wooden frames, filled with frozen memorable adventures that continue to reproduce, as they wait patiently to befriend the naked walls? Or, is a balance of the two possible for you; and what would it be, a Home or a House?
Sunday, November 27, 2011
stationary
Lately, I've noticed how our domestic society dwells: in a self-inflicted cage.
A large part of our time is kept indoors--especially our own.
I don't like it at all.
A large part of our time is kept indoors--especially our own.
I don't like it at all.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
back to reality
Being a pessimist has its ups, because it falls to me being right. Yet there is some optimism in that.
Monday, July 18, 2011
by the lake journal entry
15 July 2011
This world is a cage. Not only containing those who are Christians (true believers, Jesus-freaks, etc.) from eternal living among the dead prophets and disciples of the Savior's time on earth, but the nature surrounding our humanity. As man cries for pain to end, the seas crash, and the wind torments the trees and creature within and around them, forcing some to bow. If there are such characters of life as the waters and trees where my God (the God) dwells among the forgiven and saved... what an image they must be. For I am now lost in gratitude in this enjoyment of such beauty of creation----where presently, evil seems absent. At the moment, this thought that evil being departed and separate from where I sit has allowed an attempt to measure God's brilliance. But that is a silly venture for anyone to attempt to understand, and this understanding of this incapability further allows me to recognize the Lord's glory and majesty. Yet now (as moments and time has continued), I feel discomfort, as the chill of winds whip through. Such a simple action that occurs often in everyone's life----if not chilly winds, the earnest heat that our skin so fluently absorbs from the sun, or the abundance of rain and snow that buries and drowns both the animate and the inanimate beings. This is not where I belong ~ nor do many others----at least not for forever. But we are here. And with this current setting that I survive with much assistance from my Father, in situations in which I decline and fail, I recognize my captivity and need for this Savior of mine.
Monday, July 11, 2011
I Desire This Perspective
Following my first experience at a conference (Resolved) held in a setting of isolation and the weary, and while encompassed within the support of thousands of fellow lovers of Christ, led by humbled speakers, and wonderful worship... I am continuing to realize the wasted life I used to orchestrate.
So often I would act upon the cliche that this is "Heaven on Earth". I would dwell in this idea without noticing it, leading to my unattainable expectations which concluded with a low set of confidence and often laziness. This life I beheld was one only directed for myself, glossing---or being ignorant of how I must have been saddening my Father with this dead life of mine. These expectations I produced and fastened myself to, were not so much ignoring the will of God, but limiting what I did not understand, though I had convinced myself that I truly did. Such concerns as marriage--my husband would be a wonderfully godly man, putting God before me; he would enjoy outdoor activities often-& not be too shabby at them; the man would be dashing and attractive, and he too would desire to be on the mission field. The other constant topic of my ideals was the one of where I would be sent if I were to depart for the mission grounds--I enjoyed the idea (and still do, but with some additions of every possibility) that God would send me to a place that the idea of it didn't frighten me. Possibly Brazil (any of S. America), China (nearly all of Asia), Indonesia (east islands), Africa, and so on. Yet the possibility of two places that made me anxious the most were the Middle East and India. While both cultures interest me BY FAR... I didn't believe I could ever truly be comfortable there.
HA.
Oh, discomfort... this is what I now have been inviting and for myself. One of my most fond books of the Bible, Philippians-a constant read of mine, has benefited me in this, while in the past I glazed over such truth that has strengthened me. "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:6,7).
So, I am no longer striving to create this heavenly lifestyle in this decaying, sinful world. But I am constantly being made new through my reading, tiresome experience, and encouraging friends.
An example of this reading comes from a letter from Mary Love, who was writing to her husband who was to be executed the following day while she was pregnant (eight-months along) with their third child. Her interpretation of the action that would follow that next day is one that has made my desire for Heaven now a longing.. yet while I wait, I shall continue to experience trial and walk in a manner that pleases the Lord.
---Here is the letter
July 14, 1651
Before I write a word further, I beseech thee to think not that it is thy wife but a friend now that writes to thee. I hope thou hast freely given up thy wife and children to God, who hath said in Jeremiah 49:11, “Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive, and let thy widow trust in me.” Thy Maker will be my husband, and a Father to thy children. O that the Lord would keep thee from having one troubled thought for thy relations. I desire freely to give thee up into thy Father’s hands, and not only look upon it as a crown of glory for thee to die for Christ, but as an honor to me that I should have a husband to leave for Christ.
I dare not speak to thee, nor have a thought within my own heart of my own unspeakable loss, but wholly keep my eye fixed upon thy inexpressible and inconceivable gain. Thou leavest but a sinful, mortal wife to be everlastingly married to the Lord of glory. Thou leavest but children, brothers, and sisters to go to the Lord Jesus, thy eldest Brother. Thou leavest friends on earth to go to the enjoyment of saints and angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect in glory. Thou dost but leave earth for heaven and changest a prison for a palace. And if natural affections should begin to arise, I hope that the spirit of grace that is within thee will quell them, knowing that all things here below are but dung and dross in comparison of those things that are above. I know thou keepest thine eye fixed on the hope of glory, which makes thy feet trample on the loss of earth.
My dear, I know God hath not only prepared glory for thee, and thee for it, but I am persuaded that He will sweeten the way for thee to come to the enjoyment of it. When thou art putting thy clothes on that morning, O think, “I am now putting on my wedding garments to go to be married to my everlasting Redeemer.”
When the messenger of death comes to thee, let him not seem dreadful to thee, but look on him as a messenger that brings thee tidings of eternal life. When thou goest up the scaffold, think (as thou saidst to me) that it is but thy fiery chariot to carry thee up to thy Father’s house.
And when thy layest thy precious head down to recieve thy Father’s stroke, remember what thou saidst to me: Though thy head was severed from thy body, yet in a moment thy soul should be united to thy Head, the Lord Jesus, in heaven. And though it may seem something bitter, that by the hands of men we are parted a little sooner than otherwise we might have been, yet let us consider that it is the decree and will of our Father, and it will not be long ere we shall enjoy one another in heaven again.
Let us comfort one another with these sayings. Be comforted, my dear heart. It is but a little stroke and thou shalt be there where the weary shall be at rest and the wicked shall cease from troubling. Remember that thou mayest eat thy dinner with bitter herbs, yet thou shalt have a sweet supper with Christ that night. My dear, by what I write unto thee, I do not hereby undertake to teach thee; for these comforts I have received from the Lord by thee. I will write no more, nor trouble thee any further, but commit thee into the arms of God with whom ere long thee and I shall be.
Farewell, my dear. I shall never see thy face more till we both behold the face of the Lord Jesus at that great day.
~Mary Love
I thank God for this dreadful world, where it only enlarges God's sovereignty and His glory.
So often I would act upon the cliche that this is "Heaven on Earth". I would dwell in this idea without noticing it, leading to my unattainable expectations which concluded with a low set of confidence and often laziness. This life I beheld was one only directed for myself, glossing---or being ignorant of how I must have been saddening my Father with this dead life of mine. These expectations I produced and fastened myself to, were not so much ignoring the will of God, but limiting what I did not understand, though I had convinced myself that I truly did. Such concerns as marriage--my husband would be a wonderfully godly man, putting God before me; he would enjoy outdoor activities often-& not be too shabby at them; the man would be dashing and attractive, and he too would desire to be on the mission field. The other constant topic of my ideals was the one of where I would be sent if I were to depart for the mission grounds--I enjoyed the idea (and still do, but with some additions of every possibility) that God would send me to a place that the idea of it didn't frighten me. Possibly Brazil (any of S. America), China (nearly all of Asia), Indonesia (east islands), Africa, and so on. Yet the possibility of two places that made me anxious the most were the Middle East and India. While both cultures interest me BY FAR... I didn't believe I could ever truly be comfortable there.
HA.
Oh, discomfort... this is what I now have been inviting and for myself. One of my most fond books of the Bible, Philippians-a constant read of mine, has benefited me in this, while in the past I glazed over such truth that has strengthened me. "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:6,7).
So, I am no longer striving to create this heavenly lifestyle in this decaying, sinful world. But I am constantly being made new through my reading, tiresome experience, and encouraging friends.
An example of this reading comes from a letter from Mary Love, who was writing to her husband who was to be executed the following day while she was pregnant (eight-months along) with their third child. Her interpretation of the action that would follow that next day is one that has made my desire for Heaven now a longing.. yet while I wait, I shall continue to experience trial and walk in a manner that pleases the Lord.
---Here is the letter
July 14, 1651
Before I write a word further, I beseech thee to think not that it is thy wife but a friend now that writes to thee. I hope thou hast freely given up thy wife and children to God, who hath said in Jeremiah 49:11, “Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive, and let thy widow trust in me.” Thy Maker will be my husband, and a Father to thy children. O that the Lord would keep thee from having one troubled thought for thy relations. I desire freely to give thee up into thy Father’s hands, and not only look upon it as a crown of glory for thee to die for Christ, but as an honor to me that I should have a husband to leave for Christ.
I dare not speak to thee, nor have a thought within my own heart of my own unspeakable loss, but wholly keep my eye fixed upon thy inexpressible and inconceivable gain. Thou leavest but a sinful, mortal wife to be everlastingly married to the Lord of glory. Thou leavest but children, brothers, and sisters to go to the Lord Jesus, thy eldest Brother. Thou leavest friends on earth to go to the enjoyment of saints and angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect in glory. Thou dost but leave earth for heaven and changest a prison for a palace. And if natural affections should begin to arise, I hope that the spirit of grace that is within thee will quell them, knowing that all things here below are but dung and dross in comparison of those things that are above. I know thou keepest thine eye fixed on the hope of glory, which makes thy feet trample on the loss of earth.
My dear, I know God hath not only prepared glory for thee, and thee for it, but I am persuaded that He will sweeten the way for thee to come to the enjoyment of it. When thou art putting thy clothes on that morning, O think, “I am now putting on my wedding garments to go to be married to my everlasting Redeemer.”
When the messenger of death comes to thee, let him not seem dreadful to thee, but look on him as a messenger that brings thee tidings of eternal life. When thou goest up the scaffold, think (as thou saidst to me) that it is but thy fiery chariot to carry thee up to thy Father’s house.
And when thy layest thy precious head down to recieve thy Father’s stroke, remember what thou saidst to me: Though thy head was severed from thy body, yet in a moment thy soul should be united to thy Head, the Lord Jesus, in heaven. And though it may seem something bitter, that by the hands of men we are parted a little sooner than otherwise we might have been, yet let us consider that it is the decree and will of our Father, and it will not be long ere we shall enjoy one another in heaven again.
Let us comfort one another with these sayings. Be comforted, my dear heart. It is but a little stroke and thou shalt be there where the weary shall be at rest and the wicked shall cease from troubling. Remember that thou mayest eat thy dinner with bitter herbs, yet thou shalt have a sweet supper with Christ that night. My dear, by what I write unto thee, I do not hereby undertake to teach thee; for these comforts I have received from the Lord by thee. I will write no more, nor trouble thee any further, but commit thee into the arms of God with whom ere long thee and I shall be.
Farewell, my dear. I shall never see thy face more till we both behold the face of the Lord Jesus at that great day.
~Mary Love
I thank God for this dreadful world, where it only enlarges God's sovereignty and His glory.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)