#bringing in the sheaves

[countesspetofi]

Bringing in the Sheaves ~ Burl Ives (1965)

When I was really little, we had this record of Burl Ives singing “Bringing in the Sheaves,” and it was one of my favorites. At the time, I thought he was singing about bringing in the sheets, as in taking the dry laundry off the clothesline like I used to help Mom do, All those lines about sewing (sowing) didn’t help, although I did wonder why Burl’s sheets needed so much mending. Kind of embarrassing for a kid who grew up in farm country.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Bringing in the Sheaves Nashville Bluegrass Ensemble | Runtime: 3mins 7secs

[darth-azrael]

Brevard Renaissance Fair: Music The Gathering - Bringing in the Sheaves

[sigma-tamale]

Favorite Moby Dick Quote:

“Towards the stern of the boat it is spirally coiled away in the tub, not like the worm-pipe of a still though, but so as to form one round, cheese-shaped mass of densely bedded 'sheaves,' or layers of concentric spiralizations, without any hollow but the 'heart,' or minute vertical tube formed at the axis of the cheese.”

[fhear]

"Bringing In The Sheaves" (with Lyrics) Old-Fashioned Bluegrass Gospel R...

[brooklynislandgirl]

💋 - from John

Berries for a Kiss || - Beth can be a skittish thing once night has fallen. Despite being the second oldest of the Riley children, she’s the smallest, one of the quietest, and generally spends more time in the Dutton barns than her own. Since childhood she’s gotten to know every creak, every shadow, nook and cranny of the barnes, the birthing sheds, the ranch’s house itself. And even though the rest of her clan’s returned to their own spread, ready to settle down for Christmas eve, she’s the last one to leave. She’s blanketing the horses, double checking her ledgers, the feed ratio and water temps. Not that it’s a lot of work, the Dutton livestock are treated far better than a lot of people that Beth could name. Still, she loves the horses and since many of them come down from the bloodlines the 5 Oaks have bred, sometimes she sees them as her own. It’s something John can appreciate when he, too, comes into the barn, needing a little quiet and cold air to clear his head. She doesn’t flinch, though it looks like she might. “Mr Dut--John.” “Hello, sweetheart”, he says, and touches the brim of his hat. “Figured you’d have headed home already.” Her eyes gleam as she smiles up at him. Pretty. Radiant. Young enough to be one of his own kids, though she isn’t. Does a man’s heart good to be so flattered. He has known for far too long that she’s been sweet on him. Every once in a while he may have indulged that, from dancing with her in the kitchen to having supper with her. It’s a nice change of pace from the friction of his own family. “..F’ya want me to go, I can…” She glances from his face to the toe of his boot and back. Curls a lock of hair round her fingertip. Some things never change. “I can make up the guest room for you. Roads are probably too dangerous now.” He closes the distance between them. Her hand settles on his middle. Sweeps her gaze up him til it meets his own. Despite the whole house being done up for the holidays, the barn is suspiciously absent of anything remotely festive. But that’s not to say he isn’t a resourceful man. He reaches behind her and plucks a blade of timothy grass and keeps it for a few seconds, running the pad of one finger along the centre of it before he holds it over her head. Then he leans down and kisses her just at the corner of her mouth, when he knew at best he should have aimed for her cheek. He almost gets his apology out. Almost. But before he can, both of her hands come up and cradle his face. She rises up on the tips of her toes, head tilted just so, and kisses him back. There’s no corner, it’s all lips on lips, and she sighs into him. He’s not a helpless old man by any means but he can’t do anything but wind his arms around her. Let his hands slide down to her backside before lifting her up. He’s got saddles with more weight then her, and he sits her down on the nearest bales. Settles himself in the break between her thighs. He savours the warmth of her and the way she tucks her legs around his own. Wonders why she tastes like cinnamon and autumn mornings. Or why she seems intent on chasing the whisky in his own mouth.

[gumheel]

a softer world 209 (turn toward the camera and smile smile smile)

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

By Moonlight

Adar x Fem!Elf!Reader

Part One- Babes in the Woods

Summery: Reader finds Uruk children alone in the forest and returns them to their own meeting their "Adar".

Warnings: cannon typical violence

Only a little Adar in this first bit but this will be many parts of pining for Lord Father of the Uruks. So enjoy time with the babies for now!

Druadan Forest was the farthest west you'd ever been. The pine trees cast their needles to the uneven path, wind wiping them around your aching feet. You pulled your thin cloaks hood tighter to your face as a harsh gust sent them to your exposed skin. The last warmth of summer still clung in the air and you were thankful for that.

Avari elves were few and far between these days. After kin had been stolen by Morgoth many hid away farther South, deep in forests or caves. For you this was an impossible ask, to spend your millennia without a glimpse of starlight or another kindred soul to watch the ages pass with. Your wild flee into the moonlit night from everything you'd ever known had been the most terrifying moment of your long life. Though to this day you could not regret the action, not even as the hunger pains hit once more.

You stopped by a gnarly felled tree, tucking yourself and your knapsack low in the cover of its exposed roots. The ground was softer here, a patch of moss that you rested your weary legs on. Your water skin was nearing empty but you drank your fill regardless. There was a stream or river close enough you could hear its rubble from your resting spot. You let your eyes drift closed against the golden rays piercing through the canopy and tried to hold off from eating the last of your last catch a little while longer.

The sound that startled you from your rest was unlike anything you'd ever heard. Loud, piercing and in an extreme state of duress. Your body seemed to react to it of its own accord, slinging your bag to your back and leaping into a run in one swift motion.

A part of you feared it may be some kind of trap. You'd encountered enough slit throats and wolves to feed that concern. That you'd be sprinting headfirst into your own death here but the wail only seemed to get more pained the closer to the river you ran. You made your mind up when you finally recognised the sound. You'd been the youngest of your kin and had never actually beheld an infant before but you were certain that's what it was. A baby.

The forest thinned by the river, earth turning to stone but your feet were light and made not a sound as you caught sight of an over turned caravan. It seemed made of scrap material and brittle wood and now laid on its side with two more coming into view in much the same state behind it.

You stopped your approach on the edge of the trees as a jeering laugh broke out. The wailing had stopped a abruptly and in its absence you were able to focus on the group ahead. Three men around a large fire. There were body's already burning upon it, filling the air with its acrid, metallic smell.

They seemed to be celebrating, this their enemy's pyre and not one for their own. Still it hardly seemed the place for a baby to be and you set your keen eyes to the men themselves. Each had sheaved weapons, bows strung to their backs. A mousey blond swiped dark blood from a long dagger onto his sleeve as his broad companion tossed something to the fire.

Then you saw it, the little bundle hanging in its tattered blanket from the fist of the smallest man. He sneered wildly at his companions before bringing the child back to him and removing the blanket.

The screech pierced the world again, an excruciating wail as the low sun's orange rays beat against ashen skin. Again your body moved before your mind, short sword drawn and sliced through the man's wrist. You caught the babe rolling with it pressed to your chest before the severed hand hit the ground.

The small man brought his bleeding stump to his face, screaming and stumbling back into the pyre. His wails turned shrill as he fought the spreading flames. His kin turning to your hunched form and drawing swords.

It was at this moment a stone whipped past your hair and struck the blond on his temple. Using the distraction your surged forward, driving your blade under the larger man's leather armor and to his heart. You spun as you pulled your blade free spraying crimson across white stone.

The blond met your eyes, a hand over his eye were blood trickled down. He had his own blade in hand now, a broadsword that seemed too large for his frame. Still with unexpected strength he swung it one handed were you had been. The blade just catching against the hem of your dress and tearing the fabric. Not for the first time in your journey you'd cursed the thing.

The baby you held cried out again and you risked a glance down at it, eyes widening as you finally took in its form. Pale skin, paler even than you'd first seen, rendered reddish by the suns exposure. It's ears tucked in wisps of white hair were pointed like your own but turned slight downward. It was an orc child.

You didn't have time to take it all in as a nearby squeak altered you to the swords stroke coming down to your head. You just managed to lift your own to meet it, metal clashing and sparking as you used it's momentum. You slid with the force pushed atop you between the assailants legs, orc again pressed against you. Then with a cry of your own you raised up and stabbed through the blonds back.

The world seemed to hold its breath then with you. Silence ringing in your ears as you looked to the setting sun. You turned your back to it, letting your shadow cast over the infants form as you held it out from you again. The cries were nothing more than burbles now, residual pain from its burnt skin being forgotten as it blinked large amber eyes at your own. Tiny hands reached out to you as grumbling sounds of discontentment fell from the baby's lips. You brought it back to your chest, its long nails grasping the neck of your dress as it settled.

You stayed like that a moment, blood dripping from your sword against the pale stone before your ears twitched. You'd almost forgotten about the other. The one who threw the stone and called out to rescue you from that sword. There was a shuffling of feet, worn fabric soles shifting against stone and earth. Not just the one set either, it sounded like several sets from one of the over turned caravans.

As slow as you could you flicked the blood from your blade, not missing a sharp intake of breathes. They didn't exhale when you returned your blade to your belt. Carefully you moved your cloak from your shoulders draping the hood over the baby's head and making sure its little body remained covered. You stepped hard on the stone, ensuring your approach would echo out.

"Greetings?" You called out, cringing at your hoarse tone. You'd not spoken a word to anyone since you'd left home in spring save a little song when you were deep in the woods. Now with autumns turn you weren't sure how to make your watchers feel safe. There was no movement from the torn fabric door of the cart, no sounds of their flee either.

"They're alive." You spoke again, clearer this time but again you flushed at your failing words. Staring again into the dark where you could now hear breathing. "Your baby, they're... I'll just place them here then."

You knelt by the caravan as a gust of wind shifted what you now could see was animal skin from the darkness. There you were met with 3 pairs of yellow eyes staring wide out at you. Children. They were all children but all bared fanged teeth out at you.

"It's alright, be at ease." You tried, smoothing your voice the best you could. You moved to pull the baby from you to return them to their kin but tiny nails dug further into the linen of your dress. You looked to the infant brows knitting together at the situation.

"Please little one. To your own." You coaxed, pushing a finger to their palm to release their grip. They protested still grabbing more fabric in their firsts and gumming it in their mouth. You looked back desperately to the orc children.

In turn they'd moved closer to the edge of their sanctuary and now watched you with softer eyes, almost mirthful. The eldest it seemed, or at least the largest of them, moved past the other two. The trees provided more shade here and they pulled a worn hood over their ears. They reached forward with shaking arms and spoke to the infant in words you didn't understand.

It took a moment but they were able to pry the protesting baby from you and pass them back to the other two children. Though you suddenly felt the cold space the baby had been so sorely. It was then the eldest pulled a wicked knife from their layers and pointed it crudely out at you. They spoke but seeing your knit brow they started again.

"Leave us be or i'll gut you!" They demanded now in shaking westron. Close you could see this child was a young orc boy. He'd shed tears recently and the track marks through the grime on his face were stark even against his more mottled skin.

You cast your eyes over them again. Children. They were just children, now alone as their kin burned in the fading light. How could they possibly make it alone? With such a small one in tow as well? You weren't even sure they'd be able to carry the baby themselves not for far at least.

"Do you know what an oath is child." You said. His face scrunched in anger.

"Of course I do!" He huffed, still waving his blade at you. "You swear something, then... then there's blood and..." he seemed paused in thought as he wasn't sure what would come next.

Though the metal of his dagger was ragged it was a clean blade and it looked wickedly sharp. You took his hand despite his protestations and guided it to your palm. He stopped fighting you as you drew the blade across your own skin, biting your cheek against the sting. You held the hand up, palm to the others as you dropped your head.

"You have my word, on my life I mean you no harm. I will deliver you to your kin if that is what you wish." Your voice finally sounded your own again. Certain and strong.

The children seemed to contemplate it a moment in their own tongue before the eldest nodded to you. All at once the sun now hidden behind the horizon the orc-lings poured from out of their shelter. It was hard to tell on ones so young but you think the one with a shock of red fluff atop their head was a girl. The other younger boy had sparse black hair but eyes so deep in their colour they almost looked red in the firelight.

"Where can we find other orcs..." You began.

"Uruk." Three little voices grunted at you in unison.

"Uruk." You returned, testing the word. "Sorry, where can we find more Uruk then. Your kinsmen."

The children weren't much help on the matter, only voicing that they wanted to go to their "lord father". You set them a small fire further from the bodies and set about the caravan. There were no maps but there was food so you brought it to your young traveling companions. There were water skins, that you filled for them and a small cart that must have been dragged along with them. It didn't take too long to have it covered in the caravans skins.

The girl, Tûkâ, and eldest, Thrak, walked alongside you for a time, her small claws poking holes in your torn skirts as she held to them. The smaller boy who'd introduced himself with a flourish as Torz sat inside the cart, cradling the baby. It wasn't long after you'd crossed the river that the other two joined him, though Thrak held out until he'd stumbled into your side.

When light came you drew the skins tight around the cart, only peaking in when you were sure the shadow of the high trees would be enough cover. The baby stirred, crying out and causing you to halt the journey. In shade you stooped low, poking your head into the cart entirely. The baby cried harder still, reaching arms up to you. Thrak passed them up to you, still wrapped in your cloak. The cries continued as you bounced them gently, singing a soft lullaby you remembered your mother singing to you. It helped a little but their tiny face was still screwed up and they were restless in your arms.

"He's hungry." Torz offered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Will he not eat?" You ask, cooing as he took a finger into his mouth.

"...He's a baby." Thrak frowned, crossing his arms. "He's got no teeth."

You thought a moment before turning your knapsack round your body. You had cooked potatoes you'd taken from the caravan, if you mushed them up in a bowl maybe the baby could eat it then. Thrak watched displeased but his expression softened when you were able to spoon a bit into the babies mouth.

"We must move quickly, I fear for this little one." You sighed. The baby's hands seemed weaker in its grasp than before, loosely curling around your bloodied hand. The reddish skin where they'd been burned seemed to be pealing at the edges and weeping into your cloak. You pealed it back gently before tearing your chemise to make bandages. You hoped they'd help until your could get him to his own.

For the next two days you ran the cart as fast as you could, pushing it as smoothly as possible through the now rolling hills. The raw wound on your hand ached and bled against the rough wood but you had to keep moving. The sun lost its warmth and without your cloak the chill hit you hard. The little ones huddled under the covers of the cart, taking turns with the baby and singing your song to him.

The woods grew back up again, oaks and sycamore dropping a carpet of brilliant leaves matching the children's eyes. When night fell you had to stop, your lungs burning and your legs like lead. Thrak brought you water with and the others curled around your fast cooling body. Their warmth helped block out the icy chill of the night but you could not find rest. Your mind churning in anxieties as you held the baby between your bodies. He was so quiet and though he breathed his skin felt cold.

You set out again a few hours before dawn, Thrak insisting on pushing the cart with Torz after you and Tûkâ. Hope swelled in your breast as you spied the faintest glow over the next hill. When you were sure they'd see it as well you pointed it out to your companions. They seemed weary at first, the memories of men still fresh in mind but soon their ears flicked. You'd heard it too, the gruffer voices speaking in their language.

Without thought you hurried ahead, the boys abandoning the cart and rushing faster to your side. They called out to their Uruk elders in their own tongue as you reached to top of the hill. Bellow you could now see a great score in the earth. A trench leading as far back as the mountains and covered with cloth animal skins to keep the light out.

The Uruk's that approached drew weapons, arrows nocked and aimed at you. The children huddled to your skirts, Thrak moving ahead to shout something to the adults. They paid him no mind, brushing past him as they drew closer.

Fearing for them you passed the baby down to Tûkâ and raised your palms. You were brought to your knees by a jab to your leg, cold mud seeping through your dress. Thrak continued to protest on your behalf as your belt and sword were taken from you and iron shackles were snapped in place.

You were pushed down the hill towards the camps of Uruk by the one you assumed to be their captain. He was mottled skinned like Thrak but with none of the kindness in his eyes. You were pushed down into the trench, falling hard onto the turned over earth. A chorus of cruel laughter broke out as you scrambled back to your feet.

"Better take this one to Adar." The captain growled. He pushed your back with the tip of his blade, forcing you forward. Over your shoulder you spied the children being taken the other way, Thrak still fighting to get back to you.

...

Adar stood alone in a dug out room, running his gauntlet's spiked fingers over the map. By winter they'd reach the Southlands but it would take into Summer before their work would be done. He'd labored for centuries to give his children a home, what was a few more months.

"Lord father." One of his children broke the silence. Adar turned to him, darkening his face when he saw the Elleth. One of his children held her sword in his fist, whilst his scouts captain hit her on the side of the head with his. She groaned dropping to her knees in front of him, her head remaining low as Adar stalked forward.

"Found this one on the border with youngins' Lord Father." his child continued. She remained still on the ground as Adar appraised her. She hardly seemed like a scout herself. Her dress was almost formal though it had seen far better days, now caked in grime and blood. Though its style was all too familiar to him.

"Lembi... What brings an Avari so far from home." Adar rasped watching her stiffen at his words. Her hands clenched a moment before Adar watched her turn them, bloodied palm now resting on her knees. Her eyes turned to his and he was struck by the sight. Even with the mud on her face and on her knees, she looked fierce. A strength in her gaze like the rivers themselves.

"An oath." She said.

[templeof-demeter]

My Morning Prayer to Demeter

Honored Demeter, rooted in the dark earth,

tender shoots and golden sheaves alike are yours.

Noble goddess, fair-haired provider of reward to those who work the land, trading sweat and toil for fruit and grain, mother of Persephone.

Your will and devotion turn the world, the seasons

Demeter, awe-inspiring goddess, wrathful one, endless one, I pray to you.

Grant me hope in despair, love and loyalty so fierce no foe can best me.

Grant me sufficiency, growth, transformation.

Demeter, bring me though darkness, temper my spirit, show me the joy within the pain, the life within cold soil.

Devotion Prayers to the Gods of the Greeks 3rd edition by Hearthstone

[wytchoftheways]

Lammas Prayer: 🌾🌞

The Corn king gives his life for the land,

We toast his sacrifice with ale in our hand,

And eat the bread, from the harvest made,

As sheaves of corn to the earth are laid.

Transformation surrounds us,

The harvest turned to food and drink,

Now is the time to learn and to think,

Of what we can do to grow even stronger,

As the summer recedes and nights grow longer.

We share our rewards and bless the earth,

That brings our fruitful abundance to birth, May our well-earned bounty reward our toil,

As we harvest the seed and the grain from the soil.

[matan4il]

✨✨✨here to sprinkle JEWISH JOY into your inbox ✨✨✨

Thank you so much, lovely! :D I hope it's okay if I try to sprinkle you with a bit of Jewish joy right back... An Israeli tradition that I love is taking the texts of Hebrew poets (even ones from centuries ago) or of Jewish rabbis, or from the Hebrew scriptures, and turning them into songs. So here's one that felt very fitting. This is a song by an Israeli band called Ha'Madregot (which is Hebrew for 'the stairs'), turning Tehilim קכ"ו (Psalm 126) into a song. I'll add a translation of the words into English after the vid, but the main theme? Joy. <333

[translator's notes in brackets]

A song of the ascents [the stairs of the Hebrew Temple in Jerusalem, where the People of Israel would gather 3 times a year, during the Jewish holidays of Sukkot, Pesach and Shavuot, and would be blessed by the Temple's priests]: When God will bring back The return of Zion [the return of Jews to Israel from their exile in Babylon, starting from the year 538 BC] We would be as dreamers. Then our mouth will be filled with laughter And our tongue with song / joy [the word רינה 'rina' carries both of these meanings, and I personally believe the biblical text chooses this specific word for 'joy' because it wants us to think of both]. Then the nations [the non-Jews] will say: Greatly has God done for these. Great has God done for us, We would be happy. Bring back, God, our captivity Like stream channels in the Negev [desert, in southern Israel. During the summer they dry out, but in the winter, they become filled with powerful streams again] Those who sow in tears, Will reap in song / joy. The carrier of valuable seeds will walk away crying, He will come [back] with song / joy, carrying his [harvested] sheaves. [This Psalm is yet another example of how Judaism itself is inherently Zionist and always has been. Bonus fun fact: It was one of the possibilities for the anthem of the State of Israel]

I hope I managed my goal, at least a bit. ;) xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[theskullkid]

So, if anyone had happened to pay attention to my blog description or the stuff that I reblog, you’d know that I am very queer and also very Christian. One of my favorite things to do is to tell Bible stories, and I decided— why the hell not, I’ll post ‘em on here! I decided to come to you all today with the story of Joseph, son of Jacob, who was sold by his own brothers into slavery. Very terrible of them. I’m well aware. It happened kinda like this:

Jacob was this old guy in the old testament. He had four wives— Rachel, Bilhah, Leah, and Zilpah— and eleven kids. And out of all of them, wifey Rachel and his sonny Joseph where his favorites. Rachel, his favorite wife, because that was who he WANTED to marry (the others were added onto the list after a whole buncha mess that would take a long time to get into); and Joseph, the son bore by the wife he really loved. Jacob favored Joseph so much that Joseph’s brothers were jealous of him and hated the very grounds Joseph walked on. Jacob even made Joseph a coat- a coat of many colors, as the bible says. It set him apart from his brothers, and it was hated by his siblings.

Joseph was blessed with a talent of being able to interpret dreams. I guess it made up for whatever he lacked in common sense. For example, once he went to his brothers and told him about a dream he had. 

“Hey, guys, I had a weird dream last night,” he said, although it wasn’t very odd to him. He knew what it meant. “We were all out gathering sheaves of grain out in the field, and all the sudden, my sheaf jerked outta my hands and rose upright, and your sheaves all jerked outta your hands, too, and bowed around mine! Isn’t that… Weird?” He gulped, because all the sudden, his brothers looked like they wanted to absolutely murder him. 

“You sayin’ that one day, you’re gonna rule over us?” They growled, because they absolutely wanted to murder him. Joseph had enough sense to keep his trap shut at that and shuffled off.

A while later, Jacob sent Joseph to go get his brothers and bring them home, because they were out in the field, doing farmerly things. They saw Joseph coming in the distance, and they all decided that they were sick of him and his stupid coat, so they plotted to kill him.

“Here comes the dreamer,” one of them said, mockingly. “Let’s just kill him and throw him into one of the dry wells. No one would know about it, and we can just say an animal killed him and ruin that stupid jacket as proof, easy peasy.”

Reuben, the eldest, turned a little pale. See, he hated Joseph himself, but he didn’t want to kill the guy. “Um… How ‘bout we, uh, not kill him? Just throwing that out there.” He said, nervously. “Lets just take the jacket and throw him into the well. Leave him there. Lets not get his blood on our hands.” Well, really, Reuben didn’t want Joseph’s blood on HIS hands. He intended on going back to the well and saving Joseph and leading him back.

A bit later, Joseph approached them.

“Hey, guys!” Joseph said, brightly, as the bloodthirsty figures of his brothers loomed over him. “Dad wants you guys back home, how much longer d’ya think you’ll be- ACK!”

The “ack” being the sound of Joseph’s brothers grabbing him, yanking off his coat, and tossing him into the well. For funnies, imagine that little cartoon sound effect that’s used when a character falls off a cliff. 

They left Joseph there, who was pretty much screaming, begging, pleading, and crying for his brothers to let him out, and went to go eat a meal— excluding Reuben, who was out biding some time before he went to save Joseph. As they were eating, they caught sight of some Ishmaelites passing through. 

“Hey, here’s a thought,” Judah said, his voice thick with food, “How ‘bout we sell him? That way, his blood ain’t on our hands, we’re a couple pieces of silver richer, AND we get rid of him. I mean, he is our own brother. Might as well show a little mercy and sell him into slavery.”

His brothers grunted in agreement, and when they finished, they went back to the well. 

“You came back!” Joseph hiccuped, a bruised, tear-stained and dirty mess, relief settled in his eyes. “I prayed you would! You can have the jacket, if you don’t like it- Huh?”

And then they sold Joseph for twenty pieces of silver.

When Reuben found Joseph wasn’t there, he freaked out. “What am I gonna do now? This is gonna kill Dad!” He stressed, but his brothers had already taken the coat and smeared it with animals blood. When they presented it to Jacob, he thought that Joseph was killed by some animals, and he tore his clothes and went deep into mourning. When his children and many wives tried to comfort him, he refused it. He said that he’d never stop mourning his son until he was dead right along with him.

Meanwhile, the Ishmaelites went and sold Jacob away to Egypt for slavery. To Potiphar, to be exact, who was one of the officials for the Pharaoh.

You can read the story for yourself in Genesis, Chapter 37: verses 1 through 36 in the Bible! :D

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Living His Word

He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him. — Psalm 126:6

Seasons of life can be like the four seasons of the year. For example, winter can represent a cold and dreary period of your life. It's just not the right time to start anything. There's no life anywhere and there's nothing you can do about it yet. Indeed, if you jumped the gun and tried to plant something, it would surely die. Instead, you just have to patiently go through it. The best you can do is get yourself ready for spring when things begin to warm up.

Then it happens. Spring comes and the time is right. It's time to get moving and get things started. It's a good time, a time of promise; however, it is also the time when you have to risk everything. It's not the time of reaping; it's the time of sowing. You have to take from what you have, no matter how little it is, and sow it into the ground. You have to rob the present in order to fund the future. That's why the sower in our verse for today goes out weeping. He's investing a lot in a venture with no guarantee. It takes faith to be a sower.

If that were not enough, you have to wait. There's no immediate reward. There's no return on investment right away. Instead, you must wait for the seeds to sprout and grow. You must go through the summer period of life when all you do is tend to your investment. It's hard work. It's hot outside and the work can be backbreaking, and it drags on for what seems like a lifetime. Would that the summer period of life lasted only a literal summer! Why can't the Lord speed things up? After all, He's God, and He can do anything.

The Lord, of course, has His own timetable as your summer drags on. Nevertheless, seasons don't last forever. They may take longer than we would like, but they always give way to the next one in line. Autumn comes. Your winter, spring, and summer periods of life are finally paying off. You trusted God and took the leap of faith. You invested your very life, and the time has come.

The time has come to reap. The time has come to bring home the sheaves with shouts of joy. Give thanks to the Lord of harvest.

© 2024 by Bible League International

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Lughnasadh, also known as Lammas, is a Celtic festival marking the beginning of the harvest season. Celebrated on August 1st, it's a time to give thanks for the bounty of the earth and honor the hard work that goes into bringing food to our tables. This ancient festival is steeped in rich history and symbolism, offering a beautiful opportunity to connect with nature and appreciate the fruits of our labor.

History of Lughnasadh

Lughnasadh is named after the Celtic god Lugh, associated with skill, craftsmanship, and the sun. Traditionally, it was believed that Lugh established the festival to honor his foster mother, Tailtiu, who died of exhaustion after clearing the land for agriculture in Ireland. As such, Lughnasad is deeply intertwined with the agricultural cycle and the importance of the harvest.

Symbols of Lughnasadh

Several symbols are associated with this sabbat:

Grain: As the first harvest festival, grain is a prominent symbol, representing abundance and sustenance.

Bread: Baked from the newly harvested grain, bread symbolizes the transformation of nature's bounty into nourishment.

Sun: Representing the life-giving energy that fuels growth and harvest.

Lions: Associated with courage, strength, and leadership, often connected to the sun god.

Colors: Gold, green, and brown reflect the harvest season and the earth.

Celebrating Lughnasadh

There are many ways to celebrate Lughnasadh, both traditionally and in a modern context:

Harvest Feast: Gather with loved ones to enjoy a meal featuring the bounty of the season. Incorporate fresh,locally sourced ingredients into your dishes.

Decorate with Nature: Bring the outdoors in by decorating your home with flowers, wheat sheaves, or corn dollies.

Bake Bread: Create your own loaf of bread as a symbol of abundance and gratitude.

Outdoor Activities: Spend time in nature, hiking, gardening, or simply enjoying the sunshine.

Bonfire: Light a bonfire to symbolize the sun's energy and to ward off evil spirits.

Offerings: Leave offerings of food or drink to the land spirits as a token of appreciation.

Traditional Recipes

While specific recipes may vary, here are some traditional food items often associated with Lughnasadh:

Bread: A staple of any harvest celebration, try making a traditional loaf of bread using whole wheat flour.

Oatcakes: Simple and hearty, oatcakes were a common food for workers in the fields.

Honey Cakes: Sweet treats made with honey, a symbol of abundance and prosperity.

Stews and Soups: Hearty and comforting, these dishes utilize seasonal vegetables and meats.

Lughnasadh is a beautiful opportunity to connect with nature, appreciate the fruits of our labor, and celebrate the cycle of life. Whether you choose to observe the traditions or create your own modern rituals, this special day offers a chance to give thanks for the abundance in your life.

Happy Lughnasadh!

[antisemitism-eu]

Judaism is NOT Zionism: Psalms

I reviewed the Book of Psalms, in order to show that there's no connection between Judaism and Zionism.

Only 52 out of 150 psalms talk about the Land of Israel.

Zion, Jerusalem, G-d's City, G-d's land, Israel's land, G-d bringing Israel to their land etc.

That's just a mere 35%.

Add another 14 psalms that talk about the House of G-d (which we know was not on the Temple Mount), and another 2 that talk about the Return of Israel (to Poland?) - and we still have just 45%.

That's less than 50%!!!

And still there are some (!) Jews who think the Land of Israel is an integral part of Judaism.

I even found a Psalm about anti-Zionists!

See? Anti-Zionism is not new!!

Palm 129:

A song of ascents.

Since my youth they have often assailed me, let Israel now declare,

since my youth they have often assailed me, but they have never overcome me.

Plowmen plowed across my back; they made long furrows.

The LORD, the righteous one, has snapped the cords of the wicked.

Let all who hate Zion fall back in disgrace.

Let them be like grass on roofs that fades before it can be pulled up,

that affords no handful for the reaper, no armful for the gatherer of sheaves,

no exchange with passersby: “The blessing of the LORD be upon you.” “We bless you by the name of the LORD.”

* This study is not academic... so I might have missed a psalm or two

[synnthamonsugar]

50 saveris...?

50. A Kiss . . . out of love

"I've lived a lifetime on the scale of stars, and never have I had a fraction of the contentment I do now," Savathûn mused as she rested along the flowerbeds of the Alluring Curtain. 

"Never?" asked Eris Morn, bared head askew. Atop a garden terrace, she crouched nearly eye-level to Savathûn. "What of Nezarec? When you snatched the veil from our enemy, or trapped Rhulk?"

"You know better than anyone that vengeance brings a different sort of satisfaction … fleeting. Appetizing, without fulfillment, like tithes fed to the insatiable jaws of Ur." She stretched out on the warm grass, unfocused her eyes against the cloudy green-yellow sky. "I do believe contentment is wanting for nothing." 

"No longer do you stake your life in lies, Witch, but I refuse to believe you all the same." 

"After all we've been through, you think I would lie to you?" she burred in mock-affront. 

"I think you would lie to yourself. Wanting has been a part of your nature since you bore the name Sathona. That is not a fire quenched by peace."

"What could I possibly desire, Eris? I'm free from my rattlebrained parasite and the scrutiny of the Witness's groveling errand-boy. No longer must I hide beneath sheaves of letters or the face of your old Vanguard, spinning endless yarns to appeal to your friends –" she leaned in close, eyes glinting, relishing the flame that sparked between Eris' brow. " – or you."

"So you have everything you want already," Eris entertained the Witch's claim, if for no other reason than to find the contradiction that proved her logic instead. "The Light, and a throne world built in it. The disciples, dead. Freedom from the worm-pact. Begrudging compliance of the Vanguard. My presence… my attention…"

"Very good," said Savathûn in praiseful sing-song. 

"But you don't have me." Eris stated flatly, chitinous brow furrowed.

Savathûn threw back her head, laughter clarion-sharp against the soft, low murmur of the garden. "You made your body a shrine to my pursuit, your mind a reliquary of my knowledge! Careful as you were, you let me in, nourished me with your failed attempts to understand . . . and delighted me with your successes. How glad I was to share my tithes; how eager you were to drink them!" Red blossomed beneath rivulets of ichor. "Honey, I couldn't ask for more."

Eris stepped forward, close enough now to sense body heat and Light. "I can."

It was Savathûn's turn to come to an understanding. She tilted her head forward, meeting Eris' lips with the incisal edge of her teeth experimentally. She rested the joint of one clawed finger against her waist, the pad of another touching softly against the bony crests of her head. For Eris' part, she slipped her hands under the chitin that armored her lower jaw, rubbing the soft flesh beneath. She'd witnessed human acts of affection, but partaking was uncharted territory. She thrilled in the alien tenderness, the feeling of skin to bone and Light to Darkness. 

When their mouths finally parted, Eris reached to stroke the orbital of Savathûn's third eye. She closed membranes over them, lulled by her touch. "You let me in, too," Eris whispered coyly. "You imagined who I was, and who I could be. Am I as you pictured?"

"Better."

Savathûn felt the sensation of lips upon the horns that framed her brow and smiled inwardly, no doubt that she had everything and more.