Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
He who would have God as his Father must have The Church as his mother.
St. Justin Martyr
A Friend Indeed
Below is a link to the blog of a very good friend. He is a Primitive Baptist pastor at a local congregation. Our Christian beliefs are different and I do not endorse his remarks regarding salvation or any other tenets of the Primitive Baptist doctrine. Chris has been a very good friend to me. I am sure he is a man of God and the love of the Lord is clearly evident in him. http://zionpbc.wordpress.com/
2 comments:
Good things are worth waiting for I hear. I like these photographs.
So do I: thank you for sharing.
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