Little Manhattan

Love Story, the 1970 tearjerker starring Ali McGraw and Ryan O’Neal left me cold. Its famous tagline, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” has irritated and confounded me to no end for these thirty-six years. If there is no “I’m sorry” spoken, then when will the “I forgive you be heard”?

Here’s a new movie to set things straight, Little Manhattan. There are no big time stars, and no illicit romances to draw fawning fans to ask for this little film. It has nothing more to offer than a simple tale of a young boy’s first-time love.

I won’t spoil the rest, but Little Manhattan is truly love put into practice. Gather the family and a bowl of popcorn – and look for those catechetical moments. Here is a wholesome movie done well.


Also posted at Luther Library.

Spines and Flights

Recent x-rays of my spine look like a zipper on LSD. God has such a sense of humor. After years of chiding others to “get a backbone,” mine is crumbling because of arthritis. Ascending stairs has become a fuggedaboudit activity. Descending is easier, but how does one descend without having first ascended? Rather than the pain being the worst part of it all, it is the fatigue. I am simply not accustomed to being bone-weary until I have put in a 12-hour day. Now it takes considerably less than that. The future holds major surgery, and not a pleasant one at that. But that’s down the road a bit.

Now John has been benefiting from this business. I can’t do as much shopping as I once did. My limit is three stores. Getting in and out of the car pays its toll on me, so by then it’s time to get on home.

Yesterday I spent time encased in an MRI tube. I under-rated my claustrophobic tendencies at first, but eventually stilled them by reciting the catechism. There is nothing like a bit of familiar litany to calm nerves.

It was the afternoon that brought relief and good news by way of the physical therapist. He hooked me up to a T.E.N.S. machine and let it do its thing. What a wonder! It was better than drugs. He assured me that there is a portable unit I can wear to use daily. This might increase endurance through the elimination of pain. What a wonder that would be. Watch out, world! I’m on my way back!

I didn’t ask if the TENS would fix me up enough to go sky diving. Of course, I’d probably drift off course a lot seein’s how I’m listin’ to the right as it is these days.

The Lord teaches us always to die so that He might live in us (2Cor 4:11).

Dixie Wimps

Now here’s a quote worth noting:

“The entire country may disagree with me, but I don't understand the necessity for patriotism. Why do you have to be a patriot? About what? This land is our land? Why? You can like where you live and like your life, but as for loving the whole country… I don't see why people care about patriotism.” Natalie Maines, Dixie Chicks

Read more at Michelle Malkin’s blog.

A cogent point is made at The Coalition of the Swilling.

Yes, it always comes back to McCarthy and Vietnam, that one-two combination of leftist martyrdom. Oh, I am called to task for a stupid comment! I'm being repressed! McCarthy! How dare people not buy my music because they think I'm an ass...

Really, ladies, there is a difference between being a victim, and claiming the status of victimhood for oneself. The Dixie Chicks have chosen the course of the latter. What the Dixie Chicks are engaging in is consumer blackmail.

They have no more of a right to expect anyone to purchase their product for any reason than this country has a right to expect them to pick up a flag and wave it at every concert. And they better get used to it without recourse to martyrdom cheap shots.

Grow up and quit your whining, tootsies!

A Sandwich...

...takes on a whole new meaning when your appetite has been pumped up after a long walk through the sites of the oldest city in Germany, Trier, on the opening day of the World Cup. Just behind this little gal is Porta Nigra, the largest of all Roman arches in the world still standing today. The cutie pie is my granddaughter. She lives with her mom and dad in Mannheim, Germany. I just got back from spending two weeeks with them.


Emi had also seen the Roman Basilica, which was Constantine's throne room (on the left here). It is now a Lutheran church. That's her daddy walking down the right aisle.

At the local Dom, or cathedral, she also stood within feet of the seamless tunic of Christ, and inches of one of the nails from His cross (so they say.) However, she was most impressed with the dancing cat toy her grammy bought her for two euro, fifty- the type of toy we used to pick up for a few pfennig years ago. The cat "dances" when you press your thumb under the base of the thing. Don't ask for a better description. I'm at a total loss at present to provide one.



At any rate, how would any of you pastors like to preach with this as your view? It's a bit exaggerated, as the actual altar is that stone box sitting near the pews. This is taken from high above it near the shrine of the tunic. Keep in mind that tunic is enshrined behind you to give you strength in all you say and do. If that doesn't do it, then that nail is in the cathedral treasury off to your left. Failing that, one supposes thoughts of the remains of the Roman amphitheater just down the street would suffice. It could still be put back into use just in case you don't "get it right." How's that for a bit of encouragement?

As long as trust is placed where Christ has not given His Word, faith is not where He is. Then all one has is the Law. Pity that His Flesh and Blood are left uneaten and often eaten so capriciously, yet shreds of cloth and rusty chips of iron gather hushed and reverent crowds.