For my birthday, I sprung for a slipstrop and a few flexcut carving tools. While the tools haven’t arrived yet, I spent an inordinate amount of time stropping the tools I do have yesterday, and friends, let me tell you: sharp tools make battleship gray lino feel like the soft cut stuff.

I was just amazed at the difference. I started with a speedball-knock-off tool with changeable blades, and picked up a package of Temu woodblock carving tools (with real wooden handles!). I currently own on flexcarve palm tool – a very small V-cut that I use for outlining and fine details – and thought that the flexcarve was the biggest upgrade I could make.

After stropping, even the temu tools are feeling good.

So, I felt the need to “doodle” in lino – there was no major plan for this, and it’s just a scrap from a larger piece, but it cut SOOOO nice.

I have some water-based black to proof with, so of course, here’s a print:

Having sharp tools means my control is so much better – not having to use force, but just allowing the blade to cut, guiding it across the material – it’s amazing.

I suspect there will be more doodles in the future, because doing the small things are just fun!

S.N.I.t ; VVA Human Interest

De Mensen van de KNMI gevoelstemperatuur metingen

Hai, inderdaad ja. Mijn naam is Richard Kleiderman. Ik ben al vijf jaar actief bij het KNMI, als expert werkzaam in het weer en gevoel lab. Deelnemer temperatuur ervaring, ik ben één van een select gezelschap, 12 medewerkers, inclusief chauffeur, temperatuur voelers, wij worden alle dagen binnen bewaard behalve als de het instituut ons nodig heeft. Wij worden dan in een geblindeerd merkloze zwarte wagen naar diverse meet locaties gebracht, daar moeten we uit de auto met alleen een speedo badpak of zwembroek aan en terug in de wagen, vervolgens zeggen we op de graad nauwkeurig hoe koud of heet het voelt, en allemaal zonder te weten hoe het echt is. Puur op voel talent, hoog ontwikkelde waarnemings genen zitten er in ons. De KNMI heeft ons er op geselecteerd. Jaren door geselecteerd, zware studies moesten we volgen, fysiek overleven terwijl overal om ons heen de temperatuur er was, die dan steeg of daalde, en dan werden we keer op keer getest. Zwaar werk, zeker de opleiding. Het was het waard, zonder meer. De Koninklijke kan niet zonder ons functioneren. Het vaderland en zijn onverveerde volk heeft ons nodig, ze moeten voor ze zomaar naar buiten gaan weten wat ze daar gevoelsmatig staat te wachten. De gewone recht toe recht aan meters zijn niet langer goed genoeg, het kwik liegt u min of meer voor, het is eigenlijk altijd kouder dan het werkelijk is.

Uhuh, uhuh. Binnenkort, binnenkort ja, dan gaan we samen met buienradar en weeronline iets nieuws beginnen, nu gebleken is dat de meet apparatuur keer op keer tekort schiet bij eigenlijk alles gaan we onze voel sprieten ook richten op gevoels windkracht en richting, als er windkracht 4 staat, uit het Oosten, dan zegt ons gevoel dat het meer lijkt op een West 6, gevoels regenstand, heel vaak hoor je 6 mm op een dag, maar als je buiten staat, leunt op een schoffel, loopt of fietst, voelt het als 4 of 0 of wel 9 mm. We willen ook nog zoiets ontwikkelen voor de zonkracht maar dat zit voorlopig alleen in het vat dat heeft meer voeten in aarde vanwege de gevaren die zonlicht kracht voelen op de onbedekte blote huid met zich meebrengt.

We hebben met een ander team nog iets gedaan betreffende de extra's, van die dingen als goed barbecue weer, tuinweer, we vonden, met name de mensen van de weer instituten die hun geld uit dit bronmateriaal moeten ronselen, het aanbod daarin mager, zeg maar schraal. De uitbreiding bevat onder andere goed paintball weer, lekker ijsvis weer, perfect weer voor fierljeppen, goed voor kievitei rapers, fijn mest of maai weer (ook voor privé veldjes, op zaterdag) veel ruimere keuze zodat meer mensen kunnen weten wat ze moeten doen als er buiten weer is. Bedankt fijn dat u wel belangstelling toont voor ons, de drijvende krachten achter de Koninklijke, zonder ons zou iedereen maar raak voelen, die onwetenden, amateurs!

Gentle words

Understand that it is ok to comfort yourself The small sounds of the tv playing the voices of friends you have come to know well is not a wrong thing to listen to. It is ok to sit on a soft surface Sometimes you need to take on the posture of a slightly crumpled infant, held up in a sitting position to look with large black eyes at the world. This is often better than a futuristic chair even with all its knobs. It's ok to soothe yourself with the feel of soft blankets and almost painful bathwater that makes you sweat through your hair. Yes, it's ok to light candles. Tiny fires in big darks, small warm tongues that murmur gentle words just out of hearing. Why do we deny ourselves these small, soothing pleasures. We would not deny a baby though their needs are the same as ours. Jobs, age and time in this weird world do not change that. My thin veins have thrummed with Puritanical blood. I have associated soothing with sin though my body and spirit are in want of such tender care. Do it! I will, now. Ah, the beads of sweat begin to form.

ipnotico:

https://youtu.be/EuEfhz0OCwA?si=CeCjEfFo5uP79Vhe

In August, in an effort to lose weight, improve my health, and learn to cook, I took the Jumpstart class with the Rochester Lifestyle Medicine Institute. Any attendee who participates fully—measuring changes in their health, attending meetings, etc.—is allowed one free retake within 12 months. I'll be beginning that retake on Monday. I'm grateful for the opportunity, because although I learned a lot and developed good habits the first time around, I got off-track with Kika's passing and the holidays. I try not to make excuses, though. I didn't want that change enough. I didn't want it enough to overcome those challenges, anyway. I hope that the retake helps me to rebuild those habits and stick with them.

The RLMI recommends a whole-food plant-based diet. I've been vegan since the summer of 2011 for ethical reasons, but over those years, I became a junk food vegan. There's plenty of highly-processed vegan food out there, full of sugar and salt and fat, and it hasn't served me well. Although I'm not one of those people who thinks any diet can work miracles, curing cancer or some such thing, I do think eating more real food from the earth is probably better for everyone. This program helps participants learn how to do that. (If you do believe a certain diet can work miracles and cure cancer, that's fine, but please don't rely on that at the exclusion of modern medical treatment. It won't work.)

Although I had followed other diets in the past, some very successfully, taking the course in August opened my eyes, for the first time, to how terrible most grocery store food is. Most of those items with the big, bright logos, fun packaging, and exciting new flavors are filled with stuff that nobody needs. I'm not even talking about complex chemicals which have difficult-to-pronounce names—those things can be found in bananas, too. I'm talking about the heaps of salt and oil and sugar these brands pack their foods with to make them as delicious (and as unhealthy) as possible.

Since then, I've been struggling to come up with a term for this kind of food. Everyone knows the term junk food, of course, but that doesn't quite describe the food I'm talking about. Many people consider ice cream to be junk food, for example, but not oatmeal that's unnecessarily packed with sugar. I think we need a term for the latter.

After lots of thinking, I finally came up with one: funhouse food. If it has bright colors, a bold name, a cartoon character, or fun packaging, if it's loaded with salt or sugar or fat—if it's too much fun—it's funhouse food.

May I endeavor harder and harder to avoid it.

#Life

I don't enjoy browsing through the vinyl selection in my local charity shop as much as I used to now that it contains quite so many records that I donated there years ago that seem to be in no danger of ever being sold. To go there is to be confronted anew with past regrets. Still, they had one LP that caught my eye on Saturday morning: Genuine Dud by the Dudley Moore Trio. This was an original '66 pressing in very good condition with a slightly distressed sleeve (Fig. 9). It cost me £2.50.

Moore's success as a comic writer and performer overshadowed his considerable pianistic talent, but meanwhile must have helped enable the release of the several recordings he made with his trio. The first of these was The Other Side of Dudley Moore, released in 1965, with Genuine Dud coming next, seeing daylight the following year. On both LPs his bandmates were Pete McGurk on bass and Chris Karan on drums. It's a well-recorded slice of amiable piano jazz, with seven more or less familiar standards plus two of Moore's own compositions. There are ballads, blues and bossa nova numbers: try their take on the Kern/Harbach tune ‘Yesterdays‘ for example.

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I'm not well-versed in the subgenre of dark fantasy, though I have dabbled a little along its more literary frontier. At the weekend I finished something that was a bit more of a page-turner in the shape of Asunder by Kerstin Hall. I had bought it as a gift for someone else before a late change of plan left it with me. Rather than try to return it I thought I may as well read it myself. I found it worthwhile & absorbing, set in a well-imagined and plausibly ‘lived-in’ world with intriguingly alien religious traditions that neatly informed the magic, technology and politics at play in the story. In certain other respects Hall was content to leave her world more like the real one. The characterisation was pretty good, and the conventionally-structured plot kept things moving at a steady enough clip. Personally I’d have preferred a proper ending over a sequel-friendly one, but I know that the market for this kind of fiction tends to demand series more than standalones.

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Cheese of the week: some Manouri, bought at Lidl. It's a whey-based cheese made in Greece from sheep and/or goatsmilk, apparently a by-product of feta production, but a subtly delicious foodstuff in its own right. As it says here “Manouri has a firm texture, a rich, buttery flavour with mild citrusy notes and a milky aroma, it’s less salty than Feta and creamier than Halloumi.”

Mark 10 is often remembered for its moments: the children climbing into Jesus’ arms, the rich man walking away sorrowful, the disciples arguing about greatness, blind Bartimaeus crying out by the roadside. But when you step back and let the whole chapter breathe, something deeper emerges. This is the chapter where Jesus quietly but firmly rearranges the value system of the world. Without raising His voice, without staging a spectacle, He turns human assumptions upside down. He does not debate Rome, He does not confront the temple leadership directly, and He does not announce a political platform. Instead, He teaches by presence, by touch, by a few sentences that land like stones in water and ripple outward into eternity. Mark 10 is not a collection of random teachings. It is one long conversation about what truly matters.

Jesus is on the move again, traveling toward Jerusalem. Every step brings Him closer to suffering, betrayal, and death, and yet He spends this precious stretch of time talking about marriage, children, money, power, and faith. That alone tells us something important. When Jesus knows His time is short, He does not escape into lofty abstractions. He speaks about daily life. He speaks about relationships. He speaks about the things people struggle with when they wake up and when they lie down at night. He is preparing His disciples not only for the cross, but for how to live after it.

The chapter opens with a question about divorce, but beneath that question is a much larger one. The Pharisees are not really interested in marriage. They are testing Jesus. They want to see whether He will align with one rabbinic school or another. In their world, debates about divorce were common and technical. How much could a man justify leaving his wife? What counted as lawful grounds? Jesus does something unexpected. He does not begin with legal loopholes. He begins with creation. He takes them back before Moses, before the law, before arguments. He takes them back to the moment God made human beings and said, “This is good.”

Jesus speaks of two becoming one flesh, of a bond that God Himself joins together. He does not frame marriage as a contract between two individuals who can dissolve it when it becomes inconvenient. He frames it as a sacred act rooted in God’s original design. What is striking is not only what He says about divorce, but what He implies about love. Love, in Jesus’ teaching, is not primarily about personal fulfillment. It is about covenant faithfulness. It is about choosing another person and staying when leaving would be easier. It is about reflecting God’s own steadfastness.

This teaching would have sounded radical in a culture where men had far more power than women and where divorce often left women economically vulnerable. Jesus’ words quietly elevate the dignity of both partners. He is not offering a burden; He is offering a vision of love that mirrors heaven’s commitment to earth. In a world that treats relationships as disposable, Jesus insists they are sacred.

Immediately after this, people bring children to Him. The disciples rebuke them. That detail is important. In the ancient world, children had little social value. They could not contribute labor in the way adults could, they had no political standing, and they had not yet demonstrated religious seriousness. The disciples likely thought they were protecting Jesus’ time. Important teacher, important mission, no time for interruptions. But Jesus is indignant. He is not mildly annoyed. He is moved with strong feeling. He tells them to let the children come.

Then He does something more radical. He says that anyone who does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will never enter it. He does not say receive it as a scholar, or as a disciplined monk, or as a powerful leader. He says receive it as a child. Children receive. They do not negotiate. They do not present résumés. They do not demand explanations before they trust. They come with open hands and open hearts.

Jesus then takes the children in His arms and blesses them. This is not a symbolic gesture for a painting. This is theology in motion. The kingdom belongs to those who know they need to be held. It belongs to those who are not ashamed to depend. It belongs to those who do not pretend to have everything figured out. In this moment, Jesus establishes a pattern that runs through the rest of the chapter. Those who seem small, unimportant, or powerless are actually closest to the heart of God.

Then comes the encounter with the rich man, one of the most haunting scenes in the Gospel. A man runs up to Jesus and kneels. That alone is unusual. Wealthy men did not run. They did not kneel. His posture suggests sincerity. He calls Jesus “Good Teacher” and asks what he must do to inherit eternal life. This is not a flippant question. This is a man who has thought deeply about his soul.

Jesus responds by listing commandments. The man says he has kept them since his youth. And then Mark includes a line that changes everything. Jesus looks at him and loves him. Before the challenge comes, love comes. The call to sell everything and follow is not a test of cruelty. It is an invitation to freedom.

Jesus tells him to sell what he has, give to the poor, and come follow Him. The man’s face falls. He goes away sorrowful, because he has great possessions. This is not a story about a greedy villain. It is a story about a decent man who cannot let go. His wealth is not just money. It is security, identity, and control. Jesus is asking him to trust God more than his assets.

The tragedy is not that Jesus demands too much. The tragedy is that the man cannot imagine life without what he owns. He wants eternal life, but he wants it added to his existing life, not instead of it. Jesus is not offering a supplement. He is offering a new center of gravity.

Jesus then tells His disciples how hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God. They are astonished. In their worldview, wealth was often seen as a sign of God’s blessing. If anyone should be close to God, it should be the prosperous. But Jesus dismantles that assumption. Wealth, He says, can become a barrier because it creates the illusion of self-sufficiency. When you have resources, you do not feel desperate. And when you do not feel desperate, you may never reach for God.

The disciples ask, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus replies that with man it is impossible, but not with God. Salvation is not an achievement. It is a gift. The rich man cannot buy his way into the kingdom, and the poor man cannot earn his way into it either. Everyone comes the same way, through surrender.

Peter then speaks up, pointing out that the disciples have left everything to follow Jesus. Jesus does not rebuke him. He acknowledges the cost. He promises that those who leave homes, family, and security for His sake will receive a hundredfold, along with persecutions, and eternal life in the age to come. It is a strange promise. Blessing and suffering are woven together. Jesus does not paint discipleship as easy. He paints it as meaningful.

Then He says something that echoes through the rest of the chapter: many who are first will be last, and the last first. This is the theme of Mark 10 in one sentence. The world ranks people by wealth, influence, strength, and visibility. Jesus ranks them by humility, trust, and love.

As they continue on the road to Jerusalem, Jesus predicts His death for the third time. He speaks with clarity. He will be handed over, mocked, flogged, and killed, and on the third day He will rise. This is not poetic language. It is precise and grim. And yet, immediately after this, James and John come to Him with a request. They want to sit at His right and left in glory.

Their timing is painful. Jesus has just spoken about suffering, and they are thinking about status. They are imagining thrones, not crosses. Jesus does not explode in anger. He asks them if they can drink the cup He will drink. They say they can, not fully understanding what they are agreeing to. Jesus tells them they will share in His suffering, but positions of honor are not His to grant.

The other disciples become indignant. They are not offended by the request because it is wrong; they are offended because they did not think of it first. This is one of the most honest pictures of human nature in the Gospels. Even in the presence of Jesus, people compete.

Jesus then gathers them and teaches them about leadership. He contrasts the rulers of the Gentiles, who lord it over others, with the way it is supposed to be among His followers. Greatness, He says, is found in service. The one who wants to be first must be slave of all. Then He grounds this teaching in His own mission. The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.

This is not motivational language. It is a redefinition of power. Power is not the ability to control others. Power is the willingness to lay down your life for them. Jesus does not just teach this. He embodies it. He is walking toward a cross, and He is teaching His friends how to walk differently in the world.

Finally, as they leave Jericho, they encounter a blind man named Bartimaeus. He is sitting by the roadside, begging. When he hears that Jesus is passing by, he cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” People tell him to be quiet. Once again, someone deemed unimportant is told not to bother the Teacher. Once again, Jesus stops.

He calls Bartimaeus to Him. The blind man throws off his cloak and comes. Jesus asks him what he wants. It seems obvious, but Jesus lets him speak his need. Bartimaeus asks to see. Jesus tells him his faith has made him well. Immediately, he receives his sight and follows Jesus on the way.

This ending is not accidental. Bartimaeus becomes a living picture of what Jesus has been teaching all along. He knows he is blind. He knows he needs mercy. He does not cling to possessions. He does not ask for status. He asks for sight. And when he receives it, he follows.

The rich man walked away sorrowful because he could not let go. Bartimaeus walks after Jesus because he has nothing left to lose. The children ran to Jesus because they trusted Him. The disciples argued about greatness because they still wanted to matter in the world’s terms. Bartimaeus matters because he sees who Jesus is.

Mark 10 is a mirror. It shows us what we value. It exposes the quiet assumptions we carry about success, security, and significance. It asks whether we are willing to be small in order to receive something greater. It asks whether we will trust like children, surrender like servants, and cry out like beggars who know they need mercy.

Jesus does not shame anyone in this chapter. He invites. He invites the married to faithfulness, the children to closeness, the rich to freedom, the ambitious to humility, and the blind to sight. Some accept the invitation. Some walk away. The chapter does not end with a crowd cheering. It ends with one man seeing and following.

That may be the point. The kingdom does not advance through applause. It advances through transformed lives. It advances when someone lets go of what they thought mattered and discovers what truly does.

Mark 10 does not tell us how to win in the world. It tells us how to belong in the kingdom.

And the question it leaves us with is simple and uncomfortable.

What are we holding onto that is keeping us from seeing?

What makes Mark 10 so unsettling is that it does not attack obvious sins first. It does not begin with theft or violence or cruelty. It begins with things people defend as reasonable. Marriage interpreted for convenience. Children treated as interruptions. Wealth trusted as protection. Ambition framed as motivation. Even religious obedience treated as proof of worth. Jesus walks straight into the respectable parts of human life and says, very gently and very firmly, that the kingdom of God does not work the way the world does.

That is why this chapter still feels personal. It does not accuse strangers. It confronts people who are trying to do things right. The rich man is not mocking Jesus. He kneels. The disciples are not rejecting Jesus. They follow Him. The Pharisees are not openly hostile in this moment. They are debating Scripture. Everyone in this chapter believes they are acting reasonably. And that is exactly where Jesus introduces something unreasonable by human standards: surrender.

Surrender is not dramatic. It does not look like collapse. It looks like trust. It looks like choosing God’s way when your own way still feels safer. The man who walks away sorrowful does so because he cannot imagine life without the structures that make him feel secure. He is not refusing God. He is refusing uncertainty. He wants eternal life without risk. He wants salvation without vulnerability. And Jesus does not chase him down and bargain. Jesus lets him walk. That detail matters. Love does not coerce. Love invites.

There is a quiet grief in that scene that often goes unnoticed. Jesus loves him. Jesus offers him a future that money cannot buy. And still, the man walks away. This is not a lesson about how bad wealth is. It is a lesson about how powerful attachment can be. Anything we rely on more than God becomes a rival god, even if it is morally neutral on the surface. Wealth is not condemned because it is evil. It is dangerous because it works. It gives the illusion of control. It convinces people they can manage their lives without surrender. And the kingdom cannot be received that way.

This is why Jesus’ words about children are not sentimental. They are strategic. Children cannot secure their own future. They cannot protect themselves from everything. They live by trust because they must. They do not have the resources to pretend they are independent. That is what Jesus is pointing to. The kingdom belongs to those who stop pretending they are self-sustaining.

It is also why His teaching on leadership lands so sharply. The disciples want proximity to glory. They want visible importance. They want to matter in a way people can recognize. Jesus offers them something far more difficult. He offers them service. He offers them a life where greatness is measured by how much they are willing to lower themselves for others. That is not natural ambition. That is transformed ambition.

There is a strange consistency in the way people respond to Jesus in this chapter. Those who feel important struggle with Him. Those who feel small move toward Him. The children run to Him. Bartimaeus cries out to Him. The disciples argue about rank. The rich man walks away. The Pharisees test Him. The pattern is not random. It is diagnostic.

Mark 10 reveals that the kingdom of God does not reward confidence in self. It responds to dependence on God. It does not amplify those who already feel sufficient. It heals those who know they are lacking. It does not elevate those who cling to control. It welcomes those who release it.

Bartimaeus is especially important because he is not polite. He does not wait his turn. He does not speak with theological precision. He shouts. He insists. He is desperate. And when people try to silence him, he cries out even more. His blindness has taught him something the others have not yet learned. When you cannot see, you stop pretending you can. When you are aware of your need, you do not waste time protecting your dignity.

Jesus’ question to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” sounds simple, but it is deeply respectful. Jesus does not assume. He invites Bartimaeus to articulate his need. Faith is not passive in this moment. Faith speaks. Faith names what it longs for. Faith does not hide behind generalities. Bartimaeus does not say, “Bless me.” He says, “Let me recover my sight.” And when Jesus heals him, Bartimaeus follows Him. He does not return to the roadside. He does not go back to begging. He joins the road to Jerusalem. He enters the story.

That road matters. Everything in Mark’s Gospel is bending toward Jerusalem. Toward the cross. Toward the place where Jesus will demonstrate in flesh what He has been teaching in words. Mark 10 is a rehearsal for Calvary. It explains why the cross makes sense in the kingdom of God and why it makes no sense in the kingdom of man.

In the kingdom of man, power preserves itself. In the kingdom of God, power gives itself away. In the kingdom of man, the strong rise. In the kingdom of God, the humble are lifted. In the kingdom of man, life is taken to secure position. In the kingdom of God, life is given to restore others.

Jesus says the Son of Man came to give His life as a ransom for many. That word ransom implies cost. Freedom is not free. Someone pays. Jesus does not just talk about sacrifice. He frames it as the foundation of rescue. His service is not symbolic. It is redemptive. He is not just setting an example. He is opening a way.

When we read Mark 10 carefully, we begin to see that Jesus is not rearranging religious rules. He is redefining value. He is telling us what matters when everything else is stripped away. He is teaching us what will remain when wealth fails, when status fades, when strength weakens, and when sight dims.

Faithfulness matters more than convenience. Trust matters more than security. Service matters more than recognition. Mercy matters more than pride. Sight matters more than success.

And yet, none of these lessons are delivered with condemnation. Jesus does not shout. He does not shame. He does not ridicule. He invites. He speaks as one who knows what is coming and still chooses love. His authority is not aggressive. It is grounded.

This is why the disciples’ misunderstanding is so revealing. They follow Jesus physically, but they still imagine a kingdom that looks like the world. They want seats of honor. They want proximity to power. They want their loyalty to pay off in visible reward. And Jesus patiently tells them that following Him means sharing His cup. It means entering His path of suffering and love. It means being reshaped.

Transformation in Mark 10 is not instant. It is gradual. The disciples do not suddenly understand everything. They misunderstand again and again. But they stay. They listen. They walk the road. And that is enough for Jesus to keep teaching them.

This is deeply comforting. It means that misunderstanding does not disqualify you. Clinging does not disqualify you. Fear does not disqualify you. What disqualifies is refusal to let go. The rich man walks away. The disciples stay confused but present. Bartimaeus moves forward in trust. The children come openly. The Pharisees test and withdraw. Everyone chooses something.

Mark 10 quietly forces the reader to choose as well. Not through pressure, but through contrast. It shows what different responses to Jesus look like. It lets you see where each path leads. It does not give an abstract moral. It gives lives.

One path leads to sorrowful departure. One path leads to slow transformation. One path leads to healed vision. One path leads to hardened resistance. One path leads to closeness.

And none of them are hidden. You can recognize yourself in them if you are honest.

Sometimes you are the rich man, aware of God but afraid to lose control. Sometimes you are the disciples, sincere but still measuring greatness in the wrong way. Sometimes you are Bartimaeus, desperate enough to cry out. Sometimes you are a child, trusting without calculation. Sometimes you are the Pharisee, more focused on correctness than closeness.

The chapter does not demand that you become someone else immediately. It asks whether you will let Jesus tell you what truly matters.

This is why Mark 10 does not end with triumphal music. It ends with a blind man seeing and following. It ends with motion, not resolution. The road continues. Jerusalem is still ahead. The cross has not yet come into view, but it is near.

The chapter leaves us with a quiet question rather than a loud command. What do you want from Jesus? Comfort or transformation? Security or surrender? Status or service? Sight or success?

Jesus does not force an answer. He waits. He keeps walking. He keeps inviting.

And the kingdom keeps revealing itself, not in the hands of the powerful, but in the arms of children, the cry of the blind, the obedience of servants, and the love of a Savior who gives His life so others can truly live.

This is what Mark 10 teaches without ever saying directly. The kingdom of God does not belong to those who look strong. It belongs to those who are willing to be held. It does not crown those who rise. It lifts those who kneel. It does not reward those who keep everything. It fills those who let go.

And that is why this chapter still feels dangerous. It does not attack our worst behaviors. It challenges our safest ones. It does not threaten our sins first. It threatens our systems. It asks whether what we rely on is capable of saving us.

Jesus does not argue about whether wealth can be good. He asks whether it can save. He does not debate whether authority can be useful. He asks whether it can heal. He does not deny that ambition can motivate. He asks whether it can love.

Only the kingdom can do that.

Only the way of Christ can take what is broken and make it whole.

And only those who become small enough to receive it will ever truly see.

That is the hidden message of Mark 10.

Not that life must be lost in misery, but that it must be given away to be found.

Not that greatness is forbidden, but that it must be redefined.

Not that vision is automatic, but that it begins with mercy.

Not that the road is easy, but that it is worth walking.

And not that Jesus is impressed by what we build, but that He is moved by what we surrender.

This is the day Jesus redefined what matters.

And the redefinition still stands.

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Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

#faith #Jesus #BibleStudy #ChristianLiving #Hope #Discipleship #Gospel #Mark10 #SpiritualGrowth

Wooden pencils help slow down my thoughts when I write. The smooth grain and cedar scent (especially from my Musgrave Tennessee Reds) makes me feel like I’m writing in a forest. Mechanical pencils and pens make me feel sterile. And electronic devices disconnect my mind and fingers at the speed of light.

The scratches it makes on paper without the threat of breaking the graphite at the slightest pressure, and the strips of wood and graphite coming from my metal sharpener, makes me appreciate the writing process and journey more than the destination. The demons of efficiency is cast aside.

Inefficiency is a dirty word for the “technologically progressive” modern person. They say, “Why not let computers, smartphones, or even the AI of your choice do all the writing for you? Don’t be a narrow-minded, backwards-thinking Luddite. Think of how much time we can save so we can continue scrolling social media or stream our favorite shows longer.”

I reject that notion. Writing with pencil is like sitting at the park, the beach, or the desert at night without taking any photos from your smartphone. Even better when you write at these places. The process is what we writers treasure the most. We learn, sweat, and spill blood so that readers appreciate the sacrifices of those willing to share. Human experiences, not machine responses. If that makes me a Luddite, it’s a badge of honor.

Do you still write with wooden pencil? Any favorite brands?

#writing #pencil

There is a moment in life that feels like standing in the middle of an empty field with no map, no shelter, and no voice behind you calling you back. It is the moment when you realize you are starting from zero. Not zero in the way people use it casually, but zero in the sense that everything you leaned on has either fallen away or lost its power over you. Zero in the sense that you cannot perform your way forward anymore. Zero in the sense that pretending is no longer an option. It is uncomfortable. It is quiet. It is terrifying. And yet, it is often the place where God finally has our full attention.

Most of us spend years trying to avoid that place. We collect titles, plans, routines, reputations, and defenses like armor. We tell ourselves that if we can just get stable enough, respected enough, prepared enough, then we will be safe. But what we rarely realize is that safety built on anything other than God eventually collapses. The collapse can look like loss. It can look like failure. It can look like exhaustion. It can look like waking up one morning and realizing that the life you worked so hard to build no longer fits the person you have become. And when that collapse happens, the first thing we feel is panic. The second thing we feel is shame. But the third thing, if we listen carefully, is invitation.

Starting from zero is not a punishment. It is an invitation to finally live without pretense. It is God’s way of saying, “Now that everything else is quiet, will you let Me speak?” Because as long as we think we have something to prove, we will always be trying to convince someone. As long as we think we have something to lose, we will always be afraid to obey. But when we reach the point where we can say honestly, “I have nothing to lose and nothing to prove,” we step into a kind of freedom the world does not know how to give.

The world teaches us to prove ourselves constantly. Prove your value. Prove your intelligence. Prove your success. Prove your happiness. Prove that you are not weak. Prove that you are not broken. Prove that you belong. It is exhausting to live that way. It creates a life of performance instead of a life of presence. We learn to curate our image instead of cultivate our soul. We learn how to look strong instead of how to be faithful. And after a while, we cannot remember which parts of us are real and which parts are armor.

Faith pulls us in the opposite direction. Faith says your worth is not something you earn. It is something you receive. Faith says you do not have to prove what God has already declared. Faith says you are not loved because you succeeded; you are loved because God chose you. And when that truth finally sinks in, it dismantles the entire system of fear that performance depends on.

There is a reason Scripture so often begins new chapters of people’s lives at their lowest point. Moses does not meet God while rising through Egyptian power; he meets Him after running for his life and hiding in the desert. David is not chosen while standing in a palace; he is chosen while standing in a field no one else thought was important enough to notice. Gideon is not called while confident; he is called while hiding and calling himself the least. Peter does not understand grace while walking on water; he understands it after denying Jesus and weeping in the dark. Paul does not learn humility while respected; he learns it while blinded and led by the hand like a child. God does not wait until they have something impressive to offer. He waits until they finally know they do not.

Zero is where the noise of self-importance dies. Zero is where comparison loses its grip. Zero is where ambition becomes obedience. It is where the question changes from “How do I look?” to “Who am I listening to?” And that is the shift that changes everything.

When you have nothing to lose, you stop protecting illusions. You stop clinging to what already fell apart. You stop trying to resurrect what God already buried. You stop negotiating with fear. And you start listening with a kind of attention that only comes when distraction is gone. You realize that obedience is no longer risky because the false safety net has already been removed. You begin to see that what you called loss may actually be space. Space for humility. Space for healing. Space for clarity. Space for a faith that is not borrowed from other people’s expectations.

When you have nothing to prove, you stop competing with strangers and start becoming yourself. You stop shaping your life around applause and start shaping it around truth. You stop asking, “Is this impressive?” and start asking, “Is this faithful?” That is a hard transition, because the world rewards appearance faster than character. But God builds things that last longer than attention spans.

There is a quiet strength that forms in people who stop trying to prove themselves. They speak more slowly. They listen more carefully. They walk more steadily. They do not need every moment to be dramatic because they are no longer trying to be seen. They become rooted instead of reactive. And that kind of person becomes difficult to shake, because their confidence does not come from circumstances; it comes from alignment.

Starting from zero also teaches you the difference between control and trust. Control wants certainty before obedience. Trust obeys before certainty. Control says, “Show me the whole road.” Trust says, “Show me the next step.” And God almost always works in next steps, not full maps. That is why zero feels so unsettling at first. There is nothing familiar to hold onto. There is only God and the moment in front of you. And for people who have lived by planning and proving, that feels like falling. But spiritually, it is standing.

It is in this place that prayer changes. It becomes less about asking God to fix things and more about asking God to shape you. Less about outcomes and more about obedience. Less about control and more about surrender. You begin to pray differently because you begin to see differently. You are no longer praying as someone who needs to impress God with devotion. You are praying as someone who knows they cannot move forward without Him.

This is also the place where fear is exposed. Fear survives on the idea that you still have something to protect. But when you are honest about having nothing to lose, fear loses leverage. What can it threaten? Reputation? You already released it. Control? You already surrendered it. Comfort? You already let it go. Fear becomes a voice with no authority because its favorite currency has been removed.

That does not mean starting from zero feels easy. It often feels like grief. You are grieving the version of yourself you thought you would be. You are grieving the future you imagined. You are grieving the sense of certainty you once had. But grief is not the opposite of faith. It is often the doorway into a deeper one. It is how the old story makes room for a truer one.

Jesus Himself chose this path. He did not build His life on status or security. He did not protect Himself with distance. He did not measure His worth by approval. He walked in obedience because He knew who He was. He did not need to prove Himself to crowds or rulers or even His own disciples. He trusted the Father more than He trusted outcomes. And that trust carried Him through misunderstanding, rejection, and loss without changing who He was.

When we follow Him, we are not following a model of success. We are following a model of surrender. And surrender is the most misunderstood word in faith. It does not mean giving up. It means giving over. It means placing the weight of your life onto God instead of trying to carry it yourself. And you cannot do that while you are still trying to prove something.

This is why starting from zero is not the end of your story. It is the end of pretending you were the author. It is the end of confusing effort with direction. It is the end of chasing what looked impressive instead of what was true. And for many people, that is the first moment their faith becomes real.

You may be reading this from a place of loss. Something ended. Something failed. Something was taken. Something fell apart. And you may be interpreting that as evidence that you are behind or broken or forgotten. But what if this moment is not a verdict but a threshold? What if this is not God stepping away from you but God clearing space around you? What if this is not humiliation but preparation?

When you stand at zero with God, you are not standing in nothing. You are standing in possibility shaped by obedience instead of fear. You are standing in a place where God can build something honest instead of something impressive. And that kind of life may not always look powerful from the outside, but it will be unshakable on the inside.

There is a particular courage that only grows in this place. It is not loud. It is not performative. It is not fueled by certainty. It is fueled by trust. It is the courage to move forward without applause. The courage to speak truth without needing agreement. The courage to obey without seeing the result yet. That is the courage faith was always meant to produce.

And so, if you find yourself starting from zero, do not rush to escape it. Do not scramble to rebuild the same old structures. Do not confuse speed with progress. Let God meet you there. Let Him teach you what it means to live without proving and without clinging. Let Him redefine what success looks like in your life. Because when God is your foundation, zero is not emptiness. It is alignment.

It is where false identities fall away. It is where borrowed dreams lose their grip. It is where your life becomes quieter and stronger at the same time. It is where you stop trying to be someone and start becoming who God has been shaping you to be all along.

And when you finally take your first step forward from that place, it will not be driven by fear or image or desperation. It will be driven by trust. Not the kind of trust that demands certainty, but the kind that rests in God’s character. Not the kind that needs proof, but the kind that moves because it knows who it is following.

This is not the story of someone who lost everything. It is the story of someone who finally let go of what was never meant to hold them up in the first place. And that is where real beginnings are born.

When God rebuilds a life that has reached zero, He does not begin with spectacle. He begins with structure. He does not rush to restore what was visible before; He quietly reshapes what was invisible underneath. This is where many people grow impatient. They expect immediate replacement for what was lost, but God is more interested in transformation than substitution. He knows that if He gives you the same kind of life with the same kind of heart, you will end up in the same kind of collapse. So instead of handing you a new platform, He gives you new priorities. Instead of restoring your former strength, He forms a deeper dependence. Instead of rebuilding the old story, He writes a truer one.

This is the season where obedience becomes more important than outcome. When you start from zero, you stop needing dramatic proof that God is working. You begin to recognize His work in small things. You notice how your reactions change before your circumstances do. You notice how your prayers become simpler and more honest. You notice how your sense of worth no longer swings with approval or rejection. These changes feel quiet, but they are not small. They are the foundation of a life that can stand.

God rebuilds through daily faithfulness, not sudden triumph. He rebuilds through habits of trust rather than moments of adrenaline. This is why so much of Scripture describes spiritual growth in ordinary terms. Walking. Planting. Waiting. Learning. These are not glamorous words, but they are strong ones. They describe a life that is rooted instead of rushed. A life that grows downward before it grows upward.

One of the first things God rebuilds is how you see yourself. When you have lived in performance, you learn to measure yourself by usefulness or visibility. But when you have been stripped to zero, those measures lose their power. You start to see yourself as someone who belongs before you achieve. You start to understand that your value is not tied to how well you are doing but to whose you are. This does not make you passive; it makes you steady. You work without desperation. You serve without fear of being forgotten. You rest without guilt.

Then God begins to rebuild how you see others. When you are no longer competing for position, you can finally celebrate without comparison. When you are no longer defending an image, you can finally listen without suspicion. When you are no longer trying to prove yourself, you can finally be present with people as they are instead of as they should be. This is one of the quiet miracles of starting from zero. It gives you compassion instead of rivalry. It teaches you to recognize grace in others because you have learned to recognize your need for it in yourself.

Purpose also changes shape in this place. Instead of being defined by ambition, it becomes defined by obedience. Instead of asking what will make you stand out, you ask what will make you faithful. And this is where purpose becomes durable. It is no longer dependent on circumstance. It can survive obscurity. It can survive delay. It can survive misunderstanding. Because it is not built on recognition; it is built on direction.

There is a deep difference between a life that looks meaningful and a life that is aligned. Meaning can be borrowed. Alignment must be lived. Starting from zero removes borrowed meaning. It removes goals that were shaped by comparison instead of calling. It removes identities that were inherited instead of chosen. And in that space, God begins to form something that may look smaller from the outside but is stronger on the inside.

This is also where suffering is reinterpreted. Not romanticized, but re-situated. Pain is no longer proof of abandonment; it becomes a teacher of trust. Loss is no longer only subtraction; it becomes clarification. Disappointment is no longer just grief; it becomes discernment. These do not happen overnight. They happen as you walk forward without rushing to escape the lesson. God does not waste the season that brought you to zero. He uses it to make sure you do not build the same way again.

When obedience becomes your anchor, fear loses its loudest voice. Fear thrives on the illusion that you are still protecting something fragile. But when your life is already placed in God’s hands, fear has no leverage left. It can still speak, but it no longer commands. You learn to move even when you do not feel ready because you are no longer waiting for confidence to appear before faith acts. You move because God is trustworthy, not because the path is clear.

There is also a new kind of witness that emerges from this place. It is not the witness of someone who never fell. It is the witness of someone who learned how to stand again without pretending. It is not loud. It is not polished. It is credible. People recognize it because it does not sound rehearsed. It sounds lived. It does not point to success as proof of God’s presence; it points to perseverance. It does not claim certainty; it demonstrates trust.

This kind of life speaks quietly but deeply. It speaks when you refuse to become bitter. It speaks when you choose honesty over image. It speaks when you keep walking even when the results are slow. It speaks when your peace is no longer tied to control. It speaks when your joy is no longer borrowed from circumstance. These are not things you can fake. They are formed.

As God rebuilds, He also teaches you how to wait without resentment. Waiting from zero is different from waiting with illusion. You are no longer waiting for your old life to return. You are waiting for a truer one to take shape. That changes the posture of your waiting. It becomes attentive instead of anxious. You are not scanning the horizon for escape; you are listening for direction. You are not measuring days by what is missing; you are noticing what is growing.

Over time, you realize that what felt like being reduced was actually being refined. What felt like being emptied was actually being prepared. What felt like an ending was actually a real beginning. Not the kind that starts with fireworks, but the kind that starts with alignment. And alignment produces a life that does not need to be defended because it is not built on pretending.

The longer you walk this road, the less you fear starting again. You learn that zero is not a threat; it is a teacher. It reminds you where your strength actually comes from. It reminds you what matters. It reminds you that God can build without your performance but not without your willingness. You stop measuring your life by what you have regained and start measuring it by what you have learned.

This does not mean the road is easy. It means it is honest. There will still be days of doubt. There will still be moments of longing for what was familiar. But there will also be a growing sense of stability that does not depend on things going well. You will notice that your prayers sound less like panic and more like trust. You will notice that your decisions are shaped less by fear and more by conviction. You will notice that your life feels less impressive but more true.

And in time, you will see that God has not merely restored what you lost. He has given you something you did not have before. A faith that does not need to prove itself. A peace that does not need permission. A purpose that does not need applause. A courage that does not come from certainty but from surrender.

This is the gift hidden inside zero. It is not that you get everything back. It is that you no longer need everything back in order to move forward. You discover that God Himself is enough to begin again. And that realization changes how you walk into every next chapter.

So if you are standing at the beginning again, do not interpret it as failure. Interpret it as formation. Do not rush to rebuild your old life. Let God shape a new one. One that does not depend on image. One that does not fear loss. One that does not live to prove. One that lives to trust.

Because when you begin with nothing but God, you are not beginning empty. You are beginning anchored. And an anchored life can grow without collapsing, can change without breaking, and can move forward without pretending it has never been hurt.

This is not the story of someone who lost everything. It is the story of someone who finally learned what was worth keeping.

And that is where true beginnings live.

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Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

#Faith #TrustGod #ChristianEncouragement #HopeInGod #SpiritualGrowth #WalkingByFaith #PurposeInChrist #Encouragement #GodsPlan

GO HOOSIERS!

Staying awake to finish listening to this late game will be a challenge, but I'm gonna try. Tonight's Indiana University vs Purdue University men's college basketball game has a late start time, but I'll have the radio tuned in and will be cheering for my IU Hoosiers.

And the adventure continues.

In the past, I have contacted the HOA “board” and received absolutely no response. I would like to believe that because they receive so many communications in a neighborhood with over 700 homes, they must “accidentally” overlook things often. But what if that is not the case?

If you live next to an HOA board member or are “friends” with one of them, certainly you have the pipeline to success. Just cozy up to them, get your concerns heard, then your current/past/potential violations are overlooked and BOOM, you love living in an HOA community! Some may call this networking. You are part of the in-group. But remember that HOAs were created to be exclusionary…maybe we didn’t deep dive into that yet.

There is another layer that has caught my attention since my Chatgpt search, and it is this section about property management companies:

🧾 1. Administrative & Day-to-Day Operations

They run the HOA’s daily business so volunteers on the board don’t have to.

• Answer homeowner emails and calls
• Send violation notices and correspondence
• Keep records, files, and homeowner rosters
• Prepare and mail meeting notices
• Handle architectural requests (ACC forms)
• Process resale certificates and lender docs
• Maintain HOA website/portal

If you email “the HOA,” you’re usually emailing the management company.

So, the property manager could block your access to the HOA board, if he sees fit. He can pretend to consult the Board when he doesn’t have to. And then when he shows up to the meeting to present the information to the homeowners [and to the Board], the “circus” ensues. The HOA Board and the property manager are playing one another. The homeowners lose.

Did you know you were signing up for this when you signed those documents at closing?

Again, I don’t know when my neighborhood acquired a property management company because I have not sought the answer. All I know is we used to have an HOA board with a president that lived in the community. And that president moved and shit seemed to hit the fan. So, I have finally asked Chatgpt for assistance.

In summary, my main belief was validated:

The HOA uses the property management company as cover. Periodt.

Here are the deets:

What is the purpose of a property management company in an HOA?

Great question — a lot of HOA confusion comes from not knowing what the management company is supposed to do vs. what the board is responsible for.

Think of it like this:

The HOA Board makes the decisions. The property management company carries them out.

They are the HOA’s hired operations team.

Here’s what that usually means in practice.

---

🧾 1. Administrative & Day-to-Day Operations

They run the HOA’s daily business so volunteers on the board don’t have to.

• Answer homeowner emails and calls
• Send violation notices and correspondence
• Keep records, files, and homeowner rosters
• Prepare and mail meeting notices
• Handle architectural requests (ACC forms)
• Process resale certificates and lender docs
• Maintain HOA website/portal

If you email “the HOA,” you’re usually emailing the management company.

---

💰 2. Financial Management

They handle the money, but do not control the money — the board does.

• Collect dues
• Track delinquencies
• Send late notices
• Pay vendors and bills (with board approval)
• Prepare monthly financial reports
• Help draft the annual budget
• Coordinate reserve studies
• Work with the HOA’s CPA for taxes/audits

They are the HOA’s bookkeeper and accountant.

---

🛠️ 3. Vendor & Maintenance Coordination

They don’t do the work — they manage the people who do.

• Get bids for landscaping, roofing, pool service, etc.
• Schedule repairs
• Oversee contractors
• Check that work was completed
• Handle emergencies (burst pipe, storm damage)
• Recommend vendors to the board

They are the HOA’s project manager.

---

📜 4. Enforcement of HOA Rules

This is where most friction happens.

They enforce the rules on behalf of the board.

• Inspect the property for violations
• Send violation letters and fines
• Track compliance
• Handle hearing requests
• Document everything for legal protection

They don’t decide the rules. They apply the rules the board approved.

---

🧠 5. Guidance to the Board (Very Important)

A good management company acts as an HOA expert.

They advise the board on:

• State HOA laws
• Proper procedures
• What they can/can’t do legally
• Best practices
• How to avoid lawsuits
• How to run meetings correctly

They are part administrator, part consultant.

---

⚖️ What They Do NOT Do

This is critical.

They do not:

• Make HOA policy
• Change rules
• Decide fines
• Spend money without board approval
• Override the board
• Act on personal complaints unless the board directs them

If something feels “unfair,” it’s almost always a board decision, not the management company.

---

Why HOAs Hire Them

Because running an HOA is basically running a small city:

• Legal risk
• Money management
• Contractors
• Angry residents
• Paperwork
• Compliance with state law

Volunteer board members usually don’t have time or expertise to do this well.

So, there you have it, folks. The property management company, for example, Unique Property Services, Inc., handles business while the HOA board members drink coffee and make decisions about your money.

I can see why a property manager would go rogue…I mean, who gon check him, boo?

Like shooting stars:

One of my favorite things is the fleeting moments of connection between people in everyday life. Like when something funny happens out in public and you make eye contact with someone else who saw it too. On this planet of over 8 billion other people and with life spans capable of exceeding 100 years, you both happened to meet just in time to share a laugh. Or when train operators wave as they pass in opposite directions, relating to each other as members of the same community.

I love being reminded that every single person I encounter has a complex life and personality that I just so happen to catch a glimpse of every now and then. Each of these moments is like a shooting star. I treasure them for their ephemeral yet inspiring presence in my life. Today I enjoyed some friendly banter with a lady in line at the grocery store. Tomorrow I might join a fellow driver in singing along to their music at a stop light.

Every path that crosses mine is a delight in its own way. If yours should be one of them, I hope we both walk away feeling lighter than before.