Acts 5 is one of the most unsettling chapters in the New Testament, not because it introduces something foreign to the message of Jesus, but because it removes every comfortable illusion we try to place between ourselves and God. This chapter does not let us hide behind good intentions, religious language, or outward generosity. It confronts the reader with a reality most people would rather avoid: God is not impressed by appearances, and spiritual hypocrisy is not a minor flaw—it is a dangerous fracture at the center of the soul.

By the time we arrive at Acts 5, the early church is growing rapidly. Miracles are happening openly. People are being healed simply by coming near Peter. The community is marked by generosity, unity, and an intense awareness of God’s presence. This is not a casual spiritual movement. It is not a loosely organized group of people who happen to believe similar things. This is a living body animated by the Spirit of God, and everyone involved knows it.

That context matters deeply, because Acts 5 begins with a story that shocks modern readers precisely because we often read it without fully grasping the spiritual environment in which it occurs. Ananias and Sapphira do not step into an ordinary gathering. They step into a moment of extraordinary holiness, where God’s presence is not theoretical but tangible. In such an environment, pretense becomes deadly.

Ananias and Sapphira sell a piece of property. On the surface, their action mirrors the generosity we see celebrated at the end of Acts 4. Barnabas, for example, sells land and gives the proceeds to the apostles, earning trust and honor within the community. But Ananias and Sapphira are not motivated by the same heart. They want the reputation of sacrifice without the reality of surrender. They want to appear fully committed while quietly reserving control for themselves.

It is critical to understand what their sin is not. Their sin is not withholding part of the money. Peter explicitly states that the property was theirs and the proceeds were theirs to use as they wished. God never demanded total financial liquidation from every believer. The issue is not money. The issue is deception—specifically, deception aimed at God while pretending it is devotion.

When Ananias brings the partial amount and presents it as the whole, Peter does not accuse him of lying to the apostles or to the community. He accuses him of lying to the Holy Spirit. That distinction matters. This is not about violating church norms. This is about violating truth in the presence of God.

Ananias falls dead. Later, Sapphira repeats the lie, and she too dies. The response of the church is fear—great fear. Not confusion. Not debate. Fear. The kind of fear that comes when people realize they are dealing with a holy God, not a mascot for their spiritual ambitions.

Many modern readers struggle with this story because we have learned to domesticate God. We prefer a version of faith that affirms our intentions while overlooking our duplicity. Acts 5 refuses to cooperate with that version of Christianity. It declares, without apology, that God cares deeply about truth in the inner life of believers.

What makes this episode even more sobering is that it occurs within the church, not outside it. Ananias and Sapphira are not hostile outsiders mocking the faith. They are participants. They are insiders. Their sin is not rebellion but performance. And that is precisely why it is so dangerous.

Hypocrisy is not merely moral inconsistency. It is an attempt to manipulate spiritual reality by presenting a false self. In doing so, it treats God as someone who can be managed, deceived, or impressed. Acts 5 shatters that illusion. God is not fooled by religious theater. He sees the heart, and when the heart is divided, the consequences are severe.

After this moment, the chapter does not slow down or soften. Instead, it accelerates. The apostles continue performing signs and wonders among the people. Crowds grow. The sick are healed. The presence of God is undeniable. Ironically, the fear that follows the deaths of Ananias and Sapphira does not drive people away—it clarifies the boundaries of belonging.

Acts 5 tells us that believers are added to the Lord in increasing numbers, but it also notes that no one else dared join them casually. That tension is important. This is not a movement fueled by hype or emotional manipulation. It is a movement that demands sincerity. The cost of entry is not perfection, but honesty.

The apostles are arrested again. This time, the response from the authorities is more intense. They are imprisoned overnight, but an angel of the Lord opens the doors and commands them to go back to the temple and speak all the words of this life. That phrase—“all the words of this life”—is remarkable. It suggests that the gospel is not merely a message to be believed but a way of existence to be embodied.

When the apostles are brought before the council, Peter delivers one of the most defining lines in the book of Acts: “We must obey God rather than men.” This is not defiance for the sake of rebellion. It is clarity about authority. The apostles are not anarchists. They are not hostile to order. They are simply unwilling to place human approval above divine command.

The council is furious. They consider killing the apostles. At this point, Gamaliel—a respected Pharisee and teacher of the law—intervenes. His counsel is pragmatic but insightful. He reminds the council of previous movements that rose and fell. His argument is simple: if this work is of human origin, it will fail. If it is of God, opposing it is not only futile but dangerous.

Gamaliel’s words function as a mirror to the entire chapter. Acts 5 repeatedly confronts the question of origin. Are actions rooted in God or in self? Are movements driven by truth or by appearance? Are sacrifices genuine or performative? The difference determines everything.

The apostles are beaten and released, ordered once again not to speak in the name of Jesus. Their response is astonishing. They rejoice that they were counted worthy to suffer dishonor for the Name. This is not masochism. It is alignment. Their identity is so deeply rooted in obedience to God that suffering becomes confirmation, not deterrence.

Every day, in the temple and from house to house, they do not cease teaching and preaching that Jesus is the Christ. Acts 5 ends not with resolution but with momentum. The pressure increases, the cost rises, and the commitment deepens.

What emerges from this chapter is a portrait of a faith that cannot coexist with pretense. Acts 5 does not invite us to admire the early church from a safe distance. It invites us to examine our own hearts with uncomfortable honesty. It asks whether our devotion is real or staged, whether our obedience is selective or surrendered, whether we want God or merely the benefits of appearing close to Him.

This chapter draws a line—not between believers and non-believers, but between authenticity and performance. It declares that God’s presence is not neutral territory. When truth is honored, it heals, empowers, and multiplies. When truth is violated, it exposes and judges.

Acts 5 leaves us with a sobering but hopeful truth: God is not looking for flawless people, but He is uncompromising about integrity. He will not build His church on lies, even well-intentioned ones. The question it presses into every reader is not whether we are generous, faithful, or active, but whether we are honest—fully, deeply, and without reserve—before a holy God.

Acts 5 does not allow the reader to retreat into abstraction. It insists on personal application, not by issuing a checklist of behaviors, but by forcing a confrontation with motive. This chapter exposes a truth that many prefer to keep buried: the most dangerous spiritual failures are not loud rebellions but quiet compromises that wear the costume of faithfulness. What Ananias and Sapphira reveal is not greed alone, but a divided heart attempting to exist comfortably in the presence of a holy God.

The fear that falls upon the church after their deaths is often misunderstood. It is not the fear of a tyrant God waiting to strike people down for small mistakes. It is the fear that comes when people realize God is real, present, and not manageable. It is reverence restored. Awe recalibrated. The early church does not scatter in terror; it steadies itself in truth. Fear becomes a purifier, not a destroyer.

That distinction matters deeply for anyone trying to understand Acts 5 honestly. Scripture is not presenting a warning against generosity or initiative. It is issuing a warning against false selves. The problem was never that Ananias and Sapphira gave too little. The problem was that they pretended to give everything while holding something back. They attempted to stand before God with a curated version of their devotion.

That impulse did not die with them. It is alive in every era of faith. It appears whenever people speak spiritual language without spiritual surrender, whenever reputation matters more than repentance, whenever religious identity becomes a shield instead of a confession. Acts 5 does not condemn weakness; it condemns pretense. Weakness can be healed. Pretense blocks healing entirely.

As the chapter unfolds, the contrast becomes sharper. On one side, we see God working powerfully through the apostles. The sick are healed. Evil spirits are cast out. The community grows. On the other side, we see religious leaders increasingly threatened, not by disorder, but by truth. The apostles are not inciting riots or undermining society. They are simply proclaiming Jesus, and that proclamation exposes the emptiness of power structures built on control rather than truth.

The arrest of the apostles underscores another key theme in Acts 5: obedience is not theoretical. When the angel releases them from prison, he does not tell them to hide or retreat. He tells them to return to the temple and speak all the words of this life. Obedience is public. It is costly. It invites resistance. Yet it is the very thing that sustains the life of the church.

Peter’s declaration—“We must obey God rather than men”—is often quoted, but rarely absorbed in full. This is not a slogan. It is a confession that reshapes priorities, relationships, and outcomes. Obedience to God places the apostles in direct conflict with human authority, but it also places them squarely within God’s protection and purpose. The line is clear, and they do not hesitate.

The council’s rage reveals something crucial: truth threatens systems built on control. The leaders are not angry because the apostles are wrong. They are angry because the apostles are right—and because that truth exposes their role in Jesus’ death. Peter does not soften the message. He speaks plainly. God raised Jesus, whom they killed. God exalted Him. Forgiveness is available, but denial will not erase responsibility.

In the midst of this volatile moment, Gamaliel’s counsel emerges as a rare voice of restraint. His argument is not grounded in faith in Jesus, but in respect for God’s sovereignty. He recognizes a pattern: human movements collapse under their own weight. Divine movements endure despite opposition. His warning is subtle but profound—resisting God is far more dangerous than tolerating uncertainty.

This perspective reinforces the central tension of Acts 5. God cannot be manipulated, controlled, or outmaneuvered. Those who attempt to perform righteousness rather than live it are exposed. Those who attempt to suppress truth rather than submit to it are frustrated. And those who align themselves with obedience, even at great cost, find themselves sustained by something stronger than fear.

The beating of the apostles is not portrayed as a tragic failure. It is presented as a strange kind of honor. They rejoice, not because pain is good, but because suffering confirms their participation in something real. They are no longer spectators or admirers of Jesus’ message; they are participants in His mission. Their suffering places them in continuity with Christ Himself.

This reaction stands in stark contrast to modern assumptions about faith and comfort. Acts 5 dismantles the idea that obedience guarantees ease. Instead, it suggests that obedience guarantees meaning. The apostles are not protected from hardship, but they are preserved through it. Their joy is not circumstantial; it is rooted in alignment with God’s will.

Day after day, they continue teaching and preaching. Not selectively. Not cautiously. Not in secret. The phrase “they did not cease” is one of the most important summaries in the chapter. Faithfulness is not episodic. It is persistent. Acts 5 shows us a church that understands momentum does not come from clever strategy but from consistent obedience.

When read as a whole, Acts 5 forces an uncomfortable but necessary question: What kind of faith are we practicing? Is it a faith that seeks admiration, or a faith that seeks truth? Is it a faith that manages appearances, or one that surrenders control? The chapter does not invite superficial reflection. It demands self-examination.

God’s holiness in Acts 5 is not cruel; it is clarifying. It draws boundaries not to exclude people, but to preserve the integrity of what He is building. The church is not sustained by image or performance. It is sustained by truth, obedience, and reverent awareness of God’s presence.

Acts 5 does not end with resolution because faith itself does not end in comfort. It continues in tension, growth, and costly obedience. The chapter leaves us with a vision of a church that refuses to dilute truth for safety or trade obedience for approval. It is a church marked by fear of God, power of the Spirit, and courage to live honestly before both.

The warning embedded in this chapter is not meant to paralyze believers with anxiety, but to liberate them from performance. God does not require flawless devotion, but He does require real devotion. He does not demand perfection, but He does demand truth. Anything less builds a foundation that cannot hold.

Acts 5 reminds us that pretending to be holy is far more dangerous than admitting brokenness. God can work with confession. He cannot work with deception. The invitation of this chapter is not to fear God as an executioner, but to fear Him as the living, present, holy One who cannot be fooled and will not be used.

And in that fear—rightly understood—the church finds its strength, its clarity, and its unstoppable momentum.

**Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube** https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee https://www.buymeacoffee.com/douglasvandergraph

50300-0 Gehmann diopter 0.0x, this thing works. The Monocle did not work well.

Looking forward to the new year. The team will start weekly practice. It looks like we will have some good shooters.

Today my wife and a I took a romantic trip in the red Volvo to buy groceries for new years.

It will be a celebration of the world, with Wiener nougat from Finland and French island dip mix from Sweden.

And antipasto, possibly from Italy

From the whole world

Avocado and oranges from far away

What was remarkable is that I’ve been looking for the Wiener Nougat several consecutive Christmases, but luck has eluded me; nobody likes this anymore, and I think of this guy in ”no country for old men” who doesn’t recognise the world anymore; suddenly it seems populated by green haired people with bones in their noses.

today, however, there was a single box left.

Just the one.

And I know this for a good omen.

I’ll use it to ensure the coming of a good new year.

While I celebrate the end of this one.

And that all of this were from the same little store in the middle of nowhere, it’s not lost on me

The significance.

Larry's Faves: A year of books

See all #Larrys2025Faves

I fell short of my goal of 35 books, petering out at 26. Maybe reading goals are dumb. I wrote more, listened to more music, and grew fatigued by the counting. I had a plan to finish nine more in December, then thought, 'What am I doing here?' Rethinking for 2026, maybe genre challenges? Read Beowulf?

2025 Superlatives

Best Read: Death of the Author – Nnedi Okorafor 

Runner Up: Playground – Richard Powers 

Note: Both have similar plot twists and themes 

Best Debut: Brooklyn Motto – Alex Johnson 

Best Non-Fiction: The Harder I Fight the More I Love You: A Memoir – Neko Case

For books, I don't restrict to 2025 releases; this is a list of all books consumed, in random order:

1. Red Sonja: Consumed - Gail Simone: Red Sonja done right Larry’s 100 review

2. Death of the Author - Nnedi Okorafor: Wow Larry’s 100 review

3. I Wouldn't Say It If It Wasn't True: A Memoir of Life, Music, and the Dream Syndicate - Steve Wynn: Not the casino owner

4. Where the Deer and the Antelope Play: The Pastoral Observations of One Ignorant American Who Loves to Walk Outside - Nick Offerman: Clowning on Jeff Tweedy was the highlight

5. Oathbreakers: The War of Brothers That Shattered an Empire and Made Medieval Europe - David M. Perry, Matthew Gabriele: Proving elites have always been annoying Larry’s 10 Review

6. River Kings: A New History of the Vikings from Scandinavia to the Silk Road - Cat Jarman: Academic but approachable history

7. Between Two Fires - Christopher Buehlman: Macabre historical fiction

8. The Sirens' Call: How Attention Became the World's Most Endangered Resource - Chris Hayes: Well researched and compelling, if a little obvious

9. Brooklyn Motto - Alex Johnson: Pre cell phone wonderland Larry’s 100 review

10. Careless People: A Cautionary Tale of Power, Greed, and Lost Idealism – Sarah Wynn-Williams: Dishy dystopia origin story

11. The Harder I Fight the More I Love You: A Memoir - Neko Case: Stark but resilient Larry’s 100 review

12. The Blacktongue Thief - Christopher Buehlman: My fave author discovery of 2025 Larry’s 100 review

13. Blind Owl Blues: The Mysterious Life and Death of Blues Legend Alan Wilson - Rebecca Davis: Sad ending to a fascinating Blues Rock introvert

14. Playground - Richard Powers: There and back again through the AI funhouse mirror

15. Comedy Samurai: Forty Years of Blood, Guts, and Laughter - Larry Charles: Soul searching for laughs through some TV/Movies biggest comedies

16. William Blake vs the World – John Higgs: Diary of a madman

17. The Great Courses: The Viking Age: New Perspectives on History and Culture - Jennifer Paxton: Paxton is my fave public lecturer, Folk singing Dad Tom must be proud

18. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow - Gabrielle Zevin: Twee, emo and overrated

19. The Hard Stuff: Dope, Crime, the MC5, and My Life of Impossibilities - Wayne Kramer: Ghost listen Larry’s 100 review

20. A Kiss Before Dying - Ira Levin: I am going to read a Levin a year

21. The Uncool: A Memoir - Cameron Crowe: Almost Famous: The Writer's Cut Larry’s 100 review 

22. The Conan Chronicles #1: The People of The Black Circle - Robert E. Howard: Hail Crom

23. Rumors of My Demise - Evan Dando: He can talk, and he told us Larry’s 100 review 

24. The Bloodsworn Saga #1: The Shadow of the Gods - John Gwynne: Viking X-Men

25. The Bloodsworn Saga #2: The Hunger of the Gods - John Gwynne: High gore content

26. The Bloodsworn Saga #3: The Fury of the Gods - John Gwynne: A heck of a yarn

#books #reading #2025BestOf #BookReviews #BestOfBooks #Larrys2025FavesBooks #BookRecommendations #AmReading #100WordReview #Larrys100 #100DaysToOffload #Larrys2025Faves

The Carpenters 1970

Getting close, Without Touching.

An album of two lovers—hopeless enmeshed, standing in a yellow wood with golden sunshine dappling their skin. A hand in yours designed just for you. The puzzle piece that slips in with friction to fill a void. No braggadocio, just settling into the heart. Into your shoulders, spine... it settles into your soul.

Track List

We've Only Just Begun Love Is Surrender Maybe It's You Reason To Believe Help (They Long To Be) Close To You Baby It's You I'll Never Fall In Love Again Crescent Noon Mr. Guder I Kept On Loving You Another Song

It assumes closeness not as an achievement, but as a given.

What strikes me first is how gently this record lands. Its not a nuclear bomb, more like a cure for never having felt before. Not in spectacle, not in urgency—but in the idea that something real can be built without a hurry. We’ve Only Just Begun doesn’t rush toward promise; it walks alongside it. Teasing that what's coming later will make this moment pale. Less a vow and more like a quiet agreement to keep showing up.

The center of gravity here is (They Long To Be) Close To You. A song so familiar it risks becoming invisible—until you let it breathe again. It isn’t about pursuit. It’s about orbit. About the way certain people rearrange the room simply by existing in it. Nothing is asked for. Nothing is taken. Nearness is enough.

The track that loosens me is Maybe It’s You. It lives in that tender space between knowing and wondering. It doesn’t demand clarity. It simply notices how the world feels more inhabitable when one particular presence is nearby. Happiness, caught mid-thought. Spoken softly so it doesn’t break.

As a whole, this album leaves me light. A little giddy. Not lifted off the ground so much as less bound to it. The melodies don’t push; they warm. They soften the edges until guarding feels unnecessary.

Listening feels like walking beside someone without needing to narrate the distance between steps. Like an understanding that doesn’t require articulation. Like knowing exactly where you are—and being content to stay there awhile.

Maybe that’s the gift of this record.

It doesn’t tell you what love should do.

It simply reminds you how it feels when it’s close enough to be real.

When it's written in your heart.

Lyrics

“We've Only Just Begun”

We've only just begun to live White lace and promises A kiss for luck and we're on our way We've only begun

Before the rising sun we fly So many roads to choose We start out walking and learn to run And yes, we've just begun

Sharing horizons that are new to us Watching the signs along the way Talking it over just the two of us Working together day to day Together

And when the evening comes we smile So much of life ahead We'll find a place where there's room to grow And yes, we've just begun

“Love Is Surrender”

Talk about love how it makes life complete You can talk all you want make it sound nice and sweet, But the words have an empty ring, and they don't really mean a thing,

[Chorus:] Without Him love is not to be found; not to be found. For love is surrender, Love is surrender to His will Love is surrender to His will

Sing about love and the strength it can give You can sing how you're ready to face life and live, But you know as the days go by that no matter how hard you try,

[Chorus]

Shout about love and the wars will all end You can shout we're all brothers and even pretend But you can't cover up the past just pretending we'll never last,

[Chorus] “Maybe It's You”

Maybe it's you, maybe it's me Maybe it's just the constant rhythm of the sea Maybe it's just that I've never been the kind Who can pass a lucky penny by

Maybe it's wise, maybe it's not Maybe it's you who brought me caring I forgot Isn't it nice to talk about the special way That you smile whenever I'm around

Rising on the shore the ocean came Walks along the waves of velveteen His only thought was love for me

Couldn't we stay, or must you go Couldn't we stay and watch the splashing rocks we throw Only a fool would want to leave the paradise That I find whenever you're around Only a fool

“Reason To Believe”

If I listened long enough to you I'd find a way to believe that it's all true Knowing that you lied, straight-faced, while I cried Still I'd look to find a reason to believe Someone like you makes it hard to live without somebody else Someone like you makes it easy to give, never think of myself

If I gave you time to change my mind I'd find a way to leave the past behind Knowing that you lied, straight-faced, while I cried Still I'd look to find a reason to believe

Someone like you makes it hard to live without somebody else Someone like you makes it easy to give, never think of myself

Someone like you makes it hard to think about somebody else If I listened long enough to you I'd find a way to believe that it's all true I'd find a reason, a reason to believe (oh no) And though I want you, you're just not what I need

Someone like you makes it hard to live without somebody else Someone like you makes it easy to give, never think of myself

Someone like you makes it hard to live without somebody else Someone like you, like you I'd find a reason to believe I would find a reason to believe

[Fade]

---

“Help”

Help, I need somebody, help, not just anybody, help, you know I need someone, help.

When I was younger, so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in any way. But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured, Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down and I do appreciate you being round. Help me, get my feet back on the ground, won't you please, please help me.

And now my life has changed in oh so many ways, My independence seems to vanish in the haze. But every now and then I feel so insecure, I know that I just need you like I've never done before.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down and I do appreciate you being round. Help me, get my feet back on the ground, won't you please, please help me.

When I was younger, so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in any way. But now these daya are gone, I'm not so self assured,

Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down and I do appreciate you being round. Help me, get my feet back on the ground, won't you please, please help me, help me, help me, oh.

---

---

”(They Long To Be) Close To You”

Why do birds suddenly appear Every time you are near? Just like me, They long to be Close to you.

Why do stars fall down from the sky Every time you walk by? Just like me, They long to be Close to you.

On the day that you were born the angels got together And decided to create a dream come true. So, they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold And star light in your eyes of blue.

That is why all the girls in town Follow you all around. Just like me, They long to be Close to you.

On the day that you were born the angels got together And decided to create a dream come true. So, they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold And star light in your eyes of blue.

That is why all the girls in town Follow you all around. Just like me, They long to be Close to you.

Just like me, They long to be Close to you.

Why? Close to you Why? Close to you Ha, close to you Why? Close to you

---

---

“Baby It's You”

It's not the way you smile that touched my heart It's not the way you kiss that tears my apart

But how many many many nights go by I sit alone at home and cry over you What can I do Can't help myself Cause baby it's you Baby it's you

You should hear what they say about you (cheat, cheat) They say, they say you never never ever been true (cheat, cheat)

Wo ho, it doesn't matter what they say I know I'm gonna love you any old way What can I do, then it's true Don't want nobody, nobody Cause baby it's you Baby it's you

Wo ho, it doesn't matter what they say I know I'm gonna love you any old way What can I do, then it's true Don't want nobody, nobody Cause baby it's you Baby it's you Don't leave me all alone

---

---

“I'll Never Fall In Love Again”

Here to remind you, here to remind you Here to remind you, here to remind you

What do you get when you fall in love A girl with a pin to burst your bubble That's what you get for all your trouble I'll never fall in love again, I'll never fall in love again

What do you get when you kiss a guy You get enough germs to catch pneumonia After you do, he'll never phone you I'll never fall in love again, I'll never fall in love again

Don't tell me what it's all about 'Cause I've been there and I'm glad, I'm out Out of those chains, those chains that bind you That is why I'm here to remind you

What do you get when you fall in love? You only get lies and pain and sorrow So far, at least until tomorrow I'll never fall in love again, I'll never fall in love again

Don't tell me what it's all about 'Cause I've been there and I'm glad, I'm out Out of those chains, those chains that bind you That is why I'm have here to remind you Here to remind you, here to remind you, oh, here to remind you

What do you get when you fall in love You only get lies and pain and sorrow So far, at least until tomorrow I'll never fall in love again, I'll never fall in love again

---

---

“Crescent Noon”

Green September Burned to October brown Bare November Led to December's frozen ground The seasons stumbled round Our drifting lives are bound To a falling crescent noon   Feather clouds cry A vale of tears to earth Morning breaks and No one sees the quiet mountain birth Dressed in a brand new day The sun is on its way To a falling crescent noon   Somewhere in A fairytale forest lies one Answer that is waiting to be heard    You and I were Born like the breaking day All our seasons All our green Septembers Burn away Slowly we'll fade into A sea of midnight blue And a falling crescent noon

---

---

“Mr. Guder”

Mister Guder, say Mister Guder, May I have a moment with you, For there is something I've got to say and please don't let it scare you away.

Mister Guder, say Mister Guder, I have seen you go through a day, You're ev'ry-thing a robot lives for, walk in at night and roll out the door at five.

You reflect the company image, you maintain their rules to live by, Shine your shoes, let's keep a neat haircut now that you're wearing a coat and tie.

Mister Guder, say Mister Guder, someday soon you may realize you've blown your life just playing a game where no one wins but ev'ry one stays the same.

---

---

“I Kept On Loving You”

I ran away from you and left you crying, And though I'm here to stay you think I'm lying But I've changed my ways and my wandering days are through; and through it all, I've kept on loving you.

[Chorus:] Don't worry baby please don't cry, I'm home for good and I will never leave you Don't worry baby please don't cry, You must believe me and I will never leave you.

You've heard this all before I don't deny it The road was long and wide I had to try it Though I hurt you girl These were things I had to do But through it all I kept on loving you.

[Chorus]

---

---

“Another Song”

The moon that rose now descended, And the love one shared now had ended, And soon the day would come. And when the day had come, the light that fell at dawn was cold— the warmth of you had gone, A taste of loneliness cut through the earliness and oh, the wind sang of you, softly they said, All my fav'rite dreams were dead, Leaving a cloud of sadness in my head And though I'm buried in a sad song of the morning wind, I know the day would bring another song for me to sing, But when the day had come. the light that fell at dawn was cold— the warmth of you was gone.

I've been a fan of the Speeddial since the early days of Opera. For me, a browser must have Speeddial. Unfortunately, Firefox (or Librewolf, in my case) has something similar, but it’s not the same. So you need something of your own.

Solution 1: HTML / Javascript

The simple solution is an HTML file that is set as the startpage in the browser.

It works somehow. I saved the URLs and images in a JavaScript file that is synced with chezmoi.

Solution 2: Bookmarks in Rofi

There is a great Python script for Rofi that uses Firefox's bookmark database. Since I sync my bookmarks with floccus, this is quite handy.

The script can also be easily adapted to Librewolf. I have also replaced Firefox with xdg-open so that I don't have to change the script, when changing browsers. This way I can easily use the bookmarks from Librewolf in Epiphany.

I store the script in .local/bin and start it in niri via

Ctrl+Alt+B { spawn-sh "rofi -theme bookmarks -modi 'Bookmarks: ':'rofi-bookmarks.py' -show";}

But those are bookmarks, not a Speeddial!

Link: rofi-bookmarks

Solution 3: Speeddial in rofi

Rofi is great. The launcher (drun, dmenu, etc.) is so flexible and can be scripted wonderfully.

At this point, I have to be honest:

Yes, I had help from AI (in my case, Kagi). My programming experience dates back to the 90s with Turbo Pascal. So, in long dialogues, I got the AI to code something useful. Maybe not great, but it's not rocket science either. If anyone wants to look at the code and, above all, improve it: feel free!

The result is based on three components:

Part 1: Rofi theme

This GitHub repository is a great source of inspiration and a basis for creating your own themes: https://github.com/adi1090x/rofi

I made use of it, but quickly turned the basis into something of my own.

I have a base theme (launcher.rasi) on which the theme for Speeddial (speeddial.rasi) is based. Accordingly, only changes are entered in speeddial.rasi.

Files: launcher.rasi and speeddial.rasi

Part 2: Bash-Script

The magic happens in speeddial.sh. This reads a JSON file containing the URL and location of the image for each tile. Both files are stored in ~/.speeddial

A simple function is also built in whereby entering +k search term triggers a search with Kagi.

Files: speeddial.sh and links.json

Part 3: Bash-Script for editing tiles

Another Bash script (also called speeddial.sh out of laziness) can edit the links.json file.

It basically has three functions: list, change, and convert.

The latter converts the json file into a Javascript file so that it can also be used in the HTML version (Solution 1).

When Speeddial +e is entered in Rofi, this script starts in the terminal (kitty).

File: speeddial.sh

Download:

All the files can be found in my dotfiles at codeberg: https://codeberg.org/Nasendackel/dotfiles

There is a moment in Acts 4 that feels uncomfortably modern, almost invasive in how closely it mirrors our time. Authority meets conviction. Power meets obedience. Control meets courage. And instead of a neat resolution, everything fractures open. What makes Acts 4 so unsettling is not persecution itself, but the way it exposes a fundamental clash that never really goes away: who gets to decide what is true, what is allowed to be spoken, and what must be silenced. This chapter is not about ancient religious drama. It is about what happens when faith becomes uncontainable, when obedience to God begins to disrupt systems that rely on compliance, fear, and quiet agreement. Acts 4 does not ask whether belief should be private or public. It assumes belief will be public. The only question left is whether the believer will shrink or stand.

Peter and John are not arrested for causing chaos. They are arrested for clarity. They heal a man who had been crippled from birth, and the healing itself is not the real offense. The offense is that the healing is attributed to Jesus, and that His name is spoken openly, confidently, without apology. This is the first lesson Acts 4 presses into the reader: truth is rarely opposed because it is weak; it is opposed because it is effective. The religious leaders are disturbed not because something false has happened, but because something undeniable has happened. A man known by the entire city now walks. The crowd sees it. The leadership cannot refute it. They can only try to contain it.

Acts 4 forces us to confront a difficult reality about faith: once it produces visible change, it becomes threatening to structures that depend on spiritual stagnation. The authorities do not question the miracle. They question the authority behind it. They ask, “By what power or by what name did you do this?” That question echoes across centuries. It is the same question asked whenever faith begins to move from belief to action, from internal conviction to public consequence. Who gave you permission? Who authorized this transformation? Who allowed you to speak this name out loud?

Peter’s response is not cautious. It is not strategic. It is not softened to preserve peace. He does not say, “We respect your position,” or “We acknowledge your leadership.” He says plainly that the man stands healed by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom they crucified and whom God raised from the dead. This is not subtle. This is not diplomatic. This is testimony sharpened into truth. Acts 4 shows us that boldness is not arrogance when it is anchored in obedience. It is clarity. It is alignment. It is faith refusing to masquerade as politeness.

What is striking is that Peter is not acting out of bravado. Just weeks earlier, he denied even knowing Jesus out of fear. Acts 4 is not the story of a naturally fearless man. It is the story of a transformed one. Boldness here is not a personality trait; it is a byproduct of proximity to Christ and the filling of the Spirit. This matters deeply because it reframes courage for us. Courage is not something you summon. It is something that happens when fear loses its authority over your obedience.

The leaders recognize something unsettling about Peter and John. They note that these men are unschooled, ordinary, untrained by their standards. Yet they speak with authority. They stand with confidence. They refuse to retreat. And then comes one of the most revealing lines in the chapter: the leaders realize that these men had been with Jesus. That observation is not meant as praise. It is meant as diagnosis. Something about proximity to Jesus has altered them in a way no institution can reverse.

Acts 4 quietly dismantles the myth that influence comes from credentials alone. Authority in the kingdom of God does not originate from titles, training, or approval. It originates from obedience and presence. Being with Jesus leaves residue. It marks speech. It changes posture. It produces a kind of courage that cannot be coached or manufactured. This is deeply inconvenient for systems that rely on gatekeeping spiritual authority. Acts 4 suggests that proximity to Christ outranks permission from institutions.

The leaders face a dilemma. They cannot deny the miracle. They cannot punish Peter and John without backlash from the people. So they choose a familiar tactic: silence. They command them not to speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus. This is the pivot point of the chapter, and perhaps the most important line in all of Acts 4. Peter and John reply, “Which is right in God’s eyes: to listen to you, or to Him?” This is not rebellion for rebellion’s sake. This is obedience drawn with a clear boundary. It is faith refusing to negotiate its allegiance.

Here is where Acts 4 becomes uncomfortable for modern believers. We often assume persecution looks like violence, imprisonment, or martyrdom. But Acts 4 shows that the earliest pressure placed on the church was not to renounce belief, but to stop speaking. Silence was the goal. Keep your faith private. Keep it internal. Do not disrupt public space with it. Do not name it. Do not center it. Acts 4 reminds us that silencing is often more effective than persecution, because it feels reasonable. It feels polite. It feels like compromise rather than denial.

Peter and John refuse. Not because they enjoy conflict, but because silence would mean disobedience. “We cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard.” That sentence is not defiance; it is inevitability. When faith becomes experiential rather than theoretical, silence becomes impossible. You do not suppress testimony; it spills. Acts 4 does not glorify confrontation, but it normalizes consequence. Obedience will cost something. The question is whether obedience is still obedience when it becomes inconvenient.

After being released, Peter and John return to the believers, and something remarkable happens. They do not pray for safety. They do not ask God to remove opposition. They do not request comfort. They pray for boldness. This is one of the clearest indicators of spiritual maturity in the early church. They understand that the problem is not opposition; it is fear. They ask not for the threat to disappear, but for courage to increase. Acts 4 reframes prayer away from protection and toward participation. God is not asked to shield them from the mission, but to strengthen them within it.

When they pray, the place where they are gathered shakes. The Spirit fills them, and they speak the word of God boldly. This moment is not spectacle; it is confirmation. God affirms their request not by removing resistance, but by reinforcing resolve. Acts 4 teaches us that boldness is not something God grants once and for all. It is something that must be continually renewed in the face of ongoing pressure.

The chapter then shifts toward community, and here Acts 4 delivers one of its most countercultural visions. The believers share everything. No one claims private ownership. Needs are met. Resources are redistributed voluntarily, joyfully. This is not forced equality; it is Spirit-driven generosity. The unity described here is not ideological; it is practical. Faith expresses itself not just in speech, but in economic decisions, in care for one another, in relinquishing control over possessions.

This challenges modern assumptions about individualism. Acts 4 does not portray faith as a personal lifestyle accessory. It portrays faith as a communal reordering of priorities. When people are filled with the Spirit, they become less possessive, not more. They hold resources loosely because they trust God deeply. This is not communism. It is conviction. It is love made tangible.

What ties the entire chapter together is one central thread: obedience over approval. Peter and John do not seek validation from authorities. The believers do not pray for acceptance. The community does not hoard resources out of fear. Acts 4 depicts a faith that has crossed a threshold. Once crossed, return is impossible. Once obedience is chosen over safety, the trajectory is set.

Acts 4 does not promise ease. It promises clarity. It does not guarantee protection from consequence. It guarantees presence within it. It asks the reader a question that cannot be avoided: when faith collides with authority, when obedience conflicts with comfort, when speaking truth risks consequence, which voice will you obey?

This chapter is not meant to intimidate. It is meant to awaken. Acts 4 does not demand heroics; it reveals alignment. These believers are not exceptional because they are fearless. They are exceptional because they are faithful. They choose obedience even when it costs reputation, security, and approval. They choose boldness not as a performance, but as a necessity.

Acts 4 ends not with resolution, but with momentum. The name that was supposed to be silenced spreads further. The community grows stronger. The opposition remains. And the gospel advances anyway. That is the quiet power of this chapter. Attempts to silence faith often amplify it. Resistance becomes fuel. Pressure produces clarity. Obedience multiplies impact.

Acts 4 does not belong to the past. It belongs to every generation where truth is tolerated only when it is quiet. It belongs to anyone who has felt the tension between obedience and acceptance. It belongs to those who know that once you have seen what God can do, silence is no longer an option.

Now we will continue this reflection by examining how Acts 4 reshapes our understanding of courage, community, generosity, and the cost of public faith in a world that prefers private belief.

The second half of Acts 4 slows the narrative just enough to let its implications settle in, and this is where the chapter becomes less about confrontation and more about formation. What began as public pressure becomes private transformation. What started with external resistance ends with internal alignment. Acts 4 quietly insists that the real miracle is not only the healed man or the shaken room, but the reshaping of a people who no longer live by fear, scarcity, or approval.

One of the most overlooked elements of this chapter is the emotional posture of the early believers. After being threatened by powerful authorities, their response is not paranoia or defensiveness. They do not fracture into factions. They do not argue about strategy. They do not dilute the message to avoid future conflict. Instead, they gather together. This is important. Pressure does not isolate them; it drives them into deeper unity. Acts 4 presents community not as a luxury of comfort but as a necessity of courage. Isolation would have made them easier to silence. Together, they become unmovable.

Their prayer reveals how deeply Scripture has already shaped their worldview. They quote the Psalms, recognizing that opposition to God’s work is not new. This is not a panicked prayer; it is a grounded one. They see their experience as part of a larger story. That perspective changes everything. When suffering is interpreted as random, it feels unbearable. When it is understood as participation in something larger, it becomes meaningful. Acts 4 shows us believers who know where they stand in history, and that awareness steadies them.

The prayer itself is radical in its restraint. They acknowledge God as sovereign, creator of heaven and earth, ruler over kings and nations. They place their fear inside a much larger reality. This is not denial of danger; it is right-sizing it. When God is seen clearly, threats lose their exaggeration. Acts 4 teaches us that fear often grows when God shrinks in our imagination. The early church responds to intimidation by expanding their view of God, not by shrinking their obedience.

And then comes the request. Not protection. Not influence. Not favor. Boldness. The courage to continue speaking. The ability to remain faithful. The strength to obey publicly. This reveals something essential about mature faith. Immature faith asks God to remove discomfort. Mature faith asks God to make obedience possible within it. Acts 4 reframes prayer from escape to endurance, from avoidance to participation. These believers understand that the mission itself is worth the cost.

The shaking of the place is not meant to be read as spectacle, but affirmation. God does not say, “I will stop the opposition.” He says, “I am with you in it.” They are filled with the Holy Spirit again, not because the Spirit had left, but because boldness must be continually renewed. Acts 4 makes it clear that courage is not a one-time event. It is a daily dependency. Every new pressure point requires fresh surrender.

Then the narrative shifts to how this courage expresses itself in daily life. The believers are described as being of one heart and mind. That phrase is not sentimental. It is deeply practical. Unity here is not agreement on every detail, but alignment around purpose. When fear no longer governs decisions, generosity becomes possible. When survival is no longer the primary concern, sharing becomes natural. Acts 4 shows us that community health is not created by rules, but by trust.

The way possessions are handled is especially striking. No one claims exclusive ownership. This does not mean people stop having homes or property. It means possessions stop owning them. Resources become tools rather than identities. This kind of generosity cannot be legislated. It can only be birthed by security in God’s provision. Acts 4 quietly exposes how fear-based living leads to hoarding, while faith-based living leads to open hands.

What is often misunderstood here is motivation. These believers are not giving to earn approval or spiritual status. They are giving because the Spirit has reordered their values. When eternity becomes more real than accumulation, generosity stops feeling like loss. Acts 4 reveals that generosity is not primarily about money; it is about trust. Who do you believe will sustain you? Who do you believe defines your future? The early church answers that question with action.

Barnabas is introduced as an example, not because he is exceptional, but because he is representative. He sells land and brings the money to the apostles. His name, which means “son of encouragement,” fits his posture. Encouragement here is not merely verbal. It is sacrificial. It is tangible. Acts 4 reminds us that encouragement often costs something. It is easier to offer words than resources. But the early church understands that faith speaks through both.

There is a subtle but important contrast being set up here, one that becomes explicit in Acts 5. Acts 4 ends with generosity and unity, not because perfection has been achieved, but because alignment has. The community is not flawless. It is faithful. And that faith expresses itself in shared burden rather than isolated survival.

What makes Acts 4 so relevant is that it exposes how deeply our private faith is tested by public pressure. Many believers are comfortable with internal belief but hesitate when obedience demands visibility. Acts 4 does not allow that separation. Faith here is inherently public because it is transformative. A healed man cannot hide his legs. A changed life cannot remain theoretical. Obedience produces evidence.

This chapter also challenges the modern assumption that safety is the highest good. The early church does not measure success by comfort. They measure it by faithfulness. That does not mean recklessness or disregard for wisdom. It means obedience is not abandoned when risk appears. Acts 4 teaches that safety without obedience is not peace; it is avoidance. True peace comes from alignment, even when circumstances remain unstable.

Another quiet theme running through Acts 4 is identity. Peter and John are not shaken by threats because they know who they are and whose they are. Identity rooted in Christ is resilient. Identity rooted in approval is fragile. When authority tries to redefine them, they refuse. They do not argue about credentials. They simply testify. Acts 4 shows that testimony is often the most powerful form of resistance. You cannot argue someone out of what they have experienced.

This chapter also reframes what it means to be “ordinary.” The leaders describe Peter and John as unschooled and ordinary, yet they cannot dismiss them. Acts 4 elevates obedience above expertise. This does not devalue learning or preparation, but it places them in their proper place. Authority in God’s kingdom flows from faithfulness, not pedigree. This should both humble and encourage modern believers. You do not need permission to obey. You need willingness.

Acts 4 presses a question that lingers long after the chapter ends. When obedience costs approval, which one do you choose? When speaking truth risks consequence, do you soften or stand? When generosity feels risky, do you cling or trust? This chapter does not offer simplistic answers. It offers embodied ones. It shows us what faith looks like when theory meets resistance.

The power of Acts 4 is not found in its miracles alone, but in its posture. A community that prays for boldness instead of safety. Leaders who speak truth instead of negotiating silence. Believers who share instead of hoard. Faith that refuses to be privatized. Obedience that is not performative, but necessary.

Acts 4 does not promise that obedience will be rewarded by systems of power. It promises that obedience will be met by the presence of God. That is the trade. That is the tension. That is the invitation. The chapter leaves us with a picture of a people who have decided that being with Jesus is worth more than being approved by authorities, more than being comfortable, more than being safe.

And perhaps that is the quiet challenge Acts 4 places before every reader. Not whether you believe, but whether you will speak. Not whether you have faith, but whether that faith will shape your actions when it becomes inconvenient. Not whether you admire courage, but whether you will ask God for it and then act when He gives it.

Acts 4 does not end with resolution because faith does not end with resolution. It continues forward, pressured yet persistent, challenged yet courageous, ordinary yet unstoppable. The name they tried to silence continues to be spoken. The community they tried to suppress continues to grow. And the obedience they tried to restrain becomes the very force that carries the message further than silence ever could.

That is the enduring truth of Acts 4. When faith refuses to be quiet, it reshapes everything it touches.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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For Christians, today is the 6th day of Christmas, which puts us halfway through the celebration of the Incarnation. Beginning on the Feast of the Nativity on December 25th and ending with 12th Night. I came to a much deeper appreciation of this short season in 2020, when a worldwide pandemic had people isolated in their homes for Christmas. Something about the inability to travel and the long cold nights inspired a more thoughtful move through the season. With the help of friends and colleagues, I was able to produce a short devotional film, highlighting the themes, festival days, and various ways to celebrate Incarnation that the 12 days offer. It’s more than just the story of an unusual birthday, even if that’s how it starts. If you appreciate the low budget, on-the-fly style of 2020 digital media, you can watch it here!

While it feels like the world has changed many times over since December of 2020 and January of 2021, the lessons of this particular Christmastide have continued to bear fruit in my own spiritual journey. For one, I no longer feel the rush to treat December 25th as a deadline, but rather I can engage with it as a starting point. It’s okay if I’m still visiting people, listening to Christmas hymns, savoring the decorations and nativities, giving alms, engaging in charity, and distributing gifts right up to January 5th.

Making the time more spacious allows for moving more slowly through travels, visits, devotions, and worship. All of this helps to cultivate a sense of wonder at just how much of a gift genuine presence is. Not only the Divine presence we celebrate in the Incarnation, but the ongoing presence of the Indwelling, and the ubiquitous of the Creator in every growing edge of the universe.

Not only the divine presence, but our own presence, in the moment that matters, the current one. It remains the only time and space which we actually occupy, no matter how much our preoccupation with memories or imagined futures might be. We can actually miss the entire celebration by not showing up, mercifully and lovingly present in each moment of it.

One way we savor this time at St. Clare House is to engage in service projects and generosity that specifically take place on or about January 6th, the Feast of Epiphany. Remembering this occasion of wise strangers giving gifts to honor the Christ child, we look for ways to bring the season to a close with a lot of love. Whether that looks like boots and toe warmers for the day shelter where we live, or bringing the final platters of cookies, fruit, and cheese to the day shelter where I serve. We remember how the Holy One sneaked into the world and tented among us, noticed only by outcasts at first, much like the shelter guests we are trying to help this year.

I have come to cherish this less anxious way to embrace the holidays and the holy days of this season, and I hope it gives you some thoughts about what you might do differently next year, or even in the 6 days that remain. What love might you experience just by being fully present in these sacred moments?

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Blessed Epiphany.

For the past several years, I’ve maintained the discipline of listening to mostly Christian music during Advent, most of it Christmas music. Last year was the year I fell in love with “O, Holy Night,” particularly the version sung by Tracy Chapman. I’m also fond of the reggae version](https://youtu.be/jbylwxfj0Js) from Christafari (their Reggae Christmas compilation is on regular repeat during this time of year). It is this latter version that I first caught the words of the third verse:

Truly He taught us to love one another; His law is love and His gospel is peace; Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother, And in His name all oppression shall cease. Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we, Let all within us praise His holy name; Christ is the Lord, Oh, praise His name forever! His powr and glory evermore proclaim! His powr and glory evermore proclaim!

For whatever reason, I did not know that this was an abolitionist hymn. This is probably due to the fact that the first verse is the most commonly sung (even Tracy Chapman doesn’t sing either of the other verses in her otherwise excellent rendition). Regardless, something about this line moves me to tears when I first hear it during the Advent season. It speaks powerfully to what Saint Mary sings in the Magnificat, what the birth of Jesus is intended by God to do: to usurp the power dynamics of our world and to proclaim freedom to the captive.

This is reflected in the saint commemorated in the Episcopal Church’s calendar today: Frances Joseph-Gaudet. Initially I was going to write about Saint Anysia of Thessaloniki. This was partly due to some confusion on my part over our calendar (Frances is listed as being commemorated on the 31st in our current edition of Lesser Feasts and Fasts, but was commemorated on the 30th in the previous editions). But Anysia is not recognized in our calendar (she’s remembered in the Orthodox Churches). Plus, she’s another martyr and—intending no disrespect to any of the Holy Martyrs—I imagine that some of us are a bit overwhelmed by reading about murdered saints day-after-day. What of someone who incarnated the gospel in a way that didn’t end with hurled rocks, or decades of exile, or political executions, or drawn swords in a cathedral? That brings us to Frances.

From what I can gather, Frances is held in high regard in the diocese of Louisiana, where she lived and ministered. She was not an ordained person, but nonetheless lived a life dedicated to the gospel of Jesus Christ, particularly that part about breaking chains and having love as His law. She was dedicated to the work of prison reform, especially in regards to young Black men. Which she did in 1930s Louisiana. As a woman. Born of mixed race as Black and Native American.

No wonder she’s a saint.

There is one connection with Saint Anysia that is worth commenting on: both were committed to the work of the gospel during troublesome times as single women. Saint Anysia was a consecrated virgin active during the persecutions of Diocletian. Saint Frances was a divorced woman (seeking the divorce because her husband was an alcoholic—this also influenced her commitment to the Temperance movement), raising her three children as a seamstress, during the deep racism of pre-Civil-Rights America.

Frances began her ministerial work by holding prayer meetings for families with sons and daughters in prison. This then turned into prayer meetings with prisoners, making and proving clothes to prisoners, and the work of helping young men get back to some kind of normal life after being released from prison. She would take charge of young men after attending juvenile court (something that she also advocated for—previously, young men were tried as adults exclusively), eventually needing to acquire more land in order to house them and educate them. This evolved into the Gaudet Episcopal Home (after she donated the property to the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana).

All of this as she remained a woman of meager means. She focused her efforts on her school and became its principal, but she was never a wealthy woman.

She serves as an example we all need: someone who did great things for the gospel using what she had in front of her. She heard the plight of her friends and neighbors, saw the injustice of the penal system (which perpetuates to this day, sadly), and did what she could, building on each development as the Lord provided.

One of my little maxims when it comes to parish ministry is that the most effective ministry is the one that a parish wants to do, not the one it feels obligated to do. We’ve seen this throughout Saint Mary’s history. In our story, we’ve been a Sunday School for Chinese and Japanese children, a medical dispensary, an orphanage, a school, and a parish (which actually is a fairly recent development for us, only really beginning in the 1960s). Each time we’ve made a change, it seems to be based on us discerning what we are both willing and able to do rather than taxing ourself with what we feel obligated to do.

But this philosophy is not limited to parish communities. It also applies to individuals. The first time I ever saw this, I was still in seminary. I had interned at Saint Paul’s in Newnan, Georgia for a summer. In one of my sermons I mentioned how we could use what we already have for the benefit of God’s work, referencing the model used by Toms Shoes as an illustration. Toms, which were immensely popular in the late 00s, have a one-for-one model: you buy a pair of their shoes and another pair is set aside for person in need, footwear being a significant preventative for lots of diseases and infections throughout most of the world. After that summer, I went back to seminary for a semester and then was home for Christmas, where the rector of Saint Paul’s invited me to serve at the Christmas services. After one of the services a parishioner came up to me very excitedly and handed me a gift bag. Inside were four hand-made wine glass charms (so you can identify your glass when at a party at someone’s house). She told me that she had been trying to think of ways to help people in need. Then the Spirit moved her during my sermon and she realized that she could use her beading hobby as means to foster God’s kingdom. So she partnered with a charity and used proceeds from her wine glass charms (which she sold at a local farmer’s market) to support their work.

When we think of saints and saintly work, we tend to think of people like Saint Stephen or Saint John or maybe even Saint Thomas—people who made giant gestures of faith that ultimately cost them their lives in a direct sense. Or we think of Saint Theresa of Calcutta, who became a nun and helped the poor in India die with dignity. But Saint Frances of New Orleans reminds us that saintly gestures begin simply and within our current means. We don’t need to be a nun or a deacon or the second-most-powerful-person in the English realm in order to effect great things for God’s kingdom. We can be a single mother working as a seamstress, sharing the pain of other mothers lamenting their children in jail and the unjust systems that put them there.

When I was a school chaplain I used to say to my students at the start of the school year: you are called to change the world; only the world you change might not be your own. Simply holding the hand of and praying with a mother whose son has been imprisoned for a petty charge can change her world in profound ways, even ways we might not know until all is revealed in God’s coming Kingdom.

Saint Frances of New Orleans heard the words of Jesus at the start of His ministry, when He picked up Isaiah’s scroll and read to the poor people of Nazareth:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me. He has sent me to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to liberate the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. (Luke 4:18-19 CEB)

Or, as Charles Wesley would put it:

His law is love and His gospel is peace; Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother, And in His name all oppression shall cease.

That is something we can also do, one small moment at a time.

***

The Rev. Charles Browning II is the rector of Saint Mary’s Episcopal Church in Honolulu, Hawai’i. He is a husband, father, surfer, and frequent over-thinker. Follow him on Mastodon and Pixelfed.

I abandoned this blog last December, but was reminded of it today in therapy when discussing my penchant for intense, directed projects to drag myself out of desolation. I even forgot what this domain was initially (“write.io”? “blog.write”?) but finally remembered it. I’m still paying for it, probably. Year-in-review:

Without diminishing some significant high points and positive memories, I spent most of 2025 afraid that I wouldn’t survive or flailing wildly all over everyone in an attempt to. I did survive, and I daresay stronger and better for it. Still settling into my “AuDHD” identity, exploring and pushing on things but pleased that after a lifetime of almost universally-negative therapy experiences, I’m batting 2/2 just by screening for neurodivergence expertise. (A favorite early therapy memory is, after I described an emotionally triggering experience that dysregulated me, my therapist told me to use hand warmers and earplugs. And I was like, WHAT? But… IT F-ING WORKS!)

On the good days, despite my best efforts to remain alive for my kids and other loved ones that my suicide would traumatize, I fought off impulses to throw myself in front of passing trains. On the bad days I would spend hours wailing, too paralyzed for impulsive self-offing, relegated to pining for some acceptable form of death… aneurysm, freak accident, terminal cancer… that would get me relief while sparing my loved ones the complications of a suicide.

Gratitude was a constant—gratitude for surviving at all, for random circumstances that landed me on my feet when it could have easily gone the other way, for the support and love and grace I have been shown by people in my life despite self-destructive decisions and unilaterally-imposed burdens on them. Gratitude is just a concept though; it can overflow as if a waterfall from my consciousness, but hardly a sizzle up against the horrific, raging dumpster fire threatening to engulf my nervous system in flames at any moment.

I began exploring residential treatment in January, and was even screened and accepted into a program that would have been fully insurance covered. I ultimately decided against it; a big contributor to my mental state was job instability and checking out of the workforce for a month would probably impair my ability to get what I needed to out of the treatment. Additionally, when I asked my therapist about it, he said I’d probably hate it but it could benefit me in the sense that I would get to practice frustration tolerance. The facility wouldn’t let me “defer” regardless and I wasn’t ready to up and check myself in THAT WEEK. So, no residential treatment.

Of course, that therapist had to stop seeing me suddenly in February because the application he submitted for a different kind of license was still processing. I know it was unexpected on his end and he had no choice… but this type of abrupt disruption was… not good. I knew how important it was for me to have mental health supervision; I searched for GA-licensed therapists (apparently there is no such thing as a GA-NY licensed therapist who is expert in neurodivergence… at least not one who takes insurance / has immediate availability) and found the right one on my first try. I also signed up for a “virtual intensive” 10 hours/ week of group therapy + 1 hour / week individual therapy and optional family therapy. They had neurodivergent-specific groups, which intrigued me.

During this time, I also decided to pursue a career opportunity that felt potentially risky—but the risks of staying in place ultimately felt worse. Immediately before starting my new work, I dropped the intensive virtual treatment… I really did try but at the end of the third week it was turning out to be a massive waste of time in which I might get 1-2 helpful nuggets over the course of a 3-hour “frustration tolerance” exercise 3 days a week. My time and my “frustration tolerance” was not well spent in that setting when I had new colleagues to build rapport with and a practice to rebuild.

Mid-March 2025 was a pivot point unlike any other in my life, both from that transition and for other reasons I do not intend to explain in detail, but what happened in March likely saved me, sparing me from what otherwise would have been an excruciating April and May returning to Atlanta and trying to reintegrate into synagogue life. Mid-March gave me angelic reprieve after months of agony and exhaustion from getting through the day.

I plunged back into dysregulation starting in late June, with July being fairly dark. But somehow I managed to stay engaged and productive, with only a handful of nights when various triggers caused me to lose myself and lose my ability to conceive of sustained existence.

Starting in August I was very very very busy in preparation for the high holidays in September / early October, and then for my daughter’s bat mitzvah in early December.

And for the most part, I’ve been doing alright. There have been a few unfortunate meltdowns, and I was highly neurotic leading up to the bat mitzvah… but understanding it all makes these times so much less threatening and so much easier to let go of and learn from. I had an actual good time at the bat mitzvah, which was a massive accomplishment for me, as I tend to melt down at my own events (or at best go into “work” mode and dissociate from social engagement or enjoyment).

The bat mitzvah was the thing hanging over my head at my worst, the thing that I had worked so hard to ensure was a good experience for my daughter (which meant I couldn’t ruin it and other people’s dislike for me couldn’t ruin it). Once it was over, a huge weight was lifted, but after a week or so, the endless plain of “what now?” stretched ominously before me. No structure, no goal, no certainty, nothing imminent to motivate me. I sank into cycles of neurosis and seeking external validation and reassurance.

This morning … I started registering to take the CA bar exam in February. And now I feel a bit more like myself.

Here’s hoping 2026 makes sense, and that I can climb closer to the equilibrium that eludes me in my eternally-warring cravings for novelty and predictability…

Reading Italo Calvino's If On A Winter's Night A Traveler for a second time thirty-two years after the first, I was heartened by how little of it I had remembered. A vague sketch of the concept had stayed with me, along with the name 'Ludmilla', among no more than a handful of other details. I dislike revisiting narrative fiction when my recollection of the story is too clear, and probably would not have finished it again had too many other particulars felt familiar. It is a book with several unrelated, deliberately truncated plot-lines, which would be harder (I imagine) to recall than a single narrative arc. In any event, I reckon three decades is at last a long enough interval after which I could profitably reacquaint myself with some of the other novels I read in my twenties.

In a text concerned with reading in so many of its guises, it's no surprise that re-reading gets a mention, as in the following view voiced by one of the library patrons in Chapter 11:

“I, too, feel the need to reread the books I have already read [...] but at every rereading I seem to be reading a new book, for the first time. Is it I who keep changing and seeing new things of which I was not previously aware? Or is reding a construction that assumes form, assembling a great number of variables, and therefore something that cannot be repeated twice according to the same pattern? Every time I seek to relive the emotion of a previous reading, I experience different and unexpected impressions, and do not find again those of before [...]“

The impressions experienced on this encounter with the novel were just a little less favourable than those from my first. The sense of novelty that's part of its charm was unavoidably diminished, and I suspect I'm a fussier and more impatient reader in general nowadays. I felt some of the later chapters stretched their conceits too thinly, and that a couple of the nested narratives were a little weak. It doesn't speak well of my younger self, moreover, that I was so oblivious to Calvino's sexism back in the '90s. For all that, I've seldom – if ever – met with such buoyant & inventive writing about reading as I enjoyed again here.

---

Catching up with some reading this week I also finished George Saunders' examination of the art & craft of short-story writing – A Swim in a Pond in the Rain – which I much admired even if it did little to lessen my antipathy for the works of Anton Chekhov, one of the four Russian authors examined at length within. And I read Barley Patch, a first and perhaps last encounter with the work of idiosyncratic Australian Gerald Murnane. I'd had my apprehensions that his writing might not be to my taste, and indeed it wasn't: there were undoubtedly striking images and illuminating insights to be gleaned, but, for each such pay-off, there were too many pages of dogged pedantry to slog through for my liking. Beyond that, I simply didn’t much care for Murnane’s authorial company.

---

Wine of the week: Graham's 2020 LBV Port. While my usual taste is for a drier beverage, port has undeniable appeal at this time of year. A couple of glasses were a welcome treat on Saturday. I have to hope the head-cold that has taken hold since then doesn't linger, and I get to savour some more soon.

As another year draws to a close, there is a particular kind of quiet that settles in if we allow it. It is not the quiet of empty rooms or silent streets, but the quieter stillness that comes when the noise pauses just long enough for reflection to slip in. The calendar is preparing to turn. 2026 waits just ahead. And in moments like this, it becomes tempting to rush forward, to treat time like a moving walkway we must stay ahead of, lest we fall behind. We are encouraged to look ahead, plan ahead, fix ahead, improve ahead. We are told that what matters most is what we will do next.

But there is something profoundly grounding, and even necessary, about stopping first.

Before we decide who we want to become in the year ahead, it is worth remembering who helped us become who we are right now. Not in a vague or sentimental way, but with deliberate attention. With honesty. With gratitude that is earned, not assumed.

None of us arrived at this moment independently. No matter how self-made we believe ourselves to be, no matter how strong or capable or resilient we feel today, there were moments when we were not. There were seasons when we were unsure, inexperienced, afraid, or quietly overwhelmed. And during those seasons, someone showed up.

They may not have made headlines. They may not have even realized the impact they were having. But they mattered. And because they mattered, we are here.

Gratitude, when taken seriously, has a way of slowing us down. It interrupts the story that everything we have accomplished is the result of our own effort alone. It reminds us that progress is rarely a solo endeavor. That becoming who we are is usually the result of many small kindnesses layered over time, offered by people who expected little in return.

As we approach a new year, gratitude asks us to do more than say thank you. It asks us to recognize the truth of our own formation. It asks us to acknowledge the hands that steadied us, the voices that encouraged us, the patience that made room for our growth.

This kind of reflection is not backward-looking in a way that traps us. It is backward-looking in a way that roots us. It gives us a clearer sense of where we stand and why. It reminds us that the good we carry forward did not originate with us alone.

There is something humbling about that realization, and humility is not a weakness. It is a corrective. It keeps us from believing we owe nothing to anyone. It helps us see that our lives are connected, shaped by relationships that mattered long before we understood their value.

If you take a moment and think honestly, you can probably identify specific people who played a role in shaping you. They may have been present for a season or for many years. They may have guided you deliberately or simply lived in a way that taught you something essential. They may have offered structure, encouragement, correction, or stability when you needed it most.

Sometimes the people who shape us are not the ones who made life easy, but the ones who made it possible. They helped us endure. They gave us tools. They modeled something we didn’t yet know how to be.

These influences are often quiet. They do not announce themselves. They do not ask for recognition. They simply remain consistent when consistency is rare.

And over time, that consistency becomes formative.

It teaches us how to listen before speaking. How to remain steady when emotions rise. How to offer patience instead of judgment. How to believe in someone else’s potential without needing to control the outcome.

The tragedy is that we often do not realize the significance of these people until years later, when the patterns they helped shape have become part of us. By then, we may have moved on. Circumstances may have changed. Life may have carried us in different directions.

But the influence remains.

As the year turns, this is a moment to notice that influence with intention. Not to dwell in nostalgia, but to give credit where it is due. To name the ways we were helped. To admit that our strength was, at one time, borrowed from someone else’s faith in us.

Gratitude has weight when it is specific. When it remembers moments rather than abstractions. When it acknowledges particular sacrifices, particular words, particular acts of care that shaped our trajectory.

It might have been a person who took time with you when you were difficult to understand. Someone who listened patiently while you tried to figure out what you were feeling. Someone who corrected you firmly but fairly, who did not confuse accountability with rejection.

It might have been someone who offered stability when everything else felt uncertain. Someone who showed you what reliability looked like, simply by being there, day after day, without drama or condition.

It might have been someone who named your potential out loud, even when you doubted it yourself. Someone who saw something in you before you could see it, and who refused to let you shrink from it.

These moments matter more than we often realize. They do not always feel dramatic in the moment, but they accumulate. They shape how we see ourselves and others. They influence the choices we make long after the original interaction has passed.

As we move closer to 2026, gratitude invites us to slow down long enough to recognize these patterns. To see the throughline between who we were, who helped us, and who we are becoming.

This kind of reflection is not comfortable for everyone. It requires us to admit dependence. To acknowledge that we were not always capable or clear or confident on our own. But there is strength in that honesty. It reminds us that needing help is not a failure. It is part of being human.

In a culture that often celebrates independence to the point of isolation, gratitude offers a different narrative. It says that interdependence is not a flaw. That growth is relational. That becoming whole often involves receiving care before we can give it.

When we take gratitude seriously, it reshapes how we approach the future. It softens our expectations. It grounds our ambition. It reminds us that success is not only about achievement, but about character.

It also raises an important question: what will we do with what we have received?

Gratitude, when it is more than a feeling, naturally leads to responsibility. If we were shaped by patience, we are called to be patient. If we were encouraged, we are called to encourage. If someone made space for our growth, we are called to make space for others.

This is where gratitude becomes active rather than passive. It stops being something we feel privately and starts becoming something we live out publicly.

As the new year approaches, it is worth asking ourselves not only what we want to accomplish, but how we want to show up. Who might need from us what we once needed from someone else. Who is watching how we respond, how we listen, how we treat people when it would be easier not to care.

We may not always recognize these moments as significant while we are in them. The person who needs our steadiness may not articulate it clearly. The impact we have may not be immediately visible. But that does not diminish its importance.

Someone once showed up for us without knowing exactly how it would matter. They acted out of care, not certainty. They offered consistency without guarantees.

And now, whether we realize it or not, we have the opportunity to do the same.

The transition into a new year is not just a chronological shift. It is a chance to decide what kind of presence we want to be in the lives of others. It is an invitation to carry forward what was given to us, rather than letting it end with our own benefit.

Gratitude helps us see that the most meaningful legacies are rarely loud. They are built through attention, patience, and care, extended over time. They are not measured by recognition, but by influence.

As we prepare to step into 2026, it may be worth resisting the urge to rush past this moment. To let the reflection linger a little longer. To consider the people who shaped us and the ways their influence still shows up in our lives.

This kind of reflection does not slow progress. It deepens it. It ensures that what we build next is rooted in something solid rather than driven by impulse.

In the end, gratitude is not about dwelling in the past. It is about understanding the present more clearly and approaching the future with greater intention. It is about recognizing that the good we have received carries with it an obligation to be good in return.

Before the calendar turns, before the lists are written and the plans are made, it is worth taking this moment seriously. To remember who carried us. To honor them not just with words, but with the way we choose to live going forward.

This pause is not a detour. It is a foundation.

And what we choose to build on it in the year ahead will say a great deal about who we have become.

When we talk about gratitude, we often reduce it to a feeling—something warm, fleeting, and internal. But real gratitude is far more demanding than that. It asks us to take responsibility for what we have received. It insists that recognition must eventually become action. Otherwise, gratitude risks becoming nostalgia with no consequence.

As the calendar prepares to turn, this distinction matters. Because the transition into a new year is not just about time passing; it is about meaning being carried forward. And meaning does not survive on feelings alone. It survives through choices.

There is a subtle temptation at this time of year to imagine that progress means leaving everything behind. New year, new self. Fresh start. Clean slate. But this mindset can quietly erase the truth of how growth actually works. We do not become new by discarding what came before. We become new by integrating it wisely.

The people who shaped us are not chapters we close. They are threads that continue to run through us, influencing how we see the world, how we respond to difficulty, how we define what matters. Gratitude helps us see those threads clearly, rather than pretending we wove the fabric alone.

There is also something deeply stabilizing about remembering that our best traits were often cultivated in relationship. The patience you now show may have been modeled for you. The resilience you rely on may have been strengthened by someone who refused to give up on you. The clarity you carry may have come from conversations that helped you name what you could not yet articulate.

When we forget this, we risk becoming disconnected from our own humanity. We start to believe that strength means never needing anyone. That wisdom means self-sufficiency. That maturity means emotional distance. Gratitude challenges those assumptions.

It reminds us that needing help was never the problem. Refusing to acknowledge it is.

As we step toward 2026, this reminder feels especially important. The world continues to move faster, louder, and more fragmented. We are surrounded by pressure to optimize, perform, and prove. In that environment, it becomes easy to treat people as obstacles, resources, or background noise rather than as fellow human beings carrying their own stories.

Gratitude cuts through that distortion. It brings people back into focus.

It asks us to remember what it felt like to be unseen, uncertain, or unfinished. And then it asks us to notice who might be feeling that way now.

Because at some point, each of us becomes the “older voice” in the room. The steadier presence. The one with a little more perspective, a little more experience, a little more capacity to offer calm when someone else feels overwhelmed.

This does not require a title or a platform. It requires attentiveness. It requires the willingness to take someone seriously, even when they cannot yet take themselves seriously. It requires the courage to stay engaged when withdrawal would be easier.

The people who shaped us did not always know what they were doing. They did not have perfect answers. They were not flawless guides. But they were present. They were willing. They were consistent enough to matter.

And consistency, more than brilliance, is what changes lives.

As we consider the year ahead, it is worth asking not just what we want to build, but how we want to build it. Do we want to move quickly at the expense of connection? Or do we want to move meaningfully, even if it requires patience?

Gratitude has a way of recalibrating our priorities. It reminds us that the most important investments we make are often relational rather than transactional. That time spent listening is not wasted time. That encouragement given freely has a longer shelf life than criticism delivered cleverly.

This perspective does not make us passive. It makes us intentional.

It helps us recognize that influence is always being exercised, whether we acknowledge it or not. The question is not whether we are shaping others, but how. And whether we are doing so with the same care that once shaped us.

The people who helped us become who we are rarely demanded perfection. They allowed room for learning. They understood that growth is uneven. They did not confuse mistakes with identity. They corrected without condemning. They guided without controlling.

Those qualities are increasingly rare, and increasingly needed.

As we move into 2026, we have the opportunity to preserve them—not by talking about them abstractly, but by practicing them daily. In conversations. In conflicts. In moments when patience is tested and empathy feels inconvenient.

Gratitude becomes visible in those moments. Not in what we say about appreciation, but in how we treat people when the situation is complex, unresolved, or uncomfortable.

There is also a quiet courage required to live gratefully. Gratitude makes us more open, not more guarded. It softens us in a world that often rewards hardness. It invites us to remain human in systems that encourage detachment.

This is not weakness. It is a form of strength that refuses to disappear.

The person who once made a difference in your life likely did not do so by dominating the space. They did it by creating safety. By offering steadiness. By being someone whose presence lowered anxiety rather than amplified it.

As we enter a new year, we can choose to cultivate that same effect. To become the kind of presence that makes others feel less alone, more capable, more grounded.

We do not need to change everyone’s life. We do not need to fix every problem. We only need to be faithful with what is placed in front of us.

Gratitude helps us see what that is.

It shows us that the most meaningful impact often happens quietly, over time, without immediate recognition. It teaches us that significance is not always visible in metrics or milestones, but in the steady accumulation of trust.

When we honor those who shaped us, we are not just acknowledging the past. We are choosing a direction for the future. We are deciding that the care we received will not end with us. That it will continue, in altered form, through the way we live and relate.

As the year turns, this may be the most important decision we make.

Not what we will accomplish. Not what we will acquire. But what kind of people we will be.

The calendar will turn whether we are ready or not. Time will move forward regardless of our reflection. But meaning requires participation. It requires intention. It requires us to decide that what mattered before will still matter going forward.

Before 2026 arrives, it is worth taking one last moment to pause. To remember the names, the faces, the moments that shaped you. To acknowledge the care that carried you through seasons you could not have navigated alone.

And then, with that awareness, to step forward differently.

To carry that care into the year ahead. To offer that patience where it is needed. To extend that belief to someone still finding their way.

This is how gratitude becomes legacy. This is how the past informs the future without controlling it. This is how one life shapes another, quietly, faithfully, over time.

And if we do this—if we allow gratitude to guide not just our thoughts but our actions—then 2026 will not simply be another year added to the count.

It will be a year lived with intention. A year rooted in remembrance. A year that honors those who helped us become who we are by becoming that same gift for someone else.

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Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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Larry's Faves: 2025 Movies

See all #Larrys2025Faves

Bad year for movies. Or a bad year for me seeing movies. Award season rules push studios to cram releases at year’s end, and it's hard to keep up. I will catch up with films I missed in Jan-March.

My list, ranked, with microreviews:

1. One Battle After Another: Brilliant, has a tragic flaw 2. Sinners: Juke Joint Cinema 3. Pavements: Larry’s100 Review 4. Weapons: Campy, creepy, freaky 5. Baltimorons: Larry’s100 Review 6. The Ballad of Wallis Island: Tim Key is brilliant 7. KPop Demon Hunters: Trust the phenom 8. John Candy: I Like Me: Sadder than you’d think 9. Fantastic Four: Didn’t suck 10. Nonnas: More sweet than savory

#movies #film #2025BestOf #FilmReviews #BestOfFilm #Larrys2025Faves #Larrys2025FavesFilm #Cinema #MovieReviews #100WordReview #Larrys100 #100DaysToOffload

#002279 – 25 de Agosto de 2025

A tarde de fim de Dezembro está gelada, o pôr-do-sol é bonito, as ondas óptimas. Os surfistas na água não conseguem escutar este tipo na mesa em frente à minha que destila teorias de conspiração sobre os Estados Unidos, o Musk, o Trump e os nazis e experiências secretas numa ilha perto de Nova Iorque. A mulher em silêncio é interlocutora silenciosa, apenas rindo de vez em quando, incentivando o monólogo.

Larry's Faves: 2025 Television

See all #Larrys2025Faves

Putting this list together, I was knocked out by how good television was in 2025. This list includes stone-cold classics like Andor, Black Mirror, and Hacks, while making room for the mind-bending genre work of Pluribus, The Eternaut, and Severance. Comedies came laughing back and were welcome against the darkness of both reality and fiction.

In 2025, television was balanced between shows that took me by surprise (The Studio) and high-quality comfort food (Abbott Elementary). We don’t know what awaits us, with more corporate consolidation and the storm clouds of AI, so I am savoring (most of) the shows below.

All the scripted shows I watched ranked, with microreviews, or links to Larrys100 reviews

1. Pluribus (Apple TV): Larry's 100 Reviews 2. Andor (Disney+): Two-season masterpiece 3. The Rehearsal (HBO): Rube Goldberg of social experiments 4. The Eternaut (Netflix): Larry's 100 Review 5. The Studio: (Apple TV) Fast-paced & meta AF 6. Shoresy (Hulu): I challenge you to find a show this sweet and filthy 7. Righteous Gemstones (HBO): Goodbye, sweet prince 8. Task (HBO): Existential dread with a water ice sidecar 9. The Lowdown (FX/Hulu):Pulp noir Gen X style 10. Slow Horses (Apple TV): Larry's 100 Review 11. Severance (Apple TV): Goat room for the win 12. Abbott Elementary (ABC): Ava is one of my favorite characters on TV 13. Hacks (HBO): Loved the Larry Sanders call backs 14. Mythic Quest (Apple TV): Poppy is one of my favorite characters on TV 15. Agatha All Along (Disney+): Witchy kitsch and great cast 16. Death By Lightning (Netflix): Who knew? 17. White Lotus (HBO): Ground Zero for the Year of Goggins 18. Gilded Age (HBO): No show has actors having fun like Gilded Age 19 Black Mirror (Netflix): Strong season for this institution 20. Fallout (Amazon): Cheating a bit, will straddle into 2026 21. Silo (Apple TV): Apple is the real SciFi channel 22. The Paper (Peacock): Better than I expected, strong ensemble 23. American Primeval (Netflix): Gritty westerns are always appreciated 24. The Bear (FX/Hulu): Overhyped mess, Carmy is annoying 25. Stranger Things (Netflix): Larry's 100 Review 26. Last of Us (HBO): The last episode was a horrible hour of TV 27. Murderbot (Apple TV): Stuff to like, but got tedious. 28. The Four Seasons (Netflix): Catnip for almost old people 29. The Witcher (Netflix): I miss Henry Cavill 30. King & Conquer (Amazon): This was conceived in a lab just for me, but it sucked

#tv #television #Larrys2025Faves #2025BestOf #TVReviews #BestOfTV #Larrys2025FavesTV #Streaming #100WordReview #Larrys100 #100DaysToOffload

JOURNAL 30 décembre 2025 #auberge

Alors comme on est pas habituées à ces pratiques, on a demandé à mon frère de mettre ses experts sur le coup de notre rêve de reprendre l'auberge. Lui il a toujours pensé que c'était une folie, mais il a joué le jeu comme si c'était pour lui. Alors il y a plusieurs points essentiels. Bien sûr on peut acheter les bâtiments du vivant de m et p, mais on peut pas avoir la licence de restauration parce que c’est une licence de 1947 qui a été donnée aux établissements familiaux qui existaient depuis x années avant. Elle est transmissibles aux descendants, enfants, neveux et nièces cousins etc. à condition qu'ils aient un lien de parenté mais elle peut pas être vendue car elle a été donnée c’est un régime spécial destiné uniquement aux établissements traditionnels anciens. Donc il nous faudrait obtenir une nouvelle licence. Et voilà le point merdique : si un quelconque héritier se pointe un jour et dit moi je prends la licence familiale, au revoir neko et A il sera prioritaire. La loi japonaise est très protectrice des droits familiaux et professionnels. Pour la même raison si un héritier en ligne directe, donc enfants, petits-enfants, arrière etc. décide d'attaquer la vente il a de fortes chances de gagner, il y a plein d’angles d'attaque possible : le montant, l'influence sur des gens très âgés, le fait qu'une des acheteuses est une étrangère etc. 80 % de chances que le tribunal nous donne tort. Pour assurer notre coup il faudrait l'accord de la fille de m et p mais aussi des petites-filles qui signeraient une renonciation au droit de licence et à toute réclamation sur la vente. En plus comme le Japon ne reconnaît pas le mariage entre femmes, tout contrat devra être établi à nos deux noms pour qu'on ait les mêmes droits sur les bâtiments et la nouvelle licence et badaboum A n'a pas encore le statut de résidente donc si son visa était annulé (avec la dingue au pouvoir c'est pas du tout impossible) alors au revoir princesse. Même si M et P nous adoptaient, solution extrême ça poserait encore un problème pour A. : deviendrait-elle Japonaise du même coup ? malheureusement la question ne semble pas tranchée. Tout cumulé la possibilité de réussite à moyen terme du projet est proche de 0% sans parler des pertes financières dont je vous ferai pas un exposé c’est pas passionnant. Il y a en plus pour tout arranger des lois locales régionales qui sont ce qu'elles sont mais qui vont pas dans notre sens et qui me considèrent moi même comme étrangère, étant originaire du kanto. Et la loi non écrite la plus importante du japon et qui chapeaute toutes les autres et qui dit Ça Ne Se Fait Pas ça vous fait rire mais c’est ça mon pays C’est comme ça par exemple que des milliers de postes dans les grandes entreprises je dis bien des milliers sont occupés par des gens qui arrivent le matin et repartent le soir sans avoir strictement rien fait ou presque : on peut pas les virer parce que “ça ne se fait pas”, aucune considération économique ne peut avoir raison là-dessus. C’est dingo, hein ? C'est le Japon.

Alors soit on trouve l'adresse de la fille de m et p et celles des deux petites filles soit on abandonne définitivement. Elles sont vivantes car elles sont toujours mentionnées sur le livret familial mais personne ne sait ce qu'elles sont devenues. La fille a dans les 70 ans et les deux petites-filles un peu plus âgées que nous 38 et 40 c’est tout ce qu'on sait. Environ 100 000 Japonais disparaissent chaque année, inutile de dire que c’est pas la peine de s'adresser à la police pour les trouver.

Alors pfffff notre rêve est parti emporté par le vent 🌬️ On est allées faire une grande marche sous la neige en silence pour digérer ça ❄️❄️❄️ merci à vous de vous être fait du souci pour nous, ça ira mieux demain Si le chasse-neige dégage la route on devra accueillir 6 pensionnaires, il faudra être souriantes comme des vraies Japonaises bien dressées.