Here is the link to an interview with the author of The Harbinger II, Jonathan Cahn.

(Click “skip the ad.”)

Here is his earlier book titled The Paradigm. I was spellbound as I listened to (and watched) Jonathan Cahn as he was interviewed by Erick Stakelbeck on the Praise program on TBN. I’ve searched for the Paradime video (planning to share…) but could not find it on the TBN website (but I’ll keep searching).

Please watch the video and consider reading the two books I’ve referenced.

If this looks familiar, it was published earlier (Sep 15th). I saw the program again at ten o’clock PM (Oct 11th). “It’s a God-thing.”  I went to bed before nine but out of bed (at ten) for “anti-itch” cream. (For the second night, something in my bed has me itching all over.) The life events we are experiencing were prophesized in the Holy Bible.

Sunday was remarkable because three of five blog messages were inspired by my Heavenly Father. Watching a TV-Church program, I knew I needed to write about “An Empty Mansion.”  Later… the poem in “TV-Church all day.”  Now, “The Harbinger II.” 

Next: Change the sheets on my bed so I can get a reasonably good night’s sleep.

TV-Church all day (today) and so many heartwarming messages. Here is the link to an interview that addressed an experience in my life. EXACTLY (almost). I rarely speak of it but this “problem” is reportedly prevalent in the Church. I, too, “hate divorce”! Occasionally, I’m asked when my husband passed away and I honestly answer “1983.” But it was after a divorce; I rebelled against his abuse. I believed I was marrying a Christ-centered man–a former Presbyterian minister–but he was “self-centered.”

Only One Life, ‘Twill Soon Be Past

by C.T. Studd

Two little lines I heard one day,
Traveling along life’s busy way;
Bringing conviction to my heart,
And from my mind would not depart;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one,
Soon will its fleeting hours be done;
Then, in ‘that day’ my Lord to meet,
And stand before His Judgement seat;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, the still small voice,
Gently pleads for a better choice
Bidding me selfish aims to leave,
And to God’s holy will to cleave;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, a few brief years,
Each with its burdens, hopes, and fears;
Each with its clays I must fulfill,
living for self or in His will;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

When this bright world would tempt me sore,
When Satan would a victory score;
When self would seek to have its way,
Then help me Lord with joy to say;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Give me Father, a purpose deep,
In joy or sorrow Thy word to keep;
Faithful and true what e’er the strife,
Pleasing Thee in my daily life;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Oh let my love with fervor burn,
And from the world now let me turn;
Living for Thee, and Thee alone,
Bringing Thee pleasure on Thy throne;
Only one life, “twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one,
Now let me say,”Thy will be done”;
And when at last I’ll hear the call,
I know I’ll say “twas worth it all”;
Only one life,’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last. ”

— extra stanza —

Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
And when I am dying, how happy I’ll be,
If the lamp of my life has been burned out for Thee

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I desire to “bike” but hotter than I “like.”

Today versus yesterday.

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The maternal line was elusive but this researcher is relentless.

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Correction: From ten o’clock Friday morning until ten o’clock Saturday evening. Time to stop?! Two-hundred-sixty-nine individuals documented and one-thousand (more or less) “sources.”

Read the poem–and laugh. A friend sat on my porch this morning and I eagerly offered to climb his tree. Here I am, five hours later and ninety-nine names documented (with sources) in his tree.

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GRANDMA AND THE FAMILY TREE

There’s been a change in Grandma, we’ve noticed her of late,
She’s reading history or jotting down some date.
She’s tracking back the family; we’ll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma’s got a hobby; she’s climbing Family Trees.

Poor Grandpa does the cooking and now, or so he states,
That worst of all, he has to wash the cups and Dinner plates.
Grandma can’t be bothered; she’s busy as a bee,
Compiling Genealogy, for the Family Tree.

She has no time to baby-sit, the curtains are a fright.
No buttons left on Granddad’s shirt, the flower bed’s a sight.
She’s given up her club work, the serials on TV,
The only thing she does nowadays is climb the Family Tree.

She goes down to the Courthouse and studies ancient lore,
We know more about our forebears than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty, they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when you’re climbing Family Trees.

The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far,
Last week she got the proof she needs to join the DAR.
A worthwhile avocation, to that we all agree,
A monumental project, to climb the Family Tree.

Now some folks came from Scotland and some from Galway Bay,
Some were French as pastry, some German, all the way.
Some went on West to stake their claim. Some stayed near by the sea.
Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the Family Tree.

She wanders through the graveyard in search of date or name,
The rich, the poor, the in-between, all sleeping there the same.
She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze,
That blows above the Fathers of all our Family Trees.

There were pioneers and patriots mixed in our kith and kin,
Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin.
But none more staunch than Grandma, whose eyes light up with glee,
Each time she finds a missing branch for the Family Tree.

Their skills were wide and varied, from Carpenter to Cook,
And one (alas) the record shows was hopelessly a crook.
Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge, some tutored for a fee.
Long lost in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree.

To some it’s just a hobby, to Grandma it’s much more,
She knows the joys and heartaches of those who went before.
They loved, they lost, they laughed, they wept, and now for you and me,
They live again in spirit, around the Family Tree.

At last she’s nearly finished and we are each exposed.
Life will be the same again, this we supposed!
Grandma will cook and sew, serve cookies with our tea.
We’ll all be fat, just as before that wretched Family Tree.

Sad to relate, The Preacher called and visited for a spell,
We talked about the Gospel, and other things as well,
The heathen folk, the poor- and then- ’twas fate, it had to be,
Somehow the conversation turned to Grandma and the Family Tree.

We tried to change the subject, we talked of everything,
But then in Grandma’s voice we heard that old familiar ring.
She told him all about the past and soon was plain to see,
The Preacher, too, was nearly snared by Grandma and the Family Tree.

He never knew his Grandpa, his mother’s name was ..Clark?
He and Grandma talked and talked, outside it grew quite dark.
We’d hoped our fears were groundless, but just like some disease,
Grandma’s become an addict— She’s hooked on Family Trees.

Our souls were filled with sorrow, our hearts sank with dismay,
Our ears could scarce believe the words we heard our Grandma say,
“It sure is a lucky thing that you have come to me,
I know exactly how it’s done, I’ll climb your Family Tree.

Author: unknown

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Lorraine published this poem–in 1992–in a book titled Coffin Family Reunion and Our Island Ancestors. “No,” she can’t take credit for the “oh so accurately describing Lorraine” poetry.

Evidence that your blogger-friend doesn’t spend all her time “climbing the family tree.” Not the proper time of year to “prune” but the shrub was unsightly (imho) and I needed exercise.

Next morning, no sunshine. The yard is looking good (imho). There are weeds to pull but that will happen after our next rainstorm. (After “hurricane Delta”?) Below is a “before” picture.

Did you watch the Vice-President candidates debate? I did… and the follow-up analysis. (Didn’t go to bed until after midnight.) I’ve decided I must need hearing aids. I “heard” an entirely different debate. A civil debate “yes” but I didn’t “hear” the words the “left-leaning folks” say they heard. The “breakfast coffee” television commentators are vicious!!