Isaac Morehouse

My only hope is many stripes
For I have known too much

Been given more than I deserve
Did it become a crutch?

Have I prepared myself for when
The Master will return?

Or pretended to forget
It’s He from whom I earn?

My only hope is many stripes
Remind me who I am

A steward given everything
To give it all again

The depth of fear from all this weight
I don’t know where to place

So fear of Him let it become
That I don’t see His face

It already makes me undone
To contemplate His grace

My only hope is many stripes
When everything’s revealed

But He already bore the stripes
And by them I am healed

Could it be that what He promised
As judgement will be stilled?

But the judge receives the judgement
By Him it is fulfilled

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A major lesson repeated many times in the Old Testament is that Israel was not to make alliances with the nations of the world. They did anyway, many times, and always suffered for it.

Instead of trusting the promises of God to protect them, they feared the threat of other nations who seemed more powerful. To protect themselves, they often invited these nations in. It always resulted in two things:

1. Israel had to and/or began to compromise their practices, worshiping pagan idols and small gods, and participating in the rituals of the nations.

2. The nations they invited in and allied with eventually took them over and subjugated them anyway.

The Christian church now fulfills the role of Israel, acting as a priest to the nations. The church faces this same temptation the world over – to ally with the nations for their protection. It carries the same dangers.

The church feels threatened, and that if they only figure out a way to work with the kingdoms of this world, they can be preserved. Rather than trusting God, who promises His church will be preserved even in the midst of persecution, we want to avoid all that.

Like Israel in the Old Testament, when the church cozies up to the kingdoms of this world, they always believe, “This time it will be different.” But it never is. The church begins to mingle with the rituals and false gods of the nations, and the nations eventually turn on them.

Trust not in Princes.

Today I’m wrapping up my blog challenge for October, where I set out to write about something good every weekday; something I’m thankful for.

I missed a few days (something I never would’ve tolerated once upon a time) due to hurricane disruptions, but otherwise wrote short posts Monday though Friday.

Today is about friends. (Am I the only one who, at age 41, still has trouble not mixing up the order of the “i” and the “e” in that word?)

I hit up a friend when this website is broken.

I hit up a friend when my finger is broken.

I hit up a friend when my spirit is broken.

I hit up a friend to glory in a Detroit Lions victory.

I hit up a friend to share a hilarious joke I made to my kids that they didn’t appreciate.

I hit up a friend to talk about theology.

I hit up a friend to debate about philosophy.

I hit up a friend to scheme about business.

Not all of these are the same friend. Some friends have a single slot. They are the go-to for a certain sphere of things. Other friends are generalists. We cover everything.

Some friends are in constant contact, some rare. Some are really close, some not so close.

But the panoply of compadres is a rich a wonderful thing. Whatever situation, there’s somebody to share it with.

Here’s to friends.

One thing I love about markets is the anonymity. The fact that most of the people in the great spontaneously ordered chain that brings goods to me are strangers and don’t care about me is wonderful.

Yes, you heard that right.

Imagine if some guy driving a truck that harvests plants used to make bottles of some product that I use had to decide whether he thought I should get that product? Imagine if he hated me? Imagine if he thought he cared about me but believed in weird things that channeled that care into refusal to sell me personal hygiene products?

The fact that localized self-interest results in worldwide anonymous service to mankind is wonderful. You don’t get the strokes of being thanked, but you do good nonetheless. Maybe a purer kind.

Go get paid to create value for someone. Know that somewhere far away, a total stranger is reaping downstream benefits from your work. You can take joy in that fact without knowing or caring about that particular person.

That is humane.

It’s popular to be “awake” these days. To realize everything is not as it seems, institutions lie to you, chicanery is afoot.

I will be the first to support a relentless pursuit of truth, but there is something refreshing about people who aren’t quite so attuned to the hidden problems of the world.

Those who simply enjoy life and don’t instinctively look for ways the world is unfair or deceptive may be sometimes naive, but thank goodness they exist.

Here’s to those who don’t know what’s going on outside their own sphere and don’t care!

It’s good to help people out who never acknowledge it or repay you in any way.

Helping people is good for your soul, except when it’s bad for your soul, which is surprisingly often.

You can do someone a kindness and increase your own smugness, become delusional about your importance to them and the world, and get hooked on need for validation or a feeling of superiority. These are almost impossible to avoid, especially in a world that rarely treats them like vices and makes a big deal about signaling virtues and a small deal about living them.

This is why people who seem unmoved or ungrateful when you help them are wonderful. If your reaction is anger towards them, or a feeling your were ripped off, it’s a good sign you have some vices lurking in you and they just saved you from feeding them further.

Help without needing a thing. When you can’t, learn from it.

Here’s to the ungrateful moochers!

My car runs better after an oil change. Stranger than that, it runs better after a cleaning.

And the dents on the outside get smaller when the inside is vacuumed.

These perplexing mysteries open the possibility of similar opportunity in other areas of life.

A little air in the tires might be just as good as a new car.

Sickness sucks. But there are times I am thankful for minor sicknesses. They allow some things that are good, but don’t get prioritized when you’re healthy. Things like,

• Doing nothing
• Reading
• Day sleeping
• Thinking about death
• Staring out the window
• Remembering things you want to do but have been neglecting
• Being thankful for health
• Praying

So here’s to sickness. May we make the most of it!

Storms are stressful and destructive. But they are also cleansing and purifying.

After a big one blows through, the air is cleaner. The trees are cleared of dead branches. After the cleanup, there is a refreshment in the land and lives of the people.

This does not in any way dull the horror and tragedy of loss of life of all forms that occurs in a storm. But all life will and must pass. Storms only change the pace.

They are terrible but they are wonderful too.

Worth more than money

Even though less fungible

A surprise favor

My grandfather was an amazing storyteller. His stories were always believable, but also incredible. In all likelihood, some were exaggerated.

This doesn’t diminish them, it enhances them!

Is there anything more American than exaggeration? Tall tales are the backbone of our mythology. Not dark tales, nor contemplative tales, nor cautionary tales, nor esoteric tales like many cultures. American stories are brash and over the top and about doing amazing things against the odds. It’s all good guys winning all the time.

The downsides to this are obvious, and manifest all around us. But I’m not too worried about those. We all know them and see them and (incessantly) call them out.

Today, I’m thinking of the wonderful parts about tall tales and histories that border on legend. They lift the spirit, delight, entertain, and embolden. They also frustrate the efforts of nihilists and negative Nancys.

Here’s to tall tales!

Small injuries are great.

Do you ever feel more alive than when you’re sore? When you’ve got a sprained finger, a tender ankle, a bruised rib, or a scraped knee?

I remember laying in bed after basketball games in high school, feeling my whole body ache. It was wonderful.

The human body is meant to be used. And its self-healing power is evidence that it’s meant to be used hard enough to get injured.

A well-used body is part of a well-lived life. Usage results in bangs and pains.

Here’s to the small injuries!

What could be more fun than a little misunderstanding between the young and the old?

My kids often make fun of me for saying things that are dated or don’t make sense to them. And I get no end of delight from mimicking gen Z slang.

Perhaps these things can drive a wedge between people, but I’ve found them to be points of contact and mutual fun-poking that bring generations together.

I love a good out of touch old-guy joke that gets pilloried by the young!