Nineteen-year-old Marquis de Lafayette purchased a ship and sailed to America, arriving this day, June 13, 1777. Trained in the French Military, he was appointed a major general. He endured the winter at Valley Forge, fought at Brandywine, Barren Hill and Monmouth, led troops against the traitor Benedict Arnold and commanded at Yorktown, pressuring Cornwallis to surrender. George Washington wrote to Lafayette: "We must… place a confidence in that Providence who rules great events, trusting that out of confusion He will produce order… notwithstanding the dark clouds which… threaten at present."

Federer, B. (2003). American minute. St. Louis, MO.: Amerisearch, Inc.

Peace on the outside
comes from knowing God on the inside.
--- Author Unknown

... from here, there and everywhere

10 It isn't fitting for a fool to live in luxury,
and even less for a slave to govern princes.

11 People with good sense are slow to anger,
and it is their glory to overlook an offense.

12 A king's wrath is like the roaring of a lion,
but his favor is like dew on the grass.

Stern, D. H. (1998). Complete Jewish Bible-OE
: An English version of the Tanakh (OT) and
B'rit Hadashah (NT) (1st ed.). Clarksville, Md.: Jewish
New Testament Publications.

                         Getting there

     Where the selective affinity dies and the sanctified abandon lives. --- Come ye after Me. Mark 1:17.

     One of the greatest hindrances in coming to Jesus is the excuse of temperament. We make our temperament and our natural affinities barriers to coming to Jesus. The first thing we realize when we come to Jesus is that He pays no attention whatever to our natural affinities. We have the notion that we can consecrate our gifts to God. You cannot consecrate what is not yours; there is only one thing you can consecrate to God, and that is your right to yourself (Romans 12:1). If you will give God your right to yourself, He will make a holy experiment out of you. God's experiments always succeed. The one mark of a saint is the moral originality which springs from abandonment to Jesus Christ. In the life of a saint there is this amazing wellspring of original life all the time; the Spirit of God is a well of water springing up, perennially fresh. The saint realizes that it is God Who engineers circumstances, consequently there is no whine, but a reckless abandon to Jesus. Never make a principle out of your experience; let God be as original with other people as He is with you.

     If you abandon to Jesus, and come when He says 'Come,' He will continue to say 'Come' through you; you will go out into life reproducing the echo of Christ's 'Come.' That is the result in every soul who has abandoned and come to Jesus.

     Have I come to Jesus? Will I come now?

Chambers, O. (1993). My Utmost for His Highest

And I standing in the shade
Have seen it a thousand times
Happen: first theft, then murder;
Rape; the rueful acts
Of the blind hand. I have said
New prayers, or said the old
In a new way. Seeking the poem
In the pain, I have learned
Silence is best, paying for it
With my conscience. I am eyes
Merely, witnessing virtue's
Defeat; seeing the young born
Fair, knowing the cancer
Awaits them. One thing I have asked
Of the disposer of the issues
Of life: that truth should defer
To beauty. It was not granted.

R.S. Thomas Selected Poems, 1946-68

          Two famous passages in Rabbinic literature use rocks as a metaphor for learning. One comes from Avot de-Rabbi Natan 6 and concerns Rabbi Akiva: "One time, standing by the mouth of a well in Lydda, he inquired: 'Who hollowed out this stone?' And he was told, 'It was water falling upon it constantly, day after day.' At that, Akiva asked himself: 'Is my mind harder than this stone? I will go and study at least one section of Torah.' "

     The second passage is the one above from the Talmud: "Just as a hammer splits [a rock] into many pieces, so will one verse have many meanings." These sayings constitute two very different approaches to Torah. In the first, learning takes place over many years, one small step (or drop!) at a time. It is a slow, natural, and subtle process. But in the second text, learning occurs suddenly. It is swift and forceful, requiring directed strength and much energy.

     How typical of Midrash: Instead of giving us one fixed dogmatic position, it presents us with very different views of an issue, forcing us to examine our own beliefs and opinions and challenging us to weigh in on one side or the other of the argument.

     And how perceptive of the Rabbis to recognize that truth is to be found in many places and in many forms. Yes, learning for some people can be very slow, while for others it can be very swift. It can come easily, or it can come with great difficulty. Sometimes it is like the dripping of water on a stone, other times like the crashing of a hammer on a rock.

     (In the D'rash section, we attempt to find our own contemporary meaning in the ancient texts of the Rabbis. Here we will bring stories, brief sermons, and meditations that are inspired by a word, a phrase, or an idea found in the Midrash. The thoughts in this section are very subjective pieces based in one way or another on the Midrash. We do not claim to speak for the Rabbis, or for the Midrash; in this section we speak only for ourselves, sharing how the Midrash inspires or challenges us today. We present our D'rashot not to say "This is what the Rabbis would have taught" but rather "This is what it means to us." Ultimately, we want the reader to create his or her own D'rashot. We believe that the key question when reading the Midrash is always: "What does this text mean to me?")

     ANOTHER D'RASH

     A hammer can be either a tool for building or a weapon for destroying. The famous American folksong "If I Had a Hammer" hints at the dual nature of the object. "I'd hammer out justice" can refer to the (hammer-like) gavel, wielded by a judge as she presides over a courtroom and tries to redress wrongs and punish crimes. But that is followed by the line "I'd hammer out warning." Here, perhaps, we see a threat of violence. "No justice, no peace!" has become a contemporary catchphrase of those ready to take to the streets and commit acts of civil disobedience, and of others willing to riot and burn down a city that denies them what they believe is due them.

     Were the Rabbis aware of the dual nature of the hammer when they used it as a metaphor for learning Torah? Perhaps they were. By taking a hammer to the words of Torah, we might destroy the original shape of the "stone" and the meaning of the words. But the Rabbis were apparently willing to allow that, so long as we then used the pieces of the original rock to make something new. To smash the tablets of stone and then turn one's back on them is heretical. But to break the rock and then fashion something Jewish out of the raw material—that is called Midrash.

     (One of the most frequently found phrases in the Midrash is דָּבָר אַחֵר/davar aḥer, "another interpretation." It is used when the Rabbis differ over the meaning of a word or a story, and have a second, or a third, or a fourth suggestion as to what the biblical text means. We have adopted that convention in this book. For each of the entries, following the D'rash, there will be "דָּבָר אַחֵר/Another D'rash." At times, this section will expand on the first D'rash. At other times, this second interpretation will disagree with the first D'rash. "Another D'rash" may carry the understanding to a totally different plane. We ask our readers not merely to accept the interpretations we have presented, but to use our D'rashot as the impetus for creating their own. In doing so, we wish to emphasize the unending work that every serious reader of Midrash must be engaged in: the search for meaning.)

     A PARABLE

     In the beginning, when we were very young, our father was always close by—holding us, talking to us, taking care of our every need. He was like a god to us; his presence was the most important thing in our lives.

     As we grew up, we believed we'd do just fine on our own; we couldn't wait to be free of him. The days came when I, my sisters, and brothers said goodbye to our father, and each of us went off on our own. From time to time, usually on holidays, we would make the pilgrimage home to visit our father.

     During the years we were away—busy and self-absorbed—we didn't make much of an effort to stay in touch. But our father did; he wrote to us regularly. His letters were like no one else's. He had exquisite handwriting that was almost like calligraphy. He used a shiny, black ink on a heavy, white stock; each letter was a work of art; many words were decorated and adorned.

     In these letters he might tell us family stories—genealogies, gossip, and goings-on. Or he might give us advice—how to get by and how to get along. And occasionally, he'd even write us a poem expressing his gratitude for all that he had.

     And then, war broke out. The letters stopped coming. Only then did we realize how much he meant to us. We lost contact with our father, and with one another, for quite some time.

     When things finally quieted down, we children made our way back to our father's house to search for family, to learn who had survived. We were shocked to discover our childhood home was gone, destroyed in the carnage of war. All that remained standing was one damaged wall.

     But where was our father? We looked everywhere, questioned everyone—there was no trace. We didn't know if he was alive or dead, if he was being held prisoner or was free, if he had relocated or was somewhere in exile. We stood together at the wall of our house and wept.

     For months, we searched for him to no avail. The months soon turned into years.

     The older we grow, the more we miss him. What we wouldn't give to hug him, to hear him, one more time!

     All that remains are our fading memories … and his magnificent letters. Those letters have become our most prized possessions. They are our only link to our father. We can't hold him, but we can caress his letters. We can't hear his voice, but we can read his very own words.

     I tied mine with a velvet sash, and wrapped them in a silken cloth, and placed them in a wooden case. My brothers and sisters did likewise. While each of us kept the letters we had been sent, we made copies of all of his correspondence and had them compiled and bound into a book, so that each of us could have all of Father's words to his children.

     Whenever we wish to be in Father's presence, we take out his letters to us. My sister does it maybe three times a week, reading a different letter each time. When she takes out the box, she brings her hand to her mouth, kisses her fingertips, and she touches those fingers to the letters. My brother, on the other hand, leaves the letters in their case—not wanting to soil them. On weekends, he takes out the bound version and pores over Father's words for hours. As for me, I pull out his letters on holidays, when my memories of my father are the strongest.

     Over the years, we've read and studied and memorized each sentence of his letters. It's all we have left of him. And the more we read, the more desperate we become … for more stories, for more wisdom, for more of him. We are determined to find him, if not in the flesh, then at least in the word.

     When I am faced with a difficult problem in my life, I wish that he were here so that I could ask for his advice and help. But I can't. So instead, I go to his letters. Sometimes I find that long ago he had a similar problem, and by reading of how he handled it I'll know what to do. And even if not, at least I feel that by reading his words I become infused with his spirit. I become stronger, able to face whatever challenges come my way.

     Sometimes, when I read what he wrote, it triggers a memory in me of something or some place he didn't write about. I take pen and paper in hand and write those stories down.

     Sometimes, when I read what he wrote, a detail from one letter suddenly connects with a detail from another, and as I put the stories together, I find that a secret has been revealed, another piece of the jigsaw puzzle that was my father. The more I delve, the more of him I understand.

     Sometimes, when I read what he wrote, and I feel that I've come to a dead end in my detective work, I retreat to my imagination. I create my own stories of his life. Though they may not be factually true, they have been inspired by his letters and they convey the essence of who he was, and what he is to me.

     I write down in a journal all these things that his letters have spawned. I share them with my brothers and sisters. And they do the same for me.

     Between the stack of his letters, which we continue to read, and the growing journal entries, which we continue to write, Father's presence has remained a very important part of our lives.

Katz, M., & Schwartz, G. Searching for Meaning in Midrash: Lessons for Everyday Living Philadelphia, PA: The Jewish Publication Society.

     My meditation of him shall be sweet. --- Psalm 104:34 KJV

     It is simple fact Sermons To The Spiritual Man There is a heaven, whether we reach it or not. There is a vision of God, whether it ever dilate and enrapture our eyes or not. God is infinite blessedness and glory, and no good being can see him without partaking of it. The more clear and full our vision, the more overwhelming and boundless is the influx of heaven into us. We may know something of this here on earth. The more we meditate on God and divine things, the happier we will become in our own minds.

     In the saints' everlasting rest, there is an unending contemplation and sight of God. Who of us are certain that we will not turn away when we find that this, and this alone, is heaven. For this vision of God, this sight of him face-to-face, this contemplation of his perfections is the substance of paradise.

     Meditation on God and divine things elevates, sanctifies, and blesses. But though this Christian habit produces such great and good fruits, there is probably no duty that is more neglected. We find it easier to read our Bibles than to ponder on them, easier to listen to preaching than to digest it, easier to respond to the calls of benevolence and engage in external service in the church than to go into our closets. And isn't this the secret of the faint and sickly life in our souls? Do you think that if we often entered the presence of God and obtained a view of things unseen and eternal, earthly temptation would have such a strong power over us? Do you think that if we received every day a distinct and bold impression from the attributes of God, we would be so distant from him in our hearts? Can't we trace our neglect of duty, our lukewarm feelings, and our great worldliness of heart to our lack of the vision of God?

     The success of Christians mainly depends on habitual communion with God. No spasmodic resolutions can be a substitute for it. If holy communion and prayer are interrupted, we will surely fall into sin. In this world of continual temptation and lethargic consciences, we need to be awakened and awed by the splendor of God's holy face. But we cannot see that amidst the vapors and smoke of everyday life. We must go into our closets and close the door and pray to our Father who sees what is done in secret. Then will we know how power to resist temptation comes from companionship with God. Then we will know what a Sabbath that soul enjoys who looks long and steadily at the divine perfections.
--- William G. T. Shedd

     2. God's Disciplines in the Present

     "For whom the Lord loves He chastens, and scourges every son whom He receives" (Heb. 12:6; Prov. 3:11–12). Chastening isn't a judge inflicting punishment on a criminal in order to uphold the law. Rather, chastening is a loving parent disciplining his or her child in order to perfect his character and build his endurance. (Hebrews 12:11–17 is the classic passage in Scripture on chastening. The Greek word paideia means "the rearing of a child," because the purpose of discipline is maturity. Sometimes God disciplines us to correct our disobedience, but He may also discipline us when we're obedient in order to equip us to serve Him better. David is an example of correcting discipline (2 Sam. 12; Pss. 32; 51), while Joseph is an example of perfecting discipline (Gen. 39–42; Ps. 105:16–22). Note that the context of Hebrews 12 is that of athletics, running the race (12:1–3). Athletes must experience the pain of discipline (dieting, exercising, competing) if they ever hope to excel. Nobody ever mastered a sport simply by listening to a lecture or watching a video, as helpful as those encounters may be. At some point, the swimmer must dive into the water, the wrestler must hit the mat, and the runner must take his or her place on the track. Likewise, the children of God must experience the pain of discipline—correcting and perfecting—if they are to mature and become like Jesus Christ.) Punishment has to do with law, which is important, but chastening has to do with love, which is also important.

     The need for discipline (Hosea 12:1). The Jewish people were living for vanity—"the wind"—and receiving no nourishment. The word translated "feed" means "to graze"; but whoever saw hungry sheep ignoring the green grass and chewing on the wind? The very idea is ridiculous, but that's the way God's people were living.

     Israel was committing two sins: First, they were worshiping idols which are nothing, even less than nothing, and turning from the true God to live on empty substitutes. They were feeding on the wind. Second, they were depending for protection on treaties with Egypt and Assyria instead of trusting their great God. This too was emptiness and chasing after the wind, and God had to discipline Israel to bring them back to Himself and His Word.

     The example of discipline (Hosea 12:2–6, 12). Abraham is the father of the Jewish nation (Matt. 3:9), but it was Jacob who built the twelve tribes of Israel (Gen. 46:8–27). ("Israel" is the new name God gave Jacob after struggling with him at Jabbok (Gen. 32:24–32), but scholars aren't agreed on its meaning. The generally accepted meaning is "prince with God," i.e., a "God-controlled person." Others suggest "he persists with God," which certainly fits the account; for Jacob wrestled with the angel of the Lord and didn't want to give in. Though Jacob made some mistakes and sometimes trusted his own ingenuity too much, he did persist with God and seek God's help, and God used him to build the nation of Israel. Some people have been too hard on Jacob, forgetting that believers in that day didn't have the advantages we have today. God has deigned to call Himself "the God of Jacob," and that's a very high compliment to a great man.) Hosea used the name "Jacob" for the nation because Jacob is an illustration of God's loving discipline. Hosea cited several key events in Jacob's life.

     Jacob struggled with his brother even before he and Esau were born (25:20–23), and at birth, Jacob tried to trip up his brother Esau even as they were coming from the womb (vv. 24–26). The name "Jacob" means "he grasps the heel," which is another way or saying, "He's a deceiver, a trickster." (All of us are Jacobs at heart according to Jeremiah 17:9, "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?" The Hebrew word translated "deceitful" is the root word for the name "Jacob." It means "to take by the heel, to supplant." The English word "supplant" comes from a Latin word that means to "to overthrow by tripping up." Jacob tripped up his brother and took his place when it came to both the family birthright and the blessing (Gen. 27:36). Of course, God had given both to Jacob before his birth (25:23), but instead of trusting God, Jacob used his own devices to get what he wanted. Faith is living without scheming.) During most of his life, Jacob struggled with himself, with others, and with the Lord, and until he surrendered to God at Jabbok, he never really walked by faith. God had to discipline him to bring him to that place of surrender.

     In obedience to God's command, Jacob left Shechem and went to Bethel (Gen. 35), for it was at Bethel that he had first met the Lord years before (28:10–22). There God had revealed Himself and given Jacob promises for himself and his descendants, and there Jacob had made solemn vows to the Lord. Actually, the return to Bethel was a new spiritual beginning for his whole family; for Jacob commanded them to abandon their foreign gods and worship Jehovah alone. It does a family good to experience this kind of dedication. Alexander Whyte said that the victorious Christian life is a series of new beginnings, and he was right.

     But the Bethel experience also included some pain, for it was on that journey that Jacob's beloved wife Rachel died in giving birth to Benjamin (35:16–22). She called the boy Ben-Oni, which means "son of my sorrow"; but by faith, Jacob renamed him Benjamin, "son of my right hand." (These two names suggest the two aspects of our Lord's life and ministry, a Man of Sorrows and the resurrected Son exalted to the Father's right hand.)

     The divine title "Lord God of hosts [armies]" (Hosea 12:5) reminds us of Jacob's experience at Mahanaim when he was about to meet his brother Esau (Gen. 32). Mahanaim means "the two camps," for Jacob saw an army of angels watching over his camp. He was afraid of Esau and tried to appease him with gifts instead of trusting the Lord to deliver him. After all, didn't God promise to care for Jacob and bring him safely back to Bethel? It was there that the angel of God wrestled with Jacob and "broke" him.

     Jacob's experiences getting a wife and raising a family are examples of God's loving discipline (Gen. 29–30). In order to get the family blessing, Jacob had schemed and lied to his father Isaac, but now Laban would scheme and lie to Jacob in order to marry off two daughters in one week! Trying to please two wives, only one of whom he really loved, and trying to raise a large family, brought many burdens to Jacob, but he persisted, and God blessed him and made him a wealthy man. However, during those difficult years, Jacob suffered much (31:36–42), yet the Lord was working out His purposes.

     The reasons for discipline (Hosea 12:7–13:6). Now Hosea names some of the sins that His people had committed. Some of these he has dealt with before, so there's no need to discuss them in detail.

     He begins with dishonesty in business (12:7), defrauding people so as to make more money. Their prosperity led to pride (v.8), the kind of self-sufficiency that says, "We don't need God" (see Rev. 3:17). But the Lord warned that He would humble them. Instead of enjoying their houses, they would live in tents as they did during their wilderness journey. When the Assyrians were through with Israel, the Jews would be grateful even for the booths they lived in for a week during the Feast of Tabernacles.

     The prophets God sent had warned the people, but the people wouldn't listen (Hosea 12:10). They turned from the Word of the living God and practiced idolatry (vv. 11–14). This provoked God to anger, and the way they shed innocent blood provoked Him even more. (On Gilead's wickedness, see 6:8–9).

     Hosea singled out the arrogant attitude of the tribe of Ephraim (13:1–3). The name "Ephraim" is found thirty-seven times in Hosea's prophecy. Sometimes "Ephraim" is a synonym for the whole Northern Kingdom, but here the prophet was addressing the tribe of Ephraim in particular. Ephraim and Manasseh were the sons of Joseph whom Jacob "adopted and whose birth order he reversed (Gen. 48). Manasseh was the firstborn, but Jacob gave that honor to Ephraim.

     The people of Ephraim felt they were an important tribe that deserved to be listened to and obeyed. After all, Joshua came from Ephraim (Num. 13:8) and so did the first king of the Northern Kingdom, Jeroboam I (1 Kings 11:26). The tabernacle of testimony was pitched in Shiloh which was in Ephraim (Josh. 18:1). In their arrogance, the tribe of Ephraim created problems for both Gideon (Jud. 7:24–25; 8:1–3) and Jephthah (12:1–6). After the death of King Saul, the Ephraimites refused to submit to David's rule (2 Sam. 2:8–11); in fact, they had a strong prejudice against the tribe of Judah, the ruling tribe (19:40–43). When the Northern Kingdom was established, so powerful were the Ephraimites that the kingdom was even called by their name.

     But Ephraim abandoned Jehovah for Baal, and that brought spiritual death. They gladly participated in Jeroboam's man-made religion by sacrificing to the golden calves—even offering human sacrifices—and kissing the calves in worship. But idols are nothing, and those who worship them become like them—nothing (Ps. 115:8). Hosea compared the people to the "nothings" with which they were familiar: morning dew that the sun burns away; chaff that the wind blows away; smoke that disappears out the window and is seen no more.

     One more sin that Hosea condemned was the nation's ingratitude (Hosea 13:4–6). It was the same old story: the Jews were glad for what God had done for their forefathers—the Exodus, God's provision and guidance in the wilderness, the abundant wealth in the Promised Land—but they didn't really show Him sincere appreciation. In their trials, they turned to God for help, but in their prosperity, they became proud and turned away from God to idols. Moses had warned them about this sin, but they committed it just the same (Deut. 8:10–20).

     The name "Ephraim" means "fruitful," and this was a very fruitful tribe. Through Jacob, God had promised abundant blessings to Joseph and his sons (Gen. 48; 49:22–26), and that promise was fulfilled. It's too bad the people didn't use what God gave them for God's glory.

     The kinds of discipline (Hosea 13:7–16). Once again, Hosea uses a number of similes and metaphors to describe the trials that God was sending on His disobedient people. Like a ferocious beast, He would suddenly attack them (vv. 7–8; see 5:14), a reference to the invasion of the Assyrian army. The rulers of Israel would be weak, temporary, and ineffective (13:9–11; see 8:4). Now the time had come for the nation to have no king (3:4), a situation that would last for centuries.

     The woman in travail is used often in Scripture to picture extreme pain and sorrow (13:13; Isa. 13:8; Jer. 4:31; Matt. 24:8), but Hosea adds a new twist. He sees the woman too weak to deliver the child and the baby too stupid to come out of the womb! All the travail was wasted.

     The invasion of the Assyrians will be like a hot, dry wind from the desert that will smother the people and dry up the watercourses. All the nation's treasures will be plundered, and their greatest treasure, their children, will be slain mercilessly. Why? Because the nation would not return to God.

     Paul quotes Hosea 13:14 in 1 Corinthians 15:55 to emphasize the victory of Jesus Christ over death and the grave because of His resurrection, but Hosea's words in this context may have a different meaning. (When New Testament writers quoted Old Testament statements, the Holy Spirit directing them had every right to adapt those passages as He wished, since the Spirit is the author of Scripture. Surely God sees much more in His Word than we do! For example, Hosea 11:1 refers to Israel's Exodus from Egypt, but Matthew used it to point to Christ's coming out of Egypt when a child (Matt. 2:11–15).)

     The next statement ("I will have no compassion") supports our interpretation that Hosea 13:14 refers to judgment and not victory over the enemy. This doesn't suggest that God no longer loved His people, because God's love for His people is the major theme of this book. But the time had come for God to discipline the nation, for they had rejected every other manifestation of His love. "For I will not relent!" is the way The Living Bible states it.

     God revealed His love to Israel in His past mercies and now in His present disciplines. Hosea closes his book with a third evidence of God's love.

W. W. Wiersbe, (1996) Be Amazed (Minor Prophets): Restoring an Attitude of Wonder and Worship (The BE Series Commentary)