by Charles Spurgeon
“The LORD looseth the prisoner.”
- Psalms 146:7
He has done it. Remember Joseph, Israel in Egypt, Manasseh, Jeremiah, Peter, and many others. He can do it still. He breaks the bars of brass with a word and snaps the fetters of iron with a look. He is doing it. In a thousand places troubled ones are coming forth to light and enlargement. Jesus still proclaims the opening of the prison to them that are bound. At this moment doors are flying back and fetters are dropping to the ground.
He will delight to set you free, dear friend, if at this time you are mourning because of sorrow, doubt, and fear. It will be joy to Jesus to give you liberty. It will give Him as great a pleasure to loose you as it will be a pleasure to you to be loosed. No, you have not to snap the iron hand: the LORD Himself will do it. Only trust Him, and He will be your Emancipator. Believe in Him in spite of the stone walls or the manacles of iron. Satan cannot hold you, sin cannot enchain you, even despair cannot bind you if you will now believe in the LORD Jesus, in the freeness of His grace, and the fullness of His power to save.
Defy the enemy, and let the word now before you be your song of deliverance; “Jehovah looseth the prisoners.”
“Thus says the LORD:
If you remove from your midst oppression,
false accusation and malicious speech;
If you bestow your bread on the hungry
and satisfy the afflicted;
Then light shall rise for you in the darkness,
and the gloom shall become for you like midday;
Then the LORD will guide you always
and give you plenty even on the parched land.
He will renew your strength,
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring whose water never fails.
The ancient ruins shall be rebuilt for your sake,
and the foundations from ages past you shall raise up;
“Repairer of the breach,” they shall call you,
“Restorer of ruined homesteads.”
If you hold back your foot on the sabbath
from following your own pursuits on my holy day;
If you call the sabbath a delight,
and the LORD’s holy day honorable;
If you honor it by not following your ways,
seeking your own interests, or speaking with malice–
Then you shall delight in the LORD,
and I will make you ride on the heights of the earth;
I will nourish you with the heritage of Jacob, your father,
for the mouth of the LORD has spoken.”
-Isaiah 58:6B-14 New American Bible (NAB), First Reading for the Saturday after Ash Wednesday
Flea market finds pt 2! All from a local flea market in Evansville, IN.
HORROR DONKEY HE SCREAMS IN HORROR
A nifty little Trolls bell
Imprisoned toy train. His sins are unimaginable
Chunky pig. Wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be. It’s butt came off but unaware of function? Planter? Cookie jar?
Best purchase of all: Cow in sneakers. Even more specific Cow in Converse! It’s supposed to be a pot holder but she’ll never be used, just loved ❤️
saw a comment on a fb post about legal weed in illinois, someone concluded with something close to “yeah the taxes are high but nobodys putting a gun to your head and forcing you to pay for it”………
its almost like thats exactly how taxes work. dont pay, imprison, dont imprison, die
The compact cage was agonizing, the girl struggling to wiggle out. The clone was gazing as the insane scientist stuck up a syringe full of a mystic clear liquid, stepping menacingly near her.
“You,” she says, “have been incarcerated.” “Incarceration does me
no harm,” say I. The brightest swords are thrust into dark places.
Have you never seen the lion whose greatness keeps him
in his lair, while lesser beasts of prey cannot stay put?
If the sun were never veiled, but always in your view,
then neither would you see the Pole Star’s light.
How about the full moon? Every month it is arrested
before the gloom-dispelling days of its renewal.
And how about the rain pent in the cloud where none can see it,
until thunder breaks out, and winds toss?
And how about the fire that hides within the stone,
and warms no one, until stricken with tinder stick?
And the Zā‘ibī spear? Only the iron brace
and a flaming brand can straighten out its knotty places.*
Wealth laid bare runs out and finds new owners,
[especially] at night, when fortunes tend to shift.
Every state of affairs is succeeded by another.
In your sight, the praiseworthy is outshined by the hateful, I aver.
When a pernicious era hits you with a weighty matter,
don’t let it drive you to despair of relief from your distress,.
How many sick men’s deaths have you bewailed, only for
them to recover, while the doctor and his fellow patients all succumbed!
Patience! It is patience that leads to respite. There is
no hand whose reach exceeds the Caliph’s hand.
Any prison that does not overwhelm a man with terrible
extremes of infamy is a rest stop full of roses.
For nobility’s sake, a noble man’s house is restored,
and receives visitors, and neither does he serve nor visit anyone.
It’s not because people disdain you that they hide you away.
Otherwise, this noble man would not be in prison.
Wa-l-ḥabsu mā lam taghshahū li-daniyyatin
shan‘ā’a ni‘ma l-manzilu l-mutawarridu.
* “The point here is that Zā‘ibī spear-shafts (prized for their straightness and smoothness) cannot be fashioned without the use of a bracket called al-thiqāf, and that furthermore the new shaft had to be heated over fire before the thiqāf could be applied. It is not clear what aspects of prison life the bracket and fire-brand might represent. That ‘Alī alludes to torture is neither likely nor impossible to to exclude, and my only solution to the question is skeptical. The thiqāf and firebrand might be metaphors for the rigors of constraint, metonymic features of the prison setting, or something else again.”
“The dominant trope in these verses is called taḥsīn al-qabīḥ (beautifying what is ugly) - an exercise in sustained euphemism, where appealing imagery is used to represent undesirable things.”
Translation and quotes from “The Crucified Speaks: ‘Alī ibn al-Jahm on His Day-Long Exposure at Nishapur”, by David Larson.
at the heart of politics lies the potentially deadly use of force, theft, and imprisonment and ruining of lives, politics are absolutely important and people who act like its just politics are pathetic and spineless
For @whumptober2019, Day 7. Tiera got himself in a pickle~ <3
TW: anxiety, imprisonment, claustrophobia, implied self-harm, cracking bones, starvation; Defiant! Whumpee to Breaking! Whumpee
The darkness wasn’t the problem.
Or that’s what Tiera tried to tell himself. Not the inability to see! Pfft! It was…about the same as if he just held his eyes closed, right?
Tiera squinted, peering in front of him in an inquisitorial way. He knew his hand was maybe ten centimeters away from his nose. He knew it, he had good hand-eye coordination. Now reduced to mere hand-assumption coordination as not even a ghost of an outline stood out in the darkness.
He gulped, releasing his breath in a quiet gasp. Looking around the nothingness, he tapped his hands around himself in hopes of finding a shape. An edge, a ledge, a pipe, a corner stone, anything. Nothing. Nothing but very soft texture. It was uneven and powdery, tramped tight. It stuck onto his skin, his heightened sense of touch making him want to rub his hands to get it off.
“Very funny, yo!” he called out. His own unnerved and doubtful voice filled up the entire space as it bounced back from something invisible.
“It’s not like I wouldn’t sleep like this?! Lights out, every night!”
Tiera listened keenly for a reply. But as none came, his throat tightened.
Silence remained in the wake of the reverbs of the shushed inquiry.
“Tch! …Fine. I can keep myself entertained.”
Inching directly backward, all the while feeling for anything recognizable around him, Tiera shuffled around. His pulse was rising. Expecting to grasp a glimpse of anything -Dammit, a speck of light too much to ask?!- he patted along the rough circle of the length of his arm.
Nothing but dirt.
Assuming that this even was dirt… He gulped. “Hey?!”
Grunting, Tiera bit his lip. Then, as if to spite the darkness, he started humming a tune, timing his blind exploration with the beats of the song.
“‘Welcome to the Hotel California’, my ass…”
“You guys have a lot of customer rep to make up for, yo!”
Fucking fuck, this place honestly went on forever-?!
Where was he?! Tiera almost lost his balance when the hand he had reached behind him suddenly met nothing where he expected the floor to come up. His shout stung his ears as it revolved around for a painstaking moment before dying down.
His heart was beating wildly, however. Hammering in his chest as a vivid remainder of him still being very much alive, Tiera’s gulp got constricted. Blood rushing in his ears, the loud, core-shaking thumps, surely all around him.
He had to force the gulp down before he dared to return to the dip right next to him. This time carefully, he ran his now caked hand on the surface, taking note of the sudden deepening. Feeling down the small slope, he let go of his breath as he again met dirt.
Nothing but a simple hole.
What the fuck had he gotten so riled up about?!
It takes several moments to remember that at a point, he had been humming.
He wasn’t sure if finding the walls was of any comfort after all. All it did was solidify his isolation when he counted the fourth corner in his blind exploration of touch and feel.
Swallowing down, he pulled his knees to his chest. Shifting just to reassure that he still felt perpendicular walls behind both of his shoulders, Tiera gasped out openly. He clamped his mouth closed immediately, shivers running down his back as he forced himself to breathe more discreetly. Whatever this was, who the fuck ever was doing this to him, Tiera wasn’t going to give them the pleasure of witnessing him cracking up! If someone wanted to watch him sit in the dark, pfft, be his guest! Tiera didn’t care!
Hiding his discomfort was the best he could do, though.
Regardless of his ideals, Tiera couldn’t deny the stiffening of his chest when the darkness surrounding him was starting to feel like fingers, a slowly closing claw wrapping around him and closing him in.
He tried to spark out another tune. Humming loudly in the darkness, trying his best to get sucked into it, Tiera went through five, six songs. Coming up with a seventh took effort. Simply his own voice, already growing a bit breathless and waverly in the stale silence, was starting to shine through with the deceit Tiera was adamant on trying to feed himself, to make belief of the flimsy comfort any sound should offer. With the unintentional tremor of his voice, he was unnerving himself more than it had ever been of comfort. So he stopped, cut the ninth track abruptly from the middle as he went silent.
Well. If you can’t beat them, join them. If silence was the name of the game, hey, Tiera was all about competition!