Farmertype

In 1952, an English teacher named Cecil Dormand secretly paid for a dirt-poor 11-year-old to take a drama course. He never told him and the boy didn’t find out until decades later. By then, he was a knight, that little boy’s name was Patrick Stewart. He was born into a poor family in Mirfield, a small mill town in Yorkshire and his father came home from World War II a violent man, and he was violent toward Patrick’s mother. Young Patrick learned exactly when to step between his father’s fist and his mother. An English teacher put a copy of Shakespeare in his hand and told him to get up and perform. He never stopped and left school at 15. By 19 he was completely bald... most agencies told him he'd never make it because of that. In 1987, the LA Times called him an “unknown British Shakespearean actor” when he was cast as Captain Picard. Then he became one of the most famous faces on Earth. You’ve probably heard that part. Here’s the part you haven’t: He spent decades as a patron of Refuge, sheltering women and children from domestic violence. But he never stopped trying to understand his father. He dug up a 1940 newspaper clipping that said his dad had come home with severe shell shock. He went to France and walked the ground where his father’s unit was pinned down under bombing for hours. He learned his father had PTSD, and nobody ever helped him. So Patrick became an ambassador for Combat Stress, a charity that helps veterans. In 2013, a young woman at a Texas convention told him she was a survivor of domestic violence. He asked, “My dear, are you okay?” Then he hopped off the stage, held her, and told her: “You never have to go through that again, you’re safe now.” At Dragon Con, a Make-A-Wish girl dressed as Spock came to meet him. 2,000 people were waiting for him to speak... he sat down and talked with her for 15 minutes, making all of them wait. He told her that since they were friends now, whenever she saw him on screen she could wave and say, “Hello Patrick.” After 9/11, he felt helpless, so he brought his one-man A Christmas Carol back to Broadway for a full week of charity shows. He played every character himself and donated every cent. In 2019 he did it again, and every dollar went to feeding hungry New Yorkers. In 2017, he fostered a pit bull named Ginger, who had been rescued from a dogfighting ring. She was his first dog in more than 50 years. He couldn’t bring her home to England, so he found her a family. Then he kept fostering more. When he said he was done with Star Trek so many people told him the show had gotten them through the hardest times of their lives. So he wanted to see if Picard could do it one more time. Rest in Peace, Sir Patrick 🖖

100-Year-Old Trombonist Joins DØVYDÅS on “Tennessee Whiskey” at a Florida Nursing Home A 100-year-old resident picked up his valve trombone and joined DØVYDÅS on “Tennessee Whiskey” with no rehearsal. They agreed on a key and played. The older musician held the melody cleanly while the room clapped and smiled. The more interesting point is what the clip quietly contradicts. We tend to treat advanced age as the point where musical ability and the desire to perform drop off. This moment shows the opposite pattern: the capacity was still present and functional. What is usually absent is any real opportunity to use it. Senior living environments almost never create a low-friction way for residents to play with visiting musicians, and visitors rarely ask. The result is that ability goes untested and then gets mistaken for decline. The performance itself is short and simple. The larger observation is that the limiting factor was access, not age.

In the book of Exodus, after God rescues Israel from Egypt and gives the Ten Commandments at Sinai, something unexpected happens to the story. It slows down. For chapter after chapter, the text gives detailed instructions for building a tent: its curtains, its poles, its furniture, its colors, its measurements down to the cubit. Many readers skim these chapters. But God gives the reason for all of it in one sentence: “Let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell in their midst.” The God who had just shaken the mountain with fire and thunder wanted to live in a tent among His people. And the New Testament says that tent was a picture of something greater. The letter to the Hebrews calls the tabernacle “a copy and shadow of the heavenly things,” built according to a pattern Moses was shown on the mountain. The details mattered because they were pointing to Someone. The clearest link is in John’s Gospel. John 1:14 says, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The Greek word for “dwelt” is eskēnōsen, from skēnē, the word for tent or tabernacle. Literally, the Word became flesh and pitched His tent among us. And John continues, “We have seen his glory.” In the wilderness, God’s glory filled the tabernacle. In Jesus, God’s glory came and lived in a human body. Now walk through the tabernacle with that in mind. The camp and the courtyard. In Numbers 2, God tells the twelve tribes how to set up camp: three tribes on each side, all facing the tabernacle, which stood in the middle. God was at the center of the life of His people. Around the tabernacle was a courtyard enclosed by white linen curtains, and there was only one way in: a single gate on the east side, woven of blue, purple, and scarlet. Not two entrances. Not many. One. Jesus said, “I am the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved.” The bronze altar. The first thing you met inside the gate was the altar of sacrifice. Before anyone could go further toward God, blood had to be shed. Every day, animals were offered there, morning and evening. The way into God’s presence started at the place of death. Hebrews says the blood of bulls and goats could never take away sins, and those sacrifices were repeated because they could not finish the work. Jesus, it says, offered Himself once for all. The altar in the courtyard was a long rehearsal for the cross. The bronze basin. Next came the laver, a large bronze basin of water where the priests washed their hands and feet before entering the holy place. Exodus adds a remarkable detail: it was made from the bronze mirrors of the women who served at the entrance. The things people used to look at themselves were melted down to make the place where they were cleansed. Paul later writes that Christ cleanses His church “by the washing of water with the word,” and Jesus told Peter, “If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.” After the sacrifice comes the washing. The Holy Place. Inside the tent itself, in the first room, stood three pieces of furniture. On one side was the table of the bread of the Presence, with twelve loaves, one for each tribe, set before God continually. Jesus said, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger.” On the other side stood the golden lampstand, hammered from a single piece of gold, its branches shaped like almond blossoms. It was the only light in the Holy Place, because no daylight came in. Jesus said, “I am the light of the world.” And in front of the veil stood the golden altar of incense, where incense was burned every morning and evening, rising up before God. Scripture repeatedly links incense to prayer. Hebrews says Jesus “always lives to make intercession” for those who come to God through Him. The smoke of that altar never went out, and neither does His prayer for His people. The veil. Beyond the altar of incense hung the curtain with cherubim woven into it, blocking the way into the Most Holy Place. Only the high priest could pass through it, once a year, with blood. As we saw in the post on the torn veil, Hebrews says the way into God’s presence was opened “through the curtain, that is, through his flesh.” When His body was torn, the veil was torn. The Ark and the mercy seat. Behind the veil was one object: the Ark of the Covenant, a chest of acacia wood overlaid inside and out with gold. Hebrews tells us what was inside it: the stone tablets of the law, a golden jar of manna, and Aaron’s staff that had budded. The law that God’s people had broken. The bread from heaven that had fed them. And a dead stick that came back to life overnight, sprouting buds, blossoms, and almonds. Law, provision, and resurrection, all kept in the presence of God. On top of the Ark was the lid, called the mercy seat, with two golden cherubim facing each other, their wings stretched over it. On the Day of Atonement, the high priest sprinkled blood on the mercy seat, between the law below and the presence of God above. The blood covered the broken law. That is where God said He would meet with His people. In Romans 3:25, Paul says God put Jesus forward as a hilastērion by His blood. That is the same Greek word the Greek Old Testament uses for the mercy seat. Jesus is the place where God’s judgment against sin and God’s mercy toward sinners meet. And then there is one small detail in John’s account of the resurrection that’s easy to miss. When Mary Magdalene looked into the empty tomb, she saw two angels in white, “sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet.” Two angels, one at each end of the place where the blood-covered body had lain, looking at the space between them where the sacrifice had been. Anyone who knew the tabernacle would have recognized that picture. The outside. The tabernacle’s outermost covering was made of tough animal skins (the exact animal is debated). From the outside, the tent was plain and unremarkable. All the gold, the colors, the light, and the glory were hidden inside. Isaiah wrote of the Messiah, “He had no form or majesty that we should look at him.” People passing by saw a carpenter from Nazareth. The ones who came in saw the glory of God. The glory. When the tabernacle was finished, Exodus says, the cloud covered the tent and the glory of the LORD filled it, so that even Moses could not enter. By day, a cloud rested over it. By night, fire. When the cloud moved, Israel moved. When it stayed, they stayed. God was not distant. He was in the middle of the camp, visible every day. People say these chapters of Exodus are tedious instructions for an ancient religious tent. But read them with the New Testament in hand, and they are a map. One gate. A sacrifice. A washing. Bread, light, and prayer. A torn veil. Blood on the mercy seat between broken law and holy God. Every step points to the same Person. And the story does not end with a tent. The Bible closes in Revelation 21 with a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people.” The word for dwelling place is skēnē, tabernacle, again. From Eden to the wilderness, from Bethlehem to the new creation, God has been pursuing the same goal: to live with His people. In Jesus, He came close enough to touch. And through Jesus, the way into His presence is open. You don’t need a tent anymore. You need the One it was pointing to. Jesus is the true Tabernacle, God with us.

Vivaldi’s “Winter” is brought to life through a fascinating visual interpretation, transforming melodies and rhythms into vivid images before our eyes. The music becomes more than something we hear; it seems to take shape right in front of us, allowing us to experience every note through both sound and sight.

Years

Turn it up and never forget what we started. 🔥 This is the energy of a movement built to finish the job. Keep the MAGA train moving. Vote Red on November 3rd. 🇺🇸🎸🦅

This is AWESOME...wish I could play it on YouTube...but we can't

Introducing Bitwater: the water heater element that mines Bitcoin. It screws into the electric tank you already have. Physically decentralized mining that runs no matter what 🧵 Heat water. Mine Bitcoin. Same tank.

L’histoire de France en 3 minutes Je sais que beaucoup seront surpris par ce que j’imagine pour l’avenir, mais je continue à croire que cette époque sombre sera un jour un lointain souvenir. La France se révélera. Gardez espoir

Analogue rhythm instruments producing electronic-sounding beats