Wonderful are the words of T.S. Eliot. He can be read for nourishment. His works are familiar, and yet they are as strange as the green sparks of the ligtning-bugs ascending from the grass. Spend an evening watching those, and another one perusing Eliot.
* * *
Argentina’s manager looked like such a sleazeball. I am convinced he is the reason they crashed and burned. What an agonizing World Cup for Argentina.
As a Uruguayan, I enjoy it. What a great day of soccer this day was!
* * *
I think I’m getting a handle on Van Til. It is frustrating because I don’t really want to spend time grubbing around in all that stuff. It really is apologetics for people who have no working knowledge of ancient philosophy. But what I’m appreciating is the mistaken assumptions they smuggle in unexamined. The Lord is stretching me. I just got through one of the worst troughs of stress yet. My mom enjoyed one of the sentences the whole things provoked. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.
* * *
It results in a guilty pleasure for me: putting the loathsome AP and wonky ST down to refresh myself with my true discipline, CH! I’m giving myself the luxury of putting together a series of lectures on the major confessions of the Reformation. This I record and dispatch to Colombia, where they are posted.
Unknowing 