History Presentation

I did my history presentation on Book III of Herodotus, and received an SCL. I'm more than just a wee bit happy.

Chuck Norris

Chuck Norris can believe it's not butter.

Conservativism

"If the Democrats wanted to burn down the Capitol building, the Republicans would counter with a proposal to do it over the course of three years."

R.L. Dabney described a certain kind of conservatism as the shadow that follows radicalism to perdition.

Doug Wilson is embarking on a tour of the reprehensible Senator McCain's anomalous choice of VP, which has so far been quite interesting. Click on my title to jump in mid-stride.

Redneck

You may be a redneck if:

1. you mow your lawn and find a car, or

2. to lose twenty pounds, you don't go on a diet; you take off a belt-buckle.

Nice Latin phrase

"Vir qui surget in latrino, altus est in caccabo."

A man standing on a toilet is high on pot.

Yes, He's Serious

Our Latin teacher, in the course of a class, commented that his daughter's first word was "Ecce."

कोम्मोंप्लासस

"Cocaine is God's way of saying you have too much money."

"Happiness is like wetting your pants: everyone can see it, but you're the only one who can feel it."

"What do you call a musician without a girlfriend? Homeless."
--Mark Driscoll

On the excessive use of makeup:
"If the house needs painting, bring out the brushes."
"If it needs that much paint, remodel."

"Love conquers all, so tace et osculate."

To Mr. Collins: "The only time you open your mouth is to switch feet: I thought men like you shot themselves. Your mother should have thrown you out and kept the stork."

"I could become one with Nature to figure out where the heck Nature is and then kill it."
--Craig Lynn

"Mothers, persistent as Rambo sequels..."


Most of these aren't cited; about half are mine and the rest are either unnamed classmates or were anonymously cited by unnamed classmates. Enjoy.

Story

The vast majority of Scripture is comprised of stories. In our imitation of God, we should learn to tell stories. Jokes are a good place to start.

Evangellyfish

Pastor Doug Wilson of Christ Church in Moscow, Idaho has written a novel called Evangellyfish. So far, he has posted the first two chapters (click on my title), and they are brutally well worth reading.

Enjoy.

Spurgeon: preach with fire

"A lukewarm sermon sickens every healthy mind . . . Fire has never yet learned moderation . . . A live coal from off the altar is our need . . . Everything gives way before fire . . . Like the priests at the altar, we can do nothing without fire . . . Let it be carefully remembered that our flame must be kindled from on high. Nothing is more to be despised than a mere painted fire, the simulation of earnestness. Sooner let us have an honest death than a counterfeit life" (Charles Spurgeon, An All-Round Ministry, pp. 173-177).

Commonplaces

And I want you to know the truth: that you are far worse than you think, and God is far better than you think, and the distance between you and God is far greater than you think.

--Mark Driscoll, God Dies



Puritanism: the haunting fear that somehow, somewhere, someone is happy.

--H. L. Menken (who greatly hated God and honored J. Gresham Machen, the last of the old-school Puritans)

Hell

Yet more random mutterings and protestations on the ever controversial topic of hell.

The first point to be made is quite simple: hell is not an elaborately designed torture chamber planned by a malicious genius who is always looking for more victims. It is a place infinitely removed from the Grace of God, to which He consigns those who spend their entire lives spurning Him. This is just even as far as our limited minds can conceive: if men spend their entire lives rebelling against their rightful Sovereign, does it not inevitably follow that they will at some point be cast out of His Kingdom and the protection that it entails?

My second point is even simpler: hell is eternal, and those that are sent there are punished eternally. To those who say that they are punished only until the measure of their sins is expiated (annihilationism), I completely agree. The only problem is that for all of eternity, they are still sinning against God, still raging that their punishment is unjust, still cursing the mercy that they spurned for all of their lives, and, thusly, their sins are never expiated. All mercy and restraint is removed from them, and they continue, unleashed as it were, eternally in their previous rebellion and eternally in their current punishment.

My final point is the simplest of all: hell is desired by those who go there. The world follows a design, and that design is not complicated: God Is, and He Is Good. All that exists exists in Him, supported either in submission or in rebellion, and all that exists was created by Him for His Purposes, and will give an account for every word and deed, by which reckoning we are all righteously damned, and to His Glory. Yet, He took that damnation upon Himself, again for His Glory. Those who fall upon this mercy are saved, and those who still hate God are given (to) what they desire: an eternity apart from Him. What was not counted upon ties into the first point: when He removes His Holy Presence, the blessings that accompany Him are removed as well.

"I finally have everything my heart desires, and with finality find myself in hell."

Prince Caspian: Movie Review

I can think of no person alive on this earth who has heard me cuss. Prince Caspian was absolute shit.

I raged, I fumed, I cried, I begged, and all to no avail.

There was no reason to make High King Peter the Magnificent into a sniveling little angst filled twit; there was no reason to make Queen Susan into Xena, Warrior Princess; there was no reason to remove God from the story until the very end (nice little deists, aren't we?); there was no reason to make Caspian twenty instead of twelve; there was no reason to attack Miraz' castle; there was no reason to skip the school and town scenes; there was absolutely no reason to make Susan and Caspian fall in love--that made me feel ill; give Glory to God, there was no reason to make this abomination of a movie.

Book Review: The Tipping Point

The Tipping Point, by Malcom Gladwell, surprised me. Firstly, I was surprised that I read it--NY Times bestseller with the subtitle "How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference" just doesn't sound like me. I hate people, and if enough of them like something, I generally won't. But, I put aside my arrogant elitism (just kidding--I don't know how) and read it. Secondly, I was surprised that I loved it. It was a very good book, and worthy of however many hours you put into it.

Gladwell traces social movements that, at some point, take off, "tip," and explode. He then tries to pin down what (and who) makes them do so. It is quite fascinating--The mavens, connectors and salesmen, the law of the few, how Blues' Clues surpassed Sesame Street, how people behave when some of them are made prison guards and the others prisoners (near torture and a riot within one week), and many, many more things from smoking to why a suited white male pulls a gun and shoots four black gangster-like teens on a subway. It really is fascinating, and will be a very valuable reference book for years to come.

There was, however, one problem of considerable importance (at least to someone like me), and that was his view on the importance of parenting.

Now, someone like Gladwell is hard to refute, as he simply states facts that he (and others) have assimilated, and though being unbiased is impossible, he is what we would consider unbiased. The problem I found was not in what he said, but what he failed to say. Here is the situation.

Gladwell says:

"...our environment plays as big--if not bigger--a role as heredity in shaping personality and intelligence..." and, "whatever that environmental influence is, it doesn't have a lot to do with parents." This opinion is based off of several tests that seem quite incontrovertible, and indeed, upon closer review, are quite correct. He elaborates by stating "the environmental influence that helps children become who they are--that shapes their character and personality--is their peer group." So, he holds that the peer group itself supercedes parents in the influence wielded upon the members of the group. This is, astonishingly, entirely correct. We find it (if vaguely) in the Scripture: "a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife:" the "peer group" is what man is designed for, and it affects him tremendously, even more than his parents.

But this in no way takes away from the affect that the parents have--they are the screening process that his peers have to pass, and this is the fundamental point that Gladwell misses. And why does he miss it? Because all to often, it is invisible. All in all, his assessment of the importance of peers is quite correct, and should serve as a rather striking warning to us: no matter what you say and do to your kids, who you let them spend their time with away from you will define them more than you ever will. Ouch.

Last and Greatest (or at least most awkward) Declamation

Oh Sweet Smell

The first week of NSA was awkward. There was a barrier within our class, and this barrier was the sexes. No one knew how to act or what to say.

The first time I met Sean, it smelled right. In my nose every nostril hair was swaying back and forth singing the Hallelujah Chorus. If Capon wrote a book on smells, Sean would be Capon’s onion, only it would take more than ten pages to unpeel all the mysteries of Sean’s smelliness. Sean smells so good, and I told him this. “Sean, you smell soooooo good.”

I do not think that this was necessarily the greatest thing to tell a guy, especially one that you just met, but I don’t regret it. Anyone so odiferous deserves a prize: a plastic cookie, a statue of a naked Greek god, coupons…anything.

Needles to say this made Sean extremely uncomfortable, which was only a small part of the joy it gave me. He stepped back, and in his eyes I could see a picture of the Antichrist. He shifted his little mouse eyes, and anxiously moved his little mouse hands in distress. Trying to help him understand, I said: “Sean, really, you are the best smelling person I know. You smell like home.” This just made things worse…

Now when I see Sean it is like the story of Abelard and Eloise. Anytime I came within a three-foot radius I say, “Abelard, I don’t want to use Herbal Essence anymore, I just want to smell like you.” And Abelard says back, “Eloise, Eloise, Eloise, live for God.”

Amusing Links

Click on the title.

A Touch of Humor (or Humour for the Brits)

1). What do you call an attractive man walking down the street with a blonde?

A hostage.



2). The Top 10 Reasons why it's better to be an NSA student than a Jedi:

10. Gas money to Spokane is cheaper than passage on the Millennium Falcon.

9. You don't need midi-chlorians to appreciate truth, beauty, and goodness.

8. Jedi probably have to study *modern* languages.

7. None of the NSA faculty are 900 years old, short and green with pointy ears.

6. Some of the Padawan learners might have gone to public school.

5. NSA students have cooler robes.

4. Dr. Stokes.

3. In Latin, you can put a sentence in any order you want!

2. Doug Wilson is more powerful than the Jedi Council AND Emperor Palpatine.

And the #1 reason why it's better to be an NSA student than a Jedi:

1. Jedi are prohibited from forming attachments. NSA students, on the other hand...




3). Painful Yiddish Joke

Back in the days of the Wild West, a westbound wagon train was lost and running out of food. No other humans had been seen for days. Then, finally, the pioneers saw an old Rabbi sitting beneath a tree and reading the Torah.

“Is there some place ahead where we can get food?” they asked him.

“Vell, I tink so,” the old man said, “but I vouldn’t go up dat hill over dere und down de udder side. Somevun tole me you’d run into a big bacon tree.”

“A bacon tree?” asked the wagon train leader.

“Yah, an bacon tree. Vould I lie? Trust me. I vouldn’t go dere.”

The leader goes back and tells his people what the Rabbi said. “So why did he say not to go there?” a person asked. Other pioneers said, “Oh, you know those Jewish people - they don’t eat bacon.”

So the wagon train goes up the hill and down the other side. Suddenly, Indians attack them from everywhere and massacre all except the leader, who manages to escape and drag himself back to the old Rabbi.

Near dead, the man groans, “You fool! You sent us to our deaths! We followed your route but there was no bacon tree, just hundreds of Indians who killed everyone but me!”

The old Jewish man holds up his hand and says, “Oy, vait a minute.” He quickly picks up a Yiddish-English dictionary and begins thumbing through it. “Oy Gevalt, I made myself such ah big mishtake! It vuzn’t a bacon tree... it vuz a ham-bush!”

Westminster Rhetoric Paper

In the Spirit of the Day

A Proposed Retranslation of Genesis 3:8

Jesse Broussard, Westminster Term Rhetoric, 2003 words.





Exordium: Spirit, wind and breath. In three different languages, each of these shares a single word. In Latin,anima, in Greek, pnuemos, and in Hebrew, ruah. Usually, this presents no problems; we are not often speaking Latin, Greek or Hebrew, and context will generally eliminate one or more options. But, when we come to Scripture, all of our authoritative texts are in Hebrew, Greek or Latin; the context is often less than helpful, and that is when having three possible meanings for the same word in every original copy of every authoritative text becomes a problem.

Narratio: Generally, those of us who are Orthodox Christians don’t like to mess around too much with Scripture, and that’s a good thing. There are always exceptions, such as wild exegesis—“St. John saw many strange monsters, but none so strange as one of his own commentators”—but even wild exegesis is exegetical (or isogetical, my point is that there is a longsuffering text to bleed beneath our benevolently bumbling scalpels). But what do we do when the text itself is under dispute? Should we preach off of that little section at the end of Mark? Should we try to go over it in our familial devotions? And what do we do when respected theologians are disputing different interpretations—how do we know which one to go with?

Meredith Kline’sImages of the Spirit proposes a retranslation of Genesis 3:8: “they heard the sound of Yahweh God traversing the garden as the Spirit of the day,” particularly retranslating “l’rwh hyywm” as “Spirit of the day” instead of the traditional “wind of the day,” which we changed (for the sake of clarity) to “cool of the day.” Kline states that judgment is inherent and essential to the narrative, and that the “day” (ywm) is the “day of the Lord,” the day of judgment.

Everett Fox translates this verse in his Shocken Bible in the more traditional mean: “Now they heard the sound of YHWH, God, (who was) walking about in the garden at the breezy-time of the day. And the human and his wife hid themselves from the face of YHWH, God, amid the trees of the garden.” In his footnote he clarifies: "breezy-time: Evening."

Partitio: These two translations are obviously different approaches to the text, and they offer different perspectives from which we would view the judgment of the fall of mankind. The traditional translation (Fox’s), however, does not seem to adequately capture the importance of the narrative—the comment that “it was evening” seems entirely superfluous, where reading the text in light of judgment seems to clothe the overall narrative with a far more suitable and consistent theme. Propositio: While we traditionally translate the Hebrew phrase "l'rwh hyywm” as "cool of the day," we should probably translate it as "spirit of the day."

Confirmatio: One of the reasons to translate this phrase as “spirit of the day” is that while evening is mentioned numerous times in the Old Testament, the particular phrase l’rwh hyywm is never used to indicate “evening”—in fact, through all of Scripture, that phrase is found onlyhere, in Genesis 3:8. It would seem that such an unusual phrase would bespeaka similarly unusual occurrence (such as the fall of mankind), not merely evening (which is most often denoted “le’et’ereb” ). As ruah means spirit, wind, or breath, these are our options for its translation. Since “wind of the day” leads to a very odd way of saying “evening,” and “breath of the day” makes no contextual sense whatsoever, we are left with the phrase “spirit of the day.” But what does that mean? The spirit of what day?

In his Images of the Spirit, Meredith Kline comments that the “spirit of the day” would almost undoubtedly be the spirit of the day of the Lord—the Day of Judgment. Defending this, Kline shows that the “day of the Lord” is always a day of judgment, and that judgment is the entire effect of God’s visit to man in this narrative.

To support this theory, he studied the common factors in all of the more explicit theophanies of Scripture, and narrowed them down to a foundational three: light or day, dark or obscuring, and “qol,” sound. Since all elements of the day of the Lord are present, Kline states that this Parousia “corresponds fully…to the awesome approach of the Glory met with elsewhere in Scripture, the approach with which a thunderous voice of Yahweh is regularly associated.” The qol is a great and thundering noise, and is what Adam and Eve hear traversing the garden toward them in l’rwh hyywm (spirit of the day), and it is this that causes them to hide (obscure) themselves. It is not the sound of “footsteps,” or of twigs cracking, but the sound of a great thunder, of a crushing waterfall, of earthquakes and armies and trumpets—it is the sound of approaching judgment. This day is a day of the Lord—He comes in power to judge his faithless people and those who have led them astray, and then to promise a future deliverance from these curses. He truly was coming in the Spirit of the Day—in judgment.

Because this is such a momentous event, one that bestows upon us the first Messianic prophecy, the protoevangelium, because this isthe reason for our sehnsucht, because this is the origin of all that is evil in the world, we expect the prose of the narrative to reflect that gravity and severity of judgment. But, should “ruah” mean wind, we do not find even a hint of it—the segue from Adam to God gracefully leaps from the high dive, only to encounter a dry pool floor in verse nine, where God is catching on to what has just happened, like a dad opening his daughter’s bedroom door and finding her boyfriend, “dressed” only in the loosest sense of the word. However, ifruah means “spirit,” then judgment pervades the narrative, covers it as the sky covers earth, or as skin covers muscle and bone. This seems to be the primary and crucial difference between the two viable interpretations of ruah: judgment is incidental to the “evening,” and central to the “spirit.” And which of these would we expect?

But the most definitive point, the point that converted me, is quite simple. According to the traditional translation, why is the phrase even there? What is the significance of mentioning that God was walking in the evening? It is definitely an evocative description, so if it were a peaceful scene in poetry, it would make perfect sense. But in this? In this horror and empty, desolate bereavement, this stark prose recitation of the pathetically futile, damning and abortive rebellion of mankind against severe sovereign holiness and beauty, this origin of all that is painful, evil and ugly? The sun was darkened, moon bloodied, earth undone; the stars were hurled from heaven, a seraph cursed; forgive me, butGod damned Himself: an idyllic stroll seems a touch out of place.

Refutatio:The only argument that I have yet heard that makes any sense of the jarring insertion of “evening” appeals to the poetry of the situation: a heaven on earth, where God walks in His garden with the human caretaker each eve, and then this utopia becomes literal utopia: not here, as it is laid waste by man’s sin.

But the problem with this exegesis is the same as before—why the obscure wording? Were the Author wanting us to read “evening,” why did He not simply write it? He does not hesitate to do so elsewhere. Why use a phrase so unusual that we find it nowhere else in Scripture? If it is to flag the one and only time that mankind’s innocence is utterly destroyed and the death of God Himself is, in that moment, necessitated, then I understand the use of such a singularly rare phrase. If it is to show the time of day, it’s absurd.

The single greatest argument against re-translating this passage is the weight of all of Church history. Who indeed are we to correct the mistakes of so many (and such great) men? And yes, this is a huge step—if we are retranslating a Scripture because it makes more sense to us, what is to prevent us from editing it to please ourselves? Already liberals are headed down this track with the TNIV, Episcopals can no longer play chess (is it a bishop or a queen?) and our names for God, “Father, Son and Holy Spirit” are being judged by many as inferior to “Rock, Redeemer and Friend” (which will hopefully stop before it becomes “Rock, paper and scissors”). We have resisted this abominable trend to retranslate the Words of God as we see fit, and rightly so.

But for us to struggle with the translation of a verse is not anything new—the Church has defined the bounds of Orthodoxy over less: “For there are three that bear witness in heaven…and these three are one (1 John 5:7).” According to Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses, these three are one in their will, one in their actions. According to Christians, Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses are heretics, because they deny the divinity of Christ, and their translation of this verse is one of the ways in which they do so. Here, the translation of the word “one” in a highly disputed passage of Scripture divides orthodox from heterodox, possibly heaven from hell.

Nor does stating something about Scripture place us above it in any way—we are testifying to something in it, not changing it at all. John the Baptist declared Jesus to be the Lamb of God, but his declaration did not make Jesus the Lamb of God any more than my statement “it’s a hamburger” changes anything about the nature of my hamburger. Indeed, the only problem comes in when I say, “It’s a hamburger,” and it is in fact, not a hamburger. To use an absurd analogy, if I claim that it’s a hamburger when it is actually an aardvark, this will cause awkwardness for those that believe me (as well as the aardvark). If we claim that this Scripture says something that it does not say, then we are guilty of leading people astray as well as corrupting the text, which is why we should take great caution when translating Scripture. If we translate “ruah” as wind, and then have to make it “cool,” all so that it can use the most obscure way possible of saying something that is an irrelevant side note to an otherwise continuous and tremendous narrative, all while there is a perfectly cogent, meaningful, and contextual translation that could be made with no violence to the text whatsoever, then we are guilty of handling the text with great frivolity, if not plain stupidity. The sooner we correct that, the better.

Peroratio: “L’rwh hyywm” should be rendered Spirit of the day, and we should keep this in mind as this new typology further links this day in Genesis 3:8 with all other days of the Lord, including—especially including—the judgment of Christ as the second Adam. For that is the day when God darkened the sun, crushed the head of the serpent, lifted the curse from the ground, and welcomed man into His new garden-cemetery (from which man in Christ will never be expelled) to walk with the dead man, who is the living God, in the new spirit of the new day, which shall never end.


And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time…
And all shall be well, and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.















Bibliography:


Kline, Meredith, Images of the Spirit (Eugene, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 1999), 106.

Fox, Everett:Vol. I of The Schocken Bible: The Five Books of Moses (New York: Schocken Books, 1995), 22.

Free Republic, Culture and Society, “Presbyterians Consider Renaming the Trinity (“Mother, Child, Womb,” “Rock, Redeemer, Friend”), http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1652271/posts, (Accessed April 18, 2008).

Peter Leithart, Leithart.com, New Testament, 1 John, http://www.leithart.com/2007/01/29/sermon-notes-fifth-sunday-after-epiphany/#more-2735, (Accessed May 1, 2008).

More Declamations

There is one more coming, and it is the best of them all. But, as it has not yet been sent to me, I cannot yet give it to you.
Enjoy.

Sean Johnson
-----------------------------------------
HIGH NOON FOR THE HIGH-BROW EYEBROW

There is a great and terrible power that dwells on Mr. Appel’s forehead. His left eyebrow, though small and hairy, proved a fearsome foe. Originally I knew it only as a friend. Like Balaam’s ass, it would turn freshman fools from the anger of the Lord—quivering suspiciously whenever our answers were leading us out onto the skinny branches of believability, as if to say “why don’t you stop while you’re ahead?” or “actually, that’s a heresy.” But I remember the day I finally provoked that awful eyebrow to wrath.
For several weeks I had passed Lordship lectures submissively, quickly lowering my eyes when, in the course of his pacing, Mr. Appel’s domineering gaze would meet mine. However, familiarity breeds stupidity, as they say, and I soon found the courage to hold my head up. The next time our eyes met, mine stayed put, and his widened in interest; what was this, a challenger? Then we battled. Across rows of tables and unknowing students we battled, grappled silently, unmoving, unflinching.
By some strange trickery my eyes were instantly parched and itching; I could feel them shriveling like little grapes in their sockets, but I was already committed to this fight and not about to blink. Sensing my resistance, his gaze narrowed—the way a cottonmouth coils and condenses before it strikes. Then, whip-crack! went the eyebrow as it leapt to the middle of his forehead, delivering the fortieth lash to the fleshy backside of my soul. My spirit utterly undone, I cowered in defeat, and the wrath of the eyebrow was satisfied.


Laura Wilson
Rhetoric/Westminster
Word Count: 254
April 22, 2008


Well Done, Sister Suffragettes!
Or
Against the Offensive Notion that Men Own Everything Simply By Existing

It was war: full-out, cross-that-line complete annihilation on the church lawn. The boys started it by transgressing the ancient boundaries. Their sticky-fingered adolescent selves insisted on taking over the giant fir tree that was, coincidentally, the girls’ fort. We, being the superior of the species had snagged that prime real estate long before their sordid clan had learned intelligent speech. Our tree had a lore all its own, its blood-red trunk boasting tales of murderous carpenter ants infesting its cavernous interior. The boys were relegated to the only remaining land of any strategic value: a giant divot in the lawn, a stone’s throw from our tree. Their pitiful little hollow that was woefully unprotected. Our tree, by contrast, was a bastion of female security. It was far superior and their primitive eyes burned with desire and cast scheming glances at our branched fortress. One Sunday afternoon, as we skipped in daisy dresses across the lawn, we were met quite unexpectedly by the sight of their smug, smeared male faces peeking out from behind the maternal boughs of our fort. Well, we had squatters’ rights on that tree and no amount of masculine invasion was going to change that. Nose to nose with the snot-faced Neanderthals, we demanded our rights, but brandishing their rudimentary weapons, they only threatened us with grunts and sticks of fury. Our shrill voices raked the silence on that breezy afternoon in the daisy field between the divot and the tree and there was a line drawn and it meant war.


Andrew Givler
Rhetoric/Westminster Term
Word Count: 261

Dreams are Truer than You Think

Behold, in my dream the red brick walls of New Saint Andrew’s College, my new institution of learning, towered before me. Its walls seemed to be as thick and tall as the mightiest of fortresses. The ominous sky behind it bubbled like lead, full of malice and hatred. It seemed as if the entire principalities and powers assembled against NSA prepared to vent their rage.
Suddenly I looked, and behold! I saw Dr. Atwood standing atop the school, and over his head he held the giant leather-bound book with the name of all the students there were and who were to come. And he spoke with a voice like thunder; “Come!” and Behold a teacher with a white tie sprang forth from the fortresses’ walls. In his left hand he held a Latin textbook and in the other a projector’s remote, and he said, “Latinam aut mortem!”
Again Dr. Atwood’s voice shook the foundations, “Come!” and behold a second teacher sprang forth with a tie the color of crimson. The wearer was permitted to take happiness from the Liberal Arts students by making them take all of the quadrivium.
Again “Come!” summoned a teacher; this one wore a tie of blackest night, with a pen of deepest red in his hands. “Augustine, Calvin, and tales of food and wine right before lunch are in what I delight!” was his cry.
For a final time Dr. Atwood cried “Come!” And Behold! A teacher with a tie the color of a corpse, and to him was given authority to crush freshmen’s spirits and ridicule them; and his name was Nate Wilson.

Rhetoric: Westminster Final Written Exam

Well, this week felt like I volunteered as a crash test dummy for the new Geo-Metro. I found out at ten-thirty last night (don't ask me how I missed it before) that the Rhetoric written final was today. So, I went to bed about one, got up at five, went to the Atwood's prayer breakfast, came home and studied for nine hours.

Usually I like to study over at least a two day period, otherwise I have to wear earplugs to keep everything from dribbling out, but oh well. Somehow, I believe that I did very well, all glory to God and my roommate.