The Dice Tower has been completed for some time. After printing this Dice Tower1 off, I had plans to make several posts regarding the print, but it took me a month to take the still photos of the print and during that time, I chose to upgrade a portion of my Original Prusa i3 Mk2, specifically the RAMBo Mini’s case hung on the back.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series The following is the first post of a series I’m calling, “What I Read in Seminary”. I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read. This series seeks to remedy this by providing brief reviews of the books I read.
About the Series The following is the first post of a series I’m calling, “What I Read in Seminary”. I have had to read pages upon pages of theological material; so much that it feels like I forget a fair amount of what I read. While I do maintain a general synopsis of a book, I want to better internalize and remember what I am chewing and digesting as I read.
Smartphones take away time. Sure, they save tons of time, can be quite efficient, and have loads of utility. But I didn’t like how I was sucked into its usage. Social media was the tipping point. I found myself wasting away time and more time. Besides all the hoopla going on with big tech companies nowadays, and my general aversion to them given my time with Linux and working in the technology sector for a couple years, I wanted to get a foot out the door of all the modernization.
While reading The Letters of Samuel Rutherford,1 I came across this quotation.
In the meantime, I am pained with his love, because I want real possession. When Christ cometh, he stayeth not long. But certainly the blowing of his breath upon a poor soul is heaven upon earth; and when the wind turneth into the north, and he goeth away, I die, till the wind change into the west, and he visit his prisoner.
While trying to teach my children the Children’s Catechism, I found my children easily distracted (big surprise!) and at times getting bored due to the repetition. Further, we always had to use a screen to keep track of the questions, which is less than ideal and less than personal. My wife had the idea to create flash cards, but this would be quite the endeavor to do by hand—unless of course you created just one each time your child learned a new question.
While reading The Letters of Samuel Rutherford,1 I came across this quotation.
In the meantime, I am pained with his love, because I want real possession. When Christ cometh, he stayeth not long. But certainly the blowing of his breath upon a poor soul is heaven upon earth; and when the wind turneth into the north, and he goeth away, I die, till the wind change into the west, and he visit his prisoner.
I read some old poems. The ideas were the same, but the man in the words no more. The sorrows were cold yesterday, bygone the imagery today, the voice distant forever.
Image Source: Pixabay
If I wash my hands with foaming apple scented soap strong yet subtle, wafting up, and rub my cheeks and stretch the curling hairs shaping my beard with scented hands will she smell the orchard?
Image Source: Wikimedia
I’ve hung my portrait in a tower, from the height of the staggered stones, the reflection bends on the sea, waves of light erode that bastion.
On the throne atop the tower I stare at the painted portrait: elongated brush strokes in refined oils deigned my features, the walnut frame contained a mirror captured by imagination. Though I add rich browns and velvet reds something is amiss; over my shoulder the tower bends on the sea.
Image Source: Flickr
For Brother Chad.
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,
who comforts us in all our troubles…” -The Apostle Paul
Scoffers ask: “What purpose is there in singing?” in a crowd our voices rang, the faucet shut, the veil shattered at his feet and I held him as he wept.
Image Source: Pixabay
Only five minutes to find a parking spot Do I have my wallet? Ouch! A pebble in my shoe Oh! Good. How much… Block, shredded, or slices? do I have? What is this hole in my shoe? Which aisle is… Twenty dollars cash. Where did it come from? Seven. Huh, I don’t recall its arrival. What flavor do I want? My toes shouldn’t be so free, no, Not mozzarella.
Image Source: Wikimedia
The rusty truck bed was empty, Our hourly work Finished. Grandpa’d say, “Get in.”
Mom and that man rode away When I was Born, their son, they didn’t care, Didn’t call, except for our couple bucks.
The truck’s tires roared and spun mud up. Trees were coursing by, All that wood, A whole river of the stuff, I’d puke holding an axe— I hate splitting wood.
Woe to humanity! Conversation is fallen! Mighty were its walls— as a storm smothers sunlight so the siege darkened our speech and mounted in gusting winds
Woe to the dinner table! For I was young in my days when the army amassed on the seams of sky and land— in a rush and in a charge they surged with flashing, bright colors from an Ethernet port bombarding us with advertisers’ catchy jingles and snappy slogans!
Image Source: Pixabay
See the salt-rotten posts resting The dock’s not level the east corner sank some time ago; the upheaved boards and nails rusted and crooked
See how the posts were chewed away cracked with running splits, worn by fish needing toothpicks stained green by algae
See the wading posts beaten by waves, The dock still stands, but when will someone come for repairs?
From lift off and burning thoughts Through the clouds the plane turned down the cabby weaved and rolled from the outskirts to hotels downtown The destination—its streets, its corners, its patrons, its vices, its affairs—seasoned the food and I wrestled to keep my dinner down The neons flashed: bleeping, burning tubes that great swarm danced, circling their doom bypassing street performers and beholder traps strolling up the side walks in strides, buzzing around the electrocutioner, watching the lights on and off and on and off and on and off I tossed and I turned, I looked— double take: one beer down, two beers down the next poured, and again Cherries and golden sevens stream around Twenty five dollars down The horse hooves pound round Cigars burning down Round the turn they come Across the finish line Twenty five dollars down Was it whiskey poured and downed while fruitless politics hammered away as the men lounged, boasting unchallenged complaints?
The brown barked woods in columns rose, covered in summer’s sheath the tired path had captured dust and pebble. With striding lips I sang a merry tune under the coming blue twilight— the dawn’s veil whose rivers bent and bowed across the sky’s depths.
Slowing to a stand at a peculiar architecture, this chorus man’s tongue stuttered with my boot steps at this sight unseen during journeys before, pond’ring my soles shuffled, for neither sawdust nor stump waited to be remembered.
Image Source: Pixabay
"Peter, we know full well of denial."
–The Difficulty, “We Are Not”
Two voices call to me, I’m caught between two lays of sweeping sand, hills behind call me back, away, and hills ahead urge me forward.
“Wake, my Seedling, chosen to be. Gently contoured, lavished with dirt; Hear rain rap trickling caresses.”
“Child World, come and dance, come and flee. Come, Child World, witness, play, believe.
Image Source: Wikimedia
Gothnákh, you foul rat! Take your grimy hands away or else I will gore you out, just like this hole you will be cold and stone. You left me on heap of straw for bed while you ran off for war with the pale-skinned and sun-walkers— Coward!
Gothnákh, for maggots you spat me out in this cavernous filth! I ought run you through for making me snaga to be slid over by slavering gangs with hunched jaws!
Image Source: Wikimedia
I don’t have much to say about best friends, but when thrusting a shovel for treasures, a wooden handle feels like rubbing money. Real Estate prices are rising after all.
I want to unbury the truth about my profession: the dirt is soft seeping around my fingers dripping into muddy rivers. In winter, it is thick frozen like rocks. My knuckles shiver. I prefer bare hands.
Image Source: Wikimedia
March on men of war Bum… Bum… Bum… March on to the beat of the drums Bum… Bum… Bum… March on with the flag March onward to the battlefields March on to the thunder of the cannons Bum… Bum… Bum… March on o’er hills and through valleys Bum… Bum… Bum… March on! March on, heed to your King March on his hand gestures and command Bum… Bum… Bum… “March on!
Fifty-two years of marriage had on Elms Road A willow tree and a gravel, dirt driveway A black furred, brown footed dachshund named Blackie Picnics in the backyard Flea market front yard sales Coffee at four in the morn, what a child’s getaway— Crayon dinosaur wallpaper Baked beans from Great Grandma’s newspaper clipping Frozen hotdogs served fresh Anxious gifts given even without money
Car rides, iced tea, and Elvis’s songs The Blueberry Festival and more yard sales Fears of meat besides poultry, pork, and beef Her purpose motherhood, her strength family Drummond Island’s rocky shores, sandboxes and sand bees, no electricity, no running water, ice cream at the teepee, nighttime fires, a sinking pontoon Niagara Falls and a hand-holding competition
Image Source: Wikimedia
The last bite I taste—the morsel: warm bread. I sold rights, freedom, bought the field, though poor, I’ve inherited field, but not a bed.
My stomach wrenched taut; no food when I plead. Law pursued, a sign ahead: abundant. The last bite I taste—the morsel: warm bread.
Through cities I searched too low for my head, what rest for burdens leaves you wanting more? I’ve inherited field, but not a bed.
In Loving Memory of William Carlos Wright
October 9th, 1929 to June 29th, 2016
Let me not forget to remember how quick things pass— how many years will take flight and fade the colors of my mind; are tears really so helpful? Hope is stone not scarred by wind— strong and gentle, like the Manistee flowing through winding bends, more certain than steep banks. What has come was taken, couldn’t sink in one’s soul is like lost keys by holes in pockets and painful to forget.
Image Source: Wikimedia
The merchant returns, the port cheers him and there he anchors, to resupply his empty hold. Old farmland horses pull carts down the docks to his great vessel.
Hooves plod the sea-drenched harbor, smells of salt moisten the air. Wooden wheels clatter past rowing fishermen who’ve come to port from the City’s warrens for the morning market opening onto the bay and brine,
the merchant poises his back and locks his neck, clapping his hands with festive shouts reading the docket, and to insure this voyage’s goods, he eyes the curious mariners asking him about the itinerary and ready to work Unloading and hauling, his sailors arrange the fresh crates in aisles and towers,
Image Source: Wikimedia
I approached the field, my eyes met the stems across my palms I held the harvest— calloused furls, smooth ochre, future straw bales and sackcloth flour for market, storehouses and homes; supported by tillers.
The Farmer observed his hired hands. Their backs rotated—a clock face of tanned skin with shoulders wide; from dawn their arms ticked to dusk, leaning arched and stiff. Singing they gleaned and planted, but from their work, none could make the wheat grow.
Image Source: Wikimedia
“From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force.” –The Christ Farmhands smacked their tongues in burnt air, sweat slid along their brows, down as sweltering sunlight rippled and obscured the ground. From a furnace, their souls’ found relief in sweaty palms. For each laborer a satchel of seeds and broken steel.
Image Source: Wikimedia
I I couldn’t tarry, so I wandered the dusty road for work. My destination loomed ahead—yet my thoughts remained captivated with the wheat, but I stopped at the tall and charcoal gates that imprisoned the City on the Mount.
Behind the walls a horn blew tumbling thunder. The dreadful sound bellowed earthquakes in rupture, the horn’s tone split—gales pulverizing woods, whistling and moaning, a darkening came on storm clouds.
Image Source: Wikimedia
Limp I faced the hill. Like a child, swung and the bells pealed. Above the road I looked onto a wheat field. The Farmer winnowed. The rope frayed into chaff blown away by the wind. The sun rose and the flies, biting, were devouring nails.
Clouds swayed, turning black overhead. The arms of three trees curved into music’s bow. Innocent blood on a hill. By day the trees sat taught atop the hill, against the full rope, the braided melody hummed in lashes when the bow’s hair was pressed and drawn.
Image Source: Wikimedia
I watched them work. Pickaxes swung down, rakes drug, shovels dug, wheelbarrows brimming with stone hauled for drowning in the bay; land softened for tilling and cultivating of seed. Ash flitted from iron drums placed on the farm’s paths lined by torrid, smoking barrel fires, which farmhands could not approach.
“There is no need for the rubble,” the Farmer tasked his hired hands, “nor is there room for the weeds.
Image Source: Wikimedia
From a distant town I’ve come traveling to work along dust and dirt trails at the City on the Mount.
Walls overlooked the countryside, edifices laid before the horizon where the road slipped between the city’s gates into skies and clouds fading into golden hues.
But I paused.
A dry flood swept across tilled fields,
When had I entered these fertile rows? The field spanned from side to side, down the road, to the far-off hills behind, around the City and its gazing walls.
Image Source: Wikimedia
The Bridge waltzes, her legs wade— down with the Undertaker while cold rivers lurk with fishes beneath. From her skirt’s hem I took the plunge From her sweet hand I’m drowning in that river you’ve forgotten; the river’s overtaken me, sinking, pressured below— swept down with the currents. I beg you, please, look down from the brick arches. Peer out from the banks. Breathe, if just a moment.
Queso Blanco Ingredients One 12 oz can evaporated milk 3 Tbsp evaporated milk (for corn starch slurry, taken from can) 2 tsp corn starch 8 oz white American cheese 1 ½ cups white cheddar cheese, shredded ¼ tsp cumin ⅛ tsp cayenne 3 medium to large jalapeños (optional) Instructions In a small bowl, whisk together 3 tablespoon evaporated milk and cornstarch to make a slurry. Make sure you do not have any clumps.
I needed a way to install a PHP app (e.g., WordPress) into a subdirectory and I kept hitting a brick wall. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what I was missing. This quick tutorial solved my problems. Hopefully it helps someone else!
https://serversforhackers.com/c/nginx-php-in-subdirectory
TL;DR, TL;DW
location /nested { alias /var/www/nested/public; try_files $uri $uri/ @nested;
location ~ .php$ { include snippets/fastcgi-php.conf; fastcgi_param SCRIPT_FILENAME $request_filename; fastcgi_pass unix:/var/run/php/php7.2-fpm.sock; } }
I’ve created the following script to help remove messages from the PinePhone’s modem’s cache. This issue was originally discussed in the following thread, with my post being linked here.
https://forum.pine64.org/showthread.php?tid=10014&pid=71329#pid71329
https://gitlab.com/redemptionstudio/modem-cache-manager/
Changelog 20211202
Version 0.0.5: Rewrite. Pushed an update to grant functionality for alerting when modem is almost full and for clearing read messages. Needs variable validation and a way to auto-detect the modem device.
This post was originally found at the Redemption Studio Forums.
TL;DR: Logos Bible Software versions 8, 9, 10 and the Android mobile app can be installed on Linux computers—desktop, tablet, and phone—through WINE and Waydroid, respectively.
Modern versions of Logos Bible Software have been installable on Linux since September 2019 with Logos 8 using Wine.
Need help?
Find the installer at: Git
See the wiki for help or contact us at:
Euangelion I wanted a way to be able to send command line (CLI) output to myself through an encrypted email. I looked to Python for ease of programming, relearning what I had first practiced my freshman year of college. I wrote the original version nearly a year ago today and have updated it to try to implement a more standard project layout. The original program was contained in three files, while the current version is held in two files, one for install, one for emailing.
Today, I bumped into an issue of undesired keyboard behavior. Long ago I discovered the joys of the Compose Key, and within the past month I had to set up keyboards for languages besides English, as well as setting up IBus in order to have access to the full range of International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA) characters (although I’m pretty sure I still don’t have this functionality truly working). Besides these things, I thought I would never have to touch my keyboard layout again.
When I began 3D printing, I watched instructional and introductory videos to tell me more about the process, the art, the product, the machine, and the rest of the lot. The videos often included time lapses of the featured print and I thought it would be a perfect addition to Redemption Studio. When I published A Dice Tower Gift, Part Two, I mentioned I would provide the scripts I wrote in order to produce the videos. All in all, I constructed six scripts which I used to learn FFMPEG, Montage, and several other programs, not to mention Bash’s getopts, data validation, arrays and more. It felt rewarding by the end of the process! Those scripts are provided in the Bash Scripts downloads.
While trying to teach my children the Children’s Catechism, I found my children easily distracted (big surprise!) and at times getting bored due to the repetition. Further, we always had to use a screen to keep track of the questions, which is less than ideal and less than personal. My wife had the idea to create flash cards, but this would be quite the endeavor to do by hand—unless of course you created just one each time your child learned a new question.
In addition to my previous posts on the Ugaritic language, I have also created an Open Font Licensed Ugaritic Font, aptly called “Redemption Studio Ugaritic”. The other various fonts I saw were not free fonts, save for one. This font, under the Open Font License, can be used for any purpose as long as the creator of the font is given credit. You can read the license here: http://scripts.sil.org/OFL. I have provided a TTF, OTF, and WOFF file below.
When I first began my seminary work, I didn’t know how to handle styling for my documents. Sure, the SBL Handbook had various bits of information, but did I really have to parse through it all for every document?
Yes, and no.
Yes, if I had not realized that LibreOffice’s main way of handling document formatting was intentionally built on creating a document template.
My first inkling was then to find a template document, but I could not find one.
While reading The Letters of Samuel Rutherford,1 I came across this quotation.
In the meantime, I am pained with his love, because I want real possession. When Christ cometh, he stayeth not long. But certainly the blowing of his breath upon a poor soul is heaven upon earth; and when the wind turneth into the north, and he goeth away, I die, till the wind change into the west, and he visit his prisoner.
I mentioned I was studying Ugaritic in the following post.
Basics of Ancient Ugaritic
I got tired of having to make reference to all the various pages with charts of information. I compiled those charts into the following documents for convenience and share them here.
Ugaritic Cheat Sheet PDF Ugaritic Cheat Sheet ODS Ugaritic Cheat Sheet XLSX
When I first began my seminary work, I didn’t know how to handle styling for my documents. Sure, the SBL Handbook had various bits of information, but did I really have to parse through it all for every document?
Yes, and no.
Yes, if I had not realized that LibreOffice’s main way of handling document formatting was intentionally built on creating a document template.
My first inkling was then to find a template document, but I could not find one.
