Copyright 2019 David Ben Ya’akov / The Delusion Resistance


I came to the startling realization about twenty years ago that I had become my father. It is funny how that works. Let me explain. My dad, before he became Born-Again was a stubborn man who was a strict disciplinarian. He has grown up under a stricter disciplinarian, that being my grandfather. My dad knew how to temper strictness with grace, or should I say that as quick as he was to anger, he was quick to repent and apologize if he thought it was necessary. My dad was the third of three boys, the youngest, who was born a little more than a year after the start of the Great Depression. Things were tough for dad and his brothers. Aside from clothes that his mother handmade, the only thing that he could every remember getting for Christmas was a sled, which he really cherished and often told me about.


I don’t know if it was the Depression of is another factor contributed to my dad’s attitude, but he was often at odds with my grandfather. Like many last-born children my dad was a handful, often defying my grandfather and mouthing off back at him. Trust me, I knew my grandfather quite well and giving him any sort of disrespect was unthinkable to me or my cousins who feared him with great respect. My grandfather had his hands full because the middle son, who was also rebellious would often mouth off to his father, but the middle son was my grandfather’s namesake so he was tolerated better. I truly think that my dad felt like an unwanted son, and there could be some truth to that seeing that he was an added burden to a man who had to work sometimes out of state and away from family to make a living during that era. I heard the story of how he had to sell my grandmother’s wedding right because it came to eating or not eating. Dad’s entrance into this world would have only made things worse. I know that my grandfather loved my dad, but I think he favored the older two. I know this because the favoritism was shown to my cousins a great deal and less to me. By the way, the wedding ring was replaced when economic time became better.


It is funny how, when you look at families where there are three children, and they are all the same gender, how the youngest one is the one that always feels like they need more attention, but at the same time they are the ones that in many cases show the least respect for their parents. They are the ones that feel that they are owed something more, that they were somehow slighted while growing up and demand more attention all while demanding more freedom and spurning correction by their parents. They will deny that there is sibling rivalry with their last breath while they try like the dickens to keep up with the successes of their older siblings. You might think that I don’t have a foundation to base my theory upon, but comparing other such nuclear families with my paternal family yields almost always the same result.


When I finally decided to marry at the age of 49 it was too late for me to have children and my first wife, who, for medical reasons could not have children. Why I decided to marry late I still try to understand. I think that it was partly out of fear. I saw my friends getting married, and many times divorcing and remarrying. I saw that the commitment of marriage was a difficult one that I often wondered if I was up to task in performing. I always felt deficient because I didn’t have a son or daughter to carry on my legacy or to love but perhaps that is a good thing.


You might be asking yourself why my not having children of my own is a good thing. The reason is that as many people have told me, I have an old soul. I grew up way too fast as a child. I always liked to be with older people, either older kids or adults. I found my peers to be childish and unlikable. I have never been a game player and many times I saw kids my age as being stupid, which sometimes carries over into what I have seen my adult peers. I like the ideal of “grace,” but I’ve seen it abused so many times that I tend to lean toward being black and white when it comes to people and determining their actions. Children are anything but black and white and in my younger adulthood I found them annoying. Things changed when my sister had her boys, nephews are cool. But the thing is that I could visit them and then go home after they wore me out, and boy did they wear me out often.


The last twenty years or so I have become more tolerant toward kids. But the one thing that I can attest to is that I am glad that I didn’t have kids of my own. I would have been a redo of my dad mixed with my grandfather. I would have raised with a firm hand and that never turns out well as evidenced by my dad and his middle brother. Girls would have been easier to raise but when they get into their teens, they often turn into narcissists that hate their mothers and won’t listen to their fathers. Young sons love their mothers and dislike their fathers. Neither of these attitudes would have been tolerated by me. Lest we forget that this was about the time when parents were being reported to police for using Mr. Hand on their children, which began the birth of one of the most spoiled generations on earth. Honestly, I saw the hard time that good Christian parents were having with their kids and I didn’t want that. How unsaved parents raised kids I have no idea.


One thing that young people today fail to realize is that people my age (I’m 60 as of this writing) have been around to see many mistakes made, and many of those mistakes were made by us. However, reflecting about this, I am reminded that my parents and grandparents probably said the same thing and I echo their sentiments. My grandfather once looked at me and said, “you young people all want to be different, so you grow long hair but what you don’t realize is that you all look the same.” He was right, I could not argue with that sort of logic.


It’s so wonderful how people in this country (well, speaking of natural citizens) all have the same values for the most part, but the application that they use to show their values is quite different. Some people come from generations of loving people that showed their love by giving their kids whatever they wanted and that is passed down through generations with good results sometimes and bad results sometimes. I didn’t grow up in such an atmosphere. My grandparents and parents were both middle class families but things had to be earned. We were taught not to ask for things when we needed them and to try to fend for ourselves and then if things became impossible then parents would (sometimes) jump in to help. Both my dad and grandfather were that way. My mother on the other hand has always lived with a guilt complex that she couldn’t provide for us what other kids got. We did well, but things like giving us cars when we were able to drive or sending us off to college were just not possible. Personally, I think that this made us better and stronger people, but on the flipside of the coin we are coy when asking for help.


The upside of this mentality can best be illustrated in a couple of examples. When I became driving age, my dad bought a second car as a backup for his older car. It was kind of sporty for him but I thought that he was going to use it to attract women (he was divorced). When I got my driver’s license dad told me that the car was mine. I was elated at first, at least until he told me that the payment was due in the middle of the month, and not a payment to him, but to the bank. When it was paid off, he gave it to me with the title. My dad had instilled in me that if I wanted something, I would have to work for it.


The second example occurred when I was around 19 years old. Dad informed me one day that he wanted me to move out at the end of the month. He said that I needed to learn to be on my own and to pay for rent. At the time, I was unemployed so his decision meant that I had to scramble to find a job and to save up enough money to afford rent at the first of the next month. This lesson worked and I have had a sense of work responsibility ever since.


Another thing that I remember is that we never really borrowed things from one another. For instance, if I needed to use dad’s saw, he came over and I used it in his presence. His tools, his car, his home were all a part of him and he went with it all regardless of who you were. I never asked to borrow my dad’s car or my grandparent’s car. The only time that I drove dad’s car was when he didn’t want to drive or when he needed me to get something for him. Same with my grandfather, I only drove his car when I took my grandparents to the store or to the doctor’s office. I can’t remember once instance when my dad or grandfather loaned out their cars to anyone, even family members. I think that this is because these items are things that they worked hard for. Other things were different. If we were hungry, my grandmother would make us all kinds of food and if I needed some article of clothing, she made it for me.


I’m sort of laughing because there was a time when I lived with my maternal grandmother. It was only for a couple of months, but she ran her home like a boot camp. When I got paid at work, I would immediately bring home the money to her. She worked out a budget for me and all of the money was budgeted out, all of it. I paid her rent, paid some of the utilities and I was given a stipend to spend for things like eating out, half the time bringing something back for her.


I know that I might have made my dad and grandparents out to be tyrants, but they really weren’t. They were people that grew up in hard times and appreciated the things that they were able to buy with the blessings that they received. Dad always told me, “when you have to work for something you respect it more.” That is very true. I’ve had people borrow things from me only to have those things disappear. I’ve had things brought back broken, dented, chipped and you name it. I’ve lent out cars and had them brought back dented or full of crumbs, toys, crayons and other things. These things happened because I didn’t listen to my grandparents and my gut instinct. I didn’t remember history, or ignored it and it repeated itself.


One of the things that the Bible teaches us is not to take on the ways of the world. Simply put, if the world is advocating for something then you need to walk in the other direction. However, I see the younger generations doing just the opposite. And, just like I did when I was younger (in my teen years) they don’t want to hear what is good for them. They think that they know all of the answers yet they cannot figure out why they are in the pickle that they are in.


When I was a young believer in Yeshua, my dad became a believer also. One of his favorite phrases was, “it is a wise man that learns from his mistakes, but it is an even wiser person that learns from the mistakes of others.” Now that I think about it, that is why I probably didn’t jump right into the marriage game like all of my friends did. Add to that what my mother always used to repeat, “if all of your friends decided to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge would you do it too?” These two adages helped me to develop my life’s philosophy, the icing on the cake of the salvation that I had attained from coming to faith in YHVH.  In essence, my parents had instilled in me a sense of individualism and learning from my elders, which when built upon a foundation of faith is a winning combination.


Having observed the lives of quite a few people I have come to the determination that children tend to skip generations when it comes to the attributes that they attain from ancestors. Yes, I am very much like my dad, but I am more like my grandfather. I cannot say if I am or am not like my maternal grandfather because I only met him once, when I was a very young boy, but from what I’ve been told by my mother I have had his traits passed down to me. If there is any passivity in my personality, that comes from him.


The majority of my personality comes from my paternal grandfather. Like I wrote earlier, he was a tough guy, and I might not have been his favorite, but he did love me. He showed me that many afternoons when he came home from work. He would always hug me like he meant the hug to show his affection, then he would kiss me on the cheek and rake my face with his very course beard. He took the time to sit down with me and my cousin to tell us about dating and what sort of girls to date. He was a former city health inspector so he made sure that he instilled within our little psyche’s the horrors of getting venereal diseases and acquiring the little critters that one can get from close contact from people who had lice, crabs and scabies.


My grandfather had been involved in city politics at one point of his life and his only fault was that he was an honest man working in a corrupt machine. Just telling you that it was the 50’s in a predominantly Italian neighborhood in Bergen County, New Jersey should give you a sense of what it must have been like for him. He loved it when people did right, and hated people who were corrupt. He had a particular dislike for Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and if anyone mentioned that name in his house they were warned just once never to say it again. There were things I would tease my grandfather about, but that was not one of them. Getting banned would include getting banned from my grandmother’s gourmet-like cooking and I never wanted that.


Grandpa was an enigma to many in our neighborhood. He was Italian but had converted to the Lutheran faith. I once asked him why we weren’t Roman Catholic like the rest of the neighborhood, and his reply was that he thought it hypocritical for people to be pious inside the church but to get into fist fights outside the church’s doors. He also didn’t like or understand the idol worship and traditions of the Catholic faith. As I mentioned above, despite being Italian in heritage, he was honest and hated dishonesty, which was exhibited in our neighborhood by people of our ethnicity.


If you aren’t aware of Italian culture, one thing that is for sure is that no matter how bad our fathers or grandfather were, we revered them, sometimes out of fear but mostly out of respect. Yes, we loved our mothers and grandmothers, but they were fellow partakers in the meanness that could sometimes come from their men, so outside of maternal affections between mother and son, they had our respect and many times our empathy. Quite a few years ago, my dad and I had a falling out. What he was doing I just could not justify. I never spoke in any disregard toward him, but a for a while I just withdrew from him. I still loved him, and I prayed for him but I just could not be around him because of his actions. When he changed our mutual bond continued and I loved him still, well, probably more because he had overcome something that was not becoming of him or his walk with Yeshua. The interesting thing was that my grandfather withdrew from him too, probably more out of embarrassment than anything else, but when dad was restored, so was their relationship.


One thing that people outside the Northeast fail to understand is that sarcasm is okay if it is used correctly. It never ceases to amaze me that people can watch the comedy series “Seinfeld,” which is loaded with sarcasm, and they laugh at the skits in that show, but when real-life sarcasm is encountered by them, they get offended. As I sit here writing this article I think of many things. Some of those things involve the sarcasm that both my dad and grandfather exhibited. For instance, my grandfather liked a good joke, he knew many of them. I remember several times asking him, “hey grandpa, have you heard any good jokes?” He would sometimes reply, “yeah, you.” We thought that was funny and we laughed. It was sarcastic as hell, but it was funny. If you tell a kid that same things today, they have to seek out a therapist because you have hurt their feelings and damaged their self-esteem. There were times when it looked like my grandfather was in deep thought. I’d ask him what he was thinking about and he’d reply with a sarcastic chuckle and say, “your father.” He worried about my dad, probably till the day that he died, but that little chuckle told me that he was concerned, but he knew that my dad was an adult, and his chuckle and short comment was the way that he dealt with his feelings. Most of the time I would agree with him. Today, many kids would seek therapy, stating that his family was dysfunctional and his elders are cruel. American society has become soft, not just the liberals, but society in general. We’re too afraid that we’re going to offend someone, hurt their feelings and/or be labeled by the whole neighborhood for being any numbers of titles, ranging from haters to racists. It’s time for men to become men again, but I digress.


It is funny the things that I find myself doing that remind me of my dad and grandfather. Grandpa owned a piece of property that consisted of his house and a couple of apartments that were built above a row of garages that existed when he bought the property. There was also a little house that they called the “Summer House.” In front of the Summer House, and near the street there was a parking spot on the property where two cars could park. The one spot was always for my grandfather and the other was up for dibs to whichever family member got it first. That caused its own set of problems because we lived in one of those apartments and my uncle and his wife lived in the other apartment and there was always what I would term a fragile peace between both families. Everyone else parked down the driveway in front of one of the garages. For some odd reason, people thought that the street in front of the two parking spots was a curb where people could park. When this happened, my grandfather would get for lack of words pissed off. He would fly out of the house and accost the person parking there, or he would wait for the person to return so that he could personally read him a riot act. How does that affect me?


My wife Barbara and I moved out of the city of Eugene to a little hovel about forty minutes north of there. It’s a nice little community with one store. We live near that store and for some reason people park in front of our driveway to use the store. Because we live in logging country, many times the offenders are logging truck drivers or those that drive chipper trucks or people that park their trucks with trailers there. Mind you, there is a lot of room in front of our house, about a hundred feet where people can park, but they many times choose to block the driveway. Well, just like grandpa, I go out the door, all the time reminding myself that I have to maintain my cool, but there are times when I’m fed up and I talk to the offenders in a harsh manner. When returning to my home I often remark to myself, “dang it, you’re just like grandpa.” In addition, my grandfather also has a next-door neighbor that was his chief antagonist. Her name was Mrs. Almond. She was a widow that seemed to be bitter against everyone. When my cousin and I would play by the fence near her yard she would come out and yell at us. This caused my grandfather to come out and dress Mrs. Almond down verbally. The words that went back and forth were not pretty. Likewise, we have a neighbor across the street that doesn’t like dogs barking although she has two dogs herself. She’s been a headache for her next-door neighbor, a nice woman that has a dog. This antagonizer will purposefully bang pans to make her neighbor dog bark and then she video’s it and calls animal control. Just like Mrs. Almond, the neighbor across the highway has a colorful vocabulary and there have been times when she and I have exchanged loud conversation because her speech is inappropriate and her complaints unfounded. Again, I am my grandfather.


So, I sat around the other day having a day of circumspection. It is hard getting older because I am set in my ways and sometimes, I feel like I’m set a little too much in my ways. Other times I am almost mournful because society has changed so much in my short sixty years on earth. I feel disempowered sometimes because the younger generations feel like they have the answers and they do not like to take the advice of those of us who have gone through the hardships of doing things the hard and/or wrong way. For those of you that have stepchildren you will understand with me that talking to them is difficult for a variety of reasons. First off, they are not my children so it feels wrong to tell them what to do. When I have tried to reason with them it has not gone so good at times, and there is nothing worse than having to remain silent while a younger person dresses you down for something that they feel right about but are dead wrong about. Another thing that is factored in is there is a delicate tightrope that has to be walked where my wife is concerned. She is a good mom, and like a good mom, she protects her kids. Part of that protection I do believe that she feels, is keeping me from saying something that could cause them to get mad at her and hold contempt against me. So, she has a tightrope to walk too.


That tightrope is very hard for me to walk because, like I wrote earlier, I see things in black and white. My wife sees black and white too, but she allows herself to see grays and certain colors, so she understands both sides. My options when it comes to people of the younger generations, especially family members, while I’m walking that tightrope are three in number. I can adamantly state my opinion and anger people, I can say nothing and watch people make the mistakes that I made, which will somehow affect me in a negative way, causing all sort of stress. The third choice is equally as hard as the second, for me anyway, and that is to let it go and pray that YHVH will bring common sense into the situation and help everyone to see, including me.


Step one is easy for black and white people. It is what we older people grew up with. When our elders said no, we didn’t ask why, we just accepted the answer. If they said turn right, we did that and if they said to go back, we did, not asking questions because we knew that they had a reason to give us direction. Yes, there were times when they were wrong, but we didn’t point that out because the situation usually taught them a lesson if they were willing to see the results.


You see, I, just like my fathers before me knew that obedience has its rewards. Yes, we did rebel, but usually we only rebelled once and learned our lesson, and as time progressed, we rebelled less and less. In the scriptures it is said, “To obey is better than sacrifice.” What does this mean? It means that sacrifice means nothing without obedience. Sacrifice can be looked at also as learning lessons the hard way. When we fail to learn from the mistakes of others we sacrifice time, money, resources and all because we didn’t listen to wise counsel. We sacrifice too in that had we listened we would have enjoyed the blessing of not having to go through the hardships that we forfeited because of our obedience.


Scripture says in the first chapter of Ecclesiastes that men will not learn from history and that scripture suggests that is foreordained that people to ignore history. The same scripture states that this condition has existed from the beginning of time. This brings me back to the adage that my father quoted to me so many years ago, stating, “it is a wise man that learns from his mistakes, but an even wiser man that learns from the mistake of others.” Personally, it is my belief that this adage should be taught with scripture and tacked onto the scripture in Ecclesiastes as how to live a successful life. We are exhorted to “bring up a child in the way that he should go, and when he gets old, he will not depart from it.” We can blame the younger generations till we are blue in the face, but if they are not brought up with the doctrine that they need to learn history right from the start, and history is best learned from people that have lived it, then we have no right to get angry at them when they fail to listen as adults and make wrong choices.


Children that are brought up in Christian and Jewish households are often taught “about” God. Many times, however, they are brought up with a knowledge that there is a God, but they are not introduced to YHVH. There are some that are introduced to YHVH and they come to faith in YHVH through Yeshua but they come to faith in a one sided relationship fashion, where YHVH is there to succor and protect them but they are not taught that obedience to YHVH’s commandments are required in addition to the praise and worship that they are taught is to be rendered in reverence to YHVH. In addition, if correction is not administered within the Christian household by both parents, working as a team, then the children grow up to think that correction from YHVH is a form of punishment when all the time it is meant as a movement of growth in every one of YHVH’s children. Also, if parents do not work together it pits them against each other and cause the kids to “parent shop” for the parent that they can manipulate easier.


I have three stepdaughters who are all married and have families of their own. To say that they are spectacular woman is a gross understatement. I cannot think of a correct English word that would express the respect and love that I have for them. Too, they are married to wonderful men that love YHVH so very much. In all, they have made our family into one of fifteen grandchildren. I love them all dearly and I learn lessons from each and every one of them because they have a foundation in YHVH through Barbara and her first husband, they are all individuals with different beautiful personalities. One grandson is my answer to prayer for patience. It is as though he is my alter-ego, or maybe he’s my payback for the rebellion I produced and that my parents had to deal with. I love this boy so much, not just because he’s my grandson, but because YHVH uses him to teach me so many things. When he was younger, he went through his “what if” stage. He would ask questions all day long and left me feeling exhausted by the time that we parted ways and he went home to his parents. One particular day he had been bothering me about climbing a relatively short tree in his backyard. He must have asked me a hundred times if he could climb that tree. When I would tell him “no” he would tell me that if his dad was there, his dad would let him climb it. He was referring to his biological father, not the good man that stepped up and became a real father to him. I’d retort that his dad wasn’t there and that he would have to listen to and obey what I said. Finally, he said, “grandpa, what would you do if I fell out of that tree?” I told him that I wouldn’t feel sorry for him if he fell out of it. He looked at me like his world had just been destroyed. He said, “you wouldn’t care?” I told him that I would still love him, that I would pick him up right away and would tend to his injuries, but I would not feel bad for him. He asked me why? I told him that all day long I had told him not to climb the tree and that if he disobeyed me, falling out of the tree occurred because of his disobedience. I explained it in more childlike terms and he understood. I told him that if YHVH tells me not to do something and I do it anyway, and I get hurt because of my disobedience he knows that my hurt came from that disobedience and that he teaches me not to disobey him because disobedience never goes well for the person being disobedient. After I explained my point, my grandson understood.


What my grandson failed to understand at first is what millions of Christians fail to attain in their understanding of YHVH and obedience. So many people go throughout their lives making mistakes out of disobedience toward YHVH and they expect that Yeshua will make everything all better, yet they fail to understand that you don’t do that same thing again. They expect their lives to go well with so many blessings yet they have not studied the word of YHVH to find out what YHVH requires in return, not necessarily works, but obedience. In a “fast food” world people demand a “fast food God,” and that is not what YHVH is. Many will recite the Lord’s Prayer, yet they somehow forget the “thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” part of their recitation. It is YHVH’s will and YHVH’s timing that YHVH follows, not what we want when we want it. He’s seen our future and he knows our past so he knows what is best for us.


Now we have to go back to the original intent of this article, that being, I am becoming my grandfather. Is that a bad thing? I’m going to say that I don’t think that it is a bad thing. Yes, my grandfather was a rough guy to be around and yes, he did see strictly black and white, but one factor that I didn’t mention is that he had my grandmother to iron out his roughness. He was not easy on her either, but she, over the years, had figured out ways to talk to him to calm him down and cause him to see the colors that are out there, or at least to understand that there are colors out there. My mother was the same way with my dad, she helped him to see where he was wrong, and if he denied it at first, he always seemed to come around. In the same manner, I have my wife that helps me to see what I sometimes cannot see or will not try to see. In scripture a man’s wife is called a helpmeet. Today that word is rendered helpmate. A helpmate is someone who works side by side with a person, not as a lesser person, but as an equal that is dedicated to the same purpose and goal. As parents and grandparents, I am called upon to be a patriarch and Barbara is the matriarch. From the Latin, those words mean father + head and the mother + head, the head mother and father of the family. Notice, they are both heads. The way that our relationship works is that if I see things a little too black and white, Barbara introduces color into the equation. If I think that she’s seeing too much brightness in color in a situation we sit down and YHVH helps us to even the palate so that we see what he sees.


From a Christian perspective, we could be seen as me being the Torah and Barbara being Grace. Torah shows you that you need Grace and Grace cannot be known if there is no Torah. The Apostle Paul tells this. In one scripture he tells us that Grace (Faith) without works (Torah) is death and in another scripture, he tells that Works (Torah) without Grace (Faith) is death.


So, where my being my grandfather is concerned, do I change? Change is not the right word I suppose, but adapt is a better rendering. Do I become more like Barbara? No, because if I did the scales would become unbalanced. Does Barbara become more like me, no again for the same reason. We adapt and work as a team.


Scales are very wonderful devices. They have been used for millennia to meet out equity and fairness. YHVH says in his Word that one of the things that bother him is a person who cheats another using a bad scale. Where Barbara and I are concerned, her side of the scale has some black weights but there are a lot of color weights of all different denominations. On my side of the scale there are many black and white weights with very few colored weights. If we come together and determine that I’m addressing something to rigidly she takes a one-ounce color weight and places it on my side and takes a one-ounce black weight and places it on her side. In other terms, she sees my point and understands it, but she adds her input with the same weight. The balance is not changed, only the colors.


Do I regret being like my grandfather? Heck no. Especially in an age where being a manly man has all but disappeared. Boys need a figure that they can look up to aside from their fathers. Girls need to know that they are loved and respected and that they should never settle for second best. Just like I love and respect my grandfather to this day, even though he’s been dead some thirty years, his memory lives on and so does his legacy.


In an era where society is mixing genders and teaching the antichrist doctrine to nearly everyone, it is important to be the crotchety old man that won’t change his ways and who is dedicated to remaining solid, not just for the grandkids, but also for my son’s in-law that have such a difficult chore in maintaining a correct and God fearing nuclear family. When I finally die and I’m translated to be with Yeshua I want my grandkids to remember me as someone that stuck to his convictions and would not be blown about by the wind. I want them to sit and watch other people make the mistakes that I warned them about not making and to see the result and say, “yup, grandpa said that would happen because he read the Bible and said that is what happens to people who are disobedient.” I want them to know that this world is filled with evil people that will try to ensnare them, using every little trick and device. I want them to know what to avoid and what to accept, to rightly divide the truth. I want them to know Yeshua better than I know him and to walk with Him in ways that I have only imagined myself walking in. I want them to know that I’m not perfect and that I need Yeshua just as much as they do, and I want them to see what a man that is resolute in faith to YHVH really is, but to strive to be even better.


We are rapidly approaching the end of what we are currently living in, known as the “Last Days.” Our kids and grandkids will be plunged into a time of sorrow that has never been seen before and will never be seen afterward. Yes, they have the hope of the Harpazo (Rapture) but that might not come before a time of persecution falls upon the church. Our kids and grandkids need to be ready for this time so that they’re not left unprepared. It is easy to be a believer during easy times, but enduring till the end is difficult without preparation and a knowledge of YHVH’s armor, His Word and practice in fervent prayer.


One of the things that brings me comfort in these last days is that all three daughters have married men that have a great respect for YHVH, are all Born Again and are dedicated to what is best for their wives and children. They are constantly circumspect, searching their own ways to see if they are doing what is right in YHVH’s eyes and in his precepts. I am currently crying tears of joy in knowing that I married into such a wonderful family. Most people in this world do not have the blessings that YHVH has bestowed upon me by giving me such a wonderful family. Truth be told, there will no doubt be many fathers and grandfathers who will be envious of what YHVH has given to me. Did I deserve such a bountiful blessing, probably not in my own accord, but Yeshua has shown me favor and I am so very humbly thankful. Sometimes I wonder what they did to deserve this stubborn older man who is so set in his ways? Knowing YHWH, the little that I do, I have to believe that I was brought into their lives at the perfect season for me to be here, there is no other answer. And as for my wife, in my estimation she deserves so much better, but again YHVH knows what is best and when all is said and done and we are like him in his Kingdom, maybe I’ll understand what the purposes were all about. Rest assured; it will be a question that I ask you Yeshua when we are together. I close this writing with a scripture. It is a scripture that I have found comfort in my whole life and will continue to rest upon until the day that I arrive in Heaven. “He who has begun a good work in you will continue until the day of Mashiach Yeshua.” Even so, come Lord Yeshua