Ebenezer Quotes

Our opportunities to give of ourselves are indeed limitless, but they are also perishable. There are hearts to gladden. There are kind words to say. There are gifts to be given. There are deeds to be done. There are souls to be saved. As we remember that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God,” (Mosiah 2:17) we will not find ourselves in the unenviable position of Jacob Marley’s ghost, who spoke to Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens’s immortal "Christmas Carol." Marley spoke sadly of opportunities lost. Said he: 'Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!' Marley added: 'Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode? Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!' Fortunately, as we know, Ebenezer Scrooge changed his life for the better. I love his line, 'I am not the man I was.' Why is Dickens’ "Christmas Carol" so popular? Why is it ever new? I personally feel it is inspired of God. It brings out the best within human nature. It gives hope. It motivates change. We can turn from the paths which would lead us down and, with a song in our hearts, follow a star and walk toward the light. We can quicken our step, bolster our courage, and bask in the sunlight of truth. We can hear more clearly the laughter of little children. We can dry the tear of the weeping. We can comfort the dying by sharing the promise of eternal life. If we lift one weary hand which hangs down, if we bring peace to one struggling soul, if we give as did the Master, we can—by showing the way—become a guiding star for some lost mariner.

My dear fellow,' Burlingame said, 'we sit here on a blind rock careening through space; we are all of us rushing headlong to the grave. Think you the worms will care, when anon they make a meal of you, whether you spent your moment sighing wigless in your chamber, or sacked the golden towns of Montezuma? Lookee, the day's nigh spent; 'tis gone careening into time forever. Not a tale's length past we lined our bowels with dinner, and already they growl for more. We are dying men, Ebenezer: i'faith, there's time for naught but bold resolves!

The main reason I became a teacher is that I like being the first one to introduce kids to words and music and people and numbers and concepts and idea that they have never heard about or thought about before. I like being the first one to tell them about Long John Silver and negative numbers and Beethoven and alliteration and "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" and similes and right angles and Ebenezer Scrooge. . . Just think about what you know today. You read. You write. You work with numbers. You solve problems. We take all these things for granted. But of course you haven't always read. You haven't always known how to write. You weren't born knowing how to subtract 199 from 600. Someone showed you. There was a moment when you moved from not knowing to knowing, from not understanding to understanding. That's why I became a teacher.

Pale Ebenezer thought it wrong to fight, But Roaring Bill (who killed him) thought it right.

His aim was the creation of self sufficient small towns,really very nice towns if you were docile and had no plans of your own and did not mind spending your life with others with no plans of their own. As in all Utopias, the right to have plans of any significance belonged only to the planner in charge. - discussing Ebenezer Howards' Garden City

I believe life is an education meant to teach us the need to be better people.  And I believe this learning often takes place through trial and error which may mean being an awful person at times before clearly seeing and grasping the necessity to improve. If you don't agree with me, just ask Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge.  I think Charles Dickens got it quite right.

If you talk to people nowadays, nothing exists unless it has been seen on TV. It gives people the idea they have seen and know everything, when really they have seen and know nothing.

In the twinkling of an eye a veil is lifted; and you see with other eyes and hear with other ears and are given another understanding.

I reckon it is up to us to treat each other better than the Lord do, and teach Him a lesson.

I don’t know what young fellows want to go in for those sort of things for?” I said. “Wars are a waste of time; and advertising is all lies.” “I am afraid, my dear Mister Le Page,” he said, looking very sorry for me, “you are an anachronism.

I don't know anything, I never did know anything, but now I know I don't know anything!

It's like coming home," said Webster and he wasn't talking to the dog. "It's like you've been away for a long, long time and then you come home again. And it's so long you don't recognize the place. Don't know the furniture, don't recognize the floor plan. But you know by the feel of it that it's an old familiar place and you are glad you came." "I like it here," said. Ebenezer and he meant Webster's lap, but the man misunderstood. "Of course, you do," he said. "It's your home as well as mine. More your home, in fact, for you stayed here and took care of it while I forgot about it.

Conventional wisdom holds that Arthur Conan Doyle invented the detective story but in fact Green’s first book featuring detective Ebenezer Gryce – in which Miss Butterworth does not appear – The Leavenworth Case came out in 1878, almost a decade before Sherlock Holmes made his debut in A Study in Scarlet. This is why Green is often referred to as The Mother of the Detective Novel.

Many activities were forbidden on the Sabbath: work, play, and unnecessary travel. Even minor instances of Sabbath-breaking were punished with much severity. The Essex County Court indicted a man for carrying a burden on the Sabbath, and punished a woman for brewing on the Lord’s Day. When Ebenezer Taylor of Yarmouth, Massachusetts, fell into a forty-foot well, his rescuers stopped digging on Saturday afternoon while they debated whether it was lawful to rescue him on the Sabbath. Other

A minute later, he adds, you okay? Like even from separate rooms, with multiple screens between us, he is reading my mood. The thought sends a strange hollow ache out through my limbs. Something like loneliness. Something like Ebenezer Scrooge watching his nephew Fred’s Christmas party through the frosty window. An outsideness made all the more stark by the revelation of insideness. All I really want is to go perch on the edge of Charlie’s desk and tell him everything, make him laugh, let him make me laugh until nothing feels quite so pressing.

Is all one generation can do to set the stage for the comic, sad story of the next?

Having children is a lottery and you never know what you are going to draw out. Perhaps it is as well I got none.

Oh dear thought Cobb. Never mind Father Yule, he sounds more like Ebenezer Scrimge from Charles Pickens’ book “A Yuletide Song”.

12Then Samuel  mtook a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen [1] and called its name Ebenezer; [2] for he said, “Till now the LORD has helped us.

At best, like a reforming Ebenezer Scrooge, we can undertake to keep Christmas in our hearts every day. Bless us all, everyone.

This was a great relief, because “three days after sight of this First of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order,” and so forth, would have become a mere United States’ security if there were no days to count by.

Ci ho pensato spesso. Dicono che i bambini nascono dall'amore reciproco tra i genitori. Non mi risulta. Forse nascono perché l'amore tra i genitori non è perfetto. Forse vengono al mondo attraverso una crepa che c'è fra i due genitori. Non so.

The thought sends a strange hollow ache out through my limbs. Something like loneliness. Something like Ebenezer Scrooge watching his nephew Fred’s Christmas party through the frosty window. An outsideness made all the more stark by the revelation of insideness.

CHRISTMAS GREETINGS From Ray Bradbury Imagine that you have been dead for a year, ten years, one hundred years, a thousand years. The grave and night have taken and kept you in that silence and dark which says nothing and so reveals absolutely zero. In the middle of all this darkness and being alone and bereft of sense, let us imagine that God comes to your still soul and lonely body and says: I will give you one minute of ife. I will restore you to your body and senses for sixty seconds. Out of all the minutes in your life, choose one, I will put you in that minute, and you will be alive again after a hundred, a thousand years of darkness. Which is it? Think. Speak. Which do you choose? And the answer is: Any minute. Any minute at all! Oh, God, Sweet Christ, oh mystery, give me any minute in all my life. And the further answer is: When I lived I didn't know that every minute was special, precious a gift, a miracle, an incredible thing, an impossible work, an amazing dream. But not, Like Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas Morn, with snow in the air and the promise of rebirth given, I know what I should have known in my dumb shambles: That all is a lark, and it is a beauty beyond tears, and also a terror. But I dance about, I become a child, I am the boy who runs for the great bird in the window and I am the man who sends the boy running for that bird, and I am the life that blows in the snowing wind along that street, and the bells that sound and say: live, love, for too soon will your name which is shaped in the snow melt, of your soul which is inscribed like a breath of vapor on a cold glass pane fade. Run, run, lad, run, down the middle of Christmas at the center of life.

I hope that our descendants, insofar as they fear God, will find much material for the recognition of the wonderful and blessed ways that He has gone with us from the beginning from the printed reports of Ebenezer, . . . and that they will be thereby awakened to the praise of God and to faith in Him.

You saw how Ebenezer's unhappy childhood [of A Christmas Carol] made him who he was. Imagine how he might feel if his business burned to the ground." It was an apt comparison between Ebenezer Scrooge and Mrs. Nesbitt to be sure. One Grace had never thought to put together before that moment. But it was true how anger could be used to mask hurt, especially when hurt was such a very vulnerable emotion. Even Mr. Evans had used his gruffness to mask his memories of his daughter when Grace had first started to work at the bookshop. Who knew what Mrs. Nesbitt had experienced in her life to make her so hard and bitter?

Ebenezer Howard’s vision of the Garden City would seem almost feudal to us. He seems to have thought that members of the industrial working classes would stay neatly in their class, and even at the same job within their class; that agricultural workers would stay in agriculture; that businessmen (the enemy) would hardly exist as a significant force in his Utopia; and that planners could go about their good and lofty work, unhampered by rude nay-saying from the untrained. It was the very fluidity of the new nineteenth-century industrial and metropolitan society, with its profound shiftings of power, people and money, that agitated Howard so deeply

Do not think that Christianity is something slavish and irksome, and conversely that the consummation of youthful desires is something upon which the heart can graze.

And she envied Caleb's knowledge. She only had bits and pieces, scraps and rags. He had a whole cloth.

It's how I keep my mind from becoming mush. Learn and think. Think and learn.

Recalcitrance and malice we find in no Salzburger; the most useless and worst are those who have come to them along the way from other places.

A well-timed carb never fails to put things in perspective.

Eben-ezer, diciendo: Hasta aquí nos ayudó Jehová.

Mpelelezi wa Tume ya Dunia kutoka Israeli Daniel Yehuda Ben-Asher Ebenezer, Mhebrania aliyeishi Givat Ram, Jerusalem, na mke wake mrembo Hadara na mtoto wake mzuri Navah Ebenezer, alikuwa Ukanda wa Gaza siku alipopigiwa simu na Kiongozi wa Kanda ya Asia-Australia ya Tume ya Dunia U Nanda – kutoka Copenhagen kuhusiana na wito wa haraka wa kuonana na Rais wa Tume ya Dunia. Yehuda aliondoka usiku kwenda Yangon, Myama, ambapo alionana na U Nanda na kupewa maelekezo yote ya kikazi aliyotakiwa kuyafuata. Mbali na maelekezo yote ya kikazi aliyotakiwa kuyafuata, Nanda alimkabidhi Yehuda kachero wa Kolonia Santita Mandi Dickson Santana (bila kujua kama Mandi ni kachero wa Kolonia Santita) ili amsindikize mpaka stendi ya mabasi ya Maubin, nje ya Yangon. Baada ya hapo Yehuda alisafiri mpaka Copenhagen ambapo yeye na wenzake walikabidhiwa Operation Devil Cross, ya kung’oa mizizi ya Kolonia Santita duniani kote. Yehuda alifanya kosa kubwa kuonana na kachero wa Kolonia Santita Mandi Santana! Kwa sababu hiyo, sauti na picha ya Yehuda vilichukuliwa, watu wengi walikufa katika miji ya Copenhagen na Mexico City.

Ebenezer was unsure that human minds were built to cope with any of . . . of what happened down there. He felt no shame thinking that, either, as he did not believe humans were built to come to grips with anything that existed beyond their conventional means of reckoning. When humans experience something that challenges their fundamental belief of the world—its reasonableness, its fixed parameters—well, their minds crimp just a bit.

Not now. On this night so divine, Mariah did no pleading. The only thing on her heart was gratitude. But she did have one request. She wanted to stay awake, wanted to see what freedom looked like, felt like at midnight, then at the cusp of dawn.

I’ve sat at the piano for hours already, looking for lyrics and melodies, but everything sounds the same and I feel as uninspired as ever. Does it mean I’m finished? A more sobering thought: if I’m finished, would I miss it? But the truth is, I’ve been here before. Many times. We all have. So how do we find the faith to press on? Remember. Remember, Hebrew children, who you once were in Egypt. Remember the altars set up along the way to remind yourselves that you made the journey and God rescued you from sword and famine, from chariots and pestilence, that once you were there, but now you are here. It happened. Our memories are fallible, residing in that most complex and mysterious organ in the human body (and therefore the known universe), capable of being suppressed, manipulated, altered, but also profoundly powerful and able to transport a person to a place fifty years ago all because of a whiff of your grandfather’s cologne or an old book or the salty air. As often as you do this, do it in remembrance of me. Remember with every sip of wine that we shared this meal, you and I. Remember. So I look at the last album, the last book, and am forced to admit that I didn’t know anymore then than I do now. Every song is an Ebenezer stone, evidence of God’s faithfulness. I just need to remember. Trust is crucial. So is self-forgetfulness and risk and a measure of audacity. And now that I think about it, there’s also wonder, insight, familiarity with Scripture, passion, a good night’s sleep, breakfast (preferably an egg sandwich), an encouraging voice, diligence, patience. I need silence. Privacy. Time—that’s what I need: more time. But first I need a vacation, because I’ve been really grinding away at this other stuff and my mental cache is full. A deadline would be great. I work best with deadlines, and maybe some bills piling up. Some new guitar strings would help, and a nice candle. And that’s all I need, in the words of Steve Martin’s The Jerk. This is the truth: all I really need is a guitar, some paper, and discipline. If only I would apply myself.

I God, a very Gomorry on wheels! You lead the most exciting life I know of, and complain more about it than any two well-off bastards in the running. I am glad to hear you sound like your old self, though I never hearn of no Jonathan with two Davids. Top of this letter is an allusion to that wonderful novel, The SotWeed Factor, in which Ebenezer Cooke, “poet and virgin,” is about to be raped by a buncher sailors (they have him tied across a table in the fo’c’sle; he is saved by a raiding party of pirates, one of whom strides into the scene and says, “I God, this here ship’s a very floatin’ Gomorry!” Have come down with the flu since inditing the above. [...]. The mail yestiddy brought a letter from Sam Beckett! asked to see Sappho and Arky. I sag with fatigue. Blessings. Guy

In the 1980s, psychologists Susan Fiske and Shelly Taylor were looking for a way to describe what research was showing to be a ubiquitous tendency among humans: to think only as much as they feel they need to, and no more. And so the metaphor of the cognitive miser was born, with each of us an Ebenezer Scrooge—except instead of sitting on piles of money and refusing to pay for an extra lump of coal to keep the house warm, we sit on reserves of mental energy and processing capacity, unwilling to spend much of it unless we really have to. We rely on simple, efficient thought processes to get the job done—not so much out of laziness (though there is some of that, too), but out of necessity. There is just too much going on, too much to notice, understand, and act on, for us to give every individual and every occurrence our undivided, unbiased attention. So not only are you innately hard to understand, but the people observing you are hoarding their attention.

I was a lonely nightwalker and a steady stander-at-corners. I liked to walk through the wet town after midnight, when the streets were deserted and the window lights out, alone and alive on the glistening tramlines in dead and empty High Street under the moon, gigantically sad in the damp streets by ghostly Ebenezer Chapel. And I never felt more a part of the remote and overpressing world, or more full of love and arrogance and pity and humility, not for myself alone, but for the living earth I suffered on and for the unfeeling systems in the upper air, Mars and Venus and Brazell and Skully, men in China and St Thomas, scorning girls and ready girls, soldiers and bullies and policemen and sharp, suspicious buyers of secondhand books, bad, ragged women who’d pretend against the museum wall for a cup of tea, and perfect, unapproachable women out of the fashion magazines, seven feet high, sailing slowly in their flat, glazed creations through steel and glass and velvet.

The Englishman who picked up the letter to be delivered to Frederica appeared amiable and grateful for the good that he had received from our inhabitants. They had helped him find his runaway horses that he was driving through Old Ebenezer for sale in Frederica, for which service he also promised to pay. He said that he had not expected so much kindness from the German people. He revealed to Bichler that the people in Old Ebenezer had rather implied to him that our people were unfriendly and not helpful. However, Col. Stephens' son [Newdigate] had assured him of the opposite. Bichler explained to him from where such calumny came, apparently from envy, meanness, and ignorance. We tolerate no disorder such as drunkenness and shouting from either our people or from strangers; they hated our good order. Sometimes our own people would gladly be of service, but they are unable to do so and have to spend their time on their own work, for they wish to support themselves honestly and without debts.

Most members of our community are genuinely dear souls who love the Lord Jesus with their whole heart and honor in pious conduct. Also in external things everything is completely orderly and Christian. And even when Satan sometimes wishes to sow his seeds of some discord, they resist him and follow our counsel imparted to them from God's Word. Their exactness in public worship on Sundays and in the daily evening prayer services is indeed uncommon, and their attention during the proclamation of the divine Word is so great and persistent that we ourselves are not little encouraged through it and consider ourselves completely unworthy of the grace of God that He demonstrates to us in our calling through these upright souls.

St. Lawrence River May 1705 Temperature 48 degrees The dancing began. Along with ancient percussion instruments that crackled and rattled, rasped and banged, the St. Francis Indians had French bells, whose clear chimes rang, and even a bugle, whose notes trumpeted across the river and over the trees. “Mercy Carter!” exclaimed an English voice. “Joanna Kellogg! This is wonderful! I am so glad to see you!” An English boy flung his arms around the girls, embracing them joyfully, whirling them in circles. Half his head was plucked and shiny bald, while long dark hair hung loose and tangled from the other half. His skin was very tan and his eyes twinkling black. He wore no shirt, jacket or cape: he was Indian enough to ignore the cold that had settled in once the sun went down. “Ebenezer Sheldon,” cried Mercy. “I haven’t seen you since the march.” He had been one of the first to receive an Indian name, when the snow thawed and the prisoners had had to wade through slush up to their ankles. Tannhahorens had changed Mercy’s moccasins now and then, hanging the wet pair on his shoulder to dry. But Ebenezer’s feet had frozen and he had lost some of his toes. He hadn’t complained; in fact, he had not mentioned it. When his master discovered the injury, Ebenezer was surrounded by Indians who admired his silence. The name Frozen Leg was an honor. In English, the name sounded crippled. But in an Indian tongue, it sounded strong. The boys in Deerfield who were not named John had been named Ebenezer. That wouldn’t happen in an Indian village. Each person must have a name exactly right for him; something that happened or that was; that reflected or appeared.

I well believe, dear Mother, that it is somewhat painful for you that I have travelled so far away from you and was not even able to bid you farewell. Indeed, do not think as though I had no filial love for you or else I would not have accepted this call or at least would have asked for your advice. I could not possibly refuse the call, otherwise I would have been disobedient to the heavenly Father who has sufficiently assured me of His will. Time did not permit me to bid you farewell in person. I had to hurry with my dear colleague to my congregation that was already underway. . . . My congregation, to which the wonderful God has led me, is indeed still small but consists mainly of such people who already have suffered much for Christ's sake and therefore have their Christianity not in the mouth but in the heart and demonstrate it in deed. For that reason I not only have love for these upright people with my heart and with joy want to live and die with them in America, but they also love me more than I am worthy and would share their heart with me if they could. . . . [I]f the wind remains good, we will arrive with God's help in 5 or 6 weeks to the place and location for which we rather earnestly yearn because it is said to be a good, fruitful, and blessed land.

Once again we may ask—how is it that Jesus assumed an authority and reign that he did not previously possess? The answer is found in an important distinction. We may distinguish Jesus’ essential dominion or reign from his mediatorial dominion or reign. This is how Ebenezer Erskine and James Fisher, two eighteenth-century Scottish commentators on the Westminster Shorter Catechism, express the difference. Q. 17. How manifold is [Jesus’] kingdom? A. It is twofold; his essential and his mediatorial kingdom. Q. 18. What is his essential kingdom? A. It is that absolute and supreme power, which he hath over all the creatures in heaven and earth, essentially and naturally, as God equal with the Father, Psal. ciii. 19, “his kingdom ruleth over all—” Q. 19. What is his mediatorial kingdom? A. It is that sovereign power and authority in and over the church, which is given him as Mediator, Eph. i. 22.52

We walked in silence for a bit until my heartbeat slowed down and I determined Ebenezer was not going to kill me and dump my body in the pond. (By the way, this would be the first of many, many times I was convinced the Hubs was trying to kill me. In his defense, I bring out that instinct in many people, so he’s forgiven.)

The Coop was empty. Someone took advantage of its emptiness. A small hole existed between two floorboards. Through that hole there slipped a silent, long, long, black nose, and after that a head like a finger pointing: eyes as narrow as needles; a body like black liquid; a tail which came and came and never ceased to slide out of the hole. Dark, smooth, and as quiet as this one was, yet he was no mere shadow. While the crow of grief rolled out over the countryside, Ebenezer Rat crushed and swallowed one more egg.

If only they were in a different time, a different place. Far away from war, from hate. She would not be in torment, and he would not be a bystander to her pain.

For the first time in her life Mariah knew the benefit, the balm of not keeping blistering memories padlocked in her mind.

Don't let just any man have your grace.' Patience was spinning flax. 'Mariah, you keep yourself for a good man.' Mariah could hear the wheel rattle and whirl, rattle and whirl. 'A good man. Like your pa. On top of him being good, he needs to be a true love.' 'How to know a true love?' 'When you get beyond the moonstruck stage and you hit a rough patch, but you can't stay mad at him for long.

Dead can't do us no harm,' said Effie. 'Seen plenty o' haints in my time. All on the playful side. None never done me harm. All my hurts and pains come from the livin'.

When Bill was a fluffy white blob, the lassie rose and started to dry her thick hair, darkened to milky coffee with rain. Lyle struggled not to notice how the brisk movement of her arms jiggled her generous bosom against her thin blouse. He had a liking for small, curvy women. Or at least he did now. After draping his wet, crumpled towel over another chair, Lyle straightened and stared at his adorably disheveled companion. “Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves?” She lowered the towel from her hair and regarded him with unreadable eyes. To his complete amazement, she dropped into a curtsy. “My name is Flora, sir. I’m a housemaid here.” With difficulty, he stifled a scoffing laugh. His intelligence mustn’t have impressed her. That lie wouldn’t convince the county’s greatest blockhead. Not least because she spoke with a clipped upper-class accent and her hands, while undoubtedly competent, were as smooth and unblemished as any lady’s. “Flora…” he said in a thoughtful voice, studying the wee besom and trying to make sense of this latest twist in their interactions. “Yes, sir,” she said, dropping her gaze with unconvincing humility. What the devil was she playing at, Sir John Warren’s beautiful only child? She’d kept him guessing from the first, which promised interesting times to come. Last week in his London club, her father had offered this girl to Lyle as his bride. Intrigued and faintly annoyed that she judged him daft enough to swallow this twaddle, Lyle decided to allow her enough rope to hang herself. Plastering an ingenuous smile on his face, he stepped closer. “I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Flora. My name is Smith. Ebenezer Smith.

It is commonplace to note that the Homo economicus model, so defi ned, does not accurately describe human agents. Like Homo economicus, we have preferences. Unlike Homo economicus, we have preferences directly relating to the welfare of others. Some may regard this as controversial. Psychological egoism is the thesis that all human behavior is purely self-regarding. Responding to obvious counterexamples, defenders of psychological egoism sometimes say we act in apparently other-regarding ways only because we reap “psychic” rewards from helping others. As philosophers well know, psychological egoism thus embellished becomes airtight at a cost of becoming literally inconsequential. It does not tell us that soldiers will never give their lives for their countries or that people will never make anonymous donations to charity. It does not predict that Ebenezer Scrooge will never buy Bob Cratchit a Christmas turkey. It offers no testable predictions. Instead, it avoids having false implications by having no implications whatsoever. It merely expresses a determination to stretch the concept of self-regard as far as necessary to fi t all behavior, no matter how diverse observed behavior actually turns out to be. Insofar as there is any real content to the claim that we get psychic rewards from helping others, we can admit that, of course, we tend to feel good about helping others. But this fact does not begin to suggest that our real objective is psychic benefit rather than other people’s welfare. On the contrary, there can be no psychic reward for helping others unless we care about others. Imagine Bob helping someone across the street and then saying to her, “Other things equal, I would rather you had been hit by a bus. Unfortunately, helping you is the price I have to pay in order to reap psychic rewards.” The fact that we get psychic rewards from helping others proves we are directly concerned with the welfare of others. The mark of a purely self-regarding person is not that he really wants to help others but rather that he really doesn’t. That is the obvious and much celebrated difference between Homo economicus and us.

December 16 Meet the Man Who Turns Down Cookies What man in his right mind turns down warm-from-the-oven chocolate-chip cookies? Ebenezer does.

Ebenezer Scrooge, the wallet is all yours, for Christmas Time.

If they are the people we think they are, the kind of grandparents who want to be a part of your life, then they won’t care what you wear.’ ‘They might, though!’ ‘Are you going to care what they’re wearing?’ She sniffed, pressing her face onto my shoulder. ‘I would if it was a Nazi uniform. Or just a dirty pair of pants and a string vest. Or like one of Ebenezer’s T-shirts but it said something like “I hate reading” or “All lives matter”.

Ebenezer means “stone of help

Be careful of women like that," one of Ebenezer's brothers had told him. "They start feeling like they're men, and before you know it they're trying to run the household themselves, as if you're their houseboy." Ebenezer had ignored them. He wanted a woman with some business sense, not someone who would be sitting in the house every day waiting for him to provide everything.

Mr Ebenezer says that although kindness is free, it is worth more than gold.

ren’t you going to say ‘Whoa!’ or ‘Gosh!’?” asked Ebenezer. “Nah,” said Bethany. “There’s nothing impressive about a waste of space.

That was pretty Grinchy. With a side of Ebenezer. I guess my misery wanted company.

No! No!” Falling to his knees, Ebenezer tried to grab the black robe, but he felt nothing. “Please hear me. I’m not the man I was. I will not be that man again. Why show me these things if I’m beyond all hope?” The angel was relentless in his silent demand. Ebenezer sat back on his heels, resigned. “I’ve watched an innocent man crucified. Innocent children slaughtered. Mothers grieving for their dead sons. I guess nothing you show me now really matters.” He took a deep breath and stood next to the slab of stone. He reached over the body and pulled back the shroud. He thought himself prepared, but he wasn’t. He felt the blood drain from his face. Ebenezer was ready to see himself on that cold stone, but not the face before him. There, in what seemed peaceful sleep, was the Man whom Ebenezer loved. He fell back as he stared at Jesus. Recovering, he dropped to his knees. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “It should have been me. It should have been me.

Her mind circled Georgia, circled Ebenezer. It called up images and memories and things nearly home but never that final destination itself, as if it existed at the center of her mind, shining like a sun too radiant. She knew there was a face at the center of that radiance. A face too bright. A face she sought and longed for but could no longer bear the light of. She drifted into sleep, circling, circling, circling.

The Israelites sounded a horn. Word spread that their precious idol had been taken. It caused such despair that their unity broke down and their forces melted away in cowardice. It was as if the absconding of the ark had been the bursting of a lung that sucked them all away like a rushing wind. By the time the Philistines had secured the valley and the city of Ebenezer, thirty military units of close to five hundred Israelite warriors had been slain. The Philistines chased the fleeing Israelites twenty miles back to Shiloh where the tabernacle of Yahweh resided. They destroyed the city and burned the sacred tent to the ground, slaughtering the Levite priests who lived there. The Israelites had lost the central symbols of their faith and their hope of unity.

I am master of my fate,” proclaims the proud man. Yet he does not see that he cannot number his days, neither can he make one hair black or white. His wrinkles come in, his teeth go out, and time will bend him ever downward. His brokenness grows as he fashions his Ebenezer-like chains, a link at a time. He does not see or perceive that Jesus would melt all those links away, if he would only believe.

5 1When the Philistines captured the Ark of God, they brought it from Eben-ezer to Ashdod. 2The Philistines took the Ark of God and brought it into the temple of Dagon and they set it up beside Dagon. 3Early the next day, the Ashdodites found Dagon lying face down on the ground in front of the Ark of the Lord. They picked Dagon up and put him back in his place; 4but early the next morning, Dagon was again lying prone on the ground in front of the Ark of the Lord. The head and both hands of Dagon were cut off, lying on the threshold; only *Dagon’s trunk was left intact.-a 5That is why, to this day, the priests of Dagon and all who enter the temple of Dagon do not tread on the threshold of Dagon in Ashdod. 6The hand of the Lord lay heavy upon the Ashdodites, and He wrought havoc among them: He struck *Ashdod and its territory-b with hemorrhoids. 7When the men of Ashdod saw how matters stood, they said, “The Ark of the God of Israel must not remain with us, for His hand has dealt harshly with us and with our god Dagon.” 8They sent messengers and assembled all the lords of the Philistines and asked, “What shall we do with the Ark of the God of Israel?” They answered, “Let the Ark of the God of Israel be removed to Gath.” So they moved the Ark of the God of Israel [to Gath]. 9And after they had moved it, the hand of the Lord came against the city, causing great panic; He struck the people of the city, young and old, so that hemorrhoids a-broke out-a among them.

The Connecticut River March 2, 1704 Temperature 10 degrees One of the Sheldon boys had frozen his toes. His Indian came over to look but shook his head. There was nothing to be done. Ebenezer Sheldon could limp to Canada or give up. “Guess I’ll limp,” said Ebenezer, grinning.

St. Lawrence River May 1705 Temperature 48 degrees “I don’t understand adoptions myself. I wouldn’t want to be a father to somebody else’s son. But the French and the Indians have run out of children. They love to pretend we’re their children.” They aren’t pretending, thought Mercy. Annisquam’s mother and father were not pretending. Annisquam is their son. “Do you know this boy Annisquam?” asked Joanna. “Where is he from?” Ebenezer shook his head. “Nobody will say and he isn’t allowed to talk to us. That doesn’t surprise me. I’m usually separated from the other captives. We become Indian quicker if we don’t have any English around us.” Joseph spoke up. Mercy had almost forgotten that Joseph was along. Since his encounter with Mr. Williams, Joseph had been unwilling to talk about family. As soon as a captive referred to the past, Joseph melted away. Of all the captives, Mercy thought, Joseph suffered the most from wrestling with past and present. “Have you become Indian?” said Joseph to Ebenezer. Ebenezer made a disgusted face. “Absolutely not. I get along with them, but I do not permit a thought in my head to be Indian. It’s different for me than it is for the three of you, though. Nobody in my Indian family attacked Deerfield. You and Mercy and Joanna deal with men who actually killed somebody in your family, but I’m just with Indians who bought me. It’s easier. I promise you, Joseph, I’m going home one day. They could adopt me a hundred times and I’d still be English. So how’s Kahnawake? I’ve never been there. Is it a trash heap like this?” “Kahnawake is a beautiful town,” said Mercy stiffly. Ebenezer Sheldon laughed. “Watch your step, Mercy. They’ve got you by the ankle. Probably planning your adoption next.” Joseph looked away. Joanna looked excited. Lord, thought Mercy. Lord, Lord, Lord.

The Connecticut River March 2, 1704 Temperature 10 degrees The Indians, it seemed, had paused here on their journey south from Canada to go hunting before the battle. Under the snow were stored the carcasses of twenty moose. Twenty! Eben had to count them himself before he could believe it, and even then, he could not believe it. Eben was no hunter. If he’d gotten one moose, it would have been pure luck. But for this war party to have killed twenty, dragged every huge carcass here so there would be feasting on the journey home--Eben was filled with respect as much as hunger. The Indians made several bonfires and built spits to cook entire haunches. They chopped the frozen moose meat, and Thorakwaneken and Tannhahorens sharpened dozens of thin sticks and shoved small cubes of moose meat onto these skewers. The women and children were each handed a stick to cook. The men were kept under watch, but at last their hands were freed and they too were allowed to eat. The prisoners were too hungry to wait for the meat to cook through and wolfed it down half raw. They ripped off strips for the littlest ones, who ate like baby birds: open mouths turned up, bolting one morsel, calling loudly for the next. When the captives had eaten until their stomachs ached, they dried stockings and moccasins and turned themselves in front of the flames, warming each side, while the Indians not on watch gathered around the largest bonfire, squatting to smoke their pipes and talk. The smell of their tobacco was rich and comforting. The wounded were put closest to the warmth, and hurt English found themselves sharing flames with hurt Mohawk and Abenaki and Huron. One of the Sheldon boys had frozen his toes. His Indian came over to look but shook his head. There was nothing to be done. Ebenezer Sheldon could limp to Canada or give up. “Guess I’ll limp,” said Ebenezer, grinning.

St. Lawrence River May 1705 Temperature 48 degrees “You know what is happening with Eben, don’t you?” “Will he marry Sarah?” Mercy asked excitedly. “We don’t know how it worked out. Tell us.” “Father Meriel will honor Sarah’s decision to accept Eben. I guess it’s going to be quite an event. The French family does not accept Sarah’s decision, and they’re going ahead with their wedding plans. Eben’s Indian family are going ahead with their wedding plans. There’s going to be one bride, two grooms and a lot of armed men.” Ebenezer was laughing about it. Mercy certainly hoped it was safe to laugh. “I don’t think anybody will actually fight,” said Ebenezer. “Father Meriel will straighten it out.

The civil rights clashes of the 1950s and '60s came and went without changing much in the lives of Forsyth's quiet country people, who in the decades after World War II had been busy erecting chicken houses in their old corn and cotton fields, as America's expanding poultry industry brought new prosperity to north Georgia. The county seat may have been just a short drive from Ebenezer Baptist - the home church of Martin Luther King Jr. and one of the epicenters of the American civil rights movement - but with no blacks residents to segregate from whites, there were no 'colored' drinking fountains in the Cumming courthouse, and no 'whites only' signs in the windows of Cumming's diners and roadside motels. Instead, as segregationists all over the South faced off against freedom riders, civil rights marches, and lunch-counter sit-ins, Forsyth was a bastion of white supremacy that went almost totally unnoticed.

Scrooge replied that the calendar was an arbitrary governor of a man's life and that the new year began anew whenever one decided to live his life in a new way.

St. Lawrence River May 1705 Temperature 48 degrees They stayed in St. Francis for several days. Mercy was careful not to be around Ebenezer Sheldon again, and careful not to examine the reasons why. Minutes before the Kahnawake Indians stepped into their canoes to paddle home, Mercy spotted the adopted boy walking alone. She darted between buildings to catch his arm. “Forgive me,” she said in English. The language felt awkward and slippery, as though she might say the wrong thing. “I know you’re not supposed to talk to us. But please. I need to know about your adoption.” Annisquam’s look was friendly and his smile was pleasant. “You’re one of the Deerfield captives, aren’t you? I’m from Maine. Caught a few years before you.” She ached to know his English name, but he did not offer it. She must not dishonor whatever he had achieved. If he had become Indian, she must not encroach upon that. “Please, I need to know what happened when you were left alone inside the powwow’s longhouse.” His freckles and his pale red hair were so unlikely above his Indian clothing. “Nothing happened. I just sat there.” Mercy was as disappointed as if he had forgotten his English. “I thought you would have been given answers.” Her voice trembled. “Or been sure.” Annisquam looked at her for a long moment. “Nothing happened. But they did scrub away my past. I was born once more. I was one person when they pushed me under the water and another person when I left the powwow’s. I’m not sure my white blood is gone. I will never forget my family in Maine. But I have set them down.” Mercy’s head rocked with the size of that decision. He set them down. How had he done that? Every captive carried both: both worlds, both languages, both Gods, both families. Listen, listen, listen, the powwows and the chieftains cried. But so many voices spoke. How had Annisquam known which voice told the truth? How had he been sure what to set down and what to keep? “But your parents,” she said. “What would they think? Would they forgive you?” His smile was lopsided and did not last long. “My parents,” he said gently, “are waiting for me.” They stared at each other. “Go with God,” he whispered, and he walked away from her to join the man who had put the wampum belt around his neck and the woman who had washed him in the river.

Ebenezer Rockwood Hoar, a bespectacled Republican with a grizzled beard, who was born in Concord, Massachusetts, and attended Harvard College and Law School. A former member of the Free-Soil Party, an upright gentleman of starchy integrity, he had served on the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court where he used sarcasm to savage lesser mortals. “When on the bench,” wrote an observer, “he was said to be unhappy because he could not decide against both litigants.

The museum claims Ebenezer the Allosaurus - the centrepiece of their new exhibit - 'met his end during Noah's Flood about 4,300 years ago

Strange tradition, wishing others happiness with a picture of how awesome you are. Like gloating could lift another’s spirits. This

Mpelelezi wa Tume ya Dunia kutoka Jerusalem, Israeli, Kanali Daniel 'Yehuda Ben-Asher' Ebenezer, Daniel Yehuda, alikuwa komandoo wa kitengo cha mauti na utekaji nyara cha Shirika la Kijasusi la Mossad la Israeli (Kidon) kabla ya kujiunga na Kikosi Maalumu cha Kikomandoo cha Tume ya Dunia (EAC) huko Oslo, kwa makubaliano maalumu kati ya Baraza la Usalama la Umoja wa Mataifa (UNSC) na Shirika la Kijasusi la Mossad la Israeli.

He’s not that bad. A little curmudgeonly, maybe, but—” “Yeah, right,” Mateo interrupted. “Mark Twain was a curmudgeon. Ebenezer Scrooge is a curmudgeon. Arthur McLachlan is Satan’s grandfather.

Then it happened. I don't know what. The great rocks was not rocks, nor the sea sea, yet they was real as real; and the clouds was gates of glory, and every way I turned my eyes the view was waves of joy and golden light. 'God, that's magnificent!' said Neville. I had no words but Raymond's. 'It is a glimpse of the world as God made it’, I said, 'on the first evening of the first day’. He gave me a funny look. ‘I’d love to paint it!’ he said. 'It can never be painted,' I said.

Take as many as you want,” Ebenezer said. “Consider it a gift from one farmer to another.” “Are you sure?” Drake asked. “We’re competitors, after all.” “Nonsense.” The old man stood from his chair. “We grow food that people enjoy. There’s no competition there, just collaboration. Farming is an act of love — of both the people around us and the earth itself.

I think his heart was broken because he doubted if God was love. 'Cupboard love isn't love,' he said. 'Is there any other?' I didn't want to have to answer that question. 'Is there, Ebenezer?" he said. Have you ever known it?" 'Yes,' I said. He sat for a long time looking into the fire, saying nothing. At last he said, 'You are thinking of your friend, Jim Mahy?' I said, 'I wasn't thinking of Jim, as a matter of fact. I was thinking of Jean Batiste and my sister Tabitha.' He said, 'Yes, but Jim and Jean are dead. It is easy to believe in it because it wasn't broken. They didn't break it of themselves.' I said, 'Perhaps it never really is broken, if the truth was known.’ I don't know why I said that, because I am not at all sure I believe it. He said, ‘I hope to God you’re right!

If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing well." "Look it up." "WWJD is all I need to guide my life

When you got nobody to love and nothing to live for, you can always make money.

I remember too well how I thought at times when it comes down to rock bottom, I didn’t care tuppence about anything, or anybody, except myself; and that everybody else was the same. If this is true, it is something a man should not know. It may be it was the one lesson we learnt from the Occupation, but it was the wrong lesson.

Geld is belangrijk en het enige wat telt, Eerwaarde Ebenezer.

There is world that should be," he [Listens-To-Wind 'Injun Joe'] growled, "and the world that is. We live in one." "And must create the other," Ebenezer retorted, "if it is ever to be.

The only way to poison your soul is to let people or situations make you bitter.

Doing good to people is like dispersing seeds on fertile grounds. Some day, these seeds become fruit bearing trees for our own benefits.

Christmas time, when it has come round—apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that—as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.

On second thought, I think I’ll keep the tree. We can’t have you ruining your Ebenezer Scrooge image or anything.” “No.” My eyes widen. “You want the tree?” “Yes.” “Why?” Silence. Jerk.

Until a man is free from the shackles of hatred that binds his soul, he will forever be a slave to his own emotions... An alien to the world of kindness

Ebenezer Scrooge is screaming out loud, in the middle of the night.

A man who does not avoid most Extremes is it of all cost.

The inclusive minded is the determined Focus for absurdity comes from within Not without.

In the Midst of Winter Harry Potter Anna Karenina War and Peace Dr. Zhivago The Secret Garden Flowers in the Attic The Giver Gathering Blue The Hunger Games The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe The Lord of the Rings The Girl on the Train The Further Adventures of Ebenezer Scrooge The Catcher in the Rye The Outsiders Lord of the Flies

Each artistic project we undertake is an ebenezer to specific moments in our lives. These stones become the foundation of our creative ecology, and they are immeasurably valuable instruments of memory and worship.

Ebenezer Fox returned to Boston in May of 1783, only twenty years old but a seasoned adventurer. During his time at sea he had survived several battles, endured the hatch of the Jersey, and escaped from both the British and the French. His life had been endangered on numerous occasions, he had been wounded in the encounter on Jamaica, and he had lost part of his hearing. At the end of it all he received $80, his share of the Flora’s plunder. By prior agreement his master was to receive half of this, but upon Ebenezer’s return Mr. Bosson demanded it all. Legally, that was his right. Despite more than three years of harrowing escapades and service to his country, young Ebenezer Fox was still apprenticed until his twenty-first birthday to a Boston barber who never went to war.

Little Things. Little drops of water, ⁠Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean ⁠And the pleasant land. Thus the little minutes, ⁠Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages ⁠Of eternity.

If goodness was like mint... ..."It'll spread if it ain't hedged," her ma explained, then told her how mint roots roam under the soil and send up shoots inches, feet away, making more roots, and those roots then roam, send up shoots, making new roots. "And up comes more mint. If I don't wall it off, mint will take over the garden. We'll wind up with no corn and cabbages, no beans and tomatoes, no peppers, no goosefoot, no squash, no okra.

To be yourself or to be the man the spirits want you to be, that Ebenezer, is a question.