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Men Are Like Waffles — Women Are Like Spaghetti Men Are Like Waffles — Women Are Like Spaghetti

Men Are Like Waffles — Women Are Like Spaghetti Order Printed Copy

  • Author: Bill Farrel
  • Size: 1.14MB | 319 pages
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About the Book


"Men Are Like Waffles—women Are Like Spaghetti" by Bill Farrel explores the fundamental differences between men and women and how they communicate, process emotions, and navigate relationships. The book uses the analogy of waffles and spaghetti to highlight these differences and provides practical advice for improving understanding and communication between the sexes. Farrel emphasizes the importance of embracing and celebrating these differences to strengthen relationships.

Martin Luther

Martin Luther Martin Luther was a German monk who forever changed Christianity when he nailed his '95 Theses' to a church door in 1517, sparking the Protestant Reformation. Who Was Martin Luther? Martin Luther was a German monk who began the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century, becoming one of the most influential and controversial figures in the history of Christianity. Luther called into question some of the basic tenets of Roman Catholicism, and his followers soon split from the Roman Catholic Church to begin the Protestant tradition. His actions set in motion tremendous reform within the Church. A prominent theologian, Luther’s desire for people to feel closer to God led him to translate the Bible into the language of the people, radically changing the relationship between church leaders and their followers. Early Life Luther was born on November 10, 1483, in Eisleben, Saxony, located in modern-day Germany. His parents, Hans and Margarette Luther, were of peasant lineage. However, Hans had some success as a miner and ore smelter, and in 1484 the family moved from Eisleben to nearby Mansfeld, where Hans held ore deposits. Hans Luther knew that mining was a tough business and wanted his promising son to have a better career as a lawyer. At age seven, Luther entered school in Mansfeld. Education At 14, Luther went north to Magdeburg, where he continued his studies. In 1498, he returned to Eisleben and enrolled in a school, studying grammar, rhetoric and logic. He later compared this experience to purgatory and hell. In 1501, Luther entered the University of Erfurt, where he received a degree in grammar, logic, rhetoric and metaphysics. At this time, it seemed he was on his way to becoming a lawyer. Becoming a Monk In July 1505, Luther had a life-changing experience that set him on a new course to becoming a monk. Caught in a horrific thunderstorm where he feared for his life, Luther cried out to St. Anne, the patron saint of miners, “Save me, St. Anne, and I’ll become a monk!” The storm subsided and he was saved. Most historians believe this was not a spontaneous act, but an idea already formulated in Luther’s mind. The decision to become a monk was difficult and greatly disappointed his father, but he felt he must keep a promise. Luther was also driven by fears of hell and God’s wrath, and felt that life in a monastery would help him find salvation. The first few years of monastic life were difficult for Luther, as he did not find the religious enlightenment he was seeking. A mentor told him to focus his life exclusively on Jesus Christ and this would later provide him with the guidance he sought. Disillusionment with Rome At age 27, Luther was given the opportunity to be a delegate to a Catholic church conference in Rome. He came away more disillusioned, and very discouraged by the immorality and corruption he witnessed there among the Catholic priests. Upon his return to Germany, he enrolled in the University of Wittenberg in an attempt to suppress his spiritual turmoil. He excelled in his studies and received a doctorate, becoming a professor of theology at the university (known today as Martin Luther University Halle-Wittenberg). Through his studies of scripture, Luther finally gained religious enlightenment. Beginning in 1513, while preparing lectures, Luther read the first line of Psalm 22, which Christ wailed in his cry for mercy on the cross, a cry similar to Luther’s own disillusionment with God and religion. Two years later, while preparing a lecture on Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, he read, “The just will live by faith.” He dwelled on this statement for some time. Finally, he realized the key to spiritual salvation was not to fear God or be enslaved by religious dogma but to believe that faith alone would bring salvation. This period marked a major change in his life and set in motion the Reformation. Though Luther intended these to be discussion points, the 95 Theses laid out a devastating critique of the indulgences - good works, which often involved monetary donations, that popes could grant to the people to cancel out penance for sins - as corrupting people’s faith. Luther also sent a copy to Archbishop Albert Albrecht of Mainz, calling on him to end the sale of indulgences. Aided by the printing press, copies of the 95 Theses spread throughout Germany within two weeks and throughout Europe within two months. The Church eventually moved to stop the act of defiance. In October 1518, at a meeting with Cardinal Thomas Cajetan in Augsburg, Luther was ordered to recant his 95 Theses by the authority of the pope. Luther said he would not recant unless scripture proved him wrong. He went further, stating he didn’t consider that the papacy had the authority to interpret scripture. The meeting ended in a shouting match and initiated his ultimate excommunication from the Church. Excommunication Following the publication of his 95 Theses, Luther continued to lecture and write in Wittenberg. In June and July of 1519 Luther publicly declared that the Bible did not give the pope the exclusive right to interpret scripture, which was a direct attack on the authority of the papacy. Finally, in 1520, the pope had had enough and on June 15 issued an ultimatum threatening Luther with excommunication. On December 10, 1520, Luther publicly burned the letter. In January 1521, Luther was officially excommunicated from the Roman Catholic Church. Diet of Worms In March 1521, Luther was summoned before the Diet of Worms, a general assembly of secular authorities. Again, Luther refused to recant his statements, demanding he be shown any scripture that would refute his position. There was none. On May 8, 1521, the council released the Edict of Worms, banning Luther’s writings and declaring him a “convicted heretic.” This made him a condemned and wanted man. Friends helped him hide out at the Wartburg Castle. While in seclusion, he translated the New Testament into the German language, to give ordinary people the opportunity to read God’s word. Lutheran Church Though still under threat of arrest, Luther returned to Wittenberg Castle Church, in Eisenach, in May 1522 to organize a new church, Lutheranism. He gained many followers, and the Lutheran Church also received considerable support from German princes. When a peasant revolt began in 1524, Luther denounced the peasants and sided with the rulers, whom he depended on to keep his church growing. Thousands of peasants were killed, but the Lutheran Church grew over the years. Katharina von Bora In 1525, Luther married Katharina von Bora, a former nun who had abandoned the convent and taken refuge in Wittenberg. Born into a noble family that had fallen on hard times, at the age of five Katharina was sent to a convent. She and several other reform-minded nuns decided to escape the rigors of the cloistered life, and after smuggling out a letter pleading for help from the Lutherans, Luther organized a daring plot. With the help of a fishmonger, Luther had the rebellious nuns hide in herring barrels that were secreted out of the convent after dark - an offense punishable by death. Luther ensured that all the women found employment or marriage prospects, except for the strong-willed Katharina, who refused all suitors except Luther himself. The scandalous marriage of a disgraced monk to a disgraced nun may have somewhat tarnished the reform movement, but over the next several years, the couple prospered and had six children. Katharina proved herself a more than a capable wife and ally, as she greatly increased their family's wealth by shrewdly investing in farms, orchards and a brewery. She also converted a former monastery into a dormitory and meeting center for Reformation activists. Luther later said of his marriage, "I have made the angels laugh and the devils weep." Unusual for its time, Luther in his will entrusted Katharina as his sole inheritor and guardian of their children. Anti-Semitism From 1533 to his death in 1546, Luther served as the dean of theology at University of Wittenberg. During this time he suffered from many illnesses, including arthritis, heart problems and digestive disorders. The physical pain and emotional strain of being a fugitive might have been reflected in his writings. Some works contained strident and offensive language against several segments of society, particularly Jews and, to a lesser degree, Muslims. Luther's anti-Semitism is on full display in his treatise, The Jews and Their Lies. Death Luther died following a stroke on February 18, 1546, at the age of 62 during a trip to his hometown of Eisleben. He was buried in All Saints' Church in Wittenberg, the city he had helped turn into an intellectual center. Luther's teachings and translations radically changed Christian theology. Thanks in large part to the Gutenberg press, his influence continued to grow after his death, as his message spread across Europe and around the world.

Some Wounds Never Heal

I didn’t realize how disorienting grief can be. In the aftermath of a dearly loved one’s death, I felt like I was living two worlds at once: one with him, and one without. My grandfather, more like a father, died on a Tuesday this past December. He “died on a Tuesday” summarizes the concussion.  He died  — no longer will I see him poke his head up from his garden, or sit in the living room as he drinks in classical music. No longer will we go see movies together, study the Bible together, or go hiking up north. Death has hidden his face. And yet, it was  a Tuesday . An hour after weeping with family at his side as he took his last breaths, I remember the profane intrusion:  What would be for dinner?  Life, in one form or fashion, would continue without him. Tuesdays always hurry towards Wednesday. Time does not pay its respects for anyone. Our loved ones, when they die, die on Tuesdays. We Are Not the Same Their deaths, on their Tuesdays, affect our remaining Tuesdays after. Life has changed. We are changed. The death of a loved one is a blade that pierces beneath the armor, an arrow that lodges down in the soul. It brings a hurt we cannot defend, a pain we cannot forget, an injury which will never fully heal. “Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,” said Gandalf. “I fear it may be so with mine,” said Frodo. “There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?” Gandalf did not answer. “That old wound may never heal in this life, but Jesus will comfort us day by day and glorify our scars in the next.” Though life goes on without noticing our loss — daily broadcasts continue, people shop at grocery stores, buses come and go —  we  are no longer the same. The ache will not finally leave, the groan not silence, the limp not amend until we remove the tattered garments of this life.  They  are no longer with us. The loveliness of their memory is a beautiful, but long, burden cast over our remaining days. The streets we walked are haunted with laughter. We glance at their empty-chair out of habit. Though life for us has not ended, it has changed. There is no real going back. Death’s Prolonged Victims Death, I realize, often inflicts its greatest havoc upon its survivors; its primary victims do not yet lie in the grave. When my grandfather departed in the Lord, he went to a place where pain and suffering are forbidden, while our grief, on that same day, deepened. His tears finally wiped away as ours sprung forth. He is healed. Our bleeding goes on. We, not the departed, are left to wonder with the prophet, “Why is my pain unceasing, my wound incurable, refusing to be healed?” (Jeremiah 15:18). Our grief refuses to be healed, as C.S. Lewis describes, after the death of his wife, in  A Grief Observed : Tonight all the hells of young grief have opened again. . . . In grief nothing “stays put.” One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. . . . How often . . . will vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, “I never realized my loss till this moment”? The same leg is cut off time after time. The first plunge of the knife into the flesh is felt again and again. Dying can be an ugly thing. But for many, the knife enters once and releases its victim. But for those left behind, the stab is repetitive. Death not only claims its victims but torments their loved ones. Where, if anywhere, shall we find rest? Pierced with Mary This heart-stabbing we feel is owned, not avoided, in the Scriptures. For one, this blade was foretold to pierce Mary decades before its advent. As Mary marveled at the prophesy given by Simeon concerning her newborn son — that he would be a light for the Gentiles and glory for Israel (Luke 2:29–32) — her wonder was interrupted by a prophesy concerning her as well: Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is opposed (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed. (Luke 2:34–35) A sword will pierce through your own soul also. Jesus would be pierced,  and Mary also . The blade entered later in the Gospels, “standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene” (John 19:25). She stood with her son and watched the horrible sight — she stood valiantly as the blade went in. Her beloved son, crucified upon a Roman tree in infamy and shame. The child to whom she spoke baby talk now groaned in unforgettable anguish. The child she swaddled, nursed, and held, now wrapped in death, nursed by anguish, and held up by nails which stapled his flesh to wood. “Death brings a hurt we cannot defend, a pain we cannot forget, an injury which will never fully heal.” How far through did it run when she heard him gasp through suffocation one last time on her behalf, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” (John 19:26–27). In his dying breath, under the wrath of men and the wrath of God, he considered  her  well-being. Nails had pierced his hands and feet, and a spear now pierced his side, while a sword pierced her soul. Where Can We Find Rest? I do not mean to normalize the death of God’s own Son — it has no rival. His death is more horrific, more unthinkable, more grievous than the summation of every other death in history. But we know the soul-piercing effect of this blade when others have died as well. We see its sharpness pierce speech for seven days in the ash heap with Job and climb into the tears of Jesus at the tomb of Lazarus. And yet, while the death of our loved ones in the Lord constitute a heavy blow, it is  precious  in the eyes of our Father. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints” (Psalm 116:15). And the reason for the preciousness is also foretold in the same verse as the piercing of soul. “Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and  rising  of many in Israel” (Luke 2:34). The  anastasis , the  resurrection  of many. Death for God’s people is precious only because Mary’s son was appointed for their resurrection. He is the Resurrection and the Life. Death will not hide faces for long. Life After the Sword We may never return to life as it once was. That’s okay. But we must never let the old ache stop us from living. Wednesday must follow Tuesday. Here, John Piper’s counsel is timeless: “Occasionally, weep deeply over the life you hoped would be. Grieve the losses. Then wash your face. Trust God. And embrace the life you have.” Frodo asked what so many of us with missing loved ones do:  Where can I find rest?  Gandalf did not answer. Jesus does: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and  I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find  rest for your souls ” (Matthew 11:28–29). We must go to him moment by moment, groan by groan, tear by tear. That old wound may never heal in this life, but Jesus will comfort us day by day and glorify our scars in the next.

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