Harold Camping is getting on my last nerve. Now he’s set another date. (Of course he has! ‘Gotta keep that money rolling in! >_<)
1 John 4:1 Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits, whether they are of God; because many false prophets have gone out into the world.
Predictions are perilous. If it’s bad news, you don’t want it to come true. But if it doesn’t, you’re branded a fool. So you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place; darned if you do, darned if you don’t. (Although these days, the Biblical predictions of earthquakes, floods, and war are a safe bet. The tricky part, however, is finding that ignorant ostrich to take your wager.)
Here on the home front, I’m pro actively avoiding predictions. My mother-in-law is slipping in and out of her mental cocoon, and this weekend she has slept a lot. …Aha! You see? Even you yourself are pondering the rhetoric: “They say people have clarity when it’s getting close to the end.” … “One of the signs is sleeping more.” Sure, we’ve had those thoughts. It’s nothing short of eerie. Poor Dave.
Predictions, at least at this point, are unfruitful. It occurred to me that the poor thing could just be finally catching up on all the sleep she’s missed through two seasons! But yes, it could be the other. We’ll see.
It’s human nature to spout off factoids; it makes us feel important, cultured, and popular. Frankly, I am as guilty as the next guy of occupying the evening air with some tidbit I read online that afternoon. (Hey, it’s got to be quick before it slides off of my “Teflon brain”, as my friend calls it!)
But I don’t want to be like the savage Mayans and Incas, nor do I want to be pegged with a vibe like that of conspiracy theorists and the lunatic fringe. So I’ll sit on the fence awhile. Sure, I might take a tumble—but I’ll stretch, stand back up, and brush myself off unscathed.