Bryan

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Posts by Bryan

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  8

  The History Channel on Predicting Armageddon

  by Swan in

  1. social
  2. entertainment

  fyi: the history channel will be showing the following shows about armageddon predictions next week:.

  wednesday, december 29, 2004.

  9-10 pm.

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  Bryan

  Cool. I love that stuff!

  Bryan

  Have You Seen My Mother
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  12

  After 40 years... part two / with picture.

  by Bryan in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  the old man with the worn leather face stood much more erect than i expected.. ?what can i do for you??

  he gently questioned.. ?i?m looking for bryan mason.?

  i told him.. i knew from all the old photograph of the young bryan, that it was indeed him.

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  Bryan

  The old man with the worn leather face stood much more erect than I expected.
  ?What can I do for you?? He gently questioned.
  ?I?m looking for Bryan Mason.? I told him.
  I knew from all the old photograph of the young Bryan, that it was indeed him. Though, I wished to assume nothing.
  ?That?s me.? He said.
  I smiled, and thought to myself, that once again, I have unlocked the past. I have dug the root, though bittersweet it may be.
  ?I?m Bryan McGlothin.? I told him.
  He stood there in silence.
  ?I?m Angie?s boy.? I finally said.
  His mouth opened wide as his white eyes glowed from the dark room behind the screen door. To say he was astonished would be an understatement. As the screen door swung open, I thrust out my hand for a friendly handshake. Knowing the Bryan of the past, I wasn?t ready to embrace the man who wielded such a strong arm. He took my hand heartily and drew me into his home.

  Stepping into his living room, I closed the door behind me, and the room went black. It was a dark calm until he flipped the switch. I felt as though I had just stepped onto a movie set, dressed for the ?60?s.

  His barker recliner at the door, facing the little TV atop the broken console, cracked deep in its, foe leather, vinyl. Over the TVs were three large, nicely framed pictures. One of, ?The Two Bothers?, John F. and Robert Kennedy. The other of both John and his wife Jacqueline. All the way to the right was none other than Linden B. Johnston. All those in the frames seemed to be looking up and to the right, as if that was the direction of the future.

  Turning to field the room, there on the table next to the sofa, an eight-by ten, signed photo of John F. and Jackie. As I took in all this nostalgia, Bryan grabbed my arm and directed me to the little two by three inch photo, hanging quite to the left. Just behind his worn recliner was a little boy I recognized all to well. The child stood there, arms to the side, not even a grin; it was me at five years old. The same picture my mother had received from my father so many decades ago. I had stood there in his living room, just behind him, for over 30 years. And for just as long, he regarded me as sat in his comfortable chair.

  ?I thought I?d never see you again.? He told me.
  ?You were my first grandchild, you know.? He lamented.
  ?Yeah, Guess you?re right.? I agreed.
  ?When I got up this morning, I never thought I?d be getting a surprise like this today.? He smile as his Cherokee lines dug deeper across his cheeks.
  We sat there for only a moment with small talk before he asked if I?d eaten breakfast. Of course I had, but I knew where he was going with this and wanted to follow.
  ?No, I haven?t.? I lied.
  ?Well, you want to have breakfast?? He asked.
  ?Absolutely.?
  ?Good. Let me get my face cleaned up and we?ll go.? He said as he was drawn to explain a few photos on the wall.

  He finally made it to the restroom and I took in the room once again. It was surprisingly clean. No mothballs lingering from the back closet. No tobacco emanating from the curtains. The table next to the chair was covered in opened mail, old news papers, a clean ashtray and mini Snickers. On the coffee table, dust covered, black and white photos stood still. Seeming to hold each other up, they were so close, there in the middle. Leaving only dust to accumulate on the remaining surface. No one there in the photos seemed familiar to me.

  A photo of him in his WWII regalia hung neatly next to his father?s WWI picture and then his mother, shyly, posing for the camera at about age eighteen. His father placed in the most honorable of frames, looked of a younger great-grandfather, I had seen before in the stack of photos at my mother?s home.

  The whole room was a time capsule, though many pictures I didn?t recognize, several I did. My cousin Sherry, whom I met for the first time this year, hung just two frames away from my little stance there. With a big smile, the thirteen or fourteen year old watched over me for decades before I ever knew her. My grandmother, Lola Mae, was not to be found; nor any others of my family. It was obvious my grandfather had moved on. And, perhaps, rightly so. It was 1964 or ?65 he moved on to marry Bella. Why would he not begin a new life after his first wife?s death?

  I wondered if he had spent years here in his recliner, alone, in this dark. He had shown me pictures of Bella?s children dressed in wedding white, hanging on the walls, but where they there? Bella had died thirteen years ago. Did they still offer the same time and effort as they did when their mother was there? Did he run them off with his drinking?

  He soon returned from the back room, hair slicked and looking refreshed. And off we went in his Olds 88 to share a breakfast for the first time in forty years.

  To be continued...

  Bryan
  

  Have You Seen My Mother
  
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  5

  After 40 years... part one

  by Bryan in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  the butterflies took flight as i pulled around the corner.

  one more left, and i?m there.

  i heard all the stories of his drinking and abuse.

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  Bryan

  I'll have part two tomorrow.

  Bryan

  Have You Seen My Mother
• 
  20

  mediator ozziepost

  by lurk in

  1. watchtower
  2. beliefs

  ossie post you said something about the wts and mediator interpretation in another post.

  i troed searching for more posts but the search engine wont work tonight for me.so could you tell me.

  does the wts think it is a mediator?

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  Bryan

  Jesus Christ in heaven is the Mediator between God and the spiritual Israelites

  Wow, so they say the rank and file witnesses don't even have Christ as their mediator?

  Guess I've been out too long.

  Bryan

  Have You Seen My Mother
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  33

  1,200,000 Publishers left between 1993-2002

  by Bluegrass Tom in

  1. watchtower
  2. scandals

  i have been bothered for some time by the sneaking suspicion that the publisher increases published annually are never realized in a tangible way.

  therefore, i sat down and studied a 10 year period of what has been published by the society to see if i could get a warm and fuzzy feeling about these increases.

  after hours i have realized the following:

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  Bryan

  Very interesting Bluegrass, thank for the hard work!

  Bryan

  Have You Seen My Mother
• 
  55

  "Brainwashing" does not exist

  by logansrun in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  the term "brainwashing" is sometimes thrown around this forum and i thought i'd briefly comment on it.

  the idea that a group or person can actually make you think, act and feel in a certain way is highly dubious.

  i'm not saying it's impossible, but i highly doubt that any ex-jws have ever experienced "brainwashing.

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  Bryan

  Sorry Dud, don't agree.

  Perhaps another way of looking at it would be, brain-training. Yes witnesses make their own desicions, but they are made because of the jw junk that was placed there before hand. If, to comform to the org, you are not allowed free thinking, or to think for yourself, then they are truley controling you.

  IMO.

  Bryan

  Have You Seen My Mother
• 
  35

  Looking for my Japanese mother

  by Billygoat in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  i've posted about this story in the past, but i've decided to do it again.

  i posted a thread last year with my full name on it and just the other day, realized, when i google myself, that thread comes up.

  i felt like dad had my step-mom and the twin boys had each other.

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  Bryan

  Andi,

  What an amaizing story. Hopefully, you'll find your happy ending.

  Bryan

  Have You Seen My Mother
• 
  5

  After 40 years... part one

  by Bryan in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  the butterflies took flight as i pulled around the corner.

  one more left, and i?m there.

  i heard all the stories of his drinking and abuse.

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  Bryan

  The butterflies took flight as I pulled around the corner. One more left, and I?m there. I heard all the stories of his drinking and abuse. His Cherokee blood ran deep and it didn?t take much alcohol to make it boil. My aunt?s bitter face, as she spoke his name, exposed the story. Telling me how one time, he beat her and my mother, at about age five. They were then forced to sit on the sofa as he took a picture of their little, bruised faces. At this point, I had met several lost family members, and none gave a happy tune to his song. The memory of Bryan always sounded out the Blues.

  The Southern California smog darkened the sun?s rays as I passed each house. Some new, others tired. I slowed the car to a crawl as I came up to the house on the corner. I knew my grandfather had family there for years. Not blood relatives, but those of his second wife, Bella. The house was being added onto in the same fashion as many of the homes in the neighborhood. If the houses were not being tore down, they were upgraded or simply left to time. I had studied the maps as if I was going in with the S.W.A.T. team. They were burnt into my psyche to the point I knew exactly were I was, and I knew his house was just around the corner behind the neatly errected and plumbed two-by-fours.

  As I straitened out the rental car, it was there just on my left. The house my grandfather had lived in for over three decades; that is if he was still there. Yellow siding with white awning, and a short veneer of red brick. Most likely the same as when he bought it in the early seventies.

  In the drive was an old ?64 ford pickup with a ?69 camper on the back. The truck, rigged for the camper, sported a two foot wide, back bumper for easy camper access. Next to it was a maroon ?72 Sport Coupe. Then oddly enough, an early eighties, Olds 88 parked perpendicular to the others, at the bottom of the drive. All these squeezed into a driveway for two.

  Though the last of my grails stood there before me, just at me reach, my wheels never stopped. I had waited for this moment for years and I was scared. I was worried someone else would answer the door only to shoo me away. I imagined his last wife?s family hoarding him away in the dark of the old house; hovering over their inheritance as he nears his eightieth birthday. I was afraid he might be there; the grandfather I had not seen in forty years. The man who had abused my mother and her family for so long; I never touched the breaks.

  I drove around the block and parked on the side of the street. I at least wanted the opportunity to get a picture of his house. I decided I?d steal a snapshot before I was run off, so I retrieved my camera from its bag and continued around the block to finish my quest.

  I pulled around the corner again, this time from the other direction and snapped my two shots before I came to a stop. At the least, another nondescript photo for the family tree. Something to prove to my grandson, just how close I had gotten. I killed the engine, returned the camera to its pouch and braced myself for yet another ending with an unknown consequence.

  I had no idea who this man would be, the man whose name I bear. I imagined him as short and slummed. As shriveled as his liver must be from the many pints over. He had not spoken to any of my family in close to twenty years. I didn?t know if he?d happily greet me with open arms or shout me down, pointing me the direction of Hell.

  As the car door slammed shut behind me, I made my way across the street and through the grass, as the cars blocked all concrete pathways. Arriving at the door, I took a deep breath, and aimed for the tiny doorbell.

  I heard nothing. For at least two minutes I stood there as my stomach sunk farther and farther from its perch. The cars may all be broken down, I thought. He?s not here. I then knocked on the screen door. The ancient aluminum shook and rattled as my knuckles rapped and tapped. Then, as if slowly emanating from the darkness of my mind, I heard light foot steps arrive at the door. The knob shook as the clatter of an old, worn out, lock, sprang from the inside.

  My heart raced. Who?s going to greet me ? or not ? from the other side? Had I come all this way only to be crushed once again? My heart dashed to the dirt only to be picked up as before? It seemed forever for the wooden door to finish its swing. I stood there as composed as possible, for I knew, once again, one way or another, my life would change forever.

  To be continued...

  Bryan
  

  Have You Seen My Mother
• 
  34

  fell away.......wanna come back...please help.

  by Tiggerchick1012 in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  ok, so here's the situation.

  i am 24 yrs old.

  married and have 1 child.

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  Bryan

  Everyone is making very good points.

  I too left the organization; twice. Since I have left the second time I have been able to look at the organization from the outside and realize just how toxic it is. They have bred guilt deep inside you as they have all of us. Please try and look beyond your emotional guilt and fear of you and your child dying because you are not one of them. That's how they control you... that fear and guilt.

  Remember, the scripture say to continually check to see if what you are being taught is really the truth. Please do your research and make sure of all things.

  Best regards,

  Bryan

  Have You Seen My Mother
• 
  12

  Baby Girl

  by teejay in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  i was enjoying a rousing conversation with a funny, sexy lady.

  then tragedy struck.

  my cell phone started acting up.

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  Bryan

  So tragic.

  My Friday was much different.

  Bryan

  Have You Seen My Mother