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The therapeutic potential of neurotrophic factors in the treatment of Parkinson's disease.

Estrogen, neuroinflammation and neuroprotection in Parkinson's disease: glia dictates resistance versus vulnerability to neurodegeneration. Parkinsonism induced by 1-methylphenyl-1,2,3,6-tetrahydropyridine MPTP : implications for treatment and the pathogenesis of Parkinson's disease. Leads for the development of neuroprotective treatment in Parkinson's disease and brain imaging methods for estimating treatment efficacy. The diagnosis of manganese-induced parkinsonism. D1 and functionally selective dopamine agonists as neuroprotective agents in Parkinson's disease.

Non-motor extranigral signs and symptoms in Parkinson's disease. Immunophilin ligands can prevent progressive dopaminergic degeneration in animal models of Parkinson's disease. Existing User Sign In. New to Read Sign Up. Maybe this is why Jeremiah and Hosea describe the relationship between Israel and God in terms of marriage.

Maybe this is why Jesus seemed to never stop talking about weddings and bridegrooms. Do you believe it? What I really want to know is do you love it? Do you love the impossible? Are you willing to marry it? Or would you rather play it safe? When we accept that the virgin birth is absurd and impossible then we let go of those fearful parts of us that desire to control reality and think of only the possible. When we accept it as impossible then we can embrace the Christmas story with faith, hope, and love, those three supreme virtues of which St.

Paul said the greatest is, of course, love. Today we lighted the fourth candle, which is traditionally the candle of love. This is what Advent is all about: a journey from vision to courageous action, from hope to love. But what we often forget is that it is a journey into the absurd and the impossible. And a lot of it is fairly abstract. What does it mean to covenant with the impossible?

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What does it mean to love the virgin birth, especially when we tend to look at it as an event that occurred 2, years ago? Allow me to say three last things in an attempt to bring this all closer to home. What does it mean to love the virgin birth as the impossible promise of God?

I think so. In truth, every newborn baby is the opening up of the radically New. It is the eruption or breaking in of the impossible future that has never before existed in the universe. This is my second example of what it means to become lovers of the virgin birth. Jesus goes as far as saying we must be born anew, that is, by the same Holy Spirit through whom the Virgin Mary became pregnant with the Christ child.

Loving the virgin birth as the impossible promise of God means that we too become apostles of the impossible. Maybe the kind of shift that Joseph made, from fear of the absurd to covenant with the impossible, is possible for us as well. My third and final example is that loving the virgin birth means loving the Jeremiah Community as an absurd and impossible community. The Advent journey from hope to love is the journey of the community of God as well. It is the journey in which high hopes of the coming salvation encounter the absurd promise that God chooses a teenage girl from Nowheresville, Galilee.

It is the journey in which romantic pictures of intentional, missional community encounter the absurd promise that God is choosing a group of misfit, wounded healers in Parkdale. Yes, this is an absurd and impossible promise. Are you willing to love it? Are you willing to covenant with it? For this is how the birth of the messiah takes place.

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But do not fear. Take the impossible as your wife, covenant with it, for this is how God comes to be among us, to be Immanuel. You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Google account. You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account.

Part road trip, part romance, this story is the stuff of summer dreams. By clicking 'Sign me up' I acknowledge that I have read and agree to the privacy policy and terms of use. Must redeem within 90 days.

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See full terms and conditions and this month's choices. Tell us what you like, so we can send you books you'll love. Sign up and get a free eBook! Trade Paperback. Hardcover eBook. Price may vary by retailer. Add to Cart Add to Cart. About The Book. Calypso Sunrise Suites Assisted Living Facility was plopped halfway between the Santa Monica Pier and the Venice Beach boardwalk, but in this strange nonlocation between the two, if nobody cruised by in front of me, and I looked past the few palm trees twisting up out of the sand, and the stretch of beach beyond them, and into the endless expanse of the Pacific—it could seem as if I was marooned on the edge of an island, lost and forgotten at sea.

In it, Gma, her hair whipped up in one of those sixties beehives, stood in front of their old wood-paneled station wagon, holding the bundled infant version of my dad. Still, he was small for an Amstaff, and with his dopey tongue hanging out over his teeth, the little guy could charm a smile out of a corpse. He finally grew tired and yawned to let me know, so I took him around the corner to the parking lot and up the steps to the front entrance. None of the residents at Calypso were made of big money, but the place was still a wide, block-long, three-story complex with common rooms, an in-house bistro, an art studio, communal terraces, and a large garden off to one side, with a fountain and a few trees surrounding it, where I often met Gpa and listened to his stories, or read him poetry.

I knew most of the friendly, blue-polo-shirted staff, and I waved hello to the folks at the front desk as Old Humper and I crossed the lobby. I knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I opened it and poked my head in.

Faith gives us power to act

Gpa was having another bad day. The room was wrecked. His bed was askew, the sheets rumpled like frozen waves at the foot, and his clothes were scattered haphazardly across the floor.

He had pulled and emptied the dresser drawers from the unit and tossed them toward the door to the bathroom. Even that room was destroyed. It was the man who took over when he was having a fit—the man with a storm behind his eyes. And sometimes, when it was really bad, when he looked out at me from under his angry brow, I was afraid he might not recognize me, either.

This was Gpa. I had to get used to that, and I needed to figure out how to help him.

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He stared out the window, over the boardwalk and the sand, and gazed into the Pacific. I walked across the room and repeated who I was as I approached Gpa. I stepped to the side and leaned against the wall. In the late-afternoon sunlight, his cheeks were a golden sheen of tears. Someone knocked on the door behind us. He was quiet because he was scared. His eyes darted from me to the window and back.

His bald head glistened as he dipped beneath the doorframe and stepped into the room. I stepped in front of them. He nodded to the desk with all the drawers open and the pens, paper, and magazines pushed to the carpet around it. In fact, Gpa was about all I had for family.