Saturday, December 29, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
"Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” Genesis 1:16
This little snippit is to me what Lewis called "drippings of grace." Are you looking forward to heaven?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
"He is great upon the ten toes of the beast, the four faces of the cherubim, the mystical meaning of badgers' skins, and the typical bearings of the staves of the ark, and the windows of Solomon's temple: but the sins of business men, the temptations of the times, and the needs of the age, he scarcely ever touches upon. Such preaching reminds me of a lion engaged in mouse-hunting, or a man-of-war cruising after a lost water-butt" --Charles Spurgeon (from Lectures to My Students)
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,
and the Dark Tower is thrown down.
Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,
for your watch hath not been in vain,
and the Black Gate is broken,
and your King hath passed through,
and he is victorious.
Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,
for your King shall come again,
and he shall dwell among you
all the days of your life.
And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,
and he shall plant it in the high places,
and the city shall be blessed.
Sing all ye people!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
That's my grandpa Genoa with his handy/dandy pocket protector.
A shell of the same bedroom where my brother John and I woke my dad on Christmas morning so many years ago.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Gifts were opened that morning, people came to visit. Little time had been left to eat, so when dinnertime rolled around, my brother and I were quite hungry. We sat on the floor and stuffed our faces!
About halfway into the first plate of food, I took an exceptionally big bite of beef. I gave the lucious lump of meat a few quick chews and swallowed. Unfortunately, the hunk of meat got stuck just as it started to go down. I found this quite curious and decided to tell my brother about it. In a nano-second, I experienced the awkward sensation of not being able to speak! I learned something very valuable and I am not sure the thought had ever crossed my mind before: A person needs air not only to breathe but also to talk! And I was unable to because of that big bite of beef stuck in my wind pipe!
The guests were talking and eating and having an all around festive time when I walked in. Their faces turned to me with jovial anticipation. I had a wild look on my face and my mouth was moving up and down, but no words came out.
My brother soon appeared behind me and with a mighty blow, lowered a clinched fist down onto my back. This caused the big bite of beef to eject from my mouth onto the middle of the table where it landed with something like a ker-splat. This all happened so quickly that folks were still removing forks from their mouth when it struck. I'm not sure if they were more surprised at my choking or the fact that a person could actually swallow something so large!
The sound of that meat smacking the table was music to my ears and the feel of air rushing into my lungs was exhilerating!Since then, I have chewed my food with a little more caution, especially when I eat roast beef!
"Cain spoke to Abel his brother. And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel and killed him. Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is Abel your brother?” He said, “I do not know; am I my brother's keeper?” And the Lord said, “What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood is crying to me from the ground. And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it shall no longer yield to you its strength. You shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.” -Genesis 4:8-12
Nebraska by Bruce Springsteen
I saw her standin' on her front lawn
just twirlin' her baton
Me and her went for a ride sir
and ten innocent people died
From the town of Lincoln, Nebraska
with a sawed off .410 on my lap
Through to the badlands of Wyoming
I killed everything in my path
I can't say that I'm sorry
for the things that we done
At least for a little while sir
me and her we had us some fun
The jury brought in a guilty verdict
and the judge he sentenced me to death
Midnight in a prison storeroom
with leather straps across my chest
Sheriff when the man pulls that switch sir
and snaps my poor head back
You make sure my pretty baby
is sittin' right there on my lap
They declared me unfit to live
said into that great void my soul'd be hurled
They wanted to know why I did what I did
Well sir I guess there's just a meanness in this world.
lyrics copyright 1982 Bruce Springsteen
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Monday, December 3, 2007
At any rate, this little girl was excited about Christmas for all the wrong reasons. She was sick of school, and wanted vacation to start so she could lie around the house all day and fuss about helping her mother. She wanted to eat a lot of fudge. She wanted to open her glorious presents in her mind a thousand times before Christmas day. Her obligation to give presents to others was a necessary nuisance to the whole business, and so she scarcely thought at all about what she would give the others in her family. There were always the old stand-bys—a necktie for dad, cheap perfume for mom. In short, she was very selfish little girl, and though she was celebrating Christmas, she was holding it upside down and backwards.
And then one night, right near the beginning of Advent, she had a terrible dream. Actually, it was a wonderful dream, but she certainly thought it was a terrible dream. In her dream she saw her parents sitting in front of a desk, like they were getting counseling or something, but behind the desk was an angel. And he wasn’t a happy-looking angel either, but had rather a severe look on his face. He was pushing a collection of papers across the desk, and he said, "I am afraid that you have been spoiling your child. Some in the heavenly office here have gone so far as to say you have been spoiling your child rotten. These papers show exactly what your daughter’s attitude toward everyone else at Christmas is. Pretty grim reading, I can tell you that. Now here are your instructions—we want you to treat her in just the same way. It is all in there. Exactly the same way . . . Got that?"
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'. --Bob Dylan
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Saturday, November 24, 2007
by Chris Griffith
Chapter 7: The Color Red
Mary was behind Thomas when he reached the top of the hill. She heard the dull thump as the car slammed into the iron pole planted in the ground. A second or two later she heard a window crash, but saw nothing. She did not see it hit him, but she heard it bang and clang as it bounced off his head.
When the silver mailbox with the red handle slammed into the skull of eight year old Thomas Trimpton, he was knocked unconscious.
He dropped the Cracker Jack lunch box onto the concrete sidewalk where it made a dull thump. Thomas had finished his lunch late and did not have time to empty his trash. So he stuffed an apple core, some napkins, and a empty zip lock bag into the box beside the Cracker Jack thermos. When he dropped his lunch box, the books from under his right arm slid out and slapped onto the concrete. First a social studies book and then a math book. Pencils, a few crayons, and a pink eraser spilled out of a little plastic bag. The eraser bounced a few times before it came to a rest.
Thomas’s eyes rolled back inside their sockets. He fell backwards, and his head landed in a row of bushes along the sidewalk.
She jogged over the hill and found Thomas flat on his back. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead.
She looked up and saw Joe Trimpton’s car in the middle of the street.
“Mr. Trimpton, come quick,” she said. “I think Thomas is hurt!”
He saw a body on the ground. He recognized the blue and white tennis shoes and the brown corduroys and broke into a sprint. Thomas was sprawled on the ground, his lunch box beside him, with books and pencils scattered about. The mailbox was in the bushes beside Thomas’s head, with one side caved in. The red flag stood straight in the air.
He awoke a few minutes later. The first thing he saw was the dazzling brilliance of the blue sky above. His eyes were filled with tears. His view was blocked by the silhouette of a man, and Thomas noticed it was his father. He stretched his hand towards him and tried to speak, but the words were lost in babble.
“Tommy, can you hear me?” his dad asked. The voice came from far away. His rough hand touched the side of Thomas’ face and caressed his cheek.
“It’s my birthday Mama, can I please stay home?” he asked, half awake, half asleep.
As Thomas lay there, another figure entered his vision and brought him back to full conciseness although he thought he was still dreaming. He saw the outline of a body, with the sun behind it. His eyes cleared and he saw her new and afresh, like a newborn baby. “Mama,” he cried.
Mary stood over him, Charlie’s Angels lunch box in one hand and Holly Hobby purse in the other.
Thomas sat up, his mouth gaped open, eyes wide as windows shot out in a ghetto. He gazed at Mary Snodgrass. A goose egg grew above his right eye and began to turn a light shade of purple.
“Wake up, boy,” Joe said.
Thomas stared at the red sweater Mary wore. It was a red cardigan with white buttons; her favorite. She loved the smell of the sweater and the softness of it. People took notice of her when she wore it, as if her mouth alone did not bring her enough attention. She wore the red cardigan with her blue jeans and a white pair of Keds running shoes. The outfit looked patriotic and on the days she wore her sweater, she spoke up a little louder when pledging allegiance to the flag.
“Tommy...?” He asked.
The sun sparkled down from above and shadowed the face of Thomas.
“Can you hear me son?” Joe said, and shook him on the shoulder.
“Do you think he’s dead?” Mary asked.
“No Mary, he’s not dead. I think he’s been knocked silly,” Joe said.
“Tommy, can you hear me?” Joe asked again.
“Tommy, what’s wrong?” his dad asked. “Are you okay?”
Thomas stared at Mary’s sweater, not because it was beautiful, (although to him, at that moment, it was), not because he liked the pretty white buttons on it, and certainly not because it was Mary “Snotnose” Snodgrass who wore it, but because for the first time in his life, he saw the color red.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The Bible also make imperative statements like this, "Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her," This statement does not so much tell a man what he is as it tells a man how he is to act.
Wilson believes a lot of confusion could be cleared concerning how people interpret the Bible if they can begin to distinguish between imperatives and indicatives.
So in essence, if a man is married to a woman, he is to care for her, much like a gardener would care for a garden. He should make every effort to "weed" his garden. If he does not, the fruit will be choked. He is the husband of the garden and he cannot just be a nice guy and stand by idly while the weeds grow and say things like, "you're the garden, you know what is best." If he does make a statement like that, he is being dishonest. He is responsible for that garden because she has been entrusted into his care. He will give account for his tending of her.
He also should use caution and not trample rip-shod through his garden and damage the blossoming fruit. Only a careless gardener would act in such a way.
This a a great little book and I highly recommend it.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Sometimes innovative music is a little hard to listen to the first time 'round, but I've always found the best music is the kind that grows on ya'. Commercial music is very easy on the ears upon first listen, but that's the point: No one can sell Juicy Fruit with really creative music. A stick of Juicy Fruit, although succulent, will lose it's flavor in no time...just like the music they make to sell it.