Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift? the fruit of the womb his generous legacy? Like a warrior’s fistful of arrows are the children of a vigorous youth. Oh, how blessed are you parents, with your quivers full of children! Your enemies don’t stand a chance against you; you’ll sweep them right off your doorstep.

Yes, I know that applies to the dad; but genealogy place me squarely at the head of the line.

I’ve got some prolific children. Miles William Gann makes number 10!

He’s extra special… he now shares the date with my queen. Yessir! Double blessing is mine today!

In Facebook, every time someone does anything –adds a friend, changes their profile picture, blows their nose, etc.– you are informed that this activity happened. How do I make it stop?

I have far more of that coming in than actual status updates. I often feel like a mind reader out in public… I’m hearing everyone’s inane thoughts about nothing and it’s driving me crazy!

If you are interested in getting an original iPad, I have access through a contact. These are new units and are in the original factory wrapping, not off the back of a truck. They are from a hospital contract that was canceled due to government cutbacks.

The numbers are limited – the fellow only has twenty and they are going for less than half price, so it’s first come first serve.

He has already sold one (pic is below so you can see what you are getting).

Get back to me as quick as you can if you want one.

The first surgeon says, “Electricians are the best. Everything inside
is color-coded.”

The second surgeon says, “No, I think librarians are. Everything inside them is in alphabetical order.”

The third surgeon shut them up when he said, ” You’re both wrong. Politicians are the easiest to operate on. They have no guts, no heart, no balls, no brain and no spine. Plus the head and rectum are interchangeable.”

Misconceptions, illusions, outright lies and then, suddenly, the light comes on. The look on their face is priceless. The change that comes about in their life is nothing short of miraculous. Keeping it can be work.

Oh, what complicated webs we can weave!

Destroying the lie of who we think we are can be difficult; living as who we really are can be downright impossible.

Unless the lights come on. And the door stays locked after the “guest” is escorted out.

I’ll be explicit… I am the Gate for the sheep. All those others are up to no good—sheep stealers, every one of them. But the sheep didn’t listen to them. I am the Gate. Anyone who goes through me will be cared for—will freely go in and out, and find pasture. A thief is only there to steal and kill and destroy. I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of.

You cannot do it by yourself. Cell life. Its a necessity.

More properly stated, I’m concerned about all the hype that occurred around Hurricane Irene. For us here in North Carolina, she is now history. Yet, they still are not diminishing their prognostications of doom for the northeast. It is rather obvious, it was not about the storm.

I am in favor of taking precautions in the face of a potentially traumatic event. We are living in a post-Katrina world and that colors everything that we do. That is understandable. That is what has given us seat belts, bike helmets and product recalls. The motive behind it is laudable, the implementation is overkill.

So it is with hurricanes, and more recently on the east coast, earthquakes.

When you close the New York subways days before an obviously weakening storm arrives; when the television spews out imagery and vocabulary indicating the end of the world in the face of a storm that is rapidly dropping from a Category 3 to a Category 1; when the President appears on camera warning of a natural holocaust when history and professional veterans of such meteorological events scratch their collective heads in disbelief; when there are runs on the supermarket, not for bread and milk but for beer … something is wrong.

The merchants of fear are in charge and they are offering up sales of historic proportions.

As the ancient sage might say, “This doest me concern…”

I thought someone was standing behind me shaking my chair; my monitor was jostling back and forth, visibly; my table was mildly bouncing. It was an earthquake, not an EARTHQUAKE!

Everybody in the office was saying the same thing: “Did you feel that?”

The shaking went on up north, around Richmond; we just received some of the transmitted force. I was in a 6.2 in Memphis back in the 70′s and that one really got my attention when it threw me out of the bed.

This one?

Merely interesting.

Add it to the tornadoes yesterday, the hurricane this weekend and the heart a few weeks ago… now you’ve got something; at least something you can talk about.

An interesting place, the food was good. The atmosphere was different and it was packed out with college kids. The Urban Spoon has nothing but impressive accolades and rates it 4 Spoons (out of 5). To quote one reviewer: “Upon entering you know you are in for a different dining experience. The hand cut wood tables and architectural features create the feeling of entering a kid’s treehouse. The seating is intimate and cozy while still providing a comfortable feel.”

Reading several articles that had appeared in the Chattanooga Times Free Press, I discovered that they are still surrounded by much controversy and concern.

So who cares and why write about it?

Good or bad, right or wrong, they have distinguished themselves. The establishment is leery of them, the anti-establishment is impressed by both their food AND their commitment and they are making an impact.

Most of us don’t want to be “marked;” we prefer to blend in. Could it be that “blending in” is the antithesis of what it means to be a follower of the Carpenter? We may not need to have long hair, dress funny and open a restaurant with strange hours, but perhaps we need to be a bit more intentional about our desire to have what the Nazarene offers.

“Samantha,” my GPS “companion” who tells me what to do, is a hoot. My wife claims I’ve lost my mind because I talk to her. Getting off the interstate to get gas, Samantha tells me to do a u-turn in 100 yards to get back on the freeway. I explain to her that I’m getting off the highway to get gas. She recalculates the turn I should have taken to return to the interstate and tells me to “turn left, then turn right for 200 yards before turning right again on the entry ramp.”

“I will, I promise, but first I need to get gas and I’d like to get a cup of coffee, if that is alright with you.”

My wife gives me “that” look.

Samantha is rather insistent, repeating her instructions but now adding the greater distance I need to travel.

“Would you like coffee, too?” I politely ask my iPhone.

Now I get the “eye roll” from my wife and Samantha tells me she needs to “recaulculate.” After pumping gas and getting back in, she tells me I’ve added 15 minutes to my trip and that I now need to make a left turn at the light.

Just for fun, I circle the parking lot and force her to “recalculate” 5-6 times, changing her instructions machinegun style: “turn left, turn left, turn right, turn left…”

My wife doesn’t share my enjoyment of my GPS.

“Obamanos”

Yeah. That’s what has happened. And they said it wasn’t going to hurt.

I think I’m going to do my own bumper sticker:

“Obamaectomy: the removal of a malignant Obama”