Phoenix

Every morning at work we would plug into a wildlife cam and follow the daily life of one small bird. We were first introduced to it as a trivial white egg then a blob of … bobbing white fuzz? Then it grew dark feathers. We would enthuse every time it moved by lifting a wing or sitting on its butt and spreading its tiny perfect little wings. We count to see if our babies have ten fingers and toes, mommy birds count wings. When it strutted to the nest’s edge (an edge enforced with twigs by devoted parents to prevent their youngster from falling out) we all held our breaths, without being aware we were, till it backed away and safely re-centered itself in the nest at a safe distance from the death defying fall it would take to the forest bottom where it would become prey to carnivorous wildlife. We awed every time mom appeared with food. Oh what we learned about parental love! Even birds have it. In fact, sadly, they may abound in it more than some humans.

Mom, or dad, would hold the food with strong talons, take a bite of flesh, lean down and gingerly place the nourishment between small beaks. Such large birds, such a small baby, such gentleness! Occasionally the food would be alive and we’d see a fish flopping around on the floor of the nest. The cycle of life. One life for another.

Nothing dramatic, just day to day survival at its most boring. We watched her progress from white downy chick to dark feathery eaglet, we were there as she learned to walk, stand, hop, jump and perch (hop, jump and perch is not the name of a dance!) We didn’t know we were falling in love. With scientific accuracy we eagerly awaited the climax. The day our baby, the world’s baby, would step off the edge of the nest and fly. We knew what day that would be. July 18th, 2010. Experts knew that it took eighty days exactly till the loving parents escorted the fledgling to the precipice and….pushed her out! Really, it does take love to push our babies out, it’s a natural act and shouldn’t be avoided.

Things had been going on so predictably boring for seventy five or so days we didn’t expect the unforeseeable. One day we turned on our computer, plugged in the website and found….Its hard to say this, we found ….our baby wasn’t moving. She was laying face down, wings spread out, body cold. She had died without apparent reason, just days before she was to soar on the wings of the wind. Just days before her live become more challenging. Just days. And we all saw it. We all cried. We all prayed for her to rest in peace. RIP. We all got on Facebook to seek answers, comfort , support. To share YouTube moments of her transitory seventy five days of life. We were anxious about her parents, twenty-six year old bald eagles. We witnessed them grieve, we watched them observe, perched on another tree, the tree climbers retrieve their child’s lifeless body from the nest. We watched the rescuers lovingly handle the small body. Small? I didn’t realize it was about the size of my Shih Tzu.

The point being we followed an insignificant bit of nature, way in the treetop of a tree way in the wilderness of a country hundreds of mile away from some of us, continents away for most of us and we fell in love and got our hearts broken. That’s what love does to us.
Let’s put this on a bigger scale. Imagine a cam recorder in, let’s say, every house, tent, igloo, RV, hut, trailer, car, office, castle, ditch, cave, farmyard…are you getting the picture? I said imagine, but guess what? This isn’t make believe, we are all being watched in our humdrum day to day activities of daily living. We are all being monitored as our parents care for us, as we care for our children, as we care for our pets, as we turn over in our sleep, when we stub our toes, when we get a splinter in our fingers.

And guess what else? Someone is falling in love with us. No, let me take that back, he’s not falling in love with us, he’s always loved us, without reservation. Guess what else? He cries when we hurt, he grieves when we stray and he’s tuned in when we die. And just like science, he knows what day that will be, that day we step to the edge and take to the air, even though we don’t and shouldn’t! And on that day, just like when our little baby bird was handled lovingly by it’s rescuers, we will be held in strong tender hands and we’ll soar forever with the eagles!

The final Independence day

The final Independence Day

Something like thirty centuries ago a man named Moses, anyone ever heard of him, fought for his people’s independence from the Egyptian government that was placing hardships on his people. You know, killing new born male babies and forcing slaves to build more and more buildings, cities and pyramids with less and less material that they had to provide themselves! If you aren’t familiar with the story rent or buy the great movie The Ten Commandments. (Or just read the book of Exodus, right behind Genesis, in your bible, assuming you know where you put it last!) Moses was aroused to action by God, you know, a guy some Americans believe is some mythical figure in the sky, to free his nation, the people of Israel. How many mythical figures do you know that can persuade million of slaves to follow them through the dessert to a promised land? Well there have been false prophets arise over the years but where are their followers three thousand years later?

And we celebrate yearly that day of independence, first as the Passover, the night when the angel of God passed over Egypt, killing its firstborn child, calf, colt, kitten, puppy, piglet at the same time passing over Israel protectively sparing every living thing. Then latter, a few millennia ago as Easter, the day God in the persona of Christ died on a cross for our freedom from the tyranny of Satan, the prince of the power of the air, the prince of darkness. You know, that other mythical figure that has enslaved us with drugs, delusions, and addictions, making us build more and more webs of entanglement with less and less resources. People at the start of these events set a day aside yearly to remember what God has done for them and us. People who witnessed the actual events and passed the stories, not fables, down to us, people who didn’t believe God was a mythical figure because they saw him in action, felt his breath on their necks, touched his wounds!

Fast forward to the American Revolution where several men heard the call of God. Our God given rights to freedom were once again being slowly removed by another country that was binding us with the yoke of slavery. During the American Revolution the battle cry was, “No King but King Jesus!” and the biggest campaigns for enlistment in the army were done in the pulpits. Preacher after preacher preached “there is a time to preach and a time to fight.” Pastor John Peter Gabriel Muhlenberg preached such a sermon; pulled off his clerical robes to reveal his revolutionary army officer uniform and marched off to join General Washington. It’s not a crime for Christians to fight for freedom, the banner of Christ and Old Glory can wave together in harmony!

People could be recruited for the fight for freedom in church because our founding fathers attended it regularly. In fact in 1665 the New York legislature ordered that a church be built in each parish capable of holding 200 people. Our nation was built on Christian principles, the bible was the text book of school children and after the revolution Congress opened (and still does) with the prayers of a paid chaplain. On May 1, 1789 Reverend William Linn was the first paid minister to the House of Representatives, earning a salary of $500 from the federal treasury. How our fathers interpretated separation of church and state eludes me, but somehow they still expected this nation to have God as its ruler, it’s King. Warren Earl Burger, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court from 1969 to 1986 said, “The men who wrote the first amendment religion clause did not view paid legislative chaplains and opening prayers as a violation of that amendment…the practice of opening sessions with prayer has continued without interruption ever since that early session of Congress.”

Our fight for independence was guided by God and God was very much a supporter of our independence as he was very often consulted by those who died for our independence; by educated men who feared and revered God and his principles, men who ran our country. George Washington was frequently seen on his knees (no, not by me!) praying for God’s guidance and many presidents since quoted God or referred to God in their speeches without shame or apology, in this country on public airwaves or in print for all to hear or read. When presidents are inaugurated they place their hands on a favorite bible verse for crying out loud, because they believe in the word of God and if they don’t, well God help them! Are we to believe our country was founded by a group of delusional men who died for a mythical figure and encouraged hundreds of young men and women to die by their sides! Was our country’s freedom won on a hoax! I think not, but then again, I’ve been accused of being delusional because I believe in God!

“Providence has given to our people the choice of their rulers, and it is the duty of our Christian nation to select and prefer Christians for their rulers,” John Jay, first Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court.

Now we are fighting another war for freedom. The freedom to be Christians on Christian soil! Crosses are removed or stolen from public places and hidden, the Ten Commandments are prohibited to be displayed, (mostly because so many Americans violate every one of them daily), prayers aren’t allowed at public functions, we can’t use the word Christmas in December, and on and on the list goes.

It won’t be long now before the argument of whether God is a mythical figure will be resolved. A final war will be fought one day (it will be pretty one-sided actually) and the losers will lose big time! That mythical being will reveal himself to the atheist, agnostic, Satanist, wiccan, and all others who have enjoyed the freedom to be wrong bought for them by the blood of Judeo/Christian martyrs centuries ago, and the battle cry, “No King but King Jesus” will be realized. I can’t wait to be there to see the enlightened faces of those misinformed Americans who are trying so hard to remove God from this land as I cry, “No King but King Jesus! No King but King Jesus! No King but King Jesus!” On that day the shoe will be on the other foot as we see who gets removed from the land! Then they will get to meet that other mythical creature, Satan, now reduced to their level of torment and anguish, and wonder how they let him deceive them! So sorry, so sad, too bad! But hey, Congratulations, now you won’t have to put up with God and his symbols any more.

Gen 1:27
Exodus
John 12:31
Rom 2:12-16
Gal. 5:1
Eph. 2:2
Rev. 1: 7
Revelation 11:15
Rev 20:14-15

running with the big dogs

I know somewhere under here that life exits! I can feel it moving, I can hear it breathing, and can smell its breath, I just can’t see its face! Whoops! That was its tongue, (I hope) that just assailed my chin. It had to be a tongue; although I couldn’t locate any labels I was pretty sure I was holding it right side up! Oh the heck with it, down it goes! I placed the mass of brown, white and black fur on the patio and off it went into the melee, not the least bit intimidated by the size or ferocity of the other dogs. It intended to be a player not an observer in the fun. It may have looked like the black lab was in the lead being followed by the smaller white Shih Tzu but in reality it was being herded by the smaller canine who was being chased by the even smaller… dog I think, not being sure because it was cleverly camouflaged with fur, lots of fur.

Whenever I let Tasha, the lab, out to do her thing (can you guess what that means?), Tessie, the Shih Tzu, feels it’s her duty to dissuade Tasha from lingering about and having any free time away from her. You’d think Tasha having 35 extra pounds than Tessie would be in charge but no, there’s a reason it’s called a Napoleon (in this case Napoleona) complex, and Tessie holds a certificate in it. There they go, around the above ground pool with Tasha in the lead, Tessie close on her heels and Mikki, the newest addition, scuttling along without a clue to the objective but full of exuberance. Oops, Tasha was cornered by the back fence; no, she spun around, sailed elegantly over Tessie and changed course. Mikki halted, confused, but not for long, he had to take crucial action to avoid being trampled by the oncoming duo. He side stepped to safety; no, the wind from the racers blew him to the side since he only weighed four plus pounds! I’m not sure the older dogs even noticed that there was a third participant in the game, though Tessie considered it serious business, keeping Tasha in line and aware of whom the boss was.

Mikki, head held high, (once again, I was only guessing that was the head, he could have been running backwards!) took off behind the group, nibbling at tails, ankles, ears, or whatever. He had no idea what was going on but he was determined to let the two senior dogs know he wouldn’t be ignored; even though he was being ignored. Ignored of course until he body slammed Tessie. Wrong move. Oh so wrong! Tessie turned her brutality on Mikki, but only temporarily because Tasha was still her main objective and her main objective had dashed behind an upside down canoe where she taunted Tessie by slapping the bottom of the vessel (which of course was on the top?????)

Tasha was winded with her pink and black tongue hanging down to her navel (obviously that chow that hits every home in America had visited Tasha’s mom), yet she remained on her hind legs supporting herself upright on the canoe while Tessie yapped viciously at her from the opposing side. I would hate to translate what she was barking into English and loose my dubious standing as a lady!

Mikki, who had gone totally submissive during Tessie’s tirade - lying prone on the ground, paws over his head, tail curled around his body when she was attempting to subdue him a few seconds ago-, took advantage of Tessie’s absolute focus on Tasha prancing up to her where he courageously (or very suicidally) took a morsel from Tessie’s rear; not her tail, her rear! He would not be ignored or treated like a baby, after all he was twelve weeks old, that was old enough to leave home and start a new life. He was a man now, on his own, so to speak, exploring a strange new world, seeking out new life, boldly going where no puppy (er.. twelve week old man/dog) has gone before.

Oh, did Tessie change focus! She reinstated her full attention on Mikki! Poor little Mikki, he was a goner now. Mikki took his punishment like a man and bounced back with determination. Mikki had spunk, even if he was a foo-foo dog with a girl's name,( at least he can't read to know his name has the feminine spelling, but as determined as he is i wouldn't be surprised if he did become literate some day!)

Eventually Tessie galloped up the porch and into the back door with Tasha on her heels. Mikki made it to the steps and comically hit the brakes, as though he had smacked into an invisible barrier. I think he had psyched himself up, chanting to himself, "I can do it! I can do it!" but like Peter on the sea he looked at the steps and faltered seeing the improbability of success. I couldn't squeeze a finger between his belly and the ground so his stubby little walking sticks weren't adequate for stair stepping aerobics! He sat down on his furry behind and stared up at me; once again, that's what I assumed he was doing behind the bushy eye brows and facial fluff that had to be concealing the gel filled orbs used for sight.

Head tilted to one side, but held high, he waited me out. I waited him out. I wanted him to give it a try. Just put one little paw on the step, please. Give it a try. Nope. Nothing. He just sat there like dead weight. And just like Jesus reached down and salvaged Peter from sinking down to his demise I reached down and scooped Mikki up and plopped him into the house where Tessie and Tasha greeted him with doggy bites and head butting. They greeted him! They welcomed him into the house! They weren't ignoring him anymore! How quickly dogs assimilate into packs! All Mikki had to do to prove himself was try to keep up.

Somehow this reminded me of my walk with God. How, you ask? Well, since you asked....Reading my Bible I get overwhelmed by trying to follow the big dogs, Moses, Abraham, Joseph, Isaiah, Paul, John ect. They got their names in print. They accomplished things. They are the big dogs in history. God saw them and called them by name. Whenever I compare myself to them I feel close to the ground, barely able to step up to the mountain. Yet I keep plugging along, snipping at their heels, endeavoring to follow them, getting rebuked by them, yes, rebuked by them via my conscience as I read stories of their achievements, yet I vault back (eventually!) They were after all made of the same soil I was, molded from the same chemicals, exposed to the same Spirit who’s no respecter of persons. I chant to myself, "I can do it! I can do it!" But when I can't, I sit and wait. I sit on my jean clad behind and wait on the Lord, and he waits for me and offers me encouragement. He gives me a chance to pull myself up and if I can't cut the mustard that day he scoops me up and places me in His home where I'm greeted by Paul, John, Peter...whoever happens to be around that day. Big dogs that have had their bad moments yet didn't give up. Big dogs who lived boring everyday lives not fully recorded. They weren't always up to the mission and sometimes they had to change directions. They had down days. They had days when they mixed the colors and the whites while doing the laundry, days they forgot to take out the trash, and worst of all, days they left the toilet seat up (at last, something I’m not guilty of!)

Yes, God knows me by name and has it in print also. I am known to him and I can't wait for him to call for me when the roll is called up yonder, where all barriers are broken down and I can join "the pack" with the other big dogs. Where I won't be ignored!

Math 10:22
Acts 10:34
Hebrews 12:1
Revelation 13:8

the new patio

Weeds, weeds, weeds! Every where I look, weeds. They’ve been growing all winter and each rain storm has made them multiply and spread. Funny, when I’m on a water diet I lose weight, but weeds just seem to get taller and invite guests. I didn’t really even notice the weeds till I got my patio finished, now when I relax on my new zero gravity lounge chair and look past the new terracotta bricks, red lava rocks that are around the tree in the center of my brand new patio, and hanging flower baskets bordering my brand new patio , that’s all I notice. They all seem to take away from the relaxing effect of …did I mention I had a brand new terracotta patio surrounded by flowers and red lava rock? If not, here I go again……

Well, I just thought my work was done; now instead of breaking my back laying bricks for a patio, I’m on my knees pulling up weeds. It’s a shame too; they are the only green thing that grows on my lawn. As I pull up one loosely rooted weed another springs up to take its place. This is one of those endless, thankless jobs that I just love looking forward to doing. Please, take careful note of the sarcasm; I don’t want it to be wasted. If I wasn’t afraid of weed eaters, due to my clumsiness, this job would be easier. But I figure using a weed eater for five minutes then spending a day in the emergency room doesn’t compare to the hours of manual labor even though some of those interns are kind’a cute.

Apparently, more than weeds have taken advantage of my winter sabbatical from the lawn mower, (now I will use the lawn mower despite my fears of losing toes, there is just no way I’m going to use scissors to level out my lawn!) Little trees have sprouted erratically about with roots too deep for a mere tug of a feminine hand, a calloused feminine hand with dirt under cracked nails. I have to rise from my kneeling position, brush the dirt from my knees, and search for some shears to snip these uninvited guests in two. That is really sad as I have wanted to plant some trees, but these didn’t cooperate and sprout in feasible locations around the borders, but smack dab in the middle of nowhere, yep, that’s where I live, Nowhere, U.S.A.(zip codeless)

Now, since pulling weeds is mindless work, (something I’m qualified for!) I reverted to thinking. (I know, that’s hard to imagine!) It dawned on me that the weeds sprang up from inattention; I had been too intent on building myself a peaceful retreat, developing tunnel vision, spurred on by lust of the eye. If I had just been on the job during the winter, or at least at the start of spring, I could have reduced the unwanted burdensome plant problem considerably. Ahh, a comparison is banging me on the head with vehemence! Are you ready for this? Weeds are like bad habits,(the politically correct term for sins) they can grow and multiply when we neglect to practice good habits, when we take the winter off, to just lay back and rest or divert our concentration to other projects. But the good news is bad habits can be broken or pulled up with some sweat and hard work. They only become difficult when we let the roots dig deep into the soil like the miniature trees I had to snip off with shears, those are the habits we need extra help surmounting, like alcoholism, over shopping and spending, over eating, cursing, judgementalism, to just name a few in a long list of weeds. The longer something is ignored, or lived with, the harder it is to conquer: the more drunk, broke, friendless or fat we become.

You can sit in the middle of Eden like my new red terracotta, flower lined patio with the lava rock encircled tree, {see initial paragraph for further description!} and sip mint julep tea while being invaded by an army of weeds, or you can open the word of God and succeed at legal identity theft by conforming to the image of Jesus, a process that requires daily work (effort, commitment) without time off for the holidays or seasons. Being too focused on one good deed, the patio, doesn’t excuse us from practicing regular spiritual hygiene!

P.S If however, you do find yourself on your knees pulling up weeds after the eye opening moment of discovery while sitting in your anti gravity chair on your new red terracotta brick flower lined patio with the lava rock encircled tree, make good use of the posture by multitasking, in other words, PRAY; it’ll make the time more beneficial and pass pleasurably. Oh, and wear gloves when you pull the weeds, your hands will appreciate it!

anonymous no more

One by one they went up front after their names were called. Not their full names, just their first names and maybe an initial for their last name. I actually recognized one of the attendees, but I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone I met him. That is horrible. To be this close to someone I see every week on my favorite show and have to keep my big fat mouth shut! What’s the use, no one would ever believe me anyway because his television persona is a super good guy!

They all had the same story, Hi my name is (fill in the blank) and I’m an alcoholic. Their stories were identical. That first drink, all the drinks in between, and the last drink. For some the last drink was right before they came to the meeting. They were hoping it would be their last drink. People rallied around these newcomers, hugging and crying. But the tears weren’t without hope, for some of the huggers had not had a drink in years. Well, maybe soda water, coffee and tea, but nothing fermented.

Lists were handed out to the newbie’s with names of same sex members they could chose from to call, anytime, anywhere. And standing invitations were open to come back the next day and the day after that and the day after that. In fact it was considered a requirement. Ninety days of attendance any group any hour. Recovery b y themselves wouldn’t be easy. They needed support. They needed encouragement. They needed to break ties with drinking buddies. They needed the twelve step program; they had to work through The Book. They needed a higher power. They needed God. Some needed a cigarette. That’s a whole other addiction that needs a support group. Smoker’s Anonymous. SA. Sounds catchy doesn’t it. Well maybe I need to work on that.

Anyway, I noticed the guiding principle here. Support. Encouragement. No one judged anyone, condemned anyone. I was here by invitation only to witness a relative get his recognition for months of sobriety: a gold (plated) token. Yeah! You go boy! Everyone cheered for him the same as they had for the other anonymous members. His sponsor got up and spoke glowing words about his accomplishments in the past few months. Yeah! You go boy! I was so proud of him!

I’m a member of another larger group I was invited to years ago. When we gather we get up and say, “Hi, my name is (fill in the blank) and I’m a sinner.” We gather for support and encouragement. We’re not judged, (that’s a laugh, but at least we’re not judged by our higher power!)We get assigned a sponsor, direct from God himself, because walking the spiritual line isn’t easy on your own. We meet regularly. We break ties with other sinners who refuse to repent. Well, not all sinners because we’d have to leave the world for that, (and we will some glorious day, and it could just be today!) We just avoid the dangerous malefactors, drug dealers, thieves, fornicators (yes that’s an outdated word), star gazers, Satan and his cronies, any one that could lead us down the wrong road again. And that’s a judgment call because we aren’t all enticed by the same vices. We have a book we follow with only one step to recovery, acknowledging we’re sinners and accepting the free gift offered to us(free for us but it was costly to our founder!). We’re not an anonymous group, at least not here in America, and we are allowed to tell people who we meant at the meetings, again at least here, we’re especially required to tell people about our initiator, again, at least here, who ironically was a sinless man. And we get a token for our continued adherence to the program! It’s bigger than a gold plated token! It’s a crown! Or crowns! Or a city! Or cities! Yeah! You go people!

Math. 7:23
Luke 12:18
Luke 19:17
Rom. 16:17
1 Cor. 9:25
1 Thes. 2:19
2 Tim 3:5
2 Tim 4:8
1 Pet. 5:4

take action

Worried about unemployment, global warming, real estate, pollution, depleting the earth's resources, your children's futures? All these problems can be solved with one word- RECYCLE. It takes a little action but solves lots of issues.

I wish I had started recycling when I was younger. I've just re-discovered that recyclable items have little emblems hidden on them in various places to let us know what can be recycled. The problem is you need younger eyes to find these emblems, it's like searching for Waldo. Once older people get their cataract surgeries they are re-equipped for emblem hunting. Emblem, emblem, where's the emblem, is Waldo hiding it? Sometimes it's on the bottom on a crease, sometimes it's large and in the middle. Sometimes it's on the paper wrapper in black ink, sometimes it's in white ink. Sometimes it's on the front sometimes the back. The companies are more involved in making their packages look pretty than letting us know what can be reused or maybe they just like to play jokes. Some items look identical enough to me I search forever for an emblem to be disappointed. It sure takes a lot of time to be earth conscious. Can't we standardize the emblem? Would that be asking to much to always place it where the ingredients are listed or always on the bottom. And what's the deal with the size. Why does it have to be so small. I need a magnifying glass half the time to distinguish between the emblem and a scratch.

Recycling should be a priority for us as the earth fills with trash. My neighborhood doesn't have a recycling plan for hard goods, just bins strategically located for paper. So, not only do I spend time looking for emblems I stash things in a bag and cart them to my dad's house to share his recycling bin, I know others that do the same,(not to my dad's house, but other locations). It seems if my neighborhood was interested in papers they could place other bins nearby. At dad's home paper, plastic and cans all go in the same container.

I love treasure hunting though. I just thought to look on the little plastic hangers that came with my new bras and panties, recyclable. My Little Ceaser dog food trays, recyclable. Alpo dog food cans, soup cans, coke cans: recyclable. Plastic butter containers, baby food containers, cream cheese containers, recyclable. My slim fast cans, recyclable. I was throwing them away at work!! Shame on me. Detergent and bleach bottles, recyclable. Milk bottles, recyclable. All those plastic bags we cart our groceries home in, recyclable. Wal-Mart’s I know has a box to return the plastic bags, maybe other grocery stores do also. Think of the millions of plastic bags clogging up the pores of mother earth. Would you put a plastic bag over your mother's head!(well, that is another story, sorry, I didn't mean to generate fantasies!)

My job in a hospital is a major gold mine of recyclables but we don't have facilities for it. Most of the containers for supplies I open in the surgery department, recyclable! All going down the shoot to our incinerators and into the air to deplete the ozone layer. What a tragedy. I am trying my best to encourage recycling at work. The fear is those misfits that like to put the wrong items in bins because they are lazy or hateful will ruin it for us. I might start taking my “clean” work trash home to recycle bringing a whole new meaning to taking your work home with you. I told you I'm serious about this mission! Why do manufacturers of medical supplies bother to put emblems on their products if we just trash them?

Most of what we buy now is reusable why are we throwing them in land fills instead of converting them into insulation, carpets, asphalt, more paper, bridges, jobs, cleaner air, prettier landscape ect. Nothing is bio-degradable in land fills because garbage needs sunlight to decompose. Sun light doesn't penetrate down past all the rubbish. Soon we'll all be living on a garbage heap and propelling our refuse into God's heaven, on the bright side, we can always unearth newspapers 50 years old and still read them. We generate tons of waste yearly, adding to the weight of the globe, it won't be long before we'll start to sink out of our orbit and slip farther from the sun so don't worry about global warming, fear global freezing.

I hope we can pat our selves on the back for our good stewardship of planet earth and outer space. I wonder if we can get paid personal at the landfills sorting out what is still salvageable? A last chance poke at the garbage. Hobos digging for food and carting recyclables to a pick up location, that would be one way to earn a living and feel worthwhile. It would be killing two birds with one stone, recycling trash and hobos! Look, we're going to have to clean the planet up after the Lord's return, it would be a great benefit to ourselves to get an early start. Why spend eternity picking up after ourselves when we could be having fun chasing rainbows.

Benefits of Recycling:

Conserves resources for our children's future.
Prevents emissions of many greenhouse gases and water pollutants.
Saves energy.
Supplies valuable raw materials to industry.
Creates jobs.
Stimulates the development of greener technologies.
Reduces the need for new landfills and incinerators.

organ transplants

Organ transplants and donations are a personal matter. It is hard to
consciously decide to give up and organ even if we know we won't be using them
again. Coffins don't come with commodes or ventilation shafts so we don't need
our kidneys and lungs and we won't need our corneas because we don't pack
reading material. But to decide to not donate because of ethnicity seems odd to me.
Hispanics and Afro-Americans have high risks for renal failures and they have
higher objections to donating kidneys. Yet when it comes to choosing to receive
a kidney versus being on dialysis guess what they choose.

I asked an Afro-American friend if she would donate any organs and her answer was,
"I'm going to heaven with whatever God gave me."

Continuing on that line of reason I asked, "If you have breast cancer would you get a mastectomy?"

“Of, course, that's an illness."

"Well, what's renal failure?"

"Okay, maybe I’ll donate." ( Still not to sure she meant it, I think she was just trying to get me off her back!) but still not donating is a personal choice, I accept that.

To some it seems that life is a gift from God, and if a kidney fails it's God's
will or you need to place your faith in the right basket. I'm not God's spoke
person, I don't know how God feels about us giving our kidneys, lungs or heart
or corneas to someone else, does he think we're ungrateful, we didn't like the
color, it was the wrong size etc. Or does he feel like we do, (or should that be
vice versa?) that life is valuable and we were put here to help each other. He
gave his life for us, he donated a complete body yet we are afraid to donate a
small percent back to the living. if there is a resurrection from the dead, and I can't elaborate on my views because only certain people have freedom of speech, I'm not sure that a god
that created us out of dirt and organized a couple of universes can manage to
refurbish us with all our necessities.

I certainly would hate to get to heaven and not be able to use the bathroom because
I left my kidneys behind with a father of three ,or not be able to breath in
the clear crisp unpolluted air because my lungs were with a young medical
student , or to not be able to see the glorious new heaven because i left my
corneas with some one that wanted to see her grandchildren. Just in case though
I’m packing a crate of tydybowl and a oxygen tank to take with me and
requesting a bible in my casket.



ARTICLE FROM YAHOO.
Two US women to donate kidneys to each other's husbands Thu Feb 23, 1:40 PM ET

Two women will go under the surgeon's knife to donate their kidneys to each other's husbands.

The couples met through an organization that arranges paired living donor exchanges after both wives were told they had the wrong blood type to donate their kidneys to their own husbands, the Chicago Tribune reported.

To date, 80 donor-recipient pairs have registered with the Paired Donation Consortium and 12 kidney swaps have been completed.

The operations will mean a new life for both families. The typical wait for a donated kidney in the Chicago area is about five years.

"Let's talk about what's happening here," Carl Chandler, a minister, told the Tribune. "A black woman is donating to a Hispanic man, and a Hispanic woman is donating to a black man, and there's no fear or cause for concern.

"Too many people waiting for organs are afraid to go outside their communities because of prejudice or closed-mindedness," Chandler said. "We hope that this will motivate people to realize there's no color issue here. There's just a sickness issue."

Blacks and Hispanics are more likely than whites to have diabetes, a main cause of kidney failure. But organ donors from black and Hispanic communities - which provide better matches for genetic reasons -- do not keep pace with demand.

As a result, "minority patients may have to wait longer for matched kidneys and therefore may be sicker at the time of transplant or die waiting," notes a US government organ-transplantation Web site.