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.

black friday

I can tell the Christmas season is here. It started pre Halloween and hit its first zenith the day after Thanksgiving. I say first zenith because that’s the day known as Black Friday. The day sales are suppose to soar and help merchants get rid of their over priced goods at cost and below. The day people take off from work and productivity to go to the malls for all the bargains. Or better yet, the day everyone slips out of their sleeping bags in the parking lots to be among the earliest in the stores at their ludicrous four a.m openings! I can’t get my daughter to come see me after work, or for lunch, but she was probably at Wal-Mart’s at four a.m. Well to be fair, she works there, but that’s beside the point.

Yes, Black Friday, the day everyone feels the love of Jesus as they hunt for gifts for friends and family, at sub reasonable prices. Sure, they love the recipients of their purchases, but not enough to pay full price for anything, or, my gosh, to wait till the crowds go home. They don’t want to be the ones saying they missed out on a bargain. Black Friday is the day consumers get all stressed out battling the crowds, worn out from wrestling things from strangers grasps, no matter the age or health status, from two year olds, to centurions with supplemental oxygen and walkers.

It’s also the day humanity’s true nature emerges. In New York the an eager mob pushed its way into Wal Marts and trampled a temporary employee to death. To death. Did they care? Oh, yes. They were outraged that such a thing could have happened. Why? Because it caused the store to close for several hours. What a rip off. Surely things could have been handled while everyone browsed at a hundred miles per hour. No remorse was felt for the victim. No one stepped forward and assumed responsibility. We have to rely on video cameras to pick out the guilty. How would that be possible? It was a pack of animals that entered the store to hunt prey. The victim was under their feet. How can police identify which feet trampled the poor guy. Shoe DNA? Even if they could get good videoed face pictures I’m sure all expressions were distorted with the glow of shopping for Jesus’ birthday to be recognizable.

 An eight month pregnant woman was also injured. She shouldn’t have been allowed out on Black Friday! As an employee or shopper. There should be laws. No one with a fetus or embryo can leave the house on Black Friday due to extreme dangers posed by Christmas shoppers. Where are those friends you can count on for unsolicited but badly needed advice?


Lets take a trip upstairs, to Heaven,(Don’t worry, you’ll be back before you’re missed). What do you think the opinion is up there about Black Friday? Do you suppose those that get good deals or die trying get sainthood by dying on an appointed day of human sacrifice? Do you recall reading in the good book about Black Friday being one of the seven festivals or holy days? Right now I can see God frowning. This wasn’t in his plans…though I’m sure he saw it coming. This wasn’t how he had wanted his son remembered. As a reason to shop till you drop... drop dead! As a reason to one up aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers and friends, on the most lavish gift bought at seventy five percent off. To look like big spenders on minimum wage budgets. Yep. I’m sure God knew that we would miss the point. After all, he has many friends surrounding him who are with him because of man’s inability to bear the truth. Isaiah, Jeremiah, Daniel, Elisha, Elijah, Micah, Nehemiah, and numerous other prophets and missionaries that were killed or nearly killed trying to get mankind to see the truth, pre and post Christ’s birth. The truth of Jesus and his sacrifice. That Christmas is a day to honor him and him only. Not to shop. Not to receive earthly gifts. Not to buy earthly gifts. To share Jesus’ entry into the world. To share God’s entry into the world. It’s amazing how many different ways man can corrupt the good news.

I’m pretty sure, not one hundred percent sure, but pretty sure, that on that first Christmas morning God hadn’t gotten up at four a.m. and run down to the nearest pre dawn sale for a seventy five percent discounted son, wrapped him in swaddling clothes, dumped him in a manger and said, “Here you go. This is the best I could do at the last minute”. My take on it is that he prepared for four thousand years to send the most precious gift he had, himself, wrapped in flesh, God in person. No discount, but one hundred percent God. One hundred percent man. One hundred percent free to us. To those that can’t add that’s two hundred percent beyond our expectations. There was no mob that morning trying to get their hands on this gift, trying to get there first, just three shepherds who arrived in awe, who were extremely thankful. There was no Christmas tree surrounded by multi colored packages with gifts for kids that they would grow tired of by lunch time. There was just one gift, to be shared by all. A gift that didn’t need batteries would never wear out and wouldn’t go out of season. There was God.



photo by Michael Nagle/Getty images via The Gaurdian

swimming lessons

I love my pool. It can’t be put up soon enough or left up long enough for me. Granted when it first goes up in the spring the weather isn’t adequately warm to heat the water but I climb down the latter ignoring the icy sensations crawling up my spine. This isn’t hard for me as I’m always ignoring things, like stop lights and yield signs. The minute my feet touch bottom I start running in place and swinging my water barbells. Water splashes on my back and upper arms causing me to question my intelligence, (okay, those of you that know me can keep your thoughts to yourselves, please!) After a few moments I spread my legs lowering my upper body deeper into the liquid, still swinging my barbells, heating up my blood, merging with the H2O, becoming adapted to the nippiness. Or maybe I’m actually heating the pool, being the hot dynamo that I am! (Bear in mind I said keep your thoughts to yourself!)

Before long I don’t remember the frostiness of the water and I’m fully submerged up to my neck, working out and expending calories. I feel myself getting into shape, building muscles as I work against the resistance of the water.

Then the weather evolves into summer with triple digit numbers (if you are still using the Fahrenheit scale). The water becomes refreshing from the get go. I run laps around the perimeter in one direction then the other after I generate a miniature whirl pool creating resistance to build up cardiovascular health. Then I switch to leg kicks, paddling, stationary swimming (I’ll let you figure out how I do that but as a hint it requires a rope tied to the pool’s side and my waist). I sit on my noodles (long foam thing-a-ma- gadgets, not my brains) and do stationary bicycling. I mean I really use the pool for a good healthy work out.

Then comes fall with lower evening temperatures that can’t sustain the pool’s summer warmth. I enter the pool with the same trepidation I had in the spring. After a brief workout of jogging and arm swinging I’m ready to dunk myself and start stretching out the old muscles, (it’s funny how my muscles have aged quicker that the rest of me, I wonder if there was a muscle recall by the manufacturer that I missed! ) Once again, before long I’m so accustomed to the pool’s temperature I don’t want to get out. I eventually climb onto my float and just bob about on the waves I spawn by kicking my feet, getting so relaxed I have to coax myself out to get other unimportant things done, like the laundry, dinner, cleaning, ect, ect. I’m sure by October my neighbors are all wondering if it’s time to call for the men with the butterfly nets; the human size butter fly nets. Really, if I ever see men walking up the streets with a net big enough to catch people I’m locking myself inside with a weapon that trumps their net!

Now, where am I going with this story? I’m sure you’re not interested in thinking of me in a bathing suit splashing around in my back yard pool. Unless of course you’re a pervert interested in middle aged woman that look really fine! My point is, are you ready because this will really catch you off guard? My point is that swimming cycles remind me of bible studies. Wait! Don’t call for the men with the nets; remember I’m armed and dangerous.



Sometimes when I start reading the bible it’s cold and uninteresting, but when I start splashing around in the word it gets more heated up, I start swinging my arms and legs and fighting to get more of the word. Then comes summer where I’m really excited about getting into the word because I’ve built up my enthusiasm. The word has gotten hot and steaming and is ready to be served up. Then comes the fall, where I fall down on my studies and have to get re interested. Studying the word needs to be a disciplined practice with no room for excuses, sometimes it doesn’t come easy because of various seasonal distractions like football, baseball, ice hockey, parties, holidays, the opening season’s episodes of your favorite series, etc. But once I force myself to get my feet wet, then my torso, then get the word to circulate into my limbs, muscles, bone and blood I find it’s hard to put the bible down, it’s like glued to my hands, (maybe I shouldn’t eat gummy bears when reading the bible!)

So I challenge you to try getting wet this week and see how long it takes you to want to stay submerged in the word of God, floating around on his pool of love and wisdom. (That sounded to buttery even for me!)

P.S In the winter I go to the pool at the gym, even I have my limits, I may swim bare sometimes, but I’m not a polar bare, har, har.

hurricane Ike

We’ve been hearing about Ike for months now. No, weeks. No, maybe a week and a half. Oh, whatever, it seems like forever. We’ve been informed, warned and traumatized. News coverage keeps us abreast of it’s present location, future location, damage potential, size, and wind speed. Deep in the heart of Texas we watch the broadcasts daily. We have no choice, except maybe to turn off the television but then it’s front page coverage at newsstands. Stand at the checkout of the grocery store and magazines announce Ike’s arrival. Turn on the internet and somewhere it’ll pop up. Yep. We all know about Ike.

Warnings have been issued for evacuation of areas close to the coast. Areas on the coast. Areas off the coast. Citizens have been warned that to remain in the safety of their homes is certain death. Did that make sense? A wall of water, called a storm surge, of twenty feet or more will wash over their houses and drown them. People are moving inland at rapid rates, by bus, by plane, by car, by ambulance. In a day or two they’ll be able to sail to Fort Worth that is if they survive the storm surge. They are carting up their most precious possessions, their bodies and loved ones, boarding up their windows, tucking their tail between their legs and running. The smart ones that have followed Ike’s path and listened to the advice of the weather forecasters. The ones that believed the reports that people actually died where Ike has already been.

Some people have chosen to remain at home, in Ike’s target, with a big bull’s eye on their foreheads, despite the warnings. They’re closing their eyes to reality; that nature is stronger and more unpredictable than they realize. They have nothing to fear, they’re immortal. They aren’t going to be bullied by nature. They have stored up emergency rations, put blankets under the doors to keep the water out, bought plenty of batteries for their portable TV’s and lamps and stocked up on reading materials and family games. They are going to sit it out patiently. When confronted with the reality they made a humongous mistake they will rely on compassionate people to rescue them when they find themselves trapped. They are going to let their next of kin identify them at the makeshift morgues that will be set up in a week or two at schools and gyms. When the waters recede; if they get found; if their next of kin isn’t lying beside them in another body bag.

It’s evident that not everyone responds to warnings in the same rational way. Take for example those that refuse to see the warnings of the signs of the time. We’ve been warned for centuries by God and his prophets, the biblical forecasters, that the end is coming. By men in sackcloth with picket signs announcing the end of the world, walking up and down fifth avenue. (Bad example; they may be crazy, but they’re still right). Yet we are immortal. Until we die. Then we discover the truth, that we’ve been mortally wrong.

The Bible has notified us there will be an end to what we know now. Not just a coastal calamity but a global calamity. A global cleansing. A new beginning. We’ve been warned repeatedly through pint-sized (yes, I said pint-sized) demonstrations of God’s power and wrath and given simple directions for preservation. Our only evacuation route is Jesus. Where he’s gone we can go. Some have heeded the warning and packed their belongings up and sent them a head. Their good deeds, their prayers, their faith and trust in God. Others have disregarded the warnings by closing their eyes and ears to the flashing lights predicting destruction. They say this world has been around for a long time, it will continue to be around for a long time. Well they are right, but they won’t be here, they’ll be in the lake of fire they’ve been tipped off about. There won’t be any escape routes, no rescue teams, and no emergency equipment capable of extricating them from the heat. This time there will be no one to salvage them and they will have to be accountable for their own misjudgments. Unless they heed the blinking lights, stop to read the bible, listen to the warnings and respond to the two by four that’s been thumping their heads. Thump. Thump.

Repent. Be baptized. Praise the Lord the end is just the beginning. I think I’ll paint that on a sign and parade up and down Main Street in a flour sack. That may sound like I’m crazy, but I know I’m right.

Math 16:3
Math 24:32-35
2 Peter 3:10-13

too much rest?

Too much rest?

My mother in law is-was- a great supporter of rest. Whenever I informed her I was on my way to the gym she would sigh and tell me to relax. I do too much. I need to take it easy. Oh, she was so persuasive. I could feel the comfy couch under my back with my legs propped up on pillows, a soft throw over my lower half. I could picture myself reading… for three minutes before the book toppled to the floor as my lids closed. (Three minutes is actually stretching the
possibilities.) Yea. It was enticing but…I do love a good workout. The exercise bike. The weights and time in the pool. The adrenalin rush. That was relaxing for me. It was time away from duties. From doing for people. From answering the phone or driving someone around. No. The gym was where I really got my breathing space.

My mother in law did however follow her own advice. Approaching 75 she was well rested. Real well rested. My husband would hand carry her dinner to her during our Sunday dinners so she wouldn’t have to get up when we visited. He was being considerate of her age. He was respecting her hospitality, repaying her for fixing our repast. She was so rested that getting up out of her chair was a work out. Huffing and puffing, she would wobble for a few steps till she got her equilibrium and continue to whatever activity that called her to her feet.

Then she started falling whenever she got up from her chair. We began intensive interrogations when we spotted bruises on her. We worried about her. We got her to commit to going to the doctor. I felt it was her knees, arthritis, bursitis or some other “itis” caused by the phenomena known as aging. Or maybe a reaction to her blood pressure meds or seizure meds. Or maybe she had started drinking while she was chilling out.

My sister in law received the honor of escorting mom to the doctor’s office. What she learned was more devastating to us than something that could be corrected with simply altering meds or sending her to alcoholics anonymous. Her diagnosis was…. Are you ready? She was pronounced….get set….well rested. She had rested herself into muscle shrinkage. She had been losing weight over the past couple of months (Yep, that really surprised me since her only exercise was getting out of her chair to go to bed) but the weight loss was mostly muscle mass. Let me explain this simple thing. No muscle mass, no strength. No strength, no balance. No balance no fall prevention. No fall prevention yields broken hips, legs, femurs, arms, faces or wrists. Broken bones in the elderly can heal but they may spend time in a nursing home for rehabilitation, (the person, not just the bones) that is providing they are discovered within a reasonable time frame or they don’t get a fat embolus and….. Well just imagine the worst. The most common reason that nursing homes are filling up with those approaching the later stages of life is due to falls, mostly falls at home.

The doctor predicted at her rate of “resting”, she’d be bed bound in five years. Well, my sister in law responded quickly to this crisis by not taking mom straight home to her easy chair. She took her to the local Senior Citizen’s Center and signed her up. What good does that do? Well, a properly run center has activities galore that keep the participants. She walked. She exercised. She talked. She ate. She socialized. She was even the secretary for a period of time. She redeveloped her muscles and with civilized respect for the miracle of healing, threw her cane in the air. Unfortunately when it landed it knocked her out and we had to take her to the emergency room for a head injury….just kidding!

The point of this long emotionally boring story? “If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it” means something. That goes for many things, like…. using our spiritual muscles. If we don’t keep them fed and exercised we’ll become weak floppy Christians. Our spirits will atrophy. We won’t know how to keep our balance when we get up and we’ll fall. And when a Christian falls, well once again, just imagine the worst. We may not lose eternity, but we may fail to bring someone else along with us to eternity; someone like a child, father, mother, friend, or even a stranger. We can’t afford to rest in our easy chairs while we are still here on terra firma. We need to attend the Christian Citizen’s Center if not five days a week at least once, maybe twice. And in this country there is no law that we can’t flex our muscles at home. Daily devotionals and prayer groups at work are all still permissible, (provided you do it in a dark closet at the back of the hall!) Along with meeting around the school’s flag pole; something school kids do in Fort Worth at the start of the year to seek God’s blessings, and I hope we’re not an isolated patch of religious fanatics.

So stop resting you lazy slugs and get out your bibles, it’s time for a work out. You don’t even have to check with your doctor on this one, even if you are over forty. There are no contraindications due to pre existing health conditions; as a matter of fact it’s the perfect cure for heart disease and mental illness. However there are side effects, like long life and peace of mind. Okay, let’s get started: One, two, three. One, two, three.

Math. 22:29
Luke 24:27
John 5:39
1 Peter 3:15
1 Peter 3:15