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A True Story: The Heart of a Cat

It was early dawn. My husband who gets up before anyone else on earth, arrived in the den only to hear our 12 year old feral feline wailing and acting strange.  Opening the back door there she stood in front of him holding a 2 inch field mouse in her mouth as if to show him her gift of love.

Little did she know opening her mouth very wide to wail one more time the mouse fell out. He shut the door in an effort to keep the rodent from running inside. Maxi took off chasing him as if to say, “You are mine.”

Mark knew he had to stop this chase. Grabbing the cat after cornering this very frightened creature he brought her inside only to have her sit by the door and whine.

He hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet.Mark and Maxi 2

Leaving her to her misery of the lost gift he made his early morning joe.

By the time I moved much later he told me of this great adventure.

The cat began wailing at me as if I would let her out. Somehow her instincts knew her prey was still around.

He and I went outside only to find the ailing rat in a hole on the right side of the back door. She runs out and begins to attack. The mouse escapes, running around the table, grill and into a side corner. Grabbing the cat once again we put her inside. She was not happy with her grandparents. Her efforts to once again show her appreciation for saving her life years ago was in the least futile in her eyes.  

By now I needed coffee.

We sat in the den watching tv and resting for a while. Too much excitement at 7am.

30 minutes later I went outside. Not only was the mouse still there, he was crouched behind my Swedish Ivy plant up against the brick on the left side of the door.

Mark attempted to catch him only to have the scared mouse run and fall right into the pool! Swimming for his life Mark finally caught him with the pool net. Giving him his freedom, Maxi ran outside to continue to search. 

She sniffed all around still believing she could locate her hard earned present. Her facial expression said it all.

“Why would you do this to me? I wanted to give it to you to show you my love?”

Isn’t that kind of like God?

Not that he wants to bless us with rodents but the abundance of his own love. Love that captures hearts like no other. Love that is supernatural and healer of all ills. Love that surrounds his people so overwhelming that once it hits you are never the same.

Maybe God feels like our cat sometimes. She gave us love only for us to throw it away. She exerted energy she rarely has these days to announce her gratitude only for us to deny it. She spent hours tracking for a gift we simply refused.

We can learn from our friendly felines the word, “devotion.” They seem to know what it means more than people.

God can take the size of a field mouse kind of love and make it grow.

So go catch a field mouse today and give it to God. It’s a start, and he will accept it with open arms.

Romans 8:38 “And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow–not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.”


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You know that Bridge over Troubled Water?

Reading a recent article about Art Garfunkel, I was saddened by his words.

The year was 1970. The hit song, “A Bridge over Troubled Water” rang through the air waves internationally. The lyrics and music along with Garfunkel’s angelic voice gave it recognition, he and Paul Simon didn’t see coming. Instantaneous fame became their way of life. Even those with a crow’s voice like mine were heard trying to sing it.

I remember hearing it over and over with tears falling from my eyes. The words were so profound one couldn’t ignore their touch.

When you’re wearysimon-and-garfunkel
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all

I’m on your side

When times get rough
And friends just can’t be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

When you’re down and out
When you’re on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you

I’ll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Sail on Silver Girl,
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way

See how they shine
If you need a friend
I’m sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

Who would have thought 45 years later the two musical geniuses, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel would remain apart by the very song that was meant to “bridge” people together.

According to the article and Garfunkel’s side of the story, he received the glory and recognition because he sang it; Paul Simon wrote it and was left out of the limelight for his talent and gifting.

The two became bitter, resentful and angry. Simon supposedly broke the two up. Garfunkel became a Math Teacher. Simon went his own way.

Growing up in the same place, they were in high school together. Simon who is a mere 5”2 inches tall and Garfunkel at 6 feet tall became friends as Art felt sorry for the short Paul Simon and became his body guard against bullying and ridicule for his height. I can relate although I didn’t have Art Garfunkel to back me up.

It was during this time the two began what would eventually become one of the greatest musical duos in modern history only to be halted by greed and jealousy.

This division is so relevant today it has become mainline.

People are fighting over the ridiculous.

People are angry over words that appear offensive even when they know it’s a lie.

America is divided by its own greed and jealousy to a point the bridge is almost broken in half.

Reading Paul Simon’s lyrics bring to heart a friendship of backbone, strength and courage to be there for one another in times of pain, darkness and when down and out.

But that is hard to find in these days. Humans have no way of bridging the needs of others without the bridge that is already built.

In 1970 I would have thought his words resonated any best friend a person could have humanly speaking. That may be true to a certain extent, but no one person or persons can fill that gap; not even close.

The bridge is Jesus Christ.

The connector is the Cross of Christ as the redemption for our sins.

He is the one who dry’s our tears, shines his light and eases our pain. He is the dream maker who sails beside us, in front of us and behind us.

Jesus Christ is the bridge upon which the foundation of the world is saved.

He is the bridge who laid down his life for every troubled water we may swim in.

And he is the only bridge that gets us across to the other side in victory.




The night before Jesus died he dined with his best friends. His cohorts. His apprentices. 

The table was set; candles were lit. The room’s aroma was that of freshly baked bread.

Wine was the servant’s beverage. After all; this was a special dinner. At least it was to Jesus.

In the past 3 years how often had they feasted together? Indulged a buffet together? “Broken bread together?”

Countless meals. Great conversation. They were buddies, companion’s, allies in the war on Satan.

Little did they know how this meal would go down in history as a deal breaker; a masterpiece wall-painting or the most notable betrayal ever witnessed.

How could they understand? What was the Messiah talking about?

“Take this bread. It is my body given for you.THE BIBLE tv series

“This wine is my blood of the New Covenant offered to you.”

Peter would never deny him. Judas would never sell anyone out for a few pieces of silver?

These were Jesus’ closest associates. His support system. His family.

The mission was over. Their classes had ended. And dinner had ended.

24 hours later they would question it all.

How could this happen? What does it mean?

We gave up everything near and dear to us and lost even more.

And for this? To watch him die?

Not just die; he was beaten, flogged, whipped, spit upon and crucified until he was unrecognizable.

We should have stopped it. Done something; anything to end the Roman’s illegal execution of the King of the Jews.

But…what do we do now? He is gone. Dead. In a tomb.

And with his demise went our faith. Did we dream these last 3 years?

Did he really turn water into wine? Did he heal the paralyzed man? And…

What about the woman caught in adultery? Did Jesus truly have the right to forgive…anyone?

It’s Saturday now. He’s been dead 24 hours.

What are we really supposed to believe?

Either this was the greatest practical joke played on the world or it really happened just as he said it would.

And..if it is true…..


The Pen

Certain doors we walk through we probably shouldn’t.

Others are traps set to distract us from our purpose.

Unknowingly, we continue our anointed calling a door appears in the floor.

Lured by deception we enter in only to fall down creaky steps in the dark.

The cement is cold and dirty; the abandoned basement smells of mold and decay.

Climbing back up to get out is worthless since the door in the floor slammed shut behind you.

The only light glimmers through a tiny window covered in iron bars.

Barely enough to see are dusty antiques, cobwebs and furniture with holes in it. Boxes full of old letters, books and files strewn between broken chairs and tables. The dungeon like surroundings have death written all over them void of any human contact for a very long time.

How did I get here? Did I ask to walk through that door in the floor? Not that I know of.

If the smell doesn’t sicken the lack of food and water will. Human life can’t survive long in such vile surroundings.

Fear sets in as if the devil himself walked in and announced, “You are going to die, in here all alone.”

Shaking, cold and weeping, you cry out to God, “Where are you? You promised you would never leave me.”

Immovable, your body deteriorates as time passes. 24 hours later hunger and thirst is overwhelming.  Sleep is impossible even though you’re exhausted.

Another day passes. Weakness has overtaken your senses but not enough to ignore his ugly presence. He has returned to solidify your obvious demise. “Why won’t you leave me alone you sinister creep? His wicked laugh follows him as he leaves you to die.

By the third day calling out to the God who hasn’t heard you is hopeless. No water or food has left your physical body dry, limp and defenseless.

One more time the demonic forces appear, “Give up. It’s over.”

Sounds good. Can’t do this anymore.

Rolling over in another position something pierces your side. You don’t have the energy to remove it.

All of a sudden that still, small voice you know speaks, “Get that pen out of your pocket.”

“What?” Once again, “Get that pen out of your pocket.”

Fumbling through the pocket of your cargo pants is this pen. A green and white, rather cheap writing pen you have never seen before.

“What good will this pen do me except to write my last words with it?”

The pen was structured with a plastic piece on the side that turned it on or off.

Pushing it startles the heck out of you. Not only was this a writing pen, it was a flashlight.

Immediately out of nowhere you gain the strength to get up. The little flashlight was so bright you could see everything in this “hell hole” even a 2nd door in the floor.

Making your way to this door, it opened with ease. The sun appeared as you crawl out into a fresh field of flowers. The scent was so wonderful it was as if breathing in that which you lost and so much more.  As you make your way through red roses and magnolia blossoms, revelation abounds from the God you thought had abandoned you.  Greeted by the most unlikely person, God catapults you to a new level of spiritual maturity. He has given you favor with one of clout and notoriety who was there to help you; only now it is the other way around as they seek your wisdom for confirmation, knowledge and future allowances.


Days later after much nourishment, care and love from others you realize the door to that deathly hallow had nothing to do with you. It was a means of one more perpetual attack against the anointing God placed on your life only the attacker never knew about the 2nd door in the floor.

Settled down and rested with the entire crisis behind you one question remains.

How did that so-called pen/flashlight you have never seen before land in the pocket of your pants?



There are Meetings and then there are Meetings

What is important to one person may not be important to the next person.

If it isn’t important to one person, should they reject it?

The person who thinks it important may want to share it with the person who thinks otherwise. Should they?

Depending on who is involved the process is a learning curve.

Variety is one of God’s great character traits.

The opportunity to learn from others must have been part of his plan considering we are all unique.

What happens when the difference becomes a contrasting point of indifference?broccoli

We are not all Star Trek fans, broccoli lovers or enjoy “Wuthering Heights.”

Some like football; others wouldn’t watch it unless they were paid to.

There are readers, spellers and mathematicians; not necessarily all together.

And then of course are the Biblical believers, non-believers, scholars and denominations.

The end result can be a balancing act of give and take. Or not.

People who are alike may not suffer the trenches of diversity, but the array of knowledge would be limited.


“Opposites attract” is a common cliche’. With it comes a baggage of alternative opinions, misunderstandings and a very long table for a meeting of the minds. However, the opportunity to discover new ideas, receive gifts of wisdom from each other and bond in one another’s knowledge is unlimited.

In close relationships it is imperative to find common ground for success.  It ain’t always easy.

Selfishness gets in the way of making it work.  Understanding where the other person is coming from is vital and the only way to that conclusion is open and honest communication.

Communication is easier for some, and a blank for others which is a whole different blog. But, it must be a priority for the relationship to survive and be peaceful.

Times will come when we have to give of ourselves to enjoy what others are interested in even if we aren’t. Doing so will give them the notion to return the favor.  But, a great addition to relationships that works is simply giving them space to be who they are.  Creative abilities flow and can produce an unexpected interest from the other parties.

More than anything is no matter whether you are alike or opposites, the Holy Spirit of God should be the center of any relationship.  The Godly presence will ultimately connect the two spirits (assuming they are Christian) bringing the center around Jesus.

Psalm 37: 4”Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

God will do the miraculous when he is the focus.  Placing him first gives him the go-ahead to offer his ideas and desires for those involved.  The result aids in learning how to remove the selfish or self-centered processes that cause fights and arguments. Why?

When we allow God’s ambitions for us to surface, applying them pleases him. The neutrality it brings cannot be matched.

Then you can trade in that long table for a shorter one.short table





27 Viruses and Zucchini Bread

That’s right. And 85 updates.

There should be a law against such serious neglect of a laptop.

Not only is it careless delinquency, attached was a descriptive lie.

“My laptop has never had a virus,” intelligent words spoken by the man of the house.

“I hardly use the thing. I connect it to the TV to watch shows not on satellite or movies so updating or general maintenance never crossed my mind.”


He cared little the machine was slow as Christmas or froze while trying to type a blog. Wait a minute. He doesn’t blog. He has a Masters Degree but don’t enter him in a spelling bee.

He started farming again. He and his buddy have a garden out in the boonies. Glad I didn’t vacuum or clean the kitchen floor. The trail of dirt is our new decoration.

The bucket of fresh cut zucchini, green peppers and cucumbers added that good ole’ farm fresh smell in the house.

The 85 updates took a while but I got it done. Programs he never used I uninstalled and cleaned up his desktop.

When I returned from the computer repairman, the aroma in the house was like a bakery. The zucchini bread he had baked from scratch was almost done. One was for us and the other was for the men in his church class.

I quit baking. Baking a cake to me is like the laptop is to him. Foreign.

God knew what he was doing when he created people from different molds. What one person can do, the next person could care less about or is shall we say, “Challenged?”

Encouraging others to do that which we are not meant to do or simply are not good at is a branch of God’s goodness. Recognizing our inadequacies as a benefit is not the average person’s rule of thumb.

What? How can you say that?dance

When you realize what you are not good at, you focus on what you are good at.

For instance: I found out early on in our marriage my husband is an excellent shopper. Managing grocery stores for years he learned the tricks of the trade along with dealing with their employees. He does the bulk of our grocery buying. Fine with me!

He wouldn’t blog if he was paid to but ask him to put together an entire stereo, TV system or video equipment and you have a saved yourself a wad of money. He managed Circuit City stores also.

If there is an area of your life you are let’s say lacking in, talk to God about it. He may want you to improve in that area. If so allow him to teach you.

However if you are not overly qualified to climb telephone poles, take on a missions project or be the President of the United States and God says “No” don’t do that, then don’t.

1 Peter 4:10 “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace.”

Misjudging your gifts is not an inadequacy. Decades of trying to bake a cake has finally hit me God would rather me concentrate on the areas he has gifted me; and it is a relief not to worry about the next cake that falls.


Instead of feeling jealous, hurt or envious you are not equipped to run a marathon or grow vegetables, understand there are people who are; so let them!

As for me, I hear the zucchini bread calling.




Copyright @ 2013 All Rights Reserved

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The Tricks of the Scammer

Rarely if ever do I get scammed; mostly because I never engage in junk mail inquiries, online freebies or the door to door salesman.

People are hurting financially. Noticing the number of sales people walking around neighborhoods has increased. It’s like avoiding the inevitable. If a person is hungry enough they will try to sell almost anything.

For some reason our neighborhood must be a target for the local swindlers. Maybe we are generous or appear to be stupid.

Their efforts to sell lawn chemicals, carpet cleaners and magazines have become annoying. Lately more general maintenance and lawn care advertisements are found attached to the mailbox.

Two men showed up the other day. Immediately poor mouthing how one had lost his job 3 weeks earlier and couldn’t pay his bills he wanted to work. He could clean the windows and gutters, weed the flower beds, cut the grass and paint.

It was rather odd his so called cousin never said a word. He was his helper.

Our hearts were in the right place. Listening to this man ramble on about his plight made us question his motives. His cousin headed for the flower beds.

If you aren’t closely listening, missing clues will slip by. The major trick of the trade of scammers in a word is, “liars.”

He fidgeted and looked the other way while spilling his sorrows; his mannerisms invoked one who is nervous or unsure. Centering on the job at hand we stressed the need for an estimate. While his cousin or helper began washing the windows he managed to turn to walk away while mumbling,truth or lie

“I’ll give you a price once I’m done.”

Sorry, but we don’t do business that way.

Heading for their truck, it was apparent he was disgruntled. He got caught.

He needed to learn how to do business or brush up on his skills of lying.

How can you tell when someone is lying?

A few signs are:

→The first five minutes give upfront clues such as distraction or repeating themselves.

→Liars will talk incessantly possibly attacking interrogators with a smile on their face.

→Quickly, the con artist or deceiver will change course by acting as if they don’t understand or use selective memory.

→Using foul language or swearing often comes into play along with rolling eyes and profuse sweating.

→Fillers or words invoked in sentences that are far from straightforward bring about a change of subject from the fabricator.

→The perjurer knows how to give truthful answers off the point of the subject at hand.

→Deluders are masters at using “limited statements” for answers instead of responding with facts.

The truth about liars is what they are willing to do or give up for their lies. Going to the extreme to cover up falsehoods becomes an obsession for a number of reasons.trust in God

  1. Embarrassment
  2. Determined to be right
  3. Simple stubbornness
  4. One lie may be a ripple effect of other lies
  5. Covering for someone else
  6. Don’t want to be punished
  7. Giving up selfish lifestyles for money or materialism
  8. Desperation

Lying has become a national pastime. When one doesn’t receive what they want or need immediately, taking the situation into their own hands overrides patience.

The pain of knowing the truth has given into pre-conceived notions that many don’t want to hear or know the truth. Some people would rather be told a lie if it means the truth will hurt.  Hearing what people want to hear no matter the consequences is an American way of life now.

But is it worth losing your soul?

Proverbs 12:19 “Truthful lips endure forever, but a lying tongue is but for a moment.”





“The Empty Vessel makes the Loudest Sound”

How did William Shakespeare know that? Were there loud mouths during his era?

Romeo and Juliet weren’t. They kept their love a secret.  Until…..


Shouting to be heard could be for a variety of reasons:


1.    Others are hard of hearing?


2.    People aren’t listening and they feel what they have to say is of utmost importance?


3.    Clearly they want to make the point they are correct?


4.    Prove their position is worthy of acknowledgement?


5.    They believe you didn’t hear them the first time?


6.    The person shouting is hard of hearing?


Repeating, lurid and brash voices have ravaged our lives. We are inundated with the ostentatious attitudes of unrefined mouths.

There are smokescreens of lies riveting the general populace. Why? To exploit the uneducated.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”  Words of an indigenous culture which has become the latest generation.

The unschooled listen to those who speak the loudest as they approach them with rations and allocations of needed possessions.

There is nothing like a hollow stomach to entice one to manipulation and control.

After all Esau sold his birthright for food. (Genesis 25:29-34).

His ravenous desire spoke louder than his inheritance.

The instruments of communication and schemes of civil doctrine deliver a daily “war of words.”  Screaming from lecterns each one attempts to howl louder than the opposing side. At the end of the day, threats of control and manipulation echo from the “hill” of fools.

And where does that leave us?

Ignorant of the truth.

Proverbs 14:7 “Stay away from a fool, for you will not find knowledge on their lips.”





“Singin in the Shower”

Life just isn’t fair.

Why it is one person is granted the luxuries of abundance and the next person is just wanting food on their table.

The old cliché of “what goes around comes around” is being overdone, misinterpreted and dragged around like an old wagon.

Centuries of age old sins crop up to bind the fruits of future friendships, neighbors and relationships.

Our generation had nothing to do with that evil. Why are we being singled out?”

“Because you represent those who committed it. How do we know your ancestors weren’t part of such discrimination?”

How do you know they weren’t?”

Assumptions are made; progress is halted and the hate continues.

Unforgiven mindsets are graves dug for the future of children and grandchildren. Revenge is set in motion and the altercations continue.

Stop and think before you produce an “Ishmael.”

The most educated country in all of history gushes on its past wickedness while condoning that which was considered “unspeakable” 30 years ago.

Some things just need to be left alone.

Living in the south, the racial atmosphere has been bludgeoned by those who don’t live here.

Sure, slavery was one of the worst cultural desecrations every committed in this country.  The thought of it sickens me and had I lived during those times, I might have been one who lost their life fighting against this horror.

As Christians today are persecuted, kidnapped, tortured and/or killed, it is no different from the slavery of the past. It was Christians who began the fight to stop slavery because they knew it was evil.529670_423549414395260_1157735294_n

Still, it rears its ugly head in the sight of political gain; mostly reverberating from others who don’t live where I do.

The population difference in my county of blacks to white is all but equal.  A benefit arising from the now Air Force and Army base here are the cultural aspects from military personnel stationed here from all over. It adds to the enrichment of this community.

Some enjoyable conversations have been in the grocery stores with good ole’ southern African American women.

Standing in line one day, the grandmother pulled in behind me with a load of chicken, potatoes and greens of all kinds.  The embarrassment of never cooking fresh greens opposed to opening a can made her laugh when I asked her how she cooked them.

“Honey, you mean to tell me you never cooked fresh turnip greens or collards?”

Sheepishly, I responded, “Ugh. No ma’am.”

“Well, let me tell you how. Get a big pot, throw them greens in there with turnips if you like em’, cover in water, add salt and pepper. Season with ham hocks or bacon, add a pinch of sugar if needed. Just let em’ cook until they reach the consistency you like. “

In this same store is a young black man, tall, handsome and strong. He runs the register at the Customer Service counter. After he gave an announcement over the intercom, I placed my groceries on his counter.

I asked him, “Do you sing?”

Timidly, he looked at me and said, “Well, what do you mean?”

“By the sound of your speaking voice, I imagine you can sing like Stevie Wonder or Barry White?”

A little embarrassed he kind of grinned and replied,Singing-in-the-Shower-266x300

I do sing in the shower.”

“Most of the greats started out singing in the shower. So you enjoy it?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do.”

As I took my groceries I told him, “Then don’t waste what God has given you. Use it.”

He smiled as I walked off.

The amount of clash around here is minimal compared to Washington politics skewing over racism.

Maybe our politicians/journalists/left winged liberals could learn a thing or two on how to get along from us southern, low-country folk.

That’s right. Send em’ here. We’ll straighten em’ out.

Not only will we teach em’ how to cook collards, we’ll church em.’





Copyright @ 2013 All Rights Reserved


The Art of a Good Pout

Manna must have lacked substance or flavor.

According to Exodus 16: 31 it was white like coriander seed and tasted like wafers made with honey.

It may not have been chocolate cake but it wasn’t Brussels sprouts either.  Considering the first time the Israelites found it, they didn’t know what it was. Moses had to tell them it was “food from Heaven” God sent them.


Now in Numbers 11: 8 the people gathered the manna and beat it, ground it or baked it. Using their creative talents allowed this food some versatility.

Sounds like a “meal made in Heaven,” not too heavy but healthy.

After a while, who knows how long, weeks, months or years they began remembering the aroma coming from their kitchens in Egypt.

Numbers 11: 5 memories of fish, cucumbers, melons, garlic, leeks and onions began to cause their mouths to water for fresh foods they ate freely in the “land of slavery.”

Now I must admit that eating the exact same food for 40 years could get a little boring, old and tasteless even with the “best chefs” from the tribes preparing it.

Pondering the gifts of God, his omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent abilities you would think he could come up with gourmet food every day.

Imagine plates of fresh cooked veggies perfectly seasoned to Emeril Lagasse’s taste. Add to that baked salmon, chicken or red meat of some variety (unless you are a vegetarian) plus a luscious Apple Pie with Vanilla Ice Cream or a 3 layer Coconut Cake.

What if the Israelites could order their own meals in advance? What if God allowed them to choose from the same menu the Angels used?

How exciting would it be to look up to see your “hearts desire” of the freshest foods in the world falling before your feet?

But……there is really something to be said for being thankful. Knowing this 40 year long trek was originally meant for 11 days wakes one up to realize moaning and groaning isn’t worth it.



Do you believe God sent them manna over and over as long as they continued to complain?

As if the trip wasn’t already a consequence their sour attitudes may have condemned them to manna.

God enlisted their seasons of “pouting” and self-pity to many more years on the road to Paradise.

Somehow, I can’t imagine God enjoying a grown man who pouts. This self-inducing platform of “I deserve better than this” is a requiem for a violin.

I am not picking on men here, but let’s reference Adam.  He had the choice of whether to indulge his sense of taste or not. Eve didn’t force him; he allowed the temptation to get the best of him.

Yet, later when God arrives on the scene and asks why they were hiding? What does Adam do?

Pouts that Eve gave him the apple. You know the “she made me eat it” pity party.  If I had been Eve, Adam wouldn’t gotten a good slap upside the head with that one.

Crying over spilled milk, not getting our way or what we want are the works of fools. The “ties that bind” the nagging souls are left waiting in the wings of hostile takeovers. In other words the suffering consequences aren’t worth how juvenile and ridiculous one looks while the cracked doors of evil slip through.417763_423584534391748_119101852_n

Whining and complaining separate us from God.

And from each other.

The answer: grow up and learn to be more like Jesus.

Philippians 2: 5 “You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had.”






Copyright @ 2013 All Rights Reserved