Yeah.
This is Steve.
. . . and everybody's reaction to him.
. . . . All but me (who just happens to be a very patient person). I said Yes!! We are getting married and are so thankful for the gracious love of our precious Redeemer and Lord in all that He has done for us!
(Comic provided by the very illustrious Benjamin S.)
I am done. I am done. I am done school. So hard to believe!
Why is it that I feel more incompetent then when I started and so much more aware that there is nothing that I can do to benefit the human race or the God who created and sustains me? Hmm . . . methinks that is just where said God wants me. :)
So, you can officially come to me with your problems now. ;P I don't feel like I can help you, but I know God can!
In the course of the next couple days, I will be packing all my earthly goods, saying goodbye to my friends, and saying hello to boyfriend, family, and Prince Edward Island!!!!!!! So incredibly excited. Why is it that God gives us this much joy while still on this earth?
A poem my family likes . . . probably because of the strongly - stated, opinionated opinions. (That was a warning.) :)
"The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, never, NEVER let
Them near your television set -
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
Tn almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink -
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSES IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK - HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY . . . USED . . . TO . . . READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ AND READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Wuch wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be!
Good gracious, it's Penelope."
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and -
Just How The Camel God His Hump,
And How The Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole -
Oh, books, what books they used to konw,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
The fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks -
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something good to read.
And once they start - oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did."
- Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
My family leaves for P.E.I. this morning! Pray that they would have safe & God-glorifying travels, that they would be a blessing to the church that they serve over the summer, that they would be a blessing to them, and that they would actually rest and be refreshed for further ministry.
I'm walking up the street with you, and you're talking, you're talking . . . an endless stream of words that pour out of your mouth in an almost visible stream. You are talking so much that the poor words that I throw out try desperately to elbow their way upstream and are pushed to the side to wander aimlessly in the little eddies of foam like so much garbage. Your bandana is garishly patriotic, the stars and stripes mocking me from the crown of your head where it is tied tightly over your dirty hair. You are 52 - fifty two years of age, and you are walking the streets begging for money from every poor soul you encounter. You are 52 and pregnant. But all I want to do is to hold you, to show you the greater arms that are being held out to you. All I want to do is slow those gushing words into a trickle so that you will learn to know in the deepest part of you what it is to "Be still, and know that I am God," so that the Living Water will wash over you. All I want to do is to brake your hasty steps, to let the hound of heaven capture your soul. And I want you to love your baby. I want to show you the preciousness of the life inside of you, the developing fingers and toes, the sweet dependency of a tiny soul. I want to lift your eyes past the cracks of the sidewalk, past the crumbling buildings, past the clouds in the sky, the stars, or even the sky itself.
But I can't. All I can do is throw precious pearls to swirl in eddies, buy you a drink, and hand over the money to support your pregnancy cravings and your tiny developing baby, hoping no police will come by and arrest you for harrassing me. It's all I can do.
Because you're talking.
