You can build or destroy with that wiggly thing that lives in your mouth.
I got a surprise the other morning as I opened the shutters on our ground-floor apartment in Saint Maur des Fossés, France—Saint Maur where it rains so much that my toes are starting to grow feathers, where it rains so much that my burps sound like, “croak, ribbit,” where it’s so gray outside that a start on a good tan is any color darker than milk—that Saint Maur in case you were wondering.
Anyway, where was I? You made me forget … oh, yes, I was opening the shutters at the same time the garbage men passed to collect the garbage. As I peered into the gray, one of them looked my direction and said, “Good day.” It surprised me so much that I almost forgot to answer.
We all tell ourselves stories each day. We act on those stories. Make sure they are faith-filled and uplifting.
Little Johnny (name changed to protect the guilty) was the terror of children’s church. Ricky, our children’s director struggled to control this unruly four-year old. He wasn’t mean, but he certainly disrupted the program.
One Sunday while the others were leaving, Ricky confronted the little fellow. “Johnny, why are you like this?”
“It’s a long story,” Johnny responded.
“I’ve got time.”
“Well, you see when I was little I was walking on the rails of a railroad track. I fell and knock a hunk of meat out of my leg and they replaced it with dog meat. It’s the dog meat that makes me act like that.”
“Okaaay.” Continue reading