I had a friend in college who hardly ever washed his socks.
Overall he was a clean fellow but he wore his socks so long that he could stand them in the corner when he took them off instead of laying them on the floor (slight exaggeration).
Now, before you criticize, remember that we were young men between women. We had left our mothers behind and we hadn’t yet found our wives.
So obviously, there was no one to wash our clothes. Obviously.
(I see you, young ladies, there in front of your computer screen. Angry smoke is puffing out of your ears. “Why should they expect their mothers or wives to wash their clothes? They should do it themselves!” I love it!)
Anyway, chauvinism aside, you could get away with stinky socks as long as you kept your shoes on. In the dorm room at night, though, no luck for your roommate. Since a lot of us were in the same fix, the smell of one pair of feet might have canceled out the smell of the other pair of feet.
Of course, if the smells got together the results were devastating. Continue reading
Sometimes we forget to say “thanks” so today I want to thank a fellow who may have saved my life in a high school football game nearly 50 years ag
We were playing one of the top teams in the state and they were killing us. Actually “killing” is too mild to describe the massacre. For some reason I was playing linebacker. The Rattlers (the other team) had ripped a hole in our defensive line and suddenly I found myself with nothing but air and five yards of grass between my skinny 15-year old body and their all-state running back.
He was big, fast and ugly (maybe not ugly but that sounds good with the other two). I felt like a daisy in front of a charging bull as he powered towards me, bent nearly parallel to the ground. My life flashed before my eyes. My best hope was that some people would at least cry at my funeral.
Suddenly from nowhere, one of our defensive backs, senior Mac Hubbard, slashed in from the side and smacked him down. I may have pranced around afterwards like I had done something or maybe I even piled on a bit. I don’t remember. But, I knew the truth: I was a goner if Mac hadn’t saved me.
So, I’m 49 years late with this but, “Thanks Mac. I really appreciate it man.”
Photos courtesy of and copyright Free Range Stock, www.freerangestock.com Ernie Aranyosi Continue reading
Recently, I asked you to tell me what kind of questions you would like to ask of God. Some of your subjects made my eyes cross as they are the questions I ask myself.
One sore point that came up quite often was God’s healing power. I’ll be frank with you. This week I had a hard time finding anything funny to say because I know that so many are hurting while they long for healing (and also because it’s Monday and I squeezed the last drop of “funny” out of myself yesterday).
One reader, Bruce, shared his heart. “The number one topic I would like to discuss with God would be physical healing. Why aren’t more people healed? How many people do we need to “enlist” to pray for a sick loved one, or is the sincere prayer of one parent for their sick child enough? Are we convincing God to heal one of His children when we pray?” Continue reading
As I left my apartment to walk into the center of our city, five minutes a way, I saw emergency vehicle lights on the bridge over the train tracks.
Traffic was stacked up. “I wonder what that is.” Bus number 317 was stopped on the bridge and the police were trying to untangle the jam of cars by directing them another way. In front of the bus a man lay prostrate on the street. I suppose he was alive but he wasn’t wiggling a lot. Continue reading
A friend related his story to me recently. He and his family had gone through a series of fierce trials—psychologically, physically and spiritually.
One of the toughest things for him to comprehend during this time was the reaction of his Christian colleagues.
They couldn’t seem to understand. Their reaction was basically, “Pray more. Read the Bible more. Suck it up. Put on your big-boy pants and get on with life.” Instead of encouraging him, they just added another brick to his load.
How do we respond to hurting people?
That depends, because I think we’re talking about at least two categories of hurt. One is those who are staggering under a trial that’s threatens to crush them. A second category consists of people who are perpetually suffering—and they like it. Miserable is agreeable to them. Continue reading