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The Mind is a Powerful Thing

Posted by Chere Poole on September 27, 2009 at 6:23am

Right action starts with right thinking. In other words, the ancestor of every action is a thought. Ever heard someone say "I just did it without thinking"? Not true. I'm not talking about instinct, or a reflex action. "I did it without thinking" is usually in the context of an excuse for a wrong action or behavior, but that doesn't really wash when you think about it.We choose our thoughts. We choose to chew on, mull over, turn every which way in our minds, and ultimately accept or reject each and every thought. No one "makes" us think anything. We control our minds, or choose not to, but either way we think what we want to think. We should all take mental stock every now and then and think about what we are thinking about. Are our thoughts breathing life into our life or not? Are they causing good, peaceful, relaxing reactions in our body or do our thoughts cause us to become tense physically, emotionally, mentally? Are we "bracing for impact", "going with the flow" or directing our thinking toward a specific goal or set of goals?The mind is a powerful thing. It can be your best weapon against an enemy, your best defense against attack, your best friend and most powerful asset in reaching whatever goals you choose to set for yourself. In Luke 1:37 it says "For nothing is impossible with God". Nothing is a pretty powerful word. Imagine what you can accomplish if you choose to believe that promise! Does it say nothing is impossible FOR God? No...read it again...it says WITH God! This means you, yes little old imperfect human you, can do amazing, powerful, wonderful things if you choose to believe those six little words and become God's coworker. There's not a more powerful team in the universe than you and God. "Nothing" means nothing.God chose His words wisely (not hard to do when you're all-knowing) and placed them in His Word as He intended. He meant what He said, and said what He meant. Our daily choice? To believe or not believe. That is the question. That is your option, because you have free will and YOU choose what thoughts you accept and reject. Is the thought that you can do anything with God's help one you will choose to keep or throw away? Will you blame your lack of success in an area (any area of life, it doesn't matter which one) on others, on your circumstances, on "forces beyond your control" or will you take responsibility for your own thoughts and therefore your actions taken as a result of those thoughts?The mind is a powerful thing. Use it to your advantage. Choose your thoughts wisely. Reject any that do not breathe life to you. Dare to dream, dare to see yourself bigger than you are! The smallest pebble dropped into a pool of water causes a ripple effect hundreds of times larger than itself. Your life makes a difference! Your thoughts and resultant actions have an effect on others. Your thoughts determine your life. Choose the good ones today, my friend. You are in control.God bless you~cpwritergirl

Two different perspectives/interpretations...!

Posted by Sarah Wilkinson on September 26, 2009 at 1:30am

Are We All Racist Now?

Posted by Billy Britt on September 19, 2009 at 4:26am

John Stuart Mill, in 1859, wrote, “We can never be sure that the opinion we are endeavoring to stifle is a false opinion; and if we were sure, stifling it would be an evil still.”President Barack Obama said in a recent television interview, “The truth of the matter is that there has been, I think, a coarsening of our political dialogue.”I would challenge the President’s assertion that political dialogue is coarsening and suggest that those who disagree with what is being said almost always deem political dialogue course.If by that he means that the voices of disagreement are rough or primitive, unrefined or unpolished, then I would say, well, that is the American way.The spirit of descent has always been a part of the American character, and those who wish to stifle contrary ideas are those who would choose conformity over freedom. In a county where each citizen has the right to make a fool of him or herself, censorship of speech is an anathema.Yet, our politicians, and even the public at large, are herded into the slaughterhouse of social, political and spiritual correctness.The President further stated, “I will also say that in the era of 24-hour cable news cycles, that the loudest, shrillest voices get the most attention. And so one of the things that I’m trying to figure out is: How can we make sure that civility is interesting?”Civility might be made interesting by the Harvard debate club, but then again the United States Declaration of Independence may have seemed civil unless you were the King of England.Reflecting on the monarchy, Joe Wilson, the South Carolina congressman who said, “You lie,” during the President’s recent address to Congress forgot that a subject is never to speak ill directly to the sovereign.To the detriment of the nation, Americans have, from the beginning, shown an empirical awe toward the Presidency, a reverence which has given far too much power to an office that is suppose be just one of three co-equal branches of government.Naturally, Maureen Dowd of the New York Times has weighed in on Mr. Wilson’s comments and has concluded that Wilson is not just a braying fool but a racist, as well.She writes, “Surrounded by middle-aged white guys—a sepia snapshot of the days when such pols ran Washington like their own men’s club—Joe Wilson yelled ‘You lie!’ at a president who didn’t. But, fair or not, what I heard was an unspoken word in the air: You lie, boy!”While it is not given protocol to speak out during a presidential address in the House of Representatives, Mr. Wilson’s two words were far from a racist outburst.This charge of racism is serious stuff and one of the things I have feared. The pattern continues to emerge that any criticism of Mr. Obama—real or imagined—is shouted down by the word racism. This is a divisive tool that threatens the very fabric of our society. Criticism and differing opinions do not threaten a free state, rather it is those that repress the coarse voice that embrace despotic rule.Of course populist tyranny in the form of political correctness binds the tongues and endangers liberty for everyone. America’s growing victim culture has given rise to a climate where any disagreement is met with calls for words and thoughts to be censored for the good of those who may be offended.Let me say, that I am offended at your offense in so much that I offend myself by not offending.When Serena Williams repeatedly cursed a line judge at last week’s U.S. Open I did not see racism. No, it was just a tantrum by a narcissistic athlete who was losing a tennis match. The judge may have made a bad call but William’s berating the official with multiple profanities, threats and finger pointing was over the top even by John McEnroe standards.Unsportsmanlike, yes, racist no.When hip-hop singer Kanye West took the microphone away from country singer Taylor Swift and reduced her to tears at the VMA show saying that Beyoncé should have won the award just presented to Miss Swift, I did not see a racist, no, just another famous clown.And I suspect Wilson is at best an inarticulate etiquette apostate with a propensity to put his foot in his mouth, even when right, but not a racist.While I question their actions, I defend their right to make idiots of themselves.The scriptures teaches us that, “A fool utters all his mind: but a wise man keeps it in till afterwards.”So let the fool and the wise-one use the weapon of words to win the war of ideas.Of course, Kierkegaard said, “People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.”Kind of makes you wonder, eh?

Just Do It!!

Posted by Chere Poole on September 18, 2009 at 4:11pm

I stopped singing when I married a professional singer. I suppose unconsciously I felt he was so much better at it that I just needed to shut up and let him shine. But I LOVED singing, and had been doing it since childhood. In school productions, church choirs, even a company choir at a large firm where I worked for 5 years. One of my favorite memories is singing Handel's Messiah at Macy's in San Francisco at Christmastime one year. The crisp air, the scent of pine and cinnamon and all things Christmas floating in the air, the multicolored lights, the huge tree, our blended voices soaring to the sky, the shoppers who stopped and listened, smiling, singing along. I absolutely loved it. It fed my soul.I've sung before small groups and thousands of people...as part of a group. Never alone. I take that back, I did sing one song for a group of male prisoners, accompanied only by a guitar. But they were a captive audience - literally - they couldn't walk out if they wanted to.Over the years, my personal adversary kept whispering in my ear that I wasn't good enough and should "leave it to the professionals". I suppose I thought because I wasn't a trained, "polished" singer, I couldn't perform as well as others. Bottom line = I allowed myself to be robbed of something I loved doing, and could put my heart into, whether I hit every note right or not! It should never have been about the perfection of the performance.I was given the opportunity to sing recently and I panicked. The person offering me the opportunity had no idea all the stuff in my head involving singing in front of people. He didn't know my singing history or that I had stopped singing. I tried to graciously say "no thank you" but he left the door open for me to accept his offer anyway. I couldn't sleep that night, as visions of standing before the people gathered for this event appeared before my eyes. There they sat, awaiting my performance, as I opened my mouth and nothing came out.I agonized over whether or not I should sing. What if I choked? What if I forgot the words? What if I opened my mouth and a squeaky little mouse voice came out? They were probably expecting some amazing, inspiring sound to come out of me, and it wasn't there. I'm just an "average" singer, nothing special. Martina McBride, I ain't!But the more I thought about the reasons I couldn't, or shouldn't, attempt to sing for these wonderful people... the more God worked on my heart. "What are you afraid of?" He asked me. "Of failing," I replied. "But I made you, child, and I don't make failures," He said softly. "Don't you trust me to be there with you, to help you?" He inquired. "Don't you know I've promised never to leave you nor forsake you? Don't you know there's nothing I won't do for you? You can do this, if you do it with the right heart. Just open your mouth and sing. Do it because you love me, you love them, and you want to give. They don't expect perfection, but you are perfect in my sight, and I love you."So, I took the opportunity to sing "America, the beautiful" at a morning flag raising ceremony, even though I still had fear. I took a deep breath, thought about the wonderful country we live in that I was about to sing of, and gave it all I had...no backup, no instrumentation, no musical track playing in the background. I wasn't as talented or polished as the girl who sang the day before, but it was a life changing moment for me. I didn't choke, I didn't forget the words, and people smiled and sang along. Not a big deal to anyone else, but God and I knew what was accomplished that day.My exhortation to you today is this; when God presents you with an opportunity to manifest His love toward others by giving, no matter the venue, no matter how much better at it you think someone else may be, no matter your feelings of fear or inadequacy, take that opportunity. Do it afraid if you have to, but do it. Give. Don't listen to the "you're just not good enough" lies whispered in the dark. Turn away. Listen to the truth that you are perfect in God's sight, and you have something to offer. You may not be given another chance, and you may bless others more than you know.

20 Years Later - Hugo Remembered

Posted by David Low on September 17, 2009 at 11:20am

HUGO: THE WINDS OF CHANGEHugo changed my life. "Hugo", the name itself unpretentious, unassuming, and innocuous, has been etched indelibly upon my brain. There have been other hurricanes - David, Frederick, Gilbert, and even Carol - plus many more I have long since forgotten. However, I will never forget Hugo, for I met him personally.On Sunday, September 17, 1989, the National Weather Service declared Hugo a Category V hurricane. Hurricanes are defined as tropical storms rotating around a central "eye" with sustained winds of over 85 miles per hour. They are divided into five categories, or classes, depending upon their wind speed and their expected destructive capabilities. Category I hurricanes are the mildest and can do damage to small trees and light structures. Storms classified as Category V have sustained winds of over 150 miles per hour and can cause almost total devastation to any structure or obstacle in its path. Hugo was heading directly towards my home on St. Croix, Virgin Islands, with winds of over 230 miles per hour. The expected time of arrival for the leading edge of the storm was around 8:00 p.m.My wife, Sharon, and I were ready for the storm. We had been through many hurricane warnings and one more was, simply, one more. We knew what preparations were expected of us. By 12:00 noon we had packed our requisite food and extra clothing into a waterproof bag, had closed the hurricane shutters on our house, had turned off the gas line to the house, and had performed countless other "trivial" necessities. Sharon and I also had an escape plan mapped out for our two children and ourselves just in case something happened to our home. If needed, we would run about one hundred yards across the street and take refuge in our neighbor's underground apartment. We were ready. After all, we had prepared many times before, then, just as expertly, "unprepared" the following day after the warning had been canceled.Around 6:00 p.m., Sharon and I stood outside and marveled at the beautiful sunset over the ocean. The fading rays of the sun illuminated and highlighted the storm clouds approaching from the east. The plethora of hues, their myriad of nuances vibrant and dynamic, filled the horizon with majestic beauty and splendor.The air was alive, its breath strong and sweet. The wind, refreshing and cool, caressed the island with cathartic thoroughness. The cool summer breeze blowing in my face was invigorating, cleansing, and exciting - like racing along a coastal highway in a sporty convertible.We put the children to sleep on the living room couch at 8:00 p.m. and settled in beside them for a long and exciting night. Sharon and I both stayed awake, awed by the immensity of Mother Nature's power and majesty.The first tree fell with a loud cracking noise followed by a final "thud" as it hit the ground. We grabbed the flashlight and ran outside to see exactly what had happened. The fallen tree was a mahogany, at least two feet in diameter and about thirty feet tall. Sharon and I looked at each other with mutual concern. We both begrudgingly began to realize and to respect the awesome forces that were encompassing and besieging our island home. With that respect came a dawning realization that everything we truly cherished on the earth was at stake that night in our battle with Hugo. We were in a fight for our lives and the lives of our children. It was 10:30 p.m.After the tree had fallen, the wind began to howl. Not metaphorically, but rather, it literally began to scream. I remember, and will never forget, the noise. The noise, with its ubiquitous roar, began as a subdued murmur and crescendoed steadily and continuously until it sounded like a fleet of 747 jets in our back yard. The noise - permeating, suffocating, entombing, and eternal - could not be squelched or muted. The noise, ferocious in its shrieks and its cries of impending doom and destruction, was deafening. The noise refused to be denied. The noise was Hugo's herald, announcing his presence and demanding subjection.Every five to ten minutes (each minute of that tortuous night seeming to take hours), I walked around inside the house with a flashlight inspecting the panels on the ceiling, looking for cracks or leaks. The house was creaking and moaning from the relentless assault upon every inch of its structure. The wind, persistent in its attack and undaunted in its strength, battered continuously, seeking an advantage wherever possible. One of the embattled shutters broke on its hinges and banged unmercifully upon the outside wall. Its erratic staccato pounding added its voice to the devilish symphony being orchestrated and conducted by "Maestro Hugo".Suddenly it happened - tranquility. The time was about 12:30 in the morning. Stillness. Glorious quiet. Pervasive, unnerving, unsettling, ominous silence. I had heard about the eye of a hurricane, and even read essays and stories romanticizing and extolling the virtues of living in the "eye of the storm". I succumbed to Hugo's subtle respite and told my wife she could go to sleep now. The worst was over, the kids were safe, the house was intact, and all was well. Little did I know that Hugo had not yet finished the game!Without warning and without fanfare, the roar and the winds commenced anew. Hugo returned, not gradually nor gracefully, but with venomous viciousness and ferocity. The eye had passed and his vortex of destruction was vying for victory in the endgame to come. The winds blew, not from the northeast as before, but, from the southwest. It slammed into our already weakened house with renewed vigor and savagery. The time was exactly 12:56 a.m. when the living room roof blew off (I know because the quartz clock that had been on our wall stopped, a victim and a reminder of Hugo's fury). Only minutes before, all was quiet. The next, we were being battered and soaked by the elements and the raw power of nature - exposed from above to the winds and the rains.Sharon and I grabbed our kids, who had been asleep until this time (amazing!). We ran into the back bedroom on the other side of the house. That part of the roof was still intact, but we were not going to take any more chances – it was already starting to weaken. We wrapped the children in blankets and decided to implement our plan by running across the street. We staggered to the front door at the same time the bedroom roof vanished into oblivion. We forced open the door fully intent upon running for our lives; however, Hugo had other plans.We were slammed against the doorjambs and stunned by the violence. It all happened so fast. Winds of 230 miles per hour are unfathomably intense. Imagine a car traveling over 100 miles per hour with the windows down. Then, imagine the force of the wind against a hand thrust out of the window. Hugo was moving 230 miles per hour and had already claimed the protection of our house as a victim of his fury."We can't make it across," I yelled, my voice barely audible in my own ears."The baby, the baby - grab the baby!" I heard Sharon shouting from another dimension.I looked up and to my horror, Jason, our three-month-old baby, was flying. Had it not been such an intense moment, I probably would have started laughing. He looked like Superman, his arms and legs straight out and his body suspended in air. Miraculously, Sharon was clutching his shirt and pants. I was holding Christopher, three years old, and somehow helped Sharon to grab and to secure Jason in her arms."We'll never make it across the street,” I yelled again. " Let's get into the car.”Our car, a 1984 Nissan Sentra, was parked ten feet away at the bottom of the steps, a monumental distance, but just as compelling as the Holy Grail. We had to go; we had no other choice. Despite the confusion, we remembered that the car doors were locked. We frantically began to look for the keys."Keys, give me keys!""Don't have them!""Where?”"Bag, find them!"Speech was almost useless. Hugo, vying for supremacy of all of our senses, did not want to relinquish control. We found Sharon's bag amid the mounting chaos and desperately located her keys by dumping the entire contents of the bag onto the flooded floor.I ran down the steps with Christopher and had to remove a large piece of aluminum siding that had blown against the car doors. Then I unlocked the front door and threw Christopher onto the seat, telling him I would be right back. I ran back up the stairs, took Jason, and led Sharon down and into the car. It was 1:30 a.m.For the next five hours, time became an idiomatic cliché. "It seemed to stand still like molasses in January and moved at a snail's pace."The roaring and screaming of the tempest was unremitting, sounding like a band of banshees bewailing warnings of horrors yet to come. The car was pummeled and battered by the indiscriminate and insatiable sirocco seeking unequivocal havoc and mayhem.Sharon, Christopher, Jason, and I sat together in our little Nissan Sentra, huddled together in unity. We prayed together. We sang together. We talked together. We hugged together. We believed together. For five arduously long hours, we were together, together, against the holocaust of nature and its purging pursuit of anything and anyone who dared to challenge. Outside our little sanctuary, Hugo ravaged and plundered St. Croix.At 6:30 a.m., Monday, September 18, 1989, the sun began to rise, announcing the start of a new beginning. The winds, having unleashed their anger for almost twelve hours, began to subside. Hugo had visited and I will never forget him. I had my life, and I had my wife, and I had Christopher, and I had Jason. We were alive. We had won!

I'm in print!

Posted by Chere Poole on September 16, 2009 at 4:12am

God bless everyone. I just wanted to share the first step on the road to a personal victory. For a very long time I've wanted to be a writer but never diligently pursued my dream, content just to dabble in the occasional poem, resume, or children's story.With the help and encouragement of several believers and my wonderful mom (thank God for mothers!) I am now rejoicing in the victory of having an article I wrote actually appear in print, in a local arts and entertainment magazine here in Little Rock, AR.It may not be "the big time" but it's a "bigtime" blessing for me. The ultimate goal is always to glorify God and move His Word with the talents and abilities He's given me, and I'm not sure exactly how that will be accomplished but with His help, it will.Thank you to any and all who were believing with me to see this day come to pass, and especially to LewEllyn Hallet for her professional wisdom and wonderful, encouraging emails. I love you!Rejoicing in Him,Chere Poole (WRITER!)Sync article 9.16.09.pdf

9/11, Eight Years On

Posted by Billy Britt on September 11, 2009 at 3:00am

I have seen terror rain down out of a clear September sky. Susan and I live in New York City on 9/11/2001. We heard the roar of the first airplane as it pierced the morning air on it way to destruction. We saw the smoke and fire ascend over lower Manhattan as the second plane did its worst. We watch with crowds of strangers as the towers fell interrupting thought and reason. Then in turn we comforted all we could touch as we realized that violent loss had visited our city on a grand scale.Eight years on, there is still a hole in the ground in Lower Manhattan. Eight years on, there is still a hole in my heart. But concrete and steel will one day again rise over the city, what is rising in my heart? What do we build upon our losses? Are not gain and loss opposite sides of the same coin, is not joy and sorrow minted in the same furnace?For most of my life New York City was the center of the universe, a place of imaginings, a city where dreams came alive. The song New York, New York, says, “If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.” Like so many songs, the words are nice but what they express is totally wrong. The fact is anyone with and ounce of talent and a pound of determination can make it in New York, New York. That beautiful, opulent, depraved and feral city is not for the weak or cowardly because it is at its core a magnificent capitalist bazaar where measure for measure a person’s worth is weighed in dollars and cents. “Can’t deal with it? Keep moving, buddy you’re blocking the sidewalk.”Yet on that September morning for most New Yorkers the only thing that mattered was the ones you loved and the ones that were being lost.As the morning stretched on, a mass of people filled the streets of Manhattan, many had nowhere to go or no way to get there. Most of the people that we worked with came to our apartment on 36 Street and 3rd Avenue. As we gathered I began to cook breakfast, and make a few Bloody Marys for those that needed a stiffener. As I passed around bacon and eggs, one of our colleagues—a stoic woman of great intellect and little wit—said, “This changes everything.” At the time I thought, how silly, how short-sighted is her view of history. Nothing (short of the hand of God) changes everything. And I was right, September 11th 2001 did not change everything in the world but it did change a great many things for many people, and I am one of those many.Over the next few month and the next seven years I would lose almost everything I had hoped for or held dear. Yet, I have suffered nothing that is not common to our kind. And so it is that birth and death and loss and renewal are all a part of this caravan we call life.Eight years on, the hole in my heart continues to be filled with the love for my wife, kindness toward my neighbors, the work I am able to perform and the purpose I know is before me.Yes, I have seen death and destruction rain out of a blue September morning and I have witnessed grace and mercy reign in hearts.Is life free from the pain, oh no, life is never so. But the joy that is now is part of the pain that was then and the pain of tomorrow will be a part of the joy of today.Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. Philippians 4:8

GLOORY!!

Posted by John Richeson on September 6, 2009 at 10:35am

5 - us

interview with the single cell

Posted by Michael Prahm on September 5, 2009 at 1:33am

Interview with the single cellGranted so he could tell all who wanted to hearHow that which is came to beSo the interviewer asks,“Tell Oh great cell, how did you come to be?Was it lightening and earthquakes or meteor from the far, far reaches.”“It’s much simpler” says the cellAs he choked on his words, and spoke of his family tree.I was spun across the universe from that bang so big,Ricocheted off a galaxy, bumping my head.Pulled into a black hole, I thought it was the end….But anti-matter threw me outAnd skipping into stars, across solar systems so vast,Until Earth is where I came to rest.“Was it a spark that brought you to life?”The single cell smiled and replied--“There was a twist in the time continuum,When at 10 times the speed of light,A meteor, with lightening bolts, and volcanoes spurning,Careened into that spot where I was yearning.Cooling and quaking over eons and erupting,Until with all my glory, I came forth.I sat and watched and pondered and considered,Then split.She was a beautiful babe, single cell like me.Ya, we talked about children, as we basked in primordial daze.Our children will have flipper, paws, wings, branches, limbs, and flowers so sweet.We wanted more for our children, the best of things.It started out simple, a couple more cells,An ameba and mosses sprawling out,Some of the children went into plant management,Some combined their assets and moved on.The spineless growing spines, the bacteria hung on,Grass into trees, plankton into flowers and on and onCousins grew trunks, flippers tails, scales, and skinSome withdrew themselves into shells and cocoons, but eventually they came outSome decided to flock together,Multitude of colors, feathers, beaks and wingsSome swimmers, some divers,And others grew long legs, so their asses wouldn’t get wet.Some migrated to follow the season,some stayed where they found the weather pleasing,but to this day nobody knows, why, the chicken crossed the road.Yes the array of life and all the splendor you see,all came from this single cell, me.The interviewer then asked,“what of these who speak of a Godand him being the creator of all living beings?”“All just mere coincidence,” was the cells reply to him.You would have to believe in something greater than you see.”“But isn’t that what you expect in this story you told to me.”Says the interviewer, questioningly.The cell replied, and said.“I am a single cell, the simplest of beings, no capacity to reason,No reason to think, I am because life was infused in me,But to think that all descended from sets me as a god of all things living.To those who look by logic into the natural laws through reasonWill find in the end, it’s idolatry!”Evolved from the simplest to the most complex,That in itself is a capacity beyond quest.When even something as simple as water H2O,There is no computer than man has ever ownedTo engineer this basic product, and define its means.Its is intertwined in all life’s formsIndependent in all places lived.The drink that cools, yet a cleaner for the skin, basis for our functionsThe sweat, the tears, the saliva, the pee, the blood, and organs of all living thingsThe rain, the drizzle, fog, sleet, and snow, innumerous clouds, dew in the morningYet a wellspring from below. Rivers and stream, bogs and swamps lakes and ocean’sAnd on top and below ice caps beyond vastness known.One type of water sustains one form and kills anotherNo says the cell, “I have no reason, but if I did, my reason would be this;If I did not design the simple I cannot design the rest.They say that I started this show,Then beyond the far reaching logic, they say it ceased,and I started it again?”The interviewer ask, “Then you believe in God?”“No,” says the cell,“God believed in me, whether I recognize that, or not,It does not change how I came to be.I have life because God spoke it into being..If life had, if life had, accidentally happened,It is far more preposterous to think,That I could stack cells in such a way,That would make an eye blink, or knee to bend,Or one feather blue and another pink.That me, common pond scum,Made the beautiful gazelle’s to run,And then just for ironies sake, made the lion to give him chaseThe interviewer cut in and said,“It’s the fossil record of your descendants,That proves the Bible is not true.”“No!” said the cell, “I’ll tell you what it proves,Evolution is just a bad theory is what that provesThe interviewer said in shock, “How?”Newton’s contributions are stated as thus.His theories became laws because they worked absolute, every time.Evolution belongs on the trash heap of time.They say this started not once, but twice,The first time 100 ton dinosaurs I built up to,The second time, completely not the same.God is not responsible for the errors that man believesBoth his Old testament and new talks of the world that wasBut in Genesis 1:2 its covered by bad translationSo the truth of His fossil record doesn’t come through.A man on table in a operating room,The doctor pins his leg, sews up his wound,Transplant the heart, and countless other wonderful things.But no one, not one, has ever discovered the sourceOf the life giving soul,In the end from the dust he must return.No one can alter or change this course,I have sat and talked of great lengthOf what man has made the single cell to beThis glory cannot bestowed upon meIt belongs to the one who created, made, and formedAll that you see.By the one who said let there be lightBefore the moon, stars and sun were.No, I recommend you give glory to the one glory’s due.The interviewer then said, “What shall I do?”The single cell smiled and said,“Glorify God, not me you fool.”

The Abortion Soliloquy

Posted by Michael Prahm on September 5, 2009 at 1:29am

The Abortion SoliloquyTo abort or not to abort--Is that not the question?Whether it is more nobler to bear childrenWho will leave the doors open, causing global warming,Or quiet the unborn before there cries can be heard.To abort or not to abort--The church and the state are tangled in this umbilical cord of debate.If the church were to have its way,Its statement is, “thou shalt not kill!Ignoring the states decree thru-out history,A person is alive when he breathes, and not at the time they are conceived.To abort or not to abort--The state has its demand that it is a woman’s right to choose,And in this no man may impede,But let the woman bear a child, and every court will make the father pay.To abort or not to abort--The state wants to abort the church, the church the state.You can no more separate church and state, than body from soul.Both unchecked leave us to the worst kind of imprisonmentLife with out joy, love with out hope, living with out willTo abort or not to abort--The argument grows terse, if you disagree with me,I’ll smite you with a curse.Judges over turn against people’s will,church’s march and intimidate stillTalk shows, talking heads, letter writers, and the rest,so wide is the chasm, why today this is the test;Whether or not you fit on that court so supreme,will you abort or not abort, is the nominators scheme.To quiet his side, in this one point he resides,the person must at all cost, be the willing ally,whether nation suffers, or constitution loosed,but pre-judging the judge is prejudice my friend.Both sides are guilty, both sides offendTo abort or not to be abort--Is this really the question,or is it the means to each sides deeper endsIt defines liberal and conservative, democrat and republican, the left and the rightEvery follower on each side has been made to walk this plankThis question has not moved forward during my life,wedged by the same spiteful mire,Both sides on high ground stuck in their prideI already know what the many chosen few will write,its murder choose lifeTo them I will say,you have ignored what Exodus 21:22 has to say,And to those who demand it’s the woman’s right to choose,Wasn’t the decision made by the ones who contributed the sperm and the egg?

Dr. Steven Broden

Posted by dick michaud on September 2, 2009 at 1:49pm

We need more pastors like this guy.

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