"We have forgotten that the Gospel ethic demands feeding the poor: it is silent about the business of turning the poor into capitalists so that they can care for themselves and release us from the Gospel burden."
Read the whole awesome article here.
9.28.2009
9.23.2009
9.21.2009
Why I'm not big on bending over these days.
Out on the Callihans' property, whilst attempting to aerially transport myself from one haybale to another, I discovered the texture of the second haybale to be significantly less hospitable than I had initially perceived, and consequently fell about 8 feet to the ground and gave myself a good hard bump. From the feel of it, I bruised my ischium on the left side, but not my coccyx (thank goodness) and also gave my thoracic and lumbar vertebrae a good hard crunch. Thankfully, nothing broken, nothing sprained, just some serious soreness and stiffness, which the last remains of my H1N1 cough are doing their utmost to aggravate. The end.
9.04.2009
Giving
I am a difficult person to shop for; just ask my mother. Not to say that I can't be placated with chocolate and the like, but even when it comes to chocolate, I'm kind of picky. It's my own fault, but that doesn't make it any less depressing.
I'm a difficult person to cheer up; just ask my mother. Not to say I don't grin just imagining Mr Griffith doing the vocab dance, but even on good days, I tend to have an undercurrent that's dragging me down. It's my own fault.
When I was a kid, my parents had a remarkably effective policy regarding "treats" -- i.e. the chocolate bars in the grocery store. I only could only have one as a surprise; it had to be their idea, not mine. Oh, the many times I stood by the cash register, ogling the Kit Kats with bated breath, yearning for the parental go-ahead. Sometimes it came, usually it didn't. When it did come, the surprise was always sweeter than a mere granted request.
Where my parents see outward appearances, God looks at the heart. While my parents will always listen, before a word is on my tongue, He knows it completely. My parents' generosity never fails to leave me speechless, but God's generosity is on a grander scale. He brings me to my knees.
I'm a difficult person to cheer up; just ask my mother. Not to say I don't grin just imagining Mr Griffith doing the vocab dance, but even on good days, I tend to have an undercurrent that's dragging me down. It's my own fault.
When I was a kid, my parents had a remarkably effective policy regarding "treats" -- i.e. the chocolate bars in the grocery store. I only could only have one as a surprise; it had to be their idea, not mine. Oh, the many times I stood by the cash register, ogling the Kit Kats with bated breath, yearning for the parental go-ahead. Sometimes it came, usually it didn't. When it did come, the surprise was always sweeter than a mere granted request.
Where my parents see outward appearances, God looks at the heart. While my parents will always listen, before a word is on my tongue, He knows it completely. My parents' generosity never fails to leave me speechless, but God's generosity is on a grander scale. He brings me to my knees.
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