A madman kills in cold blood. We call him troubled and air his grievances, taking more time to explain his pain than to mourn those whose lives he robbed. I pity his family. I can even pity him as his eternal future doesn’t look good. Where is the equal time for those who died?
An alleged preacher, famous for his racial slurs and bigotry against whites and Jews has accused a man whose career is based on shock language of insults and has intimidated his employer to fire him. The pot is calling the kettle black.
Our nation’s senate majority leader is rightfully under fire for declaring the war that his party doesn’t acknowledge to be a war, a loss. What if we whip this evil or at least keep it at bay for another couple of generations or centuries? His party is toast, that’s what. The rise and strength of an enemy from the middle east is one of the pieces of the fulfillment of Bible prophecy, so Armegeddon must come to pass eventually for Jesus to return. My daughter has begun a new life with hopes and dreams; my grandchildren are little, my son and his wife are vital and excited to be a growing family. As much as I want Jesus to launch His thousand years of peace, I want to perpetuate life as it is. I’m not in charge.
Now that the controversial conclusion of global warming at the hand of man has been declared fact by consensus, not by any scientifically proven method, a music star, credentialed I assume, has declared that to save the earth, we must limit our toilet paper usage to one square per visit to the pond. Fine. Let her. I just resent it being shoved down my toilet. And she came to that conclusion how? Are cloth diapers and the consequential chapped hands next? Do I want to touch what she touches?
All five of the projects I had on my ToDo list for Saturday and all seven that Honey cataloged on his were overridden by ants in the shed. Have they limited themselves to our shed? I doubt it. We tossed paint cans, threw away perfectly good junk, and put up shelves for things for which I can’t identify a use. It is possible, for the first time in more years than I care to admit, walk a straight line from the front to the back without tripping on a garden tool, a box, or a chop saw. We can now smell ant killer from the deck. And it is good.
The old Etch-A-Sketch, formerly known as a computer, is now in the hands of an IT pr0fessional / friend who suffers from the delusion that he can resurrect it. I believe the words he used was “Frankenstein it.” Have fun, Mike. And he will. And he may get the job done.
It ‘s Monday. My head is jumbled, my heart is numb, I am overwhelmed. I need to rest in the arms of the Savior.