Leave It There, The Cat Will Get It!

I dropped the tuna meant for Luna, you said.
Then you gasped as you remembered
What I already knew. I just grinned.
You turned to your right, reaching across the table
For the butter, next to the salt and pepper,
But you spilt the milk.
It ran off the table and onto the floor.
Again, you gasped, but this time you smiled.
As we got up from dinner, you spun around and
Headed for the kitchen, kicking the cat food dish
Across the room.
I know, you said, leave it there the cat will get it.

By Steven Barto ©2015

Click here to see what started it all.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbXZqKkSd-E

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welcome is better theology than exclusion…

I follow this blog regularly. Derek’s post today is worthy of reblogging. It’s really well written and speaks to the problem at hand with “seperateness” and a failure to blend together as Christians. I especially like the comment that we need a lighthouse mentality, not a fortress mentality. Great job Derek.

Tales from the Great Adventure

And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them. – Luke 6:19

IMG_1937-001 tuning in – somewhere in another state

Once in a rare while – usually when traveling – I’ll find myself with limited radio “tune-in” options, and I end up listening to a few minutes of some deeply offensive preacher.

That’s what happened last week, and I caught ten minutes of “Rev Blowhard” at The First Southern Church of Exclusive Self-Righteousness (I couldn’t quite catch the name). He was building his case that Christians – the “right” kind of Christians – must insulate themselves from contamination.

The illustration he used went something like this: “If you put on clean white gloves, and go into the yard to deal with some mess, what happens? Well the mess gets all over the gloves, and the gloves become darker and darker. I wondered to myself,”…

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Plague of Dead Sharks (by Alan Dugan)

Who knows whether the sea heals or corrodes?
The wading, wintered pack-beasts of the feet
slough off, in spring, the dead rind of the shoes’
leather detention, the big toes’ yellow horn
shines with a natural polish, and the whole
person seems to profit. The opposite appears
when dead sharks wash up along the beach
for no known reason. What is more built
for winning than the swept-back teeth,
water-finished fins, and pure bad eyes
these old, efficient forms of appetite
are dressed in? Yet it looks as if the sea
digested what it wished of them with viral ease
and threw up what was left to stink and dry.
If this shows how the sea approaches life
in its propensity to feed as animal entire,
then sharks are comforts, feet are terrified,
but they vacation in the mystery and why not?
Who knows whether the sea heals or corrodes?
What the sun burns up of it, the moon puts back.