The next time you feel like God can’t use you, just remember…..
NOAH was a drunk.
ABRAHAM was too old.
ISAAC was a daydreamer.
JACOB was a liar.
LEAH was ugly.
JOSEPH was abused.
MOSES had a stuttering problem.
GIDEON was afraid.
SAMSON had long hair, and was a womanizer!
RAHAB was a prostitute!
JEREMIAH and TIMOTHY were too young.
DAVID had an affair and was a murderer.
ELIJAH was suicidal.
ISAIAH preached naked.
JONAH ran from God.
NAOMI was a widow.
JOB went bankrupt.
JOHN the Baptist ate bugs.
PETER denied Christ.
The DISCIPLES feel asleep while praying.
MARTHA worried about everything.
The SAMARITAN WOMAN was divorced more than once.
ZACCHEUS was too small.
PAUL was too religious.
TIMOTHY had an ulcer….and
LAZARUS WAS DEAD!
….no more excuses now.
God’s waiting to use your full potential.
Author Unknown
Friday, July 21, 2006
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
HummingBirds
Hummingbirds are the newest members of the animal kingdom to be totally spoiled around the house.
Metro, Molly, the Chickens - even the Kois in the small pond by the front deck - are all rotten.
Sunrise is my most favorite time of the day. My routine during the week is to rise as the alarm sounds at 5:45. And with it so ingrained into me (and Metro), it is almost impossible to for me to sleep in on the weekends. So with it still dark outside, I open the front door and let Metro go outside. Business taken care of, the task of coffee is addressed – “extra chewy please”!!!
Back outside the first rays of dawn cause the gray to turn a rosy pink. The first of the thumb sized birds arrive at the feeder. I freeze to make her less nervous as she goes about gathering the 4:1 sugar water mix. Slowly, I make my way to the Adirondack chair in the middle of the deck. Soon the air is full of little buzzing emerald green blurs.
Five, then ten, then fifteen are zipping back and forth and around the house. The red maple over the Koi pond serves as landing pad between drinks. With only four artificial red flowers available to draw the nectar, turf wars begins. Dogfights over the pressure treated yellow pine ensue. Swoops and dives, darts and jives! Midair pirouettes and do-si-dos. The dance of the hummingbirds continues into the heat of the morning. The syrupy solution is soon drained. Too many hummers? Too few feeders!
Solution: More Feeders! So Monday, I make a run to the KRFS to get two more stations! Eight more red plastic flowers with mesh yellow centers are hung around the deck.
Wait a minute, is this the solution? Or, is it the beginning of the snow ball rolling down the mountain?
Metro, Molly, the Chickens - even the Kois in the small pond by the front deck - are all rotten.
Sunrise is my most favorite time of the day. My routine during the week is to rise as the alarm sounds at 5:45. And with it so ingrained into me (and Metro), it is almost impossible to for me to sleep in on the weekends. So with it still dark outside, I open the front door and let Metro go outside. Business taken care of, the task of coffee is addressed – “extra chewy please”!!!
Back outside the first rays of dawn cause the gray to turn a rosy pink. The first of the thumb sized birds arrive at the feeder. I freeze to make her less nervous as she goes about gathering the 4:1 sugar water mix. Slowly, I make my way to the Adirondack chair in the middle of the deck. Soon the air is full of little buzzing emerald green blurs.
Five, then ten, then fifteen are zipping back and forth and around the house. The red maple over the Koi pond serves as landing pad between drinks. With only four artificial red flowers available to draw the nectar, turf wars begins. Dogfights over the pressure treated yellow pine ensue. Swoops and dives, darts and jives! Midair pirouettes and do-si-dos. The dance of the hummingbirds continues into the heat of the morning. The syrupy solution is soon drained. Too many hummers? Too few feeders!
Solution: More Feeders! So Monday, I make a run to the KRFS to get two more stations! Eight more red plastic flowers with mesh yellow centers are hung around the deck.
Wait a minute, is this the solution? Or, is it the beginning of the snow ball rolling down the mountain?
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Philosophy of a Dog
Don't take this the wrong way, but for the longest time now, I have been trying to imitate Metro. Not his look, which is fuzzy even after a good brushing.
Not his walk, which, as with most dogs, can be more of waddle. And not his tail. I don't need a tail. I have enough trouble buckling my pants as it is.
Also, I can live without his bathroom habits, which can be summed up this way: "Tree or bush? Tree or bush? Aw, how about right here on the grass..."
No, what I admire about Metro is his fascination with the simple routine of life. Every day for him is like boarding the space shuttle. For example: In the morning, if I move just one muscle...there he is. The canine answer to Richard Simmons. He is so worked up, he doesn't know which will get my attention...a lick of the face, a nuzzle of the hand. So he does both. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy!" he seems to pant. "It's morning and I'm gonna outside! Is this great or what?"
Never mind that going out has not changed one bit since we've had him. He is so thrilled by the notion of "exit". He bolts into the yard as if heading for Tomorrowland with a sack full of "E" tickets.
The great outdoors.
Then comes the "bathroom" routine, which I already have described. Humans deal with these functions begrudgingly. Not Metro. It's a real thrill for him. He scouts for the perfect spot as if looking for beachfront real estate. "Tree or bush? Tree or bush?" And we don't have that many trees.
Then, once his business is taken care of, he is off the going out obsession and onto a new one: going back in. It doesn't matter that he was inside just minutes ago. "Things have changed! Things have changed!" he seems to pant. "I gotta get in there! I gotta check it out! Hurry up, hurry up!"
When I open the door, he bolts in, races back and forth - looking for space aliens, I suppose - and when he doesn't find any, he isn't disappointed. Instead, he snarls at some ratty toy he's played with for months, throws it into the air with his teeth, and watches it land. "Look at that!" he seems to say. "It goes up, it comes down!"
I yawn.
Then there's his food. Never mind that he has eaten every morning since he was born. Or that he's had the same food every morning. He waits breathlessly as I scoop yet another helping of boring brown nuggets into his bowl. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Food, food, food!"
I slouch and yawn again.
As I make a cup of coffee, he jumps up to watch. "Whatcha doin? Whatcha doin? Coffee, huh? That's amazing!"
When I disappear behind a door, he lies down outside and waits for me to come out again. If it is only 30 seconds later, he will still react as if I was a released hostage.
The sunny side. Now, Metro does not work. He does not pay taxes. He does not create anything new (unless you consider the bushes outside). But he also doesn't need clothes, doesn't covet cars or jewelry, and doesn't care about houses, as long as he can find a sunny spot on the floor and lie there for a few hours.
Meanwhile, I am bored with my same routine. Getting up is a drag. I can't get excited about breakfast. And going out then coming back only makes me wonder how many flies I've let in.
So I'm trying to imitate Metro. I'm trying to find wonder in the everyday. After all, when you think about it, it is pretty remarkable that you open your eyes each morning. And since every few hours you get to quench your hunger, well, that's a thrill, when you consider the alternative. So while I can't match my dog's drool, I am trying to match his zeal.
Don't worry. If I come to visit, I will not create a new bush or tree. On the other hand, a nap in that sunny spot on the floor looks pretty tempting...
2001
"Sunny Spot on the Floor"
Not his walk, which, as with most dogs, can be more of waddle. And not his tail. I don't need a tail. I have enough trouble buckling my pants as it is.
Also, I can live without his bathroom habits, which can be summed up this way: "Tree or bush? Tree or bush? Aw, how about right here on the grass..."
No, what I admire about Metro is his fascination with the simple routine of life. Every day for him is like boarding the space shuttle. For example: In the morning, if I move just one muscle...there he is. The canine answer to Richard Simmons. He is so worked up, he doesn't know which will get my attention...a lick of the face, a nuzzle of the hand. So he does both. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy!" he seems to pant. "It's morning and I'm gonna outside! Is this great or what?"
Never mind that going out has not changed one bit since we've had him. He is so thrilled by the notion of "exit". He bolts into the yard as if heading for Tomorrowland with a sack full of "E" tickets.
The great outdoors.
Then comes the "bathroom" routine, which I already have described. Humans deal with these functions begrudgingly. Not Metro. It's a real thrill for him. He scouts for the perfect spot as if looking for beachfront real estate. "Tree or bush? Tree or bush?" And we don't have that many trees.
Then, once his business is taken care of, he is off the going out obsession and onto a new one: going back in. It doesn't matter that he was inside just minutes ago. "Things have changed! Things have changed!" he seems to pant. "I gotta get in there! I gotta check it out! Hurry up, hurry up!"
When I open the door, he bolts in, races back and forth - looking for space aliens, I suppose - and when he doesn't find any, he isn't disappointed. Instead, he snarls at some ratty toy he's played with for months, throws it into the air with his teeth, and watches it land. "Look at that!" he seems to say. "It goes up, it comes down!"
I yawn.
Then there's his food. Never mind that he has eaten every morning since he was born. Or that he's had the same food every morning. He waits breathlessly as I scoop yet another helping of boring brown nuggets into his bowl. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Food, food, food!"
I slouch and yawn again.
As I make a cup of coffee, he jumps up to watch. "Whatcha doin? Whatcha doin? Coffee, huh? That's amazing!"
When I disappear behind a door, he lies down outside and waits for me to come out again. If it is only 30 seconds later, he will still react as if I was a released hostage.
The sunny side. Now, Metro does not work. He does not pay taxes. He does not create anything new (unless you consider the bushes outside). But he also doesn't need clothes, doesn't covet cars or jewelry, and doesn't care about houses, as long as he can find a sunny spot on the floor and lie there for a few hours.
Meanwhile, I am bored with my same routine. Getting up is a drag. I can't get excited about breakfast. And going out then coming back only makes me wonder how many flies I've let in.
So I'm trying to imitate Metro. I'm trying to find wonder in the everyday. After all, when you think about it, it is pretty remarkable that you open your eyes each morning. And since every few hours you get to quench your hunger, well, that's a thrill, when you consider the alternative. So while I can't match my dog's drool, I am trying to match his zeal.
Don't worry. If I come to visit, I will not create a new bush or tree. On the other hand, a nap in that sunny spot on the floor looks pretty tempting...
2001
"Sunny Spot on the Floor"
Monday, July 03, 2006
Mower Blade Angst!!!
You never save time by taking the short cut!!!
So Saturday morning I knew I was in need of new blades for my mower. The 3/4 inch path of uncut grass was the tale-tale sign. Also, I was tearing the tops of the blades of grass rather than cutting. I was shocking the little blades of grass and causing their new little hair cuts to turn from green to brown by the next morn. Third gear was as fast as I could go and still lop the grass to the desired height. Worse of all, I was double cutting - that is, only moving over 20 inches with each lap around the house instead of the 40 inches that the width of the mower deck would allow.
So, the time I spend Saturday morning should have been enough to finish the deed. NO, I was only half done. I left the job half done. Funeral for a Friend in the early afternoon and Family arriving for Mom's birthday celebration on Sunday (more on this later).
So I go to the local hardware store between other errands. I get to the counter and all the clerks are helping others. I wait my turn and I get the new clerk!!! It takes her twice as long to look up the comparative model number as it should. She writes the four digit number on her "redneck Palm Pilot" and goes to the furthermost corner of the store. Two of the 6476 blades are produced. Paid and back home, the blades are placed on the work bench in the garage for another day...
That day was this morning, an early rise on a jbex holiday! So beautiful was the sunrise! Many song birds announced the dawn. Hummingbirds fought over the rights to drink from the feeder. A muster of black friends perched in the boughs of the leaning pine tree in the spring head before going out to the various compass points.
Photos of Sunrise this morning.
Coffee and a liter of water later, the task of blade changing is addressed.
Old blades off.
New blades retrieve from the work bench.
TOO LONG!!!
I take the wrong new blades (along with one of the old ones for reference) back to the hardware store... 6476 should have been 6475. Then the clerk said, "Twenty one cents". My jaw drops onto the old hard wood floor, totally void of any finish from many years of foot traffic.
"UH, these blades are shorter and besides it cost me three time that to drive back to town because of your mistake!" Not really, my truck gets better gas mileage than that. I pull out my money clip and place a Where's George on the counter, my seventy nine cents change is handed back to me with my receipt. 30 minutes of my morning is lost. The coolness of the early morning has given way to heat. At 10:30, I make my retreat into the house. Still incomplete, more mowing this evening when the sun starts setting in the west.
So Saturday morning I knew I was in need of new blades for my mower. The 3/4 inch path of uncut grass was the tale-tale sign. Also, I was tearing the tops of the blades of grass rather than cutting. I was shocking the little blades of grass and causing their new little hair cuts to turn from green to brown by the next morn. Third gear was as fast as I could go and still lop the grass to the desired height. Worse of all, I was double cutting - that is, only moving over 20 inches with each lap around the house instead of the 40 inches that the width of the mower deck would allow.
So, the time I spend Saturday morning should have been enough to finish the deed. NO, I was only half done. I left the job half done. Funeral for a Friend in the early afternoon and Family arriving for Mom's birthday celebration on Sunday (more on this later).
So I go to the local hardware store between other errands. I get to the counter and all the clerks are helping others. I wait my turn and I get the new clerk!!! It takes her twice as long to look up the comparative model number as it should. She writes the four digit number on her "redneck Palm Pilot" and goes to the furthermost corner of the store. Two of the 6476 blades are produced. Paid and back home, the blades are placed on the work bench in the garage for another day...
That day was this morning, an early rise on a jbex holiday! So beautiful was the sunrise! Many song birds announced the dawn. Hummingbirds fought over the rights to drink from the feeder. A muster of black friends perched in the boughs of the leaning pine tree in the spring head before going out to the various compass points.
Photos of Sunrise this morning.
Coffee and a liter of water later, the task of blade changing is addressed.
Old blades off.
New blades retrieve from the work bench.
TOO LONG!!!
I take the wrong new blades (along with one of the old ones for reference) back to the hardware store... 6476 should have been 6475. Then the clerk said, "Twenty one cents". My jaw drops onto the old hard wood floor, totally void of any finish from many years of foot traffic.
"UH, these blades are shorter and besides it cost me three time that to drive back to town because of your mistake!" Not really, my truck gets better gas mileage than that. I pull out my money clip and place a Where's George on the counter, my seventy nine cents change is handed back to me with my receipt. 30 minutes of my morning is lost. The coolness of the early morning has given way to heat. At 10:30, I make my retreat into the house. Still incomplete, more mowing this evening when the sun starts setting in the west.
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