I just gave birth!

Ok, so I didn’t really give birth, my daughter did. Same thing, except I had no inconvenience, no pain, no drugs, no pushing, no adrenaline rush, etc. I let her do all of that.

But the results are the same — I’ve got a new granddaughter!

You know that as soon as I get the first pixs they’re going up here!

Not again!

Beat me with a thousand wet noodles because I’m guilty…

I’m going to yet again send you to somebody else who knows a whole lot more than me. That’s really not too terribly hard to do; it just makes me look bad (well, I guess looks can be deceiving).

We all talk about sacrifice, reaching the lost and church in the same sentence, but yet we don’t really see it all coming together in the churches we go to and that surround us.

Why?

Perhaps Mr. Antonucci is on to something.*

*DISCLAIMER: classic T-I-C (tongue-in-cheek) fully engaged, please interpret in opposite manner.

Mystery Meal; Mystery Church

I ordered food last night in a foreign tongue.

I picked up the menu and recognized nothing. It didn’t matter that there were English descriptions underneath the titles, I couldn’t make my eyes leave the titles and read the English. It almost felt as though the English was a deception: how could words I understand describe something I couldn’t even pronounce?

Why do so many of us treat church the very same way? Why do we think that those on the outside want to come in to our restaurant to eat when they can’t even pronounce the names on the menu? Why do we think that if we explain in enough words what the entrees are that the outsider will be adventurous and order up what he can’t understand?

Seems rather silly…