The real Kentucky Derby!

Unbelievable, lol. Some drunks decide to race across a line of porta-potties on the infield of the Churchill Downs -- all while getting pelted with bottles and cans of beer, some full. Too stupid, gotta watch it -- and the porta potties that cave in just happen to be the ones in use, lol.

I guess a person should beware watching the horse races while drinking... one might begin to view a perfectly good line of porta johns like a wannabe race track! :-)

If this doesn't make your day, as in, things aren't as bad as they seem, why, try again! watch it again, lol.

Smile!

The ant and the contact lens

Here is a neat story recounted by Elisabeth Elliot, as told to her by Brenda Folz. The original version in the first person can be found here, on Elisabeth's website.

Lost and Found

It was Brenda's first climb. Halfway to the top of the tremendous granite cliff, she stood on a ledge and took a breather. As she rested there, the safety rope snapped against her eye and knocked out her contact lens . "Great," she thought. "Here I am on a rock ledge, hundreds of feet from the bottom and hundreds of feet to the top of this cliff, and now my sight is blurry."

She looked and looked, hoping that somehow it had landed on the ledge. But it just wasn't there.

She felt anxiety rising in her, so she began praying. She prayed for calm, and she prayed that she might find her contact lens.

When she got to the top, a friend examined her eye and her clothing for the lens, but it was not to be found. Although she was calm now that she was at the top, she was saddened because she could not clearly see across the range of mountains. She thought of a partial verse, "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth."

She thought, "Lord, You can see all these mountains. You know every stone and leaf, and You know exactly where my contact lens is. Please help me."

Later, when they had hiked down the trail to the bottom of the cliff they met another party of climbers just starting up the face of the cliff. One of them shouted out, "Hey, you guys! Anybody lose a contact lens?"

Well, that would be startling enough, but you know why the climber saw it? An ant was moving slowly across a twig on the face of the rock, carrying it!

The story doesn't end there. Brenda's father is a cartoonist. When she told him the incredible story of the ant, the prayer, and the contact lens, he drew a cartoon of an ant lugging that contact lens with the caption, "Lord, I don't know why You want me to carry this thing. I can't eat it, and it's awfully heavy. But if this is what You want me to do, I'll carry it."

Perhaps when we carry something heavy that we can't understand, we can pray, "God, I don't know why you want me to carry this load. I can see no good in it and it's awfully heavy. But, if you want me to carry it, I will."

God doesn't call the qualified, He qualifies the called!

Carry, trust and smile!

Selah.

Note: This story is often wrongly attributed to people who forward it on email. But the real story comes from Brenda Folz via Elisabeth Elliot, and retold in Elisabeth's book, A Quiet Heart, under the title of "Lost and Found."
Note: I can believe this story, because I've had at least one similar story happen to me personally. You can read that story here: The Miracle of the Lost Lens.

Note: And remember that God doesn't always lead us to the items, even though He surely does know where they are! A good friend recounted a story of a lost item, in which God chose to answer with a larger lesson -- larger than the item itself! So always trust and hope!

Quote for the lazy day

Not lazy, just choice impaired

Overheard at lunch today:

I don't take it personally when people call me lazy, because in my heart I know I'm not lazy. I just choose not to work.

True quote. Exact, lol.

Life stranger than fiction, right?

Enjoy!

When SLOW CHILDREN PLAYING grow up

lol. Enjoy! This is my first glimpse of this sign, kudos to Lane for his quick thinking and camera work. Spread the joy, and be careful driving! After all, there are slow children playing and slow seniors, too! :-)

Life in a fishbowl

Ah! What a remarkable picture, on several levels!

Here's one takeaway: Life in a fishbowl swims a fine line between wonder and dinner.

Can I get a witness? :-)

Alaskan child development

Nice, Tegan! 138 pound halibut is one for the books, and good for first place in the fishing derby. Congratulations!

Hazmat team called in for rotten fridge cleaning

Beware the fridge fumes!

Truth is stranger than fiction, sometimes. Life is just loaded with humor! Sometimes you just have to laugh at the irony. In the latest, an office worker sends seven co-workers to the hospital with rotten food fumes:

SAN JOSE, Calif. – An office worker cleaning a fridge full of rotten food created a smell so noxious that it sent seven co-workers to the hospital and made many others ill. Firefighters had to evacuate the AT&T building in downtown San Jose on Tuesday, after the flagrant fumes prompted someone to call 911. A hazmat team was called in.

What they found was an unplugged refrigerator that had been crammed with moldy food.

Authorities said an enterprising office worker had decided to clean it out, placing the food in a conference room while using two cleaning chemicals to scrub down the mess. The mixture of old lunches and disinfectant caused 28 people to need treatment for vomiting and nausea.

Authorities said the worker who cleaned the fridge didn't need treatment — she can't smell because of allergies.

In other news, an Amish driver was fined for having beer in the buggy. Defense lawyers say he can't be held liable because his girlfriend was really driving him buggy...

drumroll. lol. All night, folks! And who says life isn't humorous?

:-)

A nice piece of pi

A crop circle near Wroughton, Wiltshire, England cropped up in early June... as an abstract representation of pi, the number at the heart of Euclidean geometry. Shades of Sagan's Contact! these alien cropbusters sure are busy! artful kind of folks, though, no? and now mathematical too! :-) Enjoy!

A note on a worthy cause

A family in need

Hello Friends!

Perhaps you heard of the family in Tennessee, where the oldest son shot his father, a couple months ago. It was a terrible situation, straight out of Dostoevsky, where the son acted under great psychological duress in order to save the family from further pain. There are very complicated and layered aspects to this story, obviously, but suffice to say that it is a real need. Thankfully, several friends have connected in order to give the family a new start. Details here: Help This Family Now.

James P. Crocker, President & CEO of Waterblasting Technologies, is leading an effort renovate their house. It is a place with a lot of bad memories and a lot of physical needs -- renovating and restoring it will give the wife and kids a new start to life. In the words of Inigo Montoya: "This is a noble cause, sir!" :-)

Please consider making a donation to help this family, ok?

God bless you all!

Sincerely,

Loy
p.s. here's a letter from James Crocker. James and his wife Lynette are really motivated, spearheading this effort in TN from here in South Florida, organizing 60 professional volunteers, plus others, hoping to complete the project in six days.

James writes:

Dear Friends,

Your help is truly needed. We are trying to make a radical difference in the lives of a family in crisis and you can help. Many of you knew or remember Tommy Schankweiler from your school days. You have also heard about the recent death of Tommy. There is so much more that you haven't heard and perhaps there is no need to burden yourself with it. However, the family has been through untold horrors over the last several years. Even if you didn't know them you can still help. In many ways they feel like strangers to me as well. I had only talked to Tommy twice in twenty years. My wife Lynette and I have felt like someone should step forward and organize a broad effort to facilitate a “Fresh Start” for this unfortunate family. We further contemplated the “if not us, Who? “ question. Upon taking stock of our blessings we felt like we should make the effort. So, we wasted no time getting to work. Because so much of their less than pleasant experiences happened within the four walls of their house, and because it needed so much work as well, we thought that a complete overhaul of the home would serve many, many purposes. It would accomplish something badly needed for a start plus it would create a venue for a lot of people to express their love and support for the family demonstrating the love of Christ to them and connecting in a very tangible way. It furthermore would recreate their surroundings making bad memories fade and the creation of new memories a more likely objective. It will serve to bolster the self esteem and moral of the children. I could go on and on but I shall not take your time. Suffice it to say that we made the decision with others to launch a complete remodeling and even adding a small addition to their home in order to achieve the objectives I have outlined. For many other reasons, we also decided that the project would be completed start to finish in just 6 days. This complicates the process immensely, but the positives of doing so far outweigh the added effort. We knew from the start that we could not do this alone and soon realized that a lot of people were just waiting in the wings to help.

Since then we have been on an adventure of a lifetime. Recruiting and organizing 75 Volunteers in a town over 800 miles away is both exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. We also have had the daunting task of trying to raise $ 75,000 for the project. What I have discovered well into my very first attempt at fundraising is that people seem to have more time than money these days. So, whereas we have had over 60 people volunteer so far and I am feeling very good about being able to complete our objectives on that end, we are running seriously behind in our fundraising. With only two weeks left till we start the project, we have raised $ 36,000. This leaves us a rather frightening deficit of $ 39,000. So my very frugal better half and I have been hard at work trimming anywhere we can and we have cut a full $ 10,000 out of the project... Lynette is a pro at finding items on sale and other opportunities to buy items for less. I have been getting quotes for materials through Home Depot and another local lumber yard ensuring that we are getting the very best deals possible. So then, we have trimmed that deficit down to $ 25,201.

Where does that leave us? Well, we have over 60 committed professionals both local and from out of town, ready to tackle this work and complete the entire project from June 30th to July 5th. In fact, some of the names of our Volunteers you will recognize immediately. However, without the cash to purchase the materials, this is an impossible goal. However, I am convinced that God has blessed a number of you out there to the point that your storehouses are nearly overflowing. To keep the levees from breaking you had better bleed a little cash off the top in order to avert disaster. I am sure that you, like me, are overrun with request from here thither and yon assuring you that their particular ministry or project is truly the one that God Himself would have you support. I make no such claims. I only want you to know that should you choose to invest with me, I can tell you that I have put forth a good deal of money and hundreds of hours as well and will make sure that every dollar you give goes directly to the point of need. It is very difficult and even kind of weird for me to be asking for your help. Hopefully it will be my first and last time to do so. I would not be asking for it if I didn't truly need it and didn't feel this was such a worthy cause.

If you want to know more about the project, go online to www.helpthisfamilynow.com and take a look around the website. There you can see the basic layout of the remodel project, pictures of the family, you can see how much we have raised as well as give via credit card (this only cost 2% which is phenomenal) and take a look at the volunteer list. You can fill out the volunteer form and a number of other things as well. Check it out. You can call me anytime at any of my numbers listed below if you have questions, comments etc. about the project, or anything else for that matter.

“There is no deeper well of energy than a clear vision of a worthy cause”

James P. Crocker, upon finishing this letter

Thanks, everyone, for your consideration! God bless you!

Selah.

A ghostly pic from a haunted castle!

Ok, ok, paranormal time!

Is this a ghostly presence walking down the stairs at Tulloch Castle, in the Scottish Highlands? The castle is well known for its ethereal denizens... this pic was snapped by accident during a wedding in the castle. A 14 year old photographer was snapping pics of the surroundings, and later, while downloading the files, noticed what seemed to be a hand gripping the stairwell, surrounded by white fog.

Look at the pic -- what do you think? It looks like a left hand to me, wearing a wedding band. Perhaps it's proof that ghosts use handrails! Or, that true love never dies! :-)

Click here for the story.

Enjoy! :-)

A rock star pastor

Ladies and gentlemen... turn the sound up and hang on for the ride [persist through the boring part], lol. Some pastors will stop at nothing! And my brother Layne, my my! how misguided is he? he gets out of the small town and now he's been tricked into rapping for those big city churches! grin. He does look good in furs and bling, though, lol. And he can sing a bit! I like him better than the original... enjoy!

Subtitles for this post:

• My brother the rap star!
• "Oh, how the mighty have fallen!"
• Southern Bible Churches will stop at nothing!

Please submit your idea for the post title. Top two titles get included in this post and will finish in the money: My brother will buy you the reward with his royalty money, lol.

A connection between repentance and true love

Human interest, an expression of a spiritual and relational truth: on days of true penitence before God, young Jewish men and women were trusted to choose their mates -- at other times, parents and family arranged the matches, but in times of repentance they could choose for themselves... for it was then they could allow God to make the choice in them.

Listen to Rabbi Yonason Goldson:

The Talmud explains that on all other festive days, the Jewish court would dispatch officers to prevent young men and women from social contact that might lead to impropriety. But on Yom Kippur and Tu B'Av, the judges found no cause for concern. On both these days, the atmosphere of repentance and spiritual commitment permeated Jewish society so intensely that impure motives never entered the minds of young men and women seeking marriage. True, attractive women might flaunt their beauty and women from prominent families promote their lineage, but the rest would say, Make your choice for the sake of heaven.

Interesting, no?

If we want to understand and enter true love, the path is in prayer and penitential observance -- not in "You gotta get out more!" or the subtle pressure of our circle! Quite a lesson for our culture...

Selah.

Lemony Pickit -- A series of unfortunate events!

Easter egg model picks the wrong moment!

Sometimes you just have to smile... a recent Thornham Walks Easter add was jettisoned because the picture accidentally featured a girl picking her nose. Here's the account:

A council's attempt to promote a tourist attraction has been undermined by an unfortunate picture, say critics.

A leaflet extolling the elysian beauties of Thornham Walks - a 12-mile footpath network in Suffolk - has a picture of a young girl picking her nose.

Andrew Stringer, a Green councillor, says that "it does not represent our youth in the best light" and wants the "amateurish" pamphlet to be withdrawn.

A Mid Suffolk District Council spokesman admitted: "It's not the best photograph," but added: "They wanted a real picture, not a typical staged one. It's a real picture and shows children in their Easter outfits."

Here we have a series of unfortunate events:

• The girl just happens to pick at the exact moment of the pic
• The advertisers just happened to pick that exact pic for their feature
• The picked pic just happened to make it past the editors
• Now, the picked pic just happens to be re-picked for non-publication.

O what a series of unfortunate events! Lemony Pickit!

Evidently some people can't appreciate a girl just looking for a special Easter egg! :-)

This post is in honor of those who can appreciate such humor, lol. Beauty in the simple things, I say!

grin. Smile!

:-)

A sovereign grace in a packing mistake

Allen Patterson shared this story with me, and I just had to put it on the blog. It captures well the incredible sovereignty of God, the divine Love that works in and through what we would consider mistakes -- to bring many sons and daughters to glory. Enjoy! And let it open your heart for a new awareness of the grace at work in your life, this season!

“If you are missing Baby Jesus, call 7162"

Jean Gietzen

When I was a child my father worked for an oil company in North Dakota. The company moved him around to different parts of the state, and at some point between one move and another, we lost our family Nativity set. Shortly before Christmas in 1943, my mother decided to replace it and was happy to find another at our local five and dime for only $3.99. When my brother Tom and I helped her unpack the set, we discovered two figures of the Baby Jesus.

"Someone must have packed this wrong," my mother said, counting out the figures. "We have one Joseph, one Mary, three wise men, three shepherds, two lambs, a donkey, a cow, an angel, and two babies. Oh dear! I suppose some set down at the store is missing Baby Jesus."

"Hey, that's great, Mom," my brother and I shouted. "We have twins!"

"You two run back down to the store and tell the manager that we have an extra Jesus. Tell him to put a sign on the remaining boxes saying that if a set is missing a Baby Jesus, call 7162," my mother instructed. "I'll give each of you a penny for some candy. And don't forget your mufflers. It's freezing cold out there."

The manager of the store copied down my mother's message and the next time we were in the store we saw the cardboard sign that read, "If you're missing Baby Jesus, call 7162."

All week long we waited for the call to come. Surely, we thought, someone was missing the important figurine. Each time the phone rang, my mother would say, "I'll bet that's about Jesus," but it never was. My father tried to explain that the figurine could be missing from a set in Walla Walla in Washington and that packing errors occur all the time. He suggested we just put the extra Jesus back in the box and forget about it.

"Back in the box!" I wailed. "What a terrible thing to do to the Baby Jesus. And at Christmastime, too."

"Surely someone will call," my mother said. "We'll just keep them together in the manger until someone calls."

When no call had come by five on Christmas Eve, my mother insisted that my father "just run down to the store" to see if there were any sets left. "You can see them right through the window, over on the counter," she said. "If they are all gone, I'll know someone is bound to call tonight."

"Run down to the store?" my father thundered. "It's fifteen degrees below zero out there!"

"Oh Daddy, we'll go with you," I said. "Tommy and I will bundle up good. And we can look at the decorations on the way."

My father gave a long sigh and headed for the front closet. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered. "Each time the phone rings everybody yells at me to see if it's about Jesus, and now I'm going off on the coldest night of the year to peek in a window to see if He's there or not there."

My father muttered all the way down the block, while my brother and I raced each other up to the window where the tiny lights flickered on and off around the frame. "They're all gone, Daddy!" I shouted. "Every set must be sold."

"Hooray, hooray!" my brother joined in, catching up with me. "The mystery will be solved tonight!"

My father, who had remained several steps behind us, turned on his heel and headed back home.

Inside the house once more, we saw the extra figurine had vanished from the set and my mother appeared to have vanished, too. "Someone must have called and she went out to deliver the figurine," my father reasoned, pulling off his boots. "You kids get busy stringing popcorn strands for the tree and I'll wrap your mother's present."

We had almost completed one strand when the phone rang. My father yelled for me to answer it. "Tell'm we found a home for Jesus," he called down the steps. But the caller was not an inquirer. It was my mother with instructions for us to come to 205 Chestnut Street immediately and bring three blankets, a box of cookies, and some milk.

"Now what has she gotten us into?" my father groaned as we bundled up again. "205 Chestnut Street. Why, that's about eight blocks away. Wrap that milk up good in the blankets or it will turn into ice by the time we get there. Why in the name of Heaven can't we all just get on with Christmas? It's probably twenty degrees below out there now. And the wind is picking up. Of all the crazy things to do on a night like this."

Tommy and I sang Christmas songs all the way to Chestnut Street. My father carrying his bundle of blankets and milk looked for all the world like St. Nicholas himself with his arms full of goodies. Every now and then my brother would call back to him, "Let's pretend we're looking for a place to stay, Dad, just like Joseph and Mary."

"Let's pretend we are in Bethlehem where it is probably sixty-five degrees in the shade right now," my father answered.

The house at 205 Chestnut Street turned out to be the darkest one in the block. One tiny light burned in the living room, and the moment we set foot on the porch step, my mother opened the door and shouted, "They're here, they're here. Oh, thank God you got here, Ray! You kids take those blankets into the living room and wrap up the little ones on the couch. I'll take the milk and the cookies."

"Would you mind telling me what is going on, Ethel?" my father asked." We have just walked through below zero weather with the wind in our faces all the way. …"

"Never mind all that now," my mother interrupted. "There is no heat in this house and this young mother is so upset she doesn't know what to do. Her husband walked out on her and those poor children will have to spend a very bleak Christmas, so don't you complain. I told her you could fix that oil furnace in a jiffy."

My mother strode off to the kitchen to warm the milk while my brother and I wrapped up the five little children who were huddled together on the couch. The children's mother explained to my father that her husband had run off, taking bedding, clothing, and almost every piece of furniture, but she had been doing all right until the furnace broke down.

"I been doin' washin' and ironin' for people and cleaning the five and dime," she said. "I saw your number every day there, on those boxes on the counter. When the furnace went out, that number kept goin' through my mind: 7162. 7162.

"Said on the box that if a person was missin' Jesus, they should call you. That's how I knew you were good Christian people, willin' to help folks. I figured that maybe you could help me, too. So I stopped at the grocery store tonight and I called your missus. I'm not missin' Jesus, mister, because I sure love the Lord. But I'm missin' heat.

"Me and the kids ain't got no beddin', no warm clothes. I got a few Christmas toys for them, but I got no money to fix that furnace."

"Okay, okay," my father said kindly. "You've come to the right place. Now let's see. You've got a little oil burner over there in the dining room. Shouldn't be too hard to fix. Probably just a clogged flue. I'll look it over, see what it needs."

My mother came into the living room carrying a plate of cookies and a tray with warm milk. As she set the cups down on the coffee table, I noticed the figure of Baby Jesus lying in the center of the table. It was the only sign of the Christmas season in the house. The children stared wide-eyed with wonder at the plate of cookies my mother set before them. One of the littlest ones woke up and crawled out from under the blanket. Seeing all the strangers in his house, he began to cry. My mother swooped him up in her arms and began to sing to him.

This, this, is Christ the King, Whom shepherds guard and angels sing, she crooned while the child wailed. Haste, haste to bring Him laud, the Babe, the son of Mary, she sang, oblivious to the child's cries. She sang and danced the baby around the room until he settled down again.

"You hear that, Chester?" the young mother said to another child. "That woman is singin' ‘bout the Lord Jesus. He ain't ever gonna walk out on us. Why, He sent these people to us just to fix our furnace. And blankets we got now, too. Oh, we'll be warm tonight."

My father, finishing his work on the oil burner, wiped his hands on his muffler and said, "I've got it going, but you need more oil. I'll make a few calls tonight when I get home and we'll get you some oil. Yessir, you came to the right place," he grinned.

When my father calculated that the furnace was going strong once more, our family bundled up and made our way home. My father didn't say a thing about the cold weather and had barely set foot inside the front door when he was on the phone.

"Ed? Hey, how are ya, Ed?" I heard him say. "Yes, Merry Christmas to you too. Say, Ed, we have kind of an unusual situation here and I know you've got that pickup truck. I wonder if we could round up some of the boys and find a Christmas tree, you know, and a couple of things for …"

The rest of his conversation was lost in the blur of words as my brother and I ran to our rooms and began pulling clothes out of our closets and toys off of our shelves. My mother checked through our belongings for sizes and games she said "might do" and added some of her sweaters and slacks to our stack. We were up way past our bedtime that night wrapping our gifts. The men my father had called found oil for the furnace, bedding, two chairs, three lamps, and had made two trips to 205 Chestnut before the night was done. Our gifts were piled into the truck on the second trip, and even though it must have been thirty degrees below by then, my father let us ride along the back of the truck.

No one ever did call about the missing figurine in the Nativity set, but as I grow older I realize that it wasn't a packing mistake at all.

Selah.

Women deserve better than abortion II

It is normal to grieve a pregnancy loss, including the loss of a child by abortion. It can form a hole in one’s heart, a hole so deep that sometimes it seems nothing can fill the emptiness.

Project Rachel

Women as victims of abortion

I was the only guy in the salon, and the topic turned to abortion. The woman cutting my hair asked,

“What do you think of abortion?”

The salon grew silent. Several pairs of eyes turned my way, waiting my answer.

“It makes me sad,” I answered. “It makes me sad for the children who will not see the light of day, and never add their laughter to our needy world.” “And, it really makes me sad for the women involved, they are silent victims too.”

“You say the women are victims?” “You mean the women having the abortions?” my stylist asked.

“Yes, they are victims,” I said. “On several levels – often women are pressured to lose a child in order to keep a relationship. And, how sad is it that our society defines success in a way that pressures women to destroy a part of themselves?”

“And, then…women end up victims on the other end of abortion, as very few are told the consequences to their bodies and minds.”

“They aren’t told about the cancer risk or Post-Abortion Syndrome…” “They aren’t told about the mental and spiritual trauma, which they end up carrying in their hearts – unseen trauma, real victims.”

“And this makes me sad,” I said.

The silence echoed for awhile in the salon.

The one of the women said, “I wish more men thought like you.”

Another said, “Two of my friends have had abortions, and what you say is true…”

The rest of the women agreed. There was a collective sigh, and some of the tension ran out of the room. There was comfort in the fact that I was for the women, while still being against abortion. They hadn’t heard it expressed like that.

Chances were I was speaking to at least one girl that day that had had an abortion. Everyone there knew someone who had.

It was a moment to share the love of Christ in a way that was true, and yet gave light…offering hope to hurting hearts.

And it brings up the issue of abortion’s silent toll on women.

The pressure of abortion

A study of 252 [abortive] women who suffered psychological sequelae reported that

• 53 percent felt "forced" into the abortion by others;
• 65 percent felt "forced" by their circumstances;
• only 33 percent felt "free" to make their own decisions;
• 83 percent stated they would have kept the pregnancy if they had been encouraged to do so by one or more other persons; and,
• 84 percent would have kept the pregnancy under "better circumstances.”

The self-betrayal of abortion

Many women talk about the internal conflict that takes place in abortion: their maternal instinct wars against the rationalization of abortion, and creates an inner context of dysfunction.

In the vast majority of cases, women seeking abortion feel under intense pressure to do so. Yet at the same time they experience moral qualms about abortion itself, and/or they feel maternal desires to protect their pregnancies. Therefore, for these women, abortion is not a glorious right by which they are able to reclaim control of their lives; instead it is an “evil necessity” to which they submit because they “have no choice.”

Rather than affirming their own values, these women feel forced to compromise their values. Rather than feeling proud of themselves for standing up against difficult situations, they feel ashamed of themselves for being “spineless cowards.”

This feeling of self-betrayal is a devastating blow to the woman's self-image and her feelings of self-worth. She is internally divided by an emotional "war" within and against herself. On one side are her original moral beliefs and maternal desires. On the other side is her abortion experience which represents a choice to act against those feelings. These two sides of herself are irreconcilable. The unresolved feelings which arise from this internal warfare can manifest themselves as a wide variety of psychological illnesses. [1]

Immediately following an abortion, researchers have found one positive emotion – that of relief. And, this is understandable in light of the pressure that forced the abortion in the first place. However, temporary feelings of relief are frequently followed by what psychiatrists describe as emotional paralysis, or post-abortion numbness. [2]

Like shell-shocked soldiers, these aborted women are unable to express or even feel their own emotions. Their focus is primarily on having survived the ordeal, and they may be, at least temporarily, out of touch with their feelings.

Studies within the first few weeks after the abortion have found that between 40 and 60 percent of the women questioned reporting at least some negative reactions. In one study of 500 [abortive] women, researchers found that 50 percent expressed negative feelings, and up to 10 percent were classified as having developed “serious psychiatric complications.”

These women develop the symptoms of deep grief, internalizing the trauma. Often it surfaces in intimate relationships to self and others: denial, sexual dysfunction, detachment, desire for another pregnancy, promiscuity, distrust of males, brief reactive psychosis, guilt, anxiety, depression, eating disorders, survival guilt, thoughts of suicide, and psychological numbing.

And this only the psychological aftermath, not mentioning the potential physical risks!

Is it any wonder then, that women are called real victims in abortion?

Truly it is said that women deserve better than abortion. They deserve better than the war against their own personhood, euphemistically called “freedom of choice” by media brokers. They deserve better than being pressured into “solutions” that denigrate the fabric of their own souls. They deserve better than placing their bodies at risk under the advertising of “owning their own bodies.”

There is a holocaust of women taking place in America. 45 million aborted children and counting…and this means 45 million women who are dealing with silent devastation of their personhood and relationships.

There is hope, though. Our Lord still sits by the well at noonday and offers valued personhood and future grace. He still gives water that quenches inner thirst!

Will you love a woman in your life by speaking to her these words of truth and hope?

You may save a life…in more ways than one.

God bless all of you who need this message of hope!

__________________

Resources:

David C. Reardon, “Women at Risk of Post-Abortion Trauma.”

Feminists for Life

Project Rachel

Ramah International

Article on Post-Abortion Syndrome

Silent No More Awareness Campaign

The loyalty of a dog II

A love that conquers fear of death

There are more things in heaven and on earth, Horatio
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Hamlet, act I, scene v.

Recently, I’ve read some stories about Civil War dogs – the bravery, loyalty and courage of dogs who accompanied their masters into battle. Sallie, a dog adopted by the 11th PA regiment, followed the men into battle that fateful July day at Gettysburg. On the first day’s fighting, the regiment was decimated by Confederate fire and overrun. Despite the confusion of the Federal retreat, Sallie made her way back to her fallen comrades, and there she stood sentinel, licking the faces of the dying until they passed into another world...and guarding the bodies against looters, refusing to leave. Days later, after the Confederate retreat, a member of the 12th Massachusetts found her still on guard, weak from lack of food and water, but still alive. Today, her monument graces that glorious field at Gettysburg…

Another story is told of Confederate Brigadier General William Barksdale’s dog. Barksdale led his Mississippi boys into battle at Gettysburg, only to be cut down on the second day’s fighting. Following the battle, Barksdale’s wife journeyed to Gettysburg to exhume her husband’s remains and return to their home in Mississippi. It was a trip that broke the heart of Barksdale’s dog. Troy Taylor tells it this way:

She was accompanied on her trip by the General’s favorite hunting dog. As the old dog was led to his master’s grave, he fell down onto the ground and began to howl. No matter what Mrs. Barksdale did, she was unable to pull the animal away.

All through the night, the faithful dog watched over the grave. The next day, Mrs. Barksdale again tried to lure the dog away, but he refused to budge, even though the General’s remains had already been loaded onto a wagon to begin the journey back to Mississippi. Finally, saddened by the dog’s pitiful loyalty, she left for home.

For those who lived nearby, the dog became a familiar fixture during the days that followed. He would occasionally let out a heart-breaking howl that could be heard for some distance. Many locals came and tried to lead the dog away, offering him food, water and a good home. The dog refused all of their gestures and eventually, died from hunger and thirst, still stretched out over his master’s burial place.

Wow! What a story of loyalty and love! Can we ever fathom the depths of true dog and human love? It is said that on the night of July 2, the anniversary of Barksdale’s death, an unearthly howl echoes across those silent Gettysburg hills -- a witness of a faithful dog who still grieves from a place beyond this world…dead from a broken heart.

In another story of love, the 102nd Pennsylvania Regiment named their large black and white dog “Jack.” Jack fought with distinction ‘through a score of battles’ and finally took a bullet at Malvern Hill. He recovered from his wound only to be taken captive with his comrades at Salem Heights, and imprisoned for six months at Richmond…

York, the dog of Federal Brig. General Alexander S. Asboth, fought with his master throughout the battle of Pea Ridge, Arkansas. He ran beside the general’s horse, refusing to leave his side…one eye-witness was so impressed that he sketched a picture of the dog which ran in Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper.

Just a few stories of loyalty between dog and master, fortitude under fire, for the sake of love…

A love that risks itself for the other

Upon reading these stories, my mind went to a time where my dog Wyatt almost killed himself to be near me…and then, in turn, where I had to risk myself to rescue him.

On this gorgeous spring day, a friend and I were exploring, looking for campsites and potential fishing spots. We walked several miles, roughly following a large creek through a mountain pass. A tributary, smaller creek formation caught my eye on the other side, and I decided to cross the large creek for a closer look. I knew better. It was a dangerous creek, more like a mini-river, a favorite of local kayakers…the second fastest creek in Pennsylvania.

In the back of my head lurked the images of four children drowned the same day by this creek, neighborhood children buried by my father, who offered their funeral services years ago. And, I was also warned by the knowledge of a kayaker killed that year on the creek. So I took caution…I thought.

I picked out a section where the creek broadened out, a gentler section where the deepest water wouldn’t even reach much above my waist. Downstream, the creek narrowed through rock walls into twisting vortex of undercurrent and whitewater…but I wasn’t going down there! No way! Not a chance…I was here, many yards upstream, where it was safe to cross.

So I asked my friend, Joe, to hold my dog Wyatt while I crossed. I cautioned Joe not to drop the double-rope leash at any cost: “Whatever you do, please don’t let him follow me!” I couldn’t take the chance that Wyatt would be swept down into danger. So I charged Joe with the task of holding him, and started across.

I balanced myself, walking with care across the rocks and into the deeper parts. It all went well…until behind me, above the roar of the creek I heard a shout: “Loy...Wyatt!” I turned to see Wyatt dashing into the creek, leash and all. He would not be held. It was too much for him to see me crossing alone. He had to be with me!

He wrenched himself free by pure force, and braved the creek. Several leaps and then he was swimming…swimming, and then gone. “Wyatt! No!” I shouted! “NO!” But it was too late. The current grabbed him and swept him down toward the vortex. Only seconds, but it seemed forever: I watched, stunned in horror…as my dog swept faster and faster toward death, struggling for his life. “God, no! Please!”

Suddenly, something caught Wyatt. There, a large single, large rock jutted out of the stream…swept to that exact spot, he clung for dear life. Drenched, and visibly afraid, he looked back at me, pleading to me for help. “Stay, Wyatt, stay!” I cried. I held up my hand, giving him the hold signal…and with all the power in my lungs and body, I commanded, “Stay!” If he tried to move, he was done.

I only had seconds to make a decision.

The current swept by him on both sides, there so deep and powerful that it would take both of us. Vexed in my spirit, I could not leave him! But I had no answer. Even the rope I brought would just hang me in the current…but I had to do something! He couldn’t hold on forever!

Immediately, a voice said: “Approach the rock from directly above. Let the current take you to him, and then trace the exact steps back up to lower water, directly against the current.”

And just as immediately, I acted. “Stay, Wyatt!” “I’m coming!” I took a deep breath, and positioned myself directly above him. Gingerly I walked…then deeper and faster the current caught me…but it only pushed me to that same rock! Wyatt’s fear-filled eyes looked at me with hope, and I carefully took him in my arms…a full-grown, large dog, but he felt as light as a baby to me. And he rested as gently as a baby, too, trusting me implicitly, as I turned back and faced the current. He did not struggle in the water at all…he instinctively realized his life was in my hands, trusting me for the outcome. And I trusted God, and prayed…a step at a time, straight against the current, one more step, not fallen yet! Another step…another…another…gradually less depth, and gradually less current…and then…free from danger!

Just like that, the ordeal was over.

A hint of Love greater than all loves

I put Wyatt down on the bank. And he looked at me with incredible understanding, and licked my face. I’ll never forget that look. He was trying to thank me, in awe and gratefulness. He knew. And I knew too, that should I ever have need, he would die for me in a second.

I hugged him, grateful that we both were alive. How was I to scold him whenever he only wanted to be with me?

And I looked at my friend Joe. He hung his head: “I couldn’t hold him,” he said. “He tore himself free.” And I shook my head. “It’s ok.” “It’s over.” “All’s well that ends well…”

And, it was well!

We made our way back, each a little richer for the experience. I gave thanks to God for clear intervention, for the still, small voice of power and peace. I also gave thanks for the bond between this man and dog, which mirrored, if but for a moment, the infinitely higher bond between human and Creator – a Creator that is never at loss to rescue His loved humans.

I prayed then, and pray still, to be a child that would not fret His control, nor tempt His hand. “It is written,” said the Lord Jesus. “Thou shalt not put the Lord thy God to the test.”

Indeed! But thanks be to God, those times I’ve walked that edge of testing Him, He has been so faithful! And to think that He loves me and you far more than I loved Wyatt, or Wyatt loved me! And yes, He has risked far more to free us from the vortex of our days...

Such incredible, infinite Love!

For those of you hanging on by a thread, in the threatening vortex of life…may the loyalty of a dog renew you again in the loyalty of the One who holds you safe in His awesome hands!

Trust child, trust. Stay, and release yourself to His care…

Alleluia!

The miracle of the lost lens

A story of mystery and grace

Would you like to hear a story tinged with mystery -- mystery of hope and faith?

The story begins with a February trip of my brother, Gerald. He traveled to Chicago from PA, for his birthday, to hang out and golf a bit. Yes, golf! :-) Hardy Mershimer souls see nothing wrong with golfing [or hunting, sometimes not much difference in the two, lol] in inclement weather. Nothing like a little chilling wind to sharpen the golf game and strengthen the character!

So, we planned it rather well. I met him on his way into town, at one of my favorite courses south of Chicago -- a great course, conveniently open for winter golf. The day actually wasn’t that bad and we had the course to ourselves, to laugh and talk smack: brotherly fellowship under an open sky, bracing canopy of nature.

Snow at the turn

Everything went rather normal until the turn. Weather blew in off the lake, and out of nowhere the skies started spitting snow. I looked at him, and said, “You think we should keep going for the back nine?” He scoffed in his best Marine bluster, “Sure, what’s a little bit of snow?” “I can handle it if you can!” I laughed and said, “Ok!” So we made the turn.

Holes 10 and 11 weren’t bad, but by number 12 it was a comedy of golf. The snow increased, and now blanketed the ground. Ever try finding your white golf ball in snow? lol, all I’ll say is don’t use your Titleist Pro V1’s in these conditions! It was truly funny… we left a few balls for the course, needless to say.

But we didn’t fret. It was a magical time, snow coming down and the world shut out, just us. We just went with the flow, laughing and having a good time. We'd clear enough snow to putt out on the greens… which were not ‘green’ anymore. And, as the ball would roll toward the hole, it would become a snowball, like a great rolled snowball from childhood, rolled sideways. The longer the putt the bigger the "snowball." Quite comical!

We frolicked in the snow until the 16th hole, where we teed off on a par 3. Now we were dealing with the thickening snow and early approaching darkness of a winter evening. I hit my shot somewhere to the left of the green; he hit his somewhere to the right, and we started out to find them, if we could.

The snowy plot thickens

I searched for awhile, and sure enough, found my ball. I readied to play it up on the whited-out 'green,' and looked out through the falling snow, to see Gerald stumbling around on the other side of the fairway, looking lost. “Can’t you find your ball?” I asked. “No,” he said. “But I’m worried about my lens.” “My right lens popped out of my glasses.” ‘What?” I said. “Do you know where?” “No,” he replied. “But I think somewhere over here…”

Come to find out, as he was walking, bent over, looking intently in the snow for his ball, falling snow pelting and melting on his face and hair and glasses, suddenly one lens was gone -- into the snow. And he didn’t even know the approximate place.

And, to make matters even worse, he had been walking around in circles so much, trying to find the ball, and now the lens, that his tracks went everywhere. If there had been a one percent chance of finding by backtracking slowly, now that chance was gone.

The impossible call

But he called out to me, “Come and help me find it.” “We just have to find it!”

I was shocked. “Gerald!” “Are you thinking clearly?” “That’s impossible!” “You don’t know where you dropped it, your tracks are everywhere.” “It could be anywhere, and even if you knew where, you still couldn’t find it, since it’s been snowing on top of it now for minutes!”

I reasoned with him, “Let’s just finish up the next two holes and then we can find a lens place somewhere, and get a new pair of glasses or new lens.” But he said, “No, you don’t understand!” He said something about lacking lens insurance and funds. “We just have to find this!” There was pleading in his voice, and I knew we weren’t moving on until I at least made some kind of effort.

So, kind of irritated about being forced on a fool’s errand, I walked over to his side of the fairway, taking great care to walk only in his footprints.

But it was impossible. His footprints seemed to go everywhere, and every minute gone by just added to the falling snow. “Gerald, this is impossible!” I said. “I know,” he said. “We have to pray.” “Come over here and let’s pray,” he said, calling me up near the green where he was looking.

“NO!” I replied. “I’m not coming over there to pray.” Honestly, I was a little bit aggravated at him for insisting we look for it. And now he was insisting that we pray, not apart, but together -- wasting even more time, in my mind. So I got stubborn. “I’m not coming over there to pray.” “You can pray, and I’ll look.”

So, he dropped to his knees, right there on the green.

True guidance and false

And I turned to face the wind and snow, looking out over the vast whiteness, and sorting through my emotions. I knew it would take a miracle to find this, and so I began just letting go and seeking guidance. “Lord, please guide me to this lens.” “There’s no way to find this in all this snow.” “Please tell me where to walk, and where to look.”

The thought ran through my mind that Gerald was half-blind, missing one lens and the other lens pelted with snow. So, it was on me to find it. And I felt that, and just breathed… a prayer, deeply. “Show me, Lord, please, in your will.”

Immediately a thought rushed in, strongly: “Not here… walk over to the left, and down the hill.” I started to move, but stopped. Where did that thought come from? I closed my eyes this time, and prayed, “Lord, I hear a lot of clamor in my own mind. Please lead me by your mind.” It was only seconds, but it seemed forever.

I stood still, not moving at all. No steps to the left or right, just listening in spirit. Calmness came over me, and I opened my eyes. That other clamor was gone.

The return of the lens

“Lord, this is a fool’s errand, but please watch over your fools,” I thought. I knelt down, right where I was… put my hand in the snow, and closed my fingers.

I felt something, and looked down… the most stunned person in seven states.

There, in my hand, lay the lens.

I had seen nothing with my conscious eyes, and only reached once into the snow, on a whim. And yet my fingers closed exactly on the lens. I stood, silently, holding a mystery.

Somewhat in a daze, I walked up to the green. Gerald was still on his knees, asking God’s intervention. “Is this your lens?” I asked, holding out my hand. He stared at me as if he were seeing a ghost. “You’re kidding, right?” “Are you joking?” he said.

I shook my head, and handed him the lens.

He was speechless. He stammered, stuttered, “W..wwh..what, how did you find this?” “I really don’t know,” I said. “I just put my hand in the snow and there it was.”

“Do you realize what this means?” he said. “Loy, you don’t know the prayers I was praying before I got here, and what this means to me!” “You have no idea,” he said. “This is a powerful sign to me, and an answer to prayer.”

“God is good,” I said, still in awe myself.

The treasures of the snow

We finished out the round, with a strong sense of grace all around us. I treasured up several thoughts, silently… considering the mystery of it all. What if I had listened to that first ‘guidance,’ that clamorous voice? And what were the chances of this happening by ‘chance?’

It was miraculous, if not a miracle.

Now, I know it was not a miracle in the classic sense, but a miracle of grace, an answer to prayer. And as far as the chances of that happening – reaching down once into that expanse of snow, several hundred square yards of fairway and rough, and coming away with the lens – a million to one, or greater.

But in God’s economy, the hopeless chance is the choice of grace.

A light from the shadows

What is lost to us is found to God. A good theme of grace ran through my soul, and a verse from the Return of the King echoed in my spirit…

From ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

God is good at finding lost things. What is lost to us is merely moved out of time for Him, out of the stream of common events, stored up for the sacred day: found again in good time. “When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth His son…” "I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who calls you by name."

Those of you who read these words: a word to you. Is there a lost ring, a lost lens in your life?

Maybe you feel as if you’ve lost your innocence, your joy, your trust -- your belief that God has a good plan for your life. Maybe you’ve lost your ability to dream, to live and dance in that vision of higher things… pulled down by life and stuff and earthly ‘wisdom.’

Maybe you've lost hope in the 'spacious place, free from restriction' -- that abundant life trusted in younger years...

Trust the blade to be re-forged, the love awoken, the ring renewed, the crown restored.

Here is a story from human time, to renew you in divine timing…

God bless these words to you!

Alleluia.

The loyalty of a dog

I saw this Peanuts cartoon of Snoopy and Lucy – with Snoopy doing his loyal best to please Lucy, with all his doggy powers, even with her disdain! – and I was reminded of my dog Wyatt.Until Wyatt, I would have never believed a human could have such a connection with a dog. Many times, at just the slightest look or motion from me, he’d do exactly as I wished. He lived to please me: his life a lesson of loyalty!

Which is why, one day, I was so surprised when he seemed not to listen.

We would run through the woods: I’d jog the miles of Pennsylvania trails and logging roads, and he’d run beside me, or range slightly ahead or behind… always coming to heel at my command. So neat! I could be facing away from him, jogging, whistle once, and he’d run, catch up with me, and hit my hand, and then race in front, tail wagging! I wouldn’t even have to look at him to know he’d heed. For him it was a friendly game of tag: joyful obedience.

But this day, I decided to do a longer run, and split off the trail, running along a creek that cut through a mountain gorge. Beautiful scenery, a railroad path through hardwood trees and rushing water! I was caught up in the wonder and glory… Suddenly I realized that Wyatt wasn’t running behind me.

So, immediately I stopped and whistled. Nothing. Then I yelled, “Wyatt!” “Ho!” But still nothing. My voice echoed lonely on the mountain. No Wyatt, not even a distant bark.

This frightened me. Where was Wyatt? We were a couple miles from home now, and surrounded by a forest that stretched out for miles. Why wouldn’t he at least answer? Was he hurt? Or worse, chasing a deer? I had trained him not to do that! But what if a few whitetail deer had tempted him over the line and he was now far away… lost?

All these thoughts poured through my mind. I walked back, calling his name. “Wyatt!” Nothing. Only an empty echo. I grew sick at my stomach. Oh, why had I come this way? Why didn’t I keep a closer eye on him?

The minutes passed, and with each minute, my heart fell further. I breathed a quick prayer, and called again: “Wyatt!”

Suddenly, I heard a yelp. Wyatt ran out of the woods, wet and breathless. Panting. Hard. What was this? He was totally exhausted! Saliva dripping from his mouth, but his tail was wagging non-stop!

Relief surged through me. But then my fear turned to real anger. “Wyatt!” “Why didn’t you come?” “Why didn’t you answer?” I was having none of his tail-wagging nonsense. It was clear: he had disobeyed and risked harm. I grabbed his collar, shook him, scolded him and smacked him. Hard.

In my mind, his life was at risk. If he disobeyed like this in the future, someday he wouldn’t come back! So I was not easy on him.

I’ll never forget the look of confusion in his eyes when I disciplined him. He took it, but there was something else there: he was crushed, and not feeling guilty.

So after stern reprimand I then discerned that he wanted me to follow him. He ran, looked back at me, ran, and looked back… and I followed him. He crashed through the brush, over a ditch, and then picked up his prize, eyes beaming and tail wagging. What? What was this? A groundhog?

Yes! He had chased down a groundhog, killed it. He had carried it over rocks and hilly terrain, through a small creek… to me. He was bringing it to me, as a prize, this huge groundhog fully 30 percent his weight: He couldn’t answer my call because he was carrying that groundhog, running as quickly as he could through impossible terrain!

In his mind, he was not disobeying me; he was treating me and serving me. He had exhausted himself trying to do two tasks: come when I called, yet bring me a prize.

My eyes filled with tears: I knew I had been unjust. Wyatt was trying his best to serve me, to gain my applause… and I had hit him and scolded him instead. Oh!

I held out my arms and called him: “Good boy!” He leapt into my arms. I knelt down then, hugged him tightly, wet hair and saliva and all, and cried. “I’m sorry, Wyatt!” I kept saying over and over, “Good Wyatt! Good dog!” “I’m so sorry!” His entire body quivered with forgiveness and delight. He licked my face as if to say, “Yes, I forgive you!”

I picked up the groundhog then and did a warrior pose with it, held it up as Wyatt’s kill, and his eyes shone!

I hung it high in a tree and hugged Wyatt again. Then I took him down to the larger creek, let him drink, and washed him. I let him sport in the water for awhile to renew his strength, and then we ran home.

I’ll never forget that day.

I learned loyalty from my dog. I learned that justice must often decide between appearance and reality. I learned about myself, about life, and about higher relation with God.

For God never has to decide between appearance and reality. He is always just, ever wise and true: He sees perfectly, first glance. And, oh! If I would have the faith to serve Him – without judging His justice – as Wyatt had served me!

P.T. Forsyth says that the slowness of God is not the absence of God, but rather a form of His wise justice and compassion. George MacDonald comments that life is no series of chances with a few providences sprinkled between to keep up a justly failing belief, but one providence of God.

That is our Master. There is no shadow of turning in Him. His sight is true. His providence for us is perfect and whole, even to the details of this day. His calling is true vision.

What a lesson…

Wyatt lies now in a princely grave, near those same forest trees where he brought the groundhog to me, dead these four years from snakebite.

Wyatt! I bless your memory, my friend and companion! You taught me much about faithfulness…loyalty to my Master, too…

If the resurrection of Christ means anything for souls of animals, then I will see you again, my friend!

Amen.