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A Night at the Hospital

It was a little before ten o’clock when I pulled into the parking lot of our hospital. I parked near the emergency entrance, as had been recommended, based on the fact that it was the best (read: only) lit door at that time of night.

In the parking lot, there were two policemen standing stalwartly by and trying to keep the arguments of a couple families from escalating into a physical altercation. I never heard what they were arguing about, but I saw a couple of the people calmly walking the halls of the hospital later so I guess the fracas never culminated in weaponry.

A Night at the Hospital

It was a little before ten o’clock when I pulled into the parking lot of our hospital. I parked near the emergency entrance, as had been recommended, based on the fact that it was the best (read: only) lit door at that time of night.

In the parking lot, there were two policemen standing stalwartly by and trying to keep the arguments of a couple families from escalating into a physical altercation. I never heard what they were arguing about, but I saw a couple of the people calmly walking the halls of the hospital later so I guess the fracas never culminated in weaponry.

When a Leader Goes the Wrong Direction

I knew a guy—a leader of his church—who said that he wasn’t going to invite anyone to church until they had all the problems worked out. I’ll venture to say that that guy hasn’t invited anyone to church yet, even though he has changed congregations.

Unless, maybe, his heart changed.

Kindle-ing the fires of reading is burning down our bookstores ... or something

The era of the book is coming to an end.

So one would gather from reading (ha!) the latest column from Boulder, CO, writer Richard Cohen. [To read it for yourself, go to http://www.jewishworldreview.com/0808/cohen.php3]

Political Jokes

It's been reported by several media outlets that the professional comedians can't think of any jokes about Obama (this sounds better than admitting they're in the tank for him or just cowards), so I thought I'd offer the following—free of charge!—as a public service.

Q. Why doesn't Obama like the song "Margaritaville"?
A. Lives in mortal fear of blowing out one of his flip-flops.

Q. How come Obama made it all the way through Harvard without publishing any opinions?
A. William Ayers and Rev. Wright hadn't formed them for him yet.

Newsworthy

A strange and troubled young woman made the news again. She's been in the news a lot lately. Why? Because she had a baby. Why is that news?

Arguing with Unseen Foes

I believe in God.

However, I am aware that it is mathematically (scientifically, et. al.) impossible to prove the existence of God. I am also aware that it is equally impossible to prove the non-existence of God.

It comes down to faith. But it also comes down to desire. I want to believe in God, therefore I view the common evidence* and see in it road-markers pointing to God.

Emergent Orthodoxy

I’ve been doing some study for the past couple years about the “Emergent” church and the one thing I can say for certain is that I’m not sure whether to capitalize the “E” or not.

If you’re not familiar with the emergent movement (gosh, that term just about BEGS for a snide comment, doesn’t it?) it’s an out-growth—or, in medical terms, just a growth—of post-modernism. You could sum it up with the phrase, “Question everything.”

Churches Shouldn't Be Evangelistic

Back when I was even less of a mechanic or carpenter than I am now (which is hard to believe, for those who know me) I once needed to pound something in and I didn’t have a good whacking hammer handy, so I grabbed the nearest thing. It’s really hard to pound in a nail (or whatever it was—I don’t remember now) with an adjustable crescent wrench, but it CAN be done.

Selling Heirlooms to Raise Cash

This morning I have seen at least three stories about how Americans caught in the current economic crunch are being forced to sell family heirlooms to make ends meet. I feel sorry for those people and I know what hard economic times are about. But one thought keeps occurring to me as a result of this study: we Americans have a LOT of junk!

The stuff (junk) people in the stories are getting rid of is stuff that—were I in their particular shoes—I’m sure I’d hate to get rid of. Grampa’s favorite lamp. Mom’s table. The eight-year-old’s baby clothes.

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