Monday, February 20, 2006

Okay. Anyone else have any problems with their profile pic? I was reading the response to my blog from my dad when I noticed my profile pic was gone. Hmmmm . . . interesting. So, I went to photobucket.com, but was unable to access my photo album. Okaaaayyy. (???) So, after many attempts, I finally just created a new one. Well, when I tried to upload the same pic I had in my profile before, now it was telling me the pic was too big. (?!?) I finally resized the pic and renamed it. Well, wouldn't you know the powers that be told me that I had too many characters in my URL. (?!!) Well, hopefully I fixed it now.

Today, I'm off until 6pm. Then I work until midnight. An odd shift, but it should go fast. I'm working with the officer better known as "The Hammer". I shan't be bored. ; ) I'm getting ready to take the kids to school. I got up at 6am (like I usually do on school days that I don't work) to get the kids up, but then my phone started ringing with a notification that schools were opening 2 hours late. LOL--couldn't they have told me that BEFORE I got out of my nice warm bed? Once I'm up, I'm up. Nothing to do but have some coffee. That's a neat function though. Send a recording out to all parents when school is delayed/closed. How cool is that. The church sends out notifications that way, but this was the first time we got one from the school.

Hope you all are having a WARM day. It's cold here! ; )

Comments:
Good picture.
 
I really like that picture. I listened to you Saturday while I was ironing!!!! 10-4!
 
This Spoke to Me:

God Lives Under The Bed


The following article has recently circulated
anonymously on the internet. Its message is one we
need to hear.
I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under
his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one
night. He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom,
and I stopped to listen, "Are you there, God?" he
said. "Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed..."
I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room.
Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of
amusement. But that night something else lingered long
after the humor. I realized for the first time the
very different world Kevin lives in. He was born 30
years ago, mentally disabled as a result of
difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's
6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.
He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a
7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably
always believe that God lives under his bed, that
Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our
tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the
sky because angels carry them.
I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is
different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous
life?
Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for
the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return
to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner,
and later to bed. The only variation in the entire
scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the
washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.
He does not seem dissatisfied. He hopes out to the bus
every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.
He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on
the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a
week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's
laundry chores.
And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the
day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft
drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on
the destination of each passenger inside. "That one's
goin' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he claps his
hands.

His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on
Friday nights. And so goes his world of daily rituals
and weekend field trips.
He doesn't know what it means to be discontent. His
life is simple. He will never know the entanglements
of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of
clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His
needs have always been met, and he never worries that
one day they may not be.
His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as
when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or
vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it. He
does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he
does not leave a job until it is finished. But when
his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.
He is not obsessed with his work or the work of
others. His heart is pure. He still believes everyone
tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you
are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.
Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances,
Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or
sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And
he trusts God.
Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes
to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know
God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is
difficult for an "educated" person to grasp. God seems
like his closest companion.
In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my
Christianity I envy the security Kevin has in his
simple faith. It is then that I am most willing to
admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises
above my mortal questions. It is then I realize that
perhaps he is not the one with the handicap . . . I
am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my
circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do
not trust them to God's care.
Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never
learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that
kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up
the goodness and love of God. And one day, when the
mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed
at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize
that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who
believed that God lived under his bed.
Kevin won't be surprised at all! When you receive
this, say a prayer. That's all you have to do. There
is nothing attached. This is powerful. Prayer is one
of the best free gifts we receive. There is no cost,
but a lot of rewards.

Michael Moss

In His Love and Grace Bob
 
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