Christ Animated

"Let's see who can do a hundred push-ups," David said.  "I don't know if I can do a hundred," I said.  "Well let's see," he said.  He set the rules. We would get where we couldn't see each other so we wouldn't be tempted to offer critiques.  We were in the church sanctuary. We were either about to get the gym key from Dad and play basketball or we'd already played. I don't remember which. But here we were about to compete in upper body strength and endurance in the church. I went to the rear of the sanctuary, behind the back pew. He was between the front pew and the podium. I dropped to the carpet and started straining my arms to push my body up and let it back down as many times as I could.  David was in much better shape than me, or at least appeared to be. I knew he was going to beat me, but I wasn't going to go down without a fight.  One, two, three ... am I at 100 yet? Four, five, I am not going to make it. Six, seven .

Friends old Friends new Blend gold and blue Weave beautiful threads from hearts to heads Lead to old and new insteads

I am ____ alone. I am ____ afraid. I am ____ distressed. I am ____ despairing.  I am ____ loved. I am ____ safe. I am ____ at peace. I am ____ hopeful. The only thing I must choose is which word to place in the blanks Not or  Truly. (C) B. Campbell 08.26.20

The power company meter reader nodded at the teenager seated on the carport door steps then stepped around to the back of the brick house. He paused at the gate of the backyard fence and studied the two canines enclosed therein with the meter he needed to check. Going back to the carport, he asked the boy, "Do your dogs bite?" The boy looked surprised and answered, "No." So the meter man let himself into the backyard, checked the meter and ran back out, slamming the gate behind him as the barking furry duo snipped at his heels. Annoyed, he called to the teen, "I thought you said your dogs don't bite!" "They don't," he said. "Those aren't my dogs." It wasn't even his house. It was mine, and my friend Tony was waiting for me to get home one summer afternoon in the mid-1980s. My dogs didn't bother anyone, but they liked to make noise at people they didn't know. Any cat that came in the fence was fair game, however.

I’m very happy to report that I have had some sleep this week. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always feel like it. It’s really hard for me to fall asleep when I want or need to do just that. I’ve had this problem for as long as I can recall. Last night I said something at dinner about being very tired and needing to go to bed as soon as I had my work done. My daughter asked, “Can you turn off your brain so you can fall asleep?” “No,” I said. “But I’m going to try to not interact and just watch and listen to the videos, music and conversations that will continue in my head until I pass out.” The constant flow of such mental media comes unfiltered from only God knows where — surely an amalgamation of things I picked up on throughout the day without realizing it, things I’ve read, videos I’ve watched, conversations I’ve overheard or participated in, random memories and whatever extraterrestrial implant I may have between the folds in my gray matter — and continues absolutely non-stop. When I’m

For some reason this morning, I could easily picture myself standing in line during elementary school, all of us with our backs toward cubby holes of instruments and music books, facing the classroom of chairs and the teacher’s desk at the far end. The lucky few were handed tiny metal triangles or kazoos to add creative clinks and buzzes to the ensuing cacophany. The rest of us had to sing. The joy of music class lasted less than an hour at a time, and I don’t think it was even once per week. Maybe it was. But at least we learned some great songs. We learned songs about the struggles of a tiny spider just trying to make it up a gutter downspout during the pouring rain; or about a twinkling little star that we wondered what it was … um, it was a star. Then we sang about the possible joys of adulthood in learning that our beloved had left us while we slept, only to love another. Having stolen my only sunshine, she would live to “regret it all some day.” Charming. But the s