Ever wonder what would happen if we treated our Bible like we treat
our cell phone?
What if we carried it around in our purses or pockets?
What if we flipped through it several time a day?
What if we turned back to go get it if we forgot it?
What if we used it to receive messages from the text?
What if we treated it like we couldn't live without it?
What if we gave it to kids as gifts?
What if we used it when we traveled?
What if we used it in case of emergency?
This is something to make you go....hmm...where is my Bible?
Oh, and one more thing. Unlike our cell phone, we don't have to worry about our Bible being disconnected because Jesus already paid the bill.
Makes you stop and think 'where are my priorities? And no dropped calls!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Sunday, August 10, 2008
GIRL WITH THE APPLE
A Girl with an Apple
August 1942. Piotrkow , Poland . The sky was gloomy that morning as we
waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish
ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were
being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run
rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family
would be separated.
"Whatever you do," Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, "don't
tell them your age.. Say you're sixteen." I was tall for a boy of 11, so I
could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS
man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me
up
and down, then asked my age. "Sixteen," I said. He directed me to the
left,
where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.
My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children,
sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, "Why?" He didn't answer.
I
ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. "No," she said
sternly. "Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers." She had
never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting
me. She
loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the
last
I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany . We
arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and
were
led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and
identification numbers.
"Don't call me Herman anymore." I said to my brothers. "Call me
94983."
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a
hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.
Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald 's
sub-camps near Berlin .
One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice, "Son," she said
softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel." Then I woke up.
Just a
dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels.
There
was only work. And hunger. And fear..
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the
barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily
see.
I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little
girl
with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch
tree.
I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in
German.
"Do you have something to eat?" She didn't understand. I inched closer
to the fence and repeated question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was
thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked
unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen
jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I
started to
run away, I heard her say faintly, "I'll see you tomorrow."
I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day.
She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or,
better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would
mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm
girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she
risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl
on the
other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the
bread
and apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal
car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia . "Don't return,"
I
told the girl that day. "We're leaving." I turned toward the barracks and
didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose
name I'd
never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down
and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10,
1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM. In the
quiet of
dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim
me, but somehow I'd survived.. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents.
At
least, I thought, we will be reunited.
But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people
running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.
Russian
troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running,
so I did too.
Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I
knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a
place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my
life,
had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had
promised to
send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish
charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust
and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother
Sam had
already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and
returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my
own
electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.
One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. "I've got a
date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date."
A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and
a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her
friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma
was a
nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with
swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with
life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to,
easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both
just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk,
enjoying
the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't
remember having a better time.
We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As
European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been
left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, "Where were you," she
asked softly, "during the war?"
"The camps," I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the
irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.
She nodded. "My family was hiding on a farm in Germany , not far from
Berlin ," she told me. "My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan
papers."
I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And
yet here we were, both survivors, in a new world.
"There was a camp next to the farm." Roma continued. "I saw a boy
there and I would throw him apples every day."
What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. "What
did he look like? I asked. He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have
seen
him every day for six months."
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be. "Did he
tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?"
Roma looked at me in amazement. "Yes," That was me! " I was ready to
burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My
angel.
"I'm not letting you go." I said to Roma. And in the back of the car
on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.
"You're crazy!" she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for
Shabbat dinner the following week. There was so much I looked forward to
learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her
steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of
circumstances,
she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her
again, I
could never let her go.
That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of
marriage, two children and three grandchildren I have never let her go.
Herman Rosenblat, Miami Beach, Florida
This is a true story and you can find out more by Googling Herman
Rosenblat as he was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75. This story is being made
into a movie called The Fence.
August 1942. Piotrkow , Poland . The sky was gloomy that morning as we
waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish
ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were
being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run
rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family
would be separated.
"Whatever you do," Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, "don't
tell them your age.. Say you're sixteen." I was tall for a boy of 11, so I
could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS
man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me
up
and down, then asked my age. "Sixteen," I said. He directed me to the
left,
where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.
My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children,
sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, "Why?" He didn't answer.
I
ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. "No," she said
sternly. "Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers." She had
never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting
me. She
loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the
last
I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany . We
arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and
were
led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and
identification numbers.
"Don't call me Herman anymore." I said to my brothers. "Call me
94983."
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a
hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.
Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald 's
sub-camps near Berlin .
One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice, "Son," she said
softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel." Then I woke up.
Just a
dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels.
There
was only work. And hunger. And fear..
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the
barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily
see.
I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little
girl
with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch
tree.
I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in
German.
"Do you have something to eat?" She didn't understand. I inched closer
to the fence and repeated question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was
thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked
unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen
jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I
started to
run away, I heard her say faintly, "I'll see you tomorrow."
I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day.
She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or,
better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would
mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm
girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she
risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl
on the
other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the
bread
and apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal
car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia . "Don't return,"
I
told the girl that day. "We're leaving." I turned toward the barracks and
didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose
name I'd
never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down
and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10,
1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM. In the
quiet of
dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim
me, but somehow I'd survived.. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents.
At
least, I thought, we will be reunited.
But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people
running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.
Russian
troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running,
so I did too.
Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I
knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a
place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my
life,
had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had
promised to
send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish
charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust
and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother
Sam had
already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and
returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my
own
electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.
One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. "I've got a
date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date."
A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and
a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her
friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma
was a
nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with
swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with
life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to,
easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both
just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk,
enjoying
the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't
remember having a better time.
We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As
European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been
left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, "Where were you," she
asked softly, "during the war?"
"The camps," I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the
irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.
She nodded. "My family was hiding on a farm in Germany , not far from
Berlin ," she told me. "My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan
papers."
I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And
yet here we were, both survivors, in a new world.
"There was a camp next to the farm." Roma continued. "I saw a boy
there and I would throw him apples every day."
What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. "What
did he look like? I asked. He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have
seen
him every day for six months."
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be. "Did he
tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?"
Roma looked at me in amazement. "Yes," That was me! " I was ready to
burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My
angel.
"I'm not letting you go." I said to Roma. And in the back of the car
on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.
"You're crazy!" she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for
Shabbat dinner the following week. There was so much I looked forward to
learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her
steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of
circumstances,
she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her
again, I
could never let her go.
That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of
marriage, two children and three grandchildren I have never let her go.
Herman Rosenblat, Miami Beach, Florida
This is a true story and you can find out more by Googling Herman
Rosenblat as he was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75. This story is being made
into a movie called The Fence.
Monday, July 28, 2008
CONGRESS WAS NOT READY FOR THIS
Guess our national leaders didn't expect this, hmm?
On Thursday, May 29, 2008, Darrell Scott, the father of Rachel Scott, a victim of the Columbine High School shootings in Littleton , Colorado , was invited to address the House Judiciary Committee's subcommittee. What he said to our national leaders during this special session of Congress was painfully truthful.They were not prepared for what he was to say, nor was it received well. It needs to be heard by every parent, every teacher, every politician, every sociologist, every psychologist, and every so-called expert! These courageous words spoken by Darrell Scott are powerful, penetrating, and deeply personal. There is no doubt that God sent this man as a voice crying in the wilderness. The following is a portion of the transcript:'Since the dawn of creation there has been both good & evil in the hearts of men and women. We all contain the seeds of kindness or the seeds of violence. The death of my wonderful daughter, Rachel Joy Scott, and the deaths of that heroic teacher, and the other eleven children who died must not be in vain. Their blood cries out for answers. !'The first recorded act of violence was when Cain slew his brother Abel out in the field. The villain was not the club he used. Neither was it the N CA , the National Club Association. The true killer was Cain, and the reason for the murder could only be found in Cain's heart.'In the days that followed the Columbine tragedy, I was amazed at how quickly fingers began to be pointed at groups such as the NRA. I am not a member of the NRA. I am not a hunter. I do not even own a gun. I am not here to represent or defend the NRA because I don't believe that they areresponsible for my daughter's death. Therefore I do not believe that they need to be defended. If I believed they had anything to do with Rachel's murder I would be their strongest opponent.I am here today to declare that Columbine was not just a tragedy, it was a spiritual event that should be forcing us to look at where the real blame lies! Much of the blame lies here in this room. Much of the blame lies behind the pointing fingers of the accusers themselves. I wrote a poem just four nights ago that expresses my feelings best.
Your laws ignore our deepest needs,Your words are empty air.You've stripped away our heritage,You've outlawed simple prayer.Now gunshots fill our classrooms,And precious children die.You seek for answers everywhere,And ask the question 'Why?'You regulate restrictive laws,Through legislative creed.And yet you fail to understand,That God is what we need!'Men and women are three-part beings. We all consist of body, mind, and spirit. When we refuse to acknowledge a third part of our make-up, we create a void that allows evil, prejudice, and hatred to rush in and wreak havoc. Spiritual presences were present within our educational systems for most of our nation's history. Many of our major colleges began as theological seminaries. This is a historical fact. What has happened to us as a nation? We have refused to honor God, and in so doing, we open the doors to hatred and violence. And, when something as terrible as Columbine's tragedy occurs politicians immediately look for a scapegoat such as the NRA. They immediately seek to pass more restrictive laws that contribute to erode away our personal and private liberties. We do not need morerestrictive laws. Eric and Dylan would not have been stopped by metal detectors. No amount of gun laws can stop someone who spends months planning this type of massacre. The real villain lies within our own hearts.'As my son Craig lay under that table in the school library and saw his two friends murdered before his very eyes, he did not hesitate to pray in school. I defy any law or politician to deny him that right! I challenge every young person in America , and around the world, to realize that on April 20, 1999, at Columbine High School prayer was brought back to our schools. Do not let the many prayers offered by those students be in vain. Dare to move into the new millennium with a sacred disregard for legislation that violates your God-given right to communicate with Him. To those of you who would point your finger at the NRA, I give to you a sincere challenge. Dare to examine your own heart before casting the first stone!My daughter's death will not be in vain! The young peopleof this country will not allow that to happen!'Do what the media did not - - let the nation hear this man's speech..
On Thursday, May 29, 2008, Darrell Scott, the father of Rachel Scott, a victim of the Columbine High School shootings in Littleton , Colorado , was invited to address the House Judiciary Committee's subcommittee. What he said to our national leaders during this special session of Congress was painfully truthful.They were not prepared for what he was to say, nor was it received well. It needs to be heard by every parent, every teacher, every politician, every sociologist, every psychologist, and every so-called expert! These courageous words spoken by Darrell Scott are powerful, penetrating, and deeply personal. There is no doubt that God sent this man as a voice crying in the wilderness. The following is a portion of the transcript:'Since the dawn of creation there has been both good & evil in the hearts of men and women. We all contain the seeds of kindness or the seeds of violence. The death of my wonderful daughter, Rachel Joy Scott, and the deaths of that heroic teacher, and the other eleven children who died must not be in vain. Their blood cries out for answers. !'The first recorded act of violence was when Cain slew his brother Abel out in the field. The villain was not the club he used. Neither was it the N CA , the National Club Association. The true killer was Cain, and the reason for the murder could only be found in Cain's heart.'In the days that followed the Columbine tragedy, I was amazed at how quickly fingers began to be pointed at groups such as the NRA. I am not a member of the NRA. I am not a hunter. I do not even own a gun. I am not here to represent or defend the NRA because I don't believe that they areresponsible for my daughter's death. Therefore I do not believe that they need to be defended. If I believed they had anything to do with Rachel's murder I would be their strongest opponent.I am here today to declare that Columbine was not just a tragedy, it was a spiritual event that should be forcing us to look at where the real blame lies! Much of the blame lies here in this room. Much of the blame lies behind the pointing fingers of the accusers themselves. I wrote a poem just four nights ago that expresses my feelings best.
Your laws ignore our deepest needs,Your words are empty air.You've stripped away our heritage,You've outlawed simple prayer.Now gunshots fill our classrooms,And precious children die.You seek for answers everywhere,And ask the question 'Why?'You regulate restrictive laws,Through legislative creed.And yet you fail to understand,That God is what we need!'Men and women are three-part beings. We all consist of body, mind, and spirit. When we refuse to acknowledge a third part of our make-up, we create a void that allows evil, prejudice, and hatred to rush in and wreak havoc. Spiritual presences were present within our educational systems for most of our nation's history. Many of our major colleges began as theological seminaries. This is a historical fact. What has happened to us as a nation? We have refused to honor God, and in so doing, we open the doors to hatred and violence. And, when something as terrible as Columbine's tragedy occurs politicians immediately look for a scapegoat such as the NRA. They immediately seek to pass more restrictive laws that contribute to erode away our personal and private liberties. We do not need morerestrictive laws. Eric and Dylan would not have been stopped by metal detectors. No amount of gun laws can stop someone who spends months planning this type of massacre. The real villain lies within our own hearts.'As my son Craig lay under that table in the school library and saw his two friends murdered before his very eyes, he did not hesitate to pray in school. I defy any law or politician to deny him that right! I challenge every young person in America , and around the world, to realize that on April 20, 1999, at Columbine High School prayer was brought back to our schools. Do not let the many prayers offered by those students be in vain. Dare to move into the new millennium with a sacred disregard for legislation that violates your God-given right to communicate with Him. To those of you who would point your finger at the NRA, I give to you a sincere challenge. Dare to examine your own heart before casting the first stone!My daughter's death will not be in vain! The young peopleof this country will not allow that to happen!'Do what the media did not - - let the nation hear this man's speech..
THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND
The Concert
When the house lights dimmed and the concert
was about to begin, the mother returned to
her seat and discovered that the child was missing
Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights
focused on the impressive Steinway on stage.
To her horror, the mother saw her little boy
sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out
'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.'
At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance,
quickly moved to the piano, and
whispered in the boy's ear,
'Don't quit . . . keep playing.'
Then, leaning over , Paderewski reached
down with his left hand and began filling
in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached
around to the other side of the child,
and he added a running obbligato.
Together, the old master and the young novice
transformed what could have been a frightening situation
into a wonderfully creative experience.
The audience was so mesmerized that they couldn't recall
what else the great master played.
Only the classic,
" Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."
Perhaps that's the way it is with God.
What we can accomplish on
our own is hardly noteworthy.
We try our best, but the results aren't always
graceful flowing music. However, with the
hand of the Master, our life's
work can truly be beautiful.
The next time you set out to accomplish great feats,
listen carefully. You may hear the voice of the
Master, whispering in your ear,
'Don't quit . . . Keep playing.'
May you feel His arms around you and
know that His hands are there, helping you
turn your feeble attempts into true masterpieces.
Remember, God doesn't seem to
call the equipped, rather, He equips the 'called.'
Life is more accurately measured by the lives you touch
than by the things you acquire.
And remember, 'Don't quit . . . Keep playing.'
When the house lights dimmed and the concert
was about to begin, the mother returned to
her seat and discovered that the child was missing
Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights
focused on the impressive Steinway on stage.
To her horror, the mother saw her little boy
sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out
'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.'
At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance,
quickly moved to the piano, and
whispered in the boy's ear,
'Don't quit . . . keep playing.'
Then, leaning over , Paderewski reached
down with his left hand and began filling
in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached
around to the other side of the child,
and he added a running obbligato.
Together, the old master and the young novice
transformed what could have been a frightening situation
into a wonderfully creative experience.
The audience was so mesmerized that they couldn't recall
what else the great master played.
Only the classic,
" Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."
Perhaps that's the way it is with God.
What we can accomplish on
our own is hardly noteworthy.
We try our best, but the results aren't always
graceful flowing music. However, with the
hand of the Master, our life's
work can truly be beautiful.
The next time you set out to accomplish great feats,
listen carefully. You may hear the voice of the
Master, whispering in your ear,
'Don't quit . . . Keep playing.'
May you feel His arms around you and
know that His hands are there, helping you
turn your feeble attempts into true masterpieces.
Remember, God doesn't seem to
call the equipped, rather, He equips the 'called.'
Life is more accurately measured by the lives you touch
than by the things you acquire.
And remember, 'Don't quit . . . Keep playing.'
YES, GOD DOES EXISTS
This is one of the best explanations of why God allows pain and suffering that I have seen...
A man went to a barbershop to have his hair cut and his beard trimmed. As the barber began to work, they began to have a good conversation. They talked about so many things and various subjects. When they eventually touched on the subject of God, the barber said: "I don't believe that God exists."
"Why do you say that?" asked the customer.
"Well, you just have to go out in the street to realize that God doesn't exist. Tell me, if God exists, would there be so many sick people? Would there be abandoned children? If God existed, there would be neither suffering nor pain. I can't imagine a loving God who would allow all of these things."
The customer thought for a moment, but didn't respond because he didn't want to start an argument. The barber finished his job and the customer left the shop. Just after he left the barbershop, he saw a man in the street with long, stringy, dirty hair and an untrimmed beard. He looked dirty and unkempt.
The customer turned back and entered the barber shop again and he said to the barber : "You know what? Barbers do not exist."
"How can you say that?" asked the surprised barber. "I am here, and I am a barber. And I just worked on you!"
"No!" the customer exclaimed. "Barbers don't exist because if they did, there would be no people with dirty long hair and untrimmed beards, like that man outside."
"Ah, but barbers DO exist! That's what happens when people do not come to me" replied the barber.
"Exactly!" affirmed the customer. "That's the point! God, too, DOES exist! That's what happens when people do not go to Him and don't look to Him for help. That's why there's so much pain and suffering in the world."
A man went to a barbershop to have his hair cut and his beard trimmed. As the barber began to work, they began to have a good conversation. They talked about so many things and various subjects. When they eventually touched on the subject of God, the barber said: "I don't believe that God exists."
"Why do you say that?" asked the customer.
"Well, you just have to go out in the street to realize that God doesn't exist. Tell me, if God exists, would there be so many sick people? Would there be abandoned children? If God existed, there would be neither suffering nor pain. I can't imagine a loving God who would allow all of these things."
The customer thought for a moment, but didn't respond because he didn't want to start an argument. The barber finished his job and the customer left the shop. Just after he left the barbershop, he saw a man in the street with long, stringy, dirty hair and an untrimmed beard. He looked dirty and unkempt.
The customer turned back and entered the barber shop again and he said to the barber : "You know what? Barbers do not exist."
"How can you say that?" asked the surprised barber. "I am here, and I am a barber. And I just worked on you!"
"No!" the customer exclaimed. "Barbers don't exist because if they did, there would be no people with dirty long hair and untrimmed beards, like that man outside."
"Ah, but barbers DO exist! That's what happens when people do not come to me" replied the barber.
"Exactly!" affirmed the customer. "That's the point! God, too, DOES exist! That's what happens when people do not go to Him and don't look to Him for help. That's why there's so much pain and suffering in the world."
NEW PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE
WRITTEN BY A 15 yr. Old SCHOOL KID IN ARIZONA :
New Pledge of Allegiance (TOTALLY AWESOME) !
Since the Pledge of Allegiance
And
The Lord's Prayer
Are not allowed in most
Public schools anymore
Because the word 'God' is mentioned....
A kid in Arizona wrote the attached
NEW School prayer :
Now I sit me down in school
Where praying is against the rule
For this great nation under God
Finds mention of Him very odd.
If Scripture now the class recites,
It violates the Bill of Rights.
And anytime my head I bow
Becomes a Federal matter now.
Our hair can be purple, orange or green,
That's no offense; it's a freedom scene.
The law is specific, the law is precise.
Prayers spoken aloud are a serious vice.
For praying in a public hall
Might offend someone with no faith at all.
In silence alone we must meditate,
God's name is prohibited by the state.
We're allowed to cuss and dress like freaks,
And pierce our noses, tongues and cheeks..
They've outlawed guns, but FIRST the Bible.
To quote the Good Book makes me liable.
We can elect a pregnant Senior Queen,
And the 'unwed daddy,' our Senior King.
It's 'inappropriate' to teach right from wrong,
We're taught that such 'judgments' do not belong.
We can get our condoms and birth controls, Study witchcraft, vampires and totem poles.
But the Ten Commandments are not allowed, No word of God must reach this crowd.
It's scary here I must confess,
When chaos reigns the school's a mess.
So, Lord, this silent plea I make:
Should I be shot; My soul please take!
Amen
New Pledge of Allegiance (TOTALLY AWESOME) !
Since the Pledge of Allegiance
And
The Lord's Prayer
Are not allowed in most
Public schools anymore
Because the word 'God' is mentioned....
A kid in Arizona wrote the attached
NEW School prayer :
Now I sit me down in school
Where praying is against the rule
For this great nation under God
Finds mention of Him very odd.
If Scripture now the class recites,
It violates the Bill of Rights.
And anytime my head I bow
Becomes a Federal matter now.
Our hair can be purple, orange or green,
That's no offense; it's a freedom scene.
The law is specific, the law is precise.
Prayers spoken aloud are a serious vice.
For praying in a public hall
Might offend someone with no faith at all.
In silence alone we must meditate,
God's name is prohibited by the state.
We're allowed to cuss and dress like freaks,
And pierce our noses, tongues and cheeks..
They've outlawed guns, but FIRST the Bible.
To quote the Good Book makes me liable.
We can elect a pregnant Senior Queen,
And the 'unwed daddy,' our Senior King.
It's 'inappropriate' to teach right from wrong,
We're taught that such 'judgments' do not belong.
We can get our condoms and birth controls, Study witchcraft, vampires and totem poles.
But the Ten Commandments are not allowed, No word of God must reach this crowd.
It's scary here I must confess,
When chaos reigns the school's a mess.
So, Lord, this silent plea I make:
Should I be shot; My soul please take!
Amen
Thursday, July 10, 2008
MORE BLONDE MANIA
Two blondes living inOklahoma were sitting on a bench talking, and one blonde says to the other, "Which do you think is farther away... Florida or the moon?"
The other blonde turns and says "Helloooooooooo, can you see Florida ?????"
CAR TROUBLE
A blonde pushes her BMW into a gas station. She tells the mechanic it died.
After he works on it for a few minutes, it is idling smoothly.
She says, "What's the story?"
He replies, "Just crap in the carburetor"
She asks, "How often do I have to do that?"
SPEEDING TICKET
A police officer stops a blonde for speeding and asks her very nicely if he could see her license.
She replied in a huff, "I wish you guys would get your act together. Just yesterday you take away my license and then today you expect me to show it to you!"
RIVER WALK
There's this blonde out for a walk. She comes to a river and sees another blonde on the opposite bank. "Yoo-hoo!" she shouts, "How can I get to the other side?"
The second blonde looks up the river then down the river and shouts back, "You ARE on the other side."
AT THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE
A gorgeous young redhead goes into the doctor's office and said that her body hurt wherever she touched it.
"Impossible!" says the doctor. "Show me."
The redhead took her finger, pushed on her left shoulder and screamed, then she pushed her elbow and screamed even more. She pushed her knee and screamed;
likewise she pushed her ankle and screamed. Everywhere she touched made her scream.
The doctor said, "You're not really a redhead, are you?
"Well, no" she said, "I'm actually a blonde."
"I thought so," the doctor said. "Your finger is broken."
KNITTING
A highway patrolman pulled alongside a speeding car on the freeway. Glancing at the car, he was astounded to see that the blonde behind the wheel was knitting!
Realizing that she was oblivious to his flashing lights and siren, the trooper cranked down his window, turned on his bullhorn and yelled, "PULL OVER!"
"NO!" the blonde yelled back, "IT'S A SCARF!"
BLONDE ON THE SUN
A Russian, an American, and a Blonde were talking one day. The Russian said, "We were the first in space!"
The American said, "We were the first on the moon!"
The Blonde said, "So what? We're going to be the first on the sun!"
The Russian and the American looked at each other and shook their heads. "You can't land on the sun, you idiot! You'll burn up!" said the Russian.
To which the Blonde replied, "We're not stupid, you know. We're going at night!"
IN A VACUUM
A blonde was playing Trivial Pursuit one night. It was her turn. She rolled the dice and she landed on Science & Nature. Her question was, "If you are in a vacuum and someone calls your name, can you hear it?"
She thought for a time and then asked, "Is it on or off?"
FINALLY, THE BLONDE JOKE TO END ALL BLONDE JOKES!
A girl was visiting her blonde friend, who had acquired two new dogs, and asked her what their names were. The blonde responded by saying that one was named Rolex and one was named Timex. Her friend said, "Whoever heard of someone naming dogs like that?"
"HELLLOOOOOOO......," answered the blond. "They're watch dogs!"
The other blonde turns and says "Helloooooooooo, can you see Florida ?????"
CAR TROUBLE
A blonde pushes her BMW into a gas station. She tells the mechanic it died.
After he works on it for a few minutes, it is idling smoothly.
She says, "What's the story?"
He replies, "Just crap in the carburetor"
She asks, "How often do I have to do that?"
SPEEDING TICKET
A police officer stops a blonde for speeding and asks her very nicely if he could see her license.
She replied in a huff, "I wish you guys would get your act together. Just yesterday you take away my license and then today you expect me to show it to you!"
RIVER WALK
There's this blonde out for a walk. She comes to a river and sees another blonde on the opposite bank. "Yoo-hoo!" she shouts, "How can I get to the other side?"
The second blonde looks up the river then down the river and shouts back, "You ARE on the other side."
AT THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE
A gorgeous young redhead goes into the doctor's office and said that her body hurt wherever she touched it.
"Impossible!" says the doctor. "Show me."
The redhead took her finger, pushed on her left shoulder and screamed, then she pushed her elbow and screamed even more. She pushed her knee and screamed;
likewise she pushed her ankle and screamed. Everywhere she touched made her scream.
The doctor said, "You're not really a redhead, are you?
"Well, no" she said, "I'm actually a blonde."
"I thought so," the doctor said. "Your finger is broken."
KNITTING
A highway patrolman pulled alongside a speeding car on the freeway. Glancing at the car, he was astounded to see that the blonde behind the wheel was knitting!
Realizing that she was oblivious to his flashing lights and siren, the trooper cranked down his window, turned on his bullhorn and yelled, "PULL OVER!"
"NO!" the blonde yelled back, "IT'S A SCARF!"
BLONDE ON THE SUN
A Russian, an American, and a Blonde were talking one day. The Russian said, "We were the first in space!"
The American said, "We were the first on the moon!"
The Blonde said, "So what? We're going to be the first on the sun!"
The Russian and the American looked at each other and shook their heads. "You can't land on the sun, you idiot! You'll burn up!" said the Russian.
To which the Blonde replied, "We're not stupid, you know. We're going at night!"
IN A VACUUM
A blonde was playing Trivial Pursuit one night. It was her turn. She rolled the dice and she landed on Science & Nature. Her question was, "If you are in a vacuum and someone calls your name, can you hear it?"
She thought for a time and then asked, "Is it on or off?"
FINALLY, THE BLONDE JOKE TO END ALL BLONDE JOKES!
A girl was visiting her blonde friend, who had acquired two new dogs, and asked her what their names were. The blonde responded by saying that one was named Rolex and one was named Timex. Her friend said, "Whoever heard of someone naming dogs like that?"
"HELLLOOOOOOO......," answered the blond. "They're watch dogs!"
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