The Hey You Lady

  photo by bellabu452 via photobucket.com   During the past year and a half to two years I have been to more funerals than I care to remember.  Whether these gatherings were called "funeral" or "memorial service" or "celebration of life," there was always an eulogy of some sort, a tribute to the deceased, usually given by a close family member or someone who knew him or her very well. And there was always a time set aside during the service when family and freinds could share what heaven's newest resident meant to them.  Some services had many people share; others had only a few share. Regardless of how many people shared, it was clear that the person made a difference with their life. What did they do during their lives to make a difference? None of these individuals were famous.  They were mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, colleagues, friends. They all had their own unique flaws. They also had their own unique gifts. They...

Calvary. Golgotha. The place of the skull. No one wants to think of this place. Criminals meet punishment. Soldiers wait for dying nobodies to die. Victims and families finding closure as justice is served. A place of disgust. Anguish. Death. Blood-soaked ground. Random bones left behind from the men who died on this hill. Blood-soaked beams of wood and nails tossed aside, forgotten. Just as the men who they once held up are now forgotten. No one wants to come here, yet I am drawn to this place. Drawn by one man who once hung from one cross. No crime of his own brought him here. The people called for his death; the political leaders pardoned him. The people called for his death; the governor ordered soldiers to flog him. Not enough punishment for the people. They called for his death. This man was innocent, yet this man did not fight for his own life. One man. Two beams of wood. Three heavy nails. Blood-soaked ground. Golgotha. Crime meets punishment, but it ...

 Photo by mpmf59 via Photobucket.com   Two lanes. Two cars. Two drivers. One starting signal One finish line. One winner. One prize. Drag racing. What is it about this type of event that draws the attention of thousands of people? Is it the head-to-head competitive nature? The adrenaline rush of pushing the pedal to the metal in hopes of coming out victorious? Is it the prize itself, whether it’s the pink slip to the other car, getting the girl, or bragging rights to defend your title for another day? Let me be clear. I am not an advocate of drag racing, mostly because of the dangers of the sport. Even in a controlled environment, the risks are very high. But this post is not about feeding one’s need for speed. Or is it? Maybe you’ve known people who live as though they are drag racing through life. They seem to live as though they are racing “real” life racing against the life they “ought” to have. Once the starting signal said “GO!” they became so focused on th...