A Horn, A Drum, And A Gun

By Ed Crumley

In the early years of my life, at least the ones I can remember, I wanted the same three things every Christmas: a horn, a drum, and a gun. Not sure why. We were in the midst of World War II, so at least the gun could’ve had something to do with the war. Maybe I wanted the musical instruments to make my war games sound more dramatic. Or, perhaps I could blame Roy Rogers, our musical cowboy hero, who always got the bad guys with his nickel-plated revolvers blazing.

During those times you couldn’t buy many toys, so Dad made Christmas presents for us. He got out his tools and built things out of wood. Big things like a rocking boat or a rocking horse complete with mane, bridal, and saddle. Those were fine secondary gifts as long as the three required items mentioned above also came in Santa’s bag.

In later years, our Christmas present requests migrated more toward clothes. My brother and I both had to have SMU football jerseys with the number 37, the number of our local hero, Doak Walker. I don’t know why Ken couldn’t have had some lesser player’s number instead. In junior high, my gift request reflected fashion. There was a cool kid at school who was the original Fonz. I had to have the same jacket and scarf that he wore. Funny, but when I put them on, I didn’t look like The Fonz. 

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The Taste of Our Lives

By Lane Johnson

“Even though I am free of the demands and expectations of everyone, I have voluntarily become a servant to any and all in order to reach a wide range of people: religious, nonreligious, meticulous moralists, loose-living immoralists, the defeated, the demoralized—whoever. I didn’t take on their way of life. I kept my bearings in Christ—but I entered their world and tried to experience things from their point of view. I’ve become just about every sort of servant there is in my attempts to lead those I meet into a God-saved life. I did all this because of the Message. I didn’t just want to talk about it; I wanted to be in on it!”

1 Corinthians 9; 19-22 The Message Bible

As I write this, Sandy is preparing another batch of “friendship bread”. This particular recipe produces a very tasty cake type treat that is excellent with butter and coffee. I have begun to dislike “friendship bread”, however, not for its taste but because its recipe requires that you end up with four “starter” packs that are supposed to be passed on to your friends. These friends then will, in turn, end up with four starter packs themselves each time they make the bread. This then requires them to find four new unaware friends to which they can then unload the starters on who will soon be looking for other virgin friends who have not previously been initiated into this baking pyramid, multi-level, pass it on nightmare.

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God Save Our Bathroom!

By Bob Kaku

Two years after we moved into our newly constructed home, we noticed hairline cracks forming in the tiles of our master bathroom­—all over the floor, shower walls, bath skirt, and even on top of the vanity counter. It looked like someone took a piece of chalk and drew lines on the tiles. The longest crack measured four feet and ran across multiple tiles. Where did these cracks come from?

“Lord, help! What’s happening to our bathroom?” my wife, Gail wailed.

I called the builder, and he came over to examine the problem. He squatted down toward the bath skirt and ran his finger over the crevices. “I think the problem is in the marble,” he said with a puzzled expression. “I’ll get back to you.” But we never heard back from him.

“It looks like we’re stuck since we didn’t extend the home warranty,” Gail lamented. “Who would have ever thought a new house would have such problems!”

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Wrong Door

By George Dalton

On a recent trip I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.  So when my plane landed at the Dallas Fort Worth Airport, I raced off the plane and headed for the nearest restroom.  Lucky for me there was no line, so I ran right into an open stall.

I was feeling better when, all at once, my reverie was interrupted by someone opening the stall door next to mine. I was about ready to leave when I happened to look down at the space under the stall partition and I saw a pair of high heel shoes. My first thought was that I didn’t want to embarrass the poor dear, so when I leave, I will leave quietly and she will not realize she is in the wrong restroom.  Before I could get the door open, someone opened the door on the other side and, OH MY GOSH; there was another pair of high heels.

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Being Led by the Spirit According to Garmin

By Lane R Johnson

I have a companion that travels in my truck with me wherever I go. It’s a small navigational unit called Garmin. This companion is not very chatty, but I have grown to trust it implicitly. I call it Gwendolyn. 

In the beginning it was difficult to trust Gwendolyn. I was used to making all the decisions and seeing the end from the beginning. The concept of heading off in faith lead by someone I couldn’t control was very difficult.

I remember an appointment I had in Virginia. I left Richmond in plenty of time. Everything went as usual until 45 minutes into the trip. Then I noticed that the roads were becoming increasingly rural. I ignored my uneasiness as long as I could until I found myself trapped in traffic on a two lane road. Cars in front, cars behind, nothing moving and all indications were that we were headed straight into the James River. I was trapped and I was very uncomfortable. I had no backup plan. I hadn’t brought a map and I was hopelessly lost. Not only that, but my appointment was critical and I had no idea how I was going to keep it. I fumed in my truck and finally, out of frustration, I railed at Gwendolyn. “I trusted you! I put myself in YOUR hands and look where it brought me!” Gwendolyn didn’t answer. No matter how much I fumed she remained silent. I decided to attempt to figure out how I could extricate MYSELF from this mess. Obviously, Gwendolyn had proven untrustworthy. 

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