The Key

By Bob Kaku

Under crystalline blue skies, my wife, Gail, and I basked in the tranquility of St. John, US Virgin Islands. The warm, azure waters washed our feet as we waded through the gentle waves. The unhurried pace and friendly banter with the lo­cals were a welcomed respite from our hectic Califor­nia lives.

We drank in the spectacular vistas of Cruz Bay and the Caribbean from the veranda of our rented condo perched atop a steep hill. The balmy onshore breeze and me­lod­­ic cadence of steel drums wafted in, making our stress float away. What a relaxing spot! Everything was per­fect until . . .

One evening, we strolled down to the swimming pool, the perfect vantage point to view the glistening harbor lights on one side and the shimmering moonlit sea on the other. Periodic boat horns droned in the distance. After we saun­tered back to our unit, I fished through my belt pouch and pockets for the key, but I couldn’t find it. All week I had used extreme caution putting the key back into my pouch. I peered through the kitchen window and saw the key sitting on the counter. “Oh, no! There’s no night manager. How will we get in?”

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A Blind Man’s Story

By George Dalton

Barnabus and Sara were in love, he saved his money to pay the price for his bride, now they were married. Life was wonderful he’d served as an apprentice to the cobbler and tanner, now he owned his own shop. He was a businessman, and Sara was in love with him. One day he came home from work and Sara met him at the door. He could see the excitement in her eyes,

“What is it my darling?”

“We’re going to have a baby, I saw the midwife today, and she agrees, we’re going to have a baby.”

He started to grab her up and swing her around the room, then thought, OH I can’t do that anymore. “That is wonderful my darling, if it’s a boy he can grow up strong and become an apprentice in my shop. If it’s a girl she’ll be beautiful like her mother.” Sara said, “We must tell our parents they are soon to be grandparents. My papa will love being a grandfather, my mother will be making baby clothes by tomorrow.”  “ It is sad that my papa didn’t live to see his first grandchild,” Barnabus said, “but my mama’ll be excited.”

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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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