He’ll Take Care of the Rest - Keith Green
3 days ago32 Hours: The Church in Haiti
1 week agofounder of Multnomah School of the Bible
1 week agoSarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She’d scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts…
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall…
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fried and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That it finally touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said,
“OK, I’ll take the garbage out!”
But then, of course, it was too late…
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!
Shel Silverstein, 1974
2 weeks ago“Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn. My God, do you learn.”
- C. S. Lewis
When I was 7 or 8 I learned to ride a bike. I learned to ride on a little red bike with a fan belt instead of a chain, but as soon as I knew how to ride i got my own bike.
My first bike was a girls bike that my grandpa welded a bar across the top of and turned it into a boys bike. We painted it up and tricked it out with stingray handle bars, a banana seat, and a sissy bar. I was stylin’ and I was free. I could go anywhere in town.
On weekends I would get on my bike and take off. In the small town where I grew up, and the time I grew up in, it was safe enough that I could take off in the morning and stay away from home all day, and sometimes I did. My mom’s rule was I had to be home before the street light on the corner came on.
It was great to have so much freedom.
Now comes the part where I sound like an old man…kids these days have no idea what freedom is like. We have to protect them from the world so much. I think it is sad.
3 weeks agoone of my favorite passages
3 weeks ago
