Or die mad
Or die mad
When real estate tycoon and multi-billionaire Donald Trump announced that he was running for the Republican nomination for President of the United States, hoots, jeers, and catcalls ensued.
Some time ago, I attended a wedding. The service was beautiful, the couple was charming. At the reception, the newlyweds shared their first dance together.
The person standing next to me said, “Don’t they look so sweet? So much in love!”
In looking through some old photograph albums from three generations, I noticed some absences. For example, my father is in very few of our family pictures. In my family’s albums, I am the one who is absent.
According to a report by the Associated Press, some prominent Chattanooga Muslims are speaking out about the murders of five U. S. servicemen. The alleged killer attended the same mosque as Mohsin Ali, a member of the Islamic Society of Greater Chattanooga.
A new flag controversy has captured the attention of some in the media and on social media. The new controversy is not about the Confederate flag or the rainbow flag, although those two symbols have their own proponents and detractors.
Sometimes I forget just how fragile life is. Over the years I have known people who are here one day — strong, vital, and healthy — and the next day they are gone.
As the nation celebrates its independence, it is possible that we are more divided as a country that at any time since the War Between the States.
In 1982, I was serving as an associate minister at a large church in western Colorado. I received an invitation to candidate for the position of pastor at a church in Alabama. I had previously served as a pastor and desired to be a pastor once again.
“Do you ever get over it? Does the pain ever go away?” The question was asked recently by a person who had lost a loved one.
Friends had told her, “You’ll get over it,” or “The pain will go away,” and “This will get easier with time.” Well, yes and no.
Last Tuesday, 20 weeks of intense involvement came to a close as I completed the first unit of Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) at Piedmont Fayette Hospital, through the College for Pastoral Supervision and Psychotherapy.
My oldest granddaughter is engaged to be married.
I did not grow up in a home with girls. In fact, my father was the oldest of eight children, six of them boys. My mom and dad had two kids, both boys. When I got married, my wife and I had three sons. No girls anywhere.
Recently, the President of the United States spoke at the graduation of the U. S. Coast Guard Academy. There he proclaimed that one of the greatest threats to national security was ... climate change.
She was lethargic and disinterested. She hadn’t eaten all day and did not even attempt to have a drink of water. Then, she went missing. We searched everywhere for her and finally found her. She was listless and barely awake. I thought she was dying. After all, she was old — really old.
Last week, another person from my church and I attended a two-day training session at the Cancer Treatment Center of America in Newnan. The training was called, “Our Journey of Hope” and 26 churches from six different states were represented.