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I have never been unloved

And neither have you…

 Never been Unloved (by Michael W. Smith)

I have been unfaithful
I have been unworthy
I have been unrighteous
And I have been unmerciful

I have been unreachable
I have been unteachable
I have been unwilling
And I have been undesirable

And sometimes I have unwise
I’ve been undone by what I’m unsure of
But because of You
And all that You went through
I know that I have never been unloved

I have been unbroken
I have been unmended
I have been uneasy
And I’ve been unapproachable

I’ve been unemotional
I’ve been unexceptional
I’ve been undecided
And I have been unqualified

I have been unfair
I’ve been unfit for blessings from above
But even I can see
The sacrifice You made for me
To show that I have never been unloved

It’s because of You
And all that You went through
I know that I have never been unloved

Captive – A Prologue (by Lainie Gallagher)

image courtesy of

I’ve known today’s guest blogger for almost as long as I’ve been blogging. She had another blog back then, but decided to start a new one because many of her friends and family read her other blog and she felt she couldn’t write as openly and honestly there. I get that. You’ll get that too after you read the following post. She’s written her own bio, so I won’t say much about her except that she’s an exceptional writer, she makes me smile and that I bloggy love her!

Here’s Lainie:

I am a follower of Christ, the wife of David, a teacher to middle schoolers, and the adoptive mommy to an ornery feline, and I do try to keep them in that order! Reading and writing are my two favorite things, and I hate all things domestic, except children. (I guess whatever kids God blesses me with will live in a messy home and eat grilled cheese sandwiches!) I feel called to write the story God gave me, and I pray that whomever He brings to read it will see Him and not me.

Captive – A Prologue

They lied. Are they supposed to do that? Aren’t they supposed to serve and to protect? Well, if you call drippy pizza and oldish card games “service,” then I guess they served me well. If you call taking away my family “protection,” then they shone as saviors. I wouldn’t have called it that, though. They lied.

It began with a knock. Actually, it could have been the doorbell. I don’t recall exactly, since I was engrossed in erasing my mess in the kitchen after making hamburger patties. My secret recipe yielded the most coveted burgers in the family, so the job always fell to me. Although I knew that the mothers were simply exploiting child labor and relishing an evening off, I still felt special for it. Specialness had become a stranger in those days, along with any positive interaction with my mother or grandmother. This was in large part due to the mounting evidence that they knew absolutely nothing. They knew me least of all. So, I enjoyed burger nights, as long as no one hovered or asked me annoying questions during the process.

Lost in my own pressing thoughts, very little could distract me. The meaty aroma creeping into every corner of the cramped kitchen scarcely caught my attention. I ignored some irrelevant statement—or was it a question?—from my old mother’s old mother. Scrubbing and cleaning and contemplating great things, I wished away the mothers in my life.

The knock at the door—or was it the doorbell?—jolted me out of my grandiose plans. It matters little how the intruders announced their presence; it’s what came after that really matters.

No one came to the door—ever. And I knew from years of experience with my mother that if someone actually did come to the door, then no one answered it—ever. The thing to do is mute the television and stare intently through the peeky hole until they leave. If they leave, you turn up the volume and resume life. If they don’t leave, well, then you should seriously consider the back door. Someone would leave eventually; there would be no meeting between intruder and inhabitant.

My grandmother was different. She didn’t know how to live like we did. To her, mommies and daddies stayed together. Knocks at the door signaled unexpected opportunities to chat with a friend while exchanging a cup of sugar for a smiling promise to share the goodies. Needless to say, my grandmother didn’t hesitate to go to the door. She walked effortlessly and without concern, as though the knock—or doorbell—physically drew her trusting hand to the doorknob beyond her control. I threw the towel on the counter, watching and shaking my head in complete disbelief of her naiveté. She disappeared stupidly into the entryway, but I can’t deny that I crept around the corner to see what menace might be lurking.

I’ll never forget the first thing I saw, or, rather, I should say “things.” Even though the door instantly exposed us and them, I really didn’t notice the people right away. Instead, I noticed the things—the things that meant everything. They meant my world crashing down around me. They meant imprisonment—they meant devastation—they meant tears—they meant danger—they meant insecurity. Cold and gleaming, they meant the loss of life as we all knew it.


And my mother was standing inside them. My strong, defiant, tragic mother was inside of them and she made no attempt to get out. After all of our escapes, after all of our near-misses, she wasn’t even trying!

What do I do? How do I get out? I stepped back incredulously. We’ve never experienced a situation quite like this; the cops have never been quite this close. But, we can do this. They have guns, but we can do this. Think. Look in her eyes. Is there a plan? Is she sending me a secret message? What is she trying to say?

Her eyes revealed only resignation and sorrow. They whispered pity. My mother felt sorry for me. The years of running, hiding, and lying had completely exhausted her, but I never saw it until that moment. More than that, however, I couldn’t get past the obvious sorrow on my behalf. She wished I didn’t see what I saw, and she prayed that what was about to happen wouldn’t.

They entered, sat, argued, discussed, reassured, directed, planned, explained. Sitting in my grandmother’s informal living room on Central Avenue, two uniforms and two mothers made plans about my tomorrow.

I heard only fragments of what those four said in that room that night, for I was still planning my escape. Whether the mothers would make their escape or not, I would. I thought about my escape as I obediently packed my bags. I thought about my escape as my mother lifted her tired, handcuffed arms up over my head to give me one last, tearful, pitiful, awkward hug—the one that must hold me over for many years.

Entering the wide open, seeing crouched men wearing black, aiming guns, and surrounding the house, I abandoned all plans of escape. Not knowing what else to do, I numbly pulled my body into the designated squad car. Defiantly extinguishing sudden tears, I watched the uniforms direct my mommy into another car, worlds away. It was no use. I was only twelve, and the men did have guns after all.

I didn’t know where they took my mother. Well I knew, but I didn’t know a precise location and I had trouble seeing it in my head. Stripes? Orange jumpsuits? Chains? Humiliating initiations? Maybe. I bet she didn’t even have walls around her toilet. I bet she thought about me the whole time. On second thought, maybe she was planning her escape. That sounds a lot like her.

As for me, I stayed in limbo at the city police department for endless hours. The uniforms had names and gave me food. They let me call friends to explain the inexplicable. They showed me my horribly inaccurate—and completely ugly—age-enhanced photograph. As we talked, they promised me I would not have to stay with my pedophilic father that night. They understood the reason for our fugitive way of life.

I couldn’t bear the thought of experiencing everything my mother had warned me about. She had always expressed her thankfulness that I didn’t remember. Chatting with these friendly men, I felt my own sense of thankfulness because it looked like I’d never have to worry about it, even now. They confided in me that pending paperwork would let me stay with my grandmother under a sort of “house arrest” until everything could be straightened out. I relaxed and felt better. These cops—the people we had spent my life outwitting and outrunning—were actually going to help me.

Well, they lied, and I revisited plans of escape.

This is my story.

To read more from Lainie Gallagher, visit her at his blog Life is Good and follow her on twitter at @LainieGallagher

Willsey (by Billy Coffey)

image courtesy of
Having the evening breeze blow over you and make ripples in your glass of tea is a pretty nice way to end your day, which is why I love my porch. It’s a good vantage point to my own little slice of world, one that unfolds before me in the sort of high-definition that far eclipses my television.

My porch serves as a good object lesson, too. It’s proof that if you hold still and listen long enough, something pretty insightful will happen.

That didn’t seem to be the case last night. I was holding still well enough. That wasn’t the problem. And the problem really wasn’t the listening, either. I was doing that, too.

The problem was what I was hearing.

The dog was a mutt. Half beagle, half Australian shepherd, with maybe a little bit of border collie thrown in. Having all that muddled DNA inside you would surely cause more than a little confusion. Trust me when I say that dog was more than a little confused.

So was its owner, who at the moment seemed a little perplexed as to if he was walking the dog or the dog was walking him. He tripped and pulled and pushed. The dog ran and stopped and tangled the leash around its owner’s legs. It was a sight.

And over and over between the barks came pleas of despair and sorrow:

“Willsey, stop!” “Willsey, come!” “Willsey, hold still!” “Dang it, Willsey!”

It took a full five minutes for the two of them to get from the corner of my block to the front of my house. And even though I was enjoying the cool of the evening, the man was sweating as much as a boxer after a ten round fight.

Willsey stopped and sniffed at our mailbox post. Just before he was ready to do his business, I let out a small cough. The owner looked at me on the porch and gave the dog a quick jerk. He’d have to hold it for the next post down the road.

We smiled at each other and said hello.

“Wouldn’t want a dog, would you?” he asked me.

“Sorry,” I said. “Looks like he’d be a full time job.”

“Buddy,” he said, “you don’t know the half of it.”

I nodded toward the mutt hanging from the end of the leash. “Kind of a strange name for a dog. Willsey?”

He laughed and said, “Yeah well, happened by accident.”

He bent down, rubbed the dog on its head, and was rewarded by a face full of slobber. He snorted, the dog snorted, and I snorted.

“My little girl brought him home,” he said. “Just had to have a dog, and she worried me to death. You think this dog’s ugly now? You should have seem him when he was a pup. Looked like Satan himself had coughed him up. And she says, ‘Daddy, can we keep him?’”

“And what’d you say?” I asked.

“I said, ‘Well, we’ll see.”

“Which I’m guessing became Willsey.”

“Yep,” he said. “Seven years ago. Hated him at first. Still kinda do. But you know what? He’s growin’ on me.”

He patted the dog again and got another face full of slobber.

“I like it,” I told him. “The name and the story.”

The man laughed and then proceeded to drag/push/pull Willsey on down the road.

“Neighbor’s got a fresh coat of paint on the mailbox post,” I shouted to him.

“Oh, Willsey’s gonna love that,” I heard.

I smiled to myself and resumed my rocking. I didn’t know who to feel sorry for the most, the man who was stuck with the dog or the dog who was stuck with the man. Maybe both should have been pitied in equal measure. Then again, maybe they both deserved each other.

But I wondered about all those things I’d said “We’ll see” to in my life, all those things I thought would happen or wouldn’t and then didn’t or did. And then I wondered about all the other people who used that phrase every day. We never know what’s coming in this life. We can seldom see what challenges or blessings wait just around the next corner.

And we can seldom see the blessings in our challenges, too.

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at his blog What I Learned Today and follow him on twitter at @BillyCoffey

Trust and Obey? (repost)

Obedient – submissive to the restraint or command of authority: willing to obey.

If you grew up in church, chances are you have heard the song “Trust and Obey”. Church folks love to teach that to kids. Me? Never a big fan of that song. Not because I don’t think it’s important for us to trust and obey God. I really do believe that. I just take issue with the lyrics:

Trust and obey,
for there’s no other way
To be happy in Jesus,
but to trust and obey

Because you see, sometimes I don’t want to be told to obey. For me, that song seems almost like a threat. “You had better obey what I’m telling you if you want to be happy in Jesus.”

Nobody likes ultimatums.

I didn’t give my life to Christ because someone told me if I didn’t I was going to hell. I gave my life to Christ because I finally understood the depth of His love for me. You can’t force willful obedience any more than you can force someone to accept Christ. They have to come to both willingly if either is to be sincere.

I know I’ve posted the following quote on numerous occasions – here and elsewhere, and I may be getting off on a bit of a tangent, but it’s probably my favorite quote on Christianity of all times, so I’ll share it again:

The only thing worse than the joke you don’t get is the explanation that is bound to follow: an explanation that, while it may help you see why you should have seen the humor that you so lamely missed, is little likely to make you laugh. It may provoke you to muster a sympathy snicker so as to avoid more of an already tedious and misdirected lecture. It may inspire a mild giggle of recognition, but it will hardly ever raise a real belly-laugh, which was the original desired effect.

And so, here I go — me and a dozen thousand other people — trying to explain a joke that we would do better to learn to better tell. I am setting out to explain again why Jesus is the only true hope for the world, why we should put faith in Him, and what all of that won’t mean. I am collecting the information, selecting from what I hope will be usable as evidence, arranging my findings into arguments, framing it for presentation and recognizing that, while it may be fine as far as it goes, it doesn’t go far enough.

But then I remember two things. The first thing I remember is how I once won an argument with a heathen friend of mine who — after I had whacked away his last scrap of defense, after I had successfully cut off every possible escape route that he could use, after I backed him into an inescapable corner and hit him with a great inarguable truth — blew me away by simply saying, “I do not want to be a Christian. I don’t want your Jesus Christ.” There was no argument left to be had or won. Faith is a matter of the will as much as it is of the intellect. I wanted to believe in Jesus. My friend wanted to believe in himself. In spite of how convincing my reason was, my reason was not compelling.

So the second thing I remember is this:

I am a Christian because I have seen the love of God lived out in the people who know Him. The Word has become flesh and I have encountered God in the people who have manifested (in many “unreasonable” ways) His Presence; a presence that is more than convincing, it is a Presence that is compelling. I am a Christian not because someone explained the nuts and bolts of Christianity to me, but because there were people who were willing to be the nuts and bolts, who through their explanation of it, held it together so that I could experience it and be compelled by it to obey. “If I be lifted up,” Jesus said, “I will draw all men unto me.”

So, here I offer what is possibly the worst thing that can be offered: an explanation of a joke. And, what makes this more inexcusable than the fact that this is that, is the added fact that this is an explanation of a joke you’ve already gotten. I offer it anyway. I offer it in the hope that it might somehow encourage you to live out your lives and, by your living, tell the joke that I, in my writing, so feebly attempt to explain. Love one another, forgive one another, work as unto God, let the peace of Christ reign in your hearts. Make it your ambition to lead quiet lives. Obey. Greet one another with a holy kiss. No one will argue with that.

-Rich Mullins

Enriching lives thru the power of social media. Again.

image courtesy of

Seems I was a fountain of useless information and unsolicited advice on the twitter this week with topics ranging from new websites to feet scraping to creepy childrens books and every thing in between.

The best of me (or not) on the twitter this week:

@CandySteele Me write code? I don’t even understand suduko. (in reply to CandySteele @katdish Your blogroll phones well. Tell me you’re not writing code. Please tell me.)

@lainiegallagher Do you realize that if you & I were morphed into 1 person we would be the most demanding person EVER? (in reply to lainiegallagher @katdish It’s decided, then. It should be fast by tomorrow. 😀 )

@lainiegallagher Well that’s true. (in reply to lainiegallagher @katdish Haha I know… me too! Make him fix it. I mean, your list of demands is already long. What’s one more?)

@JeffHolton Don’t mention it. Unsolicited advice: just another service I offer. (in reply to JeffHolton RT @katdish: @JeffHolton If they ask U what UR weaknesses R, don’t say, “I tend to oversleep & call in sick a lot after 90 days.” // Thx. 🙂

SNORT! RT @br8kthru: Wow. It smells like boiled rotten cabbage in our office hallway… & not in a good way. 🙂

@arestlessheart Snort! I’m going to unfollow myself now. (in reply to arestlessheart #FF MUST FOLLOW @katdish 😉

When someone does a #FF in all caps that says MUST FOLLOWS, it makes me think “You’re not the boss of me!”

@Helenatrandom Hmmm…Now there’s a thought. My feet do need a good scrape and polish. (in reply to Helenatrandom @katdish Sounds to me like the ladies need a retreat as well… to a spa….)

@br8kthru I actually DO appreciate how men’s minds work. I consider it one of my greatest strengths. (in reply to br8kthru @katdish Nice! You have to appreciate how men’s minds work, right?)

@br8kthru DH is going on a “leadership retreat” w/Jeff & 2 other elders. To the beach. With the boat. And fishing poles.

There IS only one me, for which many are grateful//RT @CassandraFrear: @katdish There’s only one you. Shine.

I think it’s really funny that folks will go to such lengths to defend a creepy childrens book.

RT @marni71: @duane_scott @katdish Whatever dude. If my MIL broke into my house to rock my husband to sleep, I’d taze her.

@duane_scott guess one of us still holds a valid man card. (in reply to duane_scott @katdish true. But its also sweet. Did you lose your entire heart to Texas? The book still makes me choke up.)

@duane_scott It’s Creepy. (in reply to duane_scott @katdish @PeterPollock Love you Forever? The kids book? Don’t go hatin’ on that one. Its a childhood favorite.)

@PeterPollock I love you forever’s creepiness stems more from the artwork than from the wordage. (in reply to PeterPollock @CandySteele I’m not sure I understand the giving tree. Someon gave me it and said it reminded her of me? Never heard of Love you Forever)

@duane_scott @JeffHolton @CandySteele Possibly the best book ever written? Hmph! As Triumph the Dog would say, “For me to POOP on!”

@forthegirls Spending time with family, are we? (in reply to forthegirls My tongue is gonna have some serious teeth marks from biting it all day. Lord please let this day hurry)

I should probably go write something. My mind is a bit rambly.

Do you know what would be really mean thing to do? Let your dog lick a bowl clean & then put it back in the cabinet.

@buzzbyannies What to the eva, Annie (in reply to buzzbyannies @Katdish I had no idea there was such a thing as sugar free Ragu. Probably because I make my spaghetti sauce from scratch.)

Snort! Got a new fitness follow

As part of a new healthy eating regime, I had spaghetti made with Ragu-no sugar added. Which was really not bad once I added some sugar.

@RandDuren I must admit, he’s very good at playing David Caruso. (in reply to RandDuren @katdish I love him haha!)

@RandDuren You are crazy. Because David Caruso is so annoying. (in reply to RandDuren Call me crazy but I feel like watching CSI:Miami… I miss Horatio putting his glasses on.)

@CandySteele Is that a real word? (in reply to CandySteele @katdish @BridgetChumbley Or medical terms? Rectoretinitis is one of my favs.)

@CandySteele Whatever helps you sleep at night, Candy. (in reply to CandySteele @katdish See his left ear? When it’s bent, that means I’m on his mind. So there.)

@buzzbyannies Actually, my feet need a good scraping. You’re welcome. (in reply to buzzbyannies @Katdish Only if your toes look as fabulous as mine.)

@CandySteele Nah…he’s thinking how much he’d like to be sitting at my feet. (in reply to CandySteele Bozley couldn’t care less about @buzzbyannies new pedi. He’s really just dreaming of me. #puppyfix #NiceToesAnnie

@CassandraFrear Words to live by.

RT @CassandraFrear: @billycoffey OK. Now. Discovery Channel was not what I meant by being on to something. Maybe you shd listen to @katdish

@billycoffey Thought so. (in reply to billycoffey @katdish Well I’ll make an exception there, of course!)
@CassandraFrear I’m content, I just like to see what I’m missing. (in reply to CassandraFrear @billycoffey @katdish I love to travel. But “there is great gain in godliness with contentment”. (1 Tim 6) Billy’s on to something.)

@billycoffey Whatcha gonna do if Donnie Baseball invites you to a Yankees game? Decline because your mountains won’t let you? (in reply to billycoffey @katdish Isn’t that what the Discovery Channel is for?)

@billycoffey There’s a big old world out there Billy! VA is beautiful, but you need to see the Grand Canyon & other places. (in reply to billycoffey @katdish Oh hush! The mountains won’t let me.)

@billycoffey You never leave where you live now. (in reply to billycoffey @makeadiff21 WOW. If I lived there, I’d never leave.)

@lainiegallagher Oh, like you could do that. You’d miss me too much. (in reply to lainiegallagher @duane_scott I say we band together and boycott @katdish ‘s blog until it’s fixed!)

@KathleenOverby Because people are annoying, that’s why. (in reply to KathleenOverby why would a person bother to set up a ficticious blog/profile to comment japanese symbols into my comments? It’s not even spam. It’s numbers)

@chrissulli Why do you say that? Do you have any idea how many years he’s been writing? Almost as many as you’ve been alive. (in reply to chrissulli @katdish reading @billycoffey leaves me part in awe he is such a good writer and part discouraged)

@PeterPollock, Would you please put a (dot) between katdish and net on my website? @lainiegallagher is breaking out in hives.

@lainiegallagher SNORT! I KNEW you would notice that! (in reply to lainiegallagher @katdish The fact that you don’t have a [dot] does drive me nuts.)

@lainiegallagher I think you secretly do, but won’t admit it. I also think if I spelled my name wrong on that header it would drive you nuts (in reply to lainiegallagher @katdish Do I ever like anything?)

@lainiegallagher Of course. I didn’t think you would like it. (in reply to lainiegallagher @katdish I like it. Except for that pesky font…)

@CandySteele He works for the “You can tell an engineer, but you can’t tell them much” Railroad. (in reply to CandySteele @katdish I did not know that. What railroad?)

@buzzbyannies Huh…go figure. (in reply to buzzbyannies Just took an online personality test and the results are that I am sarcastic. Huh.)

@SBeeCreations You killed my father…prepare to die.

RT @SBeeCreations: @katdish You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

@Helenatrandom INCONCEIVABLE (in reply to Helenatrandom @katdish I l know how you feel. @duane_scott is the only one who tweeted me today. (TWSS) And that was after I’d been here an hour…)

Just so you know, I can see all you people talking amongst yourselves but not to me. Hmph!

@shrinkingcamel And you are one fine looking camel, Brad. (in reply to shrinkingcamel Being good-looking helps your career.

@CandySteele Yes. Feel free to live vicariously through me. (in reply to CandySteele @PeterPollock In case you didn’t know, @katdish does anything she wants to. That’s why we love her so.)

@PeterPollock Easy, I threatened my friends on #FOTTSP to either join my site or lose admin privileges. Power is good. (in reply to PeterPollock @katdish So let’s get this straight.. you haven’t even launched your new blog yet but you already have 13 ‘friends’ on it? how’d you do that?)

@CandySteele I picked out the font, he loaded it for me & changed it 562 times until I liked it. I’m a pleasure to work with. (in reply to CandySteele @katdish Did he do the fancy schmancy header too? Or did you do that? #randomfontarrhea #cool)

“I know the crap out of women.” ~ Michael Scott

@jamieworley I didn’t realize barns could marry in Georgia. (in reply to jamieworley Slideshow from a super-sweet barn wedding NE of Atlanta:

RT @PeterPollock: I just did something perfectly – on the 593rd attempt!
I’m really not hard to please, I only expect perfection.

@SurfCorp I think twitter should pay me. (in reply to SurfCorp If you had to pay for Twitter what would it be worth to you every month?)

@noveldoctor You are really ARE Eeyore. (in reply to noveldoctor God hit the reset button on Twitter to remind us we’re all made of the same stuff…low self-esteem.)

RT @unmarketing: I need a Facebook enema, too much crap in my stream.

@PeterPollock Yes. You are correct. We are all rich oil barons. (in reply to PeterPollock My understanding from TV is that all Texans are rich oil barons. Is that correct?)

I really need to narrow down my categories list for my new site. I think I can eliminate “My big fat head” & “oreo cakesters”

Hello world!

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

Attention: I am Lame

Hey folks! Guess what today is?

It’s Helen’s birthday!

Who is Helen you ask? Surely you jest! She’s just one of my favorite people in the whole entire world, that’s who!

Among her many talents, she is the holder of the birthday list. So it just figures that I (who sucks at remembering birthdays) would forget. Forturnately, someone sent me an email reminder. Unfortunately, I already had a post scheduled for today. So tune in tomorrow, when I will give my dear friend’s birthday the pomp and circumstance it so richly deserves. Even if it is a day late. Have a wonderful day, my friend!

Now, the rest of you people – please go read Tony’s C’s post just below this one. It will be delightful, I’m sure…

We interrupt the silly for an important message…

I have personal and political views that I ordinarily don’t share on this blog. It’s just not that kind of blog. I’m not sure what kind it is, but I know that’s not it.

But my friend Kris posted this on her blog, and I wanted to share it with you. I will be participating. If you don’t care for this post, that’s your prerogative. But this is not the forum to debate political issues. The sanctity of life is not open for debate on this blog. Thank you.

Super Skanktacular Saturday Giveaway – Week 2

A big thanks to all who participated in the first ever Super Skanktacular Saturday Giveaway. Congratulations, Erin!

Now on to Week Two: “Slutty Girlz Rock Band”:

Before I introduce the next group, I feel I need to make a disclaimer. The featured doll in this collection represents a young woman who has had her share of problems. As a matter of fact, her life is a bit of a train wreck. Her personal and legal problems did not factor into my selection of her. I really don’t like to kick someone when they’re down. That being said, I think it is safe to say that sober or otherwise, for me, she definitely falls into the category of “Skanktacular”.

That’s right, peeps! For your winning entry, not only will you receive Grammy award winning singer of “Rehab” Miss Amy Winehouse, but also:

Two additional vixens with guitars, a stage, 2 mic stands w/mics, 2 speakers,

Creepy wanna-be singer/song writer/roadie with keyboard,

Three working Bratz Rock Angelz mini CDs, and

A only slightly dog-chewed microphone, doll stand, and of course, extra feet!

Needles to say, this particular grouping is quite Skankerriffic! Deadline is next Saturday at 9:00 AM Central time. Enter early, enter often!


I am somewhat hesitant to read too much into secular songs when it comes to their meaning. I am, after all, a Christian, and I hopefully I see things from that perspective. But I also believe that God can use anything for His Glory, despite the original intent. I heard this song years ago. Only recently did I hear it in a way that was truly convicting to me.

I May Know the Word

I may know the word
but not say it
I may know the truth
but not face it
I may hear a sound
a whisper sacred and profound
but turn my head

I may know the word
but not say it
I may love the fruit
but not taste it
I may know the way
to comfort and to soothe
a worried face
but fold my hands

If I’m on my knees
I’m begging now
if I’m on my knees
groping in the dark
I’d be paying for deliverance
from the night into day

but it’s all grey here
it’s all grey to me

I may know the word
but not say it
this may be the time
but I might waste it
this may be the hour
something move me
someone prove me wrong
before the night comes
with indifference

if I’m on my knees
I’m begging now
if I’m on my knees
groping in the dark
I’d be praying for deliverance
from the night into the day

but it’s all grey here
but it’s all grey to me

I recognize the walls inside me
I recognize them all
I’ve paced between them
chasing demons down
until they fall
in fitful sleep
enough to keep their strength
enough to crawl
into my head
with tangled threads
they riddle me to solve

again and again and again


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