Color
Background color
Background image
Border Color
Font Type
Font Size
  1. There used to be a television show where this anonymous individual thru ingenuity and effort found people will real needs and gave them a million dollars. I think that was the name of the show, The Millionaire. I wish there was such an individual, a real one, one that could and would do most of the things religious folk hope and pray an Almighty God would do for them.

    The difference being, this billionaire with influence would actually get results. I wish there were such an individual. People look at the United States and see a rich nation. Too many don't share in that bounty. There are people hurting, mothers with sick kids, who can't work because they stay at home and take care of those kids, no money, no insurance, a little bit hopeless. People are out o work, can't find a job, making big problems even worse. There are many, many problems in this rich, rich country. There is much work such an individual could do.

    Fortunately many of us don't fall into one of those categories. Our problems are minor. We can still beseech the Almighty, knowing of course he may be busy with his many galaxies, his infinite orbits, and those unruly black holes or something so complex and complicated we can not even imagine. Yet we can wait on the Lord, hoping for our miracles, as we think of Job, knowing if he don't get to us in this life, maybe there's another. Still If nothing else it offers a small ray of hope that might not exist if we didn't or couldn't call upon Him.

    As I write this I know it is fantasy but I would like to work for this compassionate billionaire. I would like to find those that desperately need help and bring attention to their situation. I would like to argue on their behalf for small miracles that really work. I would like to help the many I hear about and the few I encounter. Then the world, day by day, would be a better place, And I would be content to be the skeptic that I am, a skeptic that prays.
  2. Sportsmen on a hunt for small whitetailed
    deer, big rough men, sporting tattoos, hunting
    knives, thirty-ought-sixes with scopes, nine
    millimeter side arms and big men’s boots wearing
    long sleeved shirts and expensive wrist
    watches and big hats and give me caps.
    Capable men herding four-wheel drive pickup
    trucks and SUVs down winding, dusty ranch
    roads to blinds set up close to feeding troughs,
    death camps for timid deer who come quiet and
    unsuspecting to feed on death pellets when hunters
    hid in blinds wait in ambush at point blank range
    for their helpless prey.

    Afterwards men brag of skill and exceptional
    shots as they rehash their endurance of hardship
    and patience in cold weather, under stress as
    they haul their gutted kill to lockers to be
    turned into sausage and roasts before heading
    home to celebrate the holidays and good cheer
    with family and friends over big meals of
    turkey and dressing with cranberry sauce and
    all the trimmings of a bountiful harvest.
    Men who unwrap and show off new rifles and shotguns
    dropped off by Santa on his quest to bring Christmas
    joy and happiness to children everywhere.

    Sportsmen

    ready to defend the Constitution
    the Second Amendment
    and
    next year’s kill
    of whitetail deer

    lead unknowing
    to their Christmas slaughter.