Random Firing of Neurons

Well, I've come down with a headcold. And you know what that means. It means I get random. And I use flowery unnecessary adjectives On Purpose, which is Not Good Writing At All.

And I capitalize all the Terribly Important Words. It's an A.A. Milne thing.

Go Tim Tebow.

Revelations 3:20 could not have been written to the lost man or woman. It had to have been written to those of us who are alive in Christ Jesus. Dead guys don't answer the door. But oh, what a powerful promise we are given! "Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and will intimately fellowship with him, and he with me."

Present tense - ongoing, present tense. God is standing at my heart's door. He is knocking...right now...on my heart's door. And if I answer His knock and open that door, I get to hear and be heard by the God of the Universe.

I lovelovelove the local church. I love the concept, and I love the flesh-and-blood reality of people with names and histories with me and I with them. I love the Merry Madness, the tedious sameness, the fresh newness of koininia with people with whom I share the gift of forgiveness and a timeline. I love the continuity of fellowshipping with one local church.

Notice I didn't say "one local church at a time" - I said "one local church".

Nothing like it. Nothing in this earth like it. I love My People. They'd have to kill me to get rid of me. Some have clearly considered it. But all I have to do is holla for my homegirls...like Jame...or Angel...or Vickie...or Wendy...or Maria...or Cheryl...but especially Jame and Angel. Nobody kills me without Jame and Angel raising me from the dead, and then hunting my killer down.

Like a dog.

I'm telling you, do not mess with me. I have People. I've stuck and stayed, and as my Harvest and Reward, God has given me people. I feel sorry for church hoppers. They got no people to kill people for them.

Nobody's a church hopper when they hop a church. Have you noticed that? It's funny - even as they do it (hop like the Easter Bunny), even as they hop right up the front steps and in the front door of a church, they say, "I'm. not. a. church. hopper. ya. know."

But. It. is. so. hard. to. focus. on. their. face....all that bouncing up and down. Oh the power of our own mind to conceal the Very Truth from ourselves. If we knew we were being deceived, we would no longer be deceived.

Last but not least, my "baby" ~

Yeah. We were the guests.

Mad Skillz. The child hoops. Where that exists in his DNA, I do not know.

Sometimes he's a downright Fancy Pants about it. That is, when he's not unselfishly dishing the ball to his team mates, which, as Point Guard, is often. He eats The Press for breakfast...when he's not helping up a fallen player from the opposing team, after breaking his ankles. (read: homeboy crosses them over in a split second. And he has good sportsmanship. #lovemyboy) He has been contacted by several small colleges. We have no idea what will happen, but we will never regret giving him the extra year. Exciting times!
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