Salad Spinner Saviour

The World Needs a Good Dripping

Merry Christmas in Munchkinland

Ready, Aim, F...

Another hard hitting guest post by Mike Cala.

The Dumb Mutton Factor

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Blue Collar Christianity

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Sex, Candy, and the Abundant Life

As a lover of chocolate and peanut butter, the existence of God has never been an issue for me. You see, while these two distinct flavors may have come together as a matter of chance, the fact that together they are AWESOME smacks of the supernatural.

And it isn’t only my sense of taste that has me convinced of the reality of a higher, greater Being. How about the gifts of touch, sight, and others? My wife, with a scary ability to manipulates these senses, can move my consciousness in a heavenly direction at will.

When I ponder these things, it also occurs to me that God must be quite good. After all, it isn’t only that my wife has this God-given ability, but that I like it!

Getting back to chocolate and peanut butter, I have to say that the existence of evil is more than a fairy tale too. The proof is in the fact that my children’s Halloween candy is disappearing at a faster rate than their parents would allow. I know kids will be kids, but I don’t think the kids are the problem. We’ve placed the candy bag in a place that can only be reached by the adults in the house.

It’s time we got it through our thick skulls: God created boobs, sex, laughter, the cocoa bean and peanuts. He said, “Whoa, this is good! I’m going to give it to you. Let’s see what you can do with this stuff! Just use a little self control, okay?”

Then we started stuffing our faces and kneeling before the candy bag in the middle of the night. What did we get for our efforts? Cavities, and souls that are heavy and bloated.

I want more out of life. How about you?

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come so they can have life. I want them to have it in the fullest possible way.” –Jesus (John 10:10, New International Reader's Version)

Certifiable Sanctificity

I consider myself to be one of the new men. You know: tough and tender and all that jazz. I’ll take a drag on the odd cigar with my buddies, and later on go fearlessly to one of my daughters’ tea parties. I own a motorcycle, and I’ve watched Anne of Green Gables (once…a long time ago). I try to stay balanced.

It was in this spirit of renaissance that I accompanied my wife to a baby fair a number of years ago. She was eight months pregnant, and there was no hiding the fact. If I had poked her with a pin she would have floated around the room like a wounded balloon. I figured that considering her fragile state we’d do a lap of the conference center, she’d go to the bathroom a few times, we’d go out for a nice dinner, she’d check out the ladies room again and we’d be home in time for me to watch reruns of the A-Team.

We got home a lot sooner than that, and me with my head barely attached.

I suspected a problem as soon as we got to the venue: there were absolutely no men in the parking lot. Bill, I cringed to myself, you are getting some serious brownie points for this! Vastly outnumbered but stalwart and brave, I walked around the end of the car to open the door for my wife.

We went inside and right on cue, Karen needed to use the facilities. I didn’t mind waiting- there were some deep leather couches nearby. They were way more comfy than those benches outside the lingerie store at the mall. That was as comfortable as I would get that day.

I knew I was in immediate, serious danger when I noticed the glares I was getting from every third or fourth woman. Mostly they were shot from the eyeballs of what I imagined were the grandmothers-to-be. I tried shrinking, but it wouldn't work. I’ve broken some baby-fair rule, I thought. Maybe this is only supposed to be quality time for mothers and daughters.

I was partly right. Here’s what happened: the dates had been mixed up and apparently I had taken my pregnant “girlfriend” to a bridal fair. Nobody noticed our rings, I guess. I can only imagine what they must have thought about me - finally deciding to marry the woman I had knocked up!

As far as near death experiences go, this ranked right up there with malaria.

My bridal fair fiasco shares some attributes with some churches. Nice venue. Crowded parking. Everyone dressed up.

And the glares. Holy cow.

If something is a little out of the ordinary people can really get crazy. A friend of mine once came to church with ratty sneakers but no socks. Nobody said anything but the message was clear, and that message wasn’t the gospel.

What happened to grace, people? What changed in us that we no longer identify with delinquents? Sadly, it appears that there is a fine line between sanctifiable and certifiable.

"It wasn't so long ago that you were mired in that old stagnant life of sin. You let the world, which doesn't know the first thing about living, tell you how to live. You filled your lungs with polluted unbelief, and then exhaled disobedience. We all did it, all of us doing what we felt like doing, when we felt like doing it, all of us in the same boat. It's a wonder God didn't lose his temper and do away with the whole lot of us. Instead, immense in mercy and with an incredible love, he embraced us. He took our sin-dead lives and made us alive in Christ." (Ephesians 2: 1-5, The Message)

A Father's Love

-guest post by Mike Cala

I have three amazing, wonderful and loving teenagers.

However . . . they drive me crazy! They infuriate me! They have in the past reduced me to a red-faced, spittle flying, near epileptic, quivering mass of speechless astonishment/bewilderment with their antics. I have clutched my chest in near-apoplectic fits on more than one occasion. I have a bald spot on the front of my head from incessantly banging it against the wall!

They bicker.

They complain.

They fight.

They seem to possess an endless and very creative supply of reasons and excuses as to why it is impossible for them to complete the smallest task or chore they were given. And they have been kind enough to inform me that apparently, I don’t know anything. The eye rolls and head shakes I receive from them are proof of that. It seems my working knowledge of life is severely limited and archaic – they on the other hand, have solved all of mankind’s problems and have the answers to all of life’s complex questions and deep mysteries . . . I mean, I know I’m no SuperDad, but really?

But I so love them! I often wonder if they realize just how much they are loved - how much and how often I have sacrificed for them? Do they know that I would do anything for them? That I live for them and that I would die for them? That all I want for them is to be safe, happy and if possible, to live a life that is even better and more successful than mine?

Do they know how much I love them? I often think that they don’t. Or can’t. When I tell them “No, you can’t do that!” or “No way you’re going over there!” it’s because I want them safe. I want them happy. I want them to enjoy their lives. I would rather have my child furious, yelling at me and slamming the bedroom door . . . but safe at home. I’ll even endure a couple of shouts of “I-hate-you!” if it means that my decision will ensure his or her safety and well-being. I set rules to keep them out of bad situations. I deny them so that they will not have to experience the consequences of poor decisions. But they can’t see that – they only see me wrecking their fun, messing up their plans, making them look bad in front of their friends . . . they can’t see the love. They don’t see the heartache I feel when they are forced to deal with the results of a poor or mistaken choice. They don’t know of the silent prayers uttered on their behalf day in and day out. They simply are unable to see the love I hold for them.

Do we see the Father’s love for us? Do we understand how much He has done for us and how much He is willing to do for us? Are we intimate with the Father to the point that we are constantly aware of the endless, all-encompassing flood of love He pours out to us? Or are we like children, focused on what we didn’t get and don’t have, angry at being denied and told “No”?

And I ask Him that with both feet planted firmly on love, you'll be able to take in with all followers of Jesus the extravagant dimensions of Christ's love. Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live full lives, full in the fullness of God.
Ephesians 3:17b-19 (The Message)

Holy Toe Jam

I would have liked to have been in the tomb when Jesus finally decided that enough was enough.

Imagine the still, dark air.

Silence. As silent as the Grave, they say.

Then Somebody took a deep, deep breath.

This no doubt was followed by a bit of grunting and groaning as He struggled to get those grave clothes loosened. (It’s hard to swing your legs over the side of a bench with your arms pinned to your side and your head all wrapped up.) Did He bend His head to the side and crack His neck? Did He stretch and pop His back? I wonder if He crinkled his nose at the overwhelming fragrance of misplaced potpourri; grinning as He realized that in His improved state it didn’t make Him sneeze with allergies like might have a few days earlier.

“Let there be light!” He said, for the second time in Earth’s history, and there was light as the angels rolled the stone away and let morning’s glow invade.

He took His time. There was no need to rush out - that cave held nothing that would ever give Him the heebie jeebies. It seems he was relaxed. He dutifully folded up the head wrappings, thinking of all the times His mom used to make Him help with the laundry. Mary would be so proud, He grinned to himself!

“You’ve got myrrh between your toes, Lord”, Gabriel quipped. Jesus glanced down and groomed Himself.

Good enough, He must have thought. I didn’t go through the last few days just to be worried about what I look like. So what if the ladies think I’m the gardener instead of the King. I am that I am, and a little holy toe jam won’t change that!


Have you ever found yourself in a time or place that seemed like a sealed grave? Close your eyes then, and be still. Inhale. Remember Jesus' first breath in the tomb. It could be you’re not alone after all!