Can You Pass the Bible Test?

b182ca2dd3baf4179548611074348cb62030576981-1300598753-4d858fe1-620x348If you have your Bible, please read along with me in Hezekiah 1:1-3:

In the third year of Hoshea son of Elah, king of Israel, Hezekiah the son of Ahaz, king of Judah, began to reign. He was twenty-five years old when he began to reign, and he reigned twenty-nine years in Jerusalem. His mother’s name was Abi the daughter of Zechariah. And he did what was right in the eyes of the LORD, according to all that David his father had done.

If you actually opened your Bible, are you having problems? Are you still flipping through pages confused because you can’t find Hezekiah? And those of you who didn’t look, do you know what is wrong? Continue reading

Fast Food Christanity

mcdonalds-food-on-boardI was driving down Beebe Capps Expressway last night, with Pizza Hut and Burger King to my left and McDonalds to my right. Their glowing signs attracting my eyes and exciting my stomach. Like any good American, I like fast food. Whoppers are amazing, so is pizza, and who can resist a good sausage burrito, especially since McDonalds now offers them all day long? Because of good advertising, we know what each fast food restaurant sells, such as Taco Smells Taco Bell sells tacos and burritos, not hamburgers or Chinese food; such as Little Sneezers Little Ceasars sells pizza, and Subweigh Subway sells sandwiches. We know where we can grab a hamburger, a taco, or a pizza, and so we can pick and choose depending on what we’re hungry for. We can pick and choose from the restaurants which dot our streets.

Like any good American, I enjoy fast food. It tastes good (though it may not always be healthy), it’s convenient, and it’s greasy. . . . But how many times are we guilty, of treating the Bible as fast food? Continue reading

Week of Midterm

I feels, then sees it
crawling on my arm.
Swipes it, then ends its
wandering, crawling days.
Smashed tis it,
Its yellow goo and legs
on my leafs of tree entrails;
I huffs & swipes it again.
No eulogy, no stone to honor,
Only concrete to be smashed underfoot,
Smooshed again I suppose.

So easily smashed the pest,
Back to my books,
When thoughts thinks in my brains.
So easily smashed the pest,
By tests and books.
Shivers my spine
as I mentally sees myself betweens
an index and thumb,
Feelings of weight crunches my back.

My back, my back, o’ my back!
How the weights grow heavier and heavier.
My head, my head, o’ my head!
How the aches splinter and splunter.
My insanity, my insanity, o’ my insanity!
How it slips & slips through my fingers.

Pressure crushes or makes diamonds,
Or smashes pesky bugs like me.
Piling, piling, piling,
My books becoming my bane and grave–
the key to the asylum waiting for me.
My . . .

“Stark!” shouts Friend.
“Wakes up, you’ll be late for test. . . .
Why, o’ why do I sees tears within your eyes?”

“For a bug I killed,” I replies. “And I’ll be next,
if I fails, fails, and fails again before
Friday ransoms me.”
“Then you better study, o’ Stark,” warns Friend.
“Instead of wasting time writing poesy,
of dead things withal six legs.”

I huffs. “You’re right I suppose.
Best ends this poesy now


The Tales of Traveling with an Open Backpack

14570220_10210808326503416_4024642559880682269_nThe bell rung, releasing me to venture from my 11 o’ clock class to lunch. I stuffed my books and notes in my backpack before racing for the door. Next came weaving through the bodies of the corral, I mean hall. Squeezing through couples, detouring around friends, bumping into backpacks of those who had stopped to greet another with a hug. Finally, after shooting down a near-empty hallway, I believed I was scot-free. I was nearing the stairwell which headded to the caf when a voice stopped me, “Hey, do you know you’re backpack’s open?”

“Yes?” I replied somewhat puzzled, with my stomach protesting for the slight delay.

“Oh, okay. I thought I would tell you.”

“Thank you,” I replied before separating, me heading to the salad bar for some cottage cheese.

That was also not the only time which I’ve been stopped by a passerby trying to help, alerting me of my open backpack. One of my favorite examples, is a random guy who tried to close it for my while I was walking  down a fleet of stairs.

“Why do you keep your backpack open?” asked another.  Continue reading