Archives For speed bumps

Calcific Bursitis, how do I hate you? Let me count the ways:

You, who have no place being there, have taken up residence in my wife’s shoulder. You were not invited in, and yet unlike the vampires of lore, you pushed your way in. What gives? If I could rebuke you like those TV preachers say, I so would.


You have made her shout, cry, scream, plead, beg, cajole, for some kind, for any kind, of relief.

You have made her long for the pangs of childbirth! Because at least childbirth has an end. It’s a known commodity. You, Calcific Bursitis, are a parasite–hijacking nerve fibers, forestalling the use of an arm, singing a song of woe…

One that goes to 11! And not in a good way.

But your day is coming. It may not be soon enough–as soon as we’d like it–but it’s coming!

For someday, as with all suffering, you will have to give way:

“And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Rev. 21:3-4, ESV).

In the meantime, I hate you, Calcific Bursitis, and all that you do.

While you make us hurt now, these sufferings are not worthy to be compared to the glory that shall be.

Calcific bursitis, thou shalt die! But we, ultimately, shall not!

How has God met you in your place of suffering?

One Hand On Her Shoulder

randomlychad  —  September 19, 2011 — 6 Comments
'Prayer' photo (c) 2010, Chris Yarzab - license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

In my room, one hand on her shoulder, trying to keep the spasming pain at bay. She is on the phone, trying to get an appointment with an orthopedist.

Like a lot of ladies, she’s toughed through the pain–until now. Something “clicked” during the night, and that was that.

I’ve seen her in pain–but not like this. In addition, I’m fighting a sinus infection. It’s a war of attrition, and I’m being worn down.

So, if you are you the praying kind, please lift Lisa up to the Father today.

Thanks so much, and God bless you!

How can I pray for you?

Listen. Come a little closer. That’s right–here around the corner. I need to tell you something.

Please keep this in confidence, okay?

'Douche' photo (c) 2008, Mike Schmid - license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

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>petting zoophoto © 2006 stu_spivack | more info (via: Wylio)

Perhaps you are like me, and attend a megachuch. Some are good, some are bad, and some are like going to church at the Gap. Mine is one of the good ones, pastored by a wonderful godly man.

Because of its size, the junior, and senior, high services meet at different times, and so we attend on Saturday evenings. This took some getting used to, but it’s nice having Sundays be our Sabbath day.

Be that as it may, this past Saturday we were graced with a great guest speaker, Robert Barriger, who taught a message based on his book, Honor Found, and a kickin’ illustrated sermon on the Romans Road.

Yes, you read that right: we were treated to two messages on Saturday evening. If you’re a Christian, you know that the Romans Road is a method of explaining God’s plan of salvation using verses from the Book of Romans.

Only the kids sitting near us must’ve misunderstood, and thought it was the Book of “Roamin’s.”

Because his hands were roamin’ all over her! In church! I mean silly me–I thought it was May, not Easter, or Christmas, when they bring out the animals for the pageant, and parade them through the church. Guess I was wrong: ’cause it was a real pettin’ zoo in the pew! If you know what I mean…

The real irony in all this? Because I was so engaged in listening to, and taking notes about, the actual message, I missed out on the far more entertaining visual sermon. It’s a function of my introversion: this ability to focus. I wish my wife had pointed it out to me during service, instead of telling me afterwards. ‘Cause if they’d been adults, how awesome would it have been to say to someone, in church, “Get a room?” As it was, I think I would’ve said “Where are your parents? Did you know it’s not cool snogging during service?”

But I didn’t–because I didn’t know. More’s the pity.

What would you have done in a similar situation? Or what have you done?
Please share in the comments.