These days, it seems parents are seldom naming boys Lance.
That’s certainly the case at a preliminary, first glance.
I decided to research history’s pages.
Going back in time to the Middle Ages.
That era appears to be the sweet spot.
In those times boys were named Lancelot.
There once was a Moose from Decatur.
Won local recognition as a figure skater.
With a national title under his belt,
Destined for Olympic Gold, many felt.
Practiced quad-jumps in an elevator.
There once was a Moose from Belvedere.
Fashioned himself a mountaineer.
Sans crampons and carabiniers,
With Granola Bars and freeze-dried wieners.
He went free and solo without fear.
Of all the great gifts I’ve scored.
There is one that I covet and hoard.
It’s not a Westminster clock.
Nor an antediluvian rock.
It’s the remarkable dry erase board.
The Wisconsin Dairy Farmers Association (WDFA), is producing a spoof on the major motion picture, “Home Alone.”
The premiss is, a young cheese wheel, named Kevin, is unintentionally left behind as his family leaves the dairy for a pilgrimage to the Gruyère region in the canton of Fribourg, Switzerland.
The name of the National Lampoon like spoof is: Provo-lone.
I’d like to submit to congress a new bill.
But who shall take it up the hill?
It must be someone clever and bright,
Who knows “You can’t save daylight.”
It must be someone who loves a thrill.
Ah, comes to mind Punxsutawney Phil!
Write about your first computer.
It came into our home, without fanfare or fuss.
It was a tool to be shared by all of us.
We could multiply, we could divide,
By moving the colored beads from side to side.
It was compact and mobile, that was a plus.
Our first computer was a five row abacus.
Blessed are those, guided through life,
by the Good Shepherd’s staff and rod.
The pure of heart, they are the peacemakers,
called the sons of God.
Let the unyielding then wrangle and quarrel,
about earthly and temporal things.
They demand outlandish privilege,
posturing as though they were kings.
The lowly, with no means beyond
the name given them at their birth.
They are humble. They are meek.
They are blessed. They shall inherit the earth.
Some say that, mourning is sorrow,
for the loss of what is held most dear.
Let them weep at loss of material wealth,
their reward, enjoyed while here.
Who mourns the loss of a precious life,
will add to his heavenly reward.
All the while here on earth,
blessed and comforted by The Lord.
The master who is demanding,
exacting the last tittle of a servant’s strength.
He shall in turn, receive from the Lord,
due treatment in time and length.
The one who knows his great debt to The Lord,
understands forgiveness by grace.
He foregoes receiving what is rightly his,
offering mercy in it’s place.
Be pure of heart, make peace in the world,
be merciful and be meek.
For this is the character of The Good Shepherd
and those He calls His sheep.
My mission, the work I’ve been called to, is simple, its unassuming, it’s clear.
It gives purpose and meaning to my life, it reminds me of why I’m here.
What I offer is a gift not originally mine, but rather that of a loving Savior.
This gift from a divine person, edifies and guides my human behavior.
As confident and courageous as a lion, yet gentle and soft as a dove.
This treasure to be shared is The Word of God, His Revelation, His Power, HIs Love.
The Word came down and fulfilled God’s will, then ascended back to His Father above.
The message I share, is not for a few, rather by God’s grace it’s meant for all.
Open your hearts, embrace God’s Word, say “Yes” when you hear the call.
Let the power of The Word transform your life, your burdens The Lord will bear.
Believe what you receive, share what you believe, give freely what you share.
The river, it used to power a mill, in which corn was ground into grist.
The owner had a lucrative business, making money, hand over fist.
As years past by, demand declined, but the river flowed as before.
The mill owner called it quits, shuttered the place and locked up the door.
The river’s current was strong and swift, with the seasons it ebbed and flowed.
Just as the timeless current, life on the riverbank quickened and slowed.
One constant remained throughout the years, a presence that ever endured.
A colony of large, semiaquatic rodents, by their dam efforts a large pond was procured.
The beavers worked tirelessly to repair and maintain, not as drudgery, to them it was bliss.
They rolled up their sleeves, to overcome what may with the power of stick-to-itiveness.
The Ethereal Scupper 