Papist Funnies (Tell His Story)

 So, in the mid-fifties, Pope Pius XII decided that mass books needed an upgrade.

He hired Georges Braque to do the covers, but Braque was late on delivery, and thus...

The Cubist Missal Crisis.

Want more? No?

Three friends graduated from the seminary, and became Father Murphy, Father Owele, and Father Secola.

Years passed, and there were promotions. Monsignor Murphy, Monsignor Owele...but it was still Father Secola.

The hoops to the bishopric were passed, and wearing the red were Cardinal Murphy, Cardinal Owele...and...but it was still Father Secola.

Father Secola asked for an audience with the Holy Father, and it was granted.

"Eminence, my record is exemplary, I have served in every capacity ordained by the church...and I am still passed by."

The Vicar of Christ pursed his lips, sighed, and said, "I am so sorry, my son. It is an injustice, but please see that the Mother Church simply can't chance being led by Pope Secola."

Syl is always up for a bully laugh. And yes, I'm Catholic.

Peanut vs Angels...Guess Who Won?

It's been a rough couple of weeks, and God sent His angels to take me home.

Didn't quite work out the way He planned, I think.

Jesus is my Saviour,

but Peanut is my dog;

I need not this belabour,

and I admit no fog

in knowing what my heart must see

when Peanut chased angels away

on what had then been deemed to be

my glory, and my dying day,

for Peanut rose up with a roar,

my canine Galahad.

Great Danes ain't easy to ignore:

"Hands off, dude, that's My dad!"

And so I guess I'm gonna stay,

for Peanut really wants to play.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is ENGAGEMENT.

It might not always go well

engaging angels in a fight,

but who can know and who can tell

when it's wrong or right?

Jacob got another name

with his demanded blessing,

but his hip was not the same

after he'd been messing

with this strong and glowing being

through the night 'till dawn.

I wonder how angel was feeling,

and if he could go on

grappling with this stubborn guy

underneath the morning sky?

Didn't know I was going there, but here I am.

Sylvia will give her place to her litte brother for this week. And she'll even share some ice cream.

Yes, Peanut, like Barb, prefers Pepsi.

Forgiving God (Tell His Story)

 

How can I forgive You, God,

for the awful things I feel and see?

Is Your plan so badly flawed,

or does the problem lie with me,

that I don't understand the cost

You pay in grieving tears each day

for Paradise that Adam lost,

and for a world that's lost its way?

Do You have to stand aside

to let us daily make a choice

that we may, or maybe not, abide

in the hearing of Your voice

like sheep upon a grassy hill,

questioning their Shepherd's will?

Sylvia just hopes God's will always includes ice cream.

The Ugly

My New Year's Resolution was to be honest, and sometimes honest is ugly.

There is now nowhere to turn

where I might hide safe and escape

the fevers that do daily burn

the days that I have left, and shape 

me into something I detest,

a whining hypochondriac fool

who takes up worst to shame the best,

and ransoms hope for ridicule.

Lord, please set me on my feet

once more that I may yet remain 

something that is still complete,

and someone who can bear the pain

as I once did, and bear it still 

in honour of Your holy will.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is JOURNEY.

When I say that I am beat,

when I whine "This isn't fair!"

that's the thing that sets my feet

on the journey to despair.

When I dwell on what I've lost,

all the cool stuff I can't do,

it's thinking that bears a cost

that will poison and run through 

the life that yet to me remains,

toss the blessings to the floor,

make naught of the small gains,

and quite firmly shut the door 

in God's disappointed face

when He comes to offer grace.

Syl's worried. I'm not the Dad she knew.

You've Gotta Stop Somewhere (Tell His Story)

 The common expression, you've got to start somewhere, has a corollary.

You've got to stop somewhere.

Every earthly journey 

has got to have an end,

until you reach Eternity 

and walk on with your Friend 

through forests of Forever

down streets of beaten gold

where you know you'll never

bow to heat or cold,

so let the things you cherish

here on God's good Earth 

fall away and perish,

for they'll receive rebirth

like the tears God saved for you

to anoint what's fresh and new.

Fresh-churned ice cream. Woof!

 

Risen Every Day

 Barb recently said she wished the cancer would go away.

Yes, but there are blessings in the situation, some unseen, and I would not want the good things to go away.

It's hard, both physically, and walking the tightrope over the pit of despair, but...

I raise my eyes unto the hills

whence myriad blessings flow.

All of this is as God wills,

and by His will I go

down these roads of blood and pain,

dread sessions in the dunny

(where for hours I remain...

OK, that's kind of funny),

but through it all He lifts me up

and holds me to His golden heart,

gives blood-wine communion cup,

and with this He makes me part

of the timeless victory 

He won for me at Calvary.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PURSUE.

Auto-spell tried to convince me it was PURDUE...

I did not pursue admittance 

to the college of Purdue,

and the regents said Good Riddance

and they thought that they were through 

with that threat that I presented 

to their staid and quiet life,

but then the hand of God was entered,

and I got an Indiana wife,

and therefore I was forced to choose

a place of higher education 

where I could become the news,

a pub-wrecking thuggish sensation,

but the faculty could take their ease

when I blew my SATs.

Yeah, well, five minutes, what are you gonna do?

Ice cream, says Syl. Don't forget the ice cream.

 

We All Make Misteaks (Tell His Story)

 This was written last week, when I thought I had messed up the Inlinkz timing.

But, you know, I was only wrong once in my life, when I thought I had made a mistake, and it turned out I hadn't.

God sure does not make mistakes,

but you can bet I do,

but hey, there, baby, that's the breaks,

and would you believe I blew

the linkup time for Tell His Story

(last week's link is still alive).

and thus I am not wreathed in glory,

but be sure I will arrive

with a Tell His Story link

early upon Wednesday's morn

when the sky is fading pink

and a new day will be born

upon which you can link to great

folk you find here, one day late.

Sylvia, don't roll your eyes like that. They'll get stuck.