What are You Thankful For?

Well, it's that time of year again. Thanksgiving is just two days away, but all month long I've noticed people posting things that they are thankful for each day. It makes us stop and think. We often see terrible things on the news and it seems like there is little good left in the world. Is there anything left for which we can be thankful? Of course there is!

And so...

I am thankful for a loving and supportive family who has stayed by my side even when things have gotten rough.

I am thankful for the freedom to worship however I choose.

I am thankful that I don't have to worry about where my next meal is going to come from.

I am thankful that I have a job and a roof over my head.

I am thankful for the abilities with which I have been blessed.

I am thankful for the Terrible Times, for they taught me more than I ever learned in a classroom.

I am thankful for the opportunities that have enabled me to flourish.

I am thankful for the people who gave me those opportunities.

I am thankful for all who have helped me.

I am thankful for those who have brightened my day.

I am thankful for those who have come before me, forging a path that I can follow.

I am thankful for being alive.

I am thankful for being here.

I am thankful for burritos. (Couldn't forget those!)

I am thankful.

So now the question is, What are YOU thankful for?

What to do with Books

What to do with Books

by J. S. Bailey 

So it's your day off, and you've been sitting at the table daydreaming all morning, and before you know it, you fall asleep.

Suddenly you hear a noise like that of riffling papers. You open your eyes...

...only to see...

...a book.

Not an .epub. Not a .mobi. Not even a .pdf. A real, made-of-paper book. And you realize that it has brought its friends.

This perplexes you, because you forgot that made-of-paper books exist. You can't even remember the last time you saw one. So why did these books arrive unannounced? What do they want from you? Perhaps they were lonely and wanted some company. Which is nice, except for the fact that you have no idea what to do with them. Are they okay to eat? you wonder. No, that might give your tongue a paper cut, and that might hurt.

So you start to think. 

You look at the books again.

Yes, they are still there--not a figment of your imagination like you initially thought. You wonder if they belong in a museum, but would that put them to any good use? Probably not. So you begin to look around the house and find ways in which they might come in handy.

Wobbly chair leg? Problem solved!

They can make stylish mouse pads...

...a coaster for your favorite drink...

...a hardcore game of Domino Rally...

...a comfy ottoman for your tired feet...

...and even a scale model of Stonehenge.

But in the end, you decide that reading them is the most fun of all. Because what else are books really for?

Happy reading!

This blog skit has been brought to you by Citizens for Made-of-Paper Books.

Lament of a Writer

A thousand souls are trapped inside my head yearning to break free; to be seen and heard by those who want to read their stories. Like the woman who sits alone by the pool, reading her life away and hoping that someday things will change. And the woman who sings soulful tunes that bring tears to the audience's eyes, and she seems happy, but the moment she leaves she is overwhelmed with despair knowing that she will be returning home to an empty apartment and a cold bed.

Then there's the frightened child who endures the abuse of the Monster. Who is this monster, and what does he do to the child? What will happen to the child? How will he grow into the person he is meant to become? And the bereft young man mourning the loss of his family. He is chosen by God for a purpose, but what will he do then? And the weary traveler dying of thirst who can find no water even though it lies just out of reach. And the elderly woman who tries to flee from a ghost of the past. Their stories are fragments. Nothing more.

All of them are scratching at the inside of my skull in an attempt to escape. Even though they are there together, they exist alone. They cannot see each other because they each have their own story. But what IS their story? It is not the story of a power-hungry scientist, an archaeologist seeking answers in the soil, or a paranormal investigator trying to help a lost soul find redemption. What, then? Father, show me the stories that you wish for me to tell! Show me, so I can finally set them free!