Repost...But one of mine!

In honor of opening week of one of my favorite sports!

My First Day of Baseball

     For as long as I can remember, I’ve never been able to outdo my brother. He’s always been able to “one up” me in anything I’ve attempted. Don’t get me wrong, I love my big brother. It’s just that I wanted to be as good as he was, and never quite seemed to get there.

     He was born first. (Older by 11 years.) He made better grades in High School. (Without ever bringing home a book.) He played in the High School band, and was STILL popular. (My popularity extended only to playing for others in talent shows, then dissolving into the forgotten, faceless crowd.)

     But most of all, my brother excelled at sports. Any sport. Any time. Always ready. And his favorite was BASEBALL.  He could hit, he could catch, he could throw better than anyone else I knew. Sandlot, High School, Church Team, College, it didn’t matter. This was his “best of the best” sport. And I wanted to be just like him.

     So when a chance came to try out for a youth league BASEBALL team, I knew I had to do it. I went over all the reasons with my mom and dad, over and over, to get them to let me try. I was old enough, I said. I got good enough grades, I said. I could still do my chores around the house, I said. And my crowning argument? You let Gary, I said.

     Finally succumbing to my near flawless debating technique (Gary was a little better.), it was agreed that I would attend the tryouts. And best of all, Gary would take me there. I don’t even remember the ride down, I was so excited. Not only was I going to play BASEBALL (I knew the tryouts were in the bag.) but I was going to show Gary I could do something that he could do and he would be so proud of me never mind 11 years we would be close just like brothers should be never mind he started college when I started first grade we were brothers and he could finally be proud!

     When we got there, Gary pulled his car into a dirt parking spot facing the field, near home plate. Awesome, I thought, he’ll be able to see me. He’ll see me make the team. I jumped out, glove in hand, and ran to the dugout to the nearest adult I could find, and told him I wanted to try out for the team.

     As it happens, we had gotten there after the tryouts had started, and they had already done some fielding, so he sent me to grab a bat, and try my hitting. That was fine with me; my fielding wasn’t my best ability. I had this unfortunate habit of reacting just a bit slow, so I caught about an equal number of balls with my face as my glove. But I was much better with hitting. This was my time, I would show them right here. I’d hit that ball so far, they’d have to take me. And it would all happen right in front of Gary.

     I had always been a scrawny kid, so they must have felt they needed to take it easy on me. For whatever reason, that first pitch was the most beautiful pitch my young years had ever seen. (Or have seen since.) I still picture that moment in my head in slow motion, my form reaching a level of perfection it had never risen to before, feeling the power of connection, then seeing the ball fly from the bat. I had a hit! To my mind it was the greatest hit in the history of youth league BASEBALL tryouts. Soaring out, making it almost all the way to the outfield. And Gary had seen it.

     After a second’s hesitation, to bask in my history making moment, I began to run for all I was worth. As I rounded third, I saw that my soon-to-be team mate’s joy was equal to my own. Even though I put my all into running, I could still see from the corner of my eyes them laughing and cheering me on. I was not only going to be on the team, I would be its star. Oh, life was good!

     As I rounded second, it seemed the joyous enthusiasm of my team continued to increase. Some were so happy with my talent; they were even rolling in the grass, unable to speak, for the joy of obtaining their new team leader. I would be a gracious leader as well, always offering to help those not as capable as myself. I looked towards the car for Gary, but I couldn’t see him. Could he have walked off, without seeing my greatest triumph? No matter, over my years in school, college, then the pros, he would have plenty of opportunity to see me shine.

     As I rounded first, it began to strike me as odd that no one had made an attempt to get the ball, now resting comfortably in the grass next to the nearly comatose shortstop. Had I so overwhelmed them, they had given up even trying? No, no, this was too much. I would have to remember to hold back my considerable talent, so that no one would feel they didn’t measure up. And where was Gary? I can’t believe he didn’t see this adulation for his little brother.

     As my feet finally reached that sacred diamond of whitened rubber, several realizations hit me at once. First, that the joy around me seemed excessive, even for such a glorious hit. Second, that I could see Gary, or at least his head, actually just the top of his head, from behind his steering wheel. Third, as the coach was approaching me, I was suddenly less confident if the order of bases was supposed to be 3^rd, 2^nd, 1^st, home…or 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd, home. The coach, catching his breath between words, confirmed the correct order.

     I went over to the dugout, picked up my glove, and walked with the gait of a man being led to his execution to my brother’s car. I opened the passenger door, slunk inside and, very quietly, we went home. I went in my room, put away my glove, and didn’t pick it up again.

     Well, that’s not actually right. There’s something about BASEBALL that keeps drawing a person in. Maybe it’s the fact that anyone can play, yet no one ever completely masters it. It is a game where the entire team becomes a band of brothers, fighting together for the win, yet can be determined by one bat, one pitch, one catch. Ruthlessly fair, it is 9 innings of true competition, to which you give your all, you have no other choice, and would have it no other way. You see, my brother was right about something else too. BASEBALL is the best.

Sharing a blog from Sherry

     A few years ago, I had the privilege of meeting the then pastor of the church I grew up in, St. John's United Methodist Church. Sherry Cothran Woolsey welcomed myself and our group X-ALT!, and is a dear friend, excellent singer/songwriter, insightful pastor, and as will be seen, awesome blogger as well. I've asked her permission to re post her most recent blog, and you can see much more on her website at http://www.sherrycothran.com. Enjoy!

The Songs of Bible Women & Why They Change the World

When we think about the Bible, we don’t often think of the beauty and power of songs, especially by women. They aren’t sung loudly over edgy guitar riffs or punctuated by trance inducing beats. They’re not delivered to us via Youtube by stylish singers in trendy clothes. But if we go searching for them, we find that songs are a big deal in the Bible, and though they may not make it to the top 40 Billboard charts, they are some of the most powerful tools we have for claiming a new world order. One in which the hungry are fed, the weak are made strong, the oppressed are set free and the lion lies down with the lamb. A world in which swords are turned into plow shares.

If I were to get a hook out of the songs of Hannah, Deborah and Mary it would be this: God has done the impossible again, should we be surprised?

Though there are nearly two hundred songs in the Bible, some of the most powerful ones are created by these three women.

What makes them so special?

They teach us how to sing our faith into existence by envisioning God’s action in a song, it’s classically known as praise. But the word itself is deceiving. It brings to mind joy, beauty, ease or happiness. But their songs of praise tell us a different story. Praise is hard. That’s what makes it so powerful. These women do the gritty, scrappy, world ordering work of praise in their songs, and it’s what makes them world changing.

Praise is hard because it must be uttered over and against evidence that points to the contrary. It’s much easier to believe the evidence that the world is a horrible place than to speak the good news that it is not.

To praise God in a world in which violent hate crimes seem to rule the daily news, where children become targets just for attending school, where women are sold every day into sex trafficking, even in our own backyard, is a radical act. But that’s exactly what faith is, praising God in adverse conditions. This is how the world is changed. Channeling the love of God over and against the reality in which we live. That’s exactly why it’s crucial. Because praise not only heals us, it heals the world, too.

The women of the Bible who sang God’s powerful and healing love into the world weren’t the product of warm, fuzzy, comfortable societies. They were scrappy and lived in a culture that often held them to a rigid standard of having to negotiate life as the property of men. They also lived in a time in which a woman’s worth was often measured by her ability to bear a male child, remain a virgin until married and be submissive to male authority.

But the three women whose songs changed the world, Hannah, Deborah and Mary, colored outside of these lines. Not because they were seeking attention for themselves but because God asked them to, they simply responded to a calling from on high.

Hannah, Deborah and Mary were not only prophets, but women who overcame cultural adversity to channel God’s miraculous power into flesh and bones, into peace and love. Deborah’s song tells of an impossible victory that she commands with her vision, grit and military prowess as the right arm of God on earth. Hannah’s song claims God’s miraculous power to do the impossible through a woman that the world had given up on. Mary’s song creates a new world order in which God’s love is Sovran.

Through their songs love is made possible in the world through the odd combination that women carry so well -vulnerability and strength.

The songs of women are special, because they are uttered from hearts that know of sacrifice and oppression, hearts that are well acquainted with sorrow and the impossible. Hearts that have experienced the pain of rejection. Women who didn’t settle for being the victims of an unfair system, who didn’t believe the victim narrative but rose up out of it through God’s strength to share the truthfulness of God’s mighty power with the world.

They also teach us that we can’t do important work alone, we need others to be our best selves. In a culture in which we can easily feel isolated, lonely and without nurturing love, we need to remember that their songs were not sung alone. If they had been, the outcomes could have been very different. Deborah could have gone into battle without enough of the manpower she needed. Mary could have been abandoned by her family and friends and had to face giving birth alone. Hannah would have had no sacred vessel into which she could dedicate God’s gift to her. But because they sang their songs in communities that believed in them, and believed that their words were from God, the outcome was miraculous, every time.

God has done the impossible through the songs of women, should we be surprised?

Check out some of my modern interpretations of the radical stories of the hidden women of the Bible here.

May God add a blessing to your reading of this blog.

One Last Gift To Open....

With apologies to Nikos Kazantzakis…

The Last Temptation of Santa Claus by Mark D. Mills

     Nick blinked. He stared at the contract in front to him. He blinked again.  He couldn’t believe the amount of money he was being offered, all just to use his name, or a variation of it, anyway. The figure was more than Nick had seen in his lifetime, and after a life of self-imposed poverty, of giving away so much, this money could do so much good. He looked up at the smiling man seated across the desk from him. Three piece suit, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect teeth. Maybe too perfect.

    “So, let me understand you” Nick started, “your giving me all this just to use my name? No other involvement at all?”

     “That’s right.” The man said. The man was Thomas R. Uley, and he headed up the largest global toy conglomerate in existence. Almost any toy that was conceived, created or sold at some point came through him. He took a big cigar from his desk and lit it up, breathing in deep until it was smoking to his satisfaction. “That’s right” Thomas continued. “We handle all the merchandising, marketing, logistics and delivery. You might have to make a couple of personal appearances a year, but what you can’t make, we’ll have people in place to represent you. You see, we’re not buying you, per se, but what you stand for. Toys, glorious toys, giving a sense of prosperity to every child, happiness to every girl and boy, and all to be associated with your good name. And if we make some tiny profit, well that just a reward for all that good will.”

     Nick shook his head. “But that’s not what I stand for. I stand for giving, not indulgence. I stand for emptying yourself for others, not profiting off their need. This just doesn’t seem right somehow, Mr. Uley.”

     Mr. Uley smiled even wider. “I know you don’t understand just now, but trust me, this is how the system works. You have to do things sometimes to achieve the desired end. You DO want children to be happy on Christmas Day, don’t you? Now, you can do that worldwide, all in one night. Just sign the contract, and it’s done.”

     Nick hesitated. “I don’t know…” he started.

     Thomas leaned across the desk, and looked at Nick directly in his eyes. “Nick, Nick” he said softly. “I understand your concerns, and they will be addressed. But for now, think of the good you can do. So much more than ever possible. This is really for the best, and just waiting on you.” Thomas picked up a pen, and handed it to Nick. “Just waiting on you.” he repeated.

     Nick took a deep breath, signed the contract, and closed his eyes.

     When he opened them again, the scene had changed. He was seeing many things at once, all different but somehow connected.

     Nick focused on a scene to the right, and as he moved, seemed to step into it. He found himself on a busy sidewalk, hundreds of people around him, pushing and shoving. Buildings on either side of him rose up to unbelievable heights, so high that Nick had to strain to see the tops. Someone yelled “Hey, move it bud!” Someone else “Must be some kinda retard.” “Freak, more like it”. Nick did not like the way this conversation was going, so he moved over to the side, into a doorway.

     After a minute to compose himself, Nick started looking at details around him. People were carrying multiple packages, each one large enough for several people to receive gifts, yet the faces had no trace of joy. Determination, yes, frustration, yes, even anger. But no joy. How could you give so much, and not have your heart overflow? Something must be wrong.

     Nick heard bells. Knowing that town criers rang bells to announce news, he followed the sound, in hope of some answers. When he saw the source, he stopped up short. Nick saw a man in a red, fur lined suit beside a kettle, asking people for money. He looked like a sophisticated beggar. The suit kept bothering Nick. It seemed familiar. Of course! It was his clerical robes, although it was a very poor copy. Cartoonish, even. This beggar was supposed to be him! Mr. Uley said there would be stand-ins, but nothing like this. Nick moved on quickly, holding back the urge to punch this heretic right in his jolly round belly. Just a few blocks later, another imposter on the sidewalk! This was just too much. He willed himself out of that scene (although he still wasn’t sure how) and into the next one.

     As the scene around him came into focus, Nick found himself in a family home on Christmas morning, and the scene was absolute chaos. One child was tearing into packages in a frenzy, paper flying everywhere. No sooner than one package would be opened, he would go to the next, ignoring the previous gift. And there were so many! Surely many children must live here, but no, only one. In a flash, all the packages were open. Then the child started to cry. Then started to scream at his harried parents. Apparently, after all that, it wasn’t enough! Wasn’t enough? There were enough presents for ten children, and this child wanted more! Whispering a prayer for his parents, he moved to another scene.

     Nick came into another house, another family, another child. Unlike his previous view, there was no abundance. This child was sitting at a kitchen table, a glass of water in her hands. Her mother was moving around the kitchen, trying hard to spread what little she had for her child to eat. It had been two days since her own last meal. “Mom, was I a bad girl this year?”

     “No, hon” the mom said, “You were a very good girl all year long.”

     “Then why didn’t Santa bring any presents? Doesn’t he like me?”

     The mom choked up a little. “No, he loves you very much. He’s just poor like the rest of us. Maybe he’ll make it up next year.” To herself, the mom said “Please, next year.”

     Nick’s blood was boiling by this point. In a world with so much abundance, how could there be such want? He signed on for goodwill for all, not just some. It was time to straighten this out.

     Hi willed himself into the office of Thomas R. Uley. “Well, Nick, what a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you again. What can I do for you?” he said, perfect smile in place.

     “You can release me from that contract, that’s what you can do for me” fumed Nick. “Instead of goodwill, there is greed. Instead of care, there is desperate want. I don’t stand for any of this, and I will NOT stand for any of this.”

     “Nick, Nick” that familiar soothing voice came back. “Nick, this is far too complicated for you to understand. That’s just business. Let us take care of things.”

     “But you’re not taking care of things, that’s just the problem.”

     “Let us decide what is right or wrong then.” Thomas rose, and his smile lessened just slightly. “Nick, we control what the world thinks, and does, and we do it through money. Those who have keep, those who don’t are not worth our time. You’ve been paid for your part, we have everything else. Now get out before I call security.” Thomas sat back down, pulled out a cigar from his desk, and turned around.

     Nick’s head started spinning. He felt totally helpless. He closed his eyes and screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOO!”

     The old bishop opened his eyes. He was back in his bed, in his own room, drenched in sweat, hands still clenched in tension. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and realized it was just a dream. He knew that people already recognized him as a gift giver. He knew that people’s hearts are easily turned from giving to others to receiving for themselves. But as long as people remembered why they give, remembered the Child whose birth, death and resurrection gave the greatest gift of all, it would be alright.

     Nicklaus closed his eyes, and slept.

Merry Christmas everyone, and I'll see you in the new year!

Silence - a poem

Silence.

A pause between words.

A rest between notes.

A reprieve while the noise of life goes on.

Silence.

The punctuation of life stories.

The time taken to step aside.

The healing between wars of life.

Silence.

Not empty and void, but rich and fertile.

Absorbing the noise around, and giving it time to be heard.

Life is experienced in noise, but understood…

In Silence.

Sacred Silence

   And he said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.  And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. – 1 Kings 19:11-12 (ESV)

     “Hello Darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again. Because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sounds of silence. – Paul Simon

    “I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses. And the voice I hear falling on my ear, the son of God discloses. And He walks with me and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own. And the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known.” - C. Austin Miles

     I’ve just returned from a wonderful time at Camp Bluebird, a twice a year camp for cancer survivors, and the gathering place of some of my dearest friends. There are quite a few activities at camp to keep our pandemonium to a minimum, and on Friday afternoon, I attended a Journaling Workshop. One of the prompts given us had to do with silence, and this prompted the following line from me – “Life is experienced in noise, but understood in silence”. (I know, sometimes I get so deep even I don’t get it!) In this case though, the saying rang true for me, and especially true here at camp. Life is messy, and loud, and exhausting, and confusing, and frustrating, but there for one weekend is peace, silence of life’s distractions, rest. And even if understanding may not be there, the ability to deal with life is a little better at least.

     There is rest in silence. God speaks to us in the silence. He waits for us to push aside the noise and clutter, to rest and listen. He set aside the Sabbath, not because His ego needed it, but to give us the rest He knew WE needed. He begs us to rest. In Matthew 11:28 “Come to me all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

     For a lot of us, silence can be scary. We run from it, trying to avoid dealing with the issues around us, or in us. Truth is, the only way there is healing from the noise around is by going into the silence. We have to stop, rest, and let God speak. In the Quaker tradition, the common practice is to sit in a circle, and rather than having a speaker, to wait until God calls someone to speak. This would put a LOT of pastors out of business. The way I grew up, if there was silence in the Worship Service for more than 5 seconds, somebody forgot something!

     I would encourage you to try this simple exercise. Take some time to be in the silence, away from the noise of the day. Just find a nice, quiet spot, with no distractions, rest and let God speak. Even if you don’t hear Him, rest in knowing He is there. Rest in knowing He loves you completely, eternally. For some this may be difficult, often myself included. Let me give you a scripture, a prompt if you will, to help. Take Psalm 121:1-2.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

     Now don’t just keep repeating it over and over, that’s work not rest. Let the words into your heart and dwell on them. Healing will come. Amen

The Book of Naomi

Merry Christmas! What, too soon? Oh, well…

I’m going to tell you a story. It’s told in the Book of Ruth, but I really think it should be called the Book of Naomi. We don’t often think about her, but she is the one central to this story. She begins it, influences it all the way through, and ends it. So why is Naomi so important? We’ll get to that. Let’s begin.

There was a famine in Judah, so Elemelech and his wife Naomi, travel to Moab with their two sons – Mahlan and Chilion. The Bible doesn’t specify how long they were there, but at some point, Elemelech dies, their sons take wives, Ruth and Orpah (NOT Oprah!), then the sons die as well, without having children.

As it will, life got very tough on these three widows, and Naomi heard the famine was now over in Judah. She decided to return to Judah, but told her daughter-in-laws to stay, since their families were both from Moab. Orpah cried, and begged, and cried again, but eventually hugs and kisses were passed all around, and she went back to her parent’s home. Ruth, however would not leave Naomi’s side, telling her “Where you go, I’m going. Where you stay, I’ll stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God.” Pretty strong words. So the two travel back to their home. Bethlehem, in Judea.

Once there, Ruth decides to help her mother-in-law out by going to work and harvest in the fields. There was a Jewish law that land owners had to leave a portion of their fields available for immigrants, widows and orphans, so that they could fend for themselves. One of the fields Ruth worked in was owned by Boaz, who just happened to be a kinsman of Elemelech. When Boaz sees her, and find’s out she’s kin, he tells her don’t harvest anywhere else, just there. Go with his servant girls, and harvest with them.

This is where Naomi gets involved again.  (Just like a mother-in-law, right?) Ruth comes back and tells Naomi what happened. Naomi, knowing Boaz is a kinsman, tells Ruth to listen to Boaz, and he’ll take care of her. In the meantime, Boas has told his men to leave her alone. Not only that, but to make sure and leave extra where it would be easy to gather.

Ruth comes home the next day with even more that the first day. She was even allowed to eat with Boaz and his workers, and bring home a doggie bag for Naomi. At this point, Naomi knows there’s an attraction between Boaz and Ruth. So she tells Ruth, “Ok, tomorrow night, after he’s eaten and made merry (read drunk), go to where he’s sleeping, uncover his feet, and lay down there. When he wakes up, you just do whatever he tells you to do.” She may have been thinking a little “Bow-chica-wow-wow” would occur, since Lot’s daughters did the same thing to him to have a child. (Genesis 19: 30-38) Ruth though wasn’t quite of the same thought. More like Beyoncé’ “Betta put a ring on it”!

Being the type of man her was, Boaz thought the same way, because of how honorable Ruth had acted. He proposed to her, and as kinsman would redeem her, and the line of Elemelech would be restored. Here’s where a wrinkle came in.

You see, in Jewish law, if a man died and left no offspring, it was up to the next of kin to step in for the deceased and forward the lineage, so to speak.  (Deut. 25:5-6) The trouble was, Boaz was NOT the next of kin, so he didn’t have the right to propose. That belonged to another man in the village. So he arranged to meet the close kin the next day in the marketplace. (I love this next part!)

So, they meet up at Starbucks or someplace like the next day and Boaz says “Hey cuz! You remember Elemelech, right? Well, I found out about a parcel of land of his, but since you’re closer kin, I wanted to offer it to you first.” Well, the cuz says sure, I’ll take the land. The Boaz suddenly remembers “Oh, by the way, you also have to marry Ruth, his daughter-in-law, and have a child with her.” (Imagine dead silence here.) Well, cousin had kids of his own, and that would have interfered with their own inheritance, so he said “No thanks, cuz, all yours!” Now that’s the way to do a deal!

That’s pretty much it. Boaz marries Ruth, they have a son, Obed, Naomi gets a grandbaby, and all ends happily ever after.

So why is Naomi so important? Because of that baby boy. At the end of the story, Boaz and Ruth give Obed over to Naomi to nurse and raise. You know she loved that! It got to where the women of the village would say “Naomi has a son!” How many of you grandmothers have been accused of the same thing?? Come on, now.

Well, Obed stayed in Bethlehem and eventually had a son, Jessie. Jessie grew up and had several fine sons and daughters, including one shepherd boy, David. You begin to see the line here? David had sons, they had sons, and so on, and so on, until one upstanding son, Joseph, became the earthly father to Jesus.

Here’s where Naomi comes in. Remember that law of “kinship redeemer” in Deuteronomy? By that law, Obed became legally the offspring of Elemelech, as his own sons had died without issue. This established Obed as a citizen of Bethlehem, and a full member of the tribe of Judah. (Remember, Ruth was from Moab, and would not have had that distinction.)

So, when we say Christ was from Bethlehem - that was Naomi.

So when we say Christ was of the tribe of Judah - that was Naomi.

When the line is drawn from God to Adam to Abraham to David to Christ – that was Naomi. The lineage of the promise of God for the savior of mankind was secured by – Naomi. Not bad for the mother-in-law in the story.

So Naomi, I want to give you the recognition you deserve. You’re welcome.

Oh, and…Merry Christmas.

Colorectal Ditties

This past Sunday, June 3^rd, was cancer survivor day. I am happy to be a 10 year survivor of colorectal cancer myself. Being a survivor though is not without its own set of experiences. Often the price of living, is living with a brand new “normal”, one that others don’t see. For those times though, even when things are going really tough, I like to try and laugh at the experience. Not because it is funny in itself, but because to laugh at something takes away its power over you. Other than love, there is no greater power that humans can wield.

In that vein, the following little ditties are for those like myself that are rectally challenged. I give the artist’s names first, not so much to hear the tune, but to apologize to them for what I did to it!

(Gene Autry)

Back to the bathroom again, white porcelain is my friend.

Don’t know when it will come, when it does I have to run

Back to the bathroom again.

(Ray Stevens)

Oh yes, they call it the Streak. I feel a wet spot on my seat.

When I remove my underwear, see the lines showing there,

I know that something has seeped.

(Statler Brothers)

Counting flowers on the wall, while I’m sitting in the stall.

Playing Solitaire till one, on a Galaxy Samsung.

Downloading Stranger Things and watching Season Two

Now don’t tell me, I’ve nothing to do.

(Tennessee Ernie Ford)

You dump Sixteen Tons, what do you get? A butt that’s sore and a seat that’s wet.

You think that it’s over, you get up to go,

Then another load comes and she’s ready to blow!

(Johnny Cash/Sons of the Pioneers)

I see the toilet paper roll, it’s down to just one sheet.

And all the backup paper rolls are just beyond my reach.

I should have changed it out but I just didn’t take the time.

So I’ll sit here till my legs go numb, and I can’t feel my behind.

Yippie-Ky-Yay! Yippie-Ky-Yo!

Where is my be-hind??

Have a laugh today!