It is a truth universally acknowledged... that on the day you scrupulously scrub your kitchen floor that within hours you will spill a vast container of fast-spreading liquid all over it and you will have to do it all again. This domestic law of consequences has never failed in my household.
Yesterday morning, rather than the lick and the promise it usually gets, I sat on my wee behind and did a thorough job on my psuedo-marble flooring. I even gave it a light polish. I beamed to see its dogfoot beige return to the original white and gray.
By noon I had upended a bottle of coke all over it.
Glug, glug, splatter, splash.
A friend sent me this. And since it is Sunday...
Of course we know that Jesus was Jewish. He went about his Father's business, He lived at home until he was 33, and his mother was sure he was God; but...
There are three good arguments that Jesus was Black:
1. He called everyone brother.
2. He liked Gospel.
3. He didn't get a fair trial.
Then there are three good arguments that Jesus was an American Indian:
1. He was at peace with nature.
2. He ate a lot of fish.
3. He talked about the Great Spirit.
And three that He may have been Irish:
1. He never married.
2. He was always telling stories.
3. He loved green pastures.
And three that he may have been a Californian:
1. He never cut his hair.
2. He walked around barefoot all the time.
3. He started a new religion.
But the most compelling evidence suggests that Jesus was a woman.
1. He fed a crowd at a moment's notice when there was virtually no food.
2. He kept trying to get a message across to a bunch of men who just didn't get it.
3. And even when He was dead, He had to get up because there was still work to do.