Thursday, April 17, 2014


            "How often ones road ends at Sorrow Falls," Josh mused, tossed yet another rock into that not so swift water.  "Ends where it began.  Cathy carted off the kids a year ago today.  Today the divorce is final. And this very rock I'm sitting on is where I proposed to her.  Talk about drowning in a sea of love."  Josh picked up a bit too large rock, stood and tossed.  The weight of that last rock was exactly what he needed, needed to pull Josh off balance into Sorrow Falls.

            What were the odds his skull would meet up with that same rock in the cold shallow water?  Not odd at all, even probable, Josh would have probably thought, if he were conscious.  But conscious he was not, as he floated down Sorrow Falls, more a long and winding down hill stream... full of rocks...

            ...In the firelight the nose of Josh twitched; breathed bacon cooking air; savored caramelizing brown sugar in cast iron pot of baked beans.  He felt almost toasty... "Where?" His brain fought the fog. "How," escaped his lips.  A gentle hand lifted between his shoulders; semi sat Josh up, while other hand pushed backpack under head and shoulders.

            "Names, Joy!" she huffed.

            Even in the dim fire light Josh focused on no angel.  His eyes traced each scar.  That split lip must have really hurt a while back.  So must that gash above left eye bled more than a bit.  And that straight line across right cheek surely must have required stitches.  Yet his warm yet fuzzy mind commanded his lips to repeat her name, "Joy, Joy, Joy..."

            "Yeah, Joy," she said, added, "stop ogling me before you fall in love."  She did not laugh.

            "Sorry," was all Josh had.

            In silence Joy spooned up a bowl of beans, poked a fork in it, and poked the bowl at him.  Josh just stared.  His head wobbled a bit.  Joy shuffled closer, forked up a bite to feed him.  The eyes of Josh followed that fork to the lips of Joy; and as she blew on the beans to cool them, Josh breathed in her sweet breath.  Josh touched her face...

            "You are a rose," floated from his lips.

            Joy looked into his eyes for more than a spell.  Spoke, "Yes, men desire me; and the scars, well the scars lead them to believe I'm attainable.  But the look on your face is something else."

            "You saved me," Josh almost cried.

            Maybe, after all I did drag your soggy hide out of the water." Joy smiled. "You don't know who I am, do you?  I've sang and strummed the guitar in just about every dance hall, rodeo, county fair, saloon and shindig from Tulsa to Austin.  My last name is Rydell and you Mr. Joshua Keeler, Mr. real estate tycoon, floated down Sorrow Falls right onto my ranch.

            "How do you know me?" Josh wondered.

            "Your wallet and contents are drying out on that log by the fire.  Now eat these beans!" Joy explained, commanded.  Josh's mouth flew open.  Joy piled the beans in.  His mouth flooded with baked bean and bacon heaven.

            "After we get through playing momma and baby bird," Joy forked up another bite, cooled it with that sweet, sweet breath, fed it to Josh, "After we eat, I might just play you a tune."  Joy smiled., forked up a heap of beans to her own lips, forgetting to cool them off first.  Fast and furious she chewed while blowing to cool them too hot beans.

            Josh giggled at her mild dismay.  Joy punched him in the shoulder.  Still chewing and blowing, Joy barked, "Save your skinny butt, and now you laugh at me!" Joy giggled.  Momma and baby bird were getting along just fine.

            After a time of some serious munching, punctuated with giggles, both were full of beans. With the back of her shirt sleeve, Joy wiped stray baked bean juice from her chin, reached over and retrieved guitar. "You might a wondered why I'm out here campfire and all.  This place is my nest by the falls, where momma bird hatches most of her songs.  And, where in the last year or so, I have come to feel closest to the LORD above."

            Josh watched Joy tune up that beat up old guitar for a little more than a while, before ribbing, "Has the bird lost her song?"

            "Did I hear a discouraging peep, baby bird?  Save you from drowning, fill you full a beans, about to sing you a song... but yeah, am I stalling... or just employing pregnant pause?" Joy tuned a tad more, confessed, "The song is not finished and I'm supposed to sing it in the morning at Cowboy Church.  Here goes:
                        Sorrow falls away
                        No matter how reckless I've been
                        Your wings gather me in
                        And sorrow falls away
                        Healing my scars of growing
                        Because You love me
                        Because You love me
                        Like the rose buds above the thorn
                        Like the grass glistens in sunshine after rain
                        Risen above the storm
                        The light of the world
                        LORD, He is Your Son...
                        Thank You for the shower has come
                        Thank you for the living rain from above
                        LORD, He is your Son
                        Jesus loves me
                        Jesus loves me
                        Thank you Lord God Almighty
                        For Jesus' love
                        Thank you Lord God above
                        For Jesus' love
                        Holy, holy, holy
                        Lord God Father of Love
                       Sorrow falls away
                       No matter how reckless I've been
                       Your wings gather me in
                       And sorrow falls away

            ...And as Joy continued to sing, Josh thought, "How often ones road begins at Sorrow Falls...

Psalm 16:11; Isaiah 35:1; 2nd Samuel 23:4; Ezekiel 34:26; John 3:16; Psalm 17:8






Friday, March 14, 2014


            The dust of dusk, yet the yawn of dawn, the usher of transition, the consolation of change, the cusp of day, twilight passing.  And so be this one such edge of morn, but rays of sun peeking over granite cliff, piercing gentle running waters mist... design of the Creator to pry open auburn eyelashes... curtains to blue eyes...

            As whispered wisps of ember to ash curled from driftwood campfire, her freckled nose crinkled with joy, breathed smile to her lips.  Her lithe arms rose.  Her fair hands gathered long auburn locks from gnarly nape of trunk and root, pillow and bed of cypress tree; and she sighed, remembering sweet lullaby in moon light on the bank of the Amen River... Until...

            ...Fish breath and wet tongue violated the space of her pretty face.  Faith jerked her cheek away; caught only glimpse of wet furry tail as it flipped over knotted root of cypress back into the water. "What was that?" Faith leaned forward, cradled her round tummy with one arm and hand, braced herself with the other as she leaned further to waters edge.  Neath clear water no marauding critter swam.  Faith looked closer.  "Nothing!"  She looked closer, then closer yet, face inches from water surface...  Boop!  Wet nose touched hers.  Faith giggled.  Otter chuckled, slipped back under surface, then back up... Boop!  Nose to nose again.

            "What are you doing here, little fellow?"

            Nose to nose, otter sniffed, then tried to lick the freckles from her nose.  "They are not dirt." Faith giggled for it tickled.  "Oop!"  Faith cradled her round tummy a tad tighter. "Time to sit up."  She rubbed pregnant tummy, looked down and gathered it into her blue eyes, "Must have cramped the twins space," Faith smiled.

            Otter waddled up, sat up, gently placed both paws on her tummy, looked up into Faith's face and merrily chirped.  Her tummy began to move neath otter paws.  Otter whistled, wiggled head side to side...

            "Who is your little friend?" From the comfort of sleeping bag Pastor Tim yawned, scratched sandy mop atop his head. At the sound of his voice otter turned, disappeared again over cypress root back into the Amen River.

            "Awww, he's gone,"  Faith looked upon the ripples of the water, evidence of things not seen.

            "Well," Pastor Tim raised an eye brow, "why play with otters, when you can snuggle with husband."  Tim invited, flipped back flap of sleeping sack.

            Faith stood, waddled over and crawled in with her back to him.  Tim covered her, gathered her close in his arms.  "So, I get the back treatment!"  Tim smiled, swept auburn hair from freckled nape of neck, planted kiss.

            You scared him away," Faith pouted, pulled her neck away.

            Tim gathered her closer, was just about to kiss her ear, but, "Well looky here, your little buddy turns out to be a girlfriend."

            Otter and three pups had come to visit at the foot of sleeping bag.  Momma otter slinked up on mid sack, turned head, chirped.  The three pups scampered up and swarmed over momma.

            Pastor Tim observed, "There has got to be a Sunday sermon in all this somewhere."

            "Chirp, chip, bark and squeak..."  Momma otter sang to the ears of Faith.

            Faith smiled, "She is saying don't count your chicks till they hatch."

            Caressing her auburn hair into place round her ear, Tim smiled too, although not quite exactly sure of what he was smiling about.

            No next day Sunday morning sermon did Pastor Tim preach.  Most of the church congregation was with him at the hospital, praying and waiting, waiting and praying; until...

            Tim opened the door to Faith... understood not so coincidental otter coincidence on that bank of the Amen River... For Tim went to side of bed... where Faith lay... saw not twins... but saw three... count them three... in the arms of Faith... And Tim praised the LORD... from twilight to twilight to twilight... in song:

            Cross on over to the other side of the Amen River by faith... into the palm of Jesus hand... into the promised land... of living water... water... water... ... ... drink His water... water... water... cool and clear water... water... water... ... ... water... ... ...

                                 John 4:14; Philippians 4:4-7; Matthew 28:19

            Endless water... water... water... ... ... Everlasting water... water... water... ... ... Forever living water... water... water... ... ... Jesus... ... ...  Endless water... water... water... ... ... Everlasting water... water... water... ... ... Forever living water... water... water... ... ... Jesus... ... ... And sing and sing and sing... And sing and sing and sing... And sing and sing and sing... ... ... Jesus... Jesus... Jesus... ... ... Jesus... Jesus... Jesus... ... ... Jesus...Jesus... Jesus... ... ... Of Jesus forever sing... Of Jesus forever sing... Of Jesus forever sing... Of Jesus...




Sunday, March 2, 2014


Little Yellow Bee saw the wood bee
Saw the wood bee drill and saw
Saw the wood bee drill like an awl
Little Bee thought with awe
I would be a wood bee
If I could be

Big round and black
With a tool filled carpenter sack
Buzzing to and fro
Carrying pollen into the hole
A wood bee, I would be
If I could be

But I'm just a little yellow bee
Barely big enough to see
Queen Bee hear my plea
Make my wish to be
Let me be, a big wood bee
As I should be

Then said Queen Bee to Little Bee
Sweeter than honey are thee
You carry nectar to our hive
To make honey, keeping all us bees alive
So you shouldn't be, a wood bee
If you could be...

Be what God created you to be... Be a blessing... Be blessed...
Share the Word of God... Share Jesus... Share the honey...

Where did the saying "Sweeter Than Honey" come from: Psalm 119:103-105;  Psalm 19:7-11

Originally written for our grandchildren in 2004.


Thursday, February 20, 2014


            Life at the Spice of Life Greeting Cards warehouse was anything but living for Bentley Wordsworthy.  Driving the same old forklift day after day, year after year, of what would soon be over two decades of spiceless boredom had eroded the mind, if not the soul of Bentley.  Bentley Wordsworthy, the dreamer who longed to be a coiner of phrases, even a bard of adages.  If only he could get recognition from just one of the Spice of Life Greeting Card Editors.

            But alas, Bentley Wordsworthy possessed no wordsmith flair.  Seldom is a kind way of saying never did Bentley Wordsworthy surpass the rudimentary roses are red, violets are blue level of poetic expression. And worse, Bentley was the untalented failure of the Wordsworthy family, which included over two centuries of poets, authors, editors and publishing house masters.  Indeed Bentley himself often sighed, "I'm the last and the dead end of the Wordsworthy clan.  That's me, just being all a failure can be."  Be...

            Until one faithful day...  the boredom bent mind of Bentley over indulged in an oft visited daydream.  High through the sky, Bentley Wordsworthy did fly, super hero of the greeting card world.  From his shoulders fluttered the cape of bard-dom and across his chest emanated the magnificent letter "A," standing for ADAGEMAN!! Actually the letter "A" should have been two letters, A.D., standing for ATTENTION DEFICITMAN.  Driving a forklift laden with crates full of greeting cards is no time to dream, let alone fly around a corner a tad too sharp.  From forklift seat ADAGEMAN stomped on the brake a bit too late.  The crates on the forklift remained stable, but the mile high stack the forklift bumped into shook violently. Bentley's hardhat fell off as he craned neck back to see the last rock of the teetering crate on top.  Bentley gasped, "Jesus, save me!!!"  Down plummeted that faith guided missile right between the safety glass wearing eyes of Bentley...

            "Is he dead?" asked foreman Fred.

            No one wanted to know more than Bentley.  So from the concrete floor, flat on his back, Bentley Wordsworthy  opened his mouth and instantly breathed out greeting card gold, "Life is like a box of chocolate armadillos: all slippery, scratchy and none too happy about being dipped in molten chocolate."

            Bentley wrote it down.  Bentley turned it in to the editors of Spice of Life Greeting Cards.  Bentley garnered a new gig.  A coiner of phrases he had become.  ADAGEMAN... MAN... MAN... AN... AN... N was born!  Yet, died...

            For the Lord above had up-up-and away far greater heights for Bentley Wordsworthy to fly.  Not only did Bentley live to master the seemingly absurd and funny side of greeting cards, but there were sympathy cards, get well cards, birthday, wedding, friendship, Mothers Day, Fathers Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas cards to compose.  Indeed His favorite of all were scripturally inspired.  Cards like:  Better a hole in the sock; than a hole in the soul.  Cards like:  The flames of youth, the ashes of regret, the if only of what can never be... Jesus heals it all...

            Yes, ADAGEMAN had died, but Bentley Wordsworthy reigned alive and well as the bard of Spice of Life Greeting Cards.  He even authored a few novels.  But in the life of Bentley, the waters of success never flooded over the banks of humbletude.  "Don't be too proud;" Bentley would say, "the chocolate coating of riches does not a life make; for of faded wisps, once whirlwinds, the dust whispers without thirst." He more than often added, "The spice of life, the very essence of living:  Love the LORD continually; share His love with all; enjoy His every gift.  For who else can turn even a bump on the head into blessing."

            Oh, and in the chair of the bard, the new fantasy of Bentley twas a job well done, driving a forklift...

            (Mark 8:36; Isaiah 29:4) (James 1:17; Colossians 3:17) (Romans 10:13)





Monday, February 10, 2014


            Ahab B. Tempest too often of his home town complained, "The best thing I can say about Scope, Texas, is everybody has got to be from somewhere.  Why four roads cross this corner to nowhere is beyond me.  We got no springs nor streams, no rivers nor lakes, no trees nor mountains.  In fact the highest naturally occurring scenery around here is a festering mole hole hill smack dab in the middle of my garden.  I hates them moles!  One day you got a row of carrots; the next day you got nothing but mounds of violated dirt!  I hate em'!  I've poisoned, trapped, sonic repelled and even tried electrocuting them nasty critters; but like waves of Mongol hordes swarming the great wall of China, mole hole invasion just never ends."

            This errant rant twas all too familiar to neighbor Mary Webster, who tried one more time to explain "It is not a mole hole, Ahab.  Moles are not your problem.  Your missing vegetables problem is gophers, not moles.  Gophers eat vegetation; moles eat insects, grubs and such."

            "Gophers smoephers!"  Ahab escalated to red faced exasperation, "Its moles!  Its moles!  Its moles! And they are all gonna' die!!"

            Off to the old, old barn Ahab stomped.  Mary shook head, retreated from garden to the assumed safety of her own back yard.  She turned to scrutinize the return of Ahab.  On one shoulder he carried a hand twist post hole digger.  Laden on the other shoulder were several pipe extensions to be added as needed twixt auger and handle for depth.  And strait to that mislabeled mole hole in garden Ahab went.

            "Concerned moles!"  Ahab spit, dropped pipe to the side, raised post hole digger over head and cursed out epitaph, "I hates moles for hate's sake!"  Down harpooned auger into the heart of mole hole!

            Harpoon, twist, twist, twist, retrieve and dump dirt!  Harpoon, twist, twist, twist, retrieve and dump! Harpoon twist, twist, twist, retrieve and dump!  An hour and a half drug by.  Mary Webster had long given up and gone inside.  But neither she nor any of the other town folks witnessed Ahab's obsession twist to evil possession of Ahab.

            Ahab screamed, "Enough!"  Cast auger down to hate stabbed ground, turned, stomped back again to old, old barn.  Too soon he returned to the garden with arms heavy laden with for real dyn-o-mite!  How many sticks of dynamite Ahab dropped down that mole hole, no one ever knew nor could conceive.  Nor could any conceive Ahab would stand directly over that mole hole, strike a match and drop it down mole hole throat...

            ...Nothing happened.  Off to the old, old barn Ahab ran, waving arms and ranting words that Satan himself took notes on.  Back Ahab raced slinging by handle a five gallon lawn mower gas can in each hand.  Down that packed with dynamite mole hole Ahab poured both cans.  Maniacally, he giggled, "No mole hole left behind!"  He pulled cigar from pocket... and as he lit it... so did his face light also in the crazed glee of revenge.  A few last deep drags really fired her up... then did he drop tobacco ablaze... straight into that mole hole to madness...

            No cosmic cross hairs were ever aimed; yet, by hand of man the crossroads of Scope, Texas vanished... Only an abyss remained... An abyss once but a mole hole mislabeled...

            Why turn a mole hole into an abyss... Does not the sting of anger and revenge bite both bitten and biter... even countless innocents...

            Life on earth is short enough as it is... forgive and love... as Jesus loves us...

            Proverbs 10:12 KJV, "Hatred stirreth up strifes; but love covereth all sins."

            Find a nearby Christian church... come on in and sit a spell... find the love of Jesus...



Wednesday, January 29, 2014


            When Boudreaux wed Apasionada, dim' folk dun' had one-a-dim' paardees'.  Amid this fiesta-festival the marriage of zydeco and cumbia echoed through the Louisiana swamp.  To de' pound of of de' music and de' stomp of de' feets: de' fishes leaped, de' bull frogs bellered, de' gators clapped der' jaws, even the heart of the bayou waters did beat.  Nine months later, little was the surprise, when one more excuse to celebrate arrived: the birth of brothers Pierre and Pedro.  And the brothers two, oh how they grew, all the while living la vida loco.  "No life without passion," they often proclaimed, "our undying motto."

            And from the passion of the two that grew flowed a love of food.  A love fulfilled in the twin's joint venture, The Chocolate Gator Grill, a cafe made famous by their signature entree: chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole'.  They cooked; they flourished; no way could folks get enough of that chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole'...

            Until one faithless day, national TV reporter/food critic, Creme Brule, into the blue bayou blew, to interview the chocolate toothed two.  And with mike in hand Creme gestured about the cafe to ice cream display, to rows of cake, to piles of de' pie, and with an eye for the eerie she did droolingly query, "All chocolate!  Everything, chocolate!  What's up with that?"

            With tear in the eye, Pierre did reply, "Ever since we was just little bitty babies down on the bayou, Ma Ma' Apasionada dun' us so guud'.  I remember like today, we watch de' Ma Ma' boil dat' water for our hot chocolate."          

            "Si," Pedro patted the shoulder of his choked up brother, "Ma Ma' pass last year.  But always before she go, she treat her boys a-alright.  In dat' boiling water, chunk after chunk of rich dark chocolate find home.  She add one ton cane sugar and boat load cream on top.  To us dat' hot chocolate mean no limit of love."

            No limit viral that interview got viewed.  Viral twas the love of the public for the two with no Ma Ma' and a legacy of chocolate.  Besides, the food was "A-alright," as Pierre often said, "beyond some-none-a-tall." Thus a new wave of rave swept the nation.  And on TV The Chocolate Gator Grill became the number one cooking show sensation.

            The intro to the show became cult classic: "Bonjour!" In sync the brothers chimed.  Then the twins introduced each other: "My brother right here with the hangy moss chin and head o' hair be Pierre.  And my brother right here with the hangy moss chin and head o' hair be Pedro."  In sync again, "And we brothers dun' be right here to chocolate you up!"  Could TV fare sink any lower...

            Well...  One faithless day two flat bottom boats down the bayou did float.  With camera crew in tow, reporter Creme Brule shadowed Pierre and Pedro into the swamp to reap the meaty ingredient for their chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole.  Pierre cast the baited tri-hook into dark waters...  Pierre retrieved the line, till no more it did went; then slowly pulled the boat toward the end of the line...  All stopped at that sunk tri-hook.  Pedro readied dat' bat for the gator's head to splat...  He peered over the side...  With one big swoosh the mother of all gators Pedro dun' took... Red boiled the blood of Pedro in bayou chocolate...

            After that moment tragic, and back on shore, "We should-a known some kind-a better!!!"  Pierre into the camera did squall.  "Too hot, too hot dat' dark water o' chocolate!  O' Ma Ma', what have you dun' dun' to you boys!  You should-a warn us!  Gotta be careful or de' food dun' eat you!!!"

            In the eye of camera, the bayou waters, that dark chocolate framed the figure of Creme Brule.  Into the mike Creme no words better than her tears did speak...  Till in mid weep Creme cried, cried out, "Obsession stinks!!"

                                              ...Boiling hot chocolate burns...

                                                       ...I guar-raun-tee...


            Jeremiah 17:9 KJ, "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?"
            In a heart without Jesus, passion mutates to obsession. When passion becomes idol, obsession consumes.  So does in the pot on top of Ma Ma's stove, the hot chocolate grow; grow to the boiling chocolate waters of the whole bayou.  Chocolate makes a delicious drink, but if you drink it at boiling temp, you get burned.  Passion requires direction and limits.  Passion needs the correct temperature before it is drank. Who among us as a child has not burned the lips and tip of the tongue with too hot, hot chocolate.

                  ...Listen to the LORD, drink from the brook the living waters of Jesus...

                                  ...Drink not of the dark bayou of this world...                                                              

Friday, January 24, 2014


            More than just cousins were Miss Lolly Gag and Dawdle Idly.  Best friends they were with much in common.  Where one lollied the other was sure to dawdle.  What they didn't lackadaisically waste, they most certainly fruitlessly dis-labored.  Any time and always seemed a good time to procrastinate.  And the one thing they procrastinated most about was spiritual life.  After all, thought required effort, and effort to Lolly Gag and Dawdle Idly was unthinkable.  And my oh my, how the time flew by... to that faithless day when one gagged, while the other idled...

            And it came to pass in an opulent sky box at a certain super football game in a wildly super arena  that Lolly and Dawdle had much bet on the underdog.  And in the final countdown Lolly's team scored the winning touchdown, just as she half swallowed a generous chunk of Cajun chicken wing.  In her windpipe it did lodge, but screaming drunken fans, including best friend Dawdle, failed to comprehend Lolly's frantic dance was with death, not celebration.  Then, as Lolly gagged, as she turned first blue then dark purple, her last dance stopped.  Lolly stood dreadfully still amongst the writhing revelers.

            Dawdle turned to see her BFF, see her eyes cross, see the body of Lolly take a backward stiff as a board swan dive.  Dawdle tried to grab her, but only succeeded in falling forward herself.  And as Lolly hit the floor on her back with a horrible smack, her lungs violently compressed their oxygen depleted air.  Like a bullet on a mission that chunk of spicy Cajun chicken dislodged and shot out of Lolly's mouth straight into the left eye ball of a still falling Dawdle...

            At the hospital Dawdle lay in a bed.  "We are not quite sure," the Nurse said, "whether your left eye will see again."

            In reply, Dawdle only smiled, turned head, and with her one good eye did see in bed across the room her BFF.  Dawdle reached out to hold the hand of Lolly, not realizing her one eyed depth perception would take some getting use to.  Too far away lay Lolly, but even with cracked ribs she reached out to Dawdle.  The Nurse smiled and pushed Dawdle's bed closer.  And Lolly and Dawdle held hands...

            Three Sundays later, hands reverently holding Holy Bibles in laps, Lolly and Dawdle sat in church. They listened to the Pastor speak of the disciples fishing all night long with nets on the Sea of Galilee and catching nothing; until the resurrected Christ Jesus appeared on the shore and called out to them as recorded in John 21:6 KJ, "And he said unto them, Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find.  They cast therefore, and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes"

            And Lolly and Dawdle did the unthinkable: put forth effort and thought as the Pastor taught: "As Jesus spoke to the disciples from shore, so does he speak to us today from heaven.  Some sitting in this very church today have led a life that is but a dark night in which over and over again they have cast their net on the wrong side of the boat.  The wrong side of the boat, the wrong side of life, where only emptiness is caught.  Perhaps some sitting here have even been recently reminded of how short life is.  That no one is guaranteed another breath, not even another beat of the heart.  Today, to you, do you hear Jesus calling, calling: 'Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find.'  Find repentance and forgiveness; find redemption and salvation; find abundant life, even life eternal; and find love and find peace: all found in Jesus."

            And that very morning Lolly and Dawdle found their NBFF (New Best Friend Forever)... JESUS...

Jesus speaks as recorded in John 15:12-13 KJ, "12)This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. 13)Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

Postscripts for the studious: Mark 9:47; Hebrews 12:6; Acts 9: 1-20...

                                                          Allegory & Scripture