Elizabeth is flying in coach seating on her way to Minnesota. She occupies the window seat, and a quiet gentleman has been sleeping in the aisle seat.
The flight attendant offers her refreshment and a snack. She selects a diet Coke and a bag of peanuts. The attendant graciously leaves her the entire can.
As the plane nears its destination, Elizabeth begins to clean up her tray table. There is a little bit of Coke left in the can, and she pushes her empty peanut bag inside of it.
WARNING!
KIDS DON’T TRY THIS WITHOUT ADULT SUPERVISION!
Inside of the can, a surprise chemical reaction is taking place as the salt in the peanut bag mixes with the Coke.
Without warning, Elizabeth experiences Mount Vesuvius at 30,000 feet. Her little napkin is all she has to snuff out the volcano before disaster covers her lap.
What will she do?
Glancing to her right, she spies a blanket covering the sleeping gentleman.
I think of myself as the “Top Cat” around this house. Mr. and Mrs. Wynter brought me home from a shelter about two years ago. They love skiing up on the big mountain, and they adore their cats even more . . . with one exception.
Me!! Yes, you got it. I always seem to be in trouble around here. My female cousins, Sky and Birdie, are treated like royalty. Can you imagine two cats being treated like a pair of princesses?
Well . . . I want to tell you my side of the story.
My given name is Revel, which isn’t such as bad name. While Sky is sometimes curious and Birdie is shy, I love the adventure of roaming and exploring the house.
A few days ago, I am in the garage with Mr. Wynter. He doesn’t seem to notice me as I glide along the garage door rails high above the floor. I can be quite the acrobat while walking this tightrope.
I enjoy chasing and teasing my cousins, especially Birdie. She is so timid, but she doesn’t seem to mind it when I am pulling a chunk of hair from her back. I have a cool collection of her hair stashed under the bed in the spare bedroom. Mr. and Mrs. Wynter haven’t vacuumed there for months.
Sky likes to pull open drawers in just about any room. I encourage her to open as many as possible. When she’s finished, I move in and pull objects out of the drawer with my mouth. It’s so much fun to leave a mess in every room of the house.
When Mr. and Mrs. Wynter eat dinner, I join them by jumping up on the dining table. They become easily annoyed with me so I have to be quick to jump back down to the floor. It’s sort of like playing “cat and mouse.”
Last week, I helped Mrs. Wynter do some baking. When she would turn her back, I would jump up on the kitchen counter. Have you ever seen a cloud of sifted flour float through the air?
It seems that everyone in the house has grown tired of my adventures. They call it mischief.
Oh my! The life of a “Top Cat” needs to be an exciting venture.
Last night, I climbed up on a bookshelf high above the master bedroom floor. There was a pot with a houseplant in it. I just couldn’t help myself. I pulled and pulled with my teeth and claws until most of the plant and dirt flew out and landed on the bed.
I guess I may have gone a bit too far this time. Mr. and Mrs. Wynter have been dressing me today in a prison outfit, complete with black and white stripes. I look more like a convict instead of a “Top Cat.”
Snickering at my unfortunate circumstances, Sky and Birdie now call me Rebel.
Hey, I am innocent until proven guilty! P.S. My name isn’t Rebel . . . It’s Revel!
My youngest daughter and her husband provide a home for three rescued kittens (now full-grown cats). Revel, Sky, and Birdie enjoy their new home. And yes, Revel does have his moments. The photos of Revel were taken by my daughter.
A harsh Arctic weather system had pummeled the community, leaving it to endure the coldest winter night in recent memory.
Trudging through drifts of snow, a young man braced against the freezing wind and cold. He was only dressed in a few thin layers of clothing, topped off with a faded and tattered hoodie from his college days.
Hopelessness had left him waiting for life’s next train. Whenever it might arrive would be anyone’s guess. His hand touched the few dollars hiding in his jeans’ pocket.
Looking all about, he realized that he needed to find even the barest of shelter on this coldest and most silent of nights. Coming around a corner, his eyes caught a glimpse of a small church.
Situated in the small yard in front of the church was a nativity scene. The young man surveyed the yard and discovered that the stable’s construction made for an adequate shelter.
Slipping in between the figures of Mary, Joseph, and some shepherds, he found straw that would provide a dry mattress, and the wind could not penetrate the outer walls.
Tumbling down into the piles of straw, he nestled next to a manger. He had barely noticed the setting around his makeshift bed. Falling quickly to sleep, his mind began to dream with the help of the warm, dry stable.
As he slept, the stillness of the night came upon the midnight clear. Choirs of angels could be heard in the heavens, proclaiming the birth of the Messiah. Shepherds gathered to witness the arrival of God’s promised Son.
The young man continued to dream and sleep. He had not really rested for over two days.
Morning arrived, and the sun was breaking through the few remaining clouds. The young man stirred from his warm, overnight journey of dreams. He realized that he was covered with a thick sleeping bag. Next to him waited a thermos of hot coffee and a lunchbox of sandwiches.
Turning the sleeping bag into an improvised tent among the nativity characters, he felt the warmest of joy. He sat up to drink the hot coffee and ate some of the food. Peace was backfilling his empty heart. Inside the lunchbox was an envelope with a note.
The note read:
I found you soundly sleeping here last night. I didn’t want to wake you on this most special of nights. I saw that you could use a grace-filled hand from My Father. I covered you up with the sleeping bag and left you some coffee and food. I will be with you always.
Suddenly, the young man realized that he had been blessed in ways he had never imagined. His faith had rediscovered hope. He found the love of his Savior on this warmest Christmas night.
Little Johnny hurried down the sidewalk. Catching his breath upon reaching his school bus stop, he waited and waited.
Soon his fate began sinking in. He had missed the bus . . . again!
The warm and sunny morning invited him to walk across the street to a park. Curious and feeling playful, he explored and enjoyed some spontaneous fun. Readin’ and writin’ and rithmetic could wait a spell.
Minutes turned into a couple of hours. Feeling hungry, Johnny discovered a perfect hideout under a nearby pine tree. He pulled out his brown bag lunch.
Following a quick lunch, he felt a bit sleepy. Fresh air, plenty of exercise, and a filling lunch made him drowsy. Curling up under the tree, Johnny was soon snoozing on a bed of soft needles.
Stirring awake, the noise of his rickety school bus shuttling down the street reminded him that school was over for another day.
Upon reaching his house, Johnny’s loving mother met him at the door. Her stern-looking frown told him to watch out . . . caught again!
A wise, mature owl is hunting at night in the 500-acre woods. As usual, his prey will be one of the smallest creatures in the forest.
A tiny, frightened mouse has been darting behind every shadow in the woods. He’s forgotten just how far away he really is from the family home where everyone is sleeping safe and sound.
With better than perfect night vision, the owl spots the mouse. His hiding place has been discovered, and soon the owl will be feasting on him.
Just as the owl prepares to grab him with his sharp talons, the mouse instinctively jumps into a nearby hollow log. The owl appears dumbstruck for now.
The mouse calls out from his secure hiding place, “Hey buddy, I hear there’s a daytime job available in the 500-acre woods.”
The curious owl answers, “Please tell me more.”
Meanwhile he positions himself on top of the log. The next several seconds will count mightily if the mouse is to survive.
Trying to calm his frazzled nerves, the mouse continues, “Okay, the main office is looking for a branch manager to watch over the woods during the daytime.”
Forgetting his hunger for a moment, the owl asks, “Are free meals included with the position?”
The mouse quickly adds, “Why certainly! I’ve heard that a fresh supply of rabbit stew will be served every morning.”
The owl thinks for a second or two. The shivering mouse’s energy is almost spent, and he feels there is no escape.
The owl responds one final time, “Rabbit stew? I haven’t tasted it for quite some time. I accept the position.”
The overwhelmed mouse begins to relax, and let’s down his guard. As he begins to move out from the log, the owl prepares to strike.
Filled with a dark premonition, suddenly time pauses. The cautious mouse freezes just inside of the log.
The famished owl whispers, “I’ve never really liked rabbit stew.”
Henry has been driving his ancient pick-up truck for several miles when he realizes that he just might be running low on gas. Using a notepad, he usually keeps track of his miles driven since the gas gauge and odometer are both broken.
As he travels down the highway, he realizes that nearly every car and truck probably uses electric vehicle technology. He hopes to find some gasoline at the next fueling stop.
Driving around a curve, he spots his destination ahead. Waiting alongside the highway is a sparkling, new station. He feels the pick-up beginning to gasp for more fuel.
He pulls up to the pumps, but they are not really fuel pumps. Each terminal waits to recharge an electric vehicle. Henry pulls off his cap, and begins scratching his head. What is he to do?
Off to the side of the property sits an old trailer—probably older than Henry’s pick-up. The door cracks open, and a crusty, old fella sticks his head out and waves Henry to come on over.
As Henry approaches the trailer, he hears the old man shouting, “Gas in the back.”
As they finish up their conversation, the old man reminds Henry, “Remember, no charge. I need to drain this underground tank.”
Henry drives around to the back of the trailer. Between the dilapidated home and a small lake, he discovers one lonely gas pump. Missing its hose, a second pump stands like a ghost left from the good ol’ days. Looking at the working pump, he thinks, “I wonder if it will even pump gas.”
He questions how old the gasoline might be, but he doesn’t have many options left. His ideas seem about as dried up as his gas tank.
There’s a sign next to the pump, which states, “Fill up at your own risk.”
Henry begins pumping gas, but he plans to only add a few gallons. Who knows how old this regular gas really is?
Finished! He jumps back in the cab of the pick-up and starts it up. The engine groans with a cough and a sputter. The indicator lights on the dash all power up like the starting lights on a drag race’s Christmas tree. They refuse to turn off.
Slowly, Henry drives away. The engine sounds awful, but he doesn’t have much choice except to head down the road.
As he returns to the highway, he sees a sign. He grimaces and frowns.
The sign reads, “Thanks for stopping by.”
Henry growls to himself, “Thanks for nothing!”
A few miles later, passing electric vehicles barely notice an abandoned and battered pick-up truck. It’s taking a well-deserved nap in the back of an empty, peaceful field.
Under the shade of a massive oak tree, Fred relaxes in his backyard hammock while enjoying a perfect summer afternoon.
A slight, friendly breeze helps to keep the bugs away, and Fred always thinks better when he spends time in his comfortable hammock. He looks up into the canopy of branches in the tree above, and his eyes begin following an intensely busy squirrel which is scurrying back and forth . . . back and forth.
Fred’s thoughts begin to wander as he imagines his own creation of the “perfect” treadmill. While his model will have the usual cup holder, he will add a necessary tray for his pepperoni pizza.
Thinking . . . How can a person calculate how much wood a woodchuck could chuck, if he could really chuck wood?
Worried about an upcoming family reunion, he recalls telling his close friend, Wally, “How will I remember all of their names?”
Wally confidently replies, “Easy, just call everyone ‘cousin.’”
Remembering his granddaughter’s wedding reception last summer, he asks his wife, Doris, to dance. He tells her, “They’re playing our favorite song.”
It takes the couple a little longer to arrive on the dance floor, and the song is nearly half over. Fred calls out to the DJ, “Play it again Sam!”
Several minutes go by. The “always in a hurry” squirrel pauses and thinks to himself, “What is that noise?”
Looking down, he spies Fred blissfully sleeping and dreaming, and his loud snoring serenades the entire backyard with . . . well, almost charming tunes.
Sportscaster Joe Buck has been sidelined with the postponement of the Major League Baseball season. The legendary play-by-play announcer has been looking for opportunities to stay in the game. Let’s join Joe Buck, live on the air.
Good afternoon baseball fans! Coming from the home of Billy and Tony Bennett is today’s Backyard Home Run Derby.
This amazing duo will be challenging each other as pitcher and batter with a whiffle ball and bat. While most of the sporting world has been silent with their contests, these two brothers have definitely discovered their niche.
Billy has been assigned as the pitcher in today’s contest. His assignment will be to prevent any and all home runs. His brother, Tony . . . yes, he’s named after the famous crooner . . . will be stepping into the batter’s box to crush one of Billy’s fastballs out of the park.
Let’s set the scene. The Bennett’s backyard is a formidable challenge for both pitcher and batter. Home plate is located in the corner of the yard up next to the house. The pitcher’s mound is tucked behind Mom’s favorite rose bushes. The outfield fence is lined with a forest of Lombardy poplar trees . . . the wall looks quite reminiscent of Fenway Park’s “Green Monster.”
Billy stands ready on the mound to face Tony. Freddie, their neighbor friend, has volunteered to be both the catcher and the umpire.
Tony steps into the batter’s box. He looks all set.
From behind the roses, Billy winds up with his first pitch. “Strike One!”
Tony watches the fleeting fastball cross the plate without even taking a swing. I guess he’s sorting out the speed of Tony’s stuff.
Billy receives his sign from Freddie. The pitch is on its way.
Swing and a miss. “Strike Two!”
Tony steps out of the batter’s box. What’s this?
Defiantly, he points his bat toward the massive outfield wall. Yes folks, Tony is calling his shot just like the Babe did at Wrigley Field in the 1932 World Series between the powerful Yankees and the upset-minded Cubs.
Tony steps back into the batter’s box, digging both feet into the plush, green grass.
Billy takes the sign from Freddie. It looks like another fastball will be on its way.
Here’s comes the pitch.
[Crack of the bat crushing the ball]
Deep to center field. Is it enough? Gone!!
Easily clearing the majestic center field wall . . . a tape measure shot into the next yard . . . splashing into the Snyder’s backyard swimming pool. Mickey Mantle would be proud!
There you have it baseball fans. Tony is one up in today’s Backyard Home Run Derby.
We will pause for a commercial break while the game ball is retrieved from its watery splashdown. We’ll be right back with more of this backyard classic.
On a sunny, early morning, the old man decided to go fishing. He drove out to his favorite fishing hole along the river. Two teenage boys were also fishing near the same area.
After a spell, the boys migrated over to the old man’s spot. The brothers shared their names, Jaylen and Caden. They were fine looking boys, and pretty darn good fishermen.
In about an hour, each had caught 2-3 fish, while the old man was shut out. Perhaps he needed to take a break and think of a different plan.
The brothers were about ready to leave, but they hung around for a bit. Soon the conversation turned to their personal relationships with Jesus Christ. Each was a Christian, and had accepted Jesus as their Savior.
The old man had never considered experiencing a relationship with God. There was a Bible somewhere at home, or at least he thought so. The last time he attended church was for a dear friend’s funeral a couple of years ago.
As the boys continued to share their faith with the old man, time seemed to stand still. Without knowing it, Caden and Jaylen were exchanging their efforts to fish for trout for an opportunity to fish for the Lord. Their little bit of fishing was replaced with blessed evangelism, and now they were casting their net—filled with lots of God.
After about 30 minutes, the brothers checked the time and finished up their conversation with the old man. They needed to get the day’s catch home for their mother to prepare for supper.
The old man thanked them for the conversation, and gave them a wave good-bye. He looked at his own fishing scorecard, and he was still winless in the fishing department.
But, he felt like a winner in the faith department. He picked up his fishing gear and headed up from the river. As he began to drive away in his battered pick-up truck, he made a vow to find that phantom Bible at home.
Jaylen and Caden invited the old man to visit their church for Sunday’s worship service. Because of their encouragement, he told them he would attend. The brothers also promised to share some of their fishing tips with him.
From Matthew 4:18-19: “As He walked by the Sea of Galilee, He saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishers. And He said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people.'”
Here’s a true story from my past memories. I have never forgotten this one after all of these years. Hmm . . . who is knocking at the front door?
The boys had just returned home from a busy day at their elementary school. Their walk home never took too long since they lived right across the street from Central Heights Elementary School.
Being a snowy, winter day, everyone wore their black, buckled snow boots (or overshoes). The boys’ mother always carefully labeled the inside of their boots with each boy’s name on a piece of white tape.
Nearly everyone at school wore very similar boots. The boots slipped easily over their shoes in keeping them clean and dry.
A soft knock could be heard at the front door. The boys’ mother looked out and could see a little girl waiting impatiently outside. She knocked again.
The mother opened the door, and was immediately greeted with a firm and loud exclamation, “Richard, has my boots!”
The woman looked down at the girl’s black boots, and they were very similar to what the boys wore . . . black in color with buckles. Not many girls wore black overshoes, and she was wearing an older winter coat, probably a hand-me-down.
The mother introduced herself, and asked the girl’s name. Robin lived a couple of blocks away
She politely asked Robin, “How do you know Richard has your boots?”
Robin replied with her firm, confident voice, “Because his name was written on the label inside of these boots. I figured he must have put on the wrong boots after school.” She had taken off the boots and was holding them in her hands.
The mother called for her son, and Richard came to the door. The girl explained the situation to him, and he sheepishly went back inside to check the boots he had worn home. Sure enough, the worn and faded label inside of each boot read, “Robin A.”
Richard brought Robin’s boots to the door, and he made the exchange with her. Robin pulled the boots over her shoes so she could continue on her walk home.
This winter day was probably one neither Robin nor Richard would forget. While their lives pretty much went their separate ways, they graduated from high school in the same year.
Even today, Richard has sometimes wondered if Robin would remember the story of the mixed-up snow boots.
Here’s a nearly identical pair of black, buckled overshoes similar to the ones worn during my elementary school days. (Found on Pinterest)
Big Sky Buckeye 