Ricky Gervais is currently on the cover of The New Humanist magazine, clad only in jeans and a crown of thorns. Across his shoulders is a microphone and stand meant to stir images of the crucified Christ. It doesn't surprise me to see Christians up in arms about this.
Gervais proudly proclaims he's an atheist and a few Christians on Twitter are a-twitter about the cover and the ensuing story. Gervais is poking his non-believing finger into the pot occasionally, stirring 'em right up too. And those Christians are drinking from that cup of nonsense like it's eggnog on Christmas Eve.
It's time to stop the longtime battle regarding atheists and their views. They are as entitled to their views as we believe we are.
If we were to take down all the decorations and sayings, plaques and paintings, trees and nativity scenes that cause so much upset in the atheist community, it still wouldn't change anything; one day, over 2000 years ago, God came to us in the humbled form of a baby born of a virgin. He wasn't born in a palace and his birth wasn't heralded by the elite...angels announced his arrival to shepherds, the lowliest in society.
There weren't Christmas trees and families gathering over fancy meals and exchanging presents. The caves surrounding His weren't adorned with lights synced to whatever song by the Trans Siberian Orchestra fit the mood.
His mother and father weren't surrounded by a peaceful beautiful light and halos; they were in a cave used as a barn and as we all know, barns don't smell too good.
Neighbors didn't hit the last minute sales at Dillard's or the mall to get the baby Jesus a little sweater or rattle. Chances are, they too were huddled close together for warmth and eating what meager scraps they could gather together for a small meal. Jesus was wrapped in rags and laying in a manger, which is a feeding trough. The animals ate in the same place where Jesus was laid.
Atheists aren't suffering with what Christians suffer with today;the knowledge that that precious baby, God Himself in the form of man was sent here for one reason and one reason alone; he was on earth to suffer and die on the cross.
It only stands to reason that Santa, caroling and even atheist nonsense from Ricky Gervais is overshadowed by the meaning of Christmas. Christmas could be celebrated in June with none of the trappings and still have the same gravity that it holds on December 25th.
Jesus's birth, no matter how celebrated (or not) still happened and whether or not there are believers, decorations, music and gifts, is meant to be remembered as the day our Savior was born...to die.
Praise God that He was raised three days later! Enjoy the video below...it tells the real reason Jesus was born.
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The Fall Part II
Laying in the now heated ambulance was almost more than I could take. Tyler, my personal paramedic, worked hard to find a vein while I did my best to assure him that the pain was only excruciating. I could tell he felt enormous pressure; with a patient in what is clearly a dead ambulance, it must have seemed a situation from his nightmares.
Within moments, I felt the small sting of the needle as he expertly slid it into my arm. Suddenly, I found myself struggling to breathe and the heat rising in the rescue vehicle wasn't helping matters. Sensing my distress, Tyler gently touched my shoulder and said, "Give it a minute. It's morphine."
I gave it a minute and then suddenly found my head floating above the house.
I should mention the broken tile to the Bald Avenger when I get back to earth, I thought to myself, as if it was completely normal for me to be disembodied on a Tuesday in June.
When Tyler adjusted my leg on the stretcher, I felt myself pulled roughly back into the oven of an ambulance and immediately thought, Oh Father in heaven, please tell me I shaved my legs!
Attempting to reach down to check on the status of the fur on my legs, I realized suddenly that I couldn't move without mind-numbing pain. I couldn't move my hips or my legs. I could wiggle my toes which I did constantly to remind myself I wasn't paralyzed. It helped but it didn't keep the fear totally at bay.
Feeling sloshy upstairs, I began to listen the Big Guy, who was standing outside the ambulance carrying on a conversation with the younger EMT.
"Yeah, I just graduated from there. Pretty happy to get out of high school. Thinking about joining the Army," the Big Guy was saying.
"My mom works in the front office up there. I bet our moms know each other," the blond EMT responded.
Frick frick frick! Somebody knows someone who might know me and right now, I'm drooling!
Thankfully, I heard the wail of the siren of the approaching ambulance on its way to replace the one I was currently boiling in. Within moments, I was hurriedly being jostled from one vehicle to the next, clearly no longer floating but in that pleasant place between pain and oblivion.
Because my injury wasn't life threatening, I didn't get the sirens to the hospital. I also found out later from the Butterbean, I didn't get lights either. I was merely a passenger in a red and white van. There was no special feeling beyond the one the morphine was providing on a drip-by-drip basis.
Arriving at the hospital, I was met by the Bald Avenger and the Butterbean, looking a bit panicked. The Bald Avenger more so. Later, when things calmed down and we were alone in the hallway my bed was left in (really), he leaned over with tears in his eyes and said, "Please, you've got to be more careful. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
"You'd fix the tile on the roof over Butterbean's room," I drowsily replied.
Perplexed, he hugged me close and kissed my forehead.
After an X-Ray and several more hours of being ignored in the hallway, I was discharged with the diagnosis of a "bruised tailbone" and a couple of admonitions to take it easy for a couple of weeks.
We knew this wasn't the case but headed home hoping that maybe we were wrong. We weren't.
Another hospital visit the next day and finally, complications from medications sent me to the hospital two weeks later only to discover that I had actually fractured the T11 and T12 in my thoracic spine. In total, I would go on to fracture three more over the next couple of months.
While I can find a considerable amount humor in my situation (now), a healthy vitamin D level could have prevented it all. We as women are bombarded with information regarding the need for calcium, but we hear almost nothing about Vitamin D. A healthy vitamin D level is usually between 22 and 50 (google this to make sure) and mine was 12. Praise God I didn't break anything else that day!
Within moments, I felt the small sting of the needle as he expertly slid it into my arm. Suddenly, I found myself struggling to breathe and the heat rising in the rescue vehicle wasn't helping matters. Sensing my distress, Tyler gently touched my shoulder and said, "Give it a minute. It's morphine."
I gave it a minute and then suddenly found my head floating above the house.
I should mention the broken tile to the Bald Avenger when I get back to earth, I thought to myself, as if it was completely normal for me to be disembodied on a Tuesday in June.
When Tyler adjusted my leg on the stretcher, I felt myself pulled roughly back into the oven of an ambulance and immediately thought, Oh Father in heaven, please tell me I shaved my legs!
Attempting to reach down to check on the status of the fur on my legs, I realized suddenly that I couldn't move without mind-numbing pain. I couldn't move my hips or my legs. I could wiggle my toes which I did constantly to remind myself I wasn't paralyzed. It helped but it didn't keep the fear totally at bay.
Feeling sloshy upstairs, I began to listen the Big Guy, who was standing outside the ambulance carrying on a conversation with the younger EMT.
"Yeah, I just graduated from there. Pretty happy to get out of high school. Thinking about joining the Army," the Big Guy was saying.
"My mom works in the front office up there. I bet our moms know each other," the blond EMT responded.
Frick frick frick! Somebody knows someone who might know me and right now, I'm drooling!
Thankfully, I heard the wail of the siren of the approaching ambulance on its way to replace the one I was currently boiling in. Within moments, I was hurriedly being jostled from one vehicle to the next, clearly no longer floating but in that pleasant place between pain and oblivion.
Because my injury wasn't life threatening, I didn't get the sirens to the hospital. I also found out later from the Butterbean, I didn't get lights either. I was merely a passenger in a red and white van. There was no special feeling beyond the one the morphine was providing on a drip-by-drip basis.
Arriving at the hospital, I was met by the Bald Avenger and the Butterbean, looking a bit panicked. The Bald Avenger more so. Later, when things calmed down and we were alone in the hallway my bed was left in (really), he leaned over with tears in his eyes and said, "Please, you've got to be more careful. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
"You'd fix the tile on the roof over Butterbean's room," I drowsily replied.
Perplexed, he hugged me close and kissed my forehead.
After an X-Ray and several more hours of being ignored in the hallway, I was discharged with the diagnosis of a "bruised tailbone" and a couple of admonitions to take it easy for a couple of weeks.
We knew this wasn't the case but headed home hoping that maybe we were wrong. We weren't.
Another hospital visit the next day and finally, complications from medications sent me to the hospital two weeks later only to discover that I had actually fractured the T11 and T12 in my thoracic spine. In total, I would go on to fracture three more over the next couple of months.
While I can find a considerable amount humor in my situation (now), a healthy vitamin D level could have prevented it all. We as women are bombarded with information regarding the need for calcium, but we hear almost nothing about Vitamin D. A healthy vitamin D level is usually between 22 and 50 (google this to make sure) and mine was 12. Praise God I didn't break anything else that day!
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