Humor from church

Mike, Jim, and Greg (music director, guitar player, and bass player, respectively) tease me to no end about my height. They never cease to amuse me and everyone else! I came into practice once and Jim had lowered my music stand as far as down as it would go. Greg hums "It's a small, small, world" when I walk into a room. Mike calls me "our representative from the little people village" (whereas he calls Jeff, the most Indian looking Indian in OK, "chief of the village people"). Today when I got up to talk about doing missions at VBS Greg got Dad to yell "Stand up!" It was hilarous!

Also when I got up to talk about missions, Gyda called me Sandy for some weird reason. So when she handed me the mike I said "Thank you, Glenda."

This morning Bro. Tobie got up to do the announcements and said "Good Morning! Welcome to First Bap---North Park Trinity Baptist." Unfortunately, his mike was off so only those of us up front caught the gaffe. We nearly died laughing.

A couple of weeks back Sarah, a girl in our church, was talking to Sam, a gentleman at church.

Sarah: How old are you?

Sam: 49 (or something, don't remember).

Sarah: Are those your own teeth?

Sam: Yes.

I know brilliant people

Here is a poem by my own dear friend Sarah Lovin.  Read carefully all the way through several times.

Forget Hurricanes: Miley Has a Fake Tan

They sit in two stacks
By the coffee shop couch.
Latest news to be told,
Crinkled pages scream out.

Vying for attention,
Both try to catch your eye.
Each claiming importance,
It’s news, and news implied.

Miss Spears is now pregnant,
At the age of sixteen.
Her face is on “OK,”
And her bright smile gleams.

Diane lost her children,
To a war not her own,
She would give up her life
To bring her sweet ones home.

It’s now their wedding day,
Not a luxury they lack,
They pledge love forever,
They stab each other’s backs.

In Thailand she is sold,
Her life gone for a price,
Forced into a brothel,
Until she won’t entice.

Stars put on a few pounds,
The papers are appalled.
Pounds shed to shift the eyes,
Sunken cheeks, doctors called.

The famine fuels their fear,
For many hope is lost.
Days are growing shorter,
With bones, the ground embossed.

One screams glamour and glitz,
Tells of sordid, dark lives,
Cat fights and fashion flops,
From this, some joy derived.

The other speaks cheerless truths, 
Ones we like to ignore,
We have enough sadness,
Why would we want some more?