Resisting the lie that says Easter’s a hoax

The Grinch, that green menace, is at it again.
As Easter approaches, just look at his grin.
It’s broad and it’s toothy and signals his plan
to tempt all the children, each woman and man.

If he has his way on this Grand Sunday morn,
they all will think chocolate is why they were born.
And then after breakfast, for eggs they will search
instead of deciding to dress up for church.

That emerald old tempter, so shrewd and so bold,
is heartless, deceptive, conniving and cold.

“Forget about worship,” he protests. “How dull!”
Just eat Peeps and candy until you are full.
Don’t bother with Jesus. Just go out to eat.
The sermon is boring. The songs all repeat.

“The story is spooky. There’re corpses and caves
and an unlikely outcome for gullible knaves.
A dead man now living? How totally un.
When death scores a victory, the Grim Reaper’s won.
There aren’t second chances. Once dead, you are dead.
All empty-tomb claimants have rocks in their heads.”

Oh really, Green Monster? You think it’s a ruse?
Don’t bad mouth a mystery that’s really Good News.
You see, Mr. Grinch, when you’re dealing with God,
you can’t just dismiss what’s unlikely and odd.

The fact you can’t splain it does not mean it’s fake.
I’d guess you are silenced by joy at a wake.
But that doesn’t mean what you see is a fraud.
The grievers are joyful because they know God.

They know they will see their dead loved one again
and all because Jesus, once killed for our sin,
reversed the magnetic-like pull of the grave
as proof that his passion has power to save.

To save us from acting like we’re in control
of our self-centered, self-righteous arrogant souls.
To save us from guilt and regret’s residue
that deadens our faith-buds like bad rabbit stew.

To save us from lusting for status and money
and greed that breeds faster than prolific bunnies.
To save us from those who insist there’s no room
in a logical world for a lone empty tomb.

Just look all around you. The earth that was dead
has left winter’s casket. It’s thriving instead.

Me thinks, Mr. Grinch, there’s a parable here.
In old Mother Nature, it’s perfectly clear
that what the church preaches each Easter as fact
is not just a story. True life MUST come back.

Observe earth’s cathedral. Go on, take a peek.
A grand celebration awaits those who seek.
The tulips are trumpets. Hear budding trees sing.
Be still for the preacher. His name? Well, it’s spring.

So in this fresh season when new life is seen,
beware of the tempter who’s furry and green.
Don’t let him convince you that Easter’s ’bout eggs
or buffets of ham steak and little sheep’s legs.

Instead, buck the culture and alter your search.
Try hunting for Jesus. Spend Easter at church.

Why more and more snorers need surgery

My friend Omar has apnea.
So even when he naps, Mia,
his wife is quick to jab him
so he’ll stir and start to breathe.

Each night he struggles, gags and snores.
It is a war to end all wars.
He battles just to get a breath.
Each morning he’s worn out.

“I’m never rested,” Omar sighs.
“I’m pooped the moment that I rise.
No matter when I go to bed,
I can’t sleep long enough.”

“You’ve got a floppy uvula.
That’s why you’re feeling weak and blah.”
His doctor wants to operate,
but Omar isn’t sure.

“Why don’t I try that nighttime mask?
Won’t that thing work?” my good friend asks.
“Or will it cause my wife to think
that I’m an alien?”

“I think it will,” Doc Jones replied.
“According to MY sleepless bride,
when I put on my C-pap face
she thought I’d come from Mars.”

And so surrend’ring to the knife
my friend submitted to his wife
and in the process helped his heart
and woke a rested man.

Closing the closet door on baseball’s skeletons

Play ball!

After all,
it’s opening day.

From behind home plate
a chest-protected umpire
stands erect and
(masking his beaming face)
belts a familiar phrase…

Batter up!

Two words that call an end
to an unbelievably long wait
that has lasted all winter.

But this year
it’s not only the batters
whose actions
are dictated by the second
of those two words
that is just two letters long.

Batter UP!

The batters may be up,
but we fans are up too.

We’re upset.
We’re up in arms.
We’re up to speed
on why home run records
have been disappearing
far too fast.

But that isn’t all we’re up to.
We’re fed up, too.
We’re fed up with a diet of deception
on which we’ve been forced to feed
for far too long.
It’s enough to make us sick.
And so we are.

We’ve been duped by buggers
who aren’t really the sluggers
they led us to believe they were.

Dopers are more like it.
Performance-enhancing druggies.
Players who’ve played a game
in pursuit of fame
and in the process
shamed the sport.

Heavens to Murgatroid!
At long last
steroids has been thrown out
attempting to steal the integrity
of America’s Pastime.
And all we can say is,
“It’s about time!”

Hey batter-batter,
you’d better do more than just
SWING!

In this season of new beginnings.
you’d better do better than that.
Don’t just play ball.

Play fair.