I had the privilege of smelling it up close. In the dark. Down there. There were spiders under there, and all kinds of other bugs. I just knew there were snakes, too. And somewhere down there in the dark corners lurked those maleficent creatures that stared hungrily at me in the middle of the night.
Mr. President,
As a shareholder in our corporation for over 50 years I felt it incumbent upon me to write you concerning some irregularities in the way you are running the Company. When you were applying for the position which you now hold we, the shareholders of the corporation, were promised that you would bring about new openness and transparency in how the leadership operates our enterprise. You continued to promise this after we hired you for the job. It has come to my attention, however, that there are a large and growing number of shareholders in the corporation who believe that you have withheld information that may indicate that you have overstated your qualifications for this high-level job in the Company. It is this withholding of information I wish to address.
Seems awfully mean, doesn’t it? Actually it isn’t mean at all. I wish no harm to Micheal. As a Christian I am always saddened when someone dies without having a saving relationship with Jesus Christ, and such is the case with Micheal Jackson.
So why would I hope he has been condemned to hell?
I want him dead. I have tried to kill him before and failed, but I will try again and again until I see the life drained from his mocking eyes. I will exult in his death! I will rejoice in it and will not have remorse.
Most pots think they are smart. They are mistaken. There are pots that think they are smarter than most other pots. This may be true, but in the end it can be to their disadvantage. Most pots believe they are special. This is also true, but it, too, can be a disadvantage. The pots who think they are smarter than others who also think they are more special than other pots are in real trouble.
In this way he healed his Bride. The broken pot sees how much the Potter loves his Bride. It is a dirty and dishonorable job, and often the Bride resists when she sees the sharp edges of the shard coming. The pot shard causes pain. The Bride hates the broken pot, and rarely thanks the Potter for using it.
The Freshman took one last look around. He was calm, having planned his exit for weeks. He loved the water, and this way there would be no body to bury, no expensive casket and burial plot to cost his parents money. The Freshman had cost them enough. It all made sense: Why stay here? This life was futile. Pain. More pain. Uselessness. Time to check out, lift the burden.
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