We can hope, can’t we? Yes we can. For all her crazy talk, Christine O’Donnell has finally managed to talk her way into becoming a nominee for senator in Delaware, running as a member of the Republican Party. Despite canceling appearances on the teevee talking head circuit this morning, early observations are that she can talk the talk; as for …
“I’m hoping the guy with horns doesn’t actually show up, but he could.” . . . And monkeys in jumpsuits might fly out your butt, too, Glenn.
“And the patch of sky was no bigger than a grain of sand held out at arm’s length.”
As the decades rolled by, one president after another, starting with Woodrow Wilson, found they were impotent to get a simple proclamation honoring fathers through the U.S. Congress.
Most of us, if we think about our inevitable death at all, usually only think of one kind of death: the physical cessation of life. But there are really three kinds of death: Physical (body and mind) death; Intellectual (mind) death; and Spiritual (soul) death.
In a well-neigh limitless universe, the mortal races of our planet, Urantia, stand as the representatives of the lowest order of intelligent and personal creation. And it is a solemn and supernal fact that such lowly and material creatures are “the sons of God,” faith children of the Highest Deity in the universe.
