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I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, One Nation Under God, Indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for All.

Does anyone know someone who can do that "mixing of two peoples pictures" to show what their baby would look like?

I'd love to see a picture of Baghdad Babs and Baghdad Bobs baby!! How fitting it would be for this thread.

I see Baghdad Babs is her usual ignorant self. Ughhhh need some Tums from just seeing her name in print!

Goodnight Bump. Vets

Wow! I second John's kudos-- Great graphics!

GOOD MORNING EVERYBODY!

LOL -- noted geopolitical affairs expert Barbara Streisand

Vote now for the Free Republic Garafolo Let-Them-Eat-Crow Award

WORSHIP ON A THURSDAY MORNING

All the Protestant church doors were locked. I tried the side doors, too. Nothing. Locked. Sealed. Delivered.

I am in Windsor, Nova Scotia, on an extremely overcast day, drizzle hanging in the air. The radio broadcast promises glimmers of sunshine this afternoon; but that was forecast for yesterday, too. No sun.

No big deal. I could be in Baghdad.

Yet I had hoped that in this village I could come upon morning prayers. But the Baptist Church doors won’t budge. Nor will the United Church of Canada doors. I can’t locate the Anglican Church within my walking distance.

But there — I see it. I think it is Catholic. Yes, as I get closer to it, it is Roman Catholic, for certain. I walk up the front stone steps, thinking that I spy the huge ornate doors a smidgen open. Maybe so. Yes!

I open the door and then it slips out of my grasp, only to bang loudly as it shuts behind me. Ooops. In a few seconds, I walk into the back of the sanctuary where Mass has begun.

There are a total of seven of us — the divine number — plus the priest. Over to the left front is the Chapel to Mary. To the right, tucked away in the shadows, the Chapel to Joseph. When I look to my direct left here in the rear of the sanctuary, I make out the image of Jesus.

There are a lot of shadows, few lights lit. Calm. Peaceful. Quiet. What I had been looking for this unkempt weather day in eastern Canada.

As I sit in the back row, I hear the reading from the Gospel of Luke — the Road to Emmaus passage. Yes, the two are walking along with Jesus, but they cannot make out his identity. He speaks to them of Himself — as prophesied in the psalms, the Books of Moses and the prophets. They still don’t get it. They are too overcome with losing their Savior on the preceding Friday.

The Scripture lesson is read quite deliberately by a young Oriental woman. She gives to the Word an exceptional worth.

There are banks of lily plants along with huge, open deep red tulips. There are vases of pussy willows. Floral gardens have been planted at the front of the church, very artfully seen through by fastidious parishioners.

The order of worship book is to my right at the end of the pew; but I don’t bother looking up the page. It’s okay. I want to listen, to quiet down, to pray, especially for my mother-in-law who is quite ill. So I just let the spoken word spill over me, along with the images and the stained glass windows surrounding us in worship.

Presently, we few exchange the peace greeting with one another. I always like that part in a Mass for it is then that staid worshipers turn into real human beings. They actually open their faces with smiles and words of goodwill. They reach out their hands to shake another’s hand. Some even embrace one another. Then we respectfully return to our pews where we collect once again our thoughts and ponderings.

The priest continues. His voice is soft. He does not race through the liturgy, as I have witnessed on some other occasions. He offers his prayers and recitations meaningfully to the Lord. We respond with open hearts.

The worship is concluded. We have recited the Lord’s Prayer. The closeout phrases are recited by priest and parishioners, then we leave our seats.

I make my way to the front of the sanctuary as others leave the building. I want some time alone. I always want some time alone — to become better acquainted with the artwork, the feel of the church, the nooks and crannies, the stained glass windows in particular. In this church there is the mammoth window depicting the birth of Jesus. Directly across the room is a like-sized window depicting the ascension of Jesus. Other windows tell other gospel stories.

Before leaving, I walk through the fourteen Stations of the Cross, taking my time, meditating on their meaning.

And now it is time for me to walk out into the drizzle. Another visit to Nova Scotia. Another chance to worship in a House of God. Another opportunity for a Protestant to join hearts with believers in calling upon the Holy Spirit to oversee our humble doings in the name of Jesus.

___________

J. Grant Swank, Jr., Pastor, New Hope Church, Windham ME

Good morning, Miss Daisy...thank you for conveying JH2's Two Cents to us.

JH2, I just love the word "Fedayeenies"...) It's been a most amazing thing to watch the American Left expose itself for all to see...Robbins and Sarandon seem to me more hideous than Quasimodo ever was, even on his worst hair day...and Babs? Oooooooooh...(

Hello to all our Hostesses, and FRiends here at the Finest....and, another fine day it is.

I'm in a big rush today, but wanted to drop off these...

and tell dutchess how bad I feel for missing her thread yesterday....

and leave these for our our Finest friend, John, and my Finest Sistahs....

.....and wish ALL Finest regulars and visitors a wonderful day!

Great article!