Thank You for This Food

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A 4-year-old boy was asked to return thanks before a big dinner. The family members bowed their heads in expectation. He began his prayer, thanking God for all his friends, naming them one by one. Then he thanked God for Mommy, Daddy, brother, sister, Grandma, Grandpa, and all his aunts and uncles. Then he began to thank God for the food. He gave thanks for the turkey, the dressing, the fruit salad, the cranberry sauce, the pies, the cakes, even the Cool Whip.

Then he paused, and everyone waited--and waited. After a long silence, the young fellow looked up at his mother and asked, "If I thank God for the broccoli, won't he know that I'm lying?"

This reminds me of Pascal's wager where it is intimated that it is better to believe God exists just in case he does. Of course, an all-knowing God, as implied by the boy in the joke, would know that that was your tactic and you would be off to hell for not being a true believer or at least you wouldn't be allowed into the kingdom of heaven.

It is my belief that families that say grace fare not better in life's allotment of good and bad than do families that don't engage in the ritual.

Has anyone done such a study? Would it be worthwhile?

God exists...

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...in the same sense that Mickey Mouse, Superman, Santa Claus and the tooth fairy do.

In fact I prefer those four. The first two are entertaining. The latter two bring you things.

What has God done for me lately?

Over to you G.

Hello?

A reporter is in Israel reporting on the conflict there. She decides to
seek out a *human interest* story. She hears about an old man who has been
praying at the Wailing Wall as long as anyone can remember. Every day he is
there, praying. So she seeks him out and finds him at the Wall. She begins
to interview him:
"Sir, how long have you been coming to pray here at the Wall?"
"Madam," he replies, "I have been coming here every day for the past 50
years, to pray."
"And what do you pray for?"
"Madam, I pray for peace in our land, that the children of Jews and the
Children of Arabs can grow up in peace and harmony."
"That's wonderful," she replies. "And how do feel after coming here to the
Wailing Wall for 50 years?"
"Madam," he says, "I feel as if I'm talking to a wall!"

Where was God?

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I received an e-mail with the following prayer
Dear God, I pray for the cure of cancer. Amen.
To forward it on to show I care
Pass it on again and again.
This struck me as a little odd
Who created cancer if not God?
To benevolence he is a traitor.
Another free ride for the creator?
He could deliver many cures as presents
His lack of action denies his essence.
He creates existence and then fatal disease
To gain our worship, Oh come now, please!
We can do much better with the generation
Of the products of our fertile imagination!
Superman arrives to prevent a plane crash
Then saves Lois with a speeding bullet dash.
We cheer him on, he is a hero
On the bench, a godly zero.
He was active in ancient times
Now he allows the commission of crimes.
He could assist and receive our praise,
But we see no plan, no action, no plays.
Most conspicuous by his absence
His non-existence does make sense.
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Cancer Cure

I received an e-mail today with the following prayer in it.


Dear God, I pray for the cure of cancer. Amen


The recipients of the e-mail were asked to keep the e-mail circulating.

This struck me as a little odd. Who created cancer if not God? What makes the author think that God will now help us to cure cancer?

It seems to me that God has been getting a free ride on this one for a long time. If he exists and is responsible for cancer then he should be rightly condemned for it not petitioned for aid.

Humans have made great strides against cancer and will one day conquer it no thanks to the deity and the gratuitous suffering cancer has caused to millions.

He should be ashamed of himself.

However, it really looks like there is no god and that gratuitous suffering is part of life in a universe that doesn't much care that we are in it.

Designed by God

From a circulating internet e-mail:

Why Women Are Crabby

We started to 'bud' in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find that anything that came in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurt so bad it brought us to tears. So came the ridiculously uncomfortable training bra contraption that the boys in school would snap until we had calluses on our backs.

Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). Along with those budding boobs, we bloated, we cramped, we got the hormone crankies, had to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we had.

Our next little rite of passage was having sex for the first time which was about as much fun as having a ramrod push your uterus through your nostrils (IF he did it right and didn't end up with his little cart before his horse), leaving us to wonder what all the fuss was about.

Then it was off to Motherhood where we learned to live on dry crackers and water for a few months so we didn't spend the entire day leaning over Brother John . Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learned to live with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards night and day making us wonder if we were preparing to have Rosemary's Baby.

Our once flat bellies looked like we swallowed a whole watermelon and we pee'd our pants every time we sneezed. When the big moment arrived, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we had to waddle, with our big cartoon feet, moaning in pain all the way to the ER.

Then it was huff and puff and beg to die while theOB ? says, 'Please stop screaming, Mrs. Hearmeroar Calm down and push. 'Just one more good push' (more like 10), warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the
%$#*@*#!* hubby and doctor square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10 pound bowling ball through a keyhole.

After that, it was time to raise those angels only to find that when all that 'cute' wears off, the beautiful little darlings morphed into walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop machines.

Then come their 'Teen Years.' Need I say more?

When the kids are almost grown, we women hit our voracious sexual prime in our early 40's - while hubby had his somewhere around his 18th birthday.

So we progress into the grand finale: 'The Menopause', the Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take HRT and chance cancer in those now seasoned 'buds' or the aforemention ed Nether Regions, or, sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and pillowcases daily and bite the head off anything that moves.

Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men, when men get off so easy, INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: Being able to pee in the woods without soaking their socks...

So, while I love being a woman, 'Womanhood' would make the Great Gandhi a tad crabby. You think women are the 'weaker sex'? Yeah right. Bite me.

And God admired woman and could see no improvements to be made and said it was good.

Design by God? Give me a break!

When human designers see problems they come out with a new improved version. God seems to have washed his hands of the matter of human improvement. We have taken it on. As we would in a universe without a creator god.