Archive for the ‘Death’ category
April 8, 2015
WORDS FROM W.W. April 7, 2015
On Easter Sunday I preached on the first eight verses of Mark 16 about the three women who encountered the young man dressed in white inside the empty tomb of Jesus. They fled the tomb afraid, and yet they had to be asking the question, “What now?”
They believed Jesus had lived and then been crucified. They expected the tomb to still be occupied by him, not by a guy in white telling them to not be afraid.
What now?
The rest of Mark 16, which was not a part of the earliest manuscripts, tries to bring some clarity to that question, but I think Mark 16:8 is a very relevant question for many people today who follow Jesus, or are trying to figure out what it means to be a follower of Jesus.
Too often we try to explain away all the mystery of the Christian faith, as if that will draw more people to our crucified Lord. You can’t explain “death to life”. It just is, because he said that’s how it was to be.
I’m sure there were a number of people who left our church after the worship celebration on Sunday wondering…what now? If I believe that Christ conquered death, what now? What does that mean to me and for me?
What does that mean for the church? What happens after Easter Sunday?
The neglect news is…not much! Some might answer the Final Four championship game. Others start counting down the days until summer vacation, or…the really, really negative…April 15th income tax return deadline day.
But let me take the high road. What happens after Easter Sunday? People start talking about things being different, about hope in the midst of uncertainty, and about perhaps…just perhaps…life suddenly having a purpose that is not tied tightly to a paycheck or the Sports section of the newspaper.
The women ran away uncertain of what had just happened, but knowing that the heartaches of the darkest day of their lives, uncomfortably close in their memories, would be soothed and replaced by the mysterious hope of something different, something incredibly unexpected.
They had “what now” questions, but ones with growing optimism instead of bitter pessimism.
It disturbs me, and yet challenges me, that too many people are asking “what now” about the place of their faith and are greeted by pat answers from pastors and churches that lead them to surrender their hunger for the Mystery.
Perhaps pilgrims in the midst of the journey once in a while should consider answering “I don’t know, but let’s walk together and see if we can find out.”
Categories: Bible, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, Jesus, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: confusion, doubts, Easter Sunday, He is risen, Mary Magdalene, new life, questions, Resurrection, Salome, the tomb
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March 23, 2015
WORDS FROM W.W. March 23, 2015
There is a TV series that a lot of people are wild about entitled The Walking Dead. (Full Disclosure: I’ve never watched it) My understanding of the show is that people get turned into zombies or several dead-like humans. I’m sure there is a lot of tension, at least one bad dude who hasn’t turned into a zombie yet, love twists, and complicated situations.
Some weeks in ministry I feel like the walking dead. Spirit is on life support, prayers are a whisper, situations at church take my breath away, and when I wake up in the morning I can’t wait to go back to bed that night.
Our church is having a “Renewal Weekend” in a few days. It’s an event that came out of a Sunday school class! Some are amazed by that because the pastor didn’t initiate it or get the idea for it from attending a seminar. But…yes, several people in that class felt the leading of the Holy Spirit to bring it to me to see what I thought and I said “Go for it!”
It’s interesting that the closer the renewal weekend is the more predicaments I seem to be dealing with in church.
So here’s the bottom line! I’m so…so…so ready to be renewed! The team that has planned it has emphasized that this is an event that I will be able to “take in”, not lead or be involved in the preparation for. I’ve had about three meetings over lunch with some of the planners, but next weekend I will be soaking up, not dishing out.
Here’s a hard thing for people to hear! Sometimes pastors have nothing in the tank. They are in danger of being one of the walking dead, trying to find life and “a new word from the Lord.” People don’t like to hear that, but it’s the reality. Jesus went off by himself quite often. Sometimes we don’t know exactly why. We know that he would go off to pray, but not necessarily the reasons for the timing of it. Perhaps he was getting ticked off by his disciples and needed a break from them, or wanted to get away from the noise, or the endless cry for miracles to be performed and healing in people’s lives accomplished. All we know what he would suddenly cast out the daily itinerary as quickly as a demon and head to the high country.
This will be the first Sunday since mid-October that I will not have the responsibility of delivering a word from the Lord…almost six months.
That tells of another pastoral dilemma! Pastors have a high degree of thinking “It has to be me” in the pulpit on Sundays. Although they mean well, I have people tell me that when I’m not speaking on Sunday morning attendance falls. Pastors take on that burden of being present…all the time…24/7…morning, noon, and night.
We think it’s what we should do, but even tires need to be rotated once in a while!
Trust me! This is not meant to be a whine-and-cheese blog entry. I take responsibility for not taking care of my spiritual health. I love my congregation, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that they love me. It would in some ways be easier if I was despised. The love keeps you going, but sometimes love needs to say “Take a break!”
That break will be this weekend! Amen!
Categories: Bible, Christianity, Community, Death, Jesus, love, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: being renewed, Renewal, rest, retreat, revived, sermons, solitude, The Walking Dead, time-out
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March 12, 2015
WORDS FROM W.W. March 12, 2015
A number of years ago Becky Pippert, author of the book Out of the Salt Shaker, spoke at a youth convention in Michigan. About seven hundred high school students were gathered in an auditorium to hear her messages during the two and a half days. As Pippert got to the weekend, however, she developed a solid case of laryngitis. She spoke in a voice softer than Marlon Brando’s in The Godfather. A strange thing happened! Seven hundred teenagers became quiet, straining to hear every word that Pippert spoke. Someone with a loud voice would not have gotten the crowd’s attention like she did. The challenges of her affliction caused her audience to listen.
It is an understatement to say that our world is noisy. It is so noisy that people have developed the habit of not being able to listen. Multi-tasking is a nice term we use to excuse the practice of granting someone half of our attention.
But silence can be a bonding instrument. Sometimes the silence of God can bring people together. 1 Kings 19 has the story of the prophet Elijah hiding in a cave. The story is interesting as it described a great and powerful wind tearing the mountain apart, and then an earthquake shaking the land, and then a fire happening. After each of these dramatic…dare I say loud and attention-seeking events…the scripture says that the Lord was not in any of those events, but then came a gentle whisper, and when Elijah heard it and pulled his cloak over his face and stood at the entrance of the cave.
In quiet moments he heard!
I tend more and more to believe that the church makes a lot of noise, but is hearing impaired. Silence disturbs us…invades our comfort zones…seeps into our troubled souls. It is silence, however, that draws the people of God together to listen.
In the viewing room of the deceased as family and friends gather to remember.
In the midst of holding a piece of bread and a small cup of communion wine.
In the holding of a newborn.
In the soft prayer of a child.
In the holding of hands of the gathered saints.
In the silence that follows the sharing of tragic news.
We use the phrase “silence is golden!” Silence is also revealing! Like a voice-impaired youth convention speaker, the lack of a fluent tongue often amplifies the words of the Spirit.
Categories: Bible, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, Holy Spirit, Jesus, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: a gentle whisper, Becky Pippert, Elijah, laryngitis, listen, listening, multi-tasking, Out of the Salt Shaker, quiet, silence, silent
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February 16, 2015
WORDS FROM W.W. February 16, 2015
The needle of my life pushed past the halfway mark a few years ago…unless I live to be 120! Since my chronological age has a six in front of it I spend more than a few moments each day reliving past moments.
Understand that doesn’t mean that I’m constantly reliving those moments- few and far between- when I was hoisting a trophy in the air…or being honored by the Rotary Club for being named “Citizen of the Year”…no, that was a dream.
I seem to relive conversations, talks that stand out for their depth and discovery. As a pastor I remember counseling sessions where I was as stressed out as the confessors. I remember hospital bedside moments where eternity has been anticipated, regrets have been voiced, and hopes have been attached to grim realities.
As a parent I relive some of our kid’s soccer games…David’s high school team winning the state championship; basketball experiences…seeing Kecia nailing four three pointers in a game; Lizi captaining her college cheer squad at football games.
I also relive the boyfriends and girlfriends that graced our homes…sometimes for a while and other times for a moment. Most of the time these “special friends” got kicked to the curb…in a loving Christian way.
I relive special moments…Carol’s surprise 40th birthday party at Mason First Baptist where we drove up to a dark church building, but Carol noticed Lorraine Demorest’s car sitting out front and immediately thought that Lorraine had been killed by an axe murderer while we was practicing hymns on the organ for that coming Sunday.
I relive moments with many of my relatives who have gone on to glory. I think of my Uncle Junior prone to give my leg a pinch if I wasn’t paying attention; my Uncle Bernie’s pipe and delightful laugh; and my Aunt Irene’s taking me to Dairy Queen in celebration of my sixth birthday and allowing me to order a foot-long hot dog, milk shake, and banana split.
I also relive the dark moments and dreaded phone calls. I remember Dave Hart’s early morning phone call that his step-son Gary McClellan had been killed in a car accident; and my wife’s call while I was in the middle of a Deacon’s meeting to say that David, who was two years old at the time, had fallen from our neighbor’s second-floor landing on to a piece of sheet plywood that, thankfully, was laying on top of the asphalt below.
I relive my daughters’ weddings and the overwhelming emotional experience it was for both Carol and me. I’m tearing up as I relive them again right now.
I relive the waiting room experience at Penrose St. Francis Hospital as Kecia was in labor with her second child…and suddenly hearing the cry of a newborn baby a few yards away…and Reagan has been talking ever since then!
We relive life, learn from our mistakes, long to repeat the unforgettable, thank God for the endearing. Every conversation is a gift, another ornament on the tree of my life. Every sunrise is a blessing, every sunset a reminder of the cycle of God’s attentive care.
I pause several times a day to thank God for what has been, the richness of relationships, and the ability to say “Lord, you have blessed me bountifully!”
Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, Humor, Jesus, love, marriage, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: Aunt Irene, birthday parties, Dairy Queen, girlfriends, Life, memories, reminiscing, Uncle Junior
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January 23, 2015
WORDS FROM W.W. January 23, 2015
I watched a video online this week that my wife had forwarded to me that brought me to the edge of tears. It told a story about a young man who had lost his dad, and then he and his mom used from a small town to a city. His mom thought a change in setting would ease some of her son’s pain as he dealt with his father’s death. His new high school was substantially larger than the one in his small town.
It’s hard being the new kid in a setting where people have their friends already, their peer groups, and their places of standing. That is, high schoolers know the pecking order…who to give space to, who to chum up with, and, hard as it is to say, who doesn’t matter that much.
This young man, Josh, started to be picked on and bullied. He had pictures in his locker of his father that got torn down. Sometimes insecure students will do unbelievably cruel things to others…just because!
In the midst of new surroundings and a journey of grief Josh started opening doors for people. He would arrive at school early and hold the door open for other students coming in. In between classes he would hold the hallway door open as students rushed from class to class. After a while some of the students started noticing. He started being referred to as “the door guy.” More and more students started saying “thank you” or they would give Josh a high five! More students became familiar with his story and were taken back by his wounded heart that was still looking at doing simple acts of kindness.
Such a simple thing! Opening a door!
Josh began speaking to groups of elementary and middle school students about bullying and overcoming. He developed his new gift of public speaking…and continued to open doors!
I so often hear people say they have nothing to offer, that they don’t know what their gifts are and how they can serve. There’s a tendency to make it a grandiose thing that is out of their reach. They wallow in their defeat and sense of worthlessness.
Josh’s story hit me, because almost all of us can open a door for someone. Seeking to help is a personal decision, not a talent. Every person can be a benefit to others. Telling a cashier that you hope he has a good day, shoveling your neighbor’s sidewalk, donating a book to the library, mentoring a fatherless child, praying with a parent in a hospital waiting room, or…simply opening a door!
Opening doors doesn’t require training, or to be certified. It’s simply a choice that we avoid or welcome.
Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Death, Freedom, Grace, love, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: Bullying, helping, helping others, high school, kindness, Opening doors, picked on, random acts of kindness, self-worth, serving, the door guy, worthlessness, wounded hearts
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January 8, 2015
WORDS FROM W.W. December 31, 2014
I recently read The Bully Pulpit by Doris Kearns Goodwin. It’s an excellent historical work dealing with the presidencies of Teddy Roosevelt and William Taft, as well as the rise of the importance of journalism.
Taft was Roosevelt’s choice to follow him as President. He had served as Governor General of the Philippines as it was being freed from Spanish rule as a result of the Spanish-American War. Taft loved the Philippines, as did his family, but Roosevelt kept wanting him to come back and be a part of his cabinet as Secretary of War. The correspondence between the two men shows how close they were as friends. Finally Taft agreed to come back to the States and be a part of Roosevelt’s cabinet.
William Taft was always loyal to his president, even when he might not totally agree with him. As the 1908 Presidential election was gearing up Roosevelt, who had earlier said he would not run for a third term, put his support behind Taft. Upon Taft’s election Teddy left the country for a year to enjoy traveling and an extended African safari.
It is at this point in their friendship that the seams start coming apart. Taft wrote a very affirming letter to Roosevelt that was never delivered to him. Taft was taken back by the Roosevelt never responded, and Roosevelt was a little perturbed that Taft had not corresponded with him.
Gifford Pinchot, the head of the Forest Service under Roosevelt and Taft, was then relieved of his position. Pinchot was a close friend of Roosevelt’s, who was still in the midst of his African adventures. When Pinchot shared the news with Roosevelt with his personal biases inserted in the story, Roosevelt was angry at what Taft had done. He began to doubt the man he had picked to be his successor. Once again, however, he had not gotten the whole story. The firing of Pinchot was Taft’s only option after some of the actions that Pinchot has taken.
Distance played a significant role in the parting of the former president’s and current president’s close relationship. Roosevelt was stubborn enough to keep his distance even after he returned from his travels. Taft was gracious enough to think only the best.
The story proceeds with the unfortunate stroke of Nellie Taft that effected her speech. It was evident that Nellie was a valuable help mate of her husband throughout his career in Ohio, the Philippines, and Washington. To have her require rest and therapy for months was an ongoing grief that Taft had to bear. It could be said that the President didn’t sense a great deal of compassion from Roosevelt during this time. He had been there for Teddy in his deepest difficulties, but Roosevelt was not very empathetic in return.
Distance, life circumstances, and difficulties sometimes bring that separation between friends. For these two great men it brought them to a point where they were more resembling of being enemies, to the point that Roosevelt split off of the Republican party, forming a third party and running against Taft and Woodrow Wilson in the 1912 election. In fact, Roosevelt’s differences with Taft split the Republicans and resulted in victory for Wilson.
Misunderstandings, poor communication, false rumors, and assumptions can sometimes undermine what was a strong kinship.
At the end of the book, however, Taft has a chance meeting with Roosevelt at the Blackstone Hotel in Chicago six years after the failed election. Roosevelt in taking to someone about the encounter said, “By Godfrey, I never was so surprised in my life. I no more thought of him being in Chicago than in Timbuctoo. But wasn’t it a gracious thing for him to do?” (The Bully Pulpit, Kearns, page 745)
That started a new friendship between the two former presidents that became increasingly stronger in the last months of Roosevelt’s life. He passed away seven months later.
How often we fail to draw close to those we’ve drifted apart from. Stubbornness isolates. The refusal to admit wrong keeps us in our separate corners. At the end of our time we realize the tragedy of opportunities lost and friends sent away.
It happens to so many of us…even presidents!
Categories: Community, Death, Grace, love, Nation, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: 1912 Presidential election, biases, differences, enemies, forgiveness, friendship, Governor General, Pinchot, Politics, separation, Teddy Roosevelt, Theodore Roosevelt, William Taft
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December 30, 2014
WORDS FROM W.W. December 30, 2014
Nothing quite causes unrest and frustration more than three words: We don’t know!
People who are looking for the answer or final solution find it hard to truly hear those words. You can blame it on the times we live in…and the devices of our time.
For example, I can look at a device wrapped around my wrist and instantly discover how many calories I’ve burned off during my workout.
I can look at the side of a box to find out how many grams of sugar are in the bowl of cereal I’m munching on.
I can go to the Channel Guide on my TV to find out what is playing at 9:00 tonight on the Sci Fi Channel.
I can go on-line to see the balance in my checking account.
But there are some things in life that have a grayness to them, that aren’t instant answers. Those three words…”We don’t know!”, cause eyebrows to be raised and fears to be heightened. They are three words that have become like a foreign language to our culture.
“We must know! We have to know!”
I recently was sitting with a family in a hospital waiting room waiting to hear from the surgeon about the difficult procedure the loved one had undergone. As we waited the text messages kept bombarding family members.
“How did it go?”
“Is he in recovery?”
“What did they find out?”
“How long will he be there?”
The spouse patiently responded to each one “We don’t know!” The waiting for word and the pressure from those who weren’t there to know was raising her own level of concern. Patience quite often takes a detour around hospital waiting rooms.
Last week my wife and I were inquiring about the purchase of a hot new product that we were looking to buy. The store was out of them. I found myself getting a little agitated when the salesperson’s respond to when they would get some more in was “We don’t know! Maybe next week…maybe a couple of weeks!”
The answer wasn’t immediate…and so I was up against a brick wall. The bricks did not feel good against my desire to move forward.
I often get spiritual questions that I can’t answer. The questioner looks at my response of “I don’t know!” and is taken back. I’m a pastor. I’m suppose to know.
But I have no idea how God created angels, or what kind of fish it was that swallowed Jonah? Why do good things happen to bad people…and bad things happen to good people? Why does one person get cured of cancer, and another die a slow painful death?
Life is filled with questions that I am clueless about answering.
Most of my day is spent in “the immediate.” That is, I can immediately know without wondering. It’s the moments of wondering that are uncomfortable, and yet they are also the moments that are usually tinted with the presence of God.
Categories: Bible, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, Jesus, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: answers, confusion, frustration, hospital waiting room, Jonah, patience, questions, spiritual questions, uncertainty, uncomfortable, unrest, waiting
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December 23, 2014
“ For God so loved the world that he gave…”
We know what the rest of the verse says. It talks to Jesus and his mission and purpose.
But the mission had to be ignited with God’s attitude of giving. He gave and gave and gave.
What if the Holy God who created us didn’t want to give? What if he was content to sit on his throne and exclusively receive? Most of the false gods that people have worshiped through the ages are like that. Sacrifices were offered to appease the gods. People were terrified about the possibility of making the gods angry.
The One and Only true God, however, could not help himself. He gave. He gave his Son. And he continues to give. His”grace is sufficient for you.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) His peace “transcends all understanding.” (Philippians 4:7)
“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 6:23)
God was not a one-time giver. His gifts are on-going and life-changing.
So what do we do in return? What can we give God? Romans 12:1-2 summarizes it.
“Offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God- this is your spiritual act of worship.” (Romans 12:1)
Give God this day, and then give him the next day…and then the next. Worshiping him involves that capturing and giving of each day, each moment, to be used for the glory of God.
Have a blessed Christmas!
Categories: Bible, Christianity, Christmas, Death, Faith, Grace, Jesus, love, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: 2 Corinthians 12:9, gift, giving, sin
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June 30, 2014
WORDS FROM W.W. June 30, 2014
There are some things that stay with you even though they don’t make sense. Kind of like that old TV that is sitting in the family room. It’s been a part of the family. You don’t just take a part of the family to the dump!
My “blankie” falls even more securely into this category. My blankie is my blanket. It’s been my blanket since…about August of 1979. I say “about” because I married my wife on July 28, 1979. She brought the blanket into the marriage relationship. It was hers. You know that saying, “What’s hers is his!” I actually don’t know if that is a saying or not, but it should be.
Soon after July 28 “the blankie” transferred partial ownership to me. That means, it crept to my side of the bed at night.
There’s gold, and then there are those few things that are more valuable than gold. My “blankie” is threaded gold.
When we go on driving vacations I take it with me. I don’t take it places if I’s flying. I don’t trust the airlines that much.
I took it on a mission trip to British Columbia…three days drive away! I took it to Park City, Utah last summer.
I took it to camp where I was being the camp pastor. I needed some form of comfort in the midst of a multitude of middle school students, many whom were discovering that there was an opposite sex that could offer them a different kind of comfort.
I took it to Arizona and South Dakota. For thirty-five years it has just felt…right!
Now it is beginning to look pitiful, like the family dog that just lays around and whimpers. My blanket has a few holes in it, frayed ends, faded patterns, and stuffing that is settling in the same spot, like a middle-aged man whose body has decided to most gather around the waist and stomach.
The other thing that makes this unique…and weird, is that my grandmother made incredible quilts. Sixty years after the fact they are in almost-mint condition. They are warm and comfortable, memories for me of my Mamaw Helton who had “settler skills.” That means that she could have survived on the frontier is she wanted. Quilt-making was just one of her gifts. She could kill a chicken, clean it, and fry it up for dinner almost as fast as my Papaw could drive to the grocery and buy a chicken from the butcher. She kept the eastern Kentucky farm going that she and my Papaw owned.
I slept with those quilts as I was growing up. Somewhere along the line after July 28, 1979 I switched over to the “blankie.”
My wife sometimes thinks I love my blanket more than her. That’s not true! Although my blankie doesn’t kick me at night when I snore. She reminds me that the blanket was hers first, but I remind her that possession is nine-tenths of the law.
When I die I hope my blankie is still around. If so I want to it to be buried with me. I don’t want to have to worry about wearing a suit as I’m all laid out in the casket. When do I ever wear a suit while I’m laying down in this lifetime? My mom would never permit such a thing. I can hear her say, “It’s going to get all wrinkled!”
So just cover me with my blankie. Throw a tee shirt on me just in case chest hair is upsetting to some, but drape my tired perishing physique in my tired perishing blanket and let me rest in comfortable.
I know I’ll be walking the streets of gold in heaven, but if I get to nap in paradise I hope I can have my threadbare gold wrapped around me. It only makes sense. It fits…comfortably!…in my picture of perfection!
Categories: children, Death, Humor, love, marriage, Story
Tags: blanket, comfort, gold, paradise, quilt, quilt-making, sleep, treasured possessions
Comments: 2 Comments
June 25, 2014
WORDS FROM W.W. June 24, 2014
Even though I’m sixty I’ve been reading the book Divergent. It’s more of a novel for young adults and teens I think, because there are less words of each page to give the reader the illusion that he is reading a lot.
One of the sections of the book deals with each person’s “fear landscape.” A fear landscape includes all of the fears that the participant faces in his life…from bed bugs to being kidnapped.
I won’t go into the book any more than that, but it did make me think about what my fears are, and what my fears aren’t. I’ve come up with a short list.
I am not afraid of dying, but I am afraid of dying in a way that people laugh. Like the guy who fell into a large vat of wine and drowned! Some might enjoy dying in such a way, but I don’t really care for wine. It would be second on my list to having a truckload of manure mistakenly dumped on you and then suffocating! Death for me will be a welcoming into heaven. The way I die causes me to worry!
I’m also afraid of spiders and snakes. Don’t ask me why…I just am! I am thankful that God has not tested my faith by telling me to handle rattlesnakes. I might be tempted to renounce my faith, or at the least have a fake fainting spell. I know that the Apostle Paul had a viper wrapped around his arm one time on the island of Malta, but I’m not the Apostle Paul. I’m the Fraidy-Cat Bill!
I’m no longer afraid of school principals. That means that at one time I was. My grade school principal’s name was Shirley Morton. He’s the only man I ever knew named Shirley, but he was to be feared. I experienced his paddle one time, and my butt sizzled for a week. Whenever I saw the movie Airplane, and heard that one verbal explain where Leslie Nielson says, “And don’t call me Shirley!” the memory of Shirley Morton’s strong forehand with his paddle would come back to me. Perhaps my fears subsided when I got elected to the school board and found out the principals put their pants on just like I do (the men that is).
I’m also afraid of Indian food. I had a roommate my first year in seminary from India, and Bontha lit me up with his Chicken and Curry dish. I would start perspiring just thinking about it. We have a few Indian restaurants in our city, but the scars from Bontha’s cooking are still pretty vivid.
One last fear! I’m also afraid of Oakland Raider fans!
But I think that’s normal!
Categories: Death, Freedom, Humor, Pastor, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: afraid, Divergent, dying, fear landscape, fears, not afraid, Oakland Raiders, principal, Raiders fans, rattlesnakes, school principal, snakes, spiders
Comments: 1 Comment
Words from WW Blog 