Deus volt; Deus mittit me.

Thursday, April 24, 2014


I'm taking some time to review a book called TONGUE OF FIRE by David McKnight.

I didn't think I'd enjoy this book as much as I did. Normally I don't go in for books about preaching and football very much. But this one caught my attention and held it clear for the big score.

John Peterson brings his family to Mayfield, fleeing a reputation for religious pontificating. Despite his promise to his family to tone it down for once, John slips (or rather is pushed) into a horrific situation--doing exactly opposite of the family 'Plan'.

Brother John's innocent and well-meant actions could blow the family, and the whole town, wide apart. He stands to lose the people he loves, his job, his new home, his son's football scholarship, and worse, his soul. But what's a Christian to do? They desperately need help only John seems to be able to offer.

I enjoyed the twists and turns. The story is well written, fast-paced, and entertaining. I was rooting for John and Jake and several of the preachers. I would have liked to see at least one of those guys join the church (hey, one can dream). And I would also have appreciated finding out at the beginning of their time in Mayfield that John had gotten the Italian teaching job at the high school. Still, a field goal read.

It brings up a few questions for me. What would I do in a similar situation? Would I be able to watch my husband do the things John had to do without questioning his sanity? How charitable would I be with the whole town up in arms against me?

Answer these questions by purchasing TONGUE OF FIRE here. Then drop back for the touchdown pass.

Day 24--Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day--A Stolen Kiss

It's Keep a Poem in Your Pocket Day today! For an explanation, go here. I have three I wrote in my pocket right now. Here's another one:

Gene Paul chased me home one day
He trapped me on a tree
That creepy boy squashed lips on mine
And I punched him with my knee.

He'll never get another chance
To try and grab a kiss
His broken nose will see to that
I gave his drool a miss.

I wonder now to whom he went
To commiserate his pain
A loving mom or grandmother
To vent his sad refrain?

Where is that creepy kisser boy
Who tried to make a play
For the girl who wouldn't play his game
That breathless far off day?

I wonder if his game's now good 
Or if he's got a wife
Or does he sit and rot in jail
Bemoaning a broken life?

Remember this when next you try
To kiss a little lass
She just might pack a nasty punch
And knock you on your...rear.
© 2014 by H. Linn Murphy

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Day the 23rd--ABCB Poem--Snick the Tooth Fairy

Today I'm doing an ABCB Poem. Hope you like it...:o)

 Snick the Tooth Fairy
Other tooth fairies are pretty
They're all glitter and star wands and toole.
With names like Esmeralda and Rosebud
And Daisy and Betsy and Jewel.

Our family fairy has tattoos
He's smelly and ugly and brash
There's more hair inside of his armpits
Than his head, which is covered in rash.

Old Snick didn't wait 'til teeth fell out
He brought 'round his pincers and pliars
He looked in kids' windows to spot 'em
And concentrated 'specially on criers.

One time I wanted to stay up
And ask what he did with the teeth
But he brought an old hammer and chainsaw
So I jumped under cover beneath

I never hid teeth under pillows
It guaranteed very bad dreams
'Cause then Snick would likely be waiting
'Stead of money, that loser left screams.

 'Stead of dimes and nickels and quarters
He left broken bottles 'n old trout
So we did everything we could think of
To keep our teeth glued in our mouth.
© 2014 by H. Linn Murphy

And here's a limerick about Snick:

There was a tooth fairy named Snick
Who carried 'round plyers and pick
He scared kid so bad
They ran crying to Dad
And begged for barred windows quick
© 2014 by H. Linn Murphy

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Day the 22nd--Nature Poem--A Bee-utiful Story

So today's a Nature Poem. If you want to know what that is, land here.

The honey bee so fuzzy yellow
Is a natty sort of fellow

It works all day in orange sun
Buzzing flowers for its fun

Too bad it stopped off on my shirt
A smashing hand with which to flirt

Now it's gone to meet its doom
I sweep its guts up with a broom

I'm sorry little honey bee
That Mr. Yellow messed with me.
© 2014 by H. Linn Murphy

Monday, April 21, 2014

On The 21st Day of April--Onomatopoeia Poem--Bridezilla Boomerang

Today we're doing an Onomatopoeia Poem. I dare you to say that ten times at the speed of light...:o) You can learn more about it here.
© 2014 by H. Linn Murphy
The bride was a delicate flower
She walked down the aisle with grace
But don't let her calmness fool you
There's junk coming out of her face.

She yells at the top of her voice box
The slaps can be heard 'cross the state
She's stomping and screaming and cussing
And all of her bridesmaids are late

She wonders just why they don't worship
As she stalks down the aisle to her man
But the girl has been snotty and witchy
Because nothing goes right with 'the plan'.

The fizz doesn't fizz in the champagne
She hisses about the sad flow'rs.
This reprehensible human
O'er estimates her limited pow'rs.

Why is it this wench causes trouble
And expects her poor groom to be cool
When her actions are utterly horrid
We'd just love to push her in the pool.

She's go glug-a-glug as she struggled
As her perfect white gown made her sink
We'd all race to jump in and go save her
But we're currently having a think.
© 2014 by H. Linn Murphy

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Day of the 20th--Prose Poem--He Rises

As it is Sunday and I'm writing this way in advance, I have no idea what other people are doing for a poem today. I'm doing Prose. So here it is:

He Rises

But hark! What light through yonder window breaks?
Tis the Son who rises in all glory
No mere earthly bloom
But Scion of the House of Elohim
He it is who at His Father's word
Furls the sunset in all its splendor
He who set the waves to wash the shore
And bid the larks rise up at dawn.

It is the Son whose battered flesh
Hung upon a Roman tree
And from His watch in moonlit glade
Wrought for us what no other man could ever do.
Scion of His Father's house
Who bid the mountains rise from desert's floor
Tis He who wrest fro us
A berth at our Father's loving side.
He who guides us, holds the lamp,
Bids us follow Him Home.
© 2014 by H. Linn Murphy

Day the 20th--Acrostic Poem--My Missionary Son

Again it's Sunday and I am diverging from the set schedule. What can I say? I'm a rebel. Anyway, this Sunday it's an Acrostic Poem using the first letter of each line to build on.
Here we go:

Makes me incredibly happy.
Yells, laughs, and photo-bombs every picture.

Misses us like we miss him.
Industrious and loving it.
Stays away from the cliff's edge.
Seeks out the low and those sitting in darkness.
Innovative--maybe he should be an engineer.
Opportunities make him happy, especially teaching ones.
Needs to lift, light, and serve.
Always positive.
Reading the scriptures is one of his favorites.
Year of teaching the gospel and one more to go.

Still not much for writing long letters.
Obedient to the Lord.
Never far from my mind.
© 2014 by H. Linn Murphy