Illustration results for Battles
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Bill Prater
‘Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house, nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I’d nibbled, the fudge I did taste, all the holiday parties had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number! When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I remembered the marvelous meals I’d prepared, the gravies and sauces and beef nicely rare.
The pies and the cakes, the bread and the cheese, and the way I never said, "No thank you please."
As I dressed myself in my husband’s old shirt, and prepared once again to do battle with dirt---
I said to myself, as I only can "You can’t spend the winter disguised as a man!"
So away with the last of the sour cream dip, get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip.
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished, ‘till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won’t have a cookie, not even a lick, I’ll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won’t have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie, I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is a bore --- But isn’t that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot ... Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!
One Sunday in a Midwest city, a young child was "acting up "during the morning worship hour. The parents did their best to maintain some sense of order in the pew but were losing the battle. Finally, the father picked the little fellow up and walked sternly up the aisle on his way out. Just before reaching the safety of the foyer, the little one called loudly to the congregation, "Pray for me! Pray for me!"
From Christianstories.com
Erle Stanley Gardner tells about his early days as a writer of Western stories:
“When a writer is writing at three cents a word, he is painfully conscious of the number of words. In fact, when I was typing my own stories. I had an adding machine device connected to the space bar of my typewriter, so that every time I hit the space bar it registered a figure on my word counter.
“Without my realizing it, my heroes developed a habit of missing the first five shots, only to connect with the last bullet in the gun. At one time an editor took me to task for this. How did it happen that my characters, who were chain lightning with a gun, were so inaccurate with the first five shots?” I told the editor frankly ‘At three cents a word, every time I say bang in the story I get three cents. If you think I’m going to have a gun battle over while my hero has got 15 cents’ worth of unexploded ammunition in the cylinder of his gun, you’re mistaken.’”
—The Atlantic Monthly
During the Civil War a Union soldier from Ohio was shot in the arm.
His captain saw he was wounded and barked out an order, “Gimme your gun, Private, and get to the rear!”
The private handed over his rifle and ran toward the north, seeking safety.
But after gong only about two or three hundred yards, he came upon another skirmish.
So he ran to the east, and found himself in another part of the battle.
Then he ran west, but encountered more fighting there.
Finally, he ran back to the front lines shouting...
Illus.: “The General Took His Stand”
Fredrick the Great of Germany, was a scoffer, but his great general, Von Zealand, was a devout Christian. One day at a gathering, the king was making coarse jokes about Jesus and the whole palace was ringing with laughter. Von Zealand arose stiffly and said, “Your Majesty, you know I have not feared death. I have fought and won 38 battles for you and my country. I am an old man now. Soon I will go to be with the One who saved me from sin—the very One you are blaspheming against.” With trembling voice, King Fredrick replied, “General Von Zealand, I beg your pardon; I beg your pardon!” And the gathering quickly dispersed quietly.
Sitting by the Fire
An old man sat by an open fire and dreamed the years away,
While, outside in the battle of life, many perished in the toils of day.
He never did any good, nor did he ever do any wrong.
He just sat by the open fire and dreamed the whole day long.
Now he’s left a vacant chair and they say he’s gone up higher,
but, if he still does what he used to do, he’s still sitting by the fire. - author unknown.
BANGEDY BANG
A soldier in the heat of battle had his gun jam on him. The enemy was charging straight for him and he was defenseless, desperate! For some unknown reason he pointed his finger at the man and said "Bangedy bang" and the guy fell down dead. He looked at his hand and thought, wow! Another man charged him and again, bangedy bang, dead. He couldn’t believe this could be!
Then a whole group turned toward him. He just pretended he had a bazooka and said, "Boomedy boom." They all collapsed. He was ecstatic!
Another soldier just slowly strolled toward him. Bangedy bang! No result...he just kept coming. Boomedy boom! No change. They guy calmly and smoothly kept coming toward him, and it was obvious he was saying something, but he couldn’t make it out until he got right up on him...he rolled right over him saying, "Tankety tank, tankety tank!"
(From a sermon by Jerry Shirley, Swing Wide the Gates! 9/3/2010)
“Two ardent fishermen met on their vacation and began swapping stories about the different places they had fished, the kind of tackle used, the best bait, and finally about some of the fish they had caught. One of them told of a vicious battle he once had with a 300-pound salmon. The other man listened attentively. He frankly admitted he had never caught anything quite that big. However, he told about the time his hook snagged a lantern from the depths of a lake. The lantern carried a tag proving it was lost back in 1912. But the strangest thing of all was the fact that it was a waterproof lantern and the light was still lit. For a long time the first man said nothing. Then he took one lon...
WELLINGTON DEFEATED...
It is a story about how the news of the victory at the battle at Waterloo arrived in England. There were no telegrams or telephones in those days, nobody could send an SMS or put it up on Facebook or Youtube, of course, but everyone knew that Wellington was facing Napoleon in that great battle on the 18th of June 1815, and that the future of England was in great uncertainty.
A sailing ship semaphored (signalled with coded flags) the news to the signalman on top of Winchester Cathedral. He signalled to another man somewhere on a hill, and this way the news of the battle was passed on by semaphore from one place to another all the way to London and across the whole land.
When the ship came in, the signalman on board semaphored the first word: “W e l l i n g t o n”. The next word was “d e f e a t e d”, and then the fog came down and the ship could not be seen. “Wellington defeated” went across England, and there was great gloom all over the countryside.
After two or three hours, the fog lifted, and the signal came again: “Wellington defeated the enemy.” Then all England rejoiced.
There was that day, when they put the body of the Lord in the tomb, that the message appeared to be Christ dead, defeated…. But three days later, the fog lifted.
As Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15:54-57
"Death is swallowed up in victory. "Death, where is your sting? Hades (hell), where is your victory? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
A Photographer for CNN was assigned to cover southern California ’s wildfires last year. He wanted pictures of the heroic work the firefighters were doing as they battled the blazes.
When the photographer arrived on the scene, he realized that the smoke
was so thick it would seriously impede, or even make impossible, his getting good photographs from the ground level. He requested permission from his boss to rent a plane and take photos from the air.
His request was approved and he used his cell phone to call the local
county airport to charter a flight. He was told a single engine plane would be waiting for him at the airport.
Arriving at the airfield, he spotted a plane warming up outside a hanger. He jumped in with his bag, slammed the door shut, and shouted, "Let’s go".
The pilot taxied out, swung the plane into the wind and roared down the runway. Once in the air, the photographer instructed the pilot, "Fly
over the valley and make two or three low passes so I can take some pictures of the fires on the hillsides."
"Why?" asked the pilot.
"Because I’m a photographer for CNN," he responded. "And I need to get
some close-up shots."
The pilot was strangely silent for a moment, finally he stammered, "So,
what you’re telling me, is you’re NOT my flight instructor?
