Feeding Candy to Cows???

You've...got...to...be...kidding me!  I'm attaching a link to an article that tells about some farmers now feeding candy to their cattle to fatten them up, because corn is too expensive.  First of all, feeding corn to cattle is NOT good.  But how can they truly believe that candy is a good substitute?  

Stop the insanity!

Link: Farmers Serving Candy to Their Cows

Mmmm... you smell like...

My daughter noticed that she wasn't producing quite enough milk for breastfeeding. It seemed to decrease after she took some over-the-counter allergy medicine. Wanting a natural way to increase the milk, she learned about various supplements and decided to try fenugreek.  However, she was surprised when she read that fenugreek sometimes causes a specific odor to come out in the body's sweat.  It's the middle of summer, and she's training for the Kiss Me Dirty 5K, so sweating is pretty much guaranteed.

She warned her husband, "A side effect of fenugreek is that it might make my sweat smell like maple syrup!"

After a moment, he asked, "And the down-side is......?"

It reminded me of a previous post (click here), who needs perfume?

"Give me this mountain!"

Have you ever had images and phrases come to your mind that seem poetic in nature?  That happened to me in early June and since I didn't know how to write poetry, I settled for prose.  I'm sure I learned poetry-writing in high school, but that knowledge fled years ago.

I feel like I'm about to expose my tender underbelly, since I don't usually write like this, but I feel it's time to share this... (what do I call it?)...poetic prose. Here goes...

“Give me this mountain!” I timidly cry out, growing more confident even as I say it.  Inspired by Caleb (Joshua 14:12), I know that with the Lord’s help I can conquer this mountain—this land of giant appetites—this insurmountable problem of overeating.  I can visualize success.  I can see myself on top of the mountain, planting my banner, pleased and proud; uplifted and made conqueror by the hand of the Lord.

So I begin my journey.

Yesterday it was “Give me this mountain!” and I advanced two steps.  But today I cry, “Remove this mountain!”  For I am no longer advancing at a snail’s pace up the side, I realize I am trapped beneath.  Buried.  One minute I am on the side, and the next minute, with one misstep (was it the popcorn?), I find myself beneath.  Surrounded by darkness, crushed and whimpering.  The mountain is planted squarely on top. 

“Someone call IX-I-I!”  I smirk.  I cannot cry out.  I am smothered, alone.  As I lay beneath the mountain, I ponder.  Where did I go wrong?  Where was my misstep?  How did I get beneath instead of on top?  Was it the Kentucky Fried Chicken?  But it was a better choice than Wendy’s or A&W, wasn’t it?  And I only ate one side of green beans and gave the biscuit to coworker Bill.  Oh!  I should have planned better.  I should have foreseen I would go from one job to another and not have time to eat.  Yes.  That’s it.  I should have planned better.

But wait.  Maybe it was the popcorn.  I wanted the popcorn from Low Book Sales.  I just had to have it.  But then maybe it was eating too much Panda Express followed by too much watermelon followed by…

I sob.  What’ the use? 

I lay very still and cry.  I pray.  “Lord, yesterday I faced the mountain and started to climb.  Today I am beneath.  Why?”

Staring into the darkness, I see clearly. “Give me this mountain” indeed.  I am within.  I built it around and over me, first as a shelter, then as a façade—layer by layer of sediment settling more solid year after year.  My relationship with food covers it, like vegetation that grows on the mountainside, where I graze and gorge in comfort, ignoring what lies beneath.

“Give me this mountain.”  Indeed, the mountain is mine, and it must be removed, not climbed.  With my Savior’s help, I can move the mountain…one shovelful at time.  I must sift through the dirt, examine it, acknowledge or discard it, until I am free.  And then I will stake my banner – on solid, level, ground.

“Remove this mountain.”  So it is that shovel turns to pen, mountain turns to paper.  And I write.