There are illustrations here for men and women alike. This is a helpful and hopeful reflection for the day between Friday and Resurrection Day.
My husband likes to tell the story about when he was growing up, all the kids were playing G.I. Joe. He wanted a G.I. Joe action figure, so he was excited to open the package that looked just about the right size. It was Fighting Yank.
His mom was real good with money. But for a ten-year-old, Fighting Yank at a G.I. Joe action party is kinda like a firecracker without the boom. Buying generic is fine for things like toilet paper and toothpaste but not action figures.
I’m just saying there is no let-down in the morning when I use Ultra-Brite to brush my teeth instead of Colgate Super White. But if I was ten, I don’t know, Fighting Yank? You can tell he’s got no juice just by his name. Fighters are named Rambo, Butch, and stuff like Harley.
I think Greg was cool before his time, because he says that it didn’t bother him. I wonder, though, about the frequency a 42-year-old guy brings it up, though. I’ve heard this story at least ten times, not including any sermon illustrations, which don’t count obviously.
Now maybe Greg has no residual need of therapy, but man, I’m still holding in the pain of my own let down about 15 years ago. I think I already told this story at least eight times, but I’m sure nobody remembers. One of my best friends doesn’t even read my blog. She’s like, “What for?”
So Greg and I were dating (in our ignorance, of course, since we hadn’t been enlightened that this was of the devil), and I was waiting for a ring and a date. Like every second of every moment . . .
