Happy Meal

I went to the doctor the other day.

She told me that I needed to get some exercise. So I went to McDonald’s.

My wife wanted to know why I went there.

I told her the doctor told me to get some extra fries.

She made me an appointment with a hearing doctor.


Valentine Puns

What do farmers give their wives on Valentine’s Day?
A hog and kisses!

Why did the pig give his girlfriend a box of candy?
It was Valenswine’s Day!

Do skunks celebrate Valentine’s Day?
Sure, they’re very scent-imental!

What did the paper clip say to the magnet?
“I find you very attractive.”

What did the French chef give his wife for Valentine’s Day?
A hug and a quiche!

What did one pickle say to the other?
“You mean a great dill to me.”

What did the elephant say to his girlfriend?
“I love you a ton!”

What did the bat say to his girlfriend?
“You’re fun to hang around with.”

What did the pencil say to the paper?
“I dot my i’s on you!”

Liz: “I can’t be your valentine for medical reasons.”
Jon: “Really?”
Liz: “Yeah, you make me sick!”

Why do valentines have hearts on them?
Because spleens would look pretty gross!

What does a man who loves his car do on February 14?
He gives it a valenshine!

What did Frankenstein say to his girlfriend?
“Be my valenstein!”


Eve’s Dropping

When Adam stayed out very late for a few nights, Eve became upset. “You’re
running around with other women,” she told her mate.

“Eve, honey, you’re being unreasonable,” Adam responded. “You know you’re
the only woman on earth.”

The quarrel continued until Adam fell asleep, only to be awakened by a
strange pain in his side. It was his darling Eve poking him rather
vigorously about the torso.

“What are you doing?” Adam demanded.

“Counting your ribs,” said Eve.


A Leg Up

A nursery school teacher was delivering a minivan full of kids home one day when a fire truck zoomed past. Sitting in the front seat of the fire truck was a Dalmatian dog. The children fell to discussing the dog’s duties.

“They use him to keep crowds back,” said one youngster.

“No,” said another, “he’s just for good luck.”

A third child brought the argument to a close. “They use the dogs,” she said firmly, “to find the fire hydrant.”


Don’t give up on your dreams. Keep sleeping.


The Paradox of Our Age

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower view points. We spend more, but have less. We buy more, but enjoy it less. We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life. We’ve added years to life, not life to years. We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We’ve conquered outer space, but not inner space. We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We’ve split the atom, but not our prejudice. We have higher incomes, but lower morals. We’ve become long on quantity, but short on quality. These are the times of tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships. These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition. These are the days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes. It is a time when there is much in the show window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose to ignore it.

by – Dr. Bob Moorehead


A Little Girls Prayer

“One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator. (We had no electricity to run an incubator.) We also had no special feeding facilities.

Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. “And it is our last hot water bottle!” she exclaimed. As in the West it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways. “All right,” I said, “Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. “Your job is to keep the baby warm.”

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle.

The baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. “Please, God,” she prayed, “send us a water bottle. It’ll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon.” While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of a corollary, “And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she’ll know You really love her?”

As often with children’s prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, “Amen?” I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything. The Bible says so. But there are limits, aren’t there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!

Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses’ training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas — that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the… could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out — yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle! I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could.

Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, “If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!” Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted. Looking up at me, she asked: “Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she’ll know that Jesus really loves her?” That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God’s prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child—five months before—in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it “that afternoon.” “Before they call, I will answer!” Isa 65:24

Live as if Christ died yesterday, arose this morning, and is coming back tomorrow.

by – Missionary Doctor Helen Roseveare, in Zaire from England