I don’t know whether this is true or not, because I have no knowledge of the legal profession, but I’ve seen this on law shows and movies. When one agrees to a guilty plea, typically resulting in a lesser punishment, they must admit their guilt in open court.
I have a hard time watching baseball teams like the Yankees and Red Sox, not just because they are evil AL East empires with vast (and unfair) payrolls, but because I never know who the players are, since they don’t imprint players’ names on the backs of their jerseys. In reading John’s gospel you’ll discover that he never mentions himself by name.
… What I’ve realized looking back on that time (a wonderful time, actually, when Cindy carried then delivered Micah) is that we never came close to losing our house, and our pantry, though it dwindled, kept us fed, and water was as accessible as the kitchen faucet. For that matter, we could drink from the pool in our backyard, if we had to. …
Recently I received an email forward that began: Read only if you have time for God. … Scanning through my Twitter and Facebook feeds, I see all sorts of posts, a mix of the above types of sentences. But it’s the combination imperative/conditional posts that bother me. If you love Jesus, then copy and paste this …
I’m starting this MAKING CHANGE series with something I feel has been the most integral in my life as a believer in Jesus. It’s more important than what I could say about money or setting fitness goals. I have embraced reading and studying the Bible, and it has helped me to know God and myself better. (Giveaway at the end of the post.)
You’ve probably figured out by now that I’m a huge fan of Seinfeld. One of the funniest episodes is from an earlier season when Jerry, George, and Elaine spend the entire show waiting for a table at a Chinese restaurant. As their wait drags on, they keep asking the host how long until they’ll be seated. “Oh, five, ten minutes” is his reply every time.
Last month we appeared in juvenile court for the custody hearing regarding Gabriel. I’d never addressed a judge before, so I forgot the respectful “Your Honor” in my replies. Even a “sir” would have sufficed. My neglect might have been due to his not wearing a black robe. Or it could have been the lack of a bailiff who would have said, “All rise …” or a stenographer who’d have typed it all into a netbook. There was no polished wood. The judge didn’t even have a gavel, as far as I could tell.