Christian Reflection and Prayer

Randy and Melanie Bordelon

The other day, someone at a store in our town read that
a Methamphetamine lab had been found in a old farmhouse
in the adjoining county and he asked me a rhetorical
question, "Why didn't we have a drug problem when you
and I were growing up?"
I replied, I had a drug problem when I was young:  I was
drug to church on Sunday morning.  I was drug to
church for weddings and funerals.  I was drug to family
reunions and community socials no matter the weather.
I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to
adults.  I was also drug to the woodshed when I
disobeyed my parents, told a lie, brought home a bad
report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill of the
teacher or the preacher, or if I didn't put forth my best
effort in everything that was asked of me.
I was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth
washed out with soap if i uttered a profanity.  I was
drug out to pull weeds in mom's garden and flower
beds and cockleburs out of dad's fields.  I was drug
to the homes of family, friends and neighbors to help
out some poor soul who had no one to mow the yard,
repair the clothesline, or chop some firewood, and, if
my mother had ever known that I took a single dime as
a tip for this kindness, she would have drug me back to
the woodshed.
Those drugs are still in my veins and they affect my
behavior in everything I do, say or think.  They are
stronger than cocaine, crack or heroin;  and, if today's
children had this kind of drug problem, America would
be a better place.

God bless the parents who drugged us.