The Morning Fog

When the morning fog sets in the valley low, there is a peculiar peacefulness you feel: a quiet hope of romanticism and fantasy.
You ponder the pursuits of the day. Ambition begins to be crafted in the early hours of morning. Proverbs are awakened from the pages of God’s established Word. You feel lifted.
The aroma of coffee creates an atmosphere of comfort, albeit a temporal one, a scent familiar. You speak aloud to the unseen Comforter, feeling waves of peace return like a cascading tidal ecstasy.
The burdens of loved ones roll off your lips. One by one, the captive set free. One by one, the sick made whole. One by one, we strip away layers of humanity until all that’s left is soul and Spirit.
Completeness in Jesus.
When the morning fog sets in the valley low, let it be the tangible presence of Almighty God.

The Hornet

‚ÄčIt was a quiet morning around 4:30 a.m.

I had been sick for most the week but had to open up the bakery this particular Saturday.

This week had been a trying time indeed, but I was not prepared for the evil that lay ahead.

It was a sweet fragrance that permeated from the bakery and into the store as I took out the delicious donuts from the oven. I was preparing showcase rolls for the daily gas station orders when the raging hornet whipped past my ear sending a sudden shock throughout my body.

It was then I recalled several days ago, the bakery’s own, Gloria, being greeted with a swift painful sting that sent her to the benadryl aisle as her ear doubled in size turning a purpleish red color.

“My gosh, they’re trying to take us out one by one,” I exclaimed within my mind. I quickly thought up a plan.

Since I knew it wouldn’t be long before he found himself in the midst of the sweet soft icing near me, I found an old beat-up fly swatter and got it ready.

Just then, the evil insect landed on the edge of the maple frosting bucket. “Now!”, my mind raced as I swatted it to the bucket anticipating  that it would soon be consumed in a small portion of the sugary trap. Not so. I tried to hit him once more. He dodged. And soon, he was buzzing around the atmosphere of the bakery like King Kong.

Like a yellow and black Goliath, the giant was now prancing around, saying, “Send me a man!”

He darted toward me.

I swung. I missed. 

Splattered maple icing now rested upon the wall like abstract artwork I would like to title, “The Failure.”

Wings spread and prepared to strike again, he finally landed on a corner of a box. I swung one last time.

Slam! Crack! It was the sound of it’s exoskeleton snapping or, as I would soon find out, the fly swatter giving out. The violent thrust against the Hornet dissipated the weak now useless swatter.

Silence filled the air. I pulled the plastic weapon closer, noticing something. The Hornet that had whizzed by giving me goosebumps only two short minutes ago, was now lifeless and torn in two. 

It was over.

Vengeance was served, balance was restored, and the bakery was safe. For now…

Park In The Sky


Back and forth, the swing sways as the gleeful child is pushed gently by his father. The thrill of the swing set was enough of a reward for a boy who loves his daddy and desired to behave for a visit to the park.

Just as a loving father may have planned a trip to the park for his son, God wants to take you on a trip to shimmering streets of gold, walls made of jewels, and a mansion made just for you. Why? Because God has a plan for your life.

The plan is this:
Deuteronomy 6:4-5 KJV
Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord : [5] And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might.

Not bad, eh?
The problem is we don’t give Him all. We just give Him most, half, or sometimes nothing. (Jesus sighs, “Not even a high five??”)

The father plans on his son being good though he may put a stipulation on going to the park.
“If you’re good, I want to take you somewhere.”
Who has to judge if the son was good? The father. Who decides on their own actions? The son.

We as God’s children, can make our own rules if we want to, but God is the one who must judge, since it is after all, His plan.
If we love him with all we are, it should show in our actions. Do we seek to know Him? Do we think upon His Word, the Bible? Do we treat people with the love of God?

God understands our efforts. He did, in fact, create us and lived among us for 33 years as our Lord Jesus Christ! So he knows something about giving it all.

The plan is easy.
Love Him with everything you have, love Him to the point of sacrifice, and don’t love anything more than Him.

Now, get your shoes on. We’re going to the park.

Thirty Five

Good evening. My name is Anthony Lam and I want to welcome you to my modest and humble blog.

Saturday, after an hour of last minute bakery work and overtime, my wife, Kimmy and I launched our Toyota Yaris from our home’s snow packed gravel driveway into North Dakota’s frigid January air. From the house to the car, the icy wind battered our faces like a punching bag; But we were persistent to fight back. All the way to Fargo.

It was a birthday celebration for Kimmy’s brother Donny. His birthday had passed but the party was just getting started. We arrived from the 20 below weather to an apartment full of smoke and haze. I almost thought I’d find Jimi Hendrix and Tupac Shakur in the back. The lasagna got done just a little while after.

My quiet brother-in-law Josh had an exciting announcement to make. He had decided to date his childhood friend, Nikki. The awkwardness of the situation was obliterated by the atomic passing of gas by Ward, Becky’s fiance. Laughter and Ward’s painful explanations ensued.

My niece Miranda put Garfield the Movie on their television set. I couldn’t help but wonder if he would of enjoyed the smoky main dish. The lasagna was quite palatable despite the oven polluting the air to the point the front door and windows were opened. (Sigh, Who knew sweet Old Man Winter made such a great houseguest? Not me! Nope, definitely not..)

In an effort to promote her “No Noodle Left Behind Act”, Kimmy’s mom Sandy created a bib. The stray pasta that wouldn’t commit to the kamikaze ride into her mouth rolled down and found a home one with another on her most very colorful paper towel napkin.

And I guess that’s pretty much it. Thirty Five? That’s either Donny’s age or the number of gases expelled from Ward’s body on that cold January night.