What a smoker needs to know, is that we do have a higher risk factor, Nonetheless, because you smoke does not mean you will die! Chances are you might not. But wouldn’t you rather remove the higher risk factor, and eliminate that or at least reduce your chance? There are too many other things out there that are just as deadly. Stop smoking, and move on to eliminating something else that is killing you; like life itself.
What we knew, as serious students of medicine and toxicology, is that a toxin has a threshold for causing injury and the subject has a profile of variable susceptibility that changes the threshold.
Clearly those two factors interact and result in an expression of the toxic effects that varies.
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You really have to know the Cottonwood, (and know that you know that you know God) to appreciate this… Thanks for a wonderful post.
A cooled summer breeze rustles through the Cottonwoods stirring matured leaves in a rustling shimmer. I notice autumn’s first hints of gold now appearing, as purple wild Asters bloom in compliment. I catch a whiff of roasting green chili and my mouth waters in anticipation, triggered by memories of past New Mexico autumns. My mind floods with other such unique remembrances, the substance of traditions important to me even though, I like the Cottonwoods am a relative new-comer. I’ve made my home among them. They are like me and I am like them. Our common ancestors were transplants in the New Mexico Territory, a hardy stock that adapted well to the desert and flourished. Together we’ve filled every river valley and tributary arroyo, clinging to the water that has enabled us as immigrant desert aliens to blend in with the natives. We are New Mexico now and only God has…
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And yet another good post…. (make three columns, first list the way you think you are.. second the way others think of you…. and third.. match those that agree, that is most likely who you really are).
Agnes stared absent-mindedly into the mirror, brushing her hair as she had thousands of times before when suddenly, she caught her own eye and gasped a sad, surrendering, soft sigh. Laying the brush aside, she pulled closer to the mirror in an effort to really see herself. How could that woman in the mirror, who looked a lot like her mother, really be Agnes? She cringed at thinking the cliché “How could so much time have passed so quickly?” She’d always rolled her eyes when ‘old folks’ said such things and now, she was saying it too… She looked a little closer at the roots that were beginning to show, wondering what color her hair really was by now. It was surreal and unnerving, this disconnect between her mirror image and the way she imagined herself. She reached for her makeup and through the art of smudging, shadowing, coloring, and…
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Simply …. just good reading
Once upon a time a little girl was shattered.
No one noticed the darkening of bright soul…
Embracing the black lie; none of it mattered…
At her very core opened a gaping black-hole!
In sharp shards everywhere lay scattered!
Love was punctured! Wrath filled her bowl!
Joyless Barracuda rise! Innocence tattered!
Painted green eyes to hypnotize her goal…
Beautiful spirit broken girl-child battered;
Outwardly ravishing masking a dead soul…
Passive-Aggressive leaving men shattered!
Emptied bank accounts her devouring goal!
Proving to everyone that little girl mattered!
Who inside died from Man punctured soul…
Inside every man-eating barracuda lives a broken little girl. Jesus is the only One who can restore shattered women and empower them to become the women God intended them to be. What isn’t possible for human beings is possible with God and no one is too broken for the healing grace found in Jesus…
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