Give Me That Mountain

Identity

Day one...

Close to twenty years ago probably, I had a couple of years of hell‐on‐earth. I felt like I was the rat in some kind of a weird experiment God was doing. One night I went to bed with the question on my mind: “Why was I even born, God? Why did You even make me?”

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Identity

Day two...

Who is this creep running around in my body? Who is this jerk, impersonating me?

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Identity

Day three...

“Somebody has to be the grown‐up!”

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Identity

Day four...

I'd rather go to the timber for exercise than go to the gym. And I've piled a lot of brush and tree limbs over the years. As I've tried to stack this unruly stuff so I could burn it, I've also tangled myself in the mess—throwing glasses, caps, gloves, earplugs, parts of my shirts, and chunks of my hide into these sometimes huge piles. Needless to say, there's always plenty of opportunity to have a little temper tantrum.

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Identity

Day five...

Do you suppose Adam and Eve are in something like a witness protection program in Heaven? Sherrel was joking around about the possibility… as we were talking, one day, about what it must have been like to live in the Garden of Eden.

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Identity

Day six...

Ten‐year high school class reunions have a reputation for a lot of “look what I've done” conversations. And there's nothing more satisfying than to find out you are doing better than the class president is.

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Identity

Day seven...

Here in the U.S. an entire industry exists to find, sign, and develop athletes for the nation's professional sports teams. These male and female athletes are identified by their performance, and anything less than their best is not tolerated for long.

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