It grates to admit that Carolyn is right, but here we are on the seventh day of Christmas, with Jesus packed away in too many attics before the wise men have even arrived, no sign of leaping lords on the horizon, and I have to admit that she has a point.
Sometimes I look at my dog and marvel at her beauty: the colors of her fur, the form of her body, the light and laughter and love she exudes; it is nothing short of amazing how much grace, how much fun, is packed into this single ball of fluff. She was a sick puppy when we rescued her from the shelter two years ago; if we hadn't come along that stormy day she might have been killed.
Years ago I came upon a notepad decorated with a Sandra Boynton drawing of bears holding balloons. The line-up of brown bears included one panda bear, whose wide-eyed expression asked, "What am I doing here?"
"That was the year everybody died. The priest was sick, but he hadn't died yet, hadn't yet come out of the closet all over the front page of the newspaper...."
Bumping along in Leviticus, I read through endless sacrificial offerings, which are flat-out weird with their sprinkling of blood on the horns of the altar, on the right ear, the thumb and great toe. Arriving at a chapter that defines incest and other aberrant sexual behavior, I am struck by the assertion that the LAND will "spew out" those who so defile it. It reminds me of a King Arthur movie where adultery darkens the land, causing great suffering among the people.
'Twas a bright and shining idea, a many faceted jewel spinning brilliantly between heart and mind. Caught by words, it suddenly developed feet of clay and trudged ponderously across the narrow lined page.
Why leave the spacious wonders on high and descend to the depths of common language? Why not dance in breathtaking beauty, alone, unsullied by the limitations of words and phrases?
He came in a year ago, hung over and trying to stay sober for a day. He's been back every Monday for a year, checking in and celebrating each milestone: one week, three months, a year of sobriety.
One Monday Lynn stopped by to say hello and swab down our bathroom. "What's really amazing about this place," He said as he realized she regularly dropped in and emptied the trash or did some other chore, "is how people just give into it. Time, books, things...this is not really a business, it's more like a club."
Greetings,
Rolling toward our 4th birthday, we are grateful for all who have sustained this little witness to the love of God in Christ Jesus. Thank you for buying books, for your generous donations, for your friendship and your prayers.
If you haven't been in for a while, you will be surprised at the number and breadth of the books on our shelves. I've been told that we have the largest selection of used Christian books for sale in a 100 mile radius.
"He to whom the Eternal Word speaks," wrote Thomas a Kempis in The Imitation of Christ, "is sped and delivered from a multitude of opinions."
I love that we have a God who speaks. As the psalmist says, we don't worship dumb idols. "The word of god is like potato chips," a beloved Bishop once remarked. "Even though one word is so full and rich it can keep you going for years, you can't eat just one. You always want more."
In Toastmasters, unlike the church, everybody gets to talk. A peer-driven organization, Toastmasters manages to operate without one, long-term boss. Thank God, I thought upon arrival in the fall of 2000, no Pastor. Hallelujah!
America's favorite game of setting up celebrities in order to knock them down has developed a desultory edge in this election year. The increasingly cracked pedestal can barely hold candidates up long enough for satisfying strike and so many people have joined the game that the gutters are full of errant balls.
In my first novel, a character said at the triumphant climax, "The night is far spent, the day is at hand. Let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armour of light."