Welcome, Dear Pain

The last week has been quite a saga, beloved. I don't quite know how to sum it up briefly, but I'll try. On Tuesday, Mama and Dad found an idyllic farm that was for rent and at the same time received an offer for our house. On Wed/Thurs, they counter-offered and finally accepted an offer (lower than what we wanted, but we could swing it) on the strength of hoping to rent this farm, for which we submitted an application. All seemed set in stone; I began to contact farms about buying a horse (and fell in love with one), and we arranged to bring our family out to see the place on Saturday.

We arrived Saturday (ourselves, two live-ins, two cousins, and one married brother with his wife and child, not counting realtors) to find that the present tenants seemed greatly puzzled by our presence there. "But the people who are renting this place are moving in next Friday," they said.

Our hearts plummeted. What had happened was that the realtor responsible for leasing the farm had accepted our application (and application fee) without telling us that it was already rented. And we had accepted an inferior offer for the house on that understanding. We stood around in the yard full of fruit trees and sunlight which will now never be ours, and felt exceedingly awkward because we were numb. Later, we would feel much more than awkwardness.

I don't know, beloved, whether you've ever had your world suddenly turn all golden after a long period of grayness, and then, as though its own brightness were too much for existence, shatter. I don't know whether you've ever seen it happen in the space of less than a week. My poor parents are now in a position of being bound to sell our house (and move by October), but we know not where, except that it shall probably be into suburbia or (still worse) townhouses, which is a thought both dreary and horribly in contrast to the radiant happiness we felt on Friday. What breaks my heart most is how they had their hearts set on this farm. I hadn't seen them so light, so carefree, so happy (my mother in particular) for two years. From that moment until the present, I have scarcely felt for myself---I feel only for them, and that is excruciating enough.

If I were to feel for myself.... well, those who have been reading my blog for a long time can imagine what my feelings would be. You know, beloved. You remember my childhood agony over leaving just such a farm. You remember how it blotted out the sun for me for five bitter years. You know how I felt about horses, how I've missed them now for a decade. You can imagine what it would be like to almost have that rural childhood experience which has shaped so many of my ideals handed back to me---and then not.

But I am not feeling for myself. I won't allow it. I can't, you see. I am hurting enough as it is for my dear ones; were I to add my own pain, it would be beyond my present grace to bear.

In God's perfection (how beautiful He is!), today's sermon was called "Don't Waste Your Suffering." I think we were all in tears at various points, though less for ourselves than for Jon Smith, who in preaching narrated the tragic loss of his infant son, a child that had a rare defect and died---suffocated slowly to death---just a few hours after being born. Our pain is nothing to that of the Smith family, but it was so good, so helpful, to hear from a man who knows what suffering is.

Since this is not my first, nor yet my second or third deep experience of suffering, nothing that Jon said was really new---but to hear something new is not the point. The point is to hear, to be reminded of truth. Phrases, snatches of songs and scripture, and bits of wisdom came crowding back to me. Strength and hope, memories of lessons learned, flooded in at the cracks of my blackened mind, and work most powerfully. I still breathe---miraculously, my soul even sings and exults. How strange it is to follow Christ, who crowds out of one's heart everything but His own sweetness!

Therefore, though you may think it strange, beloved, I say, "Welcome, dear pain!" For since I have known Christ, there has never been a pain which did not draw me still to Him, and that is a blessing worth any cost. I touch God's face at such times. Give me therefore more pain, if more is more of Him, as it is. Burst my heart if necessary; I give it freely to be burnt, for then it goes to Him, for Whom it was made. There are delectables hidden in this bitter pill.

Never fear, beloved. God knows what house, what place, what purpose He has. We will survive. Pray only this: that we survive with joy. He deserves nothing less, and what could be more to our truest happiness?

"Why Aren't You My Mommy?"

I just came from Nora's room. After half an hour of sobbing, rocking, singing, and fanning (thank God for fans on hot August nights!), she is at last asleep.

Nora is in the clingy stage, the "Why aren't you my mommy and what have you done with her?" stage. Every so often she would leave off crying long enough to look at me, and perceiving that I was not her mother, began to scream again.

Ah, well.

Soon enough I will be teaching her to ride her first pony, and to make apple pie and sew cross-stitch samplers. Soon enough we will be playing dress-up and having piratical adventures on the high seas. All too soon she will be grown, this darling of my heart, and her wide green eyes will be full of intelligent, educated, godly (we devoutly hope!) purpose.... whereas now they are full of tears and rage.

Still, even at this age and this stage of ira in absentia parentorum (as I have decided to call it), there are sweet moments. I DON'T mean the moments when I am trying to give her her bottle between screams---those are the moments where you want to have your phone on 911 standby for a choking baby. No, the ones I mean are those few precious moments after she's too tired to mind that you aren't her mommy, but before she is quite asleep.

You know what I mean: the minutes when it is enough that you are a singing, rocking, back-rubbing person who says "I love you" over and over again. At last, after two hours of patient effort, there came a few seconds when she looked at me and didn't burst into tears. And then there can a time when I stopped singing and rubbing her back, and she looked up to make sure I was still there.

An aunt can live a long time on the memory of such seconds.

The Office -- Season 8: "Ray is Moving to Humpty Doo"

"That's it. I'm moving to Australia. There's a city in the Northern Territory named "Humpty Doo." - Ray, reviewing one of David's maps on Australia

"good idea,." Ray (via IM, responding to Dana's suggestion)
"That was an extra comma for you ... no charge." - Ray
"wow, that's a true bargain. You won't believe how much the other commas were." - Dana
"I buy them in bulk. The problem with the Sam's Club commas is sometimes they put an apostrophe in the carton. No quality control." - Ray

“Well, you know, once you work your way past the stress reflex, a whole new world of sanctifying experiences opens up." Christy, misquoting Ratatouille (Emile: "You know, once you work your way past the gag reflex, a whole new world of taste sensations opens up") on the subject of insane deadlines.

“Christy. Frameworks is done.” – Brittainy
“YES!! WOOHOOO! Everybody pay attention! Frameworks is DONE!!! That’s two years of work, baby!” – Christy, reaching to turn on the “Celebration” song that we reserve for these moments
Sixty seconds later…
“Christy, can you turn down the music?” - Amy
“Two years, Amy!” – Christy
“Yes, but I’m trying to communicate with Brittainy” – Amy
Twenty seconds later…
“Mom, come look at something.” – David
“No, I want to feed my fish right now!” – Mommy, cutely
“Boy, everybody is being petulant today.” – Christy

"So let it be written, so let it be done. Emphasis on the "done" part. That’s gonna be the theme for the End-of-Redesign project party.” – Christy

"I don't think of you as a beer-bibber. I don't think you have a beer bib." - Dad to Christy

“You hate our guts…” – Christy, singing aloud to the recalcitrant printer
“I don’t either.” – David, walking into the room
“You do, you do!” – Christy
“I love your guts.” – David
“I wasn’t even talking to you.” – Christy
“You have cute guts.” – David

“Gentlemen prefer blondes and moms prefer audio. That’s just the way it is.” – Christy on presentation of information to Tapestry customers

“You bolded your name just because it looked better, didn’t you?” – Christy to David
“Yup.” – David
“You’re such a font nerd.” – Christy

“Don’t use a minced oath when a real one will do. If you’re going to sin, sin boldly. None of this mincy hypocritical pussy-footing around.” – Christy

“Ray and I concur: ‘Gesundheit’ was invented so that the sneezing person wouldn't feel lonely.” – David

“Do you know what we use generators for around here?” – Christy to David
“For our little scaly friends.” – Lauren, referencing the fish

Marcia’s Lessons for Life: “If you’re a guy and a girl is having problems, come and hover. You may not lift a finger, but she’ll feel cared for. If you don’t, or if you offer to help from your seat, you’ll look callous.”

“That’s right. You can’t lose anything by hovering, and you get huge points for being sympathetic.” – Christy
“I know plenty of teenage guys who got into a lot of trouble by hovering.” – David
“That’s because they like the girl.” – Christy
“Those are teenage guys, not big strong men.” – Mom

“Well, I guess that would be the English pronunciation…” – Christy, in tones of disappointment
“Which is the language you speak.” – David
“Not by choice!” – Christy

“Mommy, I’m really really sorry…. For myself” – David

I Looked Again

Today I looked again at Canto XXX of Dante's Paradiso. And now I can scarcely breathe, or feel past the feeling of utter delight. Oh, beautiful Trinity! Oh, dear poet, how richly you have blessed us with your reminder of the glorious beauty of the happy God!

Just Like Himself

There is something important which I always forget about hitting rock bottom as a Christian, which is that just about the time you get to the lowest circle of Hell, the whole world flips on its head and you see a light on the other side. (It's all in Dante.) Are you still at the center of the earth? Absolutely. Is it still an impossible climb? Definitely. Are you more weary than you thought possible? Of course! But still... you reach the bottom, and God is waiting there. All doubts, all stress, all exhaustion, all illness, all grief leads to this pure and lifegiving thing: God is there.

I woke today, and He was there, just sitting on the foot of my bed, looking like Himself.
"Hi," I said, very softly.
"Hello, dear heart."
"It's going to be all right, isn't it? Now that you're here?"
"It's going to be better than all right."
I wanted to cry. "I'm glad you came."
He looked sideways at me with a certain smiling way he has that makes me feel about four years old and more than usually forgetful of Important Things. "I'm glad, too."
And then I really did cry, against his shoulder, for all my foolish misery of the last six weeks. Then we talked and talked, and laughed, and remembered, and hoped. At last he rolled up his sleeves, and said "Now then, what's to be done today?"

Today we came to work together. And that will make all the difference.

The Office: Season 7 Finale --- "Samuel Appreciation Weekend"

We told him that it was "Saladin Appreciation Weekend," part of our office effort to be culturally aware.

This was a massive lie. It was actually Samuel Appreciation Weekend" (or, as David likes to call it, "Samuel Abscondence Weekend" and "Samuel Adieu Weekend").

It was my fault. I woke up Thursday morning and, in an effort to force myself to get out of bed (it had been another late and discouraging night), I prayed "Lord, I need help."

Help came in the most unexpected form. A mental image of Sam in a turban bloomed in my mind, and as I chuckled over it to myself in the mirror, suddenly the thought occurred: Why not?

After all, it was his last two days in the Office...

And so began another brilliant success in the history of Office pranks, which is a grand tradition stretching back to Laura's Love Note. I called David first, of course, and then asked the parents for their blessing, because that is how Somerville children are to do their pranking: ask Mom and Dad to make sure it isn't stupid or harmful, and if they don't veto it (which rarely happens), they'll help you make it better.

P.S. Dad, thanks again for getting me the duct tape for the "Marriage Mart" banners at college. I'll never forget that, and it (among many other things) automatically makes you the coolest Dad alive.

With their blessing (Dad didn't believe it would work and Mom was reluctant, but they gave it nevertheless) I talked to Brittainy and the girls, I IMed Juli, Ray, and Dana, and I called Peter. My phone was tragically toasted at the time, so David called me on Marjorie's cell. Every time he called, the prank got bigger and better. Originally, we had simply intended to all wear turbans and finagle Sam into wearing a hot pink turban for a nonexistent Office tradition.

As the idea grew, it became Saladin Appreciation Weekend and we realized that by duping Sam into wearing a turban on the first day, and then telling him that everybody was supposed to come in full desert regalia on the second day, and then by coming on the second day in normal clothes ourselves and having him be the only one in costume... well, you get the idea.

We had exactly one hour.

It worked. And he was actually much happier about it than he looks: this is his "I'm cool" picture. “I’d say the pink is pretty hot” was his comment.

Sam’s status message, two minutes after I told him what day it was and wound a hot pink turban around his head "because all the other ones are taken" was “Saladin is the Bomb Diggity!”

Responses:
“I almost swallowed my pop when I saw your away message.” – Ray to Sam (who, of course, was in on the joke)
“Your status message just about captures the dignity and respect of the thing.” – Juli to Sam on his status message (she was in on the joke too)

“I have a whole hour and a half of this music,” – Sam on the pseudo-Indian-Arab music that he has put on for “Saladin Appreciation Weekend”

“The nice thing about Sam is that he enters into the spirit of things.” – Christy

“For want of a digital camera, the picture of Dana in a turban was lost.” – Ray
“Dude, he needs to get a digital camera!” – Christy

“Tomorrow, we tell him that SAW actually stands for Samuel Adieu Weekend or Samuel Abscondence Weekend.” – David on IM to Christy
“Perfect” – Christy

“SAW delights the spirit as carbuncles of great price delight the wise and noble merchant!” – David's status message

“Your chances of pulling this off stand at about 0.” – Dad to Christy
“Pessimist. I’ll have you know that he’s already bought it and is wearing the hot pink turban that I provided for him’” – Christy (about Sam)

Throughout the day, IM status messages abounded with Saladin jokes, pronunciation guides, and history-of information. We are such education geeks. Here are a few of the more artistic efforts:

a famous announcer named Madden//while relaxing in his luxurious den//was drinking his bourbon//and put on a turban//and said "look at me! I'm Saladin!" – Sam’s first try at a limerick in honor of Saladin Appreciation Weekend

Depression had so gripped John Madden//that his wife, who was anxious to gladden//poured him some bourbon//and made him a turban//and said "Look, my dear, you're Saladin!" – David and Sam, a second limerick

And on the second day, the results of all our combined efforts and enjoyment: Sam Being Surprised

Lawrence of Arabia. It's just sickening that he looks so good in that outfit! And here's the "Nice one, guys. You got me" look (at the end of Day 1 we had taken pity on him and provided a blue turban).


I'd like to say for the record that Sam has been a fine and splendid sport throughout. We had confidence that he would. Thanks for being humble, Sam! We'll miss you while you're off at school, and don't forget that we've booked your life for next summer. :-D

Amy walked in, having been gone throughout these proceedings, and added the perfect concluding comments:

"You fell for that? I wouldn't have fallen for that!" - Amy to Sam
"Amy, think about the people in this office!" - Sam, meaning that we would actually do something as absurd as Saladin Appreciation Weekend
"Exactly, Sam! Just think about the people in this office!" - Amy, meaning that we would totally pull this kind of prank.

And you know... they're both right.

Here are a few other quotes from the days immediately preceding SAW... before any of us know what the dawn of Thursday would hold. Some of these are strangely prophetic.

“I need you all to be especially funny for the next few days so that I can do a season finale.” – Christy
“When does the season end?” – Sam
“When you leave.” – Christy
“So I’m the season finale!” – Sam
“You’re more like the cliff-hanger.” – Ben

“David.” – Sam
“Yeah?” – David, rocking thoughtfully in his chair
“You’re making noise.” – Sam
“Yeah.” – David
::Pause::
“Sam’s good at identifying stuff.” – David

Sam editing the Office Quotes…
“Here I sit, trying to serve the office and boost morale by keeping a quote book, and all my office-mates are critics!” – Christy
“You missed a quotation mark.” – Sam
“You know what Sam, you don’t deserve me…. And I definitely don’t deserve you.” – Christy

“The rest of the world has accepted my full disclaimer that I sometimes have to re-arrange, add to, or slightly reword things in order to make them understandable for our reading public. The rest of the world is fine with this. But you…” – Christy to Sam

“What was that other infinitesimal and completely non-essential bit of punctuation that I failed to capture immortally, O Editorial One?” – Christy to Sam on a quote book quote
“You missed a line break. It makes it look like it’s one long section.” – Sam
“Your death will be slow and painful.” – Christy

“You missed a line break on this one quote…” – Sam
“SAM! I will smite you! Why do you do this to me when you know how much sleep I’m on!?” – Christy
“Sam, if you mess with Christy’s mental state, I will mess with your mental state.” – David

“If you’d get on IM, Sam, I could send you this quote so that you can check it for errors.” – Christy
“I am on IM. Didn’t you get my new screen name?” – Sam
“Oh. Yes I got it, but I didn’t put it up on my buddy list.” – Christy
“Too lazy, huh?” – Sam
“No! It’s part of my ongoing vendetta against your person, being, and soul!” – Christy, exasperated
“Christy!” – Mom
“I was driven to it, Mom! You haven’t been down here for the last ten minutes!” – Christy

Later…
“Thank you, Sam. That was actually rather cathartic and helpful.” – Christy

“Can I kill him, please?” – Christy to Brittainy about Sam
“No. I’m using him.” – Brittainy
Later…
“Are you done using Sam yet?” – Christy to Brittainy
“No. I need him for at least the next three days.” – Brittainy
“But after that he’ll be gone!” – Christy
“You can kill me on Friday night…” – Sam
“Sam! Don’t tell her that!” – Brittainy
“She was trying to keep you alive, man.” – Christy

“Have you seen Herbie the love snail yet today?” – Mom

The Office: Season 7 -- "Man is a Wack Job"

“So you’re leaving us in a week. Traitor.” – Christy to Sam
“Christy! No he isn’t!” – Brittainy
“Everybody takes his side.” – Christy
“That’s because you make the most outrageous statements and they need balancing.” – Brittainy
“I was saying that I would miss him. He knew what I meant.” – Christy
“Well, yes…” – Sam
Later…
“See! Sam is mean to me too! This is a two-way street of meanness.” – Christy
“And I rebuked him, didn’t I?” – Brittainy
“Yes, but you didn’t slap him.” – Christy
“Well, I don’t slap you when you’re being mean to Sam!” – Brittainy
“Let’s be honest, here: can any of us really see Brittainy slapping anybody?” – Amy

“David called me three times from the beach. I figured it was important, so I went outside to call him back. But he said he just called me to find out what ‘avuncular’ means.” – Sam
“What?! He should have called me. Now I’m jealous.” – Christy
“I told him I’d look it up.” – Sam, going to look it up
“It means ‘like an uncle’” – Christy
"Oh." - Sam
“Maybe he should have called Christy.” – Amy
Later…
“He said he did call you first, Christy. But your phone was off.” – Sam
“Oh, good.” – Christy
Still later…
“I just want you to know that I forgive you.” – Christy to David
“Since I did call you, there’s nothing to forgive. But you can apologize for judging me.” – David
“Oh. That works too. I’m sorry for judging you.” – Christy
“I forgive you.” – David

Development and Production Offices SAT Scores:
Scott: 1570 (old system)
Ben: 1570 (old system)
Sam: 2250 (new system), 1500 (old system)
Peter: 1970 (new system), “we have no idea, but pretty high” (old system)
Brittainy: 1450 or 1485 (she doesn’t remember which: old system)
David: 1400 (old system)
Marcia: 1260 (old system)
Amy: 1170 (first time, old system) and 12-“something” (second time, old system)
Christy: 1200 (old system)

On Office SAT scores…
“The way I get around this [problem of not being smart enough] is by hiring people who are smarter than me.” – Mom
“Well, you failed with Christy and me. Christy, let’s quit.” – Amy
“If you quit I’ll fire you!” – Mom
"All a high SAT score means is 'congratulations; you're good at answering multiple choice questions.' It doesn't make you smarter." - Sam

“Oh, and Sam says he didn't study for the SAT [which Peter considers cheating]. But his score was actually 2250, not 2350, if that helps. I took it down wrong.” – Christy
“Yeah well. I'm still offended. Tell him his superiority is oppressive.” – Peter
“I told him you only mind because you consider yourself more discriminating than he is.” – Christy
“Hey! No, that's not it…well…. okay so that's part of it” – Peter

“Oh, but look at that! Widows and orphans!” – Christy on formatting fixes
“No, Christy! That’s not our job at this time! Leave them alone!” – Brittainy
“True religion, Brittainy, is to visit the widows and orphans.” – David
“I said ‘at this time!’” – Brittainy
“The woman who refuses to visit widows and orphans, she has no true religion.” – David
Later…
“Ha! It’s gone! They were imaginary widows and orphans.” – Brittainy
“How can you help imaginary widows and orphans?” – David
“By giving them imaginary alms” – Sam
“And being their imaginary friends” – Ben
“Well, if you’re an imaginary friend to an imaginary person, what does that make you?” – David

“I have to be honest with you, I don’t really like The Sound of Music” – Amy
“Amy, you’re fired.” – Mom
“Don’t worry, Amy, you aren’t really fired.” – Lauren
“I know.” Amy
“Being fired is actually a sign of job security around here. It means we’re comfortable enough with you to pretend to fire you.” – Christy
“But Amy, to you I will give the classic response of the guard at the Louvre, who said to the young man who didn’t like the Mona Lisa, ‘Sir, the painting has already been judged a classic. It is now the painting that judges.’” – Mom
“Yeah… I think I just overdosed on it because we watched it every Christmas.” – Amy

“Man is a wack job.” – David the Starving Philosopher

Unusual Sunday

Ordinarily, my Sunday morning begins at 7:45 AM. I rise, shower, speed-tidy my room, and drive to church, where I must arrive at 8:30 because I am room leader for Kitty Cats 1 (read: three year olds). That concludes around 11:00 or 11:15, at which point I go upstairs, collapse gratefully into the nearest plushy seat, and absorb the atmosphere of happy celebration. After the service, which ends at 1:00, my family gathers at our home or the home of one of my brothers for a big lunch, replete with Baby (yay!) and naps and jokes and political talk and all the other joys of being a large (twelve strong now), loving, tight-knit family. And I love this routine dearly: in fact, I look forward to it all week.

Today, God had other plans.

When my alarm went off at 7:45 and I sat up to turn it off, the room reeled a bit. "Uh-oh," I thought. "It's here." In this case, "it" is the stage of exhaustion-induced semi-illness that I reach when I've been working all day and much of the night for too long. My average limit is about a month, and counting up the days in the back of my mind, I realized that this limit I had now pressed up against. "Not to worry," I thought, "this has been happening intermittently for two years. We can deal with this." This, of course, is further proof (as if any were needed) of my arrogance.

Just after I finished my shower, I realized that no, actually, I couldn't "deal with this." Not today. I tiptoed into the girls' room and woke Marjorie, who works with me in Children's Ministry. After exchanging the usual formalities (it was a good thing I went, because the poor lamb's alarm clock hadn't gone off), I said "Babe, I'm afraid I hit the wall this morning. Can you cover for me?"

She, being the marvelous sister that she is, instantly agreed. I thanked her from the bottom of my heart and returned to bed, where I remained, dreaming off and on of needing to get up and work on Les Miserables, until 11:30. Since I never sleep that late, I realized upon waking up to a still house and everybody gone off to church that I had probably better not push it.

So, I did what I always do when I need a miraculous cure. I got a blanket, a Bible, a journal, a few other books, and tottered off to the back yard. Something about lying still in the grass for an hour or two is, for me, wonderfully refreshing. It also helps that everything outside is astonishing to my eyes because I've been inside all summer---the sight of an actual sky and the feel and sound and taste of actual outdoors sent my senses reeling in quite a different way; this time with pleasure.

I don't know exactly how long I lay there, because absolute unawareness of time is an acutely important part of the procedure. I know that for the first hour or so I had to fight an every-few-minutes rising temptation to go back into the house, sneak into my computer, and work. Fortunately, a lifelong rule inculcated by Daddy----"Do no work on Sunday"----asserted itself, and released me to simply drown myself in the day.

Oh, gentle reader, how grateful I am! I read C.S. Lewis's The Four Loves, and sometimes tossed the book aside in order to stare at the sky and marvel at the sight of trees---actual trees!---over my head. I must have been drowsing when Brittainy appeared. "You opened your eyes," she told me later. "They were very blue."

"Oh." I said. "Yes, I forgot. They are blue." And then it seemed strange to me that I had forgotten, but why should that be strange? I had forgotten that the sky is blue, and that the world is green, and that the grass is fragrant and that the evenings are soft and alluring---why should I not have forgotten also that my eyes are very blue? But now I remembered it all.

"Would you care to guess what the sermon was about?" She asked, as we walked back towards the house.
"Don't waste your leisure?" I inquired, wryly.
"No. Don't waste your job."
She told me the main points, which were mostly about diligence and faithfulness, and we laughed together. "Somehow," I said, "I'm not feeling particularly convicted about not working hard."
"No, somehow I'm not either. But it's good to remember the unto the Lord part."
"Yes indeed," I said.

The family called to ask if I wanted to lunch with them at David and Casey's, but I regretfully declined in favor of solitude. "If I'm going to get better, I need to not think," I explained to Brittainy. "And people gatherings require thinking."

So we went out to lunch and talked of Lewis's comments on friendship-love, and then to a bookshop, and both wrote letters and she messed about with her computer and I messed about with books: I bought War and Peace and the original Girls Handy Book, companion of the Boy Scout handy book. The girl version tells all about games and toys and sewing projects and teas and things. I added it to my library for the sake of my niece.

Then we came home, and I didn't want any dinner so I got a bottle of hard cider and War and Peace and went to the back deck to enjoy twilight. Daddy joined me after a bit, and we talked shop and business plans quite cozily for half-an-hour.

And now, here I am, about to get back to work on Les Miserables (the no-work rule, if you're curious, begins at sundown on Saturday night and lasts until sundown on Sunday: Mom and Dad are rather Hebraic that way). It has been a thoroughly unusual Sunday, but once in a great while such Sundays can be the best thing in the world. I am grateful for this one.

And Then, You Know...

.... I was thinking today: my life is very beautiful. Beneath me is the fragrant ground, which is comfort and strength. Above me is the sky, which is freedom and laughter. Above that is God, who is everything: more than enough. Far away, somewhere, who knows where, are my sins which He has removed. Just down the street my lovely forest is humming with magic. In front of me are words, words, words, a hundred million meaningful words of all colors: golden, black, red as fire, sea-green, the purple that is more than purple---heaps of gems!

Ah me, it is too much, and yet I would not it were one whit less. Indeed, I even wish for more.

God, please, give me the ability to enjoy more?

And please, Lord, the gift of gratitude? And perhaps some strength?

And Jesus? Just one more glimpse of the city and the river?

You see how greedy I am? But really, it is all just one request.

Be You. And then, permit me to worship.