My daughter Else and I have settled in these last several nights to read Bridge to Terabithia.
We don’t have many Dust Bunnies at our home.
Below are photos from my home office (I’ve discovered that you can see them a bit more clearly if you click on them.)
So tomorrow, on Ash Wednesday, many–not all, but many–people in the Christian Church mark the beginning of Lent.
Twice in the last several months I’ve had occasion to tell the tale of the time I stood in front of my late husband’s closet, charged with choosing the clothes in which he’d be buried.
5:45 comes to me by way of pre-set coffee calling me out of bed, giving me some moments of solitary quiet before the family clamor, not to mention my own clamor, begins: the clamor for mama, for wife, for cereal, for laundry, for bills, for blogs, for groceries, for homework help, for supper, for tomorrow’s lunches, and then finally the calmer clamor of bedtime stories and husband-time, outside, perhaps by a fire, with a glass of wine as the day turns dark.
It’s 8:04 on Tuesday morning, and I’m sitting in the waiting room at the hospital after just sending my son off to yet another surgery.
So with Ash Wednesday, today begins the season of Lent.
If you know nothing else about Martin Luther, you know that he didn’t like indulgences.
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