It happened when it was the furthest thing from my mind.
I got myself into a bit of a pickle the other day, and the reason for it (as is the case with most of my pickles [I tend to generate a lot]) started innocuously.
“Now that you know that death doesn’t win, there’s more to do with your life than preserve it.”
Here’s the two-fold gist of this Ash Wednesday/Gearing-Up-For-Lent blog:
Both before and after Charlottesville, I’ve been seeing all sorts of calls to respond to palpable hate with love.
“Those in whom the Spirit comes to live are God’s new Temple. They are, individually and corporately, places where heaven and earth meet.”
For what may or may not be the umpteenth time, E and I were belting out Hamilton on our way to her confirmation class this morning.
We don’t have many Dust Bunnies at our home.
My two children, my father, and I, we really lived it up for our New Year’s Eve last night, I tell you what.
I know Christmas is around the corner (even my family is starting to bust out the Christmas decorations), but Advent does yet have dibs on our attention for a short spell.
“And Lincoln says to the woman, ‘Madam, do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?’”
This year’s Advent launches us into the “Year of Mark,” the period when the primary gospel readings come from, well, Mark, obviously.
Ten years ago yesterday, all was mostly well in my world.
Tuesday, post Holy Week.
Daughter Else asks magnificent questions.
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