A Field Guide to American Houses

My week is full of silly stuff like fixing the broken strut on the car and coloring my hair and taking kids to the doctor's.

Free of encumbrances, I would set off, brave explorer, for the wilds of Bay St Louis. I'd flip expertly through these pages and tag each Craftsman, Prairie, Double-Shotgun, Dog-Run, Queen Anne, Greek Revival house as I passed by.

Assuming no wild weather had set me from my path, I would take myself off for a cup of coffee, a toast to myself, a nod to no one in particular. "Merci, chere Bryn Mawr, de me permettre, enfin, de profiter de ma langue vernaculaire!"

I have a confession to make.

When David announced this morning that Clelie will be ordained on June 4th and that she will subsequently no longer be on our prayer list as "our seminarian" and moreover, she will be the curate at St Timothy's Southaven, I just about screamed. I did clench my hands. I made myself take a deep breath.

I am jealous.

More than jealous, I am covetous.

Once again, woman in the wilderness.

The night before...

the first day of Sunday School.

Yes, it is the first Sunday in Lent. Yes, we have offered other formation programs, but not very well.

Yes, it is also daylight saving time.

Yes, I am totally screwed and will need an iv drip of java.

However, I know three things:

Nothing and no one is ever too late for God.

I have 2 rocking teachers along with my fine, if somewhat lame, self. They are just as loved and loving of God as I and equally okay with jumping in somewhat half-assed.

Tomorrow afternoon will involve wine and sunshine.

Shalom, ya'll!

Miserable misery me

Well, not really. BOY have I been slacking in the blogging department.

Slacking everywhere, really.

I am going to endeavor to do better.

Nothing of note at the moment, but even logging back on is a start :)