Sometime’s it just be’s that way.

Y’all thought I was kidding. You have no idea.
The Mission of My Life
God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments. Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him, in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends. He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me. Still, He knows what He is about.
John Henry Newman
One of the things that my closest friend and I share is a love of reading. What we don’t necessarily share is a love of the same books. This resulted in a rather funny public mockery a few months ago when I took a picture of one of her bookcases with all the Twilight series books lined up neatly in the middle of shelf upon shelf of deep and esoteric theology books. (Really? You probably listen to Justin Bieber, too, don’t you?).
So last night I found myself caught up in one of her little schemes that has to do with her work and catechists and such. I am no Martha Stewart, but whatever, we had fun chatting and catching up while doing some simple repetitive work. It gave us a chance to unwind over a cup of coffee (decaf — seriously?) and eventually the talk turned to a book about the Church doctors that she just picked up. It looked amazingly readable to me, especially since I think holy cards are often over my head.
I liked the way the book is set up so that it’s not the same writer but a nice collection of shorter works. Kind of like a survey of the writers for a beginner. Who knows, I may someday have the attention span to tackle St. Teresa of Avila.We’ve shared books before, introducing each other to texts we wouldn’t ordinarily pick up on our own. Still, I have standards. She can keep Twilight.
This morning when I went through my reading list, I found this article, “In Defense of Old Books, “ and knew I had to read it right away. The title captured my attention immediately. All of the excitement over the ebook readers may make reading easier and more accessible, but as far as I am concerned, the tactile enjoyment is gone. While most of my books tend to be paperbacks, to hold an old book with its thick hardback cover, yellowing pages, and musty smell is to be in a sort of timeless communion with the work. My favorite bookstore, Tattersall’s, closed because it couldn’t compete with the sterile new superstores, and I miss the creaky floorboards, the overstuffed bookshelves, the secret little finds that had been long forgotten — ready for me to explore.
Naturally, I thought this blog post was going to celebrate that. Instead, it talks of the wisdom of old books and especially, that if we are going to engage in some important conversations today, that it’s best to go to the beginning of those conversations so that we can have the context. If you love books, love C.S. Lewis, even love St. Athanasius, you might want to read what Michael Hyatt has to say about old books.
Teehee. I’m fried.
ht to Linda Arnone from FB
Honestly, you’d think by now I’d know that the spider is being OVERLY TENACIOUS and insistent on building his web there.
I suppose, as I remove spiderweb from my face and hair, that I could see this as, perhaps, a message that I could be as committed to success in my own projects. I get it. I do. I’ll go build some spiderwebs of my own.
Then, I will sit quietly with my coffee and watch the rest of the world do the “freaked out oh my god I just walked into a spiderweb dance.” And laugh.
MUAHAHA!
Every night it’s the same conversation:
himself: what’s for dinner?
moi: what would you like?
himself: chateaubriand
moi: try again
himself: beef wellington
moi: um…mac and cheese?
himself: gross!
moi: spaghetti?
himself: nah.
Every night. I got nuthin. Anybody got a recipe for beef wellington?
One of my favorite painters, Picasso, has a series of lovely and simple line drawings that make me smile. Their beautiful simplicity speaks volumes — one stroke, one line can convey as much or more than the detailed paintings of other masters. I appreciate the others, as I appreciate some of Picasso’s more complex works as well.
But sometimes, less is more.
On this, the eve of another year gone by when we remember the events of September 11, 2001, I pray for peace. We live in a complex world with complex relationships and far too much chaos. We grieve over the inhumanity of man against man, not just over the events that horrified us nine years ago, but over horrors committed daily.
We grieve at our capacity for evil. We grieve over injustice. We grieve because we feel. And if we feel we can hope.
But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end. — Lamentations 3:21-22
I paid your ticket today.
You’re welcome.
And I’m keeping your change.
I always enjoy a trip to the local constabulary, particularly when it is DeKalb County. The Flora and Fauna always entertain. Especially the Fauna.
I wonder when I ceased to be shocked by anything. Still, it’s probably a good thing that I maintained an air of aloof disinterest when the enormous woman beside me pulled $600 in small bills out of her bra. I have to give credit to the male clerk who accepted the damp wad and calmly counted and made change.
I suppose we all have gifts.
Sincerely,
Your Loving Mother
P.S. Keep your nose clean. And go to church.
1. Stone Mountain yellow daisies on the side of the road (the festival is coming up!)
2. hot chocolate
3. sunshine!
4. rain!!
5. hugs