Friends, Do you ever find yourself starting to say a word, realizing it’s the wrong choice and trying to change it while speaking — making it worse? For me, it’s happened more times than I care to admit. A recurring faux pas for me occurs at the part of the mass where the congregation says “when we eat this bread and drink this cup we proclaim your death, o Lord, until you come again”. For some reason my brain wants to say “profess” instead of “proclaim” — which would essentially mean the same thing. Unfortunately, in my clumsy attempts to fix my mistake mid-word, what comes out sounds like “profane” — totally the wrong vibe. Good thing the entire congregation is saying the same thing in unison. If someone heard me they might think the priest was consecrating a donut, instead of the host. Happy Friday!
Friends, The older I get, the more elusive a good night's rest has become. As a naturally light sleeper, it doesn't take much to wake me -- and even though my Apple watch may claim I get eight hours most evenings, I find that claim suspect. Lately, I've been starting to see the small interruptions to my slumber in a whole new light. In a way, I am grateful for them. Let me explain: A table lamp and low volume real crime show past my bedtime are a welcome sign that I don't have to sleep alone. That sore shoulder waking me up at midnight makes me glad I'm in good health. Two spoiled dogs scratching the door to be let out at 2 are a small price to pay for the unconditional affection they give us. That forgotten task my mind inevitably remembers at 3:21 makes me grateful I have a job I enjoy doing. The low battery beeping in the smoke alarm at 4 reminds me I am fortunate enough to have a roof over my head. The door slamming shut before dawn brings a smile to my face, kn...