As seen at "ordinary time"

Here's the piece I wrote for today's devotion over at Ordinary Time.


They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.
Mark 10:46-50

I have a friend in a distant state who thinks that junky Jesus toys are hilarious. Once she sent me a book about clowning for Jesus, with all these photos of really very scary clowns. Another time she sent a lunch box with the Last Supper painted on it. But my favorite of her gifts was the Jesus Action Figure.

He is shiny and very serious, and since my husband noted at once his remarkable resemblance to the rock-guitar legend, we took to calling him Santana Jesus. Under his swirly, molded plastic gown, where, if he had any, his feet would be, are tiny wheels. When we took him out of his box and pushed him slowly across the table, Santana Jesus seemed to glide. Gently, as if he were calming a stormy sea.

My son and I enjoyed playing with him for a while, but then, because he reminded me of my friend and because I thought it was hilarious too, I taped him to the dash of my little old Honda.

If Seattle traffic isn’t too bad and if the rain isn’t falling too hard, driving time can also be good prayer time. Accompanied by Santana Jesus, I found it got better. And clearer.
“Whaddya think,” I would ask Him out loud, “should we just take 99, or do you think 15th would be faster?” Gradually, it seemed I could hear him answer. “Well, 99 of course,” he would say. Or maybe, “Hey babe, whatever. It’s all cool.” (Santana Jesus always talks like a...well, you know, a rock star. And he always calls me “babe.”)
“Jesus,” I would fret, chewing on a botched interaction with a parishioner, “I really need some help figuring out what to say to her next.” “Sure, babe. Try shutting up and listening for a change,” he would advise.

Being reared mainline Protestant, with these remarkable Tiffany stained glass windows of lilies our only icons, I wasn’t really prepared for both the allure and the danger of an actual physical representation of Jesus in a place of such prominence as the car’s dashboard. It wasn’t long before the gorgeously fake face of Santana Jesus appeared to me in moments of prayer even when I WASN’T in the car.

When I was pushing him around on those little wheels, he had just been a toy. Anchored securely to the dash of my car, Santana Jesus had become an indispensable part of my prayer life.

Bartimaeus had more than a plastic statue, he had the real thing. When he knew Jesus was nearby, he shouted out, and when the others tried to silence him, he kept shouting. He shouted until Jesus stood still enough to make a little circle of quiet around his holy self and blind Bartimaeus on that busy Jericho road. Jesus stood still, until the crowd took notice; those who had been shushing Bartimaeus a minute ago suddenly began encouraging him to “take heart.” Jesus stood still, and Bartimaeus, who needed him more than anyone in that crowd, went right to him. Jesus stood still.

I wonder if it was the stillness of Santana Jesus that made him seem almost holy. Santana Jesus stood still. Affixed to the dash, no longer gliding around on his invisible wheels, his little face regarded me with an attitude of, if not rapt, then at least undivided attention. Jesus stood still and he loved me even when I got lost, cursed, drove in circles, shouted, and finally stopped altogether. Jesus stood still and I always knew where he’d be waiting for me. Jesus stood still.

Several months ago, I got a new car, more boringly reliable than my cool old Honda. I did not attach Santana Jesus to the dash. I shoved him in my glove box, along with maps and matches and other detritus transferred in the car change.

I’m choosing my next icon with more care. I’m still waiting for the right one to appear. But now and again, when I’m stalled blindly by life’s roadside, buffeted by the crowd, I shout out to Jesus. In those moments, I still see Santana Jesus in my mind’s eye, shiny and calm. And he’s saying, “Hey, babe, whatever. It’s all cool.”

Brother Jesus, thank you for being the still presence in the crowd, the encouraging word in the midst of jeers, the the healing touch in the time of pain. Help us to love those we encounter on the way as gently and completely as you have loved us. Amen.

Things I've been distracted by while I've been supposed to be working on a secret project.

-First of all, thanks for the kind comments and calls re Hank. We healing up around the space he left.

-Didn't Anne Lamott say one time that sometimes a cold is worse than cancer? Well, I've been fortunate not to have encountered cancer up close, but I can say definatively that sometimes a cold is worse than muscular dystrophy. And when you add a couple other physical ailments on top of those two, it makes for one unhappy husband. So I guess we're still asking for your prayers. October has not been Our Month around here.

-So, it's not surprising that I can so relate to this post by Heather about Dissatisfaction In Spite of Life's Wonderfulness. Shout out to Heather: my spiritual director suggests that instead of always asking what is WRONG with myself, I should start asking how God is using that anxiety and irritation and desire for change. This actually works some of the time.

-Anyone know Wayne Muller? I saw him speak today and it was very wonderful - he was engaging, Spirit-filled, kind and honest. Although, he told us not to bother to take notes and I did anyway, and when I got home I couldnt really makes sense of them. Hopefully, I'll tease them out and post them here later. Question: Am I the only one who, when seeing someone give a speech, has to spend the first 10 minutes wondering what it would like to be married to the speaker (and then decide it would be intolerable because of three little tics I've noticed already) before I engage in the presentation?

-I've always enjoyed her blog, but lately I'm a daily reader. Have you been over to Going Jesus for the pix of that little 4 pounder? Oh, so cute!

-Just in case you were thinking of converting to The New Atheism, here's an article to dissuade you. And even if you weren't thinking of switching, it's worth checking out - well written and thought provoking:

On the one hand, it is obvious that the political prospects of the New Atheism are slight. People see a contradiction in its tone of certainty. Contemptuous of the faith of others, its proponents never doubt their own belief. They are fundamentalists.... The New Atheists never propose realistic solutions to the damage religion can cause. For instance, the Catholic Church opposes condom use, which makes it complicit in the spread of AIDS. But among the most powerful voices against this tragic mistake are liberals within the Church -- exactly those allies the New Atheists reject. The New Atheists care mainly about correct belief. This makes them hopeless, politically.

-I would accept any advice about how to organize an ecumenical Thanksgiving Eve service (by myself I guess since lots of calls and emails are going no where) with a group of pastors who have at best mild contempt for each other and at worst, well....let's not go to the worst, because, to quote Anne Lamott again, the worst would make Jesus want to drink gin right from the cat dish. Let's just say that, in our neighborhood, "that they may all be one" is still a beautiful but unrealized dream. Do you have to keep having a service year after year that no one wants? Can you cancel it one year and see if there's enough hew and cry to warrant bringing it back? Or is ministry by hew and cry not at all sustainable in the long run?

-Mostly I keep busy by eating and eating and eating. Ameteur psychologists: am I distracting myself from my unfinished project OR making my own padding, in a pathetic and misguided response to Jeff's recent car accident and possible fears about being in a future accident of my own OR am just plain stocking up for winter?

Good bye, good boy

Thanks for all your prayers and good thoughts. It was a sad little drop off yesterday when I took Hank back to the doggie day care that will be fostering him again. I thought I was pretty well cried-out by late afternoon when I got there, but then we walked in front of the door and I found I suddenly couldn't talk and I just stood there in front of the desk.
"Can I help you?"
More silence and then more tears and then "This is Hank."
And then the nice young woman behind the desk was crying, too.
Then I handed him over and he gave me the old sweetie-pie eyes until the nice woman called him and he followed her into the back room.
Well. He's moving on to his next thing now, and whatever that is, I just gotta believe it's the right thing for him.

A few thoughts:

At different times we've thought about doing foster care for physically disabled children. I am so not cut out for that. Evidenced by my difficulty letting this dog go after only two months with us.

We're waiting a while before we get another dog, but we'll try again. Eli's voting for, and I quote, "one with no teeth."

I can only conclude that the voice in my head saying "Hmmm, knew you couldn't handle it. Well, I TOLD you not to get a dog. I'm not surprised it didnt go well...." must be The Adversary since every single one of my actual human contacts has been so supportive and kind.

________

And a note to all you dear readers: I'm taking a little break from blogging (including reading and commenting on yours)for the next few days while I push out a piece of writing that is long past due. Many blessings to you all in these darkening days.

The second half of life

Tonight we had dinner with wonderful friends - a regular Sunday night ritual. Since it was our wedding anniversary (6! thanks for asking!) yesterday, and because everything's been hectic and crazy, and we needed the reminder, we had a little renewal of our vows ceremony. I wore the same cute wreath in my hair I wore six years ago. The kids looked at magazines and threw pillows while someone read this poem, someone read this psalm and then Jeff and I held hands and read a few simple words that began "Husband, I am blessed to be your wife" and ended "...in joy and in sorrow, as long as we both shall live."

We are also blessed to have geeky friends who would do a thing like this for and with us. If you are married, by the way, or partnered, and havent said those promise words to each other for a while, I recommend it. It's powerful and sweet.

Afterward, our 20-years-older-than-us friend said, "The first half of life is all about accumulating - stuff, children, positions, information. The second half of life is all about letting go of all that stuff you acquired in the first half."

I will be 38 next month. Am I entering the second half? The loss this month has been considerable. For example, by the number of people I run into unexpectedly, I would say that a certain big ciy annonymoity I've enjoyed in Seattle for 8 years is now gone. Several people around me have also suffered real losses in the last couple of weeks and so has our family. The van is gone, my hearing aids (not essential, but helpful) are eaten, and tonight we came to terms with one more letting go.

Our dear new Hank, who has brought us so much joy and excitement in the last two months, has to find a new home. He bit our boy yesterday, and although it was not a serious bite, it was scary and it did break the skin and we just can't have a dog that nips around a boy who is as active as ours. Unless you, dog lovers, have any other suggestions or ideas, I'll be taking him back to foster care on Tuesday.

It's hard not to cry while I write this - we are all feeling this loss deeply, but also feeling clear that we simply cannot guarantee the safety of our son, and our friends and their children around this dog.

Maybe that's what this second half, if I'm in the second half, of life is all about. It's about being clear about what has to be done, even if it's terrible, and then doing it. At least I hope clarity is what it means. Because I'm ready for a little of that.

Instead of real content, I'll just keep posting goof ball things like this:

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 36 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

Friday Five

From the RevGals: Below you will find five words. Tell us the first thing you think of on reading each one. Your response might be simply another word, or it might be a sentence, a poem or a story. (Yes, they're all from Job 38.)

With friends and family all in various stages of crisis, I'm in the whirlwind.

To pray? Or to beprey? That is really question.

How firm a foundation. I hum the tune, but the theology is beyond me today.

They say lightning never strikes twice, but that's no kind of comfort when it's hitting you the first time.

And moving from the gloomy to the mundane (how job-ish of us...)
Other people call it the den, but because of the color it was painted when we moved here, it will always be the Orange Room.

It's 11 pm.

Sleeping with the light on.


Sleeping with one eye open.


Not sleeping. (Yes, that is TWO computers you see.)

Y Blog?

Heather asked these questions, along with some others, over at her place:

1. Why did you start blogging?
In 2004, after I graduated from seminary, I learned that my biggest fear - that the real world of pastoring a church offered way, way, way fewer opportunities for collegiality than school did - was really true. My husband suggested I start a blog, which I did after googling "feminist Christian blog" and finding and developing an instant blog crush on Jen Lemen (who is back online now after a long hiatus) and her cool pals (including Rachelle The Urban Abbess, who has become a real life friend). I poked at it sort of half heartedly for a year or so, but never really developed a style or sense of community until I stumbled on the RevGalBlogPals web ring.


2. Do you feel that you've developed meaningful relationships on your blog? If so, tell a story or two of a relationship that made a difference to you. How are these relationships different and/or similar to your in-person relationships?
I've loaned and borrowed books. I've gotten a lot of advice and given a little. A fellow blogger stayed at my place for a couple of weeks when she needed a place to stay and I was away anyhow. At least one other blogger has become a real time friend, although we read each other's blogs more than we see each other. I've heard lots of stories that resonate with me, and if the voices that told those stories went away, I would be sad.

I have some really important real friendships, so this does not replace them. My blogfriends are just different. I think that's mostly because so much of real time interactions revolve around sharing food, and that's just hard to do online. But I truly dont know if that means those friendships are better or worse, deeper or more shallow. Just different.


5. Were there ever things that you felt you could talk about on your blog to "strangers" that you couldn't tell your flesh-and-blood friends and family?

My blogger voice is different than my real persona. In my blog I'm less prone to ramble (believe it! or not!) and more likely to present only one side to a situation, or at least tie up a situation in a way that makes it seem resolved. In real life, I'm more likely to leave things hanging in conversation. I am more likely to disclose worries or troubles in real life than on the blog, which I actually think is one of the weaknesses of my blog. If I disclosed more I think my blog would be better and more authentic more people would want to read it.

Wait, I havent really answered the question. The answer is, no.

6. Do your family and "in-person" friends read your blog? Why or why not?
Yes. At least I think so - I hardly ever hear from them about it. But when I wrote that I was going to Alanon, I heard from someone about that (and not in a particularly supportive way, more like in a "why the hell are you doing that" sort of way). And I hear from my mom sometimes about things she's read on my blog, especially if she reads that I have a headache, (Hi Mom, I dont have a headache right now. In fact, that Inderal is pretty much taking care of business...) or if I say something nice about her (which is not nearly often enough, btw - Hi Mom, we cant wait to see you!)

My best friend does not read my blog, and I wish she would. But when I tell her about it, she just looks at me like I'm crazy. I guess those phone calls we make every day already pretty much take care of those "what's going on in your world?" conversations.

7. Have you ever regretted admitting really personal things on your blog? Why or why not? No. I think because I am careful to think about whether I would regret something before I write it. I've deleted one or two posts, but I didnt think they were all that personal, only badly written. :)


9. Do you ever think about quitting blogging? Why or why not?
Every day! It takes so much damn time, and I worry sometimes that my real relationships with family and friends are suffering. Not to mention my housekeeping. Early on, I wrote an email to Jen Lemen asking her to clarify something she'd written, she wrote back, and we exchanged emails a few times, but I stopped writing to her, because I was worried about developing a new friendship, when my real-time friendships were suffering. I'm not sure I did the right thing.

Also, blogging makes me insufferably self-conscious and naval gaze-y. Almost every time I have a cute interaction with my four-year-old son, for example, I think: "Ooo, I really have to remember this for the blog." It makes it hard to stay present in the moment, which is something I need to work on constantly anyway.

I keep it up because
1. I think it's good for my writing, at least when I write something of substance and
2. I appreciate the relationships and besides
3. when I hear a news story or something about "what the bloggers have to say about" a certain topic or current event, I feel cool like I'm part of making history.

As I'm writing this, I'm thinking about a dog who needs a nice long walk, two loads of laundry that need folding and a sink full of dirty dishes. Not to mention a web page I'm trying to finish for work, books to read and a husband to talk to. So I'm never sure that the time it takes is worth the time that is being taken from something else.

It's a bad month to be something expensive at Casa Juniper

Hank ate one of my hearing aids today. That is a $1500 snack.

Edited to add: Also found the other one. Chewed but not swallowed. Doesnt this seem worthy of one of those cutie pie mastercard type posts?

One hearing aid, a delicious snack: $1500
Second hearing aid, an amusing toy: $1500
Dog, who did not at least eat the damn steering wheel when I left him in the car for four and a half fireplacing minutes while picking my son up at preschool: Priceless

Friday Five

1. Comfort beverage
Mama Bear's Cold Care Tea; Dole's Pine Orange Banana Juice; Lemon juice, honey, hot water, brandy (is that a drink with an actual name?)

2. Comfort chair
Sitting up in bed

3. Comfort read
Narnia, Watership Down, People magazine

4. Comfort television/DVD/music
HGTV/Big Lebowski (really)/Paul Simon (any era)

5. Comfort companion(s)
E and J, of course

She is a Benevelent Visionary

Yeah! Finally a personality test that is not only fun to do, it also makes me sound like someone I want to be! You can view the whole durn thing here:
My Personal Dna Report

I liked this so much, I added a permanent link to the sidebar over there to the right. Thanks for the link, polarbear.

Hank Needs a Project

So our new dog Hank is great, you know, but it's right what they say about a dog being a lot of work. Mostly because now, not only do I have to figure out a 4 year old boy's psychology, but also a 9 month old beagle pup mix's state of mind.

AND HE IS CHEWING EVERYTHING. Legos, brio trains, pencils, Bandolino (!) sandals, spatualas, stuffed animals, toilet paper (unused), toilet brush (used)....
This last week or so, I'm hardly ever not taking something out of his mouth.

I wrote to our trainer in desperation and her opinion is that he is not getting enough exercise, so she told me to (I am not kidding about this) "increase his cardio." Also, she told me that he might need some "projects" and since he's "not making good choices" in his selection of projects, it's a good idea for me to provide some. She suggests that big square thing that the kibble gets trapped in, that drives them crazy as they try to get it out. (20 bucks! But I guess cheaper than another pair of effing sandals.)

So, how about you, dog lovers? Any suggestions about projects for a dog who needs to keep busy?

The eye is ever watchful

Got the new Signals catalog yesterday. Does this remind anyone else of Lord of the Rings? (And not in a good way.)



Father's Eye Sculpture
EXCLUSIVE! "The eyes of the Lord are everywhere" (Proverbs 15:3). Created by Texas artist Adam Mannon, this inspiring sculpture incorporates the Trinity (three crosses), a trefoil (three interlocking circles), and the Father's all-seeing, ever-watchful eye, a reminder that we are never alone. Made by hand from metal with a copper powder coat, free-standing sculpture is 8"w x 8"h x 8"d; 2 lbs. Story card included.

Something to think about

I very occasionally read Ragged Edge online to catch up on what disability rights folks are up to. Through them, I found this article about disability simulation exercises. I guess if someone had asked me, I would have had either no opinion or a slightly positive opinion of these exercises.

This article, though, has really made me think about it. Check this out:

I AM BAFFLED AS TO WHY nondisabled people see a need to simulate a disability in order to understand our situation. Across our nation in February, we celebrate Black History Month. Is it necessary for people with white skin to paint their faces black to better understand this minority? Should heterosexuals be asked to experience homosexuality so we are not homophobic?

Should I expect to be able to teach someone how to drive a car, diaper and dress a baby and make the bed with their feet as I do? Am I amazing? No; I am just living my life.

It's worth reading the whole thing.

Subtext

Work is heavy this week. And on top of that heaviness, at home we have a crashed up van, colds in various stages and mild crankiness. Time to pray.

Our Father/Mother/Creator/Whatever who art in heaven
...instead of being right here, right now, where I need you. I'm not feeling very like Job and I'm tempted to curse, but the next line is coming so instead I'll say

Hallowed be they name
OK, I'm starting this prayer over. Dear dear dear dear God -

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done
There are two on my mind who have to make some hard choices, and soon - choices between life and death. Help them to choose life, even if it means saying goodbye to a beloved.

On earth as it is in heaven.
We know about goodbye. This week we said goodbye to a dear soul, and you welcomed her home to you. Help us to grieve and rejoice in equal measure.

Give us this day our daily bread
Be with the women who have lost their children. There are no words to comfort them, but you know how be with them in their grief, God. Surround them with love and mercy and as much comfort as is possible.

And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
A friend takes a new path today, and she's doing it well. As she starts fresh, help me to start fresh, too. Help me to wipe clean the past.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
Oh, dear heart, you know the biggest temptation is Temptation Itself, and It showed Itself to me today - just a glimpse, just enough to be tantalizing. Help me remember who you want me to be. Help me to also walk the path you've set before me.

For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever.
"Thine" means "yours," which is Whose I want to be. Thanks for reminding me. I need alot of reminding, so don't forget to throw yourself in my way as often as possible. Because I need you, God, to put yourself where I can trip over you, especially at times like this when I cant find you by myself. Thank you for that.

Amen.
Amen.

Various and sporadic

Rachel over at the Big Dunk wrote recently about the New Age, and her ulitimately frustrating experience with that belief that God is in each of us, and if we just look hard enough we can manifest The Divine. It was thought provoking, as her stuff usually is, and I found myself agreeing with lots of it, even though it sounds more, well, more theologically conservative than I think I am. But maybe that's the part of me that thinks that progressive Christians can't really stand FOR anything without marginalizing other people, and that's a belief I'm trying to let go of.

And, her post reminded me of this thing I wrote as part of a cool writing workshop a while back. (Sheesh, how bloggy and self-referential is THAT. "As usual, I was reminded of ME and my WORK...." Bleh.). This is part of a much, much, much longer piece, but it sort of stands by itself. Anyway, here it is:

My upbringing was mainline protestant slash secular humanist, with a strong helping of Midwestern practicality. We were in church every Sunday, of course, but it was always more a social and social justice enterprise than a spiritual one. In fact spirituality was a little suspect, a little goofy. My dad joked gently about his mother, a prolific pray-er. He told me and my brothers, “She would pray out loud for hours. Around the world, for everyone and everything, all the way down to Aunt Elvira’s toenails.” I guess it’s no wonder that praying out loud, whether to ask for help or to seek consolation, to rejoice or to give thanks was not exactly encouraged in my family. We prayed before meals but other than that, prayer was left to professionals.

No one ever suggested I pray if I was confused or for help in making a decision. I never saw anyone lift up a spontaneous prayer in a moment of anger or despair. No one consulted the Bible for guidance. Not long ago, when I told one of my brothers that I was sad we did not pray when we were growing up, he disagreed with me. “But when dad was baking bread every week, that was prayer.” By which I think he meant ritual, and also the sort of the spirituality that can be profoundly felt while creating something, especially in the kitchen. But that’s the kind of spirituality that relies on the human, the kind of “spirit” Oprah talks about, which means the powerful source of energy within each of us. Don’t get me wrong. I believe in that too. And I’m grateful for a childhood in a home full of the smells of good, good cooking. But always the question hummed just below the surface, “There’s something else, isn’t there, beyond what humans can create?”

In other news (and somehow related to that last question, although I didn't intend it) Finally saw An Inconvenient Truth tonight. I am now ready to change the world.

Moms and dads (and anyone who loves great writing about spiritual things) - Rachelle the Urban Abbess is now doing a parenting blog. I'm already putting some her kick-ass advice to work. She's the real thing.

Also, thanks all for your prayers for Jeff after his accident. He is doing much better after two days of R and R and is heading back to work on Monday. Keep him in your prayers, still, as he re-remembers bus navigation. Still no word about what's going to happen to the van, but the body shop guy is in favor of totalling it.

Free Hugs

I'm so hoping this isnt actually a publicity stunt by some corporation. Although, if it was, would that make it any less beautiful, sweet, of God?

Prayers please

You know those phone calls that start "It's ok and I'm alright, but..."

No one was hurt, but Jeff was in a bad accident tonight - a car filled with teenage boys (evidently from Central Casting on their way to make that movie about misfits who look like trouble but are actually decent kids under the tatoos and bad hair) turned left in front of him and pretty much totalled the van. Nice men (also with hearts of gold - direct quote "Well, I have handicapped people at my church, so I just wanted to help him.") pulled remarkably undamaged Jeff and somewhat mangled (but still working!) wheelchair out of the van. Nice Men put Jeff and chair back together and then hung out to make sure he was ok until I got there.

Our neighbor saw the accident and came to get me, so Eli and I went to the scene, a couple of miles away, and waited while they cleaned up. Poor Eli - it was a little overwhelming, but he did so great. Then the three of us took the bus home.

Which is the first day of the rest of our lives for a while, because Jeff can't really get around in other people's cars. He rides this big electric scooter than doesnt do anything like fold. And it's going to be a couple of months at least to either get a new van outfitted so Jeff can drive it (if the insurance company totals it), or to fix it at the auto body shop where everybody knows our name.

So we're resisting the urge to get all bent out of shape about the major inconvenience it causes us to have to take the bus anywhere we want to go as a family. We're remembering that things mostly work out for us, and expecting that this will too, and anyway we LIKE the bus and we believe in it. It's just something to get used to again, and getting used to things you didn't choose - meh! - who needs that?

Please pray for Jeff who is so sore and feeling lousy, even though in this "fault" state, he is not at fault. And for me, and for the migraine, the medicine for which Jeff was bringing home in the van, and which was lost in the accident. And for Eli, that his dreams won't be too dark tonight. And for all of us with mixed up hearts tonight - grief and gratitude and fear and shock and joy, but mostly mostly mostly gratitude. Thanks and Amen.

Rip Van Winkle designs a web page

Friends. Here's the thing.

I think I once did not suck at web page design, or at least I was starting to get on the upper levels of the lower section of suckiness...BUT that was, like, three whole years ago. I'm working with Jeff on updating the church web site and I NOW KNOW NOTHING. Urgh.

And curse you blogger, with your super-silly easiness, for making me think the whole web design thing has been getting easier, when in reality it's just been getting trickier behind the scenes and behind my back.

I could go on and on. Like this: "back in MY day, we didn't design web pages using this C and this S and this other S..." But you've probably had enough whinging. So instead of hanging around here, while I keep making little wimpering sounds and banging my head against the keyboard,* you could say something useful and kind over at Going Jesus. Dear Sara has toxemia and is now on hospital bed rest at 31 weeks, and she still manages to get knitting done and also be funny. She's my hero.



*For those who are keeping track of if I'm really reducing the drama in my life, I should note here that I did not ACTUALLY bang my head against the keyboard. The wimpering sounds are real, though.