Namaste, Bitches

Please forgive me if you find this post title offensive; I saw it on a t-shirt, and have been dying for one ever since. I just feel that it sums up my philosphy of, well, everything. 

I may bow to what's honorable in you, but there's no need to get all touchy-feely about it.

In the Great Year of Unemployment, yoga became a big part of my life.  I had been to a few classes before, but it had never really stuck.  This time, thanks to A LOT of free time, a desperate need for some emotional peace, and a fantastic teacher (Hi, Rebecca!), it stuck.  It was very, very sticky.

Let's get the obvious out of the way first:  yoga is great exercise.  It will make you sweat, and make you out of breath, and you'll be sore the next day. (There's really no way make that sentence non-suggestive, so just go with it, 'mkay?)

But what I have fallen in love with is a lot less obvious. 

First of all, yoga completely changed how I feel about my body.  Truthfully, I have spent 38 years hating my body.  Mostly, it sucks.  It's too big, both in height and weight, and it's very slow-moving.  It can't catch or hit anything that is thrown at it. It trips a lot.  It gets tired way before anyone else's does.

But in yoga, I discovered some things to like about it.  It's pretty strong, and it's surprisingly flexible.  When I'm patient with it, it will sometimes do things that I never thought it could (camel pose, I'm looking at you).  When there's nothing to trip over, it's graceful, and it has some great balance when it's allowed to really concentrate.

These don't seem like big things.  But armed with just these few things to like about my body, I started to stand a little straighter and prouder, and feel just a little more at peace with it.  I almost started to apologize to this poor ol' misunderstood body for being so mean to it all these years.

Then there are the spiritual aspects of yoga.  The Southern Baptist Convention can denounce yoga practitioners as heathen she-devils all they want, but yoga brought me closer to God.  It's a discipline that demands patience with yourself, the universe, and God, if you believe in one.  It also stresses acceptance of things as they are, and a practice of living in the moment, being aware and conscious of your present. 

I'm probaby not expressing this very well. But I can tell you, on a spiritual level, yoga helped to fill in a gap in me. It didn't replace my religious beliefs, it just rounded them out, made them more personal.  My time on that yoga mat became my time to be with God, to grieve for lost things, to rejoice for what I have been given, and to listen for what might bring me peace. 

'Cause you know, everybody could use a little more peace.

Namaste.

Sunday Musings -- on Politics and Prejudice

One day last week,  I said something really stupid.  (Well, I probably said several stupid things, but one sticks out and that's the one I'm going to tell you about.)  In training at my new job, I spend every single minute of every single day sitting with the only other trainee.  We aren't having in-depth conversations, but we've gotten friendlier as the training has progressed, and have laughed and made casual conversation pretty easily.  A couple of times current events have been mentioned in passing, and we've very superficially talked about some of the recent Repubican debates.

During one such conversation, I said, sort of offhand, "I assume you're a Democrat, right?"

He looked SUPER puzzled, and said, "No.  Why?"

Oops.  Foot.  In.  Mouth.

Now, I will say that there were some legitimate reasons for me to assume his political leanings were similar to mine.  For instance, he had mentioned that his father is in an appointed governmental position, and our state government is, at least technically, Democrat-run.

But the honest truth is, I assumed he was a Democrat because I like him, and found him to be friendly and easy to get along with.  That's about it.  It didn't occur to me that he could be those things, and also be a Republican.

In my awesome Sunday School class, we are reading and discussing a great book by Carlton Pearson, called The Gospel of Inclusion.  In it, he discusses why he doesn't believe in Hell, and why he does believe that everyone -- every single person -- is already "saved."  I love that while reading this book, I can spend a lot of time nodding and agreeing with his ideas.  Does God love people of all religions?  Yep!  All races?  Yep!  All sexual orientations? Yep!  All political affiliations?  Ye -- wait, what?

I guess for all my protestations that I am super inclusive and accepting, I have my own areas in which I'm not very accepting at all.  And there's not really a good excuse for that.  It's something I know I need to work on.  Truthfully, I need to work on WANTING to work on it.

So that's my Sunday confession.

Geez.  I feel like I need to go hug a Republican or something.

Singin' the End of Holiday Blues

I suppose since I have to go to work tomorrow and work a WHOLE WEEK, as in five days straight without a day off, that Christmas is officially over. Here's some randomness to get me back in the regular blogging spirit . . .

1. I am not making resolutions this year, just sticking to my list of 101 things. There are a couple of things I want to do more of this year, like violin practice, baking, and making fun stuff, but no resolutions.

2. A church member this morning informed me that she was googling our church name and this site is one that comes up. Do you think that means I need to clean things up around here? Naaaah.

3. My lovely, lovely stepfather has been dreadfully sick and in the hospital since just after Christmas. Today, things seem to have taken a turn for the better, but it's been rough for him and my mom. If you are the praying sort, I know they'd appreciate it.

4. I discovered the Negotiator books over the holiday, and LOVED THEM. It's always great to find a book that you really like and then discover that it's the first of a series. I finished those up and have moved on to an earlier series by the same writer, The Walker Papers.

5. Those pecan squares I made for Christmas? The ones by Ina Garten, with nine sticks of butter? Totally not worth it. Next year I think I'll make just five batches of peanut butter kisses and be done with it.

Caution: Holiday Sappiness Ahead

Today at church we "did it up right" for the first Sunday of Advent. I love Advent, and I wanted to write about Hope today, because we light the candle on the first Sunday of Advent to represent Hope. But what I decided is, hope is too big to fit into a blog post.

I know, that sounds like a total cop-out. It's true, though! Hope can't be summed up or boxed into a little greeting card sentiment. It's what gets us through all the badness of the world and tumbles us right into the good stuff. It's what you try to hang onto when you don't have anything else.

It's why we make plans for a career.

It's why we get married.

It's why we adopt pets, and learn to knit, and have babies, and set our alarm clocks, and go to church on Sunday, or skip church to go kayaking, and watch sunsets, and write bad poetry, and tune into our favorite new show even after we know it's been cancelled, why we fill up the crockpot before work and buy tickets to a play and start blogs and say "I love you" before going to sleep.

Because we hope.

Hope is everywhere and all the time, but ESPECIALLY at Christmas. I hope that you're hoping something right now.

Hedging My Bets

Today's passage at church was that familiar, "whatever you do to the least of my people, you do to me" section. I swear, I did NOT remember how much hellfire and brimstone is in that passage! All that stuff about sheep and goats, and people on the left and on the right, and going to hell for ever and eternity . . . it was enough to make one poor woman get all teary-eyed while relaying a tale of some dude who asked her for "gas money."

"What if that was God, and I MISSED HIM?" she wailed.

Here are my thoughts on the matter:

1. God doesn't go around disguising himself as the homeless (or the gassless), hoping to trick us into condemning ourselves to hell.

2. God doesn't send anyone to hell.

3. If God WERE going to send me to hell, it would probably not be JUST because I didn't give money to that guy who stand outside the courthouse with a walker, asking for change. (Especially because that guy is totally a faker; I've seen him CARRY the damn walker.)

4. I should probably be nicer to people, just in case. I might need all the help I can get.

I wonder, does it count in my favor that I always dismiss the charges against people who are charged under the "panhandling" statute?

'Cause I do. Every time.

Sometimes, There's Nothing Funny to Talk About

When I was a Public Defender, people often asked me, "How do you sleep at night, representing those criminals?" I usually responded, "Like a baby, thanks."

Now that I'm on the other side, I still get those questions occasionally, "Don't the horrible things you see keep you up at night?" Usually, the answer is no, except that sometimes I stay up late telling funny stories.

Then there are the not-so-funny stories. Some are pretty damn bad.

Like the three year old victim I heard about this week, whose horrific injuries just won't leave my mind; the victim I would seriously consider bringing into my home to live, just so I could be certain he wasn't hurt again.

Like Marco David Chapman, who committed a terrible, heinous crime, but was a victim himself. I can't bear to think of forgiving him, but I can't bear to think of the state allowing his suicide-by-execution. It is for people like him that I am so grateful I believe in God, for surely only the God I believe in could offer him forgiveness and healing.

I don't think my job gives me any more access to horrible stories than the average person has; maybe it makes me notice them more. And on those days, the days that the stories hit me the hardest, I fervently wish that I had decided to be a librarian.

I don't have kids. If you do, please give them a hug. It could change their lives.

Sunday Confession

Here's the thing:

I woke up this morning at the appropriate time, went downstairs, had some breakfast, shifted around the paper, etc., etc., and decided that I might skip Sunday School and go to just church instead.

Then, I putzed around a little more, and decided that I'd just skip church altogether.

I know, I know, shocking. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if they don't dock my Presbyterian elder pay.

Oh, right . . . there is no pay. Anyway, I don't expect to be fired.

Random Thoughts Monday

1. If you're going to be Presbyterian, you should know going into it that Presbyterians can't do anything without establishing a committee, mapping out what council that committee reports to, and scheduling a meeting. You should also know that said meeting cannot be accomplished in less than two hours. Dinner should never be postponed until "after this quick meeting."

2. I'm very, very pleased with our First-Lady-Elect, largely because she appeals both to my girly side and to my career woman side. Both sides of me are willing to overlook the fashion faux-pas of a dress she wore on Election night, largely because the dress she wore to the meeting today with the Bushes was so totally FIERCE and made Laura Bush look like Ms. Frumpy McDowdypants.

3. Has anyone noticed how much Laura Bush is starting to resemble Queen Elizabeth?

4. The socks I wore to work today, while very fun, what with their glittery leopard print and all, were also very itchy. Itchy socks make for a long workday.

5. I confess that I used a can of cream of mushroom soup in dinner tonight. I am so ashamed. I blame the long Presbyterian meeting and the itchy socks.

6. If dinner involves cream of mushroom soup, it is smart to forego dinner and skip to the biscuits and elderberry jelly for dessert. Actually, you can skip the biscuits, too, because elderberry jelly just freakin' rocks.

7. My violin teacher told me today that I trill better than she does. Apparently, all the trilling angst I went through as a middle school piano student paid off. I will be incorporating lots of trills in my upcoming debut with the Led Zeppelin cover band.

Thank You, Mrs. Dunham

I just heard on the radio that Barack Obama's grandmother died in this morning's early hours. The irony is thick enough to be considered trite if you tried to write it into a novel. If all goes well, Obama will, within 48 hours of her death, become his own little chapter in the history books, as the first African-American president. Many times over the past weeks I have thought a fervent little prayer to myself that the woman who raised him be allowed to see it happen.

I've been thinking alot lately about God's plan for me, because I believe whole-heartedly that he has one for each of us. And I've been thinking that while not everyone is destined for greatness, maybe those not-so-great of us are destined to help someone else on their road.

And isn't that a pretty big form of greatness all of its own?

If I didn't believe in God, I would be just too heartbreakingly sad to think of this woman missing out on the history she helped to create. And since I DO believe in God, I admit to shaking my head a little at what seems to be just not quite fair -- that just like Moses and his Promised Land, Mrs. Dunham ALMOST got to see a dream come true.

Then again, since I believe in the KIND of God that I do, I have to laugh a little at the humdinger of a victory party she'll be throwing in heaven.

For those of us still muddling along down here on Earth . . . don't forget to vote. It's important.

See, Reverand Roper? I WAS Listening.

Yesterday, my minister spoke on the problems of an "either/or" society. He talked about how people are always shoved into a group, either you're black or white, or Democrat or Republican, Voldemort or Harry, etc., etc. It was a pretty good sermon, I thought, one that pleased li'l ol' liberal me but also made me think about my own divisions, like "either you're liberal or you're Satan."

I probably shouldn't think like that. In fact, I'm wondering if my minister has been listening in on my thoughts and directed that sermon directly at me.

Come on, you know I don't REALLY think non-liberals are Satan, don't you? I mean, you read that post down there about my great dad, who is decidedly non-liberal, right? I'm inclusive, aren't I?

(I know at least one person doesn't think I'm very inclusive. But that dude was SUCH an annoying defendant, and he drove everyone crazy in court today, not just me, and anyway, I refuse to believe that I am an "oppresser" who is going to hell, like he said. At least not for oppressing, anyway . . . but I digress.)

So, today, I overheard a co-worker on the phone (paper-thin cubicle walls, you know), and her side of the conversation went something like this:

"So, honey, I was wondering, did you call the coach to add Little Billy (names changed to protect the innocent) to the roster? . . . Oh, good, because I happened to think, you can't do that. . . . Well, because he's not Catholic. . . . I know, they ATTENDED, but he was never BAPTIZED, and I just don't think we should even GO there. . . . Well, I'm glad I caught you before you opened that can of worms."

Huh. I suppose we should all be grateful that the trauma of some heathen non-baptised kid playing summer ball with good little Catholic kids was avoided. I mean, really, would you want to GO THERE?

I didn't think so.

Inclusivity's a bitch.

When Liberals Teach Sunday School

I recently learned that when you volunteer to "help out" with something at church, you often end up "in charge" of that something.

Such was the case when I volunteered for teaching summer Sunday School. Seriously, I thought I would show up, be told to help kids with a craft project or something, and go on my merry way.

Not so much.

This past Sunday, I found myself teaching two little kids (summer activities at my church are VERY sparsely attended) the story (which I had never heard before) of Jesus healing the ten lepers. The challenge was to somehow work a brief science experiment into that story. Weird, huh?

We ended up making "lava lamp bottles" out of oil and colored water, then we talked about how the lepers were so separated from, well, everybody else, and just like how the oil and the water couldn't mix with their different densities, that the two groups of people really couldn't mix.

Then we discussed how, if you have something to act as an emulsifier, you can actually mix oil and water, and how, with Jesus, you could bring the two groups -- lepers and everybody else -- together into one emulsified substance.

Yep, Jesus is the Great Emulsifier.

Catchy, isn't it? I'm sure a so-entitled hymn is just around the corner.

*Oh, and I totally have to give the credit for this heart-warming lesson to Todd, who came up with the whole Jesus = Emulsifier idea. I'm just a conduit, people.

The Great Blog Catch-Up

Holy Blogoli, Batman! It's been a while since that last post down there. Don't worry, I did not run off with Eddie Izzard (he asked, but dude, I am happily married), I've just been neglecting the poor little blog. So here's the catch-up:

1. I had a second great outing with Little, which involved a BIG breakfast at Lynn's, and a movie. I had picked out a bunch of girly movies, but Little picked the new Jackie Chan. The new Narnia movie tops our list as a must-see. Little said to me, knowingly, "I think WE like magical stuff, don't we?" Yes, Little, we do, indeed.

2. I was ordained last weekend as a Presbyterian elder, but I don't feel any different. My first meeting is next week, so I'm still holding out hope for a secret handshake. I'm almost certain that I am the first Presbyterian elder whose mother plans to buy her a diamond nose ring to celebrate the occasion. I considered a tatto proclaiming PRESBYTERIAN ELDERS DO IT HOLIER but decided to go with the nose ring, instead.

3. I took a few much-needed days off last week and did a whole lot of laying around, but also spent an ENTIRE DAY sewing. I finished my class this past Monday night (a 101 Things accomplishment), and am feeling quite in the sewing groove. Since last we spoke, I've been working on . . .

a sewing-class-vest-I'll-probably-never-wear,


a difficult-to-photograph wrap-thingy to wear with my new sleeveless black dress,


and the top and bottom of a dress I started over a year ago (a middle is forthcoming).


4. I finally made the homemade power bars I've been thinking about making for ages. We are some Clif-bar-eating fools around here, so I thought it might make economical sense. I learned, however, that homemade power bars are WAY more expensive than Clif bars; I also learned that brown rice syrup is tasty enough to eat out of the jar with a spoon, not that I've actually done that, oh, no. These were pretty good, and I'm going to try a new batch with different tasty stuff. (What is up with the focus on this photo, I do not know.)


5. I'm following up Not Attending Thunder Over Louisville with Not Attending the Steamboat Race, Not Attending the Parade, Not Attending Oaks, and will cap it all off by Working Domestic Violence Intake on Derby Day. Quite the social butterfly, aren't I?

6. Finally, in case you need an election year pick-me-up, I was reminded by NPR this morning that on this day in history, 2003, George W. Bush declared the Iraq War "Mission Accomplished." Way to go, Dubya! Dude, your mom must be so proud.

Since Last We Met . . .

It occurs to me that I haven't been blogging much lately. Well, THAT needs to change, I know. One thing I have always noticed, though, is that when things are going along pretty well, I don't seem to feel as creative. I think I get complacent. Like when I used to date the duddiest duds I could find, man . . . I could write the hell out of some angsty love poetry. But put me in a happy, stable marriage, and suddenly the most creative thing I can come up with is, "You're really cool. And hot, too."

Anyway. All that is just to say that I haven't been NOT blogging because there's some horrible catastrophe and I just can't publicly discuss it. On the the contrary, there are some great things going on right now.

One great thing is that I have stopped being a domestic violence prosecutor, and am now just a regular ol' crime prosecutor. Glory be, I cannot tell you how this switch lightens the mental load around here. I am not, shall we say . . . nurturing, and dealing with victims day in and day out did not play to my strengths. I think this new position does. Play to my strengths, that is. It's a good thing.

Another good thing going on around here is that I have been elected as an elder in my church. This is kind of cool. I feel like pulling a Sally Field and crying, "They like me! They really like me!" But I'll refrain. Who knows how long they will like me once they get a load of some of my wacky ideas. Maybe I'll be impeached, who knows. I'm sure this whole elder thing will be good blog fodder in the months to come, and if they DO finally let me in on the secret handshake, I will SO pass it on to you.

Oh! Here's something I'm SUPER excited about: I learned how to make good pizza dough. Seriously, you have no idea how long that has been bothering me.

This is my last week of tutoring, and I have big plans for all the free time I'm going to have from now on. There's a sewing class AND violin lessons in my future.

And finally, next week, hopefully Monday, I'm takin' a plunge that I've been talking about for months. It's going to be the coolest of all cool things, I just know it. Stay tuned -- there will be pictures.

When Presbyterians Have Children

So, I was at my Young Presbyterian Women's group the other night (which is way more fun than it sounds, honestly) and one of the women mentioned that her son, who goes to a highly academic Christian school, has been reading a lot of books about dinosaurs.

Apparently, came to her with some concerns: "Mom, how can God have created the earth in seven days like it says in the Bible? This book says that the dinosaurs didn't live at the same time as people."

My friend, put on the spot, could only come up with: "I think the original earth blew up, and God had to start over."

Awesome.

How NPR Ruined My Day

I have to admit, when it comes to the Republican Presidential candidates, I've been practicing a careful, bury-my-head-in-the-sand approach. I figure, they're all going to be awful, so why pay attention until I have to focus on the awfulest one?

Well, today on my ride home, NPR ripped my head right out of the sand with its interview with Mitt Romney.

First let me say this: I adore my liberal, leftist NPR. And I love how they conduct interviews with the not-so-left. They're so NICE, in that Southern-my-daddy-taught-me-to-say-"that's nice"-instead-of-"fuck you" way.

This particular interview was no exception. Robert Siegel noted a recent debate in which Romney, when asked if he believes everything in the Bible, replied, "I believe it is the word of God." Siegel followed this up by asking Romney if he believes the Creation story as posed in Genesis.

Romney's answer (and I paraphrase): I can't believe NPR would ask something so irrelevant to the people of the United States.

Well, sorry, Mitt, but as one of those people of the United States, it's pretty relevant to me.

It's relevant to me because it shows me you are an amateur debater who just turns mean when he can't think of a good answer.

It's relevant to me because it tells me that you DO believe in Creationism, and therefore you are one of those people who think religion should make you STUPID.

It's relevant to me because it points out what I see as one of the inherent problems of the Republican party: you think I'm even more stupid than you are.

Sheesh. I liked it better when my head was in the sand.

Sunday Musings

For the past six years, much of my life has been concerned with, for lack of a better term, "crime and punishment."

When I was a Public Defender, the work was hard, but the philosophical standpoint was easy: I had a client and it was my job to believe he was innocent and act accordingly. As a prosecutor, though, I've discovered it's not quite that simple. Now I'm supposed to figure out the truth -- and not only that, but I'm supposed to figure out what the "just" consequences are. I'm supposed to consider the evidence (or lack thereof), the jury appeal, the person's prior record, etc, etc, and come up with something that makes sense -- while satisfying my boss, the judge, the victim, and all the myriad other people who think it's any of their business.

It's enough to give a person a migraine, I tell you. And it's getting to me. I'm starting to dream of "happier" careers, jobs in which people aren't arguing and fighting all day long. Jobs in which I'm not constantly trying to come up with ways to make people miserable -- even if they deserve it. I'm just not feeling that I'm really behind it, anymore.

Today in church, the sermon was about Zacchaeus the Tax Collector, which besides inspiring one of the best Bible School songs ever, has a pretty good moral of acceptance and forgiveness. It seems, according to the story, that Jesus will forgive everyone: tax collectors, prostitutes, even Republicans (no, Republicans aren't specifically mentioned anywhere, but one can assume).

I realize that this is Sunday School 101 stuff, but today it struck me as revolutionary. Forgiveness -- just because you ask for it. It seems so comforting, but more than that -- it just seems restful. I can let go of that running tally of my own sins that I've been carrying around pretty much since birth, because they're already forgiven. And while, at work, I still have to figure out the consequences for other people's actions, somebody else (whoever that somebody else may be in your own head) is already taking care of forgiving them. It's not ALL something I have to solve.

I've been teetering around, religion-wise, for a while now, trying to figure out the answers to some questions that bother me. I'm not so sure, these days, what exactly I believe. I've even asked myself, now and again, "could I be losing my faith?"

But, putting some of those tough questions aside, I guess I'm still feeling good about the basics. This whole forgiveness thing? Now THAT's something I can get behind.

A Leftist Rant

I've been meaning to post about this for awhile, and figured today is as good as any.

Ah, yes. A Creation Museum. Why, oh why, does it have to be HERE in MY state? It's bad enough that every time someone is interviewed on national tv from Kentucky, it has to be that person who likely didn't graduate from Kindergarten, has two teeth, and really should have gotten a guardian's permission to give an interview.

It's bad enough that when Todd and I vacationed in Seattle, we had the unfortunate experience of meeting a woman from Idaho who, when she learned we were from Kentucky, could only ask, "do you have JOBS?".

Yes, even Idaho looks down on Kentucky.

And now this. If you haven't heard about it, it's worth poking around on their website, just in case your blood pressure is currently at a dangerously low level. It'll raise it right up there.

I love the "Main Theme" -- "The Bible is true from Genesis to Revelation!"

Is that so?

I've wondered recently if maybe I make it too easy on myself, by so easily trusting that my religious beliefs and science can get along together just fine. Maybe I'm a bit too loosey-goosey about the whole thing.

Maybe it should concern me whether there really was a flood of epic proportions, and whether poor Mary had ever had sex before giving birth.

But really? It just doesn't. I believe in God, and everything else? Well . . . let's just say I'm working on it.

I know that the God I believe in is SO smart enough to have created a system capable of randomly selecting genes to make humankind over eons.

I know that He has a sense of humor like nobody's business. (Hello? Do you REMEMBER the popular music of the eighties?)

And I know that God is beyond complete understanding. It's amazing to me that scientists are able to get us tiny steps closer to that understanding with every new discovery.

'Cause God made scientists. Cool how that works out, isn't it? I like to think that God is sitting up there giggling like a kid, watching us figure stuff out, ever so slowly.

I don't think I'll ever get those people who insist on putting God into one little book and trying to trap him there. Who think it's okay that God and Satan conspired to ruin Job's life, but that Harry Potter is evil.

Who think that a God who gave us sunsets and strawberries also gave us AIDS as a punishment for people who fall in love with the "wrong" people.

So . . . no. I DON'T think I am too loosey-goosey, religion-wise, thank you very much. I heard a great minister recently telling his congregation to always remember that "God delights in you."

And I think he's pretty cool, too.

And about descending from monkeys? I ask you, who doesn't think chimps are pretty cute?

Notes From the Long-Range Planning Committee

So, I went to my first Deacon's meeting last night. I remember when I was a kid, and it seemed like at least once a week or so, my dad would be going to an Elder's meeting. I always wondered what went on at those meetings.

I think I had vague images of a bunch of solemn old men (which my dad wasn't) sitting around in suits, speaking very quietly of who was "doing well" in the church and who wasn't. Like, who was showing up looking appropriately solemn, who was actually opening the Bible and reading along during the scripture readings, and who could be counted on to give comfort to the shut-ins.

And by the way, I was absolutely fascinated by shut-ins. Who were these people, how did they get to be shut-ins, and, most importantly, how does one accomplish the actual "shutting in?" Seriously -- does being a shut-in mean you can't go to the grocery? To the end of the driveway to get your mail? What do they do if they run out of toilet paper? I finally determined that they must all be suffering from agoraphobia (that is the one where you're afraid to leave the house, isn't it?), which meant that I didn't think it was very nice for us to go Christmas caroling to a shut-in's house. Prolly scared the you-know-what out of them.

So, anyway. The Deacons meeting. Almost a disappointment. All that really happened was I got my list of people I'm supposed to keep in contact with. There wasn't even a secret handshake or a pledge to the deacon flag.

Todd picked me up after the meeting, and I showed him the list. He seemed surprised -- "All those people are shut-ins?"

Well, no, actually, they're not. At least I don't think so. And if any of them are, I'd like to know so I can ask them some of the above questions.

On our way home, there was an interview on NPR with some dude who has just written a biography of Condeleeza Rice. It seems that poor ol' Condy had her hopes and dreams dashed at the ripe old age of seventeen when -- as a sophomore in COLLEGE -- she learned that she wasn't good enough to be a concert pianist.

Well, sheesh. Just cry me a stinking river.

ANYWAY -- so since recovering from that devastation, Condy apparently no longer makes long-term plans. (I ask you -- is that a good quality in a Secretary of State?)

But -- the point of all this -- the guy who wrote the biography explained this no-planning thing by saying, "Well, she IS a Presbyterian."

Wha . . huh? Presbyterians don't make long-term plans? Well, shoot! Nobody told me that! And I joined and everything! Cancel my retirement fund, I'm a Presbyterian!

Let me tell you, though, a group that does believe in long-term plans? Boy scouts. Todd and I were talking to a kid, probably 12 years old if he's a day, about his scout troop. Todd encouraged him to continue with it until he makes Eagle Scout.

To which the kid replied: "Oh, of course. It will look good on my resume."

Sunday Musings

Some of the most . . . "lively" . . . discussions at my house take place when I share little tidbits of the goings-on at Harvey Browne Presbyterian, where I faithfully attend each and every Sunday.

Okay, almost every Sunday. At least a lot of them.

Anyway. So today my Sunday School class took a major detour, as we often do, and the question became, "would you recognize Jesus if he dropped back in on us today?"

Personally, I think if I were to run across Jesus right now, I'd probably take out a mental inquest warrant, and hope that he got on some really good meds.

It's not entirely outside the realm of possibility that Jesus has done the ol' "second coming" and is already locked away somewhere. I may have represented him in my public defender days. I may have prosecuted him.

(Actually, I'm pretty sure that if Jesus comes back, he won't be prosecuted for domestic violence. I'm seeing Jesus more as a disorderly conduct kind of guy. Or, hey, how about theft of identity? Get it? 'Cause he says he's God and stuff? Man, I crack myself up sometimes.)

There are lots of directions such a question could take you. For me, I end up feeling that it's just somehow unfair that we would be expected to recognize Jesus today. Seriously, if some guy came up to you at the mall, or on the bus, and said, "Hi, I'm the son of God" would you ever consider that maybe he really is? And if not, are you a bad person?

I hope that the answer is that what matters is how you live your life and treat other people. But these days, I know fewer and fewer answers.

The interesting thing? About all this religion stuff? The more I think about it, the more I read and listen and try to study, the more questions I get. Not answers -- questions. I guess as long as the questions are this intriguing to me, I'm doing okay. I just sure hope there's not a test on all this.

Happy Sunday, everybody.