Our son’s first tooth fell out this past week.
I think it all happened because the eighteen-year-old boy behind the counter called me ma’am.
As if on cue, every second Sunday of Advent my husband and I get into an argument about the correct type of lights to hang in order to welcome baby Jesus, the incarnate God, into the world.
Is there such a thing as the liturgical season of the snipe? The side-eye? The passive aggressive glare, or the directly aggressive loading or unloading of the dishwasher?
No? Well, there should be.
It’s late to be writing a post about Lent, but I’m of the modest opinion that the practices you take on in Lent aren’t just seasonal.
Bishop Barbara C. Harris died on March 13th, 2020, where I’m sure God welcomed her with the same words and emotion she shared with a friend upon her entrance into the convention center filled with 8,000 people at her consecration: “What a hell of a welcome!”
“Pizza is my favorite food, too.”
It takes me by surprise when I am buying back to school supplies that we are still in the liturgical season of Pentecost, and will be for even longer, beyond purchasing the discounted Halloween Candy, all the way to the tip of Black Friday.
I had it fully mapped out in my head what an excellent Sunday morning we were going to have, which was the first sign that it was definitely going to go in another direction.
Every email to my children’s teachers the first three weeks of quarantine began with an apology.