The day after the Day of Pentecost, and a strong wind is blowing. Clouds are moving steadily across the sky under the pale blue beyond. It's early morning and warm enough to sit in the back yard. My coffee has cooled much too quickly. The backyard chairs still need a good spring scrubbing.
What will the day bring? Only birdsong so far, and a lone, slow runner down the middle of the street.
It's the kind of morning where I see that human beings are small things, who walk in the six feet just above the ground. Can't scramble into the tree like the squirrel. Can't fly to the top of the garage like the crows. Can't even chirp persistently like the robin in the forsythia.
But I sit here typing, in awe of the atmosphere.
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- Perverse Lutheran
- What is a perverse Lutheran? As a child memorizing Luther’s Small Catechism I learned to say “This is most certainly true” with the emphasis on the adverb. But now, older, wiser, and more contrary, I ask, “Is this — most certainly — true?” You won't find anything of much importance in the big wide world here. But I've been blogging for a long time and a lot has happened—stories of grief and joy, wonder and grace, questions asked, answered, and stewed over. What does it all mean? And does it mean anything if I don't take time to sit and write about it?
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