Rearview June 2008

I’ve been a blogger for only two months now. If you are even newer to the blog than I am, never fear. At the end of each month I do a little look back (okay, I did it once before) for fun, and offer apologies where necessary. Here’s June 2008 in review:

My obsession with women’s undergarments is hopefully over, although I make no guarantees. My admiration for sports bras may linger for some time. And please forgive me if I intimated that missionaries are a hoax. I have a new favorite one from Bulgaria. Check out her blog.

Diana got a beautiful report from the oncologist! We are no longer getting away with two pieces of cheese, but it’s a small price to pay for REMISSION.

I’m sorry, Mr. Kinkade. I cannot go so far as to say that I’ve seen the light, but since Amy Nielson loves you, and I LOVE Amy Nielson, perhaps we have a future together. Perhaps.

Admittedly, I have been out of sorts. Part of it is that I am still getting over the fact that some of my favorite people moved away this month. Miss you, dear friends. The ham you gave us is long gone, but we are still tripping over your absence - especially while on the toilet.

My son is not getting so upset at baseball tournaments and I have stopped wearing my tie-dyed shorts to the games. I wonder if the two are connected? Inch by inch, my children and I are learning together, but we have totally sworn off fried foods - too afraid to mistakenly eat a deity.

I have turned in my Church Whisperer ID card. The chaps were too cumbersome and I am learning that people respond far better to grace than to getting a spur in the hindquarters. That said, I still wish Jesus would just give His bride a good kick in the a** - just one little undeniable reminder that we do not exist for ourselves. (Sorry, Mom! I’ll power wash my mouth).

The kids are home on summer break (love it!) and my Dad is in Bulgaria (yes, with my favorite writer/missionary). He is a great example of a genuine Christian. No bullhorn, just love and Jesus. That’s it.

I have failed to leash my dog, but I think it would be smokin’ to hear Amy Winehouse sing the National Anthem. Or Mia. Or Wayne. Actually, they may make the perfect trio.

And although I have not yet decided to defenestrate the Weekend Word Contest, I am lachrymose due to dwindling participation. Perhaps the humidity in the east has left us all hugger-mugger, but I dream of Cockaigne where hundreds enter comments and your husband is uxorious.

Ah, words. THANK YOU for reading them.

Love God.

Love each other.

Go Phillies.