What would you do if an Episcopal priest named you as one of his favorite bloggers, and suddenly larger then normal numbers of his faithful followers began arriving at your site, catching you in the middle of writing what could only be described as horticultural pornography? (Most of what I speak of is thankfully buried deeply with the comments. But deep enough? No, I doubt it. Funny how much a blog is like a city, with the entries becoming the store fronts and friendly smiles and nods of it’s citizens, while the comments section somehow bellies up to it’s own destiny, becoming the wrong side of the tracks, the seedy, red light district, and the town hall, all rolled up into one.)
Is this God’s plan for me? Nonstop embarrassment? I fear so. It’s either that or this constant state of digression I find myself in.
(Thanks a lot ‘mouse.)
This all reminds me of an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Do you remember it? The one where the Reverend Alden shows up unexpectedly, catching Charles sitting in the outhouse, whose door has fallen off earlier in the show. Mary has followed the Reverend to the outhouse, and immediately upon seeing her father sitting there, begins to go blind. Charles apologizes profusely for the farm’s obvious state of disrepair, and sends Half-Pint running into town to fetch Doc Baker for Mary’s failing eyesight. The Reverend Alden assures Charles that the Lord works in mysterious ways while the two of them wait on Caroline to bake them each a fresh pie.
Okay, so it’s not really an episode, but then horticultural pornography isn’t really my thing either. Truth of the matter is, I’ve never actually been sure what my thing is, and in that regard, you and I may have something in common. Maybe, maybe not. You decide.
Oh, one more thing. Don’t waste your time clicking away on the religious categories I set up more then a year ago. They’re merely decorations. Proof positive that I at least try to share a spiritual connection with the rest of humanity. I am filled to the brim with good intentions, foolishly thinking that if I can just live long enough, or live right, or do or say the right things, some of these good intentions will slosh over my edges and end up doing something. Something? What does that mean? Who knows. Certainly not me.