Six Stars

Life is a season no less than college football, with thrills and disappointments, and always surprises. Amy was right, I was wrong, and the Gators came through over our once chief rival Georgia Bulldogs. Once that is, before the local rivalry became our state’s equivalent of Alabama-Auburn, and it still may not be quite that intense. Like A-A, the UF-FSU competition is Civil War, the War Between The States, families divided and shouting. Michigan, alright but with the AD gone not enough to save Brady Hoke. South Carolina, stunned, surprised, disappointed, sad. 

“Next year in Jerusalem,” it’s all a season, here today, all new tomorrow. The day my mother died, I knew we’d made this house too big, because we were down to two; but it was right for my grandparents for a while, right for my parents and family for a while, but would have been too tight for the years with my mother, Linda’s mother, the two of us, and Kristen, so we about doubled the s.f. to about five-thousand under roof counting porches, making it comfortable so nobody got in anyone else’s space. Try crowding two mothers-in-law into less, no thank you. It was just right for us in our season. It’s fall now, though, autumn. Almost winter.

In Adult Sunday School this morning, Mike and I plan to open the book about how God exalted Joshua to almost-Moses. Almost. Not the same, different: if Moses was God’s ultimate, patient, hang in there pastor par excellence and there was never another like him, Joshua was God’s first and only John J. Pershing, General of the Armies.

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