7H and counting

A privacy first person, I - - we - - live in the best possible place for a retired elderly couple. Hardly anyone ever walks past our door and when anyone does it's expected friends, loved ones; although loved ones are instructed never to knock but just open the door, come in and shout, "I'M HERE!!" Haven't seen the young Mormon evangelists or anyone from Jehovah's Witnesses in the nearly ten years since moving here from The Old Place.

Once or twice a month, may meet someone at the elevator, or wave passing in the underground garage. Almost never see anyone else in the garden, though this morning there was a man walking his dog, and a woman doing her paces. I walked, sat in the bench under the morning sun, drank a bottle of water and nibbled my PBJ foldover.

Truthfully, I'm not all that big on the morning walk that's part of my retirement resolve, but I do it to keep faith in myself. I always have water in the basket of the red convertible, but this was the first morning I took along the PBJ. Wore my bright yellow hat, which caused the white poodle to stop and move her/his head back and forth checking me out. The dog's owner told me it was probably the hat.

No complaints, diagnosed in October 2010 and progressive, the CHF gets to me more and more, but tomorrow, 14 June, I'll be a year and three months from my ninetieth birthday, and there's raw oysters and fried mullet across the street, and, from Time to Time, a red snapper to bake in the oven. Forty years ago, as voluntarily the lowest paid parish priest in the diocese, I defined "wealth" in terms of "having no debt," and have been there for some Time, enjoying old family furniture that's three stages beyond "shabby chic" and two aging cars that we keep serviced and mostly inside, out of the salt weather and blazing sunshine. Like Math, Life is Fun and Good!

Heads up, Sunday's coming, and I'm still fiddling with what to say to these folks at HNEC whom I assured and promised last month that they would not see me again until the new rector is in place. Really not into consciously breaking a vow, but whatever. May 19 was the start of my own personal Transition that has been delayed and will be rebooted as soon as the 10:30 church service is over. Am I serving as Supply Priest because I'm "needed"? That calls to mind the Ghost in Gaiters, the English bishop who rode the overnight bus from Hell up to Heaven to have a good look round. He was not impressed with what he found in Heaven, all love, total forgiveness, no resentments or jealousies allowed. In fact, he was only impressed with himself. When his old friend from Life who was his escort for his visit to Heaven asked him if he would stay in Heaven, he said he might consider staying if he was needed. A bit stunned, his escort tried to explain to him that in Heaven there are no needs. In the end the bishop said, "Bless my soul, of course I can't stay: I'm to read a paper at my little Tuesday evening gathering," and he trotted away to get back on the bus to Hell.

Nobody's "needed" in the kingdom. It's grace alone: we're all here because of the love of God.

RSF&PTL

T88&c

+++++++++++

A late P.S. addendum. Anytime, like yesterday, that I post something about Israel's war with Gaza, or about Hamas or the Palestinians, my readership stats skyrocket with reads from the Middle East, yesterday including Iran and Iraq and others. Not wanting to be bothered, much less targeted, by anyone who thinks I shouldn't have the freedom to express my views and sympathies, I've gone into Facebook controls and cut back on who can read my posts. I'm also monitoring closely the legitimacy of whoever asks to be a Facebook friend. Anyone who's a FB friend can read me. Anyone who's legitimate and wants to be my FB friend knows how to contact me personally before asking.

In this national election year as hatreds and divisions climb, I have my own certainties, including fears about Americans who are inclined to violence toward anyone whose views differ from theirs, I'm going to lay low, like Brer Rabbit in his briar patch.

Pax and Charis