Lord, teach me...

Last night: a funeral home visit. A young couple whose baby died in his sleep.

To a young mother, and a young father, and grieving grandparents: I'll pray for you.

Today: a chance meeting in the bookstore. An old friend whose adult child has moved back home in the throes of an addiction. A crumbling marriage. Three young children.

To a distraught father, searching for answers, and relief: I'll pray for you.

I love words. Words are my life. Yet, as hard as I try, try as I might, my words are not adequate.

Father, forgive my feebleness.

Holy Spirit, interpret my groanings.

Lord, teach me to pray.

You can't judge a book...

Perusing the library shelves today, I came across several classics that I need to read. I rejected them all.

One had a dingy, smudged cover with dirty finger prints all over the edges. One was printed on what appeared to be grocery sacks during an apparent paper-saving drive from back in the '70's. One had an eery, unpleasant typeface and the prospect of following it for 200+ pages made me nauseated.

Today, I was guilty of judging books by their covers.

What'd I do to deserve this?

We went to [trendy chain deli with the good salad bar] for lunch today.

I filled my salad plate to Neil Diamond's and Barbra Streisand's attempt to out-herniate one another.

My first bite was taken to the strains of Barry Manilow pouring his heart out over somebody named Mandy.

I finished my last bite as someone tightened the vise ahold Michael Bolton's thumb.

Disgustedly, I trudged toward the ice cream machine for some frosty relief.

I found a deli employee with his arm up to the elbow inside the machine, an "out of order" sign over his shoulder.

What did I do to deserve this?

Bilingual Conversation

I was sitting in the children's section of the library today, determining the check-out worthiness of a stack of books while Lora pestered the caged parakeet, when the cutest little scruffy-headed Chinese girl came around a shelf with a sippy-cup of milk.

Hi! she grinned at me.

Hi! I grinned back.

Her dad followed close behind. I nodded hello to him. Before he could respond, an older little girl came running toward him, clutching a video.

This one, daddy! she cried, holding it aloft for him to bag.

[Uninterpreted response in Chinese], he replied.

But just one more, please daddy? she begged.

[Uninterpreted response in Chinese], he replied, stuffing the video into his book bag.

Birmingham is a multi-cultural city, despite our well-documented racist propensity. UAB attracts medical students and researchers from all over the world. We have large Chinese, Korean, Indian, and Latino populations within the metro area. I grew up not too far from Birmingham (as the crow flies, that is; light-years away culturally and otherwise). I don't remember if I knew a single bilingual family then.

I was blown away today by the little Chinese girl's ability to converse with her father in two languages.

I have trouble conversing with mine in one.