I'm not sure how my brother, Kelly, who missed by thismuch sweeping the College of Cardinals (I'm thinking Stanford or Louisville, right? Mark McGwire? Seriously?) and becoming our next Pope (okay, not my next Pope strictly, but some body's) would have found this article yesterday late in the afternoon (actually that's when I saw it and on Facebook that can mean close to nothing or everything) but after my first reading, the seed of doubt was planted. I knew there was room in that hand basket for both of us. As a matter I insisted on it.
It took me a while to get to the article and through it. I mean, it's competing for my eyeballs with an update on the The Undertaker's health for cripes sake (is a cripe like a snipe, or just a poorly pronounced crepe? I say it but I don't know what it is). I was relieved to read 'everything's good in the hood' according to his wife (who is not called Mrs. Undertaker) who would know, right?
I admire the stony resolution and insistent fortitude of Michael Paulkovich but I am not rushing to stand any closer to him than our current positions on this orb, just in case the Smite Light comes on. I probably wouldn't have enough time to say, "see? Told ya!"
I struggle with my faith, and more often than not fall and don't get up either quickly or easily, but I'm not sure how much good all your research does you when you come to the place where the road and the sky collide.
Come December, Mike, I'm gonna kick in a couple of bucks and get the little guy a few presents for his birthday. In light of where the party always is, I'm thinking maybe a 4-H membership. And Kelly, stick around, brother; I'm not sure we've heard the last word.