God's Other Son

I'm a stiff-necked Mick, and the son of one as well. My Dad was the third of four children, all sons, including the oldest, his step-brother, who was a priest and in the era in which he grew up in an Irish family of that size, there was a better than good chance there was at least one priest in the bunch. 

My father was many things but close to first and foremost, he was a devoted and devout son of Holy Mother Church (and if I have to tell which church, one of us needs to visit another blog). His oldest, and namesake, son has an unspoken agreement with the Lord to stay out of one another's way, which, for the most part, I think I've been better at than He.

I'm a FARC, a Fallen Away Roman Catholic, more out of disappointment and sloth than anger and resentment. I see myself as Desplein, the protagonist of Honore De Balzac's short story, The Atheist's Mass (minus any of Desplein's intelligence or medical abilities), and figured I was fated to end my days knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door until a wondrous email from Liberty University popped into my inbox, dare I say it, like a miracle (I did dare). Behold:

I must confess (didja see what I did there?), they had me at "Hi Bill." A post-retirement second career could be waiting for me if I apply myself. How do you like them loaves and fishes eh? 

I'm already planning on operating my church right out of my home so, pardon my pushiness for that tax exemption, but that means you need to clear your breakfast plate off my kitchen table because that's gonna be my altar. 

Yepper, talk about mysterious ways. Let me count them for you. 
-bill kenny