Call me

I was eating dinner tonight when I took a second look at a postcard I received from a church I visited. When I got the postcard, I noted that it was odd, as I hadn’t filled out a visitor card (rebellious as I am, I have taken to saving that for at least a second or third visit, so as not to be on a bunch of mailing lists which inquire if I need anything at this time), and even if I had, I never would have used my first name (the formal one…Patricia) instead of Patty. I left it on the table and moved on with life. Fast forward to today, and my careful perusal of it (I read when I eat alone, but sometimes forget to take substantial resources to the table and am left scouring one section of the paper or a piece of junk mail) revealed that it was from an outreach website this church must have signed up to use. By my address there’s a postal Automatic-type code. And where the stamp should be, it says “mailed by outreach, inc.”.

So here’s how I think it went down: I moved. The post office took note of my address change and sold it down to the river who sold it down to this Outreach company who sent me a postcard for the church I visited. The moving-theme of the postcard (“Patricia’s moving checklist) almost confirms it for me.

But as I ate my ravioli, golden bread (garlic bruschetta bread for $3.59…ouch), and salad, I though about how cool it would be if I ended up at that church. I always used to joke that God could “call” me by sending a text message to my phone (since I don’t have texting, any messages that get through would have to be divine, right?), but maybe this postcard isn’t that far off. The church isn’t a big one, accustomed to membership drives. Maybe all of the newish folks in I-town got it too, but I’m still thinking that would be cool. The scoop so far: exegetical teaching (check). I was planning on some more visits soon, but for now am going as invited to some other churches. I’ll touch back in with you.

I decided to bake peanut butter cookies. My recipe said, in my own handwriting, to bake the cookies for 50-60% less time than the original recipe called for. That wasn’t necessary, as it turns out, and I wonder if my dad’s oven is too hot (hint, hint reader) because 6 minutes yielded blanched, weak cookies. Tasty, but not that pretty. 9 minutes was pretty good. We’ll stick with that here.

I am a glutton for punishment, but I’m going to try to knit a whole project in a night. Yes, I have other projects to do, but I’m going to try anyway. I’m on a timeline here. But first, dishes. I destroyed the kitchen tonight. đŸ™‚

Peace to you, and don’t throw that junk mail away without looking at it!


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