I’m making a new church directory and am sending out forms for people’s updated contact info. I’ve written in bold, all caps type that all responses should be clearly printed. Then I ran a hi-lighter over the line. I’m certain at least half of all respondents will neither print nor write clearly. I am tremendously tempted to deliberately misinterpret their handwriting to comic effect. So watch it, Satan.

The pastor’s going to be gone this Sunday. I am tempted to heckle the guy filling in for him. Guest Preacher, or GP, is a high school history teacher slash football coach who grew up with my oldest sister. He’s forty one. Also, GP asked my little sister out about a year ago and immediately vomited drunkenly about six inches from her shoes. She was twenty-five at the time and is one of his former students. This is, in my estimation, a man who needs “Play Freebird!” shouted during his sermon. From his sermon title I suggest he’s coming down on the wrong side of the Donatist controversy of the fourth century. Or the fifth. I don’t remember. Dates are hard. Although, to be fair, so is playing Freebird. Presumably. A prophet is without honor in his own town.

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