Humility, Humidity and Randomness.

I recently returned from spending a day and a half in Indianapolis. One thing that was hard to miss was the fact that it was hot and humid -- 93 degrees and 80%+ humidity. What this means is that you walk outside and you're instantly dripping with sweat. That's where, in my subject line, humidity and humility converge. You go to this office wanting to look all good and professional and instead your face is glistening from sweat and your nice shirt is all pitted out, just from the drive from the airport. Once you've applied a thick coat of Degree to your underarms, you really can't do a single thing to keep your body from sweating.

I won't lie to you; this is a big reason to be thankful that God providentially caused PM to be founded in Billings, MT. I put in 7 years of my life (though only one summer) in humid places; I'd prefer to live out the balance of my days in dry heat.

I came back to 99 unread emails in my inbox. "Take one down, pass it around... Whoops! I've got 4 more now that my Outlook has refreshed."

I made some stepping stones for my garden last night. They're brown and about the size of a brick. Each one has a word in it: "thank" "you" "God" "for" "most" "this" "amazing." (some of you will recognize that as the first line of an ee cummings poem, except I chose to capitalize "God" and omitted "I" from the beginning.) "Amazing" is a really long word to carve into cement that's starting to set up, so that brick doesn't look so good; I might have to try that one again some day. The others look pretty nice, though -- I'm happy with them, although they'll be a little bumpy to walk on. They'll go in the little pathway that I'm creating, and hopefully some day I'll have some beautiful groundcover plants (wooly thyme, most likely) growing up around them.

I was given a little tub of Body Shop Coconut Lip Butter last night. So I've been walking around today smelling like a coconut. ("Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?" -- Monty Python)

My brother gave me The City of Falling Angels after he'd plowed through it when last in Billings. I started reading it on the plane ride back from Indy. It's really intriguing -- completely non-fiction, and filled with all sorts of interesting history/gossip about Venetians and the ex-patriots (lots of literary figures) who spent much time in Venice. I can imagine someone who really knows English literature (Ezra Pound, TS Eliot, Henry James) just eating it up because the author visits the home where Henry James sat while writing Wings of the Dove, only now the home is on the verge of being sold out of the family who had hosted James; and the storyline includes the death of Ezra Pound's mistress at the age of 101 and the author unearths a bit of a scandal with respect to their estate.

A closing reflection: When I was in pre-school, my best friend Heidi went on vacation and I spent that week sitting under the table. She was kind of like my human security blanket. My job now involves me standing up in front of people and teaching for extended periods of time. And I like it -- I enjoy getting to interact with people and I love the message that I get to share.

God has grown me quite a bit from the little girl sitting under the table to the sweaty woman confidently addressing the crowd.