Yesterday, I decided not to write a blog post. It feels strange to type, with my pinky finger, swollen and bruised, missing as many keys as it hits. I knew I would need to write a sermon later, and I wanted not to push my luck.
Today, my finger is slightly better, but I'm not going to write much. I know that I may look back and wonder why I didn't write more about the assassination attempt on Trump yesterday or maybe I'll wonder why I didn't write about the deaths of Richard Simmons and/or Dr. Ruth.
And it's my birthday. I could write about how strange it is to be entering my 59th year. In 6 months, I can access my retirement accounts without penalty. I will try hard to resist that temptation.
My parents went to Bristol after Music Week--they are having fun exploring a different type of music with their friends who met them there. Later this morning, they'll come for worship at Faith Lutheran, and then we'll go to brunch.
It will be a good day. Let me get ready for it.
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