My grandson. So cute I can hardly stand it. BUT He likes to play with poop. Not any poop he finds. He's quite selective. It's just his own poop that holds such fascination. When all is quiet in the house for two blessed hours each afternoon, and my daughter is lulled into a sense of peace, this otherwise darling little man, emerges from his room. "Momma, I pooped." There is a trace of guilt in his voice that betrays the fact that he didn't just poop. He pooped and then painted his walls, his floor, his bed, his blankie, and himself with it. Poop happens. It's part of life. The Dowager Lady Grantham said on a recent episode of Downton Abbey that life is a series of trials and hardships. You get through one and then another one and then another one and then...you die. Such an encouraging thought. Yet pretty accurate. I'm pretty crazy about my grandson, but I'm thinking that I don't want to be like him - at least not in...
Thoughts on life and faith