that’s my pastor!

A week ago Sunday, I was kneeling at the Communion rail with my niece Wilhelmina. She’s two. She’s opinionated, like her mother. She’s chatty, like her mother. She’s determined, like her . . . well, I think you see where I’m going with this.

She’s also very Lutheran, just like her mother. DSC_0098

And so it was no surprise, as she kneeled next to me at the Lord’s table, that when her dad, the pastor, came down the row of communicants with the Lord’s body, Willa whispered, like a tornado attempting to pass as a summer breeze, “THAT’S MY PASTOR!”

And then, to make sure I was listening, she poked me in the arm and said again, now pointing at him, “HEY, THAT’S MY PASTOR!” Continue reading

we’re all going to the same place anyway

It’s never wise to grocery shop without a list 20 minutes before the store closes. And yet there I was, throwing acorn squash and chili beans in my cart in a mad dash to the only cashier left in Aldi.

As I rushed up to the check-out line at three minutes until 7:00 p.m., an older gentleman and his wife were also attempting to get into line. He was a small man with a loud plaid suit coat, a fedora, no front teeth and a neck that desperately needed a shave. His wife’s cart was relatively empty and so, as you do at Aldi, I told him, “You go ahead,” gesturing toward the cashier.

“Are you sure?” he asked in a thick New York accent.

“Of course,” I responded.

Then I said eight fateful words: “We’re all going to the same place anyway.” Continue reading