Sundays

I kind of miss Sundays at St. Silas. Man, they were good. I was recounting to my mom last night about Sundays at St. Silas. The midday adventures having lunch at Curlers or playing in the park, or where ever else the wind would take us, then the pub and church of course. I have grown up in an Episcopal church here. It's much more traditional than St. Silas. We sing a lot of old hymns, which can be good, but can also be pretty lathargic. My priest is pretty good, but he was an undercover cop in Southern California for a long time, so he's a little militant at times. I kind of miss David's jeans and black fleece. I've grown up here though, so it's home, and I've received a very warm welcome home, but St. Silas is great.

I suppose my homecoming has given me a taste of what the parable of the Prodigal Son is all about. Imagine though how much more God loves us. I didn't run off and waste my inheretence and then come home only after I'd hit rock bottom, so my warm welcome back is not so suprising. Yet, there has been no killing of the fatted calf or feast like there was for the Lost Son. That's just hint at how much God loves us, that even with the broken and sinful lives we lead, he throws a party when we return to him, repenting and humbled.

I'm headed to Las Vegas way too early tomorrow morning (my Uncle Tim is pretty excited and decided that a 7am departure was a good idea), so I'll be gone for a few days. My family (that would be my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, and our family friend Deb) is taking my cousin Justin and I to Vegas to celebrate our 21st birhtdays. It should be a good time, but really hot, even hotter than here. I've blogged way too much in the last few days, but I miss you guys so much. Anyway, there's plenty of material for you to peruse until my return. Bon chance to the medics as they take their exams.