Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Futher proof that I need a child...
And these words were spoken and heard in my house tonight.
Conversation (or rather admonition) recorded at 7:56 p.m. on Strathdon Drive:
Contemplative Chaplain: Moses! Moses, STOP IT! No...Moses...quit messing with Mommy's hope...(30 second pause)...Moses. Leave Mommy's hope alone. Leave it. Moses! (Loud hissing noise made by me)...Moses. You are a bad, bad boy for messing with my hope. That's Mommy's hope, that's not your hope.
Explanation: On Monday I decided it would behoove me to have a few more visual cues to represent my need to hold hope when I feel desolate. To that end, I bought several beautiful polished stones with the word "hope" etched into them. I've placed them in strategic places...above the sink where I can see it washing dishes...on my worship center in my sanctuary...next to my bed...by my computer...on my desk at the office...
The problem is that Moses, my gray-and-white spitfire of a cat believes that these stones were created especially for him as cat-styled hockey pucks to knock down with his white paws at random and try to scoot across the floor.
Hope, apparently isn't hard to come by when you're a 20lb. tomcat. All you have to do is knock it around a bit.