How many psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb?
Just one. But the lightbulb has to really want to change.
I'm reading an autobiography right now. I usually don't like them - I think James Frey is the rule more than the exception - but this one, so far, has been interesting. Last night, he - Mel White is the guy's name - mentioned the Civil Rights movement, and spending a week with Dr. King in 1958. He was stirred by Dr. King's words, but never got involved. He was too busy, too frantic, really, with the business of "ministry" to drive across the country and risk being arrested for something that felt unfamiliar and strange. He looks back with regret at allowing the moment to pass him by. I've done that - been so caught up in the flurry of religious activity that I missed the opportunity to love and serve someone. I want to be better about that.
In general, what I've been thinking about lately is redemption and evangelism and the cost of letting other people tell you what God thinks about you and how Jesus said, "In my Father's house there are many rooms. If it were not so, I would have told you." This is a much bigger and more personal conversation than I'm willing to have publicly, but that is the general direction of my thoughts lately.
I'm off to feed the happiest cuddliest baby ever. Happy and cuddly, that is, until bedtime, when he employs what Brian refers to as Baby Cussing to tell us how he feels about falling asleep. He really is a lot like Brian - happy and observant and engaged, laughing and playing with his hands and generally being very cute, until he's OVER IT and IT'S HOT IN HERE and LEAVE ME ALONE, ALREADY. Sound familiar?
Happy Thursday, everyone.