My Little Girl

My kids mean a lot to me. Right now, I want to talk about my special little lady, Nathalia. She’s smart, funny and so very endearing. She is a cuddly little girl with a desire to learn. Her openness to life and knowledge is something that I feel I haven’t done enough to encourage. Not nearly enough. Hopefully this situation can change for the better in the near future. She’s Daddy’s little girl, and I love her.

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The Orthodox

A few years ago, on an e-mail list, a rather arrogant fellow-member predicted that in ten years I’d be Orthodox. He meant that I would come to my senses and join the Orthodox Church. When I say “arrogant,” I mean it. He was terribly condescending towards people of the various denominations. I was glad when he ceased being an active member of the list.

The most puzzling thing to me then was how he could have been a part of the Restoration Movement (Christian Churches/Churches of Christ) and even studied at one of its seminaries (Lincoln Christian College) and yet fall into such a belief system.

I am a former Roman Catholic. Though there are marked differences between Roman Catholicism and Orthodoxy, there are very strong similarities. From my reading of first-hand accounts in the second century and forward, the early church departed drastically from its original structure and faith. A lot of superstition crept in.

This is not to say that a modern Christian Church or Church of Christ worship service would look terribly familiar to the early Christians, but I think a modern Mass or Divine Liturgy would send the apostle Paul into a fit of apoplexy.

Recently I’ve read a few books favorable towards Orthodoxy. I’ve skimmed over some of their sites online. Though I’m far from being any kind of expert, I’ve seen enough to know that Orthodoxy is not in my future.

More on this later.

Freakish

A reality of our present financial condition is that my wife and I have only one car between us. Oh, it’s a nice car…a good, dependable 2003 Chevy Cavalier. I love Cavaliers. Anyhoo, it’s still only one car…and there are two of us…and we both work. So, I ride the bus a lot. It takes one hour by bus to get to work, when by car it’s only about ten minutes.

Riding the bus, I see things. The first few times I rode, it was interesting. Now it’s just tedious. Most days I see the same people. We all work the same schedules every day, so of course we see each other. I’ve never struck up a conversation with anyone because forever after I’ll be obligated to speak to the person on the bus.

There’s one woman, a young black woman in perhaps her mid-twenties, that I see from time to time catching a bus in Newark. There’s really nothing striking about her. She’s fairly non-descript. Except for one thing: Her fingernails are like 7 or 8 inches long. You know, nails don’t just grow straight. They grow, and curl, and dangle and get in the way. Today I watched her trying to drop the correct change into the bus money-taker. She succeeded, but I couldn’t help but look at those freshly painted pink monstrosities with blue lines and stars and ask myself, “Why?”