It was an early morning for me. I awoke thinking about Mark this morning, wondering how he's doing. If he recieved the carepackage from the family in Montana yet. If it's still snowing in Afghanistan. Or just cold. It has been a few days since I'd spoken to him, and that included telling him about the death of someone we knew.
I also thought about Val and her family this morning. Today is Bill's funernal. And with the snow coming down as hard as it is, I won't be able to attend. I will keep Val and her family in my prayers.
I do have a confession to make: I write in the palm of my hand. I always have.
Since I was a child, I could be found drawing along the lines of my palms. Or praticing my spelling or math. Later, I would go on to make little notes to myself and even make list.
People thought me strange. Until it was learned that my former Pastor, Nate Atwood, one of the smartest men I know, also wrote in the palm of his hand.
Like the twisitng of our locks when studying Torah or chewing on a pencil when trying to figure out a math problem, we all have our little habits that get us through the day.
There are those who think I am crackers to keep a blog, putting my inner most thoughts (for the most part) for all the world to see.
But then, since when did I care what people thought of me?