Tuesday, January 15, 2008

When the Lights Go Out

Okay, I will be the first to admit it. I suffer from height deficiency. Not my fault. Blame my parents, I guess. Although some have suggested that I suffer from a Napoleonic complex, I have done my very best to keep it in check for the last several decades. Every now and then, though, I must admit my overzealousness for one project or another tends to take on a life of its own and I am a man possessed. That's as close to a confession as you will get from me, mon amis. :^)
Since April, I have returned to my native New Orleans to pick up the pieces of my life left floating in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. The house I own is a typical New Orleans home built in the 1930s with ten-foot tall ceilings. Even on my best day with a stepladder, the light bulbs are just out of my reach. That is why I believe it is God's wry sense of humor, his constant toying with me that causes brand new light bulbs to go out at the most inopportune times. It is those times, like today, when rooms are plunged in darkness that I get closer to God and pray for more light. Usually, it is my five-foot, ten-inch housekeeper, Laura, who is really the answer to my prayers. Today is her day to cut a swath through my mess and to bring true illumination to me. I thank you, Laura, for all that you do and especially for your long reach. And just in case there's any question about my faith: Thank you, Lord, for not taking out the other lights until she gets here. Amen.

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