I were eavesdropping.

Is it called eavesdropping if you’re reading over someone’s shoulder?

Whatever it’s called, I were doin’ it.

It had been a long, long day.  I finished with the last student at 9 p.m., paused beside a field to take snapshots of a little brown rabbit who posed for me while scarfing down dandelions, and sat myself down in a seat on an over-heated bus.  A large family got on: some 6 kids and two women.  The kids were absolutely… adorable; there’s no other word for it.  The two bigger kids each took a little kid on their knees, and then tucked another one on the seat between them.  They weren’t just holding on to each other; they were hugging and patting the babies, and talking to each other.  I rarely see that many children being so affectionate, so connected with each other.

But this isn’t where I was eavesdropping.

The guy in front of me – early 20’s with a really cool iphone – was texting.  This is where I was eavesdropping.

I wouldn’t have deliberately snooped, but he was propping the phone up on his backpack while he wrote, and the screen was directly in my line of view.  He was writing an entire epistle about this beautiful family, describing the kids and how they reminded him of his reader’s family.  He wanted to take a picture of them but figured it wouldn’t be socially acceptable.

I wanted to take a picture of him writing about this family, but I figured it wouldn’t be socially acceptable.

Don’t know what’s better: the good things in life, or seeing someone appreciate the good things in life.


I left my parish yesterday.  For good.  Dropped off the keys and everything.  The priest phoned to see what had happened; completely inconceivable to her that someone would leave the parish unless something Terrible, Horrible, No Good and Very Bad had occurred.  She hoped the parish would be able to start something interesting next fall, something to win me back.

It’s not a matter of win or lose; whoever “gets me” is not gaining extra points with God.

Besides, there are a couple of people in the Anglican Communion who are probably thinking, “Christ, she’s gone rogue.  What if she comes here?!”

That parish will never start something that will win me back, because the people there view religion as something pious and passive.  They don’t want to be dirty or uncomfortable, or get hurt.  They don’t want to do something that may not be publicly appreciated.

I don’t know what I’m going to do now, but I do know that I feel free.  It’s a good thing.

The priest did say that I was welcome back at any time, though, and her door was always open.  I’m hoping St. Peter gives me points for not finishing her sentence for her: “…unless I’m busy or on vacation or one of the wardens needs me or there’s a pastoral emergency or I’ve already worked overtime….”

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