The M&M Story

So last night we went to church. Max sang songs with the choir, one of two boys up there. What I love about him is that he does what he wants and doesn't care what anyone thinks. He sang his heart out. And Briggs--had me in tears--they picked out gifts for their family in his catechism class--and he picked out a pair of shoes for me (size 13 little girls, mind you) and was SO proud of them. All I could think of was that song they play at Christmas--Christmas Shoes--about a little boy buying shoes for his dying mother--I couldn't stop crying or hugging him. I have the sweetest little guys in the world. How I love them.

WHO THE MEEK ARE NOT Not the bristle-bearded Igors bent under burlap sacks, not peasants knee-deep in the rice paddy muck, nor the serfs whose quarter-moon sickles make the wheat fall in waves they don't get to eat. My friend the Franciscan nun says we misread that word "meek" in the Bible verse that blesses them. To undersand the meek (she says) picture a great stallion at full gallop in a meadow, who-- at his master's voice--sizes up to a stunned but instant halt. So with the strain of holding that great power in check, the muscles along the arched neck keep eddying, and only the velvet ears prick forward, awaiting the next order. -Mary Karr It's so easy to picture myself in the rice paddies. In many ways, my story--my main character--could look more like the heroine of the The Good Earth. Not that she was weak....but...I'd rather have velvet ears. And fall down the rabbit hole. And meet a wizard and fight the White Witch. And then ride the waves of a st