Ham of God

I’m re-posting Anne Lamott’s essay of 2003, about finding grace at the supermarket, because it’s wonderful…

Ham of God

Last week on my 49th birthday, I decided we should all kill ourselves; that it’s all hopeless. These are desert days. Better to go out by our own hands than to endure slow death by scolding. However, after I had a second cup of coffee, I realized that I couldn’t kill myself that morning — not because it was my birthday but because I’d promised to get arrested the next day. I had been arrested three weeks earlier with an ecumenical bunch of religious peaceniks; people who still believe in Dr. King and Gandhi. Also, my back was out. I didn’t want to die in crone mode. So I took a long hot shower instead and began another day of being gloated to death.

God wouldn’t want me to steal the whole thing, so go here for the rest. Blessed Be, just 33 transgressing days till Solstice.

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