Mom called this afternoon for the annual retelling of the "trunk o' fireworks" story. Seems that when she was a little girl, her father (a truck driver) found a green trunk by the side of the road. When they opened it, they found it filled to the very top with fireworks of every sort, and it made for the best Independence Day celebration ever. Now, my sister and I hear the story every Fourth of July, without fail. Tradition is good, or so they tell me.
(Oh, I learned my parents are currently in Wisconsin— they plan to head to Rochester, MN soon to be with my sister and family as she undergoes artificial insemination procedures at Mayo later this month.)
Reading Piper's Desiring God, and I'm still not sure what I think. Though I'm far from membership in the literati, I'm still a book snob: bullet points, study guides, and newly-coined terminology almost invariably turn my nose upward, and modern Christian literature is littered with each. My condemnation here, however, is best turned on my own snobbery, a specific form of pride. Piper writes to turn Christians to our rightful privilege and duty of delight in God. Will I close my eyes and ears to wisdom because of my oh-so-refined tastes?
(Then again, I also haven't ruled out the possibility that I'm right in my reservations on the cheesier aspects.)
Need a shave, and I think another shower would be refreshing. And for sanity's sake, I should simply sit still (the caffeine I keep pumping into my system is counterproductive to this end). I have undone work on my brain, but it's not like I'm actually working on it, or likely to.