I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually wear socks around the house.
I’m not really sure why.
It’s not because I get sweaty feet; or because I feel closer to the earth or something like that.
I have just always found it more enjoyable…
…until a few days ago.
I was doing my usual ‘walk and think’, a practice I have developed over the years of wandering throughout the house,
…writing in my head, so to speak.
I find I come up with my best work this way.
I solve a lot of problems.
I can organize my thoughts.
And generally, I end up with solutions, further along and just all around better positioned in my work than when I first began.
But the other day, that all changed.
Right in the middle of my ‘writing,’ I felt something under my foot that I had not felt before.
And after lifting my foot I was aghast to find a used bandaid stuck against my skin.
Quickly scanning the floor, and mere steps from the one I had stepped on, I found another one…
“I know,” said Kyla when she came across the horrific scene, “it’s like they’re addicted to them.”
Yup, it seems our children had developed the conviction that a bandaid could fix anything.
Stomach ache? Grab a bandaid.
Don’t feel like making your bed? Grab a bandaid.
And hey, if you really just want to gross out your dad; get yourself a bandaid.
PERHAPS YOU KNOW A PARISH LIKE THAT?
Instead of addressing the real, deep seated problems of community life…we throw on a euchre night.
(People are in the same room, so that’s kind of like community, right?)
Instead of tackling the void where Faith should be found in the lives of adult men and women, we create an inspiring youth program.
(Parents have to at least show up to drop off their kids or hear the rules we have set down for our programs, so that’s kind of like helping mom and dad, right?)
Yes, bandaids in God’s Church.
When you want nothing more than to see the Gospel thrive among common men and women.
Stepping on a bandaid where there shouldn’t be one is well…just gross.
Have a great day, friends.
in Christ, patrick