His Eye is on the sparrow. Mine wasn't.

I mowed a sparrow last week. I've got this steep hill that runs from the side of my house into the backyard. I had the old Lawn Boy on full throttle and set for "self-propelled." She was just knocking down blades of grass and having a great time. My job? Just guide her along. Just drive. But you know how it is. I was doing what I always do when I'm driving. I was texting with Oprah. And that's why I missed seeing it. I'm pretty certain it was alive before I got there. I"m 100% certain it was not alive when I left. It was just kind of ... laying there. Both halves.

Bird decapitation. What a horrible way to go. Quick but horrible. Fortunately I don't rake because that would have been just ... gross.

Okay, so there is no spiritual application to this little essay. I mean, you can dwell on whether or not God gets out His eraser and reduces the number of sparrows by one when something like this happens. I prefer to think He uses a heavenly spread sheet that updates itself automatically. In reality I think He just ... knows.

But the bottom line is that I have a gnarly mower, a messy lawn, and a not even slightly guilty conscience. And the sparrow population is down.

Be glad it wasn't a Bald Eagle. Pretty sure the government wild life people would not be as forgiving as God is.

FYI:

Not this kind of Sparrow.


This kind of Sparrow.

I use to talk good but I got over it

I've lost my voice. I've looked behind the couch. In the garage. Under the bed. No voice. It's gone. It first turned up missing the day before Easter when I had to do a lot of yelling (the good kind) at our church at an Easter Egg Hunt. But it came back. It's gone back and forth a few times since then. But after speaking yesterday morning it really went away. It faded back into range a bit for the evening service but afterward it went AWOL and hasn't been seen since.

So today I got up with specific directions to call my doctor. I do not like doctors. If my spleen is hanging out I agree it's probably time to go but my spleen is fine thank you. Still, I enjoy marriage and after living alone in Cleveland for all too long I've learned that I'm not the "single sort." So when my wife tells me to call the doctor I reach for the phone.

Here's an interesting question. When you have no voice ... and I do mean NO voice ... how do you tell the nice lady on the phone at the doctor's office what's wrong? It was an interesting conversation. It went something like ...

Doctor's Office - Hello.
Me - (gravely exhale)
D.O. - Hello?
Me - (hack/cough/whisper)
D.O. - Is anybody there?
Me - (sigh)
D.O. - Look. If you need something please tell me because I don't have time for ... games.
Me - (deep breath)
D.O. - Last chance wise guy.
Me - (mustering up all my strength to keep from coughing) I hhhaaaave nnnO vooweece.
D.O. - You Hab no Boice?
Me - (sigh) (long drink of water) Right. I have no voice.

It was not pretty. After a long struggle I convinced them that my throat doesn't hurt, I don't have a fever, I do have a cough, I do not have the ability to talk. So it's no big deal. If it's still like this in a week I'll call you back.

Nope. They weren't buying it. Either they want to actually meet their real live, heavy breathing, obscene phone caller or they were telling me the truth when they said I need to get there ASAP. Seems that something similar is going around and if you don't get treated quickly it can last 8 - 12 weeks.

Aww, crap. That's not what I want to hear. So tomorrow I get to go see my doctor who, it seems, just got back from Haiti. That's cool of her. Unless she's raised her rates to pay for her trip. When I get there I suppose either the police will be waiting or they'll stick one of those awful cotton stick down my throat, swab it around, and tell me I'm days from death.

So this may be my last blog. If it is, I hope you've enjoyed our time together. If it's not please ... a cake ... with a file baked inside of it ... would be greatly appreciated.