The day dawned brightly, with a slight mist and the sun picking up frost on the grass and fallen leaves. Yes, the climate had changed, but so uplifting. Better, to my mind, than living in the DFW metrosprawl where things seem less open and clean. That's the country for you, and more power to it.
Then, as I contemplated the pastoral idyll that is the Compound's backyard, the phone buzzed, "LSP, we need your help!" Huh, better get moving, and in a few minutes I was at the food bank, ready and waiting to do my bit to help suffering humanity.
It was chaos, of course, because a truck had come in with a massive amount of food and everyone was scrambling to store it away. In case you're interested, I ended up stacking pallets of canned corn onto an overflow trailer, which is a fine thing to do in the endeavor to fulfil the Gospel admonition, "I was hungry and you fed me."
Speaking of which, the local foodbank's curiously undersubscribed. Shouldn't people be starving and desperate for their next meal in this horrendous plague year? You know, not able to get food because of the death that stalketh in the noon day? And lining up around the block for relief? Apparently not. Make of that what you will. Regardless, it was good to help out.
A trip to Walmart and a magazine gone to press later, it was time to drive to the lake and say Mass. Always a privilege, and a new family turned up with their five children, such a blessing.
We celebrated afterwards with wine and cheese in the church hall, as the kids played in the nursery/playroom. Great result. And that, punters, is the story of that.
I file this exciting story under God, Church and Country Life in Texas. And guns, obvs.
God bless,
LSP
