Getting our next foster on Thursday night; a 10-month-old male found as a stray in Stanley. That’s all we know about him, except for the fact that the shelter staff described him as “very gentle, sweet.” Which is encouraging, at the very least. Expecting an adolescent tornado. Just hope he can keep the humping to a minimum. That is one dog behavior that Pyrrha and I cannot abide.
Kelsey and I are going to do an e-mail Bible study together on 1 Peter. (One of the more interesting, aggressive little letters in the New Testament.) What a sweet and genuine sister I have. We should go visit them in D.C. Anyone want to watch Pyrrha for a weekend?
I read a New Yorker profile on Rob Bell from November 2012 that has me thinking a lot. How he interests me, how I don’t know what I think, how I don’t personally want to “become merely one more mildly spiritual Californian.” I gravitate toward about half of the things he says; the other half make me turn up my nose. (His disdain for tradition and beautiful church structures I find particularly grating, having grown up in a wannabe megachurch with the same Gen-X ideals.) In the last line of the profile, he is quoted as saying about the Church: “‘It is the most frustrating institution in the world,’ he said the next day. ‘And yet, when it’s firing on all cylinders, there’s absolutely nothing like it.'”
It’s about time gender roles were under attack. (More on that later, perhaps.)
On the nightstand: Anna Karenina, which continues to be marvelous; The Age of Wonder, by Richard Holmes, which I am somehow struggling to pay attention to; and a whole spate of books about how not to kill houseplants. Can’t focus on Spring Torrents (I. Turgenev) right now, so I will attempt that later in the year. One Russian at a time is enough.
What should we name our next foster? A masculine name ending in “o,” to keep with our current trend (Brando, Laszlo)?