Not Me! Monday

I stumbled upon a new blog a month back when a friend joined the Not Me! Monday experiment. The goal is to pretend you didn't do what you did indeed do, even confess something by claiming you didn't.

So here are the things I certainly did not do this past week.

I did not get the nerve to travel Washington, D.C. on my own for a couple days while Eric was in a conference, and I certainly didn't use the Metro multiple times, exploring several museums and a yarn shop.


I was not in awe of "Ghost Clock" at the Renwick Gallery, since carving wood to look like a sheet draped over a grandfather clock is not all that impressive.


Since I grabbed a map when I entered Arlington, I didn't get lost when trying to catch the changing of the guard, because I wouldn't cut such a somber event so close.


I did not go to the top of the Washington Monument and take numerous photos from every direction.


And since I mailed a quick note to my mom before we left town, I certainly wouldn't see the need to mail her two postcards and a card while in DC.

And now that I'm home, I don't have achy joints after wandering around for two days in a row for about fourteen hours total.

And for the 72 hours I was gone, I did not feel guilty for leaving my cat alone, stocked with food, water, and a clean litter box. Because there was no guilt, I absolutely did not call our home -- twice -- to talk to her through the answering machine.


Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

Waiting Rooms

I had some blood drawn this weekend. Back in October or November, I had some drawn, and they want to measure my fasting blood sugar now to compare it to that earlier reading.

So Saturday morning, I awoke and went to the center. Naturally, there was a long wait, as everyone else decided not to miss work and get it completed on a weekend. I was there nearly two hours, but I had some knitting to occupy me, so beyond some periodic grumblings from my stomach, I was content.

I was amused by a four-year-old boy there with his mother. He was being silly with the toys, so in an attempt to calm him down, his mother tried to engage him by looking through a Highlights magazine. He was game, counting things for her and asking questions. This was happening in the background of my knitting, and I was catching snippets. Suddenly he piped up, “This page is for coloring. Where are the crayons?”

When none were to be found, he hopefully exclaimed, “Maybe I have crayons in my pocket!” He earnestly dug his hand down, only to emerge empty. Despondently he said, “No crayons.” Then he brightened up: “Maybe I have crayons in my other pocket!” Again, the ritual of shoving a hand down, only to emerge empty yet again. “No crayons. I wish I had crayons,” as he threw himself down in a chair.

I tried to hide my amusement at his antics. After all, perhaps it was commonplace for him to shove crayons in his pockets, but I like to imagine that he thought willing them to be there was enough to make it so.

Later on, he walked around with a large book balanced on his head, declaring, “I have a hat that looks like a book!”

I wanted to pull out my hat and reply, “I have a book that looks like a hat,” but I didn’t want to scare him off.

My Insulin-Resistance Dietary Basics

I've mentioned briefly my diagnosis of insulin resistance. Yesterday was my first appointment since being diagnosed in late November. In that time, I've officially lost 20 pounds by following the guidelines my doctor laid before me. Eric asked my doctor when he thought I might plateau out, and he said he could see me still dropping even more weight, perhaps up to another 15 to 20 pounds. My husband claims his interest was solely to learn when he should give me the blank check to replace my wardrobe -- perhaps not until May -- but I digress.

Since some have asked, here are the basics given my insulin resistance. The numbers I list are specific for me after my doctor examined my bloodwork, so my protein-to-carb ratio may not be the same as yours if your doctor put you on something like this. I should also give the disclaimer that since I am not a doctor, if you're serious about following something like this, talk to your doctor and get tested to see if you would even need to make such concessions.

- Eat as many non-starchy vegetables as you want (the big three starchy ones are peas, corn, and my beloved potatoes)
- Dairy products are fine (this doesn’t include things like chocolate milk and ice cream because of the sugars, but I have found a couple low-carb ice creams that meet my requirements)
- Never eat carbohydrates on their own; they must be accompanied by at least 1 gram of protein for every 2 grams of carbohydrates
- No more than 30 carbohydrates in a two-hour period
- I think I’m supposed to shoot for about 120-130 grams of protein each day, but I haven’t been monitoring this amount (I believe the average is typically around 60-70 grams)
- Fiber is good. On the nutritional label, the fiber and sugar alcohol amounts can be subtracted from the total carbohydrate number (sugar alcohol isn’t completely absorbed, so it’s not often factored into the net carb number, although if you were really strict, you could count half of the sugar alcohol grams towards the total)

And there you go. There can be more details (limit things like nuts, eggs, etc. and other fatty proteins so cholesterol doesn’t go crazy), but these are the basics I’ve been following pretty religiously since Thanksgiving.

My doctor was impressed with my success, but I should add that I had the motivation since I have a lot on the line; when I've described my routine to friends who were intrigued about the weight loss, several realized they don't themselves have the self-control. I don't want my condition to develop into something like Type II Diabetes, and I wouldn't want to have to suddenly get in line should I become pregnant in the future, so my incentives are pretty strong.

On that last note, he said given my strict adherence, he would have no qualms encouraging us in a future pregnancy, provided we were emotionally ready (and provided we allowed 12-18 months to ensure that my body has completely healed from surgery). We're not at either point yet, but I was buoyed after my appointment, grateful to see my hard work had paid off.

It's still intriguing to me that I should be losing weight by eating what I take to be the same caloric content, or sometimes more so (instead of an apple by itself, I have to add string cheese, for instance). My doctor doesn't care about the weight loss, other than as proof that I'm following the guidelines. But I see it as evidence that I have this figured out, and I've made it a daily habit.

And so that I'm sure I'm not in a position to be faced with an unhealthy amount of carbohydrates without protein, I've taken to carrying edamame, peanuts, and/or protein bars in my purse (yes, currently all three have residence, and for a day, they even had wheat nuts as company).

So now you're informed, but I don't expect you to follow suit; I probably wouldn't have had the self-control before I had my insulin-resistance diagnosis. In fact, the first week, all I could think about was all the carbohydrates I was missing and wanting.

If you're interested in learning more, the South Beach Diet book (Phases 2 and 3 rather than 1) and the Insulin-Resistance Diet book are decent resources.

A Defense of More of the Same

I'm struggling with how to share my life with the cyberworld.

When we lost Katherine, people we had known for years began sharing their own stories of loss. They cried with us, revealing their own pain over the years. They wrote letters detailing their own darkness.

And it has made me think why we don't have more opportunities to be transparent. Here I've known them for a while, to varying depths, and they've been keeping this hidden.

I think I can understand what happened, though. It's twofold.

There comes a time when people around are tired of hearing, are thinking it's time to be over the pain. I suspect these reactions are from those who haven't experienced a close loss. They are the ones trying to get us to some future state.

I'm not saying I've encountered much of this, but I'm sensitive to the potential, and so I'm just as likely to keep my own counsel as I am to bring up some emotional experience.

Also, I think we deserve some of the blame. We fear they don't want to hear about more of the same and we don't give ourselves the opportunity to take the time needed to heal. Or we don't give our friends the credit that they do want us to be honest with them.

In this, I realize I'm ignoring the fact that we don't often open up and share the most pivotal moments of our life with those around us every day, for whatever reasons.

So I guess the conclusion I'm coming to is that I will try to be authentic. Sometimes all I have in me to write about is what we're experiencing in the aftermath, and other times I might return to what I'm knitting or my love of coffee. I'm still balancing how much detail to go into and what I should just keep private in my own writings. But much of life is finding a balance.

So I'll share two stories, the first shocked me, and the second was a comfort.

It's customary that when a child is born to someone in our department, a birth notice is posted around the building. This happened for Katherine, but they were promptly pulled a week later. An email wasn't sent, but the word spread throughout most of the building that we had lost our daughter.

However, a couple weeks back I was in a common room at work when another employee, grabbing some coffee, asked me, "How's your little one?" This is someone I've rarely talked to and don't often see, so I was surprised that those were the words that came out of his mouth. He hung his head and froze when I told him she had died in August, and then I retreated to my office. I assumed I had broken the news to the last person, so this revelation six months later caught me off-guard. I took a couple deep breaths, but I couldn't still the shaking until I cried it out. I remained jittery for much of the day.

On the final note, over Christmas a friend's father shared that his parents had lost their firstborn, a daughter. He said that while he had never met his older sister, he felt that she was a part of the family growing up. I hope for the same with us. I'm not sure how this is implemented, but I'm grateful for the photos and reminders we have around us, and I know those will play a role.

Random Monday

I think this is the longest I've gone without blogging since I started. We'll see if I return to a more normal schedule. Until then, here's a random list of my last month.

1. Christmas was at times emotional (there were some new babies enjoying their first Christmas), but it was welcome to see friends and family. We split our time between our two families and still managed to get a couple days at home before I returned to work.

I saw some high-school friends at an open house held for one of them who was on a short furlough from teaching in South Korea. I'm grateful we still get along so well and that we make a priority to see each other. We've remained close over the years, and I realize not many count their high-school friends as friends later in life.

Charity visited for a week. We filled her time with a trip to Chicago for the Field Museum and the Shedd Aquarium, visited the South Bend Museum of Art, saw Spamalot, the BBC Pride and Prejudice, and the iconic It's a Wonderful Life (I still cry at the end), and Charity still had time to read several books, knit potholders, and sew a bag.

2. Back in late November, I was diagnosed with insulin resistance. In short, I cannot eat carbohydrates without protein because my body can't properly break them down; I produce too much insulin for the carbs I take in, which results in sudden spikes in my blood sugar.

In my case, my doctor has instructed me to eat no more than 30 grams of carbs in a two-hour period, with one protein gram for every two grams of carbohydrates. Given these restrictions, I've already lost over ten pounds; my caloric intake hasn't really changed, so this seems to reinforce the doctor's findings. The first week of monitoring was difficult; all I craved was carbs because I knew I could not have them. I don't miss the sweets, but I enjoy starches, breads, and fruit, which have been decreased.

Low-carb diets have been experiencing popularity, so there is no shortage of options at the grocery store. Being a natural grazer, I'm appreciating snacks that are balanced so as not to require me to supplement them. Carrots and hummus or even the low-carb mint-chocolate-chip ice cream are good examples. I'm not such a fan of having a handful of nuts before a small piece of chocolate, though, so I'm more likely to opt for the snack that doesn't require a side of protein in addition.

I think the only time I deviate from the doctor's orders is for weekly communion. I recognize others aren't so rigid, but if this is what I have to do to keep it from developing into something more serious like Type II Diabetes, I will be strict.

It can be difficult to eyeball proper amounts when eating out, like during the holidays or when I didn't prepare the food, but I tried to err on the side of caution and ensure I had enough protein.

Several people have asked if this is what caused our pregnancy issues. No one knows what causes preeclampsia or HELLP Syndrome, but my obstetrician thinks insulin resistance can cause the early-onset preeclampsia I was faced with.

3. As a rule, I didn't grow up with making New Year's Resolutions. Once in a while, I would tackle one, like the year where I gave up chocolate. This year, after January was already underway, I spontaneously implemented No Tele Tuesdays. I arbitrarily chose Tuesdays to turn off the television. While I am often knitting, sewing, or reading, television can cut into this time, and I don't like how it becomes the focus of my night (satellite and DVR have helped me gain the control I desire, though). So Tuesdays I spend in any pursuit I choose, provided there is no television involved. Perhaps this will result in more regular blogging, but no promises.

This has been going well, but I did make one slight modification this week -- I made Monday the No Tele day, since I want to watch the inauguration highlights tomorrow night.

4. Knitting is still happening on a regular basis. I'm nearly done with my second sweater, I started another scarf last night (the infamous Noro striped scarf), and I have a couple socks finished with a couple others on the needles. I'm behind on starting a pair of thrummed mittens (I'm supposed to join some local friends in knitting it with them, and several of them have already finished at least one mitten). Pictures will follow in a later post, as I haven't been documenting them just yet.

Christmas Music

Christmas tree ornaments
Originally uploaded by TopTechWriter.US.

Like any office, we listen to Christmas music during the holidays. When I'm not in control, we tend to listen to a local radio station that switches to holiday music in November, and I have a theory that the employees all go on vacation for eight weeks and simply repeat the same playlist with no adjustments year to year. Since I listen for about eight hours a day, I believe I am a reliable source on this.

It's the third year of hearing this song, and in addition to having odd lyrics, it still strikes me as trying to cram everything into one song. I hereby present the lyrics of "Santa Claus and Popcorn" by Merle Haggard:

Santa Claus and popcorn jingle bells and reindeer horns
Christmas trees and mistletoe Jesus loves me this I know

Carols singing Silent Night Crosby dreams of Christmas white
We celebrate cause the King was born with Santa Claus and popcorn

Children dancing round the tree sleighbells ringing merrily
Snowballs flying through the air happiness is everywhere

What's in a Name?

Some of you may be unaware that Faith is not my first name, but I have gone by it for much of my life. I'm quick to use my given name on legal documents, here referred to as H--- for anonymity's sake, and I've started doing so over the phone at work. "Faith" doesn't come across the wires very well. I can't tell you the number of times I've given my name, only to have them follow up with, "Stace?" And I repeat it again and again, finally saying, "Faith. Like hope and charity." When I offer my given name, though, it comes across clearly, and all I have to fear is a possible misspelling.

I called a business yesterday, seeking clarification on an invoice we had received. They took down my name and number. I received no response, so today I followed up. The manager was on the phone, so they took down my name and number again. I mentioned this was a follow-up from yesterday's message, and I gave my name as H---, before realizing that I was pretty sure I had given Faith yesterday.

An hour or two passes when my phone rings. I automatically answered it with, "This is Faith," only to hear the individual ask for H---. I am not above correcting them with, "Oh, that's technically me, but I also go by Faith." However, I was not inclined to do so today. Instead, I asked him to hold, tried to get the laugh out of my voice, and answered as H---, making a slight effort to have my voice at its normal tone, not on the high pitch it had ended on in my chipper "This is Faith" answer.

I think I fooled him.

Tagged: Seven Things

Dr. Liz has tagged me, so I'm supposed to share seven things about myself.

1. I love to create. I love examining individual parts and seeing potential in them. This experience isn't restricted to knitting. When I was younger, I wrote incessantly, and I still have a thing for a good notebook or slim journal. Growing up, I was in 4-H where I dabbled in woodworking. Some of my projects are in my home, including a bookcase and a kitchen cart. I have fits and starts when I use my sewing machine to make quilts and small items. As a teacher, I had a sick enjoyment of creating handouts (or improving existing, non-aesthetically pleasing ones) -- laying things out on a page, formatting it beautifully, even color-coding certain handouts. Totally lost on the students. When we moved to Indiana, my mom gave me many of her stamps, so I even have seasons where I make my own cards. Seeing things transform to something greater is so rewarding. It's not always pretty, but I like it more because it challenged me and I succeeded. It's gratifying to have someone ask, "Where did you buy that (bookcase, pair of socks, etc.)," when I made it. Even with employment I enjoy, I think if I could stay at home and dabble in making things all day long, I would be quite satisfied. I'm not sure where this will take me, but I wouldn't be surprised if sometime in the future I tackle spinning my own yarn, or even programming if I were quite ambitious.

2. I love classic books much more than contemporary ones. I think it's the character development and the tangents that get me. The unabridged Les Miserables really tested me on both counts (about one hundred pages written on why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo), but it still emerged as one of my favorites. Dickens, Austen, Dostoevsky, Wharton, Gaskell, and Twain are also favorites.

3. I love technology. For some reason, I get excited about digital cameras, Mac computers, and iPods (I don't care about fancy televisions, though). Throw on DVR or the latest technological development, and I'm euphoric. Come on -- pausing live television? A slick, slim cellphone? Priceless. And this may be my public admission that I am now the proud owner of an iPod Touch. Don't even get me started on the wonderful applications and games for that -- thanks to Stanza, I have the text of 30 books. And there's still plenty of room for the traditional mp3 fare of countless songs, podcasts, and audiobooks to keep me entertained, all on one slim piece of amazing (you know it has to be great if I'm delving into the ungrammatical).

4. I used to memorize things: Shakespeare soliloquies, poems, and passages of the Bible. I've grown rusty, though, and haven't tackled anything in years.

5. I was a nanny for one week. I'm not one to leave jobs unless I'm moving, but many things that had been stipulated as my duties over the phone were increased by the time I arrived, and I worried what would happen in six months' time if they were already taking advantage of me.

6. Right now in my life, I typically don't like to cook. I think this has to do with always feeling so rushed (and hungry) when I get home in the evenings. I like it when I have time to prepare something on a weekend, but I would be one of those people who would happily pop a pill containing all my calories and nutrition. Or graze on small things all day long. Or have a personal chef. Maybe this means I need to be one of those people who prepares and freezes all their meals for the week. And I do enjoy the fall and winter for allowing me to make the most of my crockpot since the prep work is done before I get hungry.

7. When I was younger, I saw a television special about toys coming to life when the children left the room. I was convinced this was true, to the point that I rotated my stuffed animals in bed so they wouldn't feel like there was preferential treatment -- sure, I had favorites, but I wasn't prepared to hurt the feelings of the others. (It's frightening to see that my tendencies to please others and avoid confrontation extended to my toys.)

So there you have it. I now tag Eric, Rachel, and Rebecca.

Comfort and Some Knitting

One of my colleagues had given me a book her daughter recommended, Comfort: A Journey Through Grief by Ann Hood.

You may recognize Hood as the author of several knitting novels; those novels were shaped by her life. This memoir shared her experience of losing her five-year-old daughter suddenly. With prior losses, like the death of her father, writing had helped her grieve. But she found that she couldn't think, couldn't make sense of letters and words, after Grace died. A friend recommended she learn to do something else with her hands, knowing in time writing and reading would return to her. So Hood learned to knit and the act of working each stitch individually, concentrating just enough on the process, allowed her to retreat when life became too overwhelming.

Reading the dust jacket had me somewhat skeptical. I was worried it would boil down to, "Knitting saved my life." And as much as I enjoy knitting, I knew that theme would leave me empty. I enjoy having it around me and in my hands, but fiber is not redemptive. The book, however, gave the proper amount of credit to knitting. Her memoir was a good outlet for me. Reading about her daughter's sudden death let me relive our own loss. So each day I read a little and cried when I needed.

Regarding knitting, I will say that there are times when I'm tired of feeling emotions, so I pick up some project to allow myself to be mindless and only focus on the pattern. Hood talks of retreating to her needles and being so fearful of being without a project that she stocked up on yarn (to obsessive levels) so as not to be put in such a position. It's not the only time I knit, since I did find enjoyment in it before, but I do like the escape. It gives my fidgeting hands something to do and can calm my racing brain.

I know I'll still share here about how we are coping, but I'll also try to touch on lighter things as I feel them. However, I know the majority of people consistently reading are family and friends, and will thus grant me the grace to dwell on it when I need to.

Keeping up with the knitting vein, I'll quickly share some projects I've accomplished in the last couple months.

First, Heather received a pair of socks for her birthday, a small gratitude for her presence by my side during everything. Everyone has been gracious and sympathetic, but it meant a lot to have had my older sister with me. And were it not for her, we would have far fewer photos of Katherine. When the doctor called me down, Heather thought enough to grab my camera and document our precious minutes with her.


I also made a winter hat to match a scarf completed early this summer:


I had decided that 2008 was going to be the "Year of the Sweater," and I faithfully began in February. My enthusiasm waned with the spring temperatures and my pregnancy. After all, would the cardigan even fit me come fall and winter as temperatures dropped? So it began hibernating until a friend reminded me, as I spoke of 2009 being the "Year of Lace" and also the "Year of a Felted Project," that I still hadn't met 2008's aim. So out it came, and a couple weeks later, it was finished.

Here's a photo of it completely buttoned:


And one with it partially buttoned:


It's made from Paton's Classic Merino Wool, so I can vouch for the toastiness of it, a welcome trait this week. And blocking may be my new (inanimate) best friend. I love how it transformed the sweater, and I'm happily thinking of tackling other sweaters. In my ideal world, sometime this winter I would be snowed in for a week or two with plenty of coffee, food, and yarn.

I joined in a knit-along with some local friends to make Elizabeth Zimmermann's Baby Surprise Jacket, a rite of passage that every knitter should experience. It is knit in one piece and looks like a sloppy blanket until you fold it just so and sew the two final seams. I have yet to attach buttons, but I have a couple of ideas for the delightful insect or flower buttons that could finish it off.


Perhaps it's strange, given my recent experiences, to see me knitting baby clothes or understand how I can distance myself from thinking of babies as I make such a project. It helps that this one was made without any expectations. The white sweater I was working on during my pregnancy has been since put aside. I will return to it, but right now, the memories are too raw.

I associate certain memories and sounds with familiar actions. For instance, when I work outside, I remember what I was last listening to on my iPod when I previously raked the lawn or weeded the garden, or as I drive a familiar stretch of road I will recall a conversation or an interesting NPR story that occurred in that same area. Many hours of anticipation went into that little cabled duffle coat, so I just need some space before I return, knowing they will all flood back. I'm just not ready right now.

Life Now

If I go back to where my last post left off, a couple things have taken place. We held two memorial services: one in Indiana and one in Iowa. We were sometimes surprised at those who showed up, which leads me to again remind myself that it is when times turn for the worse when certain acquaintances step up and invest in you like never expected. That has been one of the blessings during this time.

While I could tell many stories about such surprises and am making an effort to write them down, I'll limit it to one here. First, a brief background. In my office, our Fed Ex driver arrives in the last few minutes of the day to collect packages. Some days he rushes in and out with a rushed word since his schedule is tight, other days he has five minutes to spare with us. Immediately before the Indiana memorial service began, he came up to us to express his condolences, begged off that he couldn't stay, and left. I don't think he even spoke with us for one full minute, but it meant much that he took the time to find out the details and slip in briefly, even though he had a conflict.

Both services were special. In Indiana, the pastor who conducted it had been by us through our whole time in the hospital and had wept and prayed with us when Katherine died. In Iowa, the pastor was one we know from college. We met with him beforehand to finalize details, and he shared how he was fixated on our story as he read Eric's account, and even knowing the ending, he starting from the beginning and it consumed his thoughts for that day. He thought he was collected, but during the slideshow, he became so overcome to the point of being unable to share his original message, instead shortening his words as tears streamed down.

For about a month after Katherine died, every day's mail brought cards, some even from strangers. We both found them cathartic to read and some made me quite emotional, especially when people entrusted us with their own stories of loss, some within the last year, others from decades ago.

I returned to work at the beginning of October. The first week and a half were probably the hardest as people streamed in to welcome me back and express condolences or turned silent and awkward when they were surprised to see me and didn't know what to say. It's not as constant now, but initially it wasn't a matter of whether or not I cried at work, it was how many times in any given day. There were some people who didn't know what had gone on, evidenced by the student who said, "Have you been on a long vacation?" And at least one who knew only the first part of the story and asked, "How's your little one?"

I think I can say Eric and I are doing okay through this. We know the pain won't go away, we still miss our daughter fiercely, but we have been leaning on each other and loved ones around us.

My workplace donated a memorial brick in Katherine's honor at the Angel of Hope Memorial Garden, a memorial for parents who have lost children. It was installed last week and we were invited to be present and even lay the brick. That afternoon was draining for us, but it was also good to cry. We know we need to face our emotions in order to heal, but when that becomes too overwhelming, we both cope by distracting ourselves with thinking of anything but what happened.


When my brother died, I remember a conversation with someone I consider a mentor. Years earlier, she had experienced the sudden deaths of several family members and as she was processing this, someone accused her of not properly grieving. She insisted to me in my own grief that never was anyone to guilt me about not grieving the right way, as there is no right or wrong way to grieve. I can be outwardly demonstrative or a bottler of my emotions, and provided that it's not destructive, no one has grounds to fault me. Some days I can take joy in small pleasures, other times I'm noticeably quiet or sad. I admit that it can be hard to see other pregnant women or young children, even while I seem calm. I don't censure myself for the emotions I'm experiencing, since I know how intensely I wished I could have changed the outcome. I don't lay blame on myself or others, because it doesn't seem that this could have been avoided. So I take each day as it comes.

Being the former English major and teacher, I think in literary references, so I wasn't surprised when I recalled a passage from a book I read earlier this summer. In Elizabeth Gaskell's Mary Barton, the father solemnly walks down the street, and the author writes the following:

He wondered if any in all the hurrying crowd crowd had come from such a house of mourning. He thought they all looked joyous, and he was angry with them. But he could not, you cannot, read the lot of those who daily pass you by in the street. How do you know the wild romances of their lives; the trials, the temptations they are even now enduring, resisting, sinking under? You may be elbowed one instant by the girl desperate in her abandonment, laughing in mad merriment with her outward gesture, while her soul is longing for the rest of the dead, and bringing itself to think of the cold flowing river as the only mercy of God remaining to her here. You may pass the criminal, meditating crimes at which you will to-morrow shudder with horror as you read them. You may push against one, humble and unnoticed, the last upon earth, who in heaven will for ever be in the immediate light of God's countenance. Errands of mercy--errands of sin--did you ever think where all the thousands of people you daily meet are bound?

I guess I'll end with that. I sometimes people-watch and wonder what their lives are like and what they're facing, and this also serves as a good reminder to try to keep myself from making judgments or assumptions about those I know.