about the outs of Christmas break, I decided to unwedge my big girl panties and get back to the getting. Inactivity with muscles leaves you flaccidly flabby. Inactivity of my brain and spirit leaves me a mess.
So NO MO O THAT.
I went right to my Bible lesson and began on it. It is up to God to keep it fresh for when I teach, but in the meantime, the reading and the study was nothing but good. Good. Good. Good. Almost immediately refreshed by putting down the finished mystery and picking up the greatest story, I was reminded why all other reading quite simply pales in comparison.
So I discover that the up and coming district attorney killed the up and coming aspiring actress? I had the plot figured out from about the second chapter. But working through the layers of John and the personality of Jesus? The more I think I figure out, the less I realize I know.
I know, I know, I know that leisure reading has its place. So why do I end those chapters feeling like I've stuffed myself on corn chips and co-cola? Because I think in some ways I have. And this is a constant debate in my thinking.