the rose of kiev

"I'm going to start calling you Gamma Girl." "Gamma Girl...I can live with that. So what are my superpowers since I'm radioactive?" "You don't get powers, no way." "What?! Spiderman gets bitten by a radioactive spider and gets Spidey Sense!" "Fine, you get to glow green. How's that?" On Monday there was a tad bit of hubbub among my friends when the husband of a pregnant friend of mine began teaching our Bible Study. "So, yeah, we're all playing soccer at Beakman after this and, by the way, all pregnant women stay away from Heather because she's radioactive. OK now everyone, Luke 6 tonight..." Yeah, that made for some interesting conversations. And the nickname of Gamma Girl, bestowed kindly by my friend David. In case you can't tell comic books rotted out his brain from a very early age. As of 11 this morning I am very officially and very very mildly radioactive. I went in (not allowed to eat breakf...

Today was a pleasant surprise as far as hospital visits go. Typically I'll have a visit scheduled in the middle of a perfectly good day which will suck up the middle three-and-a-half hours therefore ruining the day in total. And you know what percentage of those 210 minutes are actual diagnosis?? The same percentage you tip a waitress, a whopping 15%, and that's on good days. But I've seen those medical bills and I'll be damned if they don't get paid for having me breathe the air in their waiting room as well. Typical procedure: arrive in the parking garage and purchase a two dollar token on the way to the endocrinologist office of Dr. Sotos (it means he's a gland disorder expert, and my thyroid is the gland in question). Sit in the waiting room ankle-deep in plastic trucks and puzzles of ducks with 3 pieces missing, occasionally tossed around by the odd 4-year-old with their surly middle school sibling sulking in the corner. And you wait. That's why it'...

This is how you start the day. This morning my dad went to Tim Horton's and got me a mocha coffee (just right) a vanilla parfait (bless him, I love fruit beyond all other food) and a lightly glazed cinnamon roll. We took over the TV as we pleased and I subjected him to my favorite Seinfeld episode - the little chilren whom I am related to are still away at camp and therefore aren't around to make any comments or ruin the punch lines with a loud "WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, HEATHER? I DON'T GET IT." I loved camp when I was little but I can now see why my parents sent me. Now I've got my favorite journal set out in front of me, wide open and filling up with thoughts and verses and really thinking about things. Nothing taunts me quite like blank journal pages that I can't fill upon their contact with the air. But the white is disappearing under oodles of beautiful Psalms and verses investigating prayer and whatnot to satisfy my spiritual curiousity, accompanied by g...