Lately when I go to bed at night, I dream of being hauled back to the hospital. These dreams are not restful!
And it’s daunting to see how many of our little circle need prayers. Erlene, Phoebe, the Ingrams–all standin’ in the need o’ prayer, as the old song says. (And why am I so into spirituals this morning? Is the Lord trying to tell me something?)
Well, friends and fellow soldiers, you certainly have my prayers, and I know I have yours. I’ve been a patient for three months now and I’m really tired of it. And I still can’t find Ozias, Prince Enthroned. I have the book in longhand on legal pads, so I know I wrote it. But where’s the finished product? Did I somehow manage to lose it, somewhere in the bowels of some omnivorous computer?
We aspire to watching Jason and the Argonauts this afternoon. Some Ray Harryhausen monsters and Bernard Hermann music, with root beer, might have a restorative effect.

