Many stories, few of them good, could have been told about her by those depositing their tithes in the treasury box. Most everyone advised her to keep her tiny coins since neither the temple nor the Lord needed them as much as she did. Figuring she couldn’t survive on them but sensing no one really wanted what little she had to offer she didn’t know what to do.
Regardless of her failings which were perhaps right up there with our own those two coins were all she had. They weren’t much, but they weren’t counterfeit either.
Luke 21:1-4 And he looked up, and saw the rich men casting their gifts into the treasury. 2 And he saw also a certain poor widow casting in thither two mites. 3 And he said, Of a truth I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast in more than they all: 4 For all these have of their abundance cast in unto the offerings of God: but she of her penury hath cast in all the living that she had.
Early in the morning worried about how he was going to use the assigned word “yellowbelly” in a story Jeremy walked to the ocean as the beach was being raked into a linear pattern perfect in its symmetry until he stepped on it. He saw a bird and considered but then rejected the idea that he might be able to get away with writing a story about a yellowbelly seagull.
Forgetting about the word he wondered where the birds that were coming to shore spent the night, but all they wondered about was whether he brought snacks. Others bored with the sun tossed pieces of bread to the birds who grabbed whatever they could as Jeremy clicked his camera.
Eventually everyone, including the yellowbelly seagulls, realized that the day had indeed begun as expected without their needing to be there at all. It just happened leaving it to those like Jeremy who’d rationalize the joy out of stuff to only step back onto the freshly raked sand and see to his surprise sunrise, birds, beach and even himself as one awesome gift among many others from the Lord for which his thanks was long overdue.
There’s nothing out there that resembles what you’re looking for, Timothy’s inner voice said as he concluded his failed search for intelligent extraterrestrial life-forms wondering—Well, what about non-intelligent life?
There‘s none of that stuff either, the voice answered. Be grateful that there’s life as you used to know it still on Earth.
Well, what about those aliens in their fancy UFOs that beamed me up and experimented on me? he asked.
Yeah, they’re real, but I told you to stop messing with the demonic.
This conversation with his only remaining friend was all Timothy needed to flush away what was left of his feigned composure as he exploded like a supernova into a sequence of big bangs against the padded concrete walls while psych ward orderlies came in to strap him down for further experimentation.
If you think you did it you haven’t figured out yet what actually happened.
After reading this message which Arthur found in his cookie he was convinced that the insanity of humanity had finally arrived. The chef hand made these cookies daily chuckling as he wrapped cryptic kindnesses to pass on to his customers.
Although Arthur was offended by the thought of receiving revelation from sources outside his own mental swamp, he had to admit that the soups, breads and coffees were exquisite. Other patrons with their heads screwed on better found the odd messages innocuously entertaining if not delightfully subversive.
Regardless of Arthur’s philosophical commitments the café was so busy that if he actually did boycott it in protest, which he often insisted he just might do one day, the only consequences would be a shorter line for those who couldn’t wait to get in.