In my mind, his name is Melchior. (In real life, I believe it’s Chad.)

The temperature in our back yard is currently 4.6 degrees Fahrenheit. If I wasn’t trying so hard to avoid clich├ęs today, I’d burp out something about Bone Chilling! Anyway, the milkman just pulled his truck up to the front of the house, and because I want him to know that He is Not Alone, I met him by the cooler on the sidewalk.

Me: Can I grab the empties for you?

Milkman: Nope. I’ve got it.

Me: It’s such a crappy day out here. I feel for you.

Milkman: It IS a crappy day, but think about it. For each of the crappy days we have, we’re given so many more beautiful days!

Me: Oh! Well. Um. Yeah. I wanted to be crabby, but now I can’t! You’re right!

And then I went back into my (really comfy and heated) home with my (organic free-range ridiculous happy cow) milk, and decided that I’m not going to complain about anything for the rest of the day. (At least that’s the plan.)

Yesterday morning in church, Jeff did the reading about King Herod and the wise men. Less than 24 hours later, a guy kneeled down on my sidewalk and filled my cooler with milk (literally AND figuratively!).

(It’s happening. And it smells like Christmas Spirit, Kurt Cobain!)
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5 thoughts on “In my mind, his name is Melchior. (In real life, I believe it’s Chad.)”

  1. One of the teachers at my boys’ school is called Melchior.

    (I know you know they go to a Steiner [Waldorf] school so you won’t be surprised to hear this).

  2. It’s a nice thought, but there’s no evidence that we’re given more great days than bad ones. If you were born in Nigeria, say, and had to become a child soldier and slaughter your own village and then got cancer and died a painful death, I don’t think you’d’ve winded up with more beautiful days than not.

    So, uh, happy holidays.

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