After spending an evening at the home of a successful businessperson, the fellas and I went to Harpo's to sing karaoke on Saturday. Jay said he'd buy me a shot of something if I sang "Cherish" by Kool and the Gang. You all know I'd do it anyway:) So I did. I wasn't terribly impressed with myself, but I love that song. Apparently, so did the rest of the bar. (On the other hand, we took the place over.) I'm always singing it, which suggests two things, both of which are true: I love memorable love songs with catchy choruses, and I'm a hopeless romantic, bound for some kind of puncture to my sappy idealism. Lord-willing, it will happen once I'm stuck with her, and I love her too much to run away. Marriage, in other words. Perhaps that is its own foolish idealism. No matter. I strike thee down, cynicism! I laugh in thy face, devil, destroyer of all good things.
I once had a friend, a dear friend, who helped me with personal care needs in college. Reformed Presbyterian to the core. When I was a Reformed Presbyterian, I visited their church many times. We were close. I still consider his siblings my friends. (And siblings in the Lord.) Nevertheless, when I began to consider the claims of the Catholic Church to be the Church Christ founded, he took me out to breakfast. He implied--but never quite stated--that we would not be brothers, if I sought full communion with the Catholic Church. That came true; a couple years later, I called him on his birthday, as I'd done every year for close to ten of them. He didn't recognize my number, and it was the most strained, awkward phone call I have ever had. We haven't spoken since. We were close enough that I attended the rehearsal dinner for his wedding. His wife's uncle is a Catholic priest. I remember reading a blog post of theirs, that early in their relationship, she told him of the p
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