I don’t like to sound self-important, but I pretty much take it for granted that everyone in our parish understands that if you are walking in to church with me, you are late.
That is a reputation.
One Sunday morning I saw my friends walking up to church. I hustled to catch up. We walked briskly, our conversation keeping time with our steps.
A fire truck siren interrupted.
Without missing a step, my friend commented to her husband, “Well, it can’t be Mary this time; it’s not the right time of day.”
A statement without irony; an event so commonplace and commented on that it had no reason to borrow sarcasm.
That is reputation.
Summer in Spain usually means drought and news of forest fires. We were driving along the highway and saw smoldering on a hillside. Our daughter’s voice sounded from her car-seat, “Look! Mama is having a barbecue on the mountain.”
Out of the mouth of babes.
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