Remember That You Are Dust

I went to Ash Wednesday service today.  This is the first time I've gone to church this year, and the 6th time I've gone since I left St. Someone's a year ago.  There are no doubt some deep thoughts I could go off about as to why I felt so compelled to go today of all days, the day when we remember our own mortality and our own sinfulness.  Instead, I will tell you that I went to the Episcopal church not too far from our house, that the max seating is 100 people in the sanctuary and yet they had 5 pastors listed in the bulletin, that the priest who did the service today is named Father Howdy (I tried really hard not to giggle about that one), and that 2 people told me after the service that I got the "best" cross of anyone.  I'm not going to dwell on that one, either!  Let's look at black shoes, instead (you know, because of the dust).

You can never have too many pairs of black shoes.  In fact, I would be quite happy with some new ones.  Sandals, boots, heels, ballet flats, whatever.  But, as that really isn't the point of today, I'm off to contemplate my own mortality and the promises of the resurrection.