Winton Wyoming Pastoral Region

I tell people with some regularity that, while I recognize that I am not old by any stretch of the imagination, I am not as young as I once was. Thirty-two is not old, but it is also not twenty-five. I have been revisiting this perspective more frequently lately, as the fifth anniversary of my ordination is coming up this week, and one wonders where the time has gone. We were often told in seminary that we would have two assignments of three years each as vicars to get our feet wet before we became pastors, so you can imagine my surprise at celebrating three years as a pastor before I got to five years as a priest. Every vocation is a blank check that the Lord fills out as He sees fit, and mine has not proven an exception to that rule. Click title for full column.

I have been accused, on more than one occasion, of holding grudges for almost impossible amounts of time. My struggles to forgive (outside the confessional, at least) extend even to ancient blood feuds in which I played no part. I missed Oliver Cromwell and his reign of terror by hundreds of years, but if you would like me to enumerate the reasons why I loathe him, I will gladly oblige on behalf of my people. Click title for full column.