I don't use Facebook much. I post my weekly columns and when I have time, I jot a few notes to others. Rarely do I share more. But then, ordinarily I sit DOWN to breakfast, not ON my breakfast.
I'm talking more than semantics here, understand.
In my defense: everyone knows that few things can jigger a smooth curve of productivity like a snow day-or several. In the previous two days, a storm had dumped almost two feet of snow over my Tinytown and regions nearby.
I spent the entire weekend not doing things I'd hoped to and doing others I hadn't planned for. My mistake was just one of a series of blizzard-induced misalignments. My frustrated Facebook post, "I just sat in my bowl of porridge. Don't ask," was another.
After that impulsive post, I left Facebook alone for a day. When I checked it again, I found twenty responses. (Sometimes I forget that Facebook people are real-and really curious.)
"I hear another article with a valuable life lesson coming on!" said Maxine. "Oh my..."jotted someone else, adding a long series of "hahas". "Sorry, but it strikes me funny," commented another. "Bummer!" spake one. "A novel technique, but I prefer a spoon," quipped the mayor. (Who says politicians have no sense of humour?)
Several friends hinted that oatmeal is good for the skin. A few, including one person at least two countries away (and my very own son-in-law around the block), wanted more details. Others noted that they couldn't stop laughing at the mental picture my post provided. Someone even demanded photos. I declined-the logistics puzzled me.
Bringing up the rear of the comment thread, and because I now realized I couldn't leave those people panting for the bottom line, I explained. For my Sunny Side Up readers who also wonder, here's the back story.
It's simple: In the midst of still-falling snow, I walked into my office with my bowl of porridge, preparing to write. Noticing that my desk was too cluttered for my bowl, I set it down on my chair to clear a space.
That was then I noticed the flutter of wings at the feeder on the deck-an unusually large flock of several species, driven to our free buffet by the blizzard. They startled me so much I sat down to watch them. And that, dear readers, is how and why this middle-aged observer of faith and life plunked her nether end down on her bowl of hot oatmeal.
Though I was doing both, I don't think this story is what Jesus had in mind when he told us to consider the birds and not worry about what we will eat or drink or wear. But the responses to my short post reminded me that nothing builds bridges like sharing our flaws and laughing together. And building bridges is crucial in the sharing of both life and faith-but so is crossing them.
Build bridges. If necessary, use Facebook.
