Tell-tale Signs of Obsession

OK, I think I’m becoming a bit obsessed. No, it’s nothing real serious. I’m not obsessed with, say, sports, or alcohol, or some tawdry exploit of mankind. I’m obsessed with working in my yard. When we moved here, there was nothing but dirt. As you can see from the picture above, it’s all green. But what you don’t see, is that it’s not grass. That green is nothing but weeds. I do have grass in my backyard, just not in the picture.

On a whim last fall, I bought a bag of fescue, which is any of a genus (Festuca) of tufted perennial grasses with panicled spikelets. Don’t worry. I didn’t rattle that off the top of my head, I got it from the fine gentlemen at Merrian Webster, who now what to charge me $1.99 for such tantalizing information. But I’m now into grass… not words so much. I know, what about the blog? What about my great discourses on the roles of women in the church? What about the need for more Christians honoring the LORD’s day? I know the score. My wonderful readers will glance at it, think Timothy is on his high pachyderm, and won’t give it another thought. However, if I write something simple, like a post about, say, honoring those women who do stay at home to glorify God, and you will be on my like sprinkles on a donut.

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