My husband has too much free time.

On another note, I am suddenly tempted to write silly things about my life that are ultimately of no consequence, but would be (for the moment) interesting to random blog perusers, whom I could make jealous of my uncanny ability to amuse them with my life experience. I opt, instead, for the following:

This morning I came to the conclusion that breastmilk is not the perfect food. In terms of eternity, that is. Saints have the benefit of the living water of Christ, which is the perfect food. I understand what the woman at the well must have meant when she asked for this water. I already have it, but so often I find myself (and my stomach) seeking something else for satisfaction. Don't I realize that one day I will stand on the edges of Jordan, eternally secured by the Savior's love and filled with the glory of God? I get that! I don't deserve that, but it dwells within me even now. And this same PROVIDER is my Father today as well as on that one. What an amazing truth this is. Far more satisfying than the milk I give my daughter to eat.

Back to randomness...
A Big Hunk Of Love is the most obscure, ridiculous excuse for an Elvis song that I can think of. No one has heard of this song...ever.