Ambler Letters 3
Correspondance exerts from apt. c rear
I’m not in the mood to write a letter. I’m not, actually, in the mood to write at all.
Yeah but it was a different culture then. We expected different things.
I don't resent anything my parents did, and don't regret any part of the history I lived. They may not understand that, may want to fix it and make it right, but I'm actually thanking them for the convoluted path they took me on. I'm glad I saw the things I saw, went the places I went, got the bruises I got.
Hope this isn’t a depressing letter. I was cornered by a crazy man at church this morning. People are baffled by the simplest directions like “up the hill.” I had to pump gas for a Korean guy because he didn’t understand how to use a credit card or that you have to squeeze the handle. He kept saying “okay okay.” A black woman just yelled at me for making her prepay when I don’t have any power over that. I had to laugh like hell.
An ironic tombstone epitaph: But his imagination failed him.
This is a genuine throwing-the-piano-from-the-fifth-floor letter.
We’ve been talking a lot here about how Advent is the season of darkness waiting for light, how the incarnation of our Lord is the intervention in and interruption of the darkness of the world. I was brokenhearted last week to read that Holland has legalized and been practicing the euthanizing of terminally ill infants. It is dark indeed. We turn again to the hope of the impossible – that the lamb of God comes to take away the sin of the world, that God is made flesh, that time, space and nature are breached by the Eucharist, that a door will be opened.