My pastor told me the other day that he can tell what kind of mood I'm in and how good a column is going to be by reading the first few sentences.

If I was a guessing man, I'd say he either loves this one or hates it already. At least this way, I'll know whether or not he's really reading them all.

Anyway, after pondering on his statement, I have to admit that he must have a rare talent. To be able to know someone or even a column so well that you can get a feel for it that quickly is very impressive. My feeling of reverence (he is a reverend, you know) is all the more compounded by the fact that I don't even know what I'm writing about for the first few sentences of any given column.

I usually just sit down at the keyboard, or else I'm already there, and start typing the first thing that comes to mind. Sometimes it's one thing, sometimes it's several things. Every once in a while, something unusually entertaining or funny might happen that helps me with the decision; but most of the time, it's just about whatever happens to come to mind.

Other times, I'll just write out a bunch of stuff and pick out one thing to write more about, cutting out, or culling, the things that really aren't relevant.

Since I don't even know the topic until sometime right about the time I'm finished, I was considering having him read a few each time so he could tell me what I'm talking about so I can figure out in advance whether or not its worth talking about to start with.

Come to think of it, there's seldom time for the two of us to be in the same place at the same time unless he's doing all the talking and me all the listening, if you know what I mean. Just in case you don't, I'll spell it out: I doubt he'll take time out of the sermon to read over a newspaper column. At least I hope he wouldn't. But he has mentioned it from time to time, which is nice in and of itself.

As another point, I have come to realize that some jobs are more important than others. While most of our daily lives do affect many people in both known and unknown ways, my work generally lasts about a week or less. That's about the cycle of life for a newspaper, from its beginnings in photographs and interviews to its ‘birth' at the end of an ink-stained press, to its ultimate demise in a recycling bin or the bottom of a bird cage. A few lucky papers do end up being made into other useful items, like pirate hats or sailboats or floor mats, but just as many end up wrapping fish, collecting puppy refuse or starting fires.

So, I can see the importance of the newspaper, but it's easier for me to see the importance of his work - sharing information about Jesus, whose works are to last for all eternity. Seven days don't stack up too well against all that.

So, with columns starting off like this and us unlikely to meet in person on the matter, he might have to get the information in the form of a revelation. Maybe that's not so far fetched, since one famous man of God not only interpreted a Pharaoh's dream, he also told him what the dream was beforehand. But sometimes I believe even a great man like Joseph would have a hard time finding the point to this column.

Since I can't always figure out a way to make sense of things, either in writing or in this realm of existence we know as ‘the real world,' I've come to think of columns as a journey, with the different topics like the scenes one might view en route to a destination. You might drive by a creek, a subdivision, a forest and a field on your way home, but you were still going home the whole time.

Maybe that's the point of this column, getting to the destination, or the end. Some would even tell you that is the best part of the whole thing.

Of course, those aren't the folks that read it every week. I hear from them from time to time and I find that I sometimes even feel a bit guilty for not doing a better job of communicating directly with some of those who faithfully ingest this weekly dose of low-calorie, high-fiber information, without so much as even complaining about the ensuing mental indigestion. No doubt a company selling patent medicine would do well to invent a product to help folks deal with such mind-induced ailments. As for the present, sufferers will have no choice but to continue in their malady, lest they stop reading altogether and leave me begging for coins or selling pencils for a living. With computers being all the rage, most of the pencil salesmen tend to hang out with the typewriter repairmen, installers of full-sized satellite dishes and purveyors of eight-track tapes. All are likely out wearing white leisure suits and silk shirts with big collars.

I once was told that I could probably write a column about almost anything, and this one may just go to prove the point. It's apparently possible to write a column about writing a column, which is nearly as pointless as any pursuit I recall in recent memory. However, perhaps in some strange way, someone has been entertained for a few minutes.

As everyone in the car starts to get antsy as our journey here nears its end, wondering how long it might take to get there, all I can say is, "Just look out the windows and enjoy the scenery, kids, we'll all be there soon." If that doesn't work, you can always do what the children tend to do on long rides and nod off for a bit. I've tried that myself, but it's not as good an idea if you're the one who's driving - or writing in this case.

The best I can tell you all is that I've once again brought you safely to the close of another seven days worth of accrued knowledge. It may not be much, but what you expect for 50 cents?
 

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