And immediately an angel of the Lord struck him because he did not give God the glory, and he was eaten by worms and died.
Acts 12:23 (context)
In the Cleveland airport we saw a monk. At least, we saw a guy in sandals, a rough brown robe tied with a rope that dangled down and had beads on it, a crucifix, and a red skull cap perched on his shaved head. This made me think: The Flying Monk. It sounds like a young adult novel, or maybe a London pub.
When I grew into early teenagehood and began to experience all the zits and priviliges that come therewith, my mother promised I would outgrow them. I would like to know, 10 years later, when does one outgrow such blemishes? But I already know the answer, and would have long ago if I had been a savvier teenager: Looking at my parents, I will never outgrow them. So now I tell myself I will have “youthful-looking” skin at age 50.
Looking at the tiled walls in the bathroom at work I realized that they had chosen off-urine color, although I shied away from thinking of what the white specks might be in my analogy. Then I realized the floor color omitted the “off.” This raises a question: Did they pick this color intentionally, or were those tiles especially cheap? My family ended up with dog-poop colored carpet throughout my childhood because of its overwhelmingly low cost; turned out useful, when we got a dog.