From time to time, I am met by a visitor at the close of the service whose sole purpose in waiting for me is to get me to sign his bulletin.  Don't get the wrong idea.  He is not seeking my autograph.  What he is seeking is my verification that he has been present in our sanctuary.  At issue is his attendance record and his desire to keep it spotless.  Back home (in his own church) it is easy to have his presence noted and marked.  But on vacation, he apparently feels some need of proof.  So he takes home a bulletin signed by the pastor.

Last Sunday, Harold Melin ushered in the center aisle at 9:30. This Sunday, Harold is in Pontiac Osteopathic Hospital with heart problems. He needs a pacemaker. But, so far, they haven’t been able to install one. It seems that Harold has funny veins. They cross….where they aren’t supposed to.

Dear John,

Greetings from Birmingham, Michigan….home to Oakland Hills and a lot of other nice places. And home to a polyglot of people….some of whom love golf….some of whom love gambling….some of whom love Miller Lite….some of whom love the Lord….and some of whom love all four. 

Last week’s mail brought a Christmas letter from friends, the first line of which reads: “Well, another year under our belts….and I mean that literally.” And most of us can identify with that, since we will be saying pretty much the same thing, come the middle of January. For whatever else Christmas may be, it is an unbridled adventure of tasting and feasting, nibbling and snacking, that commences around the time the Thanksgiving Day Parade rolls down Woodward Avenue and concludes shortly after half time of the Orange Bowl.