11th Hour Preacher Party: Hoping, Waiting, Keeping Awake Edition

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I ’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me. ~ Emily Dickinson

Oh, preachers. I don't know about you, but I had a lovely, somewhat-recycled-and-lightweight-though-containing-heavier-content sermon all ready to go. And then the news came from India, and got worse and worse, and now it seems the world needs addressing in a more particular way and that means we're really doing some work here, despite our post-Thanksgiving tryptophan hangover.

How's it going with you?

Stop by for coffee, and later turkey sandwiches, and perhaps a slice of leftover pie. Let us know what you're up to both today and for tomorrow. And despite the texts, let's try and get some sleep tonight, too.