This is the part where I would like to let loose with a string of expletives that would peel wallpaper and make sailors blush. I would like to stomp my feet and pound my fist and punch a clown and maybe eat a whole red velvet cake with real cream cheese icing then throw it up someplace of my own choosing.
You see, once again, I did not get my way. It never fails to disappoint me when I don't get my way, because my way is always the best way. Just ask me.
Except when it isn't. Except when I'm wrong. Except when my puny and worldly expectations pale in the light of God's much bigger plan.
But the other shoe has dropped in Iowa and the only assurance I have at this particular moment is my faith. (Which is actually the only assurance I really need.)
