yes, but they let me out.

just once in your life your pastor ought to tuck you in.

maybe it's a really strange idea, and maybe too much of an increased workload for the clergy, but it happened to me just before i went into the hospital and it was one of the loveliest, most comforting things that has ever happened to me.

i was in dreadful shape, of course.

but my pastor, like many of my friends and my family, is a bulldog and will not let go. i had been in the church touching up some of the woodwork and i wandered into her office to tell her that i wasn't doing so good.

(i do know that i need an adverb there to modify a verb, but it's a style thing and besides, "i'm not doing so good" is what i told her.)

i was ready to jump off a bridge, to lay down on the tracks, both things that can be accomplished within walking distance of the church. but Barbara would not let go of me, no matter what i said.

the truth is that i should not have still been walking around on the outside world.

but eventually Barbara talked me down to the point that she could take me home and put me to bed. it was very strange, having another person present at my evening prayers.

and somehow very right and good.

this is the place in the story that for a while at least i'm going to skip over large portions of the narrative; i'm just going to tell you that along the way i wrote this song.