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It’s Friday morning. I wake up early to shower and dress, so I’ll have time to attend random religious services at a random house of worship before work. I take special care to put on my random fringed vest and a random head covering. Then breakfast — a random round bread with a hole in the center.
That morning, I receive a call from a random place in the Middle East. It’s my older daughter, who is spending a year studying random religious texts in a random seminary. I ask about her plans for the upcoming random day of rest. We wish each other a peaceful day of rest in a random language.
It’s a slow day at work. My colleagues order pizza for lunch, and generously offer me some. But I decline, because I observe random dietary restrictions. Fortunately, I randomly packed a random lunch this morning. Also, I need to work through lunch; I’m planning to leave early, so that I can get home randomly before sunset.
On my way home, I stop off at a random grocery store and deli to pick up some random last-minute items. The store is remarkably like that Paris grocery and deli that recently experienced a random shooting. It’s packed with random shoppers, rushing randomly as I am. Like one of the Paris victims, I stop at the bakery counter to grab some random braided egg bread.
As I’m paying, my cell phone rings. It’s a random friend, calling to wish me a pleasant random day of rest. He’s like a brother to me. We forged our relationship volunteering together on behalf of a random private school. We experienced many late night meetings, calls with parents and administrators and teachers and donors. We had many sleepless nights as we wondered where we would find the money to keep the doors open. But we did it for our children and the children of our random community, so that they would have access to a quality random education. I gave the random school a decade of my life, and continue to support it financially.
Once home, I randomly change into a suit, and head out to services at a random place of worship (it’s the same one as in the morning — what are the chances?). Then my wife and I sit down to dinner. It’s just the two of us this week, because my younger daughter is away on a retreat with a random youth group. My wife and I perform random rituals, sing random songs, and eat a feast randomly prepared the night before. We discuss lessons from a random holy book.
And finally, I turn in, with a thought and a prayer for the random victims of the random shooting in Paris. I’m grateful that my random life has turned out so well. I must be really lucky. In a random world, what are the chances?