MARGARET BRADFORD: Hi, Sean, I am disappointed in you… I found several typos and errors in your recent columns. I have no tolerance for bad grammar and elementary mistakes… I taught English for 42 years in the Illinois public school system and these mistakes aggravate me. Maybe it’s a Southern thing to treat English flippantly, but I promise you, here in the Midwest, we take our language seriously.
COMMENT: Your absolutely right. I apoligise.
JOHN NORMAN: Sean, I am a full-time pastor in Oklahoma. I notice you so often write about beer and alcohol, and this grieves my spirit. I believe this conflicts with your message of faith and hope.”
COMMENT: Hi, John. You are definitely not Episcopal.
SANDRA: In your recent story about heaven and hell I detected DOUBT in your words! My heart tells me you KNOW HELL IS REAL and if you have NOT MADE A PUBLIC profession to follow OUR SAVIOR, I’m sorry, but you’re going TO HELL! Why not PUBLICLY make a profession of faith right now? Here is my phone number, if you ever want to talk!”
COMMENT: You aren’t Episcopal, either.
BRIAN SCHMIDT: Good works won’t get you to heaven, Sean. Are you saved?
COMMENT: I wish people worried about unadopted foster kids half as much as they worried about my soul.
CHELSEA: You haven’t written about your dogs in a while. Are they okay? I love Marigold, the blind hound. How is she?
COMMENT: She’s good. She has a minor skin rash, so we took her to the vet. They love Marigold at the vet’s office, they always say, “Marigold is SUCH A JOY!”
Anyway, the vet said the rash is nothing to worry about so they prescribed ointment which costs roughly the price of a nuclear submarine, and they put her on steroids, which makes her thirsty, so now she makes “such a joy” all over the kitchen floor.
CHRINA ALLEN: My 82-year-old mother recommended your blog, but I will be unsubscribing as I don’t understand the appeal of your work. Personally, I think some of what you write is just nonsensical.
COMMENT: This isn’t the airport, there is no need to announce your departure.
JOHN RANDOLPH: I grew up in Ohio on Lake Erie. I took offense to your writing about the smell of dead fish in our air. The rotten fish smell is totally normal. It’s a phenomenon known as a ‘fish kill,’ in which large groups of fish die in huge numbers due to overpopulation, algae, or increased water temperatures. The occasional putrid smell is all part of living here. You get used to it.
COMMENT: Well, you certainly sold me. You ought to write for tourism brochures.
SAMANTHA: What is your problem with mega churches? You called them “Six-Flags Over Jesus” in one of your columns and this hurt my heart. Mega churches serve a real need and help young people worship in a new way that is true and authentic.
COMMENT: The particular church I was referring to had a fog machine.
ADAM: Which places are on your bucket list? Choose one spot in the entire world to visit, where would it be?
COMMENT: The Leinenkugel Brewery in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.
RUTH ANN: You said in one of your columns that “Miracle Whip is neither a miracle nor a whip.” I was hurt by that since I grew up eating Miracle Whip. I still eat it on bananas and toast every morning for breakfast. Why do you feel the need to criticize?
COMMENT: Wait. Bananas?
SAMUEL MCMAHON: Did you know there are typos in your last story? Can you spot the typos? You wrote:
“By the Fourth of July,” stated the National Weather Service, “the ‘feels-like’ temperature is going to reach approxxoiimateleeey 118 degrees.”
COMMENT: Sorry. I don’t see it.
RYAN PRESNELL: Sean, I was just wondering who your favorite writer is? And which book can you recommend? I am 14 and I want to write someday like you.”
COMMENT: Do yourself a favor. Go to your local library. Tell the librarian you want a book called “Kathy Sue Loudermilk, I Love You.” If they don’t have it, ask for another book by this author. If they don’t know who this author is, leave the Midwest.
GRACE ANDRESS: I am 11 years old and my dog just died and do you think dogs go to heaven?
COMMENT: I’m not the guy to ask, sweetie. There are, however, many folks out there who seem to know exactly where souls will end up, including my soul. But I can certainly tell you this much:
Wherever the dogs go is where I’m going, too.
