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Whenever I read the prophet Amos, especially in company with the story of the rich man and Lazarus told in the gospel according to Luke, I am overwhelmed with emotion. Sadness competes with guilt; denial with disgust. It is all too clear to me I am the rich one who is being referenced. My dress may not be splendid nor colored purple, but I want for nothing. Some, especially my husband, would say that my meals are not visual feasts; however they are both filling and abundant.
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