Revelations.

Not the Biblical kind. That book is actually called Revelation with no s. If you read the first few verses, you'll see that it is "The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave unto him . . . and he sent and signified it by his angel unto his servant John." It's sort of a heavenly game of telephone. But just one revelation.

This post has nothing to do with that. It has to do with some revelations of my own—things I found out today.

First, I've been struggling trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up now that my children are all finished being homeschooled. I've been working as an editor from home for the past four years, but with the last two kids in the most expensive school in the country (Liberty U.) and us not qualifying for financial aid and retirement coming at breakneck speed, it would be good for me to have a full-time job. So I've spent the last year applying for editor-type jobs, mostly in the defense contracting world. And it's the same every time: we love you, we think you're perfectly qualified, but you have no defense experience.

So recently I started thinking about getting my master's degree so I could teach in a community college. My dream job would be teaching English to kids who weren't taught how to write a paragraph, much less an essay or term paper, in high school. And believe me, there are plenty of them out there.

Anyway, I've looked at a bunch of different schools, and found the program I really like at Liberty University Online.

Do you think God has a sense of humor? As if sending two kids there isn't enough, now we can pay tuition for three.

So today I had the idea that—ye have not because ye ask not—I would call and ask if I could get a discount because I already have two students there and really, how much blood can you get out of a rock? And what I learned was this: they don't care if you have twelve students there; you pay the same price as everyone else. Fill out the FAFSA and take loans like the rest of America.

But THEN . . . (and this is a BIG THEN) I mentioned that my husband is retired military, and the financial aid people couldn't throw money at me fast enough. Basically, I can get my master's degree for half price. HALF PRICE! This might be the best military discount I've ever gotten, glory to God. Amen and amen.

That was my first revelation.

The second one came just moments ago.

You know how I love autocorrect, right? Well I just snapped a photo of Pete snoring in front of the woodstove, even though you can't hear the snore in the photo. And I typed this caption on Instagram:

Pete snore in front of the woodstove. I thought you'd want to know. Also, autocorrect changes woodstove to bookstore.

I had to fight to get the word woodstove in there twice.

Then after it had posted, I noticed snore didn't have the s it needed. So I typed a correction below it:

*snore*

Which I noticed after I posted it still didn't have the s.

At this point I was getting huffy.

So I deleted that correction and typed it again, this time noticing that autocorrect did not want to put the s on the end of snores.

Now somebody please explain to me the problem with putting the s on the end of snores. Why can't I have that s there? Is this some kind of vast, right-wing conspiracy to keep us from spelling correctly? Is it the grammatical equivalent of the fiscal cliff?

Here's what I think: smartphones are only as smart as the people who program them. And they probably don't have woodstoves or dogs who snore.

Be thankful ~