Thursday, November 26, 2015

{pretty, happy, funny, real} in a season of abundant celebrations, part 1

| a weekly capturing of contentment in everyday life | 

| pretty, happy, funny & real in words|
The past two weeks were full to overflowing with people to see and things to celebrate. There were the big moments: Brian's ordination and Natalie's confirmation, our 25th wedding anniversary.  There were also many small moments of little, unspoken dreams realized.  I told my daughters last weekend: "At times like this, I feel like God has seen me."  And, of course, God always sees me so I don't mean that word, exactly.  More like, He's heard my spoken and unspoken heart desires -- ones I didn't even know to express -- and tapped me on the shoulder with sweet gifts.  

Mixed into the peaceful moments and celebration moments, we grieved with the rest of the world new acts of terror.  I do not know why, but the specific issue of the Syrian refugee crisis has consumed my attention ever since our governor wrote a letter a couple weeks ago, demanding that President Obama halt the acceptance of any new Syrian refugees.  It's not a new concern for me, but the combination of what seemed a cold-hearted response with a lot of anti-Muslim and anti-refugee rhetoric used by self-identified Christians just about laid me flat.  

I'm grateful to find my writing voice to articulate a tiny portion of what I was thinking and feeling.  Throughout the weeks, I've teetered near and over the line, occasionally, of charity as I've interacted with my online community.  For that I am truly sorry and I humbly repent, and ask your forgiveness.  

I missed posting on Christ the King Sunday, which is one of my absolute favorite days on the liturgical calendar.  You can see what I've posted in the past here: Meditations for Christ the King Sunday. May I also recommend a sermon Brian preached on that day last year:  Embracing the Authority of Christ the King

I probably remembered somewhat unconsciously the prayers for Christ the King Sunday (for isn't that part of the deep magic of a formative liturgy?), but after a week of angst and anger and a sense of desperation that my friends who identify as in allegiance to Christ as King, I found myself rescued by the Scripture and prayers and songs of bowing to the authority of One who is for all peoples.  

Before photos, let me share a few bits of the Christ the King liturgy.

[from Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14]

"...behold, with the clouds of heaven there came one like a son of man, and he came to the Ancient of Days and was presented before him. And to him was given dominion and glory and a kingdom, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him; his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom one that shall not be destroyed."

[from Psalm 93]
"The LORD is King; he has put on splendid apparel;...He has made the whole world so sure that it cannot be moved; Ever since the world began, your throne has been established; you are from everlasting."

[from Revelation 1:4b-8]
"To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood and made us a kingdom, priests to his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen Behold, he is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see him, even those who pierced him, and all tribes of the earth will wait on account of him. Even so. Amen. 'I am the Alpha and the Omega,' says the Lord God, 'who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.' "

[from John 18:33-37]
"Then Pilate said to him, 'So you are a king?' Jesus answered, 'You say that I am a king. For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world - to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who of the truth listens to my voice.' "

[the Collect for Christ the King Sunday]
Almighty and everlasting God, whose will it is to restore all things in your well-beloved Son, the King of kings and Lord of lords: Mercifully grant that the peoples of the earth, divided and enslaved by sin, may be freed and brought together under his most gracious rule; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

A few photos to practice contentment the past 2 weeks

| pretty, happy, funny & real in pictures|

(most of these photos were taken by my co-workers!)

VoLINteers at Community First! Village
It was kind of a dream come true to spend a morning volunteering with a couple dozen of my co-workers at this innovative and contagiously hopeful 27-acre master planned community to give the Austin's chronically homeless a place to call home.  I really can't describe the ingenious creative spirit infusing each component of the newly-built neighborhood: the garden, the fish pond, the micro-houses, the soap making and blacksmithing and olive tree orchard and more.  The work we did together was pretty minimal compared to the amount of time and energy already lavishly spent for this place.  Anyway, go to the website to learn more.  Hopefully this sort of work will spring up all over the country.  I'm just really glad for the chance to work with my office mates for such a worthy cause. 

| Ordination |


In some ways you could say that Brian's been looking forward to this day his whole life, only he didn't know it until about the last five years.  Either way, I don't remember being more happy with or for my husband than we felt during the service of his ordination into the Transitional Diaconate of the Anglican Church (transitioning for the next six months until his ordination into the Priesthood). There's so much more to say about this service and what it means for us.  Hopefully I'll do that soon, but in the meantime, here's a few of the prayers and words from the liturgy:

[The Bishop addresses the ordinands as follows]
My brothers and sisters, every Christian is called to follow Jesus Christ, serving God the Father, through the power of the Holy Spirit. God now calls you to a special ministry of servanthood directly under your bishop. In the name of Jesus Christ, you are to serve all people, particularly the poor, the weak, the sick, and the lonely. 
As deacons in the Church, you are to study the Holy Scriptures, to seek nourishment from them, and to model your life upon them. You are to make Christ and his redemptive love known, by your word and example, to those among whom you live, and work, and worship. You are to interpret to the Church the needs, concerns, and hopes of the world. You are to assist the bishop and priests in public worship and in the ministration of God's Word and Sacraments, and you are to carry out other duties assigned to you from time to time. At all times your life and teaching are to show Christ's people that in serving the helpless, they are serving Christ himself. 
I can not think of a better hymn to close the service: 

Lord, Whose Love Through Humble Service 
w: Albert F. Bayly, 1901
m: Nettleton, 1813 (tune of "Come, Thou Fount")

Lord, whose love through humble service bore the weight of human need
Who upon the cross, forsaken, offered mercy's perfect deed 
we, Your servants, bring the worship not of voice alone, 
but heart consecrating to Your purpose every gift that you impart

Still Your children wander homeless, still the hungry cry for bread
Still the captives long for freedom, still in grief we mourn our dead
As O Lord, Your deep compassion, healed the sick and freed the soul 
by Your Spirit send Your power to our world to make it whole.

As we worship, grant us vision, till Your love's revealing light 
in its height and depth and greatness dawns upon our quickened sight
making known the needs and burdens, Your compassion bids us bear 
sitting us to ardent service, Your abundant life to share

Called by worship to Your service, forth in your dear name we go
to the child, the youth, the aged, love in living deeds to show
hope and health, good will and comfort, counsel, aid, and peace we give 
that Your servants, Lord, in freedom may Your mercy know and live.

| Confirmation |


Natalie's Confirmation
What a joy to celebrate Brian's ordination and Natalie's confirmation in the same weekend.  A few years ago, when Brian, Kendra and I were confirmed, I wrote this post: Becoming Anglican.  Natalie was blessed to be part of the first Catachesis class at Christ Church (led beautifully by the dear Sarah Smith).  What a gift to have our community join us in training Natalie in the truths of Scripture and the traditions of the Church. 

[The Prayer for Confirmation]
Defend, O Lord, this your servant Natalie with your heavenly grace, that she may continue yours for ever, and daily increase in your Holy Spirit more and more until she comes into the fullness of your everlasting kingdom. Amen. 
Strengthen, O Lord, your servant Natalie with your Holy Spirit; empower her for your service; and sustain her all the days of her life. Amen. 

| 25th Wedding Anniversary |

Anniversary Celebration
We're still celebrating this, actually, as our kids are throwing us a little party on Saturday.  In the meantime, here's a couple photos from the day.  We spent a lovely get away in Fredricksburg, TX.  A sweet woman gave us a wine gift card for Brian's graduation in May.  We saved it for just the right time, to purchase a better wine than we've ever been able to purchase. Guess what? Good wine is even better than cheap wine!  We also tracked down some red velvet cakes to make up for missing out the deliciousness served at our actual wedding 25 years ago.

And I've wanted to write something profound here on the blog about being married and staying married.  Hopefully, I still will.  In the meantime -- all disclaimers aside about real reasons for not staying married - might I just say the best advice I can give you is to just keep going?  Learn well, seek healing, give forgiveness, be in community, let the Gospel save you, yes.  All of those things, but really just stay together.  You'll be so glad you did.  

I'm realizing that there are some simply good things I never could have learned any other way than just staying married day in and day out for a long time.  Not profound, not usually easy, but so worth it.  I imagine I'll be saying the same thing after another 25 years.

Enjoy your Thanksgiving feasts today, friends.  We have even more celebrating ahead - Thanksgiving, a wedding shower, more anniversary feasting, Alex's birthday and the beginning of Advent -- all before Monday!  More pics and stories to come.

May you know well today every good and perfect gift that comes down from the Father of lights.  Peace, friends.

Have YOU captured any contentment this week? 
 I'd love to hear about it!

| Join in at P,H,F,R to see other wonderful people practicing contentment. |

Friday, November 20, 2015

I mean this question sincerely: When Jesus said love your enemies, did He mean Muslims, too?

*Community is happening in real time here, friends.  A couple of people who love me deeply had the courage to call and push back on some the of the words and stories I used in the first draft of this post.  I realized that I was being "pre-defensive" and bogging down the bigger points I'd hoped to make.  I've updated the post, and removed some of what was here originally to reflect my response to them. You may also want to read my first post on this subject from 2 days ago:  This Is Why I Broke A Promise To Myself On Facebook*

Nigerian Christians surrounding Nigerian Muslims to protect them during prayer

I remember the first time I heard my grandparents use a racial slur.  I was in middle school, just old enough to be aware that, perhaps, the adults in my family, whom I adored, might also be imperfect.  I certainly wasn't old enough to outwardly correct them (is one ever with their grandparents?).  

In the self-righteous haze of my adolescence, I was somewhat aware that their language represented a different experience than my own.  This was before the time when I could watch a blockbuster re-telling of World War 2, but I knew my grandfather had first met certain races of people as an enemy in obliterated war zones.  In many ways, his view of other nationalities was shaped first as an enemy.  I remember my grandmother lightly, nervously, correcting my grandfather, and the rest of us feeling a bit awkward.

I vowed to be different in this way from my grandparents, but still adored them because we were family and I knew their story.  

In the last few days, I've been facing a similar dilemma with friends on social media.  I understand we've watched a lot of news, heard a lot of stories, sent our family members into violence in places of the world that we've mostly only ever known through the lens of war.  

I recognize the fact that, politically and militarily, we need our leaders to know the difference -- sometimes vast and sometimes razor thin -- between radical and moderate expressions of a religion that oppose freedoms that define our cultural, national, and even spiritual identities.  I've been listening, and I think a good bit of the frustration so many of my friends are expressing, in varying degrees of coherence, is a fear that our leaders will place political correctness above their duty to protect those they've been charged to defend. 

Wars have been started with less to go on than we've seen on YouTube, and we're afraid the people in places of authority will take political gambles with our safety.  It is appropriate -- not only appropriate, but authentically American -- for us to speak our will to those in office: do not gamble with our safety with your partisan, poll-formed, special-interest funded swaying convictions.  

I do understand this, and join the call for prudent governance. I do this because I am an American citizen, and it is right and good to do so.  For reasons of conscience, I'm an independent voter, but I understand that most of my friends are the sort of Americans who have chosen to be Republican or Democrat.  This is also good, and an important part of our short history as a good nation. 

I think being a good American is an important quality of being a wise adult.  I want to be a good American like my grandfather, the youngest son of three to fight in World War II who, even after his brother's narrow escape from death on Omaha Beach, got on a ship and went to the Pacific battlefront.  This is a heritage that makes me proud, even as I discern all the ways my family suffered from those invisible war wounds my grandfather brought home with him.  Wounds like the one that made it difficult for him to see certain races of people in any category than an enemy to belittle.

When I read the articles and watch the videos my friends share online this week in response to the latest acts of war by the Islamic State, I am aware of all of these things.  I know that my friends desire to be good Americans (or, in some of my friend's cases, good citizens of countries other than America) -- Republican, Democratic, Independent citizens.  I stand with them in this desire.

What I can not ignore is that many of my friends are also Christians.  And maybe I should just clear my throat and walk out of the room when they say things that remind me of my grandfather's racial slurs all those years ago, like I did then?  Maybe I should.  For some reason, this week I can not do that.  I can not.

I can not ignore the subtle, and not-too-subtle, inferences that because a human being is Muslim, they should be treated in a separate category of dignity from other human beings.  

The bigger problem is that we are not Americans -- Republicans, Democrats, Conservatives, Liberals or Independents -- first.  We are Christians first, and by that very definition we follow (even obey and love) the teachings of Christ.

When I get the courage to protest, I've been told that since some evil people who use the teachings of their religion to commit atrocities against other human beings, then we are justified -- wise, even -- to treat all Muslim people as potentially guilty of the same crime.  

I've been told that because a child's father or uncle or brother or neighbor might use that child as a human weapon of warfare, wisdom dictates we treat that child as if he, himself, were a soldier in the war against us.  I've been told that it is justifiable, wise even, to look the other way when a woman who has been terrorized by her own country -- persecuted, maimed, raped, widowed -- for the reason that if we attempt to do good to her, we will also welcome the same atrocities on our own wives and children.

I have a friend who has begun using this phrase in her social media conversations: "I mean this in an utterly serious, unsarcastic way".  I want to make the same request, because we're not actually sitting in a room together where you can see my face and hear my voice.  

It is not sarcasm that fuels this question, but true love and a sincere desire to understand:  How can we say we love our enemies when we judge all Muslims by the same standard as some Muslims? And, even if that were true - that all Muslims were guilty of the same evil -- how can we say we bless those who persecute us when we turn our backs on the people knocking on our door for refuge?  How can we say we love the orphan, the immigrant and the widow when we are willing for them to starve, drown or return to unimaginable persecution?

When I've asked my friends who are both Christian and American these questions I've heard variations on the response that, as Christians, we're also taught to be wise as serpents and gentle as doves.  I've heard that it is natural -- even God-created in us -- to seek safety for ourselves and our children.  I agree with these things, most certainly. 

It's wrestling with this fear of trauma that especially causes me to recall the heroes of the faith, including our very own Savior, the Son of God, who, when caught between the tension of personal safety and obedience to Scriptural commands, laid themselves down in the path of suffering.  This includes our Christian brothers and sisters who in the past couple of years spoke the name of Jesus and were killed, entrusting the care of their own wives and sons and daughters and husbands to the crucified and risen Christ.  (May I note here: In that entrusting, they most assuredly hoped the people of Christ would be the hands and feet to offer refuge to those they left behind.)

And I mean this with all love and sincerity:  How do we reconcile the teachings of Christ and say that personal (or even national) safety is our first priority? 

We are grateful to serve a God who does not require of us a sadistic sort of self-sacrifice in order for us to earn favor with him, as some gods demand.  It is true our heavenly Father cares about our safety, and that He calls us to imitate Him in this way for our own families; to care about our children's safety -- at times, to even fight for it.

As followers of the Risen Son of God, we also know that our lives are eternal; we are already living in a kingdom of which there will be no end.  In this confidence, we follow our King into all sorts of environments that are unsafe.  We know this when we send our missionaries into countries where safety is barely a civic expectation (including Muslim countries).  Why do we assume our role in God's kingdom should be different?  Do we think that since we are the ones who stay in the United States, we should expect a different level of protection in God's economy?

Here's another way to ask the question. (And, forgive me, for returning to story in the middle of conversation about the Bible, won't you?) So many of my Christian friends (including me) love the image of God in the Great Lion Aslan. In this fictional character, imagined by the masterful storyteller C.S. Lewis, we've been given a deeper understanding of our Almighty God's good character.  We love the description summed up by the unwitting profundity of Mr. Beaver, "Who said anything about being safe?  'Course he isn't safe. But he is good."

I wonder if these current global crises give us a fertile opportunity to become a little bit more like the God in Mr. Beaver's description?  To remind each other, when we hear the latest terrifying news, when we are faced with ethical -- Christian, even -- obligations to love our enemies, to bless those who persecute us, to feed and clothe and shelter the widow, the foreigner and the orphan, that we are the ones who follow the good and unsafe God.  

I wonder if we might also encourage each other that by rejecting this unsafe part of God's character, we are actually rejecting the life and death of the Suffering Servant, his Son?  And if we know that we are called toward suffering in this world, let's take hope in the fact that we are also empowered to be and to do good?  Not safe, but good?

Yes, let's pray and talk and argue about the best places for refugees to actually survive and thrive; let's talk about the responsibilities of all the countries of the world, in addition to our own; let's even talk about the role of religion in human behavior.  Let's consider the necessities of military response.  Let's hold our elected officials to high standards of governance, defense, and investigation.  Let's encourage each other, as American citizens, to remember our past and of all the ways we've vowed to repeat the good and reject the ugly chapters of our national history.  

But if I can only say one thing, it's this: My Christian friends, let's remind each other that while we are American, God is not.  When we see another article posted of all the reasons to fear Muslims, let's remind each other that all humans are created in the image of God, and that our Creator desires that all nations be blessed by those who belong to Him.  

And, if for some reason, all of that feels too hard to say, maybe we can evoke the sincere and courageous Mr. Beaver: 
" 'Course we aren't safe. But like our King, we are good."

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

This is why I broke a promise to myself on Facebook

Yesterday I broke a promise I made to myself -- I got political on Facebook.  I've argued to myself and others that Facebook is a place for pleasant conversation, much like a cocktail party or hang out with friends.  Debates about inherently controversial and intimate subjects -- religion, politics, sex -- are better left for forums with structures sturdy enough to bear the weight of that substance.  

Every once in awhile, though, I get caught off guard, and my best made plans for civil and gracious social interchange get waylaid.  The subject of providing refuge within our borders for those fleeing persecution in Syria caught me off guard this week.  I watched the news, read the accounts of this week's massacres of people in different parts of the world at the hand of the Islamic State.  I thought "This is going to be complicated:  how will governments respond?  Will this be a call to war?  This is going to be a tough decision for politicians.  And I know Christians have varying views on the matter of peace, diplomacy and war.  What would a 'just war' look like in this context?"

I prayed and read and considered my own convictions.  In these moments, I never once imagined the conversation would move so swiftly to the issue of refugees.  This is my own naivete, I see now.  I'm not surprised at the arguments in the governmental sphere.  That is not a new issue, as no amount of horrific persecution of those fleeing Syria has moved our government too far off the mark of their stubborn campaign rhetoric.  

No.  What surprised me was the conversation in the Christian sphere.  Of all the subjects we could disagree, I never imagined it would be this one.  There are so many decisions we need to make in our present context that Scriptures seem to have made room for conscientious disagreement.  We make decisions all the time -- build entire denominations -- on subjects tertiary to the Gospel and the creeds, while staying in communion with each other as one body of Christ.  

I can not see how welcoming refugees is one of those subjects.  As a follower of Christ, I can not see it.  How many we receive, how we feed, clothe and shelter them, which department of the government oversees the security to protects all of us, which federal or state budget funds each of these initiatives -- these questions, I imagine to stir up much debate among intelligent, civic and spiritually-minded people.

Of all the decisions we Christians have to make to live faithfully to our God and our government, how many are this plain?  These are the kinds of moments, we ought to rejoice in the simplicity of our call.  This is easy!  

It's easy because the lesson of welcoming the foreigner, the stranger, the orphan, the widow, the stranger, the prisoner, and the persecuted is woven into the entire narrative of the Scriptures that provide the foundation for our faith.  The entire narrative of Scripture -- both prescriptively and descriptively written --  weaves stories of the refugee into our identity as Christians. From our father Abraham who got up and left his country to the Christ child fleeing in his mother's arms to the early Church mothers and fathers persecuted for following the Messiah Jesus, we are formed. 

We could even make a case that one of our primary functions to each other in the Church is to care for each other as exiles living away from our truest home.  We do this when we bear each other's burdens, gather together frequently to share shelter and bread. 

Friends who follow Christ, there is nothing ambiguous, divisive, or murky about our call to welcome the refugee.

Here's another thing.  If it weren't enough to be convinced by the Christian Scriptures, there's this lesser identity I carry as an American citizen.  A nation birthed both in noble call and violent sins against native humanity must be a place for refugees. If not this nation, than what was the whole point of our founding? Is this not obvious as we prepare our homes and menus for a day of Thanksgiving?

I am an American citizen birthed after the Holocaust, raised up on the stories of the heroes who opened the gates of the camps.  I've swum in the sea of stories about the other heroes - the people who gave a room to Anne Frank's family, the Dutch clockmaker's family, the German factory owner. The names Frank, ten Boom, Schindler and countless others lesser known have been canonized, rightfully so, to a place of civic sainthood.  We've worn down every discovered floor and attic in Europe, admiring the hidey-holes and hidden doors that kept alive thousands of refugees fleeing Nazi persecution.  This history is so embedded in post-war generations, we can't seem to stop writing movies and books and plays and poems to tell these stories.

We tell them because we warn each other that maybe someday it will be us. It's possible that one day, we will become the persecuted, dispersed, homeless, fleeing ones.  If we're being honest, don't we also tell the stories because we wanted to grow up to become the ones who would -- given the chance -- open our doors, our attics, our extra rooms, our pantries, our wardrobes, our boats and factories and cars to the ones crying "Shelter!"? Didn't we read the books and watch the movies to measure our own character against all the named and unnamed heroes, who bore light in the face of darkest evil?  

And maybe Scriptures should be enough, but if we are too many millennia removed from the stories of baby Moses and baby Jesus and all other holy innocents, might our hearts be stirred again by the image of a 15-year-old girl in an attic

And if all our memory of the first ship of refugees anchored in the freezing cold of the Atlantic ocean at Plymouth has faded into elementary school graphics, might we pass around the story again of the little boy lying face down in the sand?  

What have we been telling these stories for if not to instruct us now?

So, yesterday I broke a promise.  I got political on Facebook.  I woke up this morning feeling a little sheepish because what I really wanted to do is get religious.  
“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ 
“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’  
“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ — Matthew 25: 34-40
And if our hearts can not be moved by the very words of the Creator God, then might we again watch this scene and remind ourselves who we've been hoping to be when our turn comes:

Friday, November 13, 2015

{pretty, happy, funny, real} there's not much funny in being sick, but plenty of happy all the same

| a weekly capturing of contentment in everyday life |

This week was a long stretch of a miserable cold, bookended by a sweet trip to visit Alex at Rice last weekend and the impending celebration of Brian's diaconate ordination and Natalie's confirmation this weekend.  I'm on the mend and feeling especially grateful this morning. 

A few photos to practice contentment this week

| pretty |

A few signs of autumn around our house, featuring leaves mailed to us from New York over the years

| happy |

Originally, when we were first planning our visit, I told him I wanted to do something college-y for our last trip out while he's still a single man.  I wanted to do something like go to a football game or lecture, and that was the plan until it rained, and half of Texas flooded.  Not the half where the Rice football stadium, but the part we'd have to drive through to get to Rice.  So we missed the game and the famous author lecture, and we stayed home for delightful trick or treaters, instead.

This weekend, I was catching a serious cold, but we had one window of opportunity to go, and go we went.  The most college-y thing we did was buy ourselves Rice t-shirts in the college bookstore (finally, after 3 years!).  The true gift was 24 hours to spend face-to-face, talking about his semester, Houston politics and his future.  I was getting sicker by the minute, and it was worth every one.  

this smile says between the lines: my head weighs 200 pounds of sinus tension,
but I'm so happy to be with my son I don't even care

Saturday brunch at Paper Co, Ecclesia's on-site cafe.  Alex loves his church, and has been welcomed warmly by so many good people.  We toured the unconventional space -- a former paper warehouse in Houston's first ward, turned church building / cafe for the common good. I especially loved the prime gallery space along two hallways. (Unfortunately, I didn't record the name of this artist.)

This exhibit, One Voice, is brilliant.  Just brilliant.  I came home wishing to replicate it in Austin.  May gallery space open up on church walls across the land, and may they impress upon us once again the virtues of truth, goodness and beauty.

Serendipitously, we were able to share our meal with Mike, a friend of Alex's who happened to be at the cafe when we arrived.  Mike is witty, warm, and full of knowledge and stories.  He is part of the Ecclesia community and in a small group with Alex's roommates.  He also happens to be homeless.  I don't understand how all of those realities fit together, but I'm so glad we got to eat together and hear each other's stories.  In truth:  I liked that far better than a college football game, anyway.

| funny |

Speaking of college football, here's a facebook status re-cap of our drive home from Houston on Saturday afternoon.  I sincerely wish I'd thought to take a photo of Brian, standing at the checkout line of a ginormous Buc-ee's, bright orange sweatshirt (with blue trim, the exact colors of the opposing Auburn team that day) like a bulls-eye among the sea of Aggie maroon swarming around him.  I got a couple dirty looks for my Rice emblem, but that was nothing -- nothing, I tell you -- compared to the looks he got for his guilty orange sweatshirt.

Texas + College Football = No Joke (still, hilariously funny to me!)

| real |

Most of the week, in reality, has been about me being sick, and Natalie recovering from a season of debilitating migraine headaches.  We've been eating a migraine elimination diet, working from home, filling out college applications and drinking tea like it's our job.  Hard days can really end up being some of the sweetest, you know?

Have YOU captured any contentment this week? 
 I'd love to hear about it!

| Join in at P,H,F,R to see other wonderful people practicing contentment. |
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...