Check out Rich’s recap from Denver! He incorporated video into this recap and it is super fun- totally felt like I was there when I was viewing it.
Deeper Still – Denver CO from Rich Kalonick on Vimeo.
Archive for June, 2010
Hi Y’all from Denver!!
OK, so I wrote you guys a catch-up post this morning from the airport/plane in Houston and pushed “publish” right before they shut the door and made us power down and the internet knocked me off without saving my material. I was so completely annoyed.
Now I am sitting in my hotel room typing as fast as I can because I get picked up in a little over an hour and I am a LONG way from ready. I still have early this morning’s hair, not to mention make up. Not to mention deodorant. I told you this morning what all I’d been doing but no time for that now. I’ll catch you up on stuff later. One of the things I did tell you, however, was how thankful I am to have some big projects behind me (like the Israel trip) so that I can now resume my normal amount of activity in Siestaville. I can’t wait for our summer Bible study to start. I hope so much you’ve acquired your workbooks and that you’re forming small groups, if not in person, on line.
May I also say that I miss our Scripture memory team like crazy and you can rest assured we will pick that back up in 2011? Meanwhile, I have my own spiral going and I hope you do, too. In fact, mine is in my purse right here in my hotel room. Let’s see if I can spit out one of my latest verses without looking. Oh, yeah…
“If I could speak all the languages of earth and angels but didn’t love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. If I had the gift of prophecy and if I understood all God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge and if I had such faith I could move mountains but didn’t love others, I would be nothing. If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it. But if I didn’t love others, I would have gained nothing. Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude…”
Yep, the Love Chapter. Sometimes it all comes back to that. And, yes, I memorized it years ago and out of the KJV but, based on some feelings I was fighting about four months ago toward someone, it obviously hadn’t fully taken. Sometimes God and I work on new lessons and sometimes we just go back for a refresher on an old one. We’re back.
Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh, I know. I was about to tell you that I’m in Denver for Deeper Still with my friends, Kay Arthur and Priscilla Shirer. I can’t wait to hear what God has to say to all of us through them. And, we are so entirely jazzed to have Kelly Minter joining us this weekend (yes, our summer Bible study author). She is a great joy to me.
Shoot fire, I’m running out of time. I will try to write you guys on my way home Sunday. But I just have to tell you one little thing. I checked into my hotel room and there was a gift bag sitting on the bed. I thought it was a bag of snacks because our event coordinator will often leave one of those in our rooms for Deeper Still. While I was unpacking, I glanced back over at it and realized it said, “Happy Birthday” (not till next week) but I knew then that it wasn’t snacks. I pulled out the purple tissue and WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT WAS AN I-PAD?????????????? I NEARLY FLIPPED!!!! I set it down on my bed and paced back and forth in my room staring at it like it might turn into a pumpkin. I wasn’t going to get one because I just couldn’t justify it. Still can’t. It’s just grace. Plain and simple. Grace. I’m just so-the-opposite-of-ticked.
GOTTA GO!! I’ll write you Sunday.
A Culture of Sorrow: Part One
I called my Mom after work this evening to check and see if she was blogging tonight and when she said she wouldn’t be able to just yet I decided I would throw a little random post your way. Since I’m out of classes, you might find some random or boring (??) discussions on this here blog every now and again. What you’ll find here tonight is meant to be less of an assertion than it is a discussion about some new thoughts I find intriguing.
Last summer I read a book called Ainât Too Proud To Beg: Living Through the Lordâs Prayer by Telford Work (2007). Dr. Work is assistant professor of theology at Westmont College. I donât know him personally but I enjoyed him to no end through his writing. His book is a rare and thrilling infusion of disciplines. I donât want to summarize or review this unique book here, but it is certainly worth a read. Even if you disagree with Work at various points, I promise youâll learn some things along the way. Plus, in your heart of hearts you know you feel compelled to read a book by an author named âTelford Work.â
As I do with all the books I really love, I picked the book up again last night and started flipping through it and glanced over the places where I had highlighted or made notes in the margin. I loved this book so much that even my revisiting of it took me all the way to the epilogue. The epilogue is composed of several of Workâs sermons. One of these sermons in particular caught my attention. Â In this sermon entitled “You Can Say That Again,” Work coins a phrase, âculture of sorrow.â He uses it in reference to our own culture and âthe common sensibility that lifeâs true character is misfortune and that sadness rules over usâ (226). He says:
âIn our culture of sorrow, sadder is cooler. Joy may be desirable, but itâs not fashionable. What is? Ask the fashion industry! Does that look of aloof, disheveled, emaciated, sophistication strike you as happy? Me neither. But itâs cool! Or name a big pop band that has looked happy in its photos since the Beatles in 1964. Cool means hard stares, angry sneers, lust, and brooding . . . angst, ennui, existential despair, cynicism, political decline, environmental catastrophe, and social alienation . . . Master these and youâll be the life of the dinner partyâ (226).
And taking it further, he says again:
âIn our culture of sorrow, sadder is wiser. Misery has become our myth, our metanarrative. Joy is liable to be taken as immaturity or ignorance . . . If you want an Oscar, donât go with a so-called Hollywood ending. Go with a gut-wrenching tragedy like Million Dollar Baby . . . Sadder is deeper. . . What moves a personal relationship from small-talk pleasantries to greater sincerity? Telling the truth, of course. And for us the deepest truth-telling generally involves the disclosure of pain, hardship, and anxiety. Relationships tend to deepen from shallow happiness to more authentic sorrow . . . Sadder is greater . . . Anger, fright, and fantasy bring out voters and volunteers, not joy. Fear and greed drive the economy, not joy. Sorrow acts and we react. It calls the shotsâ (227).
Brief Tangent: If youâre like me, you are becoming increasingly suspicious of the phrase âin our cultureâ because it is used so often to introduce all kinds of authoritative but contradictory statistics. I use this phrase âin our cultureâ out of sheer habit and because it is so delightfully malleable but I always question myself when I use it because I know full well it is typically going to introduce a generalization. Having said that, some generalizations are more legitimate than others. So even if youâre like me, and youâre super skeptical and annoying, you have to hand it to Work because his âculture of sorrowâ idea sure seems to describe a significant aspect of our culture even if you donât agree that it is indicative of our culture across the board.
The other day Colin and I watched “The Road” with Viggo Mortensen. The movie was based on the novel by Cormac McCarthy. Now to be fair, I did not read the novel but the movie, in my opinion, was one horrific and unimaginably depressing scene after another. Just when I thought I was watching the worst the movie had to offer we were abruptly hurled into a whole different strata of horror. And the characters didnât even have names. Not my idea of a blockbuster night. Typically I like an emo and soul probing flick but I couldn’t discern even one strand of hope throughout the film and this led to the hardness of my heart. Â Anyway, the book was evidently deemed one of the most important and brilliant movies of the year. I wish I could say that the accolades surprised me but they did not. Â In my own opinion what was profound, was not the movie itself, but the very fact that so many people had heralded it as profoundâto me that said more about âour cultureâ than anything else.
Iâm not sure why I hadnât thought of this whole âculture of sorrowâ thing⌠as soon as I read the phrase I was mentally slapping my knee thinking to myself, âTelford Work is just so painfully right!!!â You know those people who can articulate a once rather opaque phenomenon dead on– well that is sort of what reading this entire book was like for me. I just kept thinking, âI would have written this myself if I would have known how to explain it.â That is the best kind of book- when it hits so closely to home that you feel you yourself could have written it even if you donât have a fraction of the writing ability that the author has.
When Colin and I were first married, people would say things like, âTell us the truth, what is marriage really like?â I almost felt forced to whine, complain, bare my melancholy soulâor be exposed as superficial, inauthentic, or worse–simpleminded. Â Now, of course, it is one thing to be honest when things really are tough and difficult, but even when things were not tough at all, and I was in fact enjoying my life and marriage, I would feel the need to give some token piece of what ârealityâ was really like or some slice of darkness to build credibility with my conversation partner. Good night . . . as though life is not tough enough without feeling pressure to forge expressions of grief. If youâre bothered by folk who tell you theyâre âfineâ when theyâre really not, what about people like me who have, on occasion, acted as though things were tough when they really werenât?!?
Egads.
I was laughing a few weeks ago when I was on our trip and someone made the comment, âEveryone on this trip, is just so . . . happy!â I gotta be honest, I was sort-of-kind-of thinking the same thing to myself at first, until I saw my own log in someone elseâs plank. I mean seriously, would she, or I for that matter, rather them all be depressed and lethargic rather than happy and peppy? Iâve also, time and time again, fallen prey to the naive mistake of assuming that the most thoughtful and intelligent people I know, the âthinkersâ if you will, are mostly those people I know who are usually despondent. Work’s discussion of “our culture of sorrow” gave voice to some of my assumptions that I hadnât really given much thought to before.
Now before you slap me silly, this post is not the end of the story.  And it isn’t even the end of Work’s sermon. I cannot sum up this entire discussion here.  This is only Part One. In Part Two of this blog (to come in the next week), I would like to explore the place of both joy and sorrow within a Christian worldview. I’m not trying to throw the baby out with the bath water (By the way, where in the world did that phrase come from? It is just beyond weird). So, for now, even though you havenât likely read the book, what do you think about Workâs initial sermon thoughts? Have you encountered this phenomenon before? Is this perhaps a bigger issue for one generation than another?
Have you found that sadder is often âcoolerâ or âwiserâ or âdeeperâ or âtruerâ?
Talk to me.
P.S. For those of you who have expressed a desire to buy the book–please know that this subject is not a major issue in the book, it is only in the epilogue in a short sermon. Â Also, it is a fairly academic read. Â Having made this full disclosure, I still think you will like the book.
đ
This Curt Jones Guy
June 16, 2000, is when everything changed.
I’d just finished my sophomore year of college and was one of four summer interns working in the missions department at my home church. The other interns were Kay Bridgwater, whom I’d grown up with, and Jerrell Altic, a college student from Missouri. Kay and Jerrell had met the previous summer as missions interns and by the end of it they were in l-o-v-e. The fourth intern was going to be another guy from Missouri named Curt Jones. Everyone already knew him well but I’d never met him. Strangely, our two bosses, William and Bob, seemed to think This Curt Jones Guy and I were going to hit it off and get married.
Seriously? For once I was hoping not to be distracted by a boy. I didn’t really want to hear about my supposed future with some guy from Missouri named Curt Jones. At the same time, Curt Jones was having to hear about some chick named Amanda Moore down in Houston and he didn’t really want to hear it either.
The week of June 16, 2000, we were in Missouri helping lead an event called Mission Vision. Mission Vision consisted of a handful of youth groups and leaders staying in Hamlin Baptist Church. We did missions training and various projects during the day and at night we had speakers, a drama group called Clear Vision, and worship with By the Tree.
After Mission Vision, This Curt Jones Guy was going to come back to Houston with us and work for the rest of the summer. I hoped that at least he’d be cool and we’d get along well.
I should mention that I didn’t even want to go to Mission Vision. I can’t remember how I justified to my boss, William Taylor, that I would need to come home early. He conceded and I had a plane ticket to get me home in the middle of the week. I was such a good intern! Bless my heart, we were only a week into the job and I’d not yet realized how much dying to self ministry requires. I’m definitely not done learning that lesson.
Back to June 16, 2000.
Mission Vision hadn’t yet started. Jerrell, Kay and I drove over to the home of This Curt Jones Guy to pick him up and go to a water park in Branson for the day. Curtis got in Jerrell’s Chevy Blazer and had his cap so low over his face that I couldn’t even tell what he looked like. Of course I was trying to figure that out. Even though I was trying not to go there, I remember reasoning that if our bosses’ predictions turned out to be right, I would always remember meeting him there in the driveway. But surely they were wrong.
We had a great time at Whitewater with no shortage of awkward moments. Really, who wants to be in a bathing suit the first time they meet a new co-worker? At one point we were waiting to get our tubes to take up to the top of a water slide. I was first in line and the next tube that came was a double. If I took it, then I’d have to get in it with This Curt Jones Guy I barely knew. No thank you. I let it pass and took a single. Awkward! Jerrell, of course, called attention to the weird moment and I’ve never lived it down.
I couldn’t tell what Curt’s personality was like until the four of us had a little brainstorming session while sitting in front of the wave pool on some lounge chairs. Curt was in charge of student recreation at Mission Vision and we were helping him think of  a theme. Here’s what we came up with in our 20-year-old humor and brilliance – The Toilet Bowl: Like the Super Bowl, but Different! Nice, right? The daily rec prizes were a plunger, a toilet paper roll, a toilet seat, and a bed pan. We spray painted everything gold. And that is how I bonded with my future husband.
That night – June 16, 2000 – found the four of us praying in Jerrell’s parents’ living room. We prayed for Mission Vision and for our summer serving together. I got a peek into the heart of This Curt Jones Guy as he prayed for God to be exalted.
The recreation ministry required many, many trips to Walmart and Curtis always invited me to ride along with him. I’ve never been a big fan of Walmart, but I have a lot of affection for this one particular store where I happened to fall in love with my husband. We’ve never really had a song, but we do have “our Walmart.”
I remember seeing Curt’s sweet Grandma Dixon for the first time. She was serving food to all the students and I thought she and Curtis looked alike. Curt’s younger sister, Lindsay, was attending Mission Vision as a high school student. We shared a mirror one morning in the bathroom and I wondered if I would be getting to know her soon.
It was only by God’s grace and sovereignty that I ever got the job as a missions intern. Unfortunately, I’d skipped out on the youth group experience in high school and had never been on a mission trip. We were training kids how to share their faith and I had no idea how to share mine! Every day we took a group of kids to a different setting to share their faith. Curtis took it upon himself to be my partner and teach me how to do this. I’m naturally a pretty shy person and witnessing to someone I didn’t know was way, way, way outside my comfort zone. But Curtis was amazing at it. I was blown away watching him turn countless conversations with strangers toward Christ.
Not only was This Curt Jones Guy funny, not only was he great at leading rec time, not only did he have beautiful blue eyes that both of my children now have, he was passionate about leading people to Christ. I liked this guy! Curtis and I have a deep sense of partnership in ministry and there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s because of those times we went out and shared our faith together.
Needless to say, I decided to cancel my mid-week trip home.
On the last full day of Mission Vision, we went to do some evangelism on Commercial Street. I really liked This Curt Jones Guy but I didn’t know if we would be more than friends. Another leader even asked me if we liked each other and I denied it. A few minutes later Curtis and I went into a soda fountain type of place and sat down at the counter. We ordered Dr. Peppers and hoped to share the Gospel with the server. The first thing out of the server’s mouth was, “Are you two married?” It was becoming clear that God was growing our hearts together. That night we finally admitted to each other what had been obvious to everyone else.
The day after Mission Vision wrapped up, I was supposed to fly home with Kay and Jerrell and Curtis was going to drive his car down to Houston. I decided to cancel my flight – again – and make the drive with Curtis. We had twelve hours to talk about everything under the sun. Every time we make that drive from Springfield to Houston, we point out all the places we stopped on our first trip. A lot of times we play the old Shane and Shane and Enter the Worship Circle CD’s we listened to. I had no idea how familiar I would become with those small towns along the road in Oklahoma. There are some very creatively named churches along the way, which inspired a game called “What would you name a church?” When we stopped to get gas in Huntsville, Texas, I called Mom and said that This Curt Jones Guy and I would be home soon and to please make Dad behave. They instantly knew.
Next week we get to celebrate our eighth wedding anniversary and our tenth year of being together. There’s something so great about knowing we’ve been together for a decade. I love it. It feels like something to celebrate.
A few years ago my engagement ring cracked where I’d had it re-sized. I had it repaired but it was wearing very thin again. While we were in Missouri I took my engagement ring to the jeweler it was purchased from and had them make me a new white gold tiffany setting. I handed over my ring and watched the jeweler pry open the prongs and dump out the diamond. It had an unbelievable amount of gunk underneath it. If nothing else, it would look a hundred times better just from the  stone being cleaned! They handed the old ring back to me empty. I waited in anticipation for five days and finally, on our way home from Silver Dollar City in Branson, I got to pick up my diamond in a brand new band. It was beautiful! My round solitaire looked so happy and shiny. It had been a long time since it looked like that. I sort of wished I’d made this investment sooner. If Curtis had given me a brand new diamond three times as big as that one it would not have thrilled me as much as seeing that same one looking just as pretty as the day he gave it to me. Prettier, really, since it represented everything that we have been through and done together.
Our marriages are somewhat like my engagement ring. The core – the diamond – holds a great love story with lots of passion and commitment. But everyday wear and tear and the occasional traumatic event can do a number on the metal that holds it together. Some of our rings could just use some polishing while others need some real restoration. God can do both! Remember that He loves marriage. He created it, after all. I’m praying that God will show each one of us a specific way we can invest in our marriage to strengthen it and bring out its beauty.
Shalom, blogworld.
׊ָ×××Öš× (Shalom), blogworld.
That was too predictable, wasnât it?
đ
I just wanted to say hello.
My mind is still a bit muddled from the jet lag but the tiny fact that I canât seem to make out a single coherent thought has never stopped me from talking heretofore so I shall proceed.
And besides, y’all are forgiving and this should help:
Just another thing I love about Atlanta: Octane cappuccinos. Â By the way, what is the best cappuccino you’ve ever had? Â That is a random but profound question for a Friday, don’t you think? Â It just makes my entire week when the barista makes the little intricate designs with the foam.
Have I mentioned that I keep waking up at 4:00 in the morning hungry for hummus?
Yesterday I spent hours on end making this very basic video slideshow from my pictures from Israel. Â My new hobby as of late is photography (and yes–it has taken the place of cooking for now). Â Israel is quite a location for the photo enthusiast, let me tell you. Â Please understand several things before you watch the slideshow:
- 1) I am not Rich Kalonick, though he did walk me through several things via text message yesterday. Â For the first time I think I fully respect the work he does when he creates the slideshows for the LPL events. Â It takes more time and work than you might imagine. So thanks, Rich!
- 2) The slideshow is quite long, running about twelve minutes. By no means should you watch the whole thing if you are bored to tears. You have complete control and you can’t say I didn’t warn you! Â đ
- 3) This slideshow reflects about 5% of the people and places on our trip to Israel. I literally whittled down 2,000 photos to about 200. Sadly, there was just no way to include them all here. Â But on the bright side, if I had included all 2,000 the video would have been about six hours.
Having made this disclaimer, I do so much hope you enjoy it!
Israel Trip from Melissa Fitzpatrick on Vimeo.
Music added: “Beautiful” by Shawn McDonald & “I Stand Amazed” by Chris Tomlin.
Our trip was truly incredible. Â I have some more substantial thoughts that I would like to share but I will get back to you with those ponderings when I am not in such a fog–hopefully sometime next week.
Have a wonderful weekend, Siestas! We sure love you!
Warmly,
Melissa
Home Again, Happy, and Homesick for Siestaville
Hey, you sweet things! It seems like forever since we’ve talked! Melissa and I had so hoped to be able to blog while we were in the Holy Land but the break-neck schedule and the slow internet made it the impossible dream. We and our group of 100 mighty women boarded two tour buses every morning at 7:30 and usually pulled back into one of three different hotels on our journey around 6:00 that evening. May I interject that it was HOT over there? And when I tell you we pulled into the hotel smelling more like sweaty camels than sacred pilgrims, I’m not kidding. Our consolation was that we all smelled the same. I took a travel size stick of deodorant in my purse and used it on the bus without shame. We’d clean up quickly then head to dinner at 7:00 then Melissa and I would head back to my room as fast as possible where I’d study for the next day and Melissa would down load pictures. We’d fall in our beds, rise early the next morning for more studying then load those buses again. It was a big fat busy BLAST. Not one single regret except that we didn’t have all of you there.
God gave us a fabulous group of women comprised mostly of LPM staff and volunteers (the trip was a thank you to all of them) and we were graced by the faithful presence of our God as we traced the steps of His Son from birth to childhood… to boyhood…to manhood… to His first miracle…to His ministry in Galilee…to the place where His sweat fell like drops of blood…to His cross…to His empty grave…then to the Mount of Olives where He ascended before their very eyes and will one day descend in all His glory…before every set of eyes on earth.
It was truly too much to absorb in one week’s time but many of us will ponder it for months to come. As you know, my darling firstborn was unable to go at the last minute. I am so proud of her for making that decision and, without hesitation, hopping in the car with her man to head for Missouri even before they knew what the outcome would be. I couldn’t quite get my head wrapped around not having her along on the trip because her company is so rich and impossible to replace, just like her sister’s. But I knew within a very short time that they’d done God’s will without question. They wanted so much to be able to see his grandmother before the Lord swept her home. As it happened, He simply could not wait another minute to have her in His presence.
“Arise, my darling, my beautiful one. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone…the season of singing has come…Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.” (Song of Songs 2:10-13)
Curtis and Amanda were there shortly after Grandma Dixon’s homegoing and for the rest of the week. Amanda said that the testimony of a long, enduring, loving marriage between Curtis’s grandparents was so powerful that it would mark them forever.
We missed her so much and I was deeply grateful that I’d already had the chance to take her on that very trip when she was 16. Melissa and I spoke of her constantly. I was touched in many ways this week in the Holy Land but I will share with you one primary gift God gave me while I was there. A number of years ago when Melissa launched full-steam ahead into an academic study of theology and Scripture, I began to worry that the critical aspect of that kind of academic education might snuff the flame that had burned in her from late high school to mid-college. There are many casualties. My heart also dropped into my feet as I realized that she was going to inevitably get hit in my behalf. She is to be commended for the way she handled it but that’s another story. I’ll leave it at this: it’s very hard to see your children have to deal with criticism toward you and be forced to answer for you. I can take the heat but I wish so much they didn’t have to. Anyway, as I sought God with my concerns, He supplied a Scripture that I felt He was inviting me to pray over her and believe for her. My fears were calmed over the completion of her undergrad work followed by two additional degrees. I refused to worry again about it even through some rocky places for her where she had to grapple with what she believed. While we were in Israel, I saw a young woman who had survived with her faith in tact. She is her own person – different from her mother, thank God – but full of passion. I saw a young woman who loves Jesus Christ. In fact, if not for Colin Fitzpatrick, I don’t think I would’ve gotten that child on a plane. I nearly fainted when I heard her ask our guide, my dear friend Arie, about the universities in Jerusalem. Then all I could do was shake my head and laugh. It can be a dangerous thing to raise your children to follow hard after Jesus.
I have seen a fresh revelation of Christ in the last week but not only through tracing His steps in the Holy Land. I’ve beheld it on the faces of His people. Many on the trip and my own beloved daughters, as different as they are, and as imperfect as they’d want me to tell you they are. They have each outdone their parents. Lord have mercy, what messes we were at their ages. Thank You, Lord, for full redemption. For Your willingness to change an entire lineage. Your grace is unfathomable. Continue to use it to set families free.
So, that’s a little of my story today. Thanks for listening to interminable musings. It’s so good to be back in touch with you. I am dying to know what you’re up to! Where does this 3rd day of June find you, my dear Siestas? Help me picture it!
You are so loved here.
Unexpected Joy
We are home. Mom and Melissa are home. All the LPM girls are home. Well, they are at work today, but still. Home! Home is good!
My little family had a very fun, unexpected blessing at the end of our trip. My friend Janelle, who lives in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, invited us to stay with her family on the way home from Missouri. It was perfect! We drove eight hours on Sunday with the goal of making it in time for dinner. Janelle’s husband, Heath, is an amazing cook and was making a feast for us. We had our eyes set on the prize all day. First, we stopped for an hour in McKinney and met up with my college roommate, Mel, and her precious new baby. I have so many sweet friends in DFW that I miss terribly! Mel and Janelle are both the kind of friends who are more like sisters.
We arrived at Janelle’s house just in time for dinner.
Jackson and Ella, who were born in the same hospital just two days apart and were each other’s first friend, were thrilled to be together. It’s so precious to see how much they love each other despite the physical distance between our families.
After dinner, Annabeth went to bed, the “big kids” watched a movie, and the grown-ups turned out attention to Phase 10. This has replaced UNO as my new favorite game. I have no pictures of us playing it, but we played for hours. It was so much fun. Does your family have a favorite game you play together?
The next morning we had an amazing breakfast at a restaurant called Mimi’s. It was like a cross between La Madeleine and IHOP. I loved it and deeply regretted not going there when we lived 20 minutes away. The last time we were with Janelle’s family we hit up Cracker Barrel. I guess breakfast is our new thing. It used to be Double Dave’s pizza.
Ella was concerned for Jackson’s safety and wanted to hold his hand. We were cracking up.
Our children formed a praise team.
Just the girls.
We finally made it back to Houston on Monday evening after four more hours on the road. We picked up our dog, Beckham, from a very generous friend’s house where he was spoiled and loved on by her three darling kids. He climbed into the back seat of our Suburban and pouted like a small child. He wouldn’t talk to us until the next day. I don’t know if he’s mad that we didn’t take him to Nana’s house (he thinks he’s a grandchild) or because he didn’t want to leave Heather’s family. Bless his heart.
Well, that’s all I’ve got for now. Melissa is preparing a post for tomorrow and I can’t wait to read it! Y’all have a great Wednesday!
Love,
Amanda
