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.

Living Proof Live – Grand Rapids from Rich Kalonick on Vimeo.

It’s that time of year when hard-working students – AND those making it by the skin of their teeth – walk across platforms and get their diplomas.  Anybody besides us have a graduate this year? If so, tell us about him/her! No matter what the age or kind of graduation – from kindergarten to tech schools to doctorates – if an official ceremony is involved, let’s celebrate!  If you ARE the graduate, that’s even better. We love any opportunity to celebrate a Siesta. Tell us what God has enabled you to accomplish and what your plans are now.  This is what community is for.

While we join you in your celebration, please join us in ours. Here’s a huge Siesta shout-out to Melissa Moore Fitzpatrick for earning her second Master’s degree, a Th.M from Columbia Theological Seminary. Child, you have worked your fingers to the bone. You’ve done what it takes and at no small cost. Your Dad, Amanda, Curtis and I are so proud of you and amazed by you. THIS from the high school athlete dash prom queen with the blue and white 69 Camaro Z28 who mostly studied for a test on the way to school that morning…while driving. You are a stud, young lady.  Just like your sister. I celebrate the different directions Jesus has taken the two of you and I am so proud of the young women both of you have become. Make no mistake. You both need Jesus equally to make it through the lives He’s entrusted to you.

Colin, Melissa was so right to say that this graduation was just as much about you as it was her. Thank you for so often gazing at your new bride over a sky-high stack of books and papers and for listening to Hebrew lingo and doctrinal debates you never cared to know about. I have a feeling you didn’t see this coming when that young woman passed you in the halls of Langham Creek High School ten years ago. Keith, Amanda, and I will love you forever for how you love our girl and for how much you support her continued theological education. She’s so worth it, isn’t she? I speak this blessing as much over you as over her:

May God sanctify you, anoint you richly and shine His light brightly on your next steps. “May He remember all your sacrifices…May He give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed. We will shout for joy…and will lift up our banners in the name of our God.” Psalm 20:3-5

OK, Siestas! Let’s hear it for your graduates!

Hi, Siestas! AJ, our trusty Siestaville Blogmaster, is sitting right next to me in my office at LPM and she is tutoring me on how to add images into my posts. As you might recall (if you have admirable taste), I rocked at it when we were on Blogger but I’ve stunk it up on WordPress. Hence, Heaven alone knows all you’ve missed. In order to practice my new skills, I am going to take you through a random backlog of pictures I’ve taken with my iPhone during this season of blog-blackness. Knowing in advance that these are pictures taken with a cell phone should tell you what level of quality to expect. I know. I can’t wait either so let’s get right to it!

This is a picture I took of AB when I moved into AJ’s with the kids while she moved into the hospital with CJ. In order to give Jackson a bath by himself and let him be a fish for 20 solid minutes until he wrinkles up like a prune, I had to put AB in the Pack and Play. This is her cutest “Bibby, get me out of here before this gets ugly” look.

This is Jackson being Jackson. No, it’s not a clear picture but it is clear Jackson. He is my best friend in the whole world. Never has there EVER been a Bibby who loved a boy more.

This is Trav and me. After every few LPL’s when we get to hang around with the team and all act silly, one of us holds up our iPhone in front of our own face and says, “Hurry, jump in!” We have noticed over time that if he is holding the camera, oddly, he is the main one in the picture. If I am holding the camera, of all things, I’m the main one in the picture. Such a mystery. We have a ton of these. I bet you can guess who is holding the camera on this one. No, I have not been drinking. My eyelashes were just getting heavy.

My in-laws (Meems and Big Pops, who live right next to us) recently put in a vegetable garden and the four of us (them, my man and me) are completely obsessed with it. Sometimes the four of us just sit there in folding chairs and stare at the veggies like we could watch them grow. That’s Meems. (Short for Memaw) You can see the tiniest glimpse of Big Pops in the corner. Per Travis, one might wonder if Meems was the one taking the picture. It would have required a really long rubber arm, however.

This is Big Pops showcasing our first tomato. As soon as it ripens, we four have agreed to quarter it as our firstfruit and eat it together with hilarity and thanksgiving. Now that we have a vegetable garden, we like to say, “We grow our own food.”

This is a very good friend of mine’s recent 1-year token from AA. My pitiful photography here is a crying shame because, if you could really wrap your mind around this, you’d know it was worthy of a screaming shout of praise. Yahoo, God! I love You, I love You, I love You, I LOVE YOU!

The next four comprise a series. Recently, while Hawk and I were waiting at the gate for a flight back to Houston, a small herd of people walked right in front of us and one of them dropped the equivalent of a Sonic Route 44 Dr. Pepper. It hit the floor with a boom and exploded. The mother of said spiller promptly began dabbing at the edges of the broken dam with something the size of cocktail napkins while Hawk and I looked at one another like, “Somebody do something!” All the sudden, almost like a ray of light from Heaven broke through the ceiling and shone upon it, I looked up and saw this on the wall directly in front of us.

Does that say SPILL CENTER????? Could my eyes be deceiving me??? Let’s take a closer look!

I was like Clark Kent spying a telephone booth just in the nick of time. “Hawk, look!” said I! “A Spill Center!” I leapt over to it in a single bound and, knowing not what it was, perceived that I should reach into the bottom of the cylinder and pull. To my great surprise, this was no super absorbent giant towelette! It was the greater blessing! BEHOLD!!

I set it down right over said spill and some might say I saved the day. I felt empowered! Like any minute official airport personnel were going to wheel up on a golf car, saying “Scuse cart!” through the herd and deputize me. I was red-faced with humility.

While I waited, I felt a demonstration was in order. Here is what could happen to a person if caution is not quickly heeded. Or if Clark Kent can’t find a phone booth.

Whew. Even recounting it to you is thrilling. My heart rate is elevated.

Thank you, AJ!! If not for your excellent tutorial, all of Siestaville would have missed this profoundly important visual experience.

Lastly, with further thanks to AJ, I now have a picture with my blogger name when I comment. When it came Gravatar-time in our tutorial session, my brain was already at maximum absorption so I made AJ do it for me while I iced my forehead. She felt, then, that it was only fair that she get to choose the picture. You’ll understand when you see it. It goes to prove what I’ve long since believed. Every kid wants her parents to love each other.  They can survive without it – many of us are proof of that. But, they want it still.

I love you guys!

I wonder if anyone but me has a loved one (whose identity I will guard with my life) who suffers from a little known fear I have chosen to call Trashcanaphobia. Maybe it is not your loved one. Maybe it is you. See if any of this sounds familiar. Sufferers of Trashcanaphobia inexplicably leave all sorts of things – used Splenda packets, or even running shoes, for instance – on otherwise spotless kitchen counters for hours on end or until a codependent loved one moves them. Here’s the definitive part of the diagnosis: and all the while with the trash can only a few feet away. After watching this strange phenomenon for a matter of years (I’ll not say exactly how many), I have come to the conclusion that said sufferer cannot help it. Said sufferer obviously has a terror of trash cans.

Here is a recent documentation of this little-explored and afore unexplained phenomenon:

This very morning, my mind was even further expanded concerning phobias when Melissa’s cell phone dropped in the middle of rich conversation as it does every single morning. I called her back and got the usual voice mail, then about 10 minutes later like clockwork she rang my line. I answered the phone with, “I bet anything your cell battery was dead.”

“Yep, it was.” (It almost always is.) “Colin told me yesterday that he can come up with no further explanation for why I constantly have a dead battery except for an undiagnosed fear of phone chargers.”

So, that’s two of them in our family at least. We’ll call that one “Cellchargaphobia.” I think my daughters told you several years ago that I have a phobia of unfried foods. We’ll call it “Unfriedaphobia.” I’ve gotten some victory over it the last few years but it is still my phobia of choice.

So, please say it’s not just the Moores. Any odd family phobias out there?

PS. We’re having fun here today. Those in a mood to take themselves too seriously will want to find a different blog for the next 24 hours. You are dearly loved but we’ll talk to you later in the week.

I’ve been thinking about something since a week ago Saturday that I’m not sure I can articulate well. I’m going to give it a shot, though. Over the couple of years we’ve shared this community, I’ve seen enough of you refer to teaching Bible studies or speaking at retreats or to various groups that it may, should God care to use it, answer a few questions. Or, then again, it could more likely save you the energy of asking them. Some things are just a mystery.

Like callings.

And grace.

And how much of an accomplished work has anything to do with human vessels or are we of no consequence whatsoever. The question is not, could God use anybody? We know that’s a yes. It’s not even, does God prefer weakness so He can show Himself strong? That’s also a clear yes. What’s less clear is how much that “weak-anybody” has one iota’s bearing on what God does with him from then on. And, what are the differences between the times we are called upon by God to labor intensely toward a victory with every last ounce of energy we have (Colossians 1:29) and times when we just stand there and watch God do the thing like we weren’t even there. Or maybe we see nothing happen at all and go home in near despair, only for somebody to drop a note to us and say, “God spoke the word to me that day that I’ve waited all my life to hear.” Sometimes they quote what they heard and you know good and well it wasn’t you who said it. God talked around you instead of through you.

So, what part is God and what part is man? Twenty-five years in, I have no idea. And, I’m just weird enough to be strangely exhilarated by the fresh pulsation that I don’t. Yes, of course, we’re told to walk worthy of our callings (Ephesians 4:1) but could we walk worthy enough to enjoy a consistent, full-throttle Presence and anointing?

I doubt it.

If these are simple questions with simple answers, you may not have been around this bend often enough yet. Ask some folks who’ve spent decades at podiums like Kay Arthur, Anne Graham Lotz, Louie Giglio, James McDonald, and a host of others the devil hasn’t yet harassed into quitting and they might agree that some things get more mysterious with time. Not less.

There are too many things that don’t make sense. For communicators who give one whit about being honest-to-God (I mean that literally) Spirit-led, filled, and anointed servants, there’s no finding a formula. There’s no learning how to hit and not miss. There is no exact list and order of Spiritual disciplines to practice. Fasting every Monday, for instance, may seem to be the key attraction of God’s favor for a while but it soon wears off and you consider whether or not to add Tuesday. Nothing “works” every time. Don’t get me wrong. I believe in fasting. I’m just saying that, if you think you can use it to induce God’s unwavering favor, you’re probably going to get pretty hungry. There is no secret PIN number for His ATM. It’s God’s safeguard for keeping us from being more committed to our disciplines than to Him.

Here are a few other things I’ve learned about gifted speaking. There is no physical condition or best mood to be in. There is no amount of self-abhorrence, self-flagellation, competence or confidence to make you best suited for a mighty work of God. There is no perfect place, format, or group where “it” happens without fail. There is no type of message that never falls flat.  Or, there hasn’t been for me. There’s simply no outsmarting it. Absolutely no mastering it.

We’re splitting hairs here so stay with me until your mind gets good and muddled and only then will you get what I’m trying to say. To be sure, there are some basic ways we can cooperate with God for consistency and fruitfulness. Thank You, Lord. There are ways we can intentionally live our lives to His great glory and serve and love in His beautiful name. Bless You, Father. If not, in our earthbound wanderings, how ironically lost would we, the saved, be? But, as those who have the gall or call, responsibility or culpability to stand before a group of listeners, is there any way to insure that God will bless a message with a significant work of His Spirit?

I’m not talking here about manipulating God or trying to make Him behave. I’m not talking about trying to get Him to make you look good. I’m talking about the sheer attempt to prepare well enough, pray thoroughly enough, be humble enough (and not be proud of it) or do it all right enough in His eyes for Him to always perceptibly bless it. Honestly, there are just times when we disagree with God about what is best for Him.

What I’m talking about here is almost indefinable. I’d more easily be able to tell you how it feels than tell you what it is and yet sometimes it’s there and there’s no feeling it at all. Muddled yet? The closest I can come to naming it is God’s anointing and, if that’s the long and short of it, no wonder we can’t tame it or formulize it. The very nature of divine favor is that it is unmerited. And the very nature of God being God is that He is sovereign. As the Psalmist says, Our God is in the heavens and He does what He has pleased.

For the life of me I can’t figure out the common denominator tying together the times God really shows up. Two things are for certain. Sometimes He shows up without us even knowing it. Other times we’ll be positive He’s coming and later think He must have googled the wrong address.

This speaking thing is baffling. Beyond mastery.  It’s not for the fainthearted or the full-of-themselves. Unless a person is certifiably clueless or narcissistic beyond all hope of recovery, he or she will soon discover that what ego it builds, it also tears down. What wins out at the end of any given year is a total toss-up. In human reckoning, you could be brilliant one moment and a drooling fool the next. You can give the same message three times and the Holy Spirit hit like a lightning bolt, give it a fourth time with the same passion and authenticity and have it fall, to quote my grandmother, flatter than a flitter. I’ve never known what a flitter is but I am more than sure I’ve been flatter.

Think twice before you beg to be up front. This is the kind of thing you only want to do if you can’t keep from it. If God ever throws you up there, best to just keep your ego out of it. You can either be crucified to self or let God give you a good killing right in front of everybody. You better learn quickly and repeatedly that it’s not about you and that self-loathing is as self-absorbed as inordinate self-love. And, whatever you do, don’t get into the rut of letting your personal devotional time with God get supplanted by preparations to speak or teach. The enemy will put few subtler temptations in front of you. Every decent Bible student knows we reap what we sow but the tricky part is the sizable time gap that can occur between that sowing and reaping. When it stretches over a considerable amount of time, we think we’re getting away with it. Maybe God’s even blessing it. In His strange way, you may not see the fall-out of the loss of lively, daily relationship with Him for months but make no mistake. It’s coming. It’s a slow bleed and often you’re not aware that the lifeblood has left you until you are stone-cold dead. Thank goodness God has a penchant for resurrections. You better guard your intimacy with Him like your dying breath.

God’s love for us and our value before Him are insurmountable and unwavering. Our daughter-ship or son-ship is unconditional. His worthiness is unquestionable. Let me say that again. His worthiness is unquestionable. These are the things that must occupy us. These are the underpinnings of our security as His laborers in this harvest of souls. Things like our fitness or spiritual performance or numbers don’t just ebb and flow. They shake like a bottle of oil and vinegar duct taped to a jackhammer.

I’ve thought about this off and on for twenty years and two hundred reasons but I’ll tell you what brought it all up on this blog.

Remember last weekend’s simulcast? Those of you who participated may remember me saying that I’d had such big plans for it. As well as I know how to decipher it, not selfish or temporal plans. I honestly believed that so many women giving up their Saturdays were worthy of much deliberation, study, and preparation. And it goes without saying that God was worthy of those things and more. I felt like He must have been up to something strange and remarkably eternal to have put together numbers of women none of us could have anticipated. My plan was to give a profuse amount of time to preparation and illustration so that I could actually be familiar enough with my material not to do my usual thing. My normal approach is something like – let me think of a delicate word for it – regurgitation.  I seldom hit a platform unprepared but no one is going to accuse me of being impressively organized. For the most part, a thousand bites of information are swirling around like butterflies in my stomach and I just get up there and throw it all up.

The simulcast was to be the exception. I got home late the Saturday night before from a Living Proof Live in Florida and headed to church only to get a text from my firstborn, Amanda, telling me that her husband, Curtis, wasn’t feeling well and suspected something could really be wrong. In no time at all, he was in surgery with what his surgeon called an appendix that had gone off like a grenade. After sitting with Amanda at the hospital through the surgery, I moved into her house with my two beloved grandchildren and she moved into the hospital with her beloved man. That’s the way we spent the better part of four days.

Just like yours, our family comes first so I can honestly tell you that I had no second thoughts and, needless to say, not the least resentment. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything nor would I want to miss the next round. I have no intention of forfeiting my grandparent rights and responsibilities. I love Jackson and Annabeth like I love my own two daughters. Every minute I spent with them was my honor and joy and, yes, delightfully hard work. Every now and then I’d look up at the heavens and say something like, “Lord, I sure hope you’re preparing for Saturday while I’m keeping babies!”

And He was. He’s always faithful.

By late Wednesday night, Amanda took back the reins and her in-laws arrived first thing Thursday. At that point, my thoughts shifted totally to the simulcast. By Saturday morning, the Lord had graciously helped me prepare the two lessons. I was fine with them. Not fabulous with them but at peace. They were meaningful to me and appropriate for the occasion, I think, but, alas, not what I had planned. (Please don’t think I’m fishing for encouragement here. It would deflect severely from the point.)

This is where you come into the story. A few hours after the simulcast concluded Amanda called me and told me that comments were already coming in on the blog and that I ought to give them a glance. She thought I’d be blessed. I did and she was right, I was so thankful to God and was absolutely certain -100% – that anything of value was His doing. Then I came upon a comment I will never forget. It was posted at exactly 6:29. It said something like this: “I will always remember that we studied Ephesians 4:24 on 4/24.”  (April 24^th) Somebody may as well have hit me in the head with a sledge hammer. I went completely slack-jawed and stared at those words over and over. It had never – not once – dawned on me that God had given me Ephesians 4:24 (which was our primary verse and the whole theme of the simulcast) for 4/24. He’d given that verse to me several months earlier to memorize then I began to feel that it was His leadership toward our gathering. Still, I’d never put the reference with the date. I wasn’t that clever but God surely was. Here’s the verse. See it from the point of view of the person who has decided to put her insecurity behind her:

“put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.”

He’d had it all along. Planned it to a tee. Didn’t mean for it to be complicated.  Wasn’t interested in a flawless delivery.  Didn’t even need it to be great. Any jar of clay would do because anything happening on the visible platform was virtually incidental…as long as it didn’t quench the Spirit. All God had in mind to do was cut through the layers of technology until we could see straight into the beating heart of the Gospel: Jesus Christ can change your life.

That’s it. Plain and simple.

I love the mysterious side of God. I love that we can’t figure Him out. I love that He honors us by choosing us and humbles us by not even needing us. I love that He is wholly beyond formulas and manipulations, because goodness knows I’m not.

I love Him.

So, what do we do with all of this since we don’t know one iota more than we did? Just keep doing what we’re called to do. In season. Out of season. When we feel good. When we don’t. Believe Him to do something huge. Trust Him when you can’t even tell He did something small. Keep your heart in it and your big head out of it.

He’s the only one who can make it happen. As for us, we don’t even know what “it” is.

“The Lord our God has secrets known to no one. We are not accountable for them, but we and our children are accountable forever for all that he has revealed to us.” Deuteronomy 29:29 NLT

UPDATE from Amanda: SIESTA MEET-UP INFO
Ladies, I’ve been told that there’s a Siesta meet-up on Saturday night called “Connecting the Dots” at Latimer Hall at Woodstock United Methodist Church. It lasts from 6-9 and the cost is $10 to cover food and festivities. The organizers have lots of room left for Siestas who would like to join them. You can get more details on their Facebook page.

OK, Sisters, let’s hear it! If you’re attending Saturday’s simulcast, sign in with your first name and your host location (church/school name and city) . Not only will this heighten our sense of community that day, it will also let each of us know if we have fellow bloggers at our same location. (I hesitated to use the word “Siesta” on this particular post because I don’t want a newcomer to think I’m referring only to those who have somehow “joined” our community like a club. Remember, it’s just our term of endearment for sisters in Christ here on this site. If you’re reading this blog and you’re attending on Saturday, you are just the person I’m talking about.) Maybe some of us can meet face-to-face!

If I may ask your gracious cooperation, let’s please limit the comments on this post to those attending on Saturday so that the list will be easier to peruse for common sites. We’ll move forward to plenty of other things very shortly.

I love you guys so much. My heart is huge toward you right now. For one thing, this message (SLI) was birthed out of this community. For the other thing, it has to be love when so many of you said that you could well get a spiritual application out of “Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs.” Now, THAT’S sisterhood.

Here is my one intention on Saturday: that Christ Jesus, the Son of God, is clearly identified and glorified as our ONE and ONLY means of steadfast, soul-deep security. Pray with me to that glorious end.

Praise our gracious God, Curtis Jones is home! Thank you so much for copious prayers! His parents did make it safely to Houston and his wife is one happy and exhausted woman. We so appreciate the privilege to live life with you. I’ll keep this post short because I need to get to the roll call straightaway.

Thank you for your prayers, my dear sisters! No news yet on whether or not Curtis might be able to come home tomorrow. We’re so hoping he will. His parents have already begun their long trek south from Missouri. They will drive late into the night, check into a hotel, then get up early in the morning and drive the rest of the way into Houston. AJ just walked through the door of her house and I’m about to pack up my car and head home to my man. Yes, he’s back. Jackson got to have a blast with him tonight. He needed some man time in the worst way.

I got a little more preparation for Saturday’s simulcast done during nap/rest time today and will turn my attentions to it completely first thing in the morning. Thank goodness, it doesn’t start on Friday night like a regular LPL would. You’ll know I didn’t get all my preparation accomplished if I resort to reading “Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs” as an illustration. Please have my back on it though. Turn to the woman sitting next to you, nod, and say, “Inspired!” I could also run through all the animal sounds I’ve perfected into an art form in order to keep Annabeth awake in the car until we made it home for naptime.

OK, signing off and heading home! Btw, did you guys know that Travis will be joining us this weekend? You don’t really think I’d try serving you without him, did you?

I’ll talk to you soon!