I've learned how to laugh and I've learned how to pray
We have a long-standing ritual in our house: John Grisham releases a new book, and my wife buys it for me for Valentine’s or our anniversary, depending on the time of year when it comes out. We’ve had this ritual for many years now; Mr. Grisham is sharing space on the bookshelf with some mountaineering books, and the pile of additional Grishams in front of the bookshelf indicates that the mountaineering books need to go elsewhere.
It’s pretty quiet around here.
That’s normally not that unusual1, but for the past couple of weeks it has been. Some of our kids were in town (no, not those kids, the Italy ones), and the kids have kids, and that makes for a much more exciting household. Where by “exciting” I mean “chaotic”.2
Since we spent a week in Portland with their LG replacements a couple of months ago, it’s fitting that we were able to see the Davidson’s this summer as well. When last I wrote about them, they were in the process of going back on mission to Italy; they have now been there for two years and are home on furlough for the summer, and we were fortunate to have them spend several days with us.
There are different kinds of people in the world.
There are Coke people. These are cool people, up on all the latest fashion, beloved by friends and enemies alike, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. These are people you want to marry your daughter, be your boss, and watch on “Jeopardy.” These are happy people.
There are Pepsi people. These are insecure people, people who prefer imitation leather instead of the real thing, and are constantly challenging Coke people to a taste test. These are people you want to cut off on the freeway, live next door to your evil boss, and see tackled on “COPS”.
I went to an awful church today.
They didn’t have Starbucks coffee. They didn’t have any coffee. Good grief, they didn’t have any snacks at all. It’s like they didn’t even care to satisfy our morning cravings.
They didn’t have a sign on their building; it didn’t seem to be important that people know where they are. Come to think of it, they really didn’t even have a building, just a room in what looked like a strip center. No decorations, no cross, no baptistry, nothing.
And no chairs, so we had to sit on the floor. On the floor! Are you kidding me?
What is a perfect day? It is different things for different people, I suspect.
For some, it’s playing a round at Augusta. With Tiger. (If I played golf, it would be Jack for me, which tells you I’m not as young as I look.)
For others, it would be watching Josh Hamilton hit a walk-off grand slam in the seventh game of the World Series at the Ballpark in Arlington. (They have to get past the Tigers, first.)
For still others, it would be… well, maybe something like yesterday.
The day began early — we were all awake by five, although some didn’t actually make it out of bed for another hour-and-a-half.