caity & tres clinton!

Even if no one ever reads this, I'd like to document for my own sake just how much I admire Caity & Tres and how stinking excited I am that they're getting hitched!!

My great-grandparents have been married for 74 years. 74 years! That’s insane, right? Right. But one thing I’ve learned from watching them, loving them, admiring them, and being raised to respect them is this: love works when it’s with your best friend. Sure, they’ve had their arguments, they see numerous things differently, but one thing is certain: they love each other’s company immensely. They have found a perfect match, a best friend, the ultimate compadre, in the other.

Which brings me to this weekend. One of my favorite places on earth, Camp Longhorn, with some of it’s finest people: Caity Robertson and Tres Clinton.

I’ve known Tres since we were in the 8th grade, we spent two weeks together at the same term at Camp Longhorn every year, and he was such a fun guy, easy to talk to, and a friend to all the girls – not just the tiny ones who wore tiny bikinis and talked about tiny things. Four years later I met Caity, and though I knew they were the same age and from the same high school, I did not know Caity and Tres were Caity and Tres for several weeks. And in camp timelines, that’s forever. Why did I miss this? Well, first of all, I’m blonde and sometimes slow. Second of all, these two never talk about themselves.

Caity & Tres both have this humility about them . They don’t boast of their accomplishments or their families, though they could. They don’t boast about their talents or their wonderful traits, though they both could. They make others around them happy, they are magnetic and funny and they are both feisty with a fire that is exciting to be around.

Though I won’t ramble about them for fear I’ll sound like a maudlin grandmother or a creepy twenty-four year old friend, I will say this. I am blessed to know both Caity and Tres, for they are the type of fun-loving, All-American, true friends, unassuming, kind hearted people that this world needs more of, but also because …their coolness occasionally rubs off on me. And I could use more of that.

A lot of people who see Caity and Tres a lot more often than myself could say this: I’ve seen this wedding coming for years and years. But truly, I knew Caity and Tres were the real deal one June evening as we rode the backroads of Burnet. Long story short, the three of us were smushed into Tres’s truck, Caity ridin in the middle, me my feet on the dash. I remember being thrilled to be their “third wheel” – everywhere these people go, they attract adventure and laughter. That night we had been out on Inks Lake while working for Tex, and midnight was approaching. Caity had been getting calls on her cell phone all night from someone’s name I can’t remember. Something like, Bobby or Tim or Steve. He’d ask what she was doing, ask if she still had a boyfriend, etc. I think this was summer after our sophomore year of college and this punk was from Burnet high school days of Caity & Tres.

About the fifth time he called, it was near midnight and we were on the final stretch of ranch road back to camp. Caity’s patience had worn off, and she grumbled as her phone rang.

“Don’t answer it,” I said as the phone rang, windows down of the truck, us singing who knows what country song.

“Let me talk to that SOB.” Tres smiled as he said it, joking.

Caity answered her phone. “Stop calling me. Please.” Her face did not look as friendly as usual. “Seriously. Just stop calling me.”

She was quiet and I don’t remember if she started yelling at him or Tres, but apparently the dude told Caity he’d been watching her and knew where she was. Though it wasn’t serious, it was creepy and annoying. Before I knew it, the phone had been ripped from Caity’s fingers and Tres was on the phone.

I had never seen Tres angry, and it was both funny and intimidating.

“Listen, you bastard, if you do not stop bothering my girlfriend, I WILL find you. Quit calling her, or you’ll have to deal with me. Cut this shit out, NOW or I’ll drive over with my pistol and we’ll fix this.”

I remember laughing when Caity was mad at Tres for overreacting, and screeching like a city girl when Tres got out his pistol. I remember knowing, right then, that Caity and Tres were perfect together. At first, they seemed just like good friends, but there’s a quiet, strong love there that, well, you had better not mess with. Seriously. That boy drives around with a pistol in his glove box and he kills snakes in his free time. He is my brother’s idol.

It’s impossible for me to be around Caity or Tres without smiling so much that my face begins to hurt. I am sure this weekend I’ll acquire some laugh lines.

I cannot wait until Saturday, as their friends and family gather under the stars at one of the greatest places on earth, to celebrate the greatest thing on earth: true, unconditional love.

Here’s to love, here’s to caity & tres, and here’s to camp longhorn and it’s founders, pat & tex robertson.

"I am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who's ever lived: I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough." –the notebook

lunden mcgill's music is back

My good friend Lunden McGill released a “trailer” of his new song today. I don’t know what that means, but it’s cool and you should watch it. Also, you should check him out on itunes. Specifically “Walk Away” and “These Corners.” And you should maybe, oh, I don’t know…BUY the album. Itunes. Lunden McGill.

A few things I’d like to say before I send you to the youtube video.

A) When you watch the video, you'll notice he drives too close to the steering wheel. Because he drives like a woman. Seriously, I’ve riden shotgun with him, and he comes to a complete stop at stop signs and stuff. Who does that? Not me.

B) His songs get better with each new release. I remember blasting his songs through my headphones while in Europa in March 2009, and you should definitely visit itunes.

C) I love music. I love friends that act like they are family. Therefore I love Lunden’s music and I love (and also hate) that he thinks he can call my mom Aunt Cathy and eat cereal out of our pantry like it belongs to him.

D) Music is such a gift and can stir our hearts like nothing else. I’m proud of Lunden sharing that gift with the world, and hope you’ll listen to his tunes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cv9sc9KanMM

Thanks for being my friend, thanks for listening to Lunden, thanks for doing what you do.

A lot of love, Courtney

rebecca roubion

Sarah’s sweet friend Shannon took excellent care of us over the weekend (in nashville april 30.)

When she went to dinner with other people in town and we attempted to power nap after the half marathon, we had the chance to listen to one of the girls that Shannon lives with... Her name is Rebecca Roubion, and you should remember. that. name. Girl can rock the piano. She writes all of her own stuff, is totally legit talented, and quite humble. And, she let me borrow a splash of hairspray before we went out –my soulmate.

On a serious note, it was moving, inspiring, incredible to hear her bust out soulful tunes on the piano. No audio machine to tweak out the bad spots. No accompaniment from guitar or drums. No microphones. Just an old house, an old piano, and a talented, giving heart. I felt like many of her songs were radio-quality, ready to be released right there. I can’t wait to see where this girl ends up, and if she decides not to go “corporate” and sign with a label, who cares. I have her first CD. She let me borrow her tambourine for five hot seconds, and I quickly was reminded how easy these musician people make everything look. (Sarah and Nancye's incessant laughter was not because I am, ahem, talented. More like...funny to watch make a fool of oneself...)

Anyways, it’s not about me. Tonight. Tonight is Rebecca Roubion. Get it while it’s hot, people.

http://rebeccaroubion.com/

Her new three songs are not on her website yet, but they will be. Enjoy the photos…oh, and I learned how to play the piano. Yes, you can do that in about three minutes, duh. I mentioned I was talented, no?

“I let my hair go everywhere
People stop and stare but I don’t give a care
They can let be
because I like to be free
I’m just a-swaying to the beat of my heart
It’s a mighty fine place to start
Ain’t a-wastin my time pretendin
Come with me and life could be splendid
I like to be free”
Rebecca Roubion

what exactly were you doing in the bathroom!?

while finishing a multiplication assessment after PE today, one of my students asked to use the restroom. We only had 15 minutes until lunch, so i told her to be quick. When she returned to class, I saw her throw something, like a wadded up piece of white paper, in her cubby with a smug grin on her face.

Nicole, you were in the restroom for 7 minutes. What were you doing? Let's focus on your test.

I then walked over and whispered in her ear, "what did you throw in your cubby?"

She looked at me for a solid 30 seconds...I am an expert in waiting these things out. After about an hour, I finally prompted her: Yes?

She rolled her eyes, disappointed that I still expected an answer. She got on tip toes and cupped her hands around her mouth. I turned so she could whisper in my ear.

"It's my ...It's my...It's my bra!" I looked at her, her cheeks blushing. "Why did you throw it in your cubby?"

She forgot to whisper. "Because! It was hurting me!!!"

Oh, obvious answer. Get back to your math test, Nicole, and enjoy the fact that you're still young enough to do things like whip off your bra in the restroom after soccer, return to class, chunk it in your locker, and no one will even notice. Because someday, sweet girl, that will not be the case.

How I'm going to miss the humorous moments like this one!

jen jenkins for president!!

Photo: Rheemie (left) Jenkins (right)How do you know that you're a failure as a teacher? I'll tell you.
I love social studies. I'd teach it all day long if I could. You can weave in so many other contents - like reading comprehension, real life math skills, technology, etc. We have a "this day in history" moment each morning to learn about different events, and we've done some other social studies projects throughout the year. I want my kiddos to develop a global view early, especially because they themselves are so diverse, and already enrolled in a bilingual school.

Anyways, we've learned all about DC and read books about it, heard Ms. Rob tell stories about living in the nation's capital, watched an address from President Obama live once, we have his picture on our wall and a few of his quotes. (We took that picture down when he gave away houston's rightful space shuttle...but that's a story for another day.)

So, how do you know that all of your bulletin board visuals, your powerpoint presentations, and your read alouds about democracy have failed? How do you know that your "significant gains" have gone the way of the dinosaur, that your efforts have been for...nothing?

It's simple really: when one of your students sees another teacher in the hallway, and instead of saying good afternoon, they shout out, quite matter-of-factly- "YOU are the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES!!" Seriously. The kid was serious, and completely unaware that he left me speechless. I'm sure the look on my face was as if I had just seen Andrew Jackson's ghost.

This teacher, this young twenty-something Teach for America corps member? Sure, she's pretty, but... No, Jacob*, she is actually not the president. Wonderful teacher, future school leader, sure. Current President of our nation? Absolutely not.

Ms. Jenkins was so flusterd after the incident that she actually ran into a door repeatedly. I was so distraught that I dropped to the floor in a fetal position, unconsolable, mumbling about the executive branch and the electoral college while my children followed Ms. Jenkins out the door to recess.

Just as I was beginning to think I'd had a positive impact on my kids over the past 10 months, just when I thought maybe I should get a pat on the back for teaching them things other than how to dominate a multiple choice standardized test, we mistake Jen Jenkins for the President of the United States. Thanks for keeping my pride in check, Jacob. Hail to the chief.

*In my defense, this student does qualify for Special Education interventions each week, per the state of Texas guidelines.

Thanks for reading! You can email me for your very own "Jenkins is my President" bumper sticker. Tshirts coming soon.

you're teaching me to lie, ms. rob

this is not a photo of my actual student, but it's pretty similar. does he look like taylor swift? if your answer is no, well... you should continue reading.
Friends that have the privilege/burden of hearing about my children know that i often refer to this student as "Taylor Swift."

I have a wonderful, thoughtful boy in my class who is quite unique. Instead of sitting with the soccer players or zombie fanatics of our class at lunch, daily, without fail, he positions himself as close to my seat as possible. He is almost always on my right side, screaming into my ear about Michael Jackson or American Idol or whatnot, when I'd rather just eat my lean cusine and stare into space.

He's too sweet to ignore though, and for as long as I've known him I knew he was brilliant. He's on a 6th grade comprehension reading level, works hard, and loves, loves, loves music. His reward for a commended score on the TAKS test? His parents will help him make a video for America's Got Talent. When I played kickball with my class in the fall semester, he asked to be the cheerleading captain. And he rocked it, twirls and high kicks and all.

When we met last summer he told me of his love for Michael Jackson and Taylor Swift. We have songs of the week in my class (or at least we did for most of the year, I've been slacking lately) and we "analyze" some of their lyrics. I print off the words and we read them together like poetry - it's a great break from multiple choice practice and it's also good read-aloud practice.

All that to say, he's been begging for weeks to analyze the lyrics of Taylor Swift's "Mean." Other students plugged their ears but sweet boy had earned the chance to play whatever music he wants for an entire day; he has exceptional behavior and I owe him some rewards for it.

So today, after day 2 of standardized Stanford testing, we were illustrating our "memoirs" as an end of year writing project. The last chapter will be our career goals. I've tried to teach my kiddos that you can dream big, dream whatever you want, but that soccer players and pop stars are not "career goals." My dad is athletic, I told them, and played softball/soccer while I was growing up, but he could have not made money for us to eat or live in a house if that was his full-time job. It's a hobby, which is awesome and important, but not a career goal.

I've tried to be nice. I've tried to encourage them positively, let them dream their dreams. But this kid just will not let it go. He's told me since June that he wants to be Taylor Swift. Taylor Swift is tall, thin, long blonde hair, and...a Caucasian female. But that doesn't stop my student. No, his dark skin, short hair, semi-chunky body, and shaky, high-pitched voice does not alter his dreams. He's hell bent on being a pop star... Taylor Swift's successor to be specific.

Here's the whole point of this post. I told him today that I needed an article and illustration that was not a pop star. Pick something else, Bob. (Name changed to protect the future celebrities.)

If you make it as a singer, great, but for this project, no pop stars. I kept walking to other student's desks. One of my students had gotten my message. His picture caption said: "I love soccer. I will be a teacher and soccer coach when I grow up so I can help others and play everyday." (spelling corrected, obviously)

Taylor Swift approached my desk. Oh no. I braced myself.

"Ms. Robinson." He was trying to whisper, his voice serious. "Do you know, Ms. Rob, if you do not let me draw a picture of the career I really want, you are TEACHING ME TO LIE."

I pretended to be unfazed and kept my voice quiet. "Well, Bob, I've made it clear all year that I would like for you to have more than one goal. There are only a very few pop stars in this world, Bob."

Deep sigh from Bob. (He has the drama part down pat. His tears and sniffling and snot used to melt my heart, but now it is black and hardened and I tell him to deal with it, it's just a sensitive cuticle. We do not need to amputate his finger just for that.)

"Okaaaaay." He said it respectively, not in defiance but as if he was thinking, "can't she just get on board with this? that lady is exhausting me."

Then quietly, as Bob returned to his seat, he said... "But I am going to be one."

I'm pretty sure he won't mention me in his Grammy acceptance speech. Aw, shucks. Best of luck, T. Swift. Sorry for teaching you to lie.

terrific toddlers, sammy & noah

Crazy Grandmother on the deck at the lake Easter Weekend, just the two of us: "Did you get my text message about Sammy and Noah? Jordan just posted to their website about that precious girl walking by herself."

Me, laughing: "Honey, I did get your EMAIL about it. First of all, you don't send text messages. Second of all, if you did, you can't text blog posts back and forth. Third of all, I'm glad you even know how to use the internet though, you old bat."

I told crazy grandmother I really was glad that she sent me the link, I hadn't visited their website in a while. Did you watch it, she asked? (My grandmother adores Jordan and Harry, and Sammy & Noah their babies.)Haven't watched it yet, I want to give the video of SAMMY WALKING my full undivided attention.

Finally got around to that this morning. The Folloder Foursome is amazing, Jordan and Harry bring new meaning to "amazing parents." I cried and cried through the videos of Sammy walking. I love how you can hear the patience and love in Jordan's voice right through the camera.

Sammy and Noah are the grandbabies of one of my favorite crazy women on the planet. Susie Gold was, with Nancy Simpson, part of a mentoring program at Memorial High school and I got to see her once weekly for nearly three years. She is a funny lady, always makes me feel wonderful about myself when I see her, quite frequently inappropriate, and always wearing the coolest jewelry. Obviously I love her.
So, she has a daughter and a son, and her daughter had twins while I was living in DC. They were born 17 weeks early - yes you read that correctly. I was in the elevator after a long day of work when my mom told me on the phone, I can still remember it, and I remember tears running down my face, just fearfully asking my mom, what? that's too early. that's way too early, right?

http://www.goodlightphotography.com/clients/folloderholidays10/

Samantha and Noah are now three years old, thriving all over the place. I'll stop talking and send you to their website, but two thoughts:

1) Their holiday card this winter was my favorite of all that came to my parents house. Anytime I was there I would find it, hold it, stare at it, and smile. When your family loses a child to luekemia before his second birthday, it is good to hear about grace, blessings, and that Texas Childrens Hospital can be a very happy place.

2) I want to be Jordan's publicist. But the kind of publicist that instead of hanging out backstage, she's right next to you on the couch at the Ellen Show, Oprah, Barbara Walters, etc...

Jordan & Harry, Thanks for being inspiring parents. Sammy & Noah, thanks for being inspiring little people. Thanks for being too cute for words. You make my heart happy, and countless others, too.

http://sammyandnoah.com/?paged=2

elizabeth ann's recipe box

It's so easy to meet new people, smile and talk to them for five minutes, and walk away. And recently, I met a cool girl/former memorial high school cheerleader/celebrity blogger, and I realized I have wanted to be her when I grow up since before I knew her. She should have walked away, but she did not...

http://www.elizabethannsrecipebox.com/

At a monthly bible study hosted by the should-be-famous-they-are-so-awesome Anne Thompson & Libba Maddry, I met a girl by the name of Elizabeth Dains. Later I figured out she was Elizabeth Dalton Dains, the older sister of two very kind, very cool Memorial HS dudes older than me, and that I had heard her name many times before.

So, after meeting her the second time, it was easy to see she was cooler than me, wiser than me, just awesome in a nutshell. Alas, she friended me on fbook and sent a message, and as if that wasn't exciting enough, she started reading my blog. Well, turns out she has a real blog/website that is like the Houston version of Pioneer Woman. Even if you don't know pioneer woman, get over to the Elizabeth's website. Right now.

Her pictures are professional, her recipes legit (I'm waiting to make them when life slows down a bit after TFA), and her thoughts beautiful.

Even though I don't see her very often, I'm thankful to the internet for making it feel like celebrity blogger Elizabeth and I are actually, truly friends.

Didn't Al Gore invent the internet? I guess you could say Al Gore brought us together. Thanks, Al.

we ran around nashville

another great weekend in tennessee. are you from tennessee? because you're the only ten i see.

I do my best thinking on airplanes, but I hate to fly.
It’s true. Airplanes are free of distractions, as if time suspends, stress disappears, and I have only three options: read a book, fill in a few blank pages in my journal, or soak up tunes on the ipod. Perhaps all of the above?

Anyways, I’m back from Nashville. It was a fun trip, left on Friday at 5:30, returned on Sunday at 8 pm. The flight home was full of body aches but by Tuesday evening I was as good as new. It is always a joy to see Sarah Burks, who’s work in the Delta inspires me regularly. The sacrifice of rural corps members is beyond me- to relocate to a town of 4,000 thousand people, with no “normal” restaurants, no Target or Marshalls or coffee shops, three things I know get a lot of my teacher friends through the weeks. (Shout out to Jenkins, queen of TJ Maxx) Sarah is a delight and I’m so glad to have met her and others in my all-Delta small group during TFA training.

We stayed in her sweet friend from Duke’s house, and I met a handful of other people that were beyond me, intellectually and physically. Several of her friends ran the full marathon and went to places like…well, Duke. Cool. My brother asked me on the way to the airport how the Dukesters put up with me, and I’m actually not sure.

Anyways, it was also fun to see Nancye Brown, or Irv Blitzer, who I met last year at our half in Memphis. She has been there both weekends as support team, our “Sled God” in Cool Runnings terms.

Sarah and I flew through the half. The stopwatch may have shown otherwise, but we talked about numerous things, I gasped for air and Sarah talked more, we quotes Cool Runnings, and at mile 9, it was time to whip out the pick up lines. Twice we had to yell at each other to stop because the laughing was hurting our stomachs and leaving us too short of breath to continue running.

Excuse me, did you know Nashville has hills? Steep ones. I did not know this, and though I liked Music City, I don’t think these sea-level knee caps will be back for any athletic ventures anytime soon. Strike that, read: ever.

So a few funny things, and I’ll close this rambling up.

1) Burks thinks she is a size 10. She is classy and cute, wearing J Crew fashions when I met her and a lover of Lilly Pullitzer. But the girls should not be allowed to dress herself. Why? Because it turns out she is a size 2 petite. I mean, sorry for posting this online, but seriously, Burks, believe. You ain’t no size 10. Or 8. Or 6. Deal. With. It.

2) Two brothers in their early thirties ran the entire 26.2 in blue three piece suits. No lie. They were soaked in sweat by mile 6 when we passed them, trucking along slow enough for us to pass them with ease, and then later of course, they passed us around mile 12. Anywho, I asked them the story behind the suits, and they said, oh, we’re just trying to make people smile. I don’t know if it was their blonde buzz cuts, or their height, or their hilarious nature, but they reminded me instantly of Jay Chenoweth, and that left a smile on my face for the next 6 miles for sure.

3) Alligator Lady. I told my kids about her and some of them laughed hysterically. Others looked confused. Why is that funny, Ms. Rob? So, at Mile 10, you make a sharp right turn and head up a gradual incline. She had a 10 foot plastic alligator tied to a dog’s lease, with a giant poster that said “If you stop runnin’ we WILL chase you!” and she was a-hollerin’, let me tell ya.

4) Breast feeding and marathons don’t really go together, if you ask me. But come to think of it, no one ever has. Some chick was walking, race registration # and all, with a 9 month old baby strapped to her chest. We passed her at mile 4, so at some point she had to have been jogging to be in front of us that far out. Don’t worry, she had her tank top and sports bra pushed to her waist and was clinging her baby to her… well… you get the idea. The dude behind us goes: “Disgusting. I’m going to be numb for the next few miles though, so that’s good.”
This is long enough. I leave you with a quote from Cool Runnings. Never gets old. Thank you, thank you for reading. Happy trails!

5) I fell asleep in the back of the car on the route between dinner and the bars downtown. i woke up demanding to know: "who's there!? where am i?!" awkward. per usual.

6) when i touched down in nashville for the first time, a rather large, semi-stinky man behind me was whistling loud and clear "dixieland delight." for a good ten minutes. i cannot make this stuff up.

Sanka: "What I am saying to you, is that you are the kind of club-toting, raw-meat-eating, Me-Tarzan-You-Jane-ing, big, bald bubblehead that can only count to ten if he's barefoot or wearing sandals."

coolest church ever, power lines in the way. i was already hanging out of the car to get the shot, though.

here's my wish list

Daddy, I want this!

After Saturday tutorials a few weeks back, I ran into a Target near my house around noon. Naturally, the place was crawling with people of all ages, sizes, and races.

Whenever I enter the store, my usual policy is to avoid the dollar section. “Don’t even look over there!” I’ll tell myself as I whiz past, aiming to stick to my list and avoid frivolous spending. But today, I couldn’t help myself. Was I looking at a specific product, something awesome for class? Nope. A girl caught my attention, about five or six years old, in the cutest dress ever. She had bouncy hair cut to her shoulders and hot pink flat sandals on her feet.

Her flowery, ruffled dress was, in the words of my southern belle mother, “absolutely precious.” I couldn’t help but smile as I saw her, but continued to power-walk past, attempting to avoid the crowd of people near the dollar section. Then she cut right in front of me, oblivious to my presence or the dozens of other strangers around her.

“Daaaaaaddd---yyyyyyyy!” She yelled in a sing-song voice.

The girl had some sort of toy in her hand, possibly a sticker book, and was in a determined sprint towards her parents: her mom stood nearby with a basket, looking focused, and her dad was in between them, torn between waiting on his daughter and following his wife.

“Daaaaaddddyyyy, I REALLY WANT THIS! I WANT IT!” Her little feet pattered across the linoleum floor, barely missing my own toes. In her voice I could hear a bit of panic, as if she already feared him telling her no. I saw her dad’s face and immediately knew what his answer would be. He was very tall, and kind looking, but I’m sure he was about to tell her no. As I turned towards the school supply section and they headed to children’s shoes, a thought jumped in my head.

I am that little girl, I realized. Immediately, before I could stop my thoughts, I saw myself as her, running towards God, holding out a list of demands, most of which are “good,” demanding God give them over.

A job that is worthwhile. A guy worthy of kissing. Plans I’ve made to come through, like a house in the heights, or a vacation, or whatever I’m in need of that day. None of those are wrong to want, necessarily, but my approach, just like the girl, is all wrong. My approach is all wrong. If her parents love her, won’t they know the right time to buy sticker books and fun things from the dollar store? Unless they are ogres, I am sure that they provide her with more than she ever needed. That is clear to me as a third-party observer. Yet, I come before God, asking for things that I think – no, I know – will make me happy. Things I have to have! My trust, on a level of 1 and 10, fluctuates between a 3 and 5.

Haven’t I learned that our God is no ogre? Just like the girl’s parents, He is wise, has a plan, and is in charge for a reason. Though hard for me to see sometimes, I know the bible tells us this:

“The Lord says, ‘I have loved you with an everlasting love, I have drawn you with lovingkindness.” Jeremiah 31:3

And the Holy Spirit tells me that he is good, and real, and just. When I’m on a bicycle and the sun is setting, I know that there is a God and he’ll take care of me. When I see a child crying because someone has used horrible words with him, I trust that there is a healer better than a human, and that He knows my name.

Watching the girl, who looked cute and sweet, I realized – I need to change my actions with the Lord. I need to sit and be still. I need to seek His will, not mine. I need to internalize that it’s not really seeking His will to give him a list, and say, “if it’s your will, make it happen, good sir.” While I do not claim to have “heard a booming voice” –ever-and am not sure quite how to explain it, I believe whole-heartedly that if you listen, the higher-power in charge will present His way clearly, out of love.

I’ve had friends say, or myself experience..."okay but I can’t just sit and be quiet, I hear nothing." I think that concentrating on a verse, or listening to a hymn or worship song, or just seeking quiet time, you can be moved by the Holy Spirit. It is possible to find peace from a place that does not come from others who let us down, or other fleeting things of the world.

When I parked my car and carried my list into Target, I did not know that God was about to present me with such an in-your-face lesson. Who knew a young child in a flowery dress would remind me that I am selfish, self serving, proud, and claim to be wise? I am thankful for the grace I found that Saturday morning, and thankful that God hands out dozens, hundreds of “second chances” for me to stumble with through this thing called life.