The other day, my son walks in and says, “I cannot wait to go to college…”
He’s 11. So…we’ve got a ways to go.
Naturally, I engage:
“Why can you not wait for college?”
He responds, “Because I can make Ramen whenever I want.”
“You literally just made Ramen at 11 a.m.”
“Yeah, but I want to be able to walk around in my underwear whenever I want.”
“You are walking around in your underwear right now.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be living with my best friend.”
“You and your brother are 15 months apart—you’ve never not lived with your best friend.”
He pauses. “Yeah…well, I still can’t wait to go to college.”
21 years ago, I was helping out this college girl everyone called “Welker” with a music event. She sang. I played guitar and sang badly. After rehearsal, we decided to check out this musician on campus for the May Day celebration.
We wandered over and listened to Howie Day sing Collide. Less than a month later, I awkwardly asked Welker if she wanted to grab coffee. I said, “I’ll pay”—which I figured was obviously code for this is a date…but apparently, she didn’t get the memo.
I love a good story. I love great film and television. I’m a terrible reader when it comes to fiction, but I love the beautiful narrative of biographies and non-fiction. Try to imagine something…and I struggle, but real people in real history, I’m hooked.
Most of us find that we love a good story. We always have. This is why people sat around fires sharing stories of the past, why we love when older family members tell the tales of when they were young, why we are often drawn to incredible stories based on actual events, why we love to get together with old friends and retell that time that one thing happened.
Sometime over the past year or so, I’ve spoken about a bird ending up in The Chapel and me desperately trying to capture said bird and release it back into the “wild.”
Also, over the past year or so, I’ve talked about my pizza oven and making a foolish error where I singed some of my eyebrows and eyelashes.
I’m not sure what my deep theological point was in either of those stories… but I’m sure they were meaningful. Likely life-changing.
You won’t believe it…
Last week I was using my pizza oven to roast some carrots. I was flambéing them to get a nice finishing char with a delightful caramelized sauce. And lo and behold, flames shot out of the oven—and I singed my eyebrows and eyelashes again.
I didn’t want to let Sarah know… because I figured she would determine I’m not “responsible enough to play with fire…” So I did the mature thing and didn’t tell her.
Turns out, the fire also singed the hair on my head. I know. My luscious locks.
She immediately noticed.
Then, just this past week—a bird wandered into The Chapel, and I had to catch and release it. Two days in a row.
I don’t know if this bird is trying to draw closer to God, or wants to see the beauty of the space, or if he’s just foolish—but he keeps wandering in, getting caught, and being carried back out.
I’ve now done this three times. Twice this week alone.
And every time—I still get this wild rush trying to catch the bird.
My heart races. I get unusually hot and sweaty. The adrenaline pumps.
I feel like Steve Irwin or Dog the Bounty Hunter…
But instead of crocodiles or criminals on the run… it’s a tiny bird.
Last night at dinner, we had a very serious theological conversation.
Should any food ever touch the palm of your hand?
Weird question, I know—but watch a little kid eat, and you’ll see every food group being palmed like it’s a basketball. Personally, I find that gross…but I’m also not a child, and I’m a recovering germaphobe, so maybe that’s just me.
Adults, on the other hand, tend to keep their food at the fingertips—unless it’s popcorn, nuts, or candy. Those get a pass. Otherwise, palm-to-food contact? No thank you.
Sarah and I made our case. It was clear, logical, and morally superior (obviously). No palm-to-food contact—except for small snacks. Case closed. I even triumphantly challenged the table:
“Name one food that should touch the palm of your hand.”
I love the sun setting later. I love longer and brighter evenings. I love the lengthening of days and the feeling that spring is inching forward with Summer in the not too distant future.
While at the same time…I hated the way I felt this morning.
Anybody else?
I mean, I travel a bit, my wake up time and bed time adjust regularly, but this morning, was terrible.
