the yellow backpack

but the fact that we’re so happy reveals that we are…

at Fun Acre batting cages along with the entire city of Springfield. plus some.

p.s. batting cages are a PERFECT way to generate humility.  The tough-guy-macho-man who repeatedly struck out on slow pitch would definitely agree.  ESPECIALLY after Robert repeatedly dominated it.

pps summer nights are dwindling.  Sad. sad. saaad.
Rule:  thou shall not dwell on approaching fact. 

Back to the Wack in TWO days.

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1. Robert
2. Sonic
3. Smiles

Summer is here.  Enjoy.

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I don’t know how my grandparents do it everyday, but sure enough, each morning they go to McDonald’s at 6 a.m. with their free coffee cup in hand.  This morning I joined them; it was worth it.

Then I bought some new lipstick because I’ve never really owned my own.

I read a few chapter’s from Beth Moore’s new book (highly recommend), browsed the $1 books at Mardel, and, of course, hit Sonic.

My family decided (against James’s adamant advising/whining/slightly threatening opinion) to put a pond in the front yard.  It currently looks like a big hole, but we must think in terms of potential.  James reasoning included the fact that last year’s project–  the greenhouse– never yielded a single green bean, but all I do is smile.

I dyed some Easter eggs at my friends’ apartment.  We’re all growing up; going places, or at least planning to, and yet, we’re content.

It was a great day.

However, today was great only because I know what happens tomorrow.  Today, nearly 2000 years ago, my Savior lied dead in a tomb, seemingly hopeless, silenced, defeated.  Mary wept, probably dried her eyes only long enough for tears to build up and burst forth again (at least she didn’t have to worry about mascara running).  Innocent blood shed– her son’s innocent blood.  Maybe the disciples dispersed in unbelief, even though Jesus had talked about why He came.  Maybe they practiced praying like Jesus had taught them, or maybe they tried to keeps their minds busy, but people would ask them if they knew Jesus, the man crucified.  They knew Him, and now they experienced loss and confusion.

I imagine a gloom, a darkness, a depression.

Today the sun shone brightly as if welcoming tomorrow’s glorious news of The Resurrected King who would rise to conquer all death and sin and offer grace to the hopeless world.

O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting? Isaiah 15.

Death holds no victory and not even a sting. He rose tomorrow, and that changes everything about today.

AMEN.  Enjoy this blessed blessed blessed day.

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If I explained how it happened you might say I deserved it or call me careless or just put the mishap in the category of accidents that people make up out of boredom.

Opening the palm of my hand will speak for itself though.  2 days ago my skin was punctured right in the middle of my palm by keys.  It hurt worse than any of my biking falls, head bangs, or trips.  It stung then, and it still does today.

My hands inevitably play the drum beats to any good country song, but the pain soon demands that I stop my solo.

Gripping my hot coffee cup places pressure on that same little wound, causing me to nearly drop everything I’m holding– and doing.

High fives and shaking hands both bring my senses to attention and require intense concentration.

I find myself placing my left thumb into the center of the wound as if to alleviate pain, but now that it is healing, I cannot help but think about my saviors hands being pierced.  Not by keys by accident, but by nails by choice.

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed.

Isaiah 53:5

What a perfect reminder as I near Easter.  Grace is beautiful, but the sins that grace covers are anything but beautiful. Yet, grace covers them nonetheless.  That is beautiful.  By his wounds we are healed, are we not?

May the silly mishap help me stop what I’m doing, alert my senses, and bring me to consider.

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This was yesterday:

and this is tomorrow: I’m bracing myself because yes, that is in fact snow.

Oh Waco, you have yet to surprise be by being normal.

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