Every time we pass through Centerville Texas we stop at Woody's Smokehouse. It doesn't matter if we need gas or food or to stretch our feet. The kids have a standing date with the machine that make"For Real Milkshakes". I, without hesitation, grab a bag of cherry sours. I have an alliance with those things. 
An hour ago we made our stop. We were hungry so we got sandwiches from the deli. I plucked a bag of cherry sours from a hook on a pegboard wall of assorted candies. I hardly give those other bags a glance. 

As we pull out on highway 7, I pull our purchases out of paper bags and pass them out like Christmas gifts. I then open my Dr Pepper bottle and swig satisfaction. 

Today I thought I was smart. I opened my bag of cherry sours, got a handful, closed the bag and PUT IT IN THE BACKSEAT. I removed the temptation of those red devils. 

Proud of myself I turned up the radio ready to sing to some Alan Jackson. That's when Jason pulls out a bag of chocolate covered almonds. I forgot about those guys. He sets them right between us on the console, a truelove offering. 

Giddy I grab a handful because chocolate covered almonds are a close second to my cherry candies. 

 I grab another. Jason and I take turns clutching handfuls. Before we know it, half the Texas size bag is gone and I realize where we made our error. We left the bag open. 

It's way too easy to eat partake of them when they're in plain sight...and when they're opened. 

I learned a similar lesson not so long ago regarding my tendency to participate in toxic situations. "Let's play this thing out," I say. It's like the game of Monopoly I played with my brother in my twenties that lasted forever where I'm pretty sure we both lost. 

My initial involvement is not my fault. I responsibly put my cherry sours in the backseat when Jason flashes chocolate in front of my face. I get drawn in.

It's just like those Facebook posts and news article comments that show up six times in a two minute scroll. I just can't help myself. I read and then fix my mind on the most outlandish string of nonsensical words I can find and I lament at what the world's coming to. 

We're on sabbatical as I told you in my last post. I've a list of things I want to improve upon. Gaining a little self control would be at the top... Stepping up to remove temptation when it's in my power. 

Close the bag already. 

And when it's not in my power to remove the temptation I want to learn to remove myself from it. Now excuse me while I crawl into the way  back of the car. 

Pray for me friends.

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Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the Lord. Psalm 1:1-2

You have circled this mountain long enough. Now turn north... Deuteronomy 2:3

I wouldn't call it a mountain, this place we've circled. But I agree it's time to turn. Bye-bye 27th street. See you later "multiple trips to Market Basket" to get two more items I've got to have, that I forgot I needed four hours earlier when I was in there. Adios Netflix and Hulu who steal our time.  See ya in July, yippy dogs of ours. 

We're saying sayonara to southeast Texas for a spell. We're putting down the rat race baton for a while.  Jason has pastored First Baptist Nederland for five years and the church has graciously provided us a month long sabbatical. 

I'm feeling extra loved by our church who lovingly gifted us, before we set out on our journey,  with good, good things including a rotating S'mores fork that will be put to use immediately upon arrival. And I'll take pictures. 

We're headed to Colorado; a place where there's not much cell reception but I can have all the fried burritos I want. I plan on reading, writing and swatting flies.   I'm going to watch lazy seeds from cottonwood trees float on a breeze. 

I'm going to wrap myself up in a light jacket, in June mornings up in the mountains. Afternoons, I'll be warmed by a sun that seems higher than in Texas, though it's rays still reach me.  

It won't be like usual summers, I pray. 

I came up with terms long ago to describe summers as compared to the schoolyear. The schoolyear, for us, is routine chaos. Summer is chaos (minus the routine). Both "chaoses" consist of going and doing, with few of our activities bearing lasting importance. I hope to do little going or doing, once we park our trailer in its numbered slot. Mostly I plan on having no plans.

We're headed North. 

 I want to become an empty page, leaving space for God to write. I'm asking for ears that hear his voice over the noise. I will listen for his quietness. 

 I pray I'll be one who welcomes His interruption into my dreams (even fried burrito ones).  

I've packed light, making room for plans he has stored up for me.  

I want to soak up the beauty in creation and be reminded of his majesty. I want to see that which I typically pass over. 

I want, in my minutes and miles, to be aware of his presence, instead of filling time and space with worry that strips me of joy and finicky pleasures that don't last. 

Out of the north comes golden splendor; Around God is awesome majesty. Job 37:22

I want to bottle up what's there; both cherishing and sharing the gifts before me. 

We're heading North. 

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It was raining twenty-one years ago today. I remember because that was our wedding day. I had thought that rain on your wedding day was bad luck just like it was bad luck for the bride to see the groom on the day of the wedding. 

 It was just a rain shower that morning; nothing like the storm outside this morning. There's flooding throughout Texas this week. Videos of washed out highways and swept away cars flood Facebook. My phone has screamed flash flood alerts three times in the past twenty-four hours. 
Where am I going with this? Oh yes. 

Despite its unpredictable nature, I've grown to appreciate the rain. 

I'll never forget the sunroom in our house in Trinity whose tin roof amplified the rain. Its sound filled every room. 

When you think about it, rain is easier to love from indoors. 

I'd be happy if I could choose when it rains. I'd schedule thunderstorms on lazy days when I could sit and listen from the comfort of our living room or in the stillness of night where I'm under the covers in safety. I wouldn't schedule showers on my wedding day. I'd only step outdoors in the rain on warm days when melted hair wouldn't matter, when I had no place to go. I'd step outside but for a moment to get something from the car and then come back in and read a book with a blanket in my favorite chair (your chair). 

I've learned in the past twenty-one years of marriage that I don't schedule the rain. I have no control over how hard it falls, just as I have little control over what difficulties come our way. 

Rain intermingles with sun without consideration of our plans and dreams. Sometimes it's a soft pitter-patter, other times the waters are overwhelming. Trials come. 

I've found that love doesn't eliminate storms. Love weathers storms. 

 Sometimes we have shelter from the storm. Other times we shelter one another in it. 

It's the latter that has grown our marriage. Our love that has braved storms, has made us stronger. 

Your my favorite person to walk with in sunlight (which accounts for most of the days) and in storm. 

Happy 21st Anniversary.