Flavor of Faith, Big Bend or Bust, and Life Jackets

Random: I still can't do the slackline. Matt, on the other hand, is applying to Circus de'ole this week.



Moving on...

I have a confession to make: I’m falling in love. This summer I have been secretly attending Martindale Baptist Church on Sundays whenever I can steal away from Three Rivers. To the latter I give my musical notes, but to the former I give my heart.

It would seem that a shoebox sized conservative church, in the middle of a town that holds less people than a Texas State lecture hall, and a recovering existential, ipod listening Tarrantino film lover, are at best an unlikely fit. Perhaps it’s the earthy texture of the preachers voice, which would never need a microphone; or the solid oak pews that have been holding believers for longer than I’ve lived; maybe it’s just the feeling that there’s nowhere I’d rather be on a bright, Texas, Sunday morning.

Never in a million years would I consider my spiritual home to be under the steeple of a conservative Baptist church, but then again, my considerations mean very little in the grand scheme of things. From the dinner table conversation of denominational presciseness I will always politely excuse myself. I figure people have very personal convictions for their flavor of faith, and I respect that. Standing and kneeling isn’t my thing, so Catholicism is out of the question, and I certainly don’t have enough music on my ipod to call myself Emergent. The best answer, for me anyways, is religion and spirituality practiced under the ecumenical umbrella of Christianity. There’s room enough for all.

**

Last night we were about one turn away from heading to Big Bend National Park. Sandy and I spent nearly an hour delivering impassioned, midnight speeches to Lindsey, insisting that we simply must drive to Colorado, Big Bend, or Mexico. Finally we decided on Fredricksburg and E-Rock. We caught up with Mike Snead at the Baptist Academy around 2am and I told him our plan.

“So we’ve decided to go to Big Bend. Basically that means we’re headed to Fredricksburg, and by Fredricksburg I mean Wimberley. Wimberley of course meaning right here. Yeah, we’re turning around.”

But as Sandy pretended to sleep in the back seat Lindsey and I decided we really WOULD go to Fredricksburg, and off we were. But alas, tragedy struck in Wimberley when I somehow managed to DRIVE THE CAR OFF THE FREAKING ROAD. It turns out that slamming on the brakes at 45 miles per hour and veering off the road is the best way to destroy that remaining ounce of hope and inspiration for a road trip. I made a U-turn. We were done before we even got started.

**

Today at lunch we were reminiscing about Mento’s commercials. These were of course the absurd situations where some happy go lucky jerk would manage to get himself out of tricky situations.

Remember the one about the guy who crawled through the limo? Matt said nowadays if you tried opening the door and crawling through a stranger’s limo it would probably be 50 Cent inside and he’d pop a cap in your ass. Then someone said he’d been shot like nine times, to which Lindsey responded, “Yeah, that’s why he always wears a life jacket.”

So I said, “Oh yeah, he wears a life jacket because he almost drowned nine times.”

My BFF. In the words of Marisa the Kissa, Oh bless.