Friday, June 25, 2010
Just in Time is Not Too Late
I've decided not to take offense at the way God works. I sure would miss out on a lot of awesomeness. Yesterday was a payment deadline for my trip. I owed $1035, and it was supposed to go in a week before I leave.
In my mind, "a week before I leave" was Wednesday the 23rd, not the 24th, however. Seven days before, my bank account was empty and the modest contents of my wallet pledged to the voracious gas tank of the Great White Beast. I had been reading about some awesome men of faith who saw God provide at the last minute over and over again, and I just knew He was saying that He was going to give me the money the day I needed it, if I was willing to trust Him to that degree.
Gifts came in from unexpected places. $500. $100. People were just giving me hundred dollar bills. So Tuesday the 22nd came, and I had this miraculous wad of hundreds, but I was still short $335. In the morning, the thought came into my mind that I was going to get $300 dollars that day. Why three hundred, I wasn't sure, because there would still be $35 to go, but I just let it slip to the back of my mind.
The day passed, and in the evening, a good friend came over unexpectedly. She wanted to give a $100 to me, and $100 each to my brother and a friend of ours who were going on a different trip. When she handed a hundred to Connor, he grinned and said, "Well, really this should go to Cassie because we just got $80 over what we needed today." The math wasn't too difficult...I got $300!
The next day (Wednesday the 23rd, the "deadline") I fully expected the money to come to my doorstep. I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't getting paid till Friday. I spent all morning working very hard to rest in the conviction I had. I didn't get much done at all because I shut myself up in my room, hashing out the desperation I was feeling.
$35 is not a big deal in itself. But the other $1000 appeared to be useless without it, especially since I barely had gas money to get to the bank and deposit it. I could have borrowed gas money, could probably have worked something out, but I really wanted to see God do what He had said He would do. Eventually it got late enough that there was no chance of going to the bank.
Some doubts tried to come..."But God, don't you love me?" It's hard, maybe impossible to love someone completely when you don't trust them. But since this is not the first time in the past few months that we had had this conversation, I knew right away that I couldn't take offense at the way God was choosing to work. Like Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego, I needed to be able to say, "I know you will deliver me, but even if you do not..." I told God I would love Him even if I felt disappointed or ashamed that it wasn't working the way I had envisioned.
So, I scraped myself up off the floor, collected about four dollars in quarters from my room (to go to coffee with a friend...but then she paid!), and borrowed $20 from my account for gas, remembering that I would have a $20 babysitting check that night. Then I left. Before going, I realized, with a look at the calendar, that "a week from today" was really the following day, the 24th. It wasn't too late yet!
Judging from the way the story has gone so far, I'm sure you won't be surprised when I tell you what happened. I was just walking to the door after babysitting for the Testimonies class that night, when a family I've barely even met before stopped me and the guy asked if he could donate toward my trip. He proceeded to hand me, yes, another hundred dollar bill!
As grateful and relieved as I was, it was almost anticlimactic, because the biggest miracle had really happened earlier when God gave me grace to commit my love to Him even when it looked like he wasn't coming through for me.
In the morning, Thursday the 24th, I jaunted off to the bank with a grateful heart, made the deposit, and made the payment. And now I just laugh at how just in time is not too late. I hope to never be offended by God's timing.
In my mind, "a week before I leave" was Wednesday the 23rd, not the 24th, however. Seven days before, my bank account was empty and the modest contents of my wallet pledged to the voracious gas tank of the Great White Beast. I had been reading about some awesome men of faith who saw God provide at the last minute over and over again, and I just knew He was saying that He was going to give me the money the day I needed it, if I was willing to trust Him to that degree.
Gifts came in from unexpected places. $500. $100. People were just giving me hundred dollar bills. So Tuesday the 22nd came, and I had this miraculous wad of hundreds, but I was still short $335. In the morning, the thought came into my mind that I was going to get $300 dollars that day. Why three hundred, I wasn't sure, because there would still be $35 to go, but I just let it slip to the back of my mind.
The day passed, and in the evening, a good friend came over unexpectedly. She wanted to give a $100 to me, and $100 each to my brother and a friend of ours who were going on a different trip. When she handed a hundred to Connor, he grinned and said, "Well, really this should go to Cassie because we just got $80 over what we needed today." The math wasn't too difficult...I got $300!
The next day (Wednesday the 23rd, the "deadline") I fully expected the money to come to my doorstep. I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't getting paid till Friday. I spent all morning working very hard to rest in the conviction I had. I didn't get much done at all because I shut myself up in my room, hashing out the desperation I was feeling.
$35 is not a big deal in itself. But the other $1000 appeared to be useless without it, especially since I barely had gas money to get to the bank and deposit it. I could have borrowed gas money, could probably have worked something out, but I really wanted to see God do what He had said He would do. Eventually it got late enough that there was no chance of going to the bank.
Some doubts tried to come..."But God, don't you love me?" It's hard, maybe impossible to love someone completely when you don't trust them. But since this is not the first time in the past few months that we had had this conversation, I knew right away that I couldn't take offense at the way God was choosing to work. Like Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego, I needed to be able to say, "I know you will deliver me, but even if you do not..." I told God I would love Him even if I felt disappointed or ashamed that it wasn't working the way I had envisioned.
So, I scraped myself up off the floor, collected about four dollars in quarters from my room (to go to coffee with a friend...but then she paid!), and borrowed $20 from my account for gas, remembering that I would have a $20 babysitting check that night. Then I left. Before going, I realized, with a look at the calendar, that "a week from today" was really the following day, the 24th. It wasn't too late yet!
Judging from the way the story has gone so far, I'm sure you won't be surprised when I tell you what happened. I was just walking to the door after babysitting for the Testimonies class that night, when a family I've barely even met before stopped me and the guy asked if he could donate toward my trip. He proceeded to hand me, yes, another hundred dollar bill!
As grateful and relieved as I was, it was almost anticlimactic, because the biggest miracle had really happened earlier when God gave me grace to commit my love to Him even when it looked like he wasn't coming through for me.
In the morning, Thursday the 24th, I jaunted off to the bank with a grateful heart, made the deposit, and made the payment. And now I just laugh at how just in time is not too late. I hope to never be offended by God's timing.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
How a Flight Over a Particular Desert Four Years Ago Changed My Life: An Unfinished Love Story
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes...and ships...and sealing wax...
Of cabbages...and kings..."
This quote from Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and the Carpenter has always made me very happy, though I seldom chance to remember the words correctly. I do know this quote is correct, however, because I looked it up just now. It's not terribly relevant, but then, when is Lewis Carroll ever relevant to anything?
I suppose the relevance lies in the fact that it is now time to talk about the journey I'm about to embark upon. A journey that a part of me, deep down, has been waiting to make for four or five years now. To this place:
At least, somewhere near this place, if my calculations by the vague airliner's map were correct. I took this rather prophetic picture on the flight to India several summers ago, while we were flying over some of the "Stan" countries. There was a lot of desert, and then there came this.
Something happened to me on that flight. This area of the world had already been on my mind, but when we flew over it for real, my chest got tight and I cried a little, and something like love that I really didn't understand welled up inside me. It was just the jet-lagged emotion of a seventeen-year-old, maybe, like some kind of crush, but it's stuck with me these past four years, so much so that I've now taken the physical steps to make it real.
But maybe my journal explains it best. I chronicled like mad at that time in my life, and I'm not sure what use it is to me now to know what I puked up the morning we left Yavatmal. Or how many hours I slept on the top bunk on the train ride to Delhi, but I still have those three journals. This is what I wrote impulsively as we flew over an expanse of desert. I lost track of the countries exactly, but like I said, they were "Stan" countries.
"We are over the desert. My heart is crying out! It is Samarkand and Tashkent and Kabul and Dushanbe. Around Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and nearing Afghanistan and Pakistan and then India...But my love is poured out on the desert.
And then there were those barren, creased mountains that met a green, tan, brown quilt-blocked place, an inhabited place. There were cities, orderly cities from this view, in lines and rows and curves of lines and rows and roads. It was a valley, because there were more mountains on the other side.
Out the plane window I could see both mountain ranges with the valley looking like a paved, cobbled road stretching out into the dim, distant horizon, over the rim of the world.
It is beautiful. So beautiful. That kept going over and over and over in my mind. Beautiful to me in its barren way. The man sitting in front of me said that this part of Asia is "the stage of history, the heart of the world." And the world's heart is dry and thirsty.
And on the way home, flying out of El Paso:
"Staring off into the flat earth curving away to the horizon haze, I'm filled with love. I remember what the rest of the world looks like. I remember that desert and I will go back one day. I don't know what that means for my life...for now I'm awed and somewhat surprised. As we took off over El Paso it just flooded back to me from our first flight..."
And so, in less than two weeks, I'll be on a flight over the same patch of beautiful barrenness I first saw four years ago. Only this time I'll be landing. The grandparents are on their knees more than they've ever been before, bless their courageous trembling hearts, and the looks I'm getting from the people I tell about my trip are...different.
(In line for passport photos:
Lady: So, are you going on a cruise?
Me: No, actually, I'm going to Afghanistan.
Lady: Smile vanishes, blankness spreads over the face.
Me: Um, well I won't be in the south...)
Nothing comes out of the TV but bad news, so it's no wonder that people are worried. I understand that things can happen, and do happen, but it's too bad more people don't get to hear the hope stories. I guess that's what I'm after.
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes...and ships...and sealing wax...
Of cabbages...and kings..."
This quote from Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and the Carpenter has always made me very happy, though I seldom chance to remember the words correctly. I do know this quote is correct, however, because I looked it up just now. It's not terribly relevant, but then, when is Lewis Carroll ever relevant to anything?
I suppose the relevance lies in the fact that it is now time to talk about the journey I'm about to embark upon. A journey that a part of me, deep down, has been waiting to make for four or five years now. To this place:
At least, somewhere near this place, if my calculations by the vague airliner's map were correct. I took this rather prophetic picture on the flight to India several summers ago, while we were flying over some of the "Stan" countries. There was a lot of desert, and then there came this.
Something happened to me on that flight. This area of the world had already been on my mind, but when we flew over it for real, my chest got tight and I cried a little, and something like love that I really didn't understand welled up inside me. It was just the jet-lagged emotion of a seventeen-year-old, maybe, like some kind of crush, but it's stuck with me these past four years, so much so that I've now taken the physical steps to make it real.
But maybe my journal explains it best. I chronicled like mad at that time in my life, and I'm not sure what use it is to me now to know what I puked up the morning we left Yavatmal. Or how many hours I slept on the top bunk on the train ride to Delhi, but I still have those three journals. This is what I wrote impulsively as we flew over an expanse of desert. I lost track of the countries exactly, but like I said, they were "Stan" countries.
"We are over the desert. My heart is crying out! It is Samarkand and Tashkent and Kabul and Dushanbe. Around Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and nearing Afghanistan and Pakistan and then India...But my love is poured out on the desert.
And then there were those barren, creased mountains that met a green, tan, brown quilt-blocked place, an inhabited place. There were cities, orderly cities from this view, in lines and rows and curves of lines and rows and roads. It was a valley, because there were more mountains on the other side.
Out the plane window I could see both mountain ranges with the valley looking like a paved, cobbled road stretching out into the dim, distant horizon, over the rim of the world.
It is beautiful. So beautiful. That kept going over and over and over in my mind. Beautiful to me in its barren way. The man sitting in front of me said that this part of Asia is "the stage of history, the heart of the world." And the world's heart is dry and thirsty.
And on the way home, flying out of El Paso:
"Staring off into the flat earth curving away to the horizon haze, I'm filled with love. I remember what the rest of the world looks like. I remember that desert and I will go back one day. I don't know what that means for my life...for now I'm awed and somewhat surprised. As we took off over El Paso it just flooded back to me from our first flight..."
And so, in less than two weeks, I'll be on a flight over the same patch of beautiful barrenness I first saw four years ago. Only this time I'll be landing. The grandparents are on their knees more than they've ever been before, bless their courageous trembling hearts, and the looks I'm getting from the people I tell about my trip are...different.
(In line for passport photos:
Lady: So, are you going on a cruise?
Me: No, actually, I'm going to Afghanistan.
Lady: Smile vanishes, blankness spreads over the face.
Me: Um, well I won't be in the south...)
Nothing comes out of the TV but bad news, so it's no wonder that people are worried. I understand that things can happen, and do happen, but it's too bad more people don't get to hear the hope stories. I guess that's what I'm after.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Dis-Orientation, or My Dizzying but Blissful Day at Berea Transfer Student Orientation
I really need to go to be because it's really 10:30 here. But my computer and my body both say it's only 9:30 even if it has been a very long day. So I'll blog anyway.
It came at last. Berea orientation. I'm not sure I was terribly oriented by the end of the day; actually I was a little dizzy with all the information and activity. But when I crossed the sunny parking lot behind Presser Hall and found my Dad and little brother again, I was happy because the day had been a success. And because now we could go eat pizza at Papalenos.
This morning I was a little nervous about the whole thing, which was demonstrated in the five or ten extra minutes I spent in front of the hotel mirror, fiddling with my bobby pins. "Come on, Cass," Ethan urged, heading out the door on his way to breakfast. He and Dad were, of course, ready to eat and not concerned about their hair at all. "Just give me a minute," I said. "Girls always want their hair to look perfect when they go somewhere new." In fact, this is the part where you say, "Wow, Cass, you look super amazing today." And then I feel better. And then we get our waffles and orange juice sooner.
Soon I forget about my hair, finding myself in a little knot of 8:30 in the morning-ish looking people in Presser Hall, with a blue folder, thinking it's too bad that the raspberry danish I just plucked from a platter is going to be entirely wasted. There is no way I can eat at this moment. My goal today is to greet people, meet people, and generally be sociable if it kills me. I notice that the lady I didn't have the gumption to talk to at the hotel continental breakfast (where they had the waffles) is in the corner with a girl my age who must be her daughter. We start talking, and by the end of the day we're both in Appalachian Lit. Then I talk to a few more people. And they are so nice. People are just cheerful here. I like it.
We got a lot of info in a short time. Most of it hasn't sunk in yet. I just pinned down the important bits like when we have to pay for things and what classes I'm taking. I aimed to branch out in my classes, explore Berea's unique offerings.
So I started out with Writing/Critical Thinking, Scientific Knowledge and Inquiry, Human Rights/International Law, Fundamentals of Drawing, and Outdoor Adventure Activites I. But because of schedule and classes filling up, I had to change the last three to Approaches to Ethics, Appalachian Lit., and a basic health class.
I'm so excited about being in a place where they like to learn that, where, where basics are concerned, I'll be happy with pretty much any class I get. If I managed to enjoy college algebra last semester, I figure I can learn something from anything.
I was even going to take Middle Eastern Dance instead of Outdoor Ad. Activities, except that was the wrong time, too. I mean, the worst thing that could happen is that I'd fail, right? Note on transcript next to the gigantic red F: She couldn't move her hips. At all.
Moving right along...I had very pleasant talks with a few folks in the Study Abroad and International Student offices, and then visited the campus job fair downstairs, which was close to closing up but still miraculously had three 10 hr. per week job openings for working with the international center on campus.
That's exactly what I hoped to do when I heard about Berea's labor program, but also when I heard about Berea's labor program, I thought I'd start out doing something more like mopping, which, don't get me wrong, is a noble pursuit in itself, but to tell the truth, I'm pretty experienced in that line of work and I'd love to try my hand at something else. So I applied and...it might just happen!
Wow. The idea of having work and school in the same place is amazing. No car necessary (or allowed, the first year). They actually have these things called sidewalks here, little paved pathways beside the road...they're ingenious. You people from Longview should come check it out; I know you've never seen the likes of this before. Well, not ones that actually go somewhere.
Nah, there are certain things I love about my hometown, but absence of sidewalks and destinations you can reach by sidewalks are not some of them.
So really, I've supplied the juiciest details now and really (I'm starting to use more reallies because I'm really getting really tired and at this point that's really all that really comes to mind. Really.) Umm, Yep, I'll go to bed now...now that you have the story of my orientation at Berea.
It came at last. Berea orientation. I'm not sure I was terribly oriented by the end of the day; actually I was a little dizzy with all the information and activity. But when I crossed the sunny parking lot behind Presser Hall and found my Dad and little brother again, I was happy because the day had been a success. And because now we could go eat pizza at Papalenos.
This morning I was a little nervous about the whole thing, which was demonstrated in the five or ten extra minutes I spent in front of the hotel mirror, fiddling with my bobby pins. "Come on, Cass," Ethan urged, heading out the door on his way to breakfast. He and Dad were, of course, ready to eat and not concerned about their hair at all. "Just give me a minute," I said. "Girls always want their hair to look perfect when they go somewhere new." In fact, this is the part where you say, "Wow, Cass, you look super amazing today." And then I feel better. And then we get our waffles and orange juice sooner.
Soon I forget about my hair, finding myself in a little knot of 8:30 in the morning-ish looking people in Presser Hall, with a blue folder, thinking it's too bad that the raspberry danish I just plucked from a platter is going to be entirely wasted. There is no way I can eat at this moment. My goal today is to greet people, meet people, and generally be sociable if it kills me. I notice that the lady I didn't have the gumption to talk to at the hotel continental breakfast (where they had the waffles) is in the corner with a girl my age who must be her daughter. We start talking, and by the end of the day we're both in Appalachian Lit. Then I talk to a few more people. And they are so nice. People are just cheerful here. I like it.
We got a lot of info in a short time. Most of it hasn't sunk in yet. I just pinned down the important bits like when we have to pay for things and what classes I'm taking. I aimed to branch out in my classes, explore Berea's unique offerings.
So I started out with Writing/Critical Thinking, Scientific Knowledge and Inquiry, Human Rights/International Law, Fundamentals of Drawing, and Outdoor Adventure Activites I. But because of schedule and classes filling up, I had to change the last three to Approaches to Ethics, Appalachian Lit., and a basic health class.
I'm so excited about being in a place where they like to learn that, where, where basics are concerned, I'll be happy with pretty much any class I get. If I managed to enjoy college algebra last semester, I figure I can learn something from anything.
I was even going to take Middle Eastern Dance instead of Outdoor Ad. Activities, except that was the wrong time, too. I mean, the worst thing that could happen is that I'd fail, right? Note on transcript next to the gigantic red F: She couldn't move her hips. At all.
Moving right along...I had very pleasant talks with a few folks in the Study Abroad and International Student offices, and then visited the campus job fair downstairs, which was close to closing up but still miraculously had three 10 hr. per week job openings for working with the international center on campus.
That's exactly what I hoped to do when I heard about Berea's labor program, but also when I heard about Berea's labor program, I thought I'd start out doing something more like mopping, which, don't get me wrong, is a noble pursuit in itself, but to tell the truth, I'm pretty experienced in that line of work and I'd love to try my hand at something else. So I applied and...it might just happen!
Wow. The idea of having work and school in the same place is amazing. No car necessary (or allowed, the first year). They actually have these things called sidewalks here, little paved pathways beside the road...they're ingenious. You people from Longview should come check it out; I know you've never seen the likes of this before. Well, not ones that actually go somewhere.
Nah, there are certain things I love about my hometown, but absence of sidewalks and destinations you can reach by sidewalks are not some of them.
So really, I've supplied the juiciest details now and really (I'm starting to use more reallies because I'm really getting really tired and at this point that's really all that really comes to mind. Really.) Umm, Yep, I'll go to bed now...now that you have the story of my orientation at Berea.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
You Can Play This at My Funeral...
I must, I must keep blogging. Life has gotten busy, but I don't want to abandon the blog.
I'm in Berea! I love Berea. This cozy Kentucky town is just right for me. It's just as charming in the green summertime as it was in a snow-dusted January. The rolling green farmlands on the trip here were a soothing treat.
Tomorrow is Berea College orientation for transfer students, and I'm both nervous and excited. Mostly excited. It's just, no matter how much I like the town and the school, the thought of starting over where I don't know a soul is a little...oh, daunting. But thrilling too. As you can see, my emotions are mixed.
But no matter what I feel, I want a challenge. And here it is. An adventure, if you will. I hope to meet lots of people tomorrow. Talk with them. Laugh with them. Get comfortable with them, even a little. Maybe I'll find a roommate. Maybe she's right here at this hotel and we'll meet suddenly at the continental breakfast in the morning, in line by the waffle machine.
I honestly have no idea what I want in a roommate. When I think through it, I vacillate wildly between hoping for someone compatible and like-minded and someone vastly different whom I can learn a lot from. The most important thing, when all is said and done, is agreement about lights out. I think I can adjust to any personality as long as there aren't crazy parties going on in my room at 4 in the morning and I can get some kind of sleep.
I have high hopes about Berea. I want to learn all kinds of mind-boggling things, I want to write, engage in conversations. I want to make friends I can share with, laugh with, pray with. The sense I get about the place is that there will be room for me to grow as a person. And I do need that :)
I can't help thinking of our visit here five months ago when I was hoping so hard I'd get accepted, and so uncertain of the future, and here I am, orientating tomorrow! What will come in these next few years, I wonder? God just blessed me so much. For so long I just never thought I'd find a school I liked that would be possible for me to attend. And here I am.
Today Ethan, Dad and I did two tours at Mammoth Cave, about 120 miles from here. So now I can say I've officially eaten lunch in a cave. A boxed lunch. Complete with apple, cookie, and vegetable soup. The soup was necessary, let me tell you. It was damp and 54 degrees. I was prepared this time, however, after the experience Dad and I had two years ago at the same place.
I believe I've blogged about it before. After an intense downpour that drenched us on the way into the cave, we spent 2 hours in the 54 degree cavern...in dripping shorts and t-shirts. Brr!! But I definitely have vivid memories of that tour.
Today, Ethan enjoyed his first real caving experience (ok, if you call following a five foot wide, artificially lighted, tour guided path a "real" caving experience). "I think I want to live in here." he announced. "You could have a pet bat," I told him. "They're like little chicken nuggets with wings," a little girl in the group said.
On the way from Bowling Green to Berea, we listened to an older Mark Shultz cd that I'd dug up from a dusty cd case. "Running Just to Catch Myself" is a family favorite and we hadn't heard it in a while. It's an upbeat, funny song about a day of rat-race in the corporate world. Ethan approved. "You can play this at my funeral," he told us. "'Cause I don't want ya'll weeping at me." "And pour coffee on me," he added. "But no roses. Only the girls can put roses on me." I'm glad he's getting all this straightened out now.
Gotta love these little moments.
I'm in Berea! I love Berea. This cozy Kentucky town is just right for me. It's just as charming in the green summertime as it was in a snow-dusted January. The rolling green farmlands on the trip here were a soothing treat.
Tomorrow is Berea College orientation for transfer students, and I'm both nervous and excited. Mostly excited. It's just, no matter how much I like the town and the school, the thought of starting over where I don't know a soul is a little...oh, daunting. But thrilling too. As you can see, my emotions are mixed.
But no matter what I feel, I want a challenge. And here it is. An adventure, if you will. I hope to meet lots of people tomorrow. Talk with them. Laugh with them. Get comfortable with them, even a little. Maybe I'll find a roommate. Maybe she's right here at this hotel and we'll meet suddenly at the continental breakfast in the morning, in line by the waffle machine.
I honestly have no idea what I want in a roommate. When I think through it, I vacillate wildly between hoping for someone compatible and like-minded and someone vastly different whom I can learn a lot from. The most important thing, when all is said and done, is agreement about lights out. I think I can adjust to any personality as long as there aren't crazy parties going on in my room at 4 in the morning and I can get some kind of sleep.
I have high hopes about Berea. I want to learn all kinds of mind-boggling things, I want to write, engage in conversations. I want to make friends I can share with, laugh with, pray with. The sense I get about the place is that there will be room for me to grow as a person. And I do need that :)
I can't help thinking of our visit here five months ago when I was hoping so hard I'd get accepted, and so uncertain of the future, and here I am, orientating tomorrow! What will come in these next few years, I wonder? God just blessed me so much. For so long I just never thought I'd find a school I liked that would be possible for me to attend. And here I am.
Today Ethan, Dad and I did two tours at Mammoth Cave, about 120 miles from here. So now I can say I've officially eaten lunch in a cave. A boxed lunch. Complete with apple, cookie, and vegetable soup. The soup was necessary, let me tell you. It was damp and 54 degrees. I was prepared this time, however, after the experience Dad and I had two years ago at the same place.
I believe I've blogged about it before. After an intense downpour that drenched us on the way into the cave, we spent 2 hours in the 54 degree cavern...in dripping shorts and t-shirts. Brr!! But I definitely have vivid memories of that tour.
Today, Ethan enjoyed his first real caving experience (ok, if you call following a five foot wide, artificially lighted, tour guided path a "real" caving experience). "I think I want to live in here." he announced. "You could have a pet bat," I told him. "They're like little chicken nuggets with wings," a little girl in the group said.
On the way from Bowling Green to Berea, we listened to an older Mark Shultz cd that I'd dug up from a dusty cd case. "Running Just to Catch Myself" is a family favorite and we hadn't heard it in a while. It's an upbeat, funny song about a day of rat-race in the corporate world. Ethan approved. "You can play this at my funeral," he told us. "'Cause I don't want ya'll weeping at me." "And pour coffee on me," he added. "But no roses. Only the girls can put roses on me." I'm glad he's getting all this straightened out now.
Gotta love these little moments.
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