When you are given the random opportunity to speak, it kind of means that you get to talk about whatever you want to talk about. So today, we’re going to talk about about the awesomeness of Florida State football! Oh I kid. No, today I want to share with you two of my favorite verses in the Bible. They were read earlier, and you may not have picked up on how they relate. So stayed tuned – its how I plan to keep you awake.

In Micah 6:8 we have the answer to the question, “But really, what does God want from me?” Does God want a brand new baby cow? Or, how about 10,000 rivers of olive oil? No? Okay, how about my first born child. Surely, that’s what God wants from me. I mean, let’s face it, first born children truly are the best! No. All God wants from us is to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly. Sounds easy, right? Should be. But let’s think a little about what those three things really mean.

To do what is right: Other translations read, “to do justice.” But what is the work of justice? Doing what is right, doing Justice, means not just preaching, not just clicking like on a Facebook post, or handing out literature on a subject. It means going day after day after day after day. Yes, after day, and doing the tough stuff, even when – no, especially when, others are ignoring you or thwarting your efforts. Its not giving up, not standing down, in the face of fear or power, when you know something is right.

Its like we see with the widow in Luke 18.

“One day Jesus told his disciples a story to show that they should always pray and never give up. ² “There was a judge in a certain city,” he said, “who neither feared God nor cared about people. ³ A widow of that city came to him repeatedly, saying, ‘Give me justice in this dispute with my enemy.’ ⁴ The judge ignored her for a while, but finally he said to himself, ‘I don’t fear God or care about people, ⁵ but this woman is driving me crazy. I’m going to see that she gets justice, because she is wearing me out with her constant requests!’”

⁶ Then the Lord said, “Learn a lesson from this unjust judge. ⁷ Even he rendered a just decision in the end. So don’t you think God will surely give justice to his chosen people who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? ⁸ I tell you, he will grant justice to them quickly! But when the Son of Man returns, how many will he find on the earth who have faith?”

Did you hear that? “THIS WOMAN IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!!” And so the unjust judge granted her justice.

This is what my favorite theologian and teacher David Wildman calls “The Ministry of Erosion.” You just keep pushing on, working each day for justice, for what is right. You don’t give up. Even when the struggle for justice seems long, and daunting, and nearly impossible. You don’t give up. You keep showing up, each and every day. So that when the powers that be turn us away, or shut us down yet again, we just keep going. We want to get to the point that someone yells out, “TRINITY UMC IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!! So I will give them justice.” Amen??

And what does our day to day justice look like? It looks like feeding the hungry through our soup kitchen and the sandwich makers. It looks like opening doors, playing games and staying overnight at Julia’s Place so families don’t have to sleep outside. Did you know that over 20 families have been able to stay together as they were work more sustainable housing, because of your efforts at Julia’s Place? Amazing! When coal trains are coming, and Monsanto is conniving – Justice at Trinity looks like Rain Gardens, increased recycling efforts and community forums. When our LGBTQ sisters and brothers have been shunned, Justice at Trinity looks like a spot in the Pride march so our church can be a visible sign of acceptance, and making this a safe and open place of worship.

Trinity – you are doing the work of Justice. One small step at a time.

So we do these things. But why? Because the Lord asks us to LOVE MERCY.

Throughout the Old Testament and particularly the Psalms, when you find mention of mercy it is times that God has shown up, has listened, or has not forgotten those in need. Is that our act of mercy? Loving by listening? Are we loving by showing up?

I’m currently reading this great book that I would highly recommend, called Torn by Justin Lee. The book is Justin’s story of coming out as gay in an very conservative and evangelical community. He chronicles his struggles with his identity and the church’s reaction to his coming out. There was a chapter where he shared about how, each time he would come out to someone, they would immediately start trying to “convert” or “change” him – recommending him to ex-gay therapies and Bible studies. But what Justin needed, was someone to listen to him. He talked about a lunch with a well-meaning campus minister who spent the whole lunch using Bible verses to try to convince Justin “to change his ways.” But that minister left the table knowing nothing about Justin except for the fact that he was gay. People weren’t taking the time to listen to his pain in his own realization that he was gay, and his struggle in reconciling the fact that was gay and a Christian. Justin compares this time in his life with the story of Job – whose world has crashed in on him. While Job loses his family, his land and his health, his friends sit around and say, “Well, what did you do to piss of God?”

“The more Job insists that he is trusting God, the more they argue that that can’t be the case, because God wouldn’t let a righteous man suffer the way he’s suffering. Clearly, they say, God must be punishing him for something, and its only his own arrogance that’s keeping him from acknowledging it. He insists that they’re wrong, and they just use that as more evidence against him. But the story serves as important reminder to all of us that sometimes, when people are hurting, they don’t need our advice and theological theorizing as much as they need our understanding and comfort.”

Sometimes, God needs us just to be that friend that sits in the ashes and just doesn’t say a thing. Sometimes, that’s the act of mercy.

That leaves us with the third edict from Micah. To walk humbly with our God. What does it mean to be humble? It means: To not think too highly of one’s self.

Because you know what? We make mistakes. We don’t always get it right. We aren’t perfect. But that’s not what God is asking for of us. God only asks that this journey be made with a little humility. I think we can do that best when we realize that we don’t have to do it alone. Because nothing keeps us humble like the opinions of others, right?

Trinity – keep doing the work of Justice. Keep loving with mercy. But don’t do these things alone!

Join a committee. (how very Methodist of me, right? Kathleen paid me to say that) Attend a rally. Make a meal. Dig in the rain garden. Participate at Julia’s Place. SHOW UP. Because when we do these things, these little, day to day things, and when we do them TOGETHER we become stronger. At the risk of sounding cheesy and contrite, we make our world just a little bit better, each and every day.

Amen.

Benediction:

“The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians: who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.” – Brennan Manning

So walk out of these doors and DO Justice, LOVE Mercy, and most of all – walk HUMBLY with your God. Amen.

There is a picture that I keep beside my bed. In a clear plastic frame is the Army photo of my great-uncle Henry. The picture is faded from black and white and has browned. Every night before I go to bed I see a young man, sitting so straight and regal in uniform, staring back at me with clean, dark eyes. In that frame, a man I never knew, a man who was gone long before I even existed, sits on my bedside table.

I don’t claim to know much about him, though I want to. I want to know the stories about Henry Jones that can make my grandmother laugh with the voices of days gone by and cry over memories of a brother who is no longer here.

I know Brother, as my grandmother fondly refers to him, had red hair. That is probably the first thing I ever learned about my great-uncle. My grandmother wanted so much for that trait to carry on to one of her children, or grandchildren, and she now holds hope that one of her great grandchildren will one day have red hair just like Brother’s.

Most of the memories our family has of Brother come from the pictures that sat on the table in my grandmother’s den. In one picture, Brother is crouched down, one hand on a football, poised as if ready for a touchdown instead of a snapshot. He was a mighty fine football player, in high school, in Jr. College and at the University of Alabama. That is, before he went off to war. That is the second picture our family recalls of Brother. The same picture that sits on the table by my bed. A young man, proudly showing off his newly acquired Army uniform. His eyes thoughtful and innocent; not knowing, though surely not completely unaware, of what his future in the armed forces meant.

These are the pictures we bring to mind when we hear stories of Brother. What we fail to see is the Brother as Mammo remembers him. We only know of him through a couple of black and white photos in pretty frames and familiar stories. But she brings to mind the red-headed boy who teased her when they were younger; as the protective younger brother when she started dating; as the strong fellow who could hold her on his shoulders so she couple jump off into the lake; as the one she played on the farm with; the cousin in the family with the big heart and free spirit. She remembers more about him than just football and the War. She remembers how he fell in love with a girl and married her, keeping it a secret from his own mother so he could continue playing football. She remembers working together in their father’s store. She remembers summers playing outside and evenings spent gathered as a family.

She has other pictures; pictures of a boy in his Sunday best, hair slicked down, sitting between his sister and neighbor, holding a dark lab puppy. There is the picture of Brother with his wife, both smiling, standing side by side, love and secrets hidden in their eyes. There are other pictures that tell of their childhood together. Faded pictures that attempt to capture the memories that will never leave her. Only she can remember his smile now, only she can remember his voice and the strong arms that hugged his older sister.

There is one final picture. A young man is kneeling down behind a white cross, one of many, this one bearing Brother’s name, Henry E. Jones Jr., and his military ID number. This young man has place tulips on this simple grave, his eyes sorrowfully downcast. You can read the pain and loss on his face, the same pain and loss I see so often on my grandmother’s face when she remembers her brother. The expression on his face is nothing resembling the photo of his friend, my grandmother’s brother, my great-uncle – whose face was pure, young, playful, thoughtful, and loved.

There is a man whose picture sits beside my bed. Every night I see those eyes, that face, and know that there is so much more to him than the uniform and formal picture try to capture. Thank you Mammo for sharing Brother with us. Thank you for helping us to know the special man in the picture.

*First, and most importantly, it is where I met my husband.  But funny story that many of you may not know.  When I first met Kris, I didn’t like him all that much!  He got on my last nerve, and seemed to enjoy doing so!  But he eventually wore me down (or as Kris likes to say, I started to realize that being an asshole was a part of his manly charm! ha!), and a friendship slowly developed into dating and well…..

*I remember the day I interviewed.  My friend Matt’s roommate Rudy had mentioned that they were hiring where he worked.  For some odd reason when I moved to KY I was determined to work in a restaurant – I thought it would be fun! ha!  So, I go in to interview with Dena, and she asked how I heard about the job.  I said that Rudy had recommended it to me, since Matt had told me Rudy would get a $50 bonus for bringing in new people.  At that moment, Rudy happened to walk by, hearing his name.  He looked at me, totally confused…we had never even met and there I was, using his name in vain!  Rudy, and his wife Carrie, went on to become good friends of mine – both in the restaurant and at seminary.  I am so grateful for their listening ears all those years!

<—-out with Carrie, Kyle, Ricco and Rudy

*Whenever a beloved server decided to move on, their last night was marked by getting “trashed” – literally.  BBQ sauce, whipped cream, food scraps, soda – nothing was off limits.  When my friend Renee left, she was doused in liquid smoke!  That is a smell that just doesn’t go away after 10 showers!  Another time, I can’t remember who was leaving, but I do remember two of the guys dressing up in full on chicken suits, running in after we had closed, “kidnapping” the guy and taking him outside and throwing him in the lake!  We had odd ways of showing our love.

<— the night I got “trashed”

*Roma’s produced many dear friendships.  Good girlfriends: Stacy – who could always make me laugh; Renee who pulled me out of my social shell and helped me just have fun; Tabby – who always listened and gave the best advice – especially on those loooong Monday mornings!  Good guy friends: Ricco – wo loved to cook for me (or anyone really) and always reminded me that faith was paramount to all; and Kyle – who always beat me at the crossword, and helped open my mind to think in different ways.

<—Stacy and Tabby

*And I can’t go any further without mentioning the one friend who meant so much to me during my four years at Roma’s.  He started off as shy host, and turned in to one of my best friends.  Nate was my roommate for over three years.  Two dogs, two houses, and countless late night conversations on everything from faith to love to traveling solidified our friendship.  We bonded over Friends – and watch the entire series in succession.  We took road trips, teased each other over bad dates, and comforted one another’s broken hearts.  He was the first person to know that Kris and I were dating (literally heard it with a glass pressed up against the wall!) and he stood at our wedding and read a poem.  If my time at Roma’s did nothing else for me – it brought my best friend.

<—- Nate and I at Kyle’s wedding

*On a lighter note – there were of course parties.  Oh what fun we had!  We loved to celebrate pretty much anything.  Birthdays, holidays, a Kentucky win (basketball of course – the football team never won while I lived there!) My favorite party has to be the surprise going away party.  Stacy and Tabby did such a good job acting as a cover.  They took me to Renee and Kristen’s house where I was surprised by about 50 of my closest Roma’s friends – all who had come to bid me adieu before I left for Hong Kong.  It was one of the sweetest, most generous things ever – and I loved every minute of that party!

<— about half the crew at my going away party!

*Its hard to talk about Roma’s without talking about Trumps.  I think it is pretty safe to say that at least 2 staff members from Roma’s were there every night.  I know I accounted for that at least two or three times a week.  It was the place to go after work, especially on the weekends, to have a drink, shoot a game of pool, and just relax and get to know your co-workers better.  The great bartenders there became friends as well – they knew us all by name and drink!  Every time we were there, at some point I’d look over, and there would be Nate, digging through my purse, hunting for quarters for the next game of pool.

*The radio that played in the restaurant was controlled by the managers.  Justin loved Christmas music.  Now, if you know me at all, you know my biggest pet peeve is Christmas music before Thanksgiving.  Grates my nerves.  Justin was the opposite!  He would play Christmas music the week of Halloween – I think just to piss people off! haha!

*On a practical level – working as a server and a bartender helped me through seminary.  Working full time and going to school full-time, then part time, I was able to leave with a Masters degree and no student loans or school debt!  I account that to the many, many, many hours spent in that building!

*Working there also taught me skills that I continue to carry with me in my work now: patience in stressful and busy situations; multi-tasking; being graceful even to those who don’t know how to return the favor; and every shifts ends best with a drink and a bowl of potato soup!

I am incredibly grateful for my four years at Roma’s.  The people and my experiences there shaped me into who I am today.  I accredit a lot to that place.  So raise a glass to a time gone by – to Tony Roma’s.

Just shy of three years ago, a woman walked through the doors of Mary’s Place looking for a coat.   She was quiet, overwhelmed, scared, but determined to get back on her feet.  After a nasty fall on an icy sidewalk, Sally found herself hospitalized, facing multiple procedures that drained her savings, her 401K, and eventually left her homeless.  Released from the hospital to the streets, she took an even harder fall, into a deep cycle of depression.   But within months of walking through our doors, Sally started to rebuild her strength, her self-esteem and her life.

She moved into a community house – 10 roommates, but a door of her own.  She started volunteering at Mary’s Place as a way to give back.   Sally started by working in Bon Mary’s, our incentive store.  Every Tuesday and Thursday she was there, setting up and running the store, helping women choose the perfect scarf or just the right perfume to spend their hard earned points on.  On non-shopping days, Sally could be found organizing the storage room, or creating incredibly beautiful gift baskets to be sold on the store.  I mean, seriously beautiful baskets.  People often commented that she should work for a boutique, the way she thoughtfully and artfully put items together was a true skill.

Slowly, Sally started teaching other women how to run and organize the store.  As she did so, she sifted into a role as Donations Queen.  She would stand at the door and greet every donor with the same genuine smile.   She kept the donations organized – a never ending task! – and made sure that everyone who came to us – a donor or a receiver, felt loved and appreciated.

A true early bird, Sally spent the early morning hours on Craigslist, trying to be the first to claim items she knew women would need as they moved into housing.  She would share the stories of the women of Mary’s Place, as well as her own, to these Craigslist sellers, and by the time the item was dropped off, they were our new best friends.  Many of our current donors and volunteers are here soley because of the relationship that Sally started with a simple email.

When Marty and I grieved at the number of women and children flooding our doors, homeless, we wanted to reach out to the faith community to start an emergency family shelter.  While we spun our big plans, Sally diligently worked the phones every day until we had 17 congregations who had stepped up to host a rotating family shelter.  One of those churches broke off from the rotating model to host a year round two-parent family shelter!   When she would call a church and get a “no” she would simply smile and say, “Well, they said no this time.  But I’ll eventually get them to say yes!  How could they not?”  Because of Sally’s compassion and passion, we have been able to house over 30 families in 9 months.

Always incredibly cheerful, Sally had a smile for everyone she met.  Her honesty was endearing and refreshing.  And her drive to change the perception of homeless women was unending.  Sally spoke every chance she could get about her own story – breaking down preconceived notions and myths about homelessness.  She welcomed in the lost, the lonely and the hurting, and connected them to resources, community and hope.

Two weeks ago, sitting in her chair, in her own apartment, Sally passed away after two months of battling various illnesses.  The shock that has followed her passing has brought many stories to surface.  Today, at her memorial, in a room packed with people who loved her dearly, women got up, one after another, to share the story of how Sally touched their lives.  Each person lit a candle in her honor, and together, we bid her body farewell.

But we know, we are confidant, that Sally has not left us.  Her legacy to Mary’s Place can be found in the mother’s relief when she finds a shelter bed tonight; and in the woman’s dignity when she shops for makeup on Bon Mary’s; and in all of those who look at homelessness with a little more compassion.

I thank you Sally, for the gifts you have given.  You will be greatly missed.

And let me be clear.  I’m not bemoaning my upbringing.  I’m not looking at my past in shame.  I am proud of the way I grew up, of the faith community and church family that surrounded me and helped mold me into the woman I am today.  But in the same hand, that doesn’t mean it was not without its faults.

My faith journey has been one of many twists and turns.  One that has led me to a place where I now call myself a Liberal (living in a liberal city, working a liberal job, with liberal friends, reading liberal books).  And again, I am proud of the journey.  I am grateful for the community that has surrounded and shaped me.  For those in college, seminary and in my Young Adult Missionary community who have challenged me and encouraged me to keep asking questions.  Because of them, I am who I am today.  Again, an experience not without it faults.

So there I sat, in the sanctuary of a United Methodist church, listening to Jennifer Knapp tell her story about coming out as a lesbian after years as Christian music artist.  She shared how difficult that was not only because of her profession, but also because of her own faith.   For those who follow(ed) the Christian music industry, you may remember that at what seemed like the height of her career, Jennifer basically disappeared.  Moved to Australia, stopped singing, and wasn’t heard from (professionally) for years.  Her return to the States, and the music industry, came with a confirmation that she was in fact a lesbian, but that didn’t change the fact that she was also still a Christian.  Churches, pastors and other big names in Christianity immediately dismissed her, shunned her, called her a sinner and told others that to listen to her was to follow in her sin.  But sitting there that night, listening to her story, her honesty, I was moved.

“My faith has taught me that I am a person of value.”  Jennifer shared.  And I thought to myself, Is that not what my faith, my church family, taught me as well? Is that not exactly what we hope every person who walks through any church doors feels – that they are a person of value.?  If so, then why are we preaching anything else?  Jennifer’s faith did a great job in teaching her that she is loved and valued by God.  So that even in her struggle with her sexual orientation, she shared, she knew that acceptance by God was a non-negotiable.

“The biggest question I have for myself is, ‘How do I become the kind of person who loves others well?’ My tradition of faith taught me how to love.  I just forgot to check their gender first.”  That got a few chuckles.  “What happens when we assume someone else’s experience is wrong because it is not like ours?”   Those words sent me back to my teen and very early adult years.  A time when I would have been a person of faith who assumed that because she was different, because my “tradition” told me she was wrong, she was.

It has taken a lot of personal work to get to a place where I no longer believe that.  I now find myself in a place that I can confidently say God loves all.  Period.  No “so long as” or “if they confess.”  Created fearfully and wonderfully made, we are created to love God, and love one another.  And if we can’t do that, and if we can’t do that well, then what is the point really? Love is not pointing out what we perceive to be another’s faults.  Love is accepting the person as they are, recognizing their value and worth, and helping them to realize that in themselves as well.

So sitting and listening to Jennifer Knapp’s story, her journey that mirrored my own, even in its biggest differences, encouraged me to continue to love others, no matter the cost.   If I am going to follow a God that welcomes all, then I too have to welcome all.  I too have to believe in the full inclusion of all members in the Body of Christ.  And more than just believe in it, I feel am being called to help work for that holy goal.

At the end of Jennifer’s talk that night, she issued a challenge to everyone, “Break the silence if you have the luxury.  Ask yourself, ‘What does my silence say?’  This can be your opportunity to break the silence. I spent two years missing music and being afraid that someone would ask me (about my sexual orientation).  But wanting to avoid that conversation is disingenuous.  My calling in my life is to tell my story and share my music.  Can you break the silence?”   She was speaking to those in the Christian faith who, by not saying anything at all on the issue of homosexuality in the Church, chose a side whether they realize it or not.

So here I am.  Coming out.  I am coming out as an ally to my LGBTQ sisters and brothers.  I say here and now that no longer will I remain silent when others hurl words of hate and bigotry.  I will stand up whenever and wherever possible to let all know that they are welcome in the Church and into the arms of God.  I will work to build bridges of reconciliation, healing and justice for all those on the fringes.  And I will start by not being silent.

A young man whose family was as much a part of my childhood and faith upbringing as any pastor.  Drew’s mom was my favorite Sunday School teacher.  Her boys, Drew and Marc, were the the kind of kids you could tell were going to grow up and be great people.  Kind.  Funny.  Solid.  Drew was a little younger than my younger sister, so I will always think of him as a kid.  I know that he has grown up, and is a well respected young man.  But when I think of him, I think of the kid in youth group who made everyone smile with his sweet words.  I remember his deep love for his brother – how those two were inseparable.  I mean, who likes their sibling at that age?  But those boys loved each other, and were a great example of a strong family.  I can’t think of a time when I ever saw a member of that family without a genuine smile on their face.

When my mom called me today, I could hear the tears in her voice.  Hearing about Drew’s passing was like a slap.  I may not have known him well as an adult, but that family is part of my story. And to hear of their loss is heartbreaking.  Such a well-loved man in our church and our community.  It is hard to think that someone so wonderful, so gracious, is gone too soon.

And then I think selfish thoughts.  Like how grateful I am to be able to hug my husband tonight.  Drew leaves behind a wife, expecting their first child in just a few months.  And I think, the heartache she will face – I can only pray I never know.  The grief his mother – his wonderful mother – is feeling tonight.  I can hardly bear the thought.  I feel lucky.  Lucky to know my loved ones are safe, and at home.  Lucky to be able to call them and say I love you.  And then I feel guilty for feeling lucky.

Its strange, what tragedy does, how it makes you feel.  These mixed emotions of sorrow, guilt, gratitude.  I keep checking his facebook page – reading the remarks and memories others are leaving.  And each one hurts my heart.

I think I will probably always remember him as a kid.  Sweet-natured, always smiling, fun loving Drew.  I pray that whatever memories he leaves behind with others, that they hold on to them.  And that they talk about him often.  He is definitely someone worth remembering.

As I read the posts of David, Mary and others, I long to be there.  I feel this strong urge to go and represent what the Church means to me.  To be a witness to the decisions made on my behalf.  To stand alongside those who have been hurt but are still hopeful for change.  Many of my friends went not as voting members, but simply (or should I say powerfully) as a voice.  A voice for those whose voices have been shut out, an advocate for inclusiveness, a witness to all that we hope for for the Church.  And I think it is incredibly brave.  There are many different voices and opinions at GC12.   And there is a lot happening in the votes this year that will redefine so much for the Church.  But what I am amazed at, is that despite so many differences, so many barriers, there is still a conversation happening.   Mary has been sharing so honestly about her conversations, even the difficult ones.  But her blog this morning made me tear up.  “It is because this place is so often so full of love that I can continue to be a United Methodist. THIS is the Connection! This is the place where we come together.”  And it gives me hope…

I have a friend from seminary, whom I still keep in loose contact with via Facebook.  A friend that, even during our seminary years, I didn’t always agree with.  I have seen posts on his page (as I am sure he has seen on mine) that have often made me wonder, “why are we still FB friends?  We have nothing in common!”   He has been actively following GC12 via Twitter and the official GC newsfeed, and then posting his views and comments on his page.  Many I have not agreed with.  But then….in the midst of a struggle happening in Tampa, a divisive issue coming to light, glaring pain and all, I read this on my friends page, “It doesn’t matter which side of the issue you are on, that type of behavior (speaking of bullying and blatant exclusiveness) is unacceptable.”  And later, “we can continue to hope for fellowship.”   And in that moment, I was so proud to be this man’s friend.  Despite our differences in theology, rhetoric, political stance, etc…..there is something deeper and stronger that connects us.  To be a part of the Church doesn’t mean we all agree all the time.  It means we love unconditionally, work for justice and peace…together.

I see this in my own church, here in Seattle.  We don’t always agree.  We aren’t always on the same page.  We come from different backgrounds, have varying passions and opinions.  But no matter our differences, there is something so common amongst us, that we cannot help but love one another.  There is something so bold, and yet so quiet, that ties us together that even when our words clash and our heads hurt from discussing and conferencing and meeting and listening…even with all that, we continue to stand unified in our love for Christ, for the Church and for one another.

In the words of Pastor Kathleen following every Sunday sermon,

“May it be so.  Amen.”

Let me brag a little bit about what an amazing husband I have.

Saturday was the Church of Mary Magdalene/Mary’s Place annual Easter Egg Hunt!  For the third year in a row we were blessed with great weather and lots of kids – some from Mary’s Place, others from the community.  All of the baskets and stuffed Easter eggs were donated by a wonderful MOPs group.  It couldn’t have been a more perfect day.  My husband had the rarest of all rare treats, a Saturday off.  And how did he chose to spend it?  Helping me hide 1500 eggs and pass out pastel Easter buckets to 20 kids (and about 20 kids-at-heart).   He helped the whole day, making sure every kid got their fill of candy, everyone felt included, and walking behind us all picking up trash and keeping our supplies together.

Then, over the course of the weekend, I developed the Death Plague From Hell.  Let me tell you about how I almost NEVER get sick.  Or about how I have only taken 2 sick days in my ENTIRE life.  Seriously, I don’t do sick.  Except for the last four days, I have had a bouncing fever, severe headaches, a cough that sounds like I’m hacking up a lung and extreme fatigue.  So what does my awesome hubby do?  He waits on me hand and foot.  He has made every meal, cleaned the house so I could at least be sick in a clean house, filed the taxes, worked in the yard, taken care of the dogs, run to the store for every little thing I’ve needed, reminded to take my temp and when to take some more ibuprofen, rubbed my back, listen to me whine about how much it sucks to be sick, and even brought me a treat – chocolate!  He has been so stellar this weekend – taking care of me and doing everything in his power to make me feel better.  Nothing like feeling like crap to make you realize what an awesome husband you have!

That feeling of knowing that your favorite guy will always be there to support you in what you love to do, and will be there to take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself – that is what marriage is all about.  Yeah, I married well.

“Who in the world are these people?  I’ve never even heard of them.” ~me

“How am I supposed to know?” ~Kris

“And WHAT in the world is she wearing?  Seriously,. that can’t be comfortable!” ~me

A commercial comes on and I mute the TV, cause that’s how we do ’round here.  Kris starts playing clips from Hair: The Greatest Hits.

“How do I not have this album?” ~Kris

“WHAT ABOUT LOVE!?” ~both of us in unison.

Yeah, we may be old, but we are still awesome.