Tornado

My house got hit by a tornado today. No, that's not a euphemism for how messy my house looks after a crazy wedding week. My house actually got hit by a TORNADO. No kidding!

Thankfully it was just a small tornado, but some old ladies in the neighborhood really saw it skip throughout our neighborhood, and one of the places it touched down was in my backyard. My house is fine, but my fence died a quick and dramatic death. I heard a neighbor's trampoline ended up on someone else's fence, and a few others lost their chimneys. My neighbor's tree snapped in half and two others suffered fence damage, but my yard seems to have fared the worst.

This tornado hit the day after my sister's wedding, so I hadn't slept in a week. It was the most amazing wedding in the history of weddings, but as with any big event, exhaustion plus emotion plus constant activity for days in a row makes for a delicate emotional state. So you can probably imagine my reaction when my house got hit by a tornado. Let's just say that it was terribly scary for two minutes, and after the wind died down and I saw the damage, I did the only thing I knew to do.

I called Mr. Right. And started crying.

And he did the sweetest thing ever. He dropped everything and drove across town to take care of me. Even though I told him not to, even though I told him I was fine and there wasn't anything he could do to fix the damage, he still came. He brought me lunch, rubbed my shoulders, and then left me to a much-needed nap while he did other things around my house.

Now the rain has stopped. The house is quiet. He's in his study, working on homework and I'm sipping on a big cup of comfort coffee and enjoying the stillness of the early evening. I'm thanking God that he spared my house, kept me safe, and gave me a man who is so wonderfully fantastic. I am blessed.

And I am going to bed early.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

I like to think of myself as an upbeat people person who has a fabulous sense of humor and rarely gets cranky.

...most of the time.

But then there are times like last week, when every person I encountered over a 24-hour-period had lost their mind. Crazy. Dumb. They had all gone nuts, and I was the poor, helpless victim. None of the disasters were my fault, of course. I was simply the lone victim in a crowd of craziness, holding on for dear life.

Okay, maybe I exaggerate a little.

There's a small chance that I was a bit cranky myself. And hormonal. And tired. And maybe, just maybe, all those crazy people weren't 100 percent in the wrong. Maybe I made a few mistakes that day too. Maybe I was a little too quick to judge and a little too stingy with my mercy.

Maybe, just maybe, I lost my sense of humor and decided to react by wallowing in some self pity.

It's exactly for those terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days that God wrote this to me:

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues, put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.

-Colossians 3:12-14

On that bad day, I chose to clothe myself in cute heels and a headband instead of in compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Did I have extra grace and mercy in my heart for the folks who caused me grief? Not really. Was my love obvious to those around me? Probably not.

Luckily that's not the end of the story. After a good bit of repenting on my part, I choose a new attitude:

So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.

-Colossians 2:6

I'm a work in progress, and I will keep on trying to live a life worthy of the Lord and to please him in every way, praying that he strengthens me with great endurance and patience (Colossians 1:10-13).

He is good.

October 1996

My beloved Texas Rangers are back in the playoffs after more than a decade of disappointment, and not only are we playing, but we are winning. That hasn't happened since October 1, 1996. I remember because I was glued to my television when they took their first game against the Yankees in New York. I remember because a few days later I got to witness the first ever Rangers playoff game in Arlington... at home... in our stadium. It was one of the most electrifying games I've ever been to, and I'll never forget sitting 20 rows behind home plate, cheering on Pudge and the rest of my boys as they fought a hard fight... and lost.

But October 1996 holds a special place in my heart for another reason. Because two weeks after that playoff game, I got to go on my first ever date. With a boy.

I was a month shy of turning 16, the magical dating age my parents had set years ago. I was like Cinderella, dreaming of the world outside as I was locked away in a far-off attic, unable to go to the ball. Okay... so maybe I wasn't locked in an attic... actually I was quite busy cheering on the JV squad, competing on the debate team (I know... debate kids don't usually get a lot of dates...) and hanging out with friends. But I was forbidden from going anywhere with a boy. Alone.

Despite these hard and fast rules, somehow I was able to convince my parents to bend their rules ever so slightly so that I could go to Homecoming with the heart throb from my church. I had a crush on Dustin since we met back in the elementary school. He had one of those super cute bowl cuts, and his sandy blonde hair made me melt even as a 10-year-old. Fast forward to 1996, and I somehow managed to score a homecoming date with this mysterious boy who happened to go to another school. I was in love.

Okay, so it wasn't exactly love. It was more like giddy with 15-almost-16-year-old school girl excitement. I picked out a hot new outfit (brown cigarette pants with tapered legs, clogs, and a mock turtleneck... such high fashion), ordered him a garter with all my saved up babysitting money, and curled my bangs so that my amazing beauty would completely overwhelm this poor boy when he saw me and he would immediately drop to a knee and propose, right there in my doorway.

It didn't exactly happen like I had imagined it. My overwhelming beauty was more like awkward teenage gawkiness, and he ended up buying me a rather ugly mum that I was almost too embarrassed to wear. Since we were 15, my parents had to drive us. I remember finding the whole evening to be horribly unromantic, and it didn't nearly live up to the unrealistic expectations I had created in my head. That poor boy never had a chance.

But 14 years later, as the Rangers win their next playoff game, I find myself in a slightly better situation. I'm now with a boy who makes me giddy with 15-almost-16-year-old school girl excitement, even though I'm 29. I've dropped the bangs, replaced babysitting money with a full time job (and a car), and I learned that cigarette pants and clogs are a huge fashion no-no. If only my 15-almost-16-year-old self had only known that someday those dates WOULD live up to my expectations. That someday I would find a boy who would make me melt... again and again and again.

Go Rangers.

Back on the wagon

You know what's funny? I kind of assumed that the minute I got engaged my metabolism would click into overdrive and I would burn thousands of calories a day simply by being excited. Then, as the big day drew near, the stress would make the pounds melt away and I'd have to eat large amounts of chocolate chip cookies just to maintain a healthy weight. And underneath all those pounds would be these super firm muscles that would make Jillian from The Biggest Loser jealous.

But somehow there was no magical change when Mr. Right proposed. I was too excited to eat for about a day, and then I was back to my normal self. And so now, three months from the big day, I'm suddenly feeling highly motivated to get my tushy in gear, even if it means setting my alarm for 5:45 in the morning. That, my friends, is true love. Or at least, I want my hiney to look great in those jeans for our engagement pics.

Thankfully, Mr. Right will gladly take me just the way I am, but my whole life I wanted to look smokin' hot on my wedding day, and by golly, it's going to happen. And so for now, my new best friend is the guy from the P90X videos.