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As you may have heard (or deduced from the giant ad on the right side of the page), I wrote a book last year. If you haven’t yet, you should read it. My mom says it’s great.
There are thousands of versions of the song “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” All of them contain some variation of the following verse: “Here I raise my Ebenezer. Here by thy great help I’ve come.” So, what in the heck is an Ebenezer? Why are we song-fully raising it? In case you don’t know (and since the song is probably going to be stuck in your head for the remainder of the day), allow me to help you avoid singing in ignorance.
Perhaps you know my wife and I personally. Perhaps know us from your casual reading of this here blog. Perhaps you know us from stalking us in your spare time. Regardless, you’ve probably gathered that we’re not normal. At all. There was a time, however, when our family was closer to “normal.” We had two kids. We drove a normal-sized vehicle. We did a normal amount of laundry. When we ate dinner, we ate sitting down. We slept sometimes. Our house was clean. We didn’t spend 10 hours per week searching for missing shoes. Or coats. Or toothbrushes. Or sanity.
Whilst cleaning out my drawer over the weekend, I found a couple Walmart gift cards. Hooray! So, last night, I drove on over to Wally World and purchased a fancy new blu-ray player. It’s one of those that allows you to stream Netflix, Vudu, Pandora, etc. After we put the kids to bed, I plopped myself down onto my bed and started setting up my new toy. I got the thing connected to our wifi, then pushed the “Netflix” button to set up Netflix.
The year was 2001. I found myself sitting in the middle of a little church in the middle of a little village in the middle of nowhere in Kenya, Africa. We were miles from electricity. The church was a small building made from sticks and mud. With the exception of a few people, everyone was standing because there was not enough room to sit. A decent-sized group of people stood outside, listening through the windows. About 45 minutes into the church service, my guide/interpreter gently elbowed me in the side.
Here in Amarillo, the Chick-fil-A closest to our house has a glorious thing called “kids eat free night” on Thursday nights. Since I’m sort of addicted to the Spicy Chicken sandwich and Chick-fil-A sauce (and since I’m cheap), it is a match made in Heaven. A few months ago, however, we replaced our regular outings to Chick-fil-A with another dinner tradition. Here’s why:
So, we’re all snowed-in here in Amarillo. Bummer. Actually, not bummer at all. Awesome. Being snowed-in is wonderful. We used some of our free time to contribute to the latest ridiculous internet craze. Yep, we Harlem Shaked. Enjoy.
