One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue ... what in the world IS that thing?

If you're like me on long flights, you doze in and out of sleep capturing a glimpse here and there of all that's going on in the cabin around you. Now, imagine opening your eyes during one of your more lucid moments to find this hanging off the passenger's ponytail in front of you:



That's what happened to some poor folks on a flight from Peru to the United States. Kinda reminds me of this guy:

Welcome to the country!

Amanda and I closed on our new home today. I'm not sure when I'll move in, but Amanda and Braden for sure will not move in until after the wedding.

So for now, I can say that I have a city home and a house in the country. I like saying that.

After we closed, we drove by the house and around the neighborhood. We spotted a woman walking her dog -- and a bird. That's right. She was walking a bird. She carried a perch of some kind in her gloved hand, and had a bird (on a chain) sitting on the perch.

And people tell me inner-loopers are weird.

Now THAT is bootylicious!

On our way to Amanda's parents' house the other night, a car entered the freeway just before I did. But in this case, to use the term "car" is like using the term "house" to describe Versailles or the Biltmore Estate.

No, my friends. This was no mere car. This was a Rolls Royce Phantom.

Sure, this wasn't the first Rolls Royce I had ever come across. Living in Houston, it isn't all that unusual -- especially when the local Rolls Royce dealership is just a few miles from my home and conveniently located on my route to Amanda's house. Every time I drive by, my heart goes out to those poor little cars desparate to find a home. Some people get misty-eyed at animal shelters. I tear up driving by the Rolls dealership.

So there we were ... just a few feet behind this beautiful specimen on the open freeway. I did my best to keep up with it -- partially so I could behold its beauty, and partially so I could see who was driving it. (Just who do they think they are? And would they be my friend?)

We managed to stay on its tail from US-59 and Kirby to somewhere near UH on I-45. Once or twice, we even came alongside the creature and were able to stare into its eyes. And by that, I mean we stared into its windows to see who was at the wheel.

Amanda and I are 99.9% sure that it was Beyonce's parents. Just the day before, I saw a special on TV about Beyonce so I had a fresh visual in my mind about what they looked like. That evening, some googling confirmed our assumptions.

Gee whiz, Beyonce. Thanks for showing us up! Among the things my parents got for Christmas this year were some Starbucks coffee, a shirt or two, a flower pot from the Mad Potter (with Braden's thumbprints as the flowers), and a "Hillary" nutcracker courtesy of my brother and sister-in-law.

It may not be as classy as a Rolls, but at least nobody is going to chase them down to get a good look.

An unpleasant diversion

On Monday, I began to feel a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. I chalked it up to possibly pulling something while packing and moving heavy boxes into my PODS unit on Sunday. But on Monday evening when I went to bed, I could not get warm -- tossing and turning with the chills. Now, I've had about as many pulled muscles in my life as I've had athletic accomplishments, but I'm pretty sure that pulled muscles don't result in a fever.

On Tuesday, the pain was sharp and somewhat debilitating, making it difficult to stand up and even to walk. I tried to get in to my doctor, but he wasn't available until Wednesday morning. So, I decided to suck it up and ride out the pain until then.

Amanda, however, had other plans. On Tuesday night, she convinced me that I needed to go to the ER. She consulted with her father (a veterinarian) about my symptoms and he, too, recommended the same action plan. The likely diagnosis? Appendicitis.

So, around 7:30 pm, Amanda picked me up and off we went to Memorial Hermann Northwest on the north 610 Loop.

The only other time I had been to an ER was in October 1989 after I fell asleep at the wheel on I-45 north of Huntsville and rolled over. I was a little out of it, to say the least, so I do not have many memories of it -- other than the Codeine-enhanced ride home to Baytown with Mom and Dad. (Yummy!)

While Amanda ooh-ed and aah-ed over the sick babies, I did my best to sit still and not be mistaken for one. I'll confess right up front that I am a baby when I'm sick. A big ol' baby who just wants to curl up under the covers and call it a day. Granted, that's not a good look on a man -- especially when that man still felt a sense of responsibility to protect his woman from the ne'er-do-wells in the ER. It wasn't time for me to let my guard down ... yet.

The good folks in the ER checked me in, drew my blood, and took a ... um ... sample in a cup. Fortunately, the sample cup came with written instructions. Detailed instructions. VERY detailed instructions -- with diagrams, too. That there are people in this world who need step-by-step help in order to pee in a cup troubles me greatly.

Around 9:00 pm, the real waiting began. During our temporary residence in the holding area, I stayed warm under a sheet provided by a nurse and Amanda resolved to pay more attention to the 2008 presidential election. She was convinced that she was witnessing first-hand all that is wrong with the American healthcare system. Finally, at 11:45 pm, my name was called.

I'll spare you the long story, but after two vanilla-flavored barium drinks, a CT scan, and IVs with pain killers and antibiotics, I dodged a bullet. The doctor was able to rule out appendicitis -- a potential outcome that would have required me to check-in to the hospital and possibly have surgery within a few hours. (When he said surgery was a possibility, I asked if he could do a little liposuction while he was down there.) Instead, he determined that I had acute diverticulitis.

To be honest with you, I think Amanda and I were both a little disappointed at the diagnosis.

For me, I knew that having surgery for appendicitis would have made for a better blog entry. Diverticulitis may be a little too personal, and certainly not a pleasant topic of conversation. For her, she missed out on getting a kiss -- something she promised (threatened?) to give me before they took me into the operating room if it came to that. "Just in case I never see you again!" Thanks for the encouragement, sweetheart! =)

My next reaction? Praise the Lord it's nothing more serious! A prescription for some antibiotics and pain killers was all I took home with me that night -- no scars or bandages. The only thing I left at the hospital that night was a little bit of my pride. In addition to the medications, the doctor told me to use Metamucil every day -- from now on.

The trauma of being prescribed Metamucil was compounded by the fact that when I received the orders, I was wearing my hospital gown with my black dress socks. Not only was I facing an "old man's" medical condition and being told to add an "old man's" supplement to my diet, but I was dressed like an "old man," too.

The good news? Amanda witnessed it all and she still wants to marry me.


EXTRA BONUS STORY!
For those of you who have read this entire post, here's an added bonus. The ER nurse shared a story with us about a relative of hers who has to have a colonoscopy every year. The relative also has a neighbor with a yapping, barking, high-energy little dog who often gets into their backyard.

One year, while this relative was preparing for the procedure the next day by drinking "Go Lightly" (a "bowel prep liquid") to clear out his system, he decided that he had had enough. So, the next morning, he soaked a biscuit in the remaining few sips of the "Go Lightly" liquid and placed it by the hole where the annoying dog entered their yard.

When he came home from work that afternoon, he looked over the fence to see the results of his scheme. I won't go into details here like the nurse did with us, but rest assured that that dog never came through that hole in their fence again. It learned its lesson!

Adventures with Coffee

A couple of stories from our attempt to find coffee on Friday night ...

Adventure #1
Amanda and I went to the POPS concert at Jones Hall with my family on Friday night. Afterwards, she and I decided to go somewhere for some coffee since it wasn't very late and since Braden with with her parents that evening. A perfect setting for a spontaneous "date" with each other.

Since Daily Grind now closes at some ridiculously early hour, I decided to try a place I had seen further down on Washington Avenue closer to downtown. It was a bit of a risk since I had never been before, but what the heck -- let's give it a try.

As we drove past it, we slowed down to look inside. The lights were on and there were at least 10-12 people sitting around at tables. Good sign.

So, we parked in the back parking lot and entered through the back door. That entrance opened into a small hallway where the restrooms were located. Amanda stopped by the ladies' room and I proceeded to go through the next door into the main room.

Since the counter was on my left, my attention immediately turned to the large menu board. The clerk politely informed me that they would be closing in about 20 minutes, but I continued to look over the available drinks.

However, I was greatly disturbed and uneasy. I knew that there were several people in the room, but it was practically dead silent. Since my back was to the tables as I looked over the menu, I really couldn't assess what was going on.

Was my fly open?
Had I crashed a private party?
Had they mistaken me for Matthew McConaughy?

So, I casually put my hands in my pockets, looked down at my feet, and tried to act all "breezy" as I waited for Amanda to come out. Then, as effortlessly as possible, I looked up to face the silent crowd, not knowing what I would discover.

As it turns out, the coffee shop that night was filled with 10-12 deaf people -- all of whom were actively engaged in lively discussions with one another over lattes and mochas. The silence had nothing to do about me at all. I went back into the hallway where the restrooms were located and waited for Amanda. I explained that the shop was closing in 20 minutes, and suggested we try to find another place. Then I told her what had transpired.

Bless my heart.

Adventure #2
In search of coffee, we drove by the obligatory Cafe Brasil (one of my least favorite places) and quickly crossed it off the list. There was a band playing -- one of the reasons I don't care for the place. Too small and too loud. Empire Cafe looked promising, but they, too, were closing in about 10 minutes. (Since when is 11:00 pm the standard closing time?)

Not wanting to hang out at a Starbucks, I asked Amanda if Mama's Cafe were OK with her. (I do love me some of their cinnamon coffee!) She said that it was, but admitted that since she only likes fancy-schmancy coffee drinks, there really isn't much there for her. So, we drove through Starbucks to get her a Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha.

As we walked up to Mama's, Amanda asked if I were sure that she could bring the Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha in with her. "No problem," I assured her. "This place is very casual -- they won't mind."

Not two seconds later, we enter the front door and see a sign that says "No outside beverages" posted right inside. It was on 8.5 x 11 paper and taped to the door. Clearly, this was a new policy courtesy of the Mama's Cafe management.

Amanda was reluctant to break the rules, but in a momentary lapse of leadership, I encouraged her to hide the Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha and bring it in. So as not to look too suspicious as we debated the risks inside the vestibule with the host looking at us through the glass doors, I quickly opened the door and asked for a booth for two.

Amanda slyly walked with her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha down by her side. I was reminded of a Seinfeld episode in that moment -- the one where Raquel Welch plays herself and is criticized for not swinging her arms when she walks.

We get to our booth and Amanda quickly places her contraband Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha in the corner, blocked from view by her purse and jacket.

Thanks to a slow waitress, we had time to plan our strategy for how Amanda will be able to drink her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha. We would BOTH order coffee, and I would drink hers first -- very quickly. Then, she would poor her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha into her cup. Genius! Right?

Well, we didn't plan out all of the details. I ordered my cinnamon coffee, and then Amanda ordered plain coffee. ("Oh no," I thought, "I'll have to drink plain unflavored coffee!") When the coffee came, I did my best to drink her cup -- but it was REALLY hot and REALLY dark.

Amanda suggested that we pour the coffee into her water glass. I suggested that I poor it into one of the potted plants nearby. We opted for the water glass option -- creating what looked like a cup of iced tea. If the waitress were paying any attention at all, she may wonder where that glass of tea had come from.

Our solution? Put it on the floor and out of site. We did not account for how to explain the missing water glass if the waitress were to come and refill. Fortunately, the waitress did not seem to be playing with a full deck that night and never said a word.

But we couldn't make the transfer just yet. The waitress had not brought us any creamer, so for Amanda to suddenly have an obviously creamed cup of coffee may look suspicious. Even though the waitress was somewhat spaced out and unlikely to notice, we asked for creamers.

Now, with an empty coffee cup ready to receive her mocha and creamers on the table, Amanda proceeded to make the transfer from the Starbucks cup to the Mama's mug. She did so off to the side against the wall below the table top where nobody could see.

And then she shrieked!

The lid popped off her Starbucks cup, spilling half of her Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha onto her jacket and the floor below. The other half made it into the Mama's mug. We scrambled for napkins to absorb the flood, soaking up what was on the floor and on Amanda's seat.

I was reminded of another Seinfeld episode -- the one when Kramer smuggles a latte into the movie theater inside his pants.

The Starbucks cup held the used napkins, and we even managed to poor the "iced tea" into it as well. By the time the waitress returned, all she saw was two cups of coffee (one with creamer) and two empty water glasses (both with a little ice since we dumped some of mine into Amanda's). The waitress was none the wiser.

OK, sure, it's not like we really got away with anything spectacular -- bit the antics of it all were fun. And since we may have caused our waitress some grief after we left due to the hidden mess we had made, we gave her a nice big "Merry Christmas!" tip. You may call it a "guilt tip" but it's still money in her hands this time of year.

Permanent "Man Card" status?

Forgot to tell you ...

Last Monday, I took Braden to buy a few Christmas presents. As we were about to leave, I heard two of the staff members shrieking in the back by the service exit door. My initial thought: Somebody is trying to break in or attack one of the workers, taking advantage of the dark alley behind the building!

I looked around the corner and saw that the back door was open. One of the young ladies was looking outside and asking if the other were OK. My next thought: There was only a mild degree of panic, so there must not be an intruder. The other employee must be hurt and needs help!

As I approached the door, I saw that the presumed-injured employee was standing outside the door, apparently in perfect health. My CSI skills detected that they were both looking in the same direction toward a spot on the ground about six feet from the door. My next thought: These silly little girls saw a harmless mouse and are overreacting a bit, if you ask me.

I could not see anything in the dark shadows. Since I had approached the scene and was standing right next to them (with Braden in tow), I felt obliged to ask if everything were OK. My next thought: When they tell me they saw a mouse, Lord, please give me the strength not to laugh.

"It's a snake!" one of them shrieked. Sure enough, that nearly indistinguishable dark mass there in the shadows was a coiled up snake. While we could have left well enough alone, an inner urge inside of me swelled up and the need -- yes, the need -- to neutralize the threat took over. My next thought: Must ... kill ... snake!

The serpent was about 18 inches long, although it will grow to about five feet in a few years when I retell this story every time I go in to Mad Potter. One of the employees handed me a sponge mop handle at first, but that really only served to annoy the demon. It started coming back toward the doorway as if it were taunting me. I traded in the sponge mop handle for a heavy metal display fixture of some kind. With my new weapon in hand, I set about to crush the serpent. It took a few blows to finish the job since it kept trying to slither away ... but it was not match for me, I tell you what. My next thought: I am a hero!

The employees thanked me for saving their lives. As we came back into the store, none of the other customers seemed to have a clue about what had transpired -- about how I had rescued them from living out a scene from Anaconda or any snake-based SciFi Channel movie-of-the-week. My next thought: Those SciFi Channel movies sure are lame, aren't they?

My second-to-last thought of the evening was, "Well, this should really earn me a life-time 'Man Card' -- I can't wait to tell Hilburn!" My final thought, though, was, "I wonder if the fact that all of this went down at The Mad Potter will negate my heroism and my permanent 'Man Card' eligibility?"

You decide.

Violet Beauregarde: Smuggler?

I called the wrecker service in Falfurrias. (There's a phrase I've never said before.) The kind receptionist confirmed that the Explorer was, indeed, used to smuggle illegal aliens. Nice.

And even though I explained that I am no longer the owner, she said that -- by law -- she has to mail me a second notice "41 days" from the date it was impounded. However, she says that I do not have to take any action at all. I'm not totally at ease with that, so I may try to track down a more reassuring resolution.

On top of that, I just received the vehicle registration renewal notice for the now-impounded Explorer. The kind lady at Paul Bettencourt's office said that I could disregard the notice, but that I should fill out and mail in form VTR 346 to notify the state that I no longer own this car. Ah ... government!

It's a sad end for this faithful 1995 Explorer.

It was my brother's car until he handed it down to me a few years ago. Those of you who ever saw it know that Jeff had an affinity for the color blue: blue paint, blue seats, blue dashboard, blue radio. I often felt like I was Violet Beauregarde in the Chocolate Factory.

Big and blue. Very, very blue.

I am NOT a smuggler!

I received a certified letter in the mail the other day. Actually, I received the postcard that says they tried to deliver a certified letter and that I would have to go to the post office to pick it up. Ugh.

In the midst of buying a house, I figured it may have something to do with the loan approval or one of the many other steps involved in the process. So, I added "Stop by the Post Office" to my list of errands to run on Friday as I dealt with house-related tasks and prepared for Murray Christmas that night.

The letter was from a wrecker service in Falfurrias, Texas. Clearly, not a part of the loan process.

Apparently, the paperwork for the car I sold to CarMax over 6 months ago was never fully processed. In the eyes of the State of Texas, that car still belongs to me. And from their point of view, I left it abandoned on the side of a highway in the Valley. I'm sure they've come to all sorts of great conclusions as to what I may have been doing with an SUV just a few miles from the border -- and why I would have left it on the side of the road. Nice.

When I called CarMax to ask why this would have happened, the woman who answered was completely non-chalant about the situation -- as if it happens all the time. No sound of shock in her voice, no indication that she was surprised this could have happened -- and certainly nothing even close to an apology on behalf of the company.

Apparently, it's up to me to prove to the good folks in Falfurrias that I do not own the car anymore. She said I would need to provide the wrecker service with proof of sale. Little does she know that I am not one for the record-keeping and that as soon as I cashed the check from CarMax, that car was out of my life for good. Who needs a paper trail? If I can't find the receipt, I have to "physically come down to CarMax" (her words) and get a copy. Nevermind fax machines or PDF files.

So, add this to the list of my All-Time Greatest Hassles that I have to resolve.

Stakes In The Ground

For those of you who have ever put a stake in the ground to boldly proclaim your position on something, let my story serve as a cautionary tale of what may very well happen to you:

Old Me: Living outside the Loop is ... well, I don't know what it is, but it's NOT really "living."

New Me: I already have plans for where I'll hang Christmas lights next year on our new house outside Beltway 8. We found a place in Ashford Village (west of Kirkwood, south of Briar Forest, north of Westheimer, east of Dairy Ashford). We close in late December and we'll move in after the wedding. I can already taste the farm fresh eggs and produce out in the country!

Old Me: Amanda will never get to see my master bedroom -- and especially not the closet. It's too messy and embarrassing to share with anybody.

New Me: Amanda was the best helpmate I could have ever had! In a few hours, we had cleaned out the closet and most of the room.

Old Me: "Happy Birthday, Jesus" is the most annoying Christmas song ever recorded. Ever.
New Me: I turn up the radio louder when the song is on so Braden can sing along to his favorite Christmas song. Makes me smile every time. (For the record, I am still holding on to my stake in the ground about the "Christmas Shoes" song.)

So ... what are your stakes in the ground? Better make sure they're in there nice and tight -- or be prepared for some big (and great) changes!

Class of 2015?

I have much more to share about our trip to Baylor's homecoming this past weekend, but for now, I wanted to share this picture from Amanda and Braden's first bonfire! Sic 'Em!

That's my (soon to be) boy!

Amanda and I attended our first couples event with our Married Young Adults class last night. It was a "Bring Your Own Pumpkin" party where each couple carved their own creation. Since Braden was with us, we let him choose the design. His choice? A big 48 to represent Jimmie Johnson (his favorite NASCAR driver).

So, I cut a hole in the top of the pumpkin and gave Braden an ice cream scoop to gut it out. Since Amanda had no interest in touching the yucky stuff ("It will get on my ring and I can't take it off because my pants don't have any pockets!") and we were only give 20 minutes to make our creations, I reassigned Braden to the task of picking out the seeds from the goop as I scraped it out and dumped it on the floor.

The next task was to carve out the 48. Not having a pencil, I did it freehand style. Like a sculptor says, you just cut away everything that doesn't look like a 48.

After I carved out the 4, it dawned on me that the 8 would be more of a challenge. Without the centers of each loop, we risked the 8 looking like a snowman. But alas, my untapped pumpkin carving skills came through. As a final touch, I threw in a Lowe's logo (Jimmie Johnson's sponsor) on one side and the initials "JJ" on the other.

The original plans to pick the winner of the carving contest were scrapped at the last minute for a new plan. Instead of using adult judges, the decision was made to let Braden and Jocelyn (JT and Jennifer's 3-year old daughter) pick their favorites.

("We're sure to win now!" I thought to myself. "But how scary is it that I care so much about winning a pumpkin carving contest? Lord, please don't let me grow up to be THAT kind of dad!")

Braden and Jocelyn made the rounds looking at all the pumpkins. Finally, Braden announced his favorite. Surprisingly, he did not pick our own creation. And surprisingly, I couldn't have been more proud of him.

Why? Because he chose a pumpkin with "BU" carved in it--a tribute to Baylor University carved by Chris McGuirk and Jennifer Eveland. (For the record, there was an "A&M" pumpkin, too, and neither child chose it.)

So, my hard work on Braden's behalf may not have been his favorite, but that's OK with me. He made the right choice! I just pray he makes the same choice in about 13 years!

If it were a snake ...

On Saturday, I was expecting a very important delivery of capital campaign materials. The plan was for the delivery guy to call me on my cell phone since I would already be at church for a Summit Ministries prayer breakfast (for the capital campaign, actually). When the estimated delivery time came and went without a phone call, I contacted the man behind all of our beautiful campaign materials to see what the story was.

According to their records, the delivery was made at 10:30 am and signed for by an HFBC staff member in our print shop. Since I did not have a key for the print shop, Ricky (our Facilities Director) came up to church to let me in. But lo and behold, we could not find the boxes anywhere in the print shop. Ricky got on his walkie-talkie to ask if anybody in earshot knew about the boxes. Clarence replied. As it turns out, they had already moved the boxes (eight in total) to my office.

Here’s the rest of the story …

I had been sitting in my office since about 11:00 am making the above-mentioned phone calls while sending e-mails. The entire time, the boxes were less than 6 feet from my chair. During the more than two hours in my office, I had to walk by them every time I got up to go to the restroom, to look for the boxes, and so on.

So … there you have it. I felt like an idiot. (Think this might mean my office is too cluttered to begin with?)

Bless my heart.

Hail To The Chief (?)

I've moved in to a larger office here at work. Or at least on Tuesdays until about 5:30 pm.

My inkblots are all grown up

My niece and nephew turned 13 this week. Some of you may remember when they were born. I sure do.

It was 1994 and I was staffed in Miami on my first out-of-town project with Accenture (then Andersen Consulting). Since they were born on a Monday, I had to wait until Friday evening to see them. And since Al Gore's invention--the internet--had not quite caught on, my parents had no way of sending me any photographs.

I had to settle for a faxed copy of one of their first pictures. There it sat framed on my desk in Miami--a black-and-white fuzzy image that looked more like a Rorschach inkblot than two newborn bundles of joy.

Now, it is such a joy to see them totally embrace Braden (and Amanda, too, of course). Everytime I call, they always ask about him. Everytime we're together, they cannot get enough of him. At Kyle's birthday party at the Astros game, Braden hung out with his soon-to-be cousins and Kyle's friends. At Kristin's party, her girlfriends were excited to meet the little guy she has been talking about so much. They did their best to get Braden to do some of his dance moves for them, too.

I sure do love my two stinkin' adorable inkblots! Happy birthday, Kyle & Kristin!

Twinkies are Fruit

While in the Nashville area for a conference, a group of us from Houston headed to Dotson's Restaurant for dinner in historic downtown Franklin.

It's listed as a "meat and three" place and that's what I had -- meat and three sides. Meat loaf, green beans, mac 'n' cheese, and sweet potato casserole, to be exact. I should have journaled before I ate. That dinner changed my life.

I was impressed by the selection of vegetables from which to choose. In addition to my three choices above, they had white beans, lima beans, baby carrots, fried okra, scalloped tomatoes, turnip greens, spinach, beets, squash, cream corn ... and Jello.

Our group wondered if the Jello was in the form of a Jello mold with broccoli or peas or cauliflower floating in it -- anything to justify calling it a vegetable. Nobody was willing to waste one of their "and three" choices on a dare, so we'll never know.

Punxsutawney, schmunxsutawney!

Groundhog Day is just silly, right? Clearly, the behavior patterns of an underground critter have no bearing on the climatic conditions of an entire nation -- or on anywhere, for that matter.

So, February 2 needs a new claim to fame.

There it is on the calendar, an innocent victim in the mad rush to the all-consuming Valentines Day less than two weeks away. Target and Walgreens have their heart-shaped candy boxes and sappy greeting cards up as soon as New Year's Eve is over (if not sooner). The Groundhog Day merchandise hardly gets any time to shine! Bless its heart.

That's why Amanda and I have chosen to take back February 2 -- to give it a distinction worthy of having! That's the day we're getting married: February 2, 2008. (Pretty sure it's at 5:00 pm.)

So, move over Punxsatawney Phil! The jig is up. Your 15 minutes are over. People ain't buyin' what you're sellin', bro. Let's give people something to REALLY celebrate on February 2!


(Well, at least our family will celebrate, right?)

I am redeemed!

If you read the post about the Damsel in Distress and Dude in a Dilemma, please read this post:

Last night, Amanda called me shortly after I got home from having dinner with her and Braden. It was about 8:30 pm and she was stranded on the shoulder of an overpass on the 610 Loop in the Galleria area. The car had run out of gas. It was dark. It was raining. And she had a four-year old in the back seat.

This situation called for my husband duties to kick in a few months early.

It dawned on me that I was being given a chance to redeem myself from the flat tire incident. Unlike the previous incident on that bright, sunny Sunday morning in the park in a rarely-used driveway with birds chirping and gentle breezes caressing our skin, this new damsel-in-distress situation would be a REAL test -- a woman and child stranded on a highway on a dark and rainy night with cars and trucks and 18-wheelers flying by at over 60 miles per hour.

As I left the house, I wished I had a cape.

About 30 minutes after she called, we were safely at a gas station filling up the car so she could be on her way home. Kudos to Amanda for never once panicking, and kudos to Braden for being brave and courageous (something we had prayed for the night before during the proposal).

Hilburn ... I would like my "man card" back now, please.

The very best post I've ever made ... EVER

I am down-right, beside-myself, thrilled-beyond-words, giddy-like-a-kid-on-Christmas-morning happy to tell you that I am officially engaged!

The big moment went down last night in the HFBC Worship Center. Yesterday was Amanda’s 31st birthday, so we made plans to go to dinner. When I picked her up, I told her, "Honey, I hate to be "that guy" but I have to run up to work. I forgot to leave something on somebody's desk." She was very understanding, so we headed that way.

Since it was raining, I knew she wouldn’t want to get out of the car and come in with me. (Like me, she is very concerned about her hair getting too big when wet.) So, I mentioned that the Worship Center stage was set up beautifully for a taping that was taking place on Tuesday. "Is it 'wedding' beautiful? Could I get some ideas?" she asked. "Yes! You should come in and see!" Problem solved.

We went to my office, took care of the fake errand, and then walked into the choir loft from the 2nd floor entrance. The house lights were all down and only the stage was lit. Free-standing panels blocked her view of the set-up with two chairs and some candles. Once she saw that the candles were already lit, she knew this wasn't for a taping the next day!

Here's what happened next: I read Proverbs 31 to her, shared some personal words, got down on one knee, presented the ring (with 31 stones) to her and asked her if she would marry me. (In case you're not following along, she said "yes.") Then we went down to the prayer rail and read through a prayer guide I had prepared. As we returned to the stage, Watermark's "Made for You" began playing and we danced while rose petals rained on us from up above.

When the song ended, I told her I forgot something and went off stage down one of the ramps where Laura Bell (Amanda's roommate) was waiting with Amanda's four-year old son, Braden. (They had been watching the whole thing from the back of the Worship Center.) I brought Braden out to Amanda and explained to him what I had just done and what it meant – that mommy would be my wife and that I would be his daddy. Using a prayer guide prepared in advance, I prayed for Braden and blessed him. Then, I presented him with a statue of a father and son – and he did not want to put it down, despite our fears that he might break it!

Since it was Amanda's birthday, I told her that the ring was for the engagement, but the Bible that I read Proverbs 31 from was for her birthday. I presented the Bible to her – with "Amanda G. Murray" inscribed on the cover.

Finally, I told them both that I had one more surprise in store. I went off stage again and returned with my alto saxophone that I've had since my sophomore year in high school. Since my schedule this weekend and yesterday was much busier than anticipated, I ended up having to sight read the song for only the 2nd time right then and there! Despite missing more than a few notes along the way, she could still make it out – "The Best Is Yet To Come." And it surely is!

A couple of other moments to share:

• When I got down on one knee, Laura Bell explained to Braden that I was asking his mommy to marry me. He said, "Now?" and took off running toward the stage. He knows that he will be a part of the wedding, so he must have thought that THIS was the wedding and that he was missing out! Fortunately, LB caught him before he made it to the stage.


• At the prayer rail, I discovered that I had placed the "test" copy of the prayer guide for me to use with one side printed upside down. Oh, the irony!


• When we were done on stage and chatting with the folks who had helped out, Braden tried playing the saxophone. He kept pressing the buttons over and over again. "It's not working!" he exclaimed. He missed the whole part about having to blow into it.


• Finally, when we left the church, we discovered that Amanda's car had been broken into in the church parking lot. Her work backpack was stolen, but there was nothing valuable inside -- unless you consider a broken pair of heels and some control-top undergarments valuable!

Thanks to Laura Bell (all-around secret agent and baby-sitter), Micah Dene (rose petal dropper), Becky Smith (decorator), Lincoln and Priscilla Goodwin (sound technicians), and Chad Hamm and Don Munton (plastic bag installers on broken car window) for their help!

A Damsel in Distress and a Dude in a Dilemma

Sunday was Amanda's week to volunteer in Extended Teaching Care at church during the morning services. She loves the opportunity to hold the newborn babies. If I were her, I would love the fact that volunteers are not permitted to change the diapers. That is a paid worker's duty (no pun intended). But I digress ...

So, we decided that I would go to morning church, too, and we planned for her to pick me up just before 9:00 am since I'm on her way to HFBC.

Well, just before 9:00 am Amanda called me. I assumed she was going to tell me she was on her way. Instead, she told me she was stranded in Memorial Park with a flat tire.

This is the part of the story where those of you who know me well are probably thinking to yourself, "Oh no! What's he going to do?" Or, perhaps you thought, "Oh no! Why did Amanda call Steven?"

From my perspective, this is the part of the story where I am suddenly torn between all of the societal pressures to be "that guy" -- the superhero boyfriend who can do it all -- and reality.

Since I was dressed and ready to go, I told her I would be there in a minute. I rounded up my Bible and all the things that would go in a man-bag if they were socially acceptable (phone, keys, sunglasses, iPod, wallet, loose change). All the while, I'm thinking of solutions to the problem. (The tire problem -- not the man-bag problem. Besides, there was a story on the TODAY show that morning about man-bags, so I had some options in mind for that dilemma.)

On the short drive to reach Amanda, I called Option #1 - Memorial Car Care Center at Memorial and 610. Nope -- closed on Sundays.

When I reached the damsel in distress, she was all smiles (as usual) and we couldn't help but laugh at the situation -- not only for the timing of it all, but for what I think we both knew would somehow turn in to a great story.

As we sat in the air-conditioned luxury of my car and watched sweaty people running by, I explained how this was all going to go down:

Yes, I can change the tire. I know how to do that. (In my mind, however, I wondered if foreign cars were any different or more difficult. If that were the case, we were hosed.) However, we are both pretty and ready for church. If I were to change the tire, I would have to go home, shower, and change clothes. That would make us miss the worship service.

Being the wonderful woman she is, she totally understood -- and agreed.

So, we tried Option #2 -- the Shell station across from the Memorial Car Care Center. Nope -- we would have to have it towed to them to change it. That's retarded.

Then Amanda came up with the winning solution -- an ingenious idea that cost nothing (except for a nice dinner and a few hits to my pride). We called David Hilburn.

I dialed his number on my phone and then quickly gave it to her, thinking he would be more responsive to a damsel in distress than a dude. As the phone rang, we realized that my name would come up on his caller ID -- so we hoped he wouldn't notice. Turns out, he wasn't too far away and he said he would gladly come and help her.

Since Amanda did not reveal that I was already on the scene -- and since he did not ask about the caller ID -- Hilburn was surprised to see me when he got there. His first thought was that he would be off the hook since I was there to help.

Wrong.

After some ridicule and threats to blog about it all, Hilburn got to work. Keep in mind that I did help some -- taking the spare and the tools out of the trunk, giving verbal support from the sidelines, and telling Amanda that it's probably not a good idea to lean on a car that is up on a jack. All very valuable contributions, if you ask me.

With the spare "doughnut" in place, we were ready to go.

As Hilburn drove away, he showed me his laptop and said, "All I have to do is find a place with WiFi and I'm posting about this!" You can read his version of the story here.

In "Roles Of A Man" taught by Don Munton (Minister to Single Adults), we learn that a man's role is to provide, protect, teach and guide. I would like to think that I did just that, even if I didn't get dirty. When it was all said and done, Amanda had four tires, she made it to the worship service on time, and she was still pretty -- and so was her boyfriend.

What more could a woman want? (Can I get an "AMEN!" Please?)

A few pics from the road

A couple of items from our trip to Colorado:

A bag of chips I had for lunch had an expiration date of 9/11. "What's the big deal?" you ask? If you don't know, then you don't know my life. Here's some background: August 9, August 12, August 16.



Here's an example of horrible layout and design from a restaurant menu:

Since it's hard to read, let me type it out for you:

Great Kids Menu

• Beer, Wine & Select Premium Spirits
• Try our homemade specialty drinks like the Dogwood Tea, Cactus Pear Margarita and our famous Hurricane!

I don't think that's what they had in mind.

Besides, we were in Colorado ... not Louisiana.