First off, Cindy and I went to our first marriage retreat last weekend. (Well, our first SINCE we've been married. We went to one while we were engaged, and that was a bit awkward. We were there to lead the music during the corporate worship times, but between those times when so many of the other couples took their free time to do... whatever, we just wandered around outside and tried to think naive thoughts. They even put us in adjacent hotel rooms for the weekend. Fortunately, I had my band guys calling me all weekend to make sure I was behaving.) The retreat this time around was good through the Friday and Saturday sessions for which we were present, but since we didn't get to stay for the "renewal of vows" ceremony on Sunday (which lots of people said was the best part), we didn't feel like we made any huge breakthroughs or learned any earth-shattering things that will change our marriage forever. But it was good to have a refresher course on all the basics.
Speaking of which, my grandpa is a cool guy. His name is Silas McGehee, and he's been in ministry for about six and a half decades. He was coming down to retirement time, and the Churches of God Holiness asked him to step in as their interim Executive Secretary for World Missions. He's been doing a great job and they've kept him at it now for several years. He's served longer as the interim than some of the full-fledged executive secretaries have. So why did this paragraph begin with "Speaking of which,"? We were, gentle reader, discussing refresher courses. Yes we were. Well, I was anyway... oh, for pete's sake just go back and read it. See? Okay. My grandpa is a walking refresher course on life. One of his biggest strengths in ministry and just in life is his absolutely fearless approach to speaking wisdom into someone's life. He'll just come up to you and say something like, "Jim, that gal you married is a precious treasure. Don't you DARE. EVER. allow anything to start driving a wedge between the two of you. You've got to communicate and you've got to be patient and forgiving and serve her selflessly." And when he disseminates wisdom like that - on topics from marriage to spirituality, from work ethic to woodcutting - he makes. . . inescapable. . . eye contact. I'm not good at eye contact. I blame it on ADD. But I can't look away when Grandpa's kickin the wisdom. And even though most of the time it's stuff I know, it's always a good refresher, and most of the time it comes at exactly the right moment in my life.
Last night my sister Karen, who married a big hairy preacher named Brandon and moved to Mississippi with him, flew to KC. Her best friend Ashlee is getting married this weekend, so she's here all week for the preparations. So my parents, my other sister Lynette and her big hairy husband Joel, and Cindy and I went out to eat to celebrate my mom's birthday. We went to a restaurant called Carrabba's. It's become a national chain over the past few years, and usually I shun national chains in favor of local flavor. But Carrabba's has a meal that is truly fine. Unfortunately, it's a meal I can only afford a couple of times a year, but it's worth the $16 and change plus tip. It's called Sirloin Steak Marsala. It's an Italian way to cook steak, but for those of you whose idea of italian food starts and stops with a can of Spaghetti-O's, you need to know that not all Italian food contains tomato sauce. It's a perfect sirloin steak grilled with Marsala wine sauce. (And for all the teetotalers out there, no, it won't make you drunk. Sheesh.) It is truly the finest steak I've ever had. And I've had steak that cost me $30-50 plus from elite steak houses in Kansas City and Chicago. Every time I order this steak at Carrabba's, with the garlic mashed potatoes that so perfectly accompany the Marsala sauce, I'm a bit nervous that maybe the steak will be a bit tough or the cook won't be quite at the top of his game. But every time I take the first bite of the steak (which I always order medium - don't order a steak cooked more than that because that gives the cook an excuse to use a cut of meat that's been sitting too long and is less juicy and getting tired), it's like an explosion of amazingness. I know that's quite high praise. But believe me, this is the most honorable way I can think of to memorialize the worthy animal who gave its life for your dinner. If there were a heaven for cattle, the beeves who knew that they had died so that a Carrabba's Sirloin Marsala might be bestowed upon a grateful patron of that esteemed establishment would be happy bovine indeed. Oh, and if you're ever lucky enough to be there and order the aforementioned steak, order the lentil and sausage soup if it's available. It's spicy and comforting at the same time.
While we're on food, on Saturday, Chad Pollard and I are organizing the first "God, Guys, and Grub" men's breakfast at church. I love breakfast food. Pancakes, eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy, waffles, french toast, omelettes, oatmeal, cereal, juice and coffee, bacon, all of it. This weekend we're making this:
I'm excited.
By the way, have you noticed that a disproportionately high percentage of my blog entries deal with food in some way? Of course not. You don't read my blog. You aren't even sure why you're reading this sentence, except that despite the fact that the world economy teeters on the brink of frightening recession, you're desperately clutching at something, anything, to do to prevent yourself from actually becoming productive while you sit at your computer. And reading some poor schmo's blog is as legitimate a time waster as any.
