No one can hear you scream

In the end, it was the friends, not the house, that impressed the most. And with a brand new house like Eugene and Joanie's, that's saying a lot.

It's a special thing, an evening spent with friends in their home. We were welcomed, given the tour, and had a grand time oohing and ahhing at their gorgeous digs. The kitchen is a perfect place for a family to hang out. There's hardwood flooring handscraped by prison inmates. The iron railing on the stairway looks like it came from an Italian villa.

We moved downstairs for pizza which was paired perfectly with wine, for no other reason than it's the wine we happened to bring. Pomegranate martinis were mixed by our host, and then it was movie time.

Ah yes, the main event. I can't begin to do justice to the techie aspects of the theater room. I'll use terms like waaaay cool. Red leather power reclining seats. Ginormous screen. Sound that registers on the Riechter scale. Clarity of sound and picture that makes you dodge the bullets. And there were bullets, since we watched the great western 3:10 to Yuma.

It was like Tinseltown, only better. No crowds to wade through. No loud comments from the row behind you. And halfway through the movie, we paused the movie, refreshed our drinks, exchanged comments on the plot, and went back when we were ready.

It was a grand evening. But when I think back, here's what really brings a smile to my face; the best part was how much our hosts enjoyed sharing something they really loved. Eugene and Joanie love their house. But not more than the people in their lives.

The house is beautiful. The theater room is amazing. But not so long ago, in a galaxy not so far away, these friends are out of this world.

All the Colors

From this poet's dusty shelf:

Sings the artist to his painting
Words unheard and words unseen
Paints the singer on the canvas
All the colors never known
Writes the poet with his fingers
Dipped in blood from out his soul
Disappears the pained creator
There stands truth, and art is whole

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.

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Moving Crew

I've never had so much fun moving furniture. Maybe because it wasn't mine. But mostly because of the crew I worked with. And their wonderfully fun attitude.

Let me introduce them in order of enthusiasm:

Joseph - What an adventurer. Figuring out how to take apart a table or move a bookshelf is amazing when you're 9. Sitting on top of the truck cab while it's in motion is better.

Emmanuel (Manny) - Half workhorse, half engineer. If he could budge it, he would move it to where he wanted it. At 8, anything is possible.

Peter - The senior brother (11), and carries himself with the wisdom his position calls for. He actually thinks before he acts.

Rebecca - At 13, that perfect in between little girl and young woman attitude. She was the tomboy who loved to jump in and help, and the young lady who knew how to stay out of the way.

Larry - The grown up. The blend of brain and brawn was great for working with kids and furniture. And nobody told him that moving your Mother-in-law's furniture shouldn't be a fun way to spend a Saturday morning.

Not in the photo, but certainly in the picture:

Shar, the queen of packing and crowd control.

Carol, the queen of food and organization.

MaryGrace, the four-year-old queen of "Don't step on me sitting in the middle of the room while you carry a sofa over my head."

Emptying your Mom's house is exhausting and stressful. And on this day, fun.

Quiet Praise

I don't know how to write this. But I have to try.

The musician tonight at the local hangout, let's call him John, just sang the most painfully beautiful worship song. It was more beautiful because I know more about John.

See a couple of years ago, when John sang a song like that, it was with a beaming smile. He was joyful, seemingly always. Praise radiated when he sang.

And then the trials came. Difficulties personal, spiritual, physical, mental. When I first saw him after a year, I did not recognize him. The joy, the life, was gone.

He's better now. The glow is coming back. It's quieter, the smile more reserved. He lets you in carefully. The joy simmers, not bubbles.

And tonight he sang. It was beautiful. And when he sang about singing, praising, dancing in the dark times, there was a depth, a vulnerability. In the midst of a noisy coffee shop, there was a holy hush. I forgot to breathe.

Sometimes worship is loud and celebrating. Tonight, worship spoke quietly. Reverently. Lovingly. Tonight there was praise on the other side of pain.


Weak and wounded sinner
Lost and left to die
O, raise your head, for love is passing by
Come to Jesus...and live!

Now your burden's lifted
And carried far away
And precious blood has washed away the stain, so
Sing to Jesus...and live!

And like a newborn baby
Don't be afraid to crawl
And remember when you walk sometimes we fall, so
Fall on Jesus...and live!

Sometimes the way is lonely
And steep and filled with pain
So if your sky is dark and pours the rain, then
Cry to Jesus...and live!

O, and when the love spills over
And music fills the night
And when you can't contain your joy inside, then
Dance for Jesus...and live!

And with your final heartbeat
Kiss the world goodbye
Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory's side, and
Fly to Jesus...and live!

Chris Rice / Untitled Hymn (Come To Jesus)
(repetitions at...edited)