Two in a Year: Rapture

I woke up this morning, May 21, 2011 with mixed feelings.

I am super pumped about seeing Jesus and all, but I was a little apprehensive about not seeing my kids grow up. So when my alarm went off in the call room at work this morning at 6:40 am, I was: a) very happy; b) slightly wistful;  but mostly c) sorry for all the poor ~~saps~~ people who got ~~duped~~ influenced by Harold Camping's numerology ~~hooey~~ hypotheses, and come May 22, now have no jobs, no families, no homes, no 401k's, and no "doctrine" to support their "beliefs" anymore.

Maybe Mr. Camping's calculator needs new batteries.

Or maybe he should have listened to my mama. She always told me, "Believe only what God says, not what man says". Mamas are usually right, ya'll.

In Mark 13:32   Jesus Hisself says, “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father". There ya go. In His very own words. How can that be misinterpreted, people, really?   Really?

(I say "really?" a lot in everyday life, too. Mostly to give voice to my frustration with foolish people who irritate me. Like Mr. Schwarzenegger. REALLY??).

I had a lot of time last week to consider the apocalypse. In fact, ten hours on a bumpy plane with a very active and vocal 19-month-old had me praying for it at several points along our journey. But in the end, I decided I am not yet ready to go.

You see, I hate to fly. Those are strong words coming from someone who loves to travel as much as I do, but flying absolutely does me in. I don't know if it's the lack of control, or the cognitive dissonance that takes place in my brain as I try and reconcile the physics of 200 people and all their baggage hurtling through the air six miles above terra firma in a winged biscuit can. Or, it could be as my husband says and maybe I'm just a Drama Queen. I even tried to face down my fears by taking flying lessons at various points of elevated bravado in the past fifteen years. But even that doesn't help. Whatever the reasons, I don't like flying and flying doesn't like me.  However. It's how you have to get from Point A to Point B.

Or from Dallas to Vivi & Papa.

Or... across half the country and the Pacific to Hawaii so your daughter can be the most fabulous flower girl EVAH in a beautiful wedding on the beach of one of your dearest friends.

Oh yes, friends, it was quite a trip.

I can't even begin to tell you how fabulous is was. We had such a blast. The kids were great - couldn't have been better (no, really!). The weather was gorgeous. A bunch of dear friends all gathered in one place to celebrate such a happy occasion. Even the hundreds of hippies and their chemically-induced fun at the rave conference at our hotel (??, I know!) only made it more memorable (for us, that is. I doubt the hippies will remember one detail of their weekend).

Geni's new husband, Ke'o was born and raised on the Big Island.  Mr. Trump, does this or does this not mean Ke'o could one day be president?   Really? -Sorry, sidebar. Anyway, Ke'o. All of his family lives on the Island, and they could not have made us feel more welcome. In fact, I felt like they were all cousins or aunts and uncles by the time we left.   His sisters are beautiful - warm, generous, and very talented - one is a professional photographer and took incredible photos of the whole week, and the other made all the leis, Aria's crown, and the astounding arrangements from flowers she cut herself from their family farm in the mountains. The day before the wedding, the bride and groom took us on a sunset catamaran cruise, and the day after the wedding, Ke'o's family hosted a picnic at an active volcano. How cool is that?

I have many stories to tell, and not the brain power nor the energy (the laundry, oh my holy moly, the laundry!), so I'll just post a few pictures from the trip until I can organize my house and thoughts enough to write more.

Enjoy!

Arrival after a loooooooooooooooong day: