I can hardly contain my excitement. My friend Lisa is sharing her powerful testimony with you today. Can't let her talk without me telling you first how wonderful it has been to get to know her. Several years ago we were having a Bible study at our church in Trinity. We were told that there were some ladies at the local House of Hope who would be joining us, but needed a ride. I was one of the ladies who volunteered a ride. Lisa was one of the ladies who joined us for Bible study. The House of Hope is a temporary home for those recovering from addiction. I quickly grew to love those ladies, especially Lisa. They were serious about their study of the Bible. We also would have a snack and game night on Fridays, always a most enjoyable time. These ladies are so strong. Their wild faith pointed me to a powerful Jesus I had yet to experience (Oh me of little faith).
I've read over Lisa's testimony over and over, and I tell you, she's got me singing.
Come to this fountain so rich and sweet,
Cast thy poor soul at thy savior's feet;
Plunge in today and be made complete
GLORY TO HIS NAME!
Now I'll let you hear from Lisa:
Isn’t it amazing how God allows you to see what His Word has for you, in just the right time, at just the right moment?
One instance that I refer to is during a service one night, the pastor was teaching out of John 5. The story goes somewhat like this.
Jesus had gone into Jerusalem for one of the Jewish feasts. The First Fruits Feast. It was the feast when the people would bring in all their first fruits of their labors, being crops, animals, textiles, etc to be sacrificed. The sacrifices would go to the priests, the Levites, because, by law, they were only allowed to go about their priestly duties, and studies. They were not allowed to work, to toil in fields or raise animals.
During these feasts, people who were ailing, ill, lame, or having other afflictions would come to bathe in the healing waters of Bethesda, meaning, 5 colonnades, or 5 porches. Picture hundreds, maybe thousands of people trying to get to the water’s edge so that when the water was disturbed by an angel, the first one into the water would be healed.
During this one particular feast, was a man laying near the water. He had been afflicted for many years, 38. Jesus got word of this particular man, and went in search for him. when Jesus found him, he asked the man if he wanted to be healed. The man replied that he had no one to help him into the water. Jesus then told the man to rise, take up his mat, that he was healed.
We read and hear of the many miracles that Jesus performed while here on earth. Many people believe that the healing power of Jesus continues today. Some, unfortunately, do not. I am here to tell you….That the healing power of Jesus is amongst us today.
I accepted Jesus Christ into my heart when I was 9. I was raised in a loving, Christian atmosphere. Because of poor choices, I became a drug addict, that eventually led me into a life of homelessness and prostitution. I had been homeless about 6 and 1/2 years, addicted to a $400 a day habit of crack cocaine, after years of abusing methamphetamine, cocaine, morphine and heroin. Three times I had entered secular rehabs, where I was told after about a week, that they couldn’t help me. They could find no funding for me. I had no children, I was too old, too young, etc….
After being on the streets of Houston about 3 years, an organization in Houston Texas called 45 & Hope, scraped me off the streets and found a place for me in a faith-based rehab for women in Trinity Texas, named, House of Hope. About 3 weeks into my rehabilitation, we attended a women’s conference in Crockett, Texas, at Harvest Baptist Church. I didn’t want to be there. I spent all morning watching what time it was, going back and forth to the ladies room.
After lunch, things changed.
I don’t have a clue what the speaker spoke about. When she asked if anyone needed prayer, I found myself surrounded by her prayer warriors, not remembering the walk I took to the front. I didn’t request any particular prayer, but I later walked out of that church renewed through my faith and through Jesus Christ as being delivered from drugs, and in a walk with my Lord that would begin my healing emotionally and spiritually as well.
The man at the Bethesda and I have a lot in common. We both were afflicted for 38 years. Yes, I was an addict that long. We both searched for help into healing waters that was not found. Jesus came in search for us, found us, healed us. Jesus told us both to stand. Today I stand before many believers, doubters, and non-believers as proof that Jesus continues to heal and perform miracles today.
Today, I am free to assist others in their search for deliverance, their search for healing. I enjoy the fellowship I have with the homeless and addicts in the East Texas area. I find renewed strength daily in prayer, in God’s Word. As a state certified Peer Recovery Coach, I help the homeless find shelter, I help the addict find a rehab that will benefit their needs, free of charge. If you know of anyone who is willing and ready for help, call me on my cell at 903-522-0857.
It's so nice to get to talk to you again. That's one thing I love about Facebook; how I've been able to reconnect with you. Many of you now have jobs. Some of you are married (Hope you made good choices). One of you became a mama day before yesterday (Congratulations)! One of you just joined seminary and one is about to go on a mission trip to Africa. Some of you will be donning a cap and gown this week (Wish I could be there).
Just today the little gray faceless heads on my Facebook screen lit up red notifying me that I had a friend request. It was one of you. As soon as I saw your name my heart immediately flooded with memories of you, who like so many others captured my heart. I accepted the request and sent you a message. "Hey Gabino old friend!"
Your reply wasn't one I was expecting:
"I can't believe you remembered me!"
What?! I was CRAZY about you, I thought. You had to have known.
How could I forget listening to you read your first book from a stool placed in front of the class. You were so proud and I was too. You laughed the whole way through the book. I listened to many of you read your first book. We read Junie B. and shook our heads at the messes she continually got herself in like the time she hid her fuzzy bunny slippers under the bed because she had took scissors and "snip, snip, snipped their sweet white fur". How could I forget the stories you used to tell about chasing goats or how you always used to get in trouble during music time because the music teacher didn't like the way you were dancing something like the Cotton-eyed Joe to the classical music played on the portable boom box? Remember how "having to change your color" was the worst thing in the world? I remember how one of you was obsessed with Tyrannysaurus Rex; another of you with Pokemon.
Wouldn't you know that just yesterday I came across a big plastic tub full of stuff that included a class picture with you in it? You were all in there. Your letters to me were in there. Your pictures of rainbows arching over stick figures of you and me were in there too. I found a journal where I prayed for all of you. I have an envelope from one of you that you sealed with chewed bubble gum because the envelope didn't have it's own "sticky". I have thick stacks of pictures that I took of you back when we used to develop film.
I still tell stories about you. I tell about the time I laughed at you and said "You're funny!" I can still see your stone-serious second grade face "Am I'M laughing?" Or the time one of you requested that I help you choose a girlfriend by allowing you to pick one of the girl's names out of our can that held names on popsicle sticks.
I would have taken you all home with me if I'd thought your mom and dad wouldn't protest.
I know I fussed at you. I'm sure you shed tears in my class; either for a time I got on to you, or a time when someone was unkind to you or when you skinned your knee on the playground. Know that I hated the tears you shed even when I might have been the person that caused them. I wanted what was best for you. I wanted you to work harder. I wanted you to learn to be ok when other kids were excluding you. I wanted to teach you to be kind when you were the one doing the excluding. Every last day of school I can guarantee you, I was the one shedding tears.
When you left my classroom you didn't leave my mind. You didn't escape my heart. You are all pieces of a wonderful tapestry God has woven into my life.
I can't expect that you'd know how special you all were to me, but I expect you to hear me out when I tell you that God puts an extra special kind of love into a teacher's heart. He allows a special kind of remembering of stories, and of victories big and small, and of laughter.
I crammed as much knowledge as I could into those little heads of yours. But for old time sake let me say one more thing.
I know God has a plan for you; one He privileged me to be a small part of.
It's a plan that I'd give anything to see played out, but even if our paths don't cross again I trust this.
You'll have teachers who love you like the dickens. And parents who love you and want to see you succeed even more. You'll have big dreams of your own.
But God says:
11 I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.
12 "When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I'll listen.
13-14 "When you come looking for me, you'll find me.
"Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else, I'll make sure you won't be disappointed." Jeremiah 29,11-14
I'm sitting here this morning with my significant other at the Sunshine Washateria. I'm being lulled by the hum of the machines and the fact that there's nothing I can really do but sit at the moment. And think. And enjoy my blueberry cake donut and my husband's company.
A couple of minutes ago he snapped a picture of me in all my Monday morning holiday glory; messy ponytail with a bite of donut in my mouth. I protested but then gave in.
I sit facing a front loading washing machine. You know the kind that has the round window where you can watch your clothes wash. The window really seems unnecessary but I had to have a window last time we bought a washer. You see how well that turned out. We bought our washer two years ago and here I am at the washateria.
I like washing machine windows. I like windows period. What I see doesn't always have to be beautiful. I just like to see.
Socks swirling in dingy water isn't that pretty.
I remember a long season where I felt I wasn't attractive on the inside or outside. I was very reserved and spent way too much time considering what my appealing qualities were. (I still do that.) I refused to go out in public unless I met my expectations of presentable. During my middle school years and through high school, my hair had to be in perfect place, sprayed down with my supersize can of Rave.
Anytime I went to the "beauty salon" I would immediately thereafter retreat to my bathroom and not come out until my hair was fixed, making all right with the world.
And being in pictures? Forget it. I saw the camera as a weapon to be used against me. I dodged the lens for years. I remember agreeing (for some crazy reason, probably peer pressure) during high school to do Glamour shots. I'll never forget my Granny looking at them and saying "I just think you're better in person". I remember being surprised at her candor.
But now I think I get it.
The "glamour shot" me is such a flat, ingenuine, imposter version of myself.
What would be the point of framing and passing out wallet-sized pictures of a me sporting a white fur boa-thing with helmet hair? It's not me. Well technically it was me, but only underneath the caked makeup and forced smile. Why would I only be willing to share a misrepresented me?
The real me is messy.
The real me isn't always pretty.
In fact the "pretty" me is often a staged fallacy. I find myself wanting you to see only the sweet me. The neat me. The "I obey traffic rules and always say grace before I eat" me.The "I completely have-it-all-together" me.
But that's barely and rarely me.
I decided some time ago that I want to invite people into my life, my real life. A life that isn't always pretty, but a life that reflects the work of God. A dingy life in continual need of the cleansing power of God. And like I like my washing machines, I've decided to choose a style with a window.
I once thought these things were valuable, but now I consider them worthless because of what Christ has done. Yes everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. Phillipians 3:7,8
He makes all things beautiful in His time. Ecclesiastes 3:11
There's something I do that's got to be one of the dumbest things ever. I subscribe to news pages on my Facebook account (that, of course isn't the dumb thing). I read a controversial article like the one about the ninety-three year old woman in Hearne that was shot by a police officer, or an article about how bullies are a product of parents who never cared to teach their children better.
The writers of these articles are gifted at inciting the emotions of Know-it-alls like myself. Thus here comes the dumb part; I read the comments at the end of the article. I silently warn myself as I scroll, "Don't do it, don't read these". But invariably, I read the comments. And I find myself boiling at the insensitivity and lack of knowledge some people feel the need to share. Even worse, my finger hovers over the keyboard willing to give my piece.
Like many people, I always have an opinion and it's usually a strong one. But in the moments that I have my wits about me, I realize that my opinion is only based on my knowledge and personal experience. I'd be foolish not to realize that my scope of brilliance on such matters is limited.
We weren't there. I wasn't there when a lady driving in Beaumont struck a child in the road. I don't know whether she was looking at her phone. I also don't know if the child's mother put her outside unsupervised to be in the road.
Many times in teaching, I've had kids that would want to accompany their buddies to come and share how "Jade" was mean to "Lisa". One of my first questions would be "Were you there? If not, I don't need to hear from you". Many times little mobs would form, creating trouble where it wasn't.
I see the same mob mentality from adults every day in the comment section of just about every article written; even on seemingly indisputable subjects. Ignorantly, I've often silently joined that mob.
We can only make assumptions. Recently a tragedy occurred where a Senior girl was found dead in a hotel room in the early morning after her prom. Many commenters immediately assumed that her mother allowed her to be in that hotel room and spewed venom towards a broken woman who only hours before had lost her child. I get that we wonder why the young girl was at the hotel. I get how we allow our mind to form a scenario, but we don't need to assume and then share those judgements based on those assumptions. It's reckless.
When I'm talking (in expert form) I often hear the words God spoke to Job,
"Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without wisdom".
We fail to recognize that the author often intentionally only lets us know what they want us to know. Back to the case of the ninety-three year old shot by the police officer. Many of the articles I read made it sound like a "gun happy" officer drove to an elderly woman's house and fired at a defenseless woman without cause.
I then read where her nephew called 911 because she had taken possession of a firearm because he wouldn't hand over her keys after she failed her driving test. He stated that she fired three shots toward the officer before he fired at her.
Why do I think the information was missing from the other articles? Because there seems to be a bandwagon of believers thinking that officers, in cockiness, shoot because they can. I can't deny that this may happen, but I believe that there's often effort to portray officers this way. Likewise there's a bandwagon of believers who feel parents other than themselves are lazy, selfish and ignorant.
Knowing all this, I guess I'm still charmed with the curiosity that has killed droves of cats. I read knowing the doom. And then I get so exasperated that I feel the need to pipe in with my own two cents.
As much as I love Facebook, it's the perfect playground for this sort of nonsense. We have a platform from which to speak, even if our comments are nonsense. Sometimes our platform is bigger if our comments are nonsense. We unwittingly have that knee jerk reaction.
I recently read how ALL parents who treat their children under the autism spectrum with medication are lazy at best and child abusers at worst. "They shouldn't even have children." I read comments on how obese children are in fact obese only because their parents put them in front of a TV and feed them sugar all day.
Parenting skills are bashed. Police officers, teachers and other professionals have their name run in the ground without the whole story. We're still entitled to freedom of speech. I hope that privilege is never taken from us. But as Christians, don't we have a responsibility that weighs at least equal to that freedom?
With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings who have been made in God's likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be. James 3: 9,10
I often consider my feelings righteous indignation. Am I ever wrong about that? And even more, am I supposed to think that inciting online mob violence is more purposeful than laying our frenzied thoughts and comments at the feet of the one who is always present, never makes assumptions and is the author of the whole truth?
Jason and I are both off work on Fridays. We were both bummed this morning when we realized that today will be the last Friday that we're free from appointments AND we're kidless (We still have the kids, just meant the kids are still in school). But I must say, despondent as we were to be ending our Fridates, we scored big time this time.
Last week a dear friend of mine, Jen, sent me an awesome link to "Five under the radar restaurants in Beaumont". I have a short attention span, I know, but the first eating spot sounded so perfectly delightful that I didn't get any farther on the list. I yelled across the room to Jason, "Hey, I found our next date!"......And boy, had I.
Today we checked out Abbie's Specialty Foods and Deli. It's a Mediterranean joint on Fannett Rd. And get this: It's a RV parts store too. I had to see it to believe it. This was our best lunch yet. I'm already thinking of an excuse to go back, for say a pound of olives or something this country girl finds exotic, I counted over forty different kinds of tea.
I have a long list of things that impressed me about this place. Jason's doing the actual food review, so I won't double dip on how good the food was or how friendly and kind the employees were. I just have to say...... Hummus pizza. Man.
And I have to tell you that you walk up to the counter and place your order for a sandwich, pizza, or salad and then they invite you to grab some tea or a cold drink. They don't watch you or write down what drinks you get. They also have baklava you can help yourself to. When you're leaving, you just tell the cashier what drinks and desserts you had, and he rings you up. I know I can't be the only one who immediately thinks, "Wow, I can have four helpings of baklava, and they'd never know". I mean, they actually trust you to be honest without the fear of getting slighted by the customers. I like that.
Hummus pizza. MMM. Said it again.
As we were leaving, I noticed a copy of the ten commandments and a small poster of the 103 Psalm. We left and drove half a mile to Tyrrell Park to finish off a date for the books. On a bench we read the 103 Psalm that once again reminded of God's goodness.
Let all that I am praise the Lord; with my whole heart, I will praise his name. Let all that I am praise the Lord; may I never forget the good things he does for me. Psalm 103:1,2
Jason’s Take on Abbie’s
Service
Abbie’s is as simple as it comes. You walk in, grab a drink out of the cooler, take 5 steps over to the counter and place your order, grab a seat and salivate because of the smell of pita bread in the oven. There was a super nice lady who waited on us and gave us recommendations as to what to get. She didn’t even laugh at me when I tried to order my Gyro. I still don’t think I know how to say that right. (Gy-Ro….Hy-Ro….He-Ro?) She was kind, and also from Nederland, which is always a plus to do business with a neighbor. Since it was out first time to dine with them, she walked us through the process. “Just tell them at the counter what you had to drink and how much Baklava you had.” They are very trusting. I appreciated the service with a smile. Friendly service make good food taste even better!
Atmosphere
There’s not much going on here, but that’s OK. There are things you can get here that you can’t get anywhere else.
There were a smattering of tables and chairs inside and a couple of tables outside. We were early as to avoid the lunch rush. We arrived right at 11:00 AM. That was a good thing, too. By the time we left, folks were starting to come in and get their fix of Greek goodness. Most of the patrons were grabbing their food to go.
The place was clean and the people were friendly. That goes a long way toward making the ambience what it ought to be. I can do without silverware on the table.
Price
Great Prices. That’s all I can say. I actually ordered two meals worth of food for just myself! Kristi and I shared it all of course. Most everything was under $7.
Selection
Abbie’s serves a good variety of Mediterranean dishes. There were things on the menu I’d never heard of before today. I didn’t try any of those things, but I’ll be going back. The market portion of the store is a cultural cornucopia. I picked up some legit Arabian coffee. There were imported items from many part of the world. AND this is the only place in America, that I know of, that sells a Ginger Beer similar to what I’ve enjoyed in Kenya and South Africa.
Tastiness
I think you’ve been waiting long enough for this part. Let me begin with telling you what we had. I ate a Humus Pizza and a Greek Gyro. Kristi had an Agur (a big meaty sandwich dressed with blue cheese).
First, the Humus Pizza blew us away. Kristi would have eaten the whole thing by herself if I hadn’t threatened here with my fork! Only kidding about the fork thing. I’m dead serious about the part where she would have eaten it herself! Don’t even ask me what Humus is. Just trust me that it’s super terrific and your tongue will beg for more.
The Gyro (however you say it) was tasty in its own right. It’s wrapped up in a Pita (a thick, delicious tortilla looking thing) and garnished with tzatziki sauce. It’s a yogurt thing and it’s great. For the record. I let Kristi have a bite and she liked it.
I ate half of Kristi’s Agur. It’s a big sandwich tasty deli meats and strong blue cheese. Come hungry if you order one of these. I’m not usually a fan of the blue cheese, but it worked with the combination of deli meats stacked high in a ciabatta bun.
If you get a chance, try the Ginger Beer. It’s STRONG root beer.
Here's a link to the top five under the radar restaurants as posted by the Beaumont Enterprise.
AND here's the whole 103 Psalm. I'm feeling rather generous today.
1 Let all that I am praise the Lord;
with my whole heart, I will praise his holy name. 2 Let all that I am praise the Lord;
may I never forget the good things he does for me. 3 He forgives all my sins
and heals all my diseases. 4 He redeems me from death
and crowns me with love and tender mercies. 5 He fills my life with good things.
My youth is renewed like the eagle's!
6 The Lord gives righteousness
and justice to all who are treated unfairly.
7 He revealed his character to Moses
and his deeds to the people of Israel. 8 The Lord is compassionate and merciful,
slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love. 9 He will not constantly accuse us,
nor remain angry forever. 10 He does not punish us for all our sins;
he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve. 11 For his unfailing love toward those who fear him
is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth. 12 He has removed our sins as far from us
as the east is from the west. 13 The Lord is like a father to his children,
tender and compassionate to those who fear him. 14 For he knows how weak we are;
he remembers we are only dust. 15 Our days on earth are like grass;
like wildflowers, we bloom and die. 16 The wind blows, and we are gone—
as though we had never been here. 17 But the love of the Lord remains forever
with those who fear him.
His salvation extends to the children's children 18 of those who are faithful to his covenant,
of those who obey his commandments!
19 The Lord has made the heavens his throne;
from there he rules over everything.
20 Praise the Lord, you angels,
you mighty ones who carry out his plans,
listening for each of his commands. 21 Yes, praise the Lord, you armies of angels
who serve him and do his will! 22 Praise the Lord, everything he has created,
everything in all his kingdom.
Let all that I am praise the Lord.
Here are our other food reviews (in case you missed them)
Be sure and check out Jason's website if you haven't in a while www.pastorburden.com
Last thing. Really....
Don't forget to subscribe if you want posts sent to you by email. On your laptop, type your email address in the bar located at the tip top right hand corner right above the subscribe button. On your smartphone, keep on scrolling to find the subscribe bar. I'm three friends away from fifty.
Mondays stink. This is especially so when you typically wash clothes on Sunday night but mid-washing, your machine breaks. I might add that my oven door is broke. I shouldn't, but I'll also add that I have a pantry- so full of gypsy moths that they've been given their own zip code. I can't deal with them currently. I'll extinguish them some day, but not today.
But here's the thing. Monday didn't stink, even though it had the markings of a rotten day. Hayden texted me around lunch saying he would go with me to the washateria to wash our clothes. It's funny how such a simple offering is a big deal. But it is. I love it when it's his idea to spend time with me. I grabbed two pints of Bluebell and a couple of those wooden spoon/sticks from the Helena Drive in and knew we had the makings of a good "date".
Sitting side by side, Hayden told me I looked like Rosie the Riveter. Clueless, I asked who that was. And as Hayden began to tell me, I knew that this whole "washateria trip" was meant to be.
Truth is, when he reminded me of her famous image, I thought to myself that I don't hold a candle to the 1941 poster woman, Rosie. I'm not the symbol of female empowerment. Most days I lack physical strength and Thomas the Engine's "I think I can" is a foreign concept. I have a list of the things I CAN'T.
But today I had a thought. Maybe even a good one.
For some, Rosie is an icon who represents the image of women who courageously replaced male workers during WWII. They blazed the trail for women of that generation and generations to follow. They worked tirelessly, dutifully and with strength in factories to produce war supplies.
But I think in the hum of the Speed Queen dryers I could hear Rosie whispering to me. She told me, that more than shattering the glass ceiling, we as women need to rise to the occasion.
I heard her say that the occasion is different every day. Some days "rising to the occasion" may mean cleaning that week old drip of Spaghettios off of your white cabinets, buying toilet paper or keeping calm in traffic. It may mean going to the same unexciting job you've had for twelve years, but with a new attitude.
Other days your occasion may be a quick trip to Dairy Queen with your daughter who's having friend problems. Your occasion might consist of listening to a history lesson given by your seventeen year old, on who Rosie the Riveter is. Your occasion may be going on that date with your husband that you've both been putting off because time and money are sparse. Don't miss the occasion to visit your lonely neighbor who just lost her husband. Your occasion isn't found out of reach (some glass ceiling overhead). It's in front of your nose. And though your daily occasion is seldom dazzling, it's important.
Rosie, in her red polka-dotted head rag, told me that my occasion may not look like hers or like those woman whose accomplishments seem to far exceed mine. Rosie told me that it didn't matter that the muscle in my bicep far from matches hers. She told me that the Rosie's of her generation were filling a need meant for them. She told me that there were women at that time doing other work that was just as important as what they were doing in the factories.
She told me that purpose looks different for different people and reminded me that we as women often have the wrong view on "aspiring". She said that there's nothing wrong cultural-designed aspirations (being beautiful, fit and successful -with beautiful, fit and successful children) , but that often we're too busy thinking about that we wished we could do and be, and we miss the simple, yet important opportunity in front of us. (Or yet, we meet the occasion but remain disappointed for what we haven't done).
"Aspire to serve," she said.
Aspire to be different.
"Aspire to work at the little things", she told me.
Aspire to be unafraid.
Aspire to be content with where you are even if it's in the washateria.
Aspire to be strong; not the bulging bicep kind, but the strong that comes from a high place.
And then you will be able to slay dragons,………or at least that zip code of moths that await you in your pantry.
14-19 My response is to get down on my knees before the Father, this magnificent Father who parcels out all heaven and earth. I ask him to strengthen you by his Spirit—not a brute strength but a glorious inner strength....... Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live full lives, full in the fullness of God.
20-21 God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us. Ephesians 3 (The Message)
If you'd like to receive my posts by email, don't forget to subscribe. Just type your email in the right hand column on your computer at the top of this post in the subscribe bar. On your smartphone, keep scrolling the find the subscribe bar. Thanks for reading.
I'm a little uncomfortable typing right now. My laptop could near lay on my belly while I type just like my plate could when I was with child. I had a good lunch. (Not to mention a large dip-cone from DQ in honor of my Swedish sister Eva who mentioned last Friday that "You shoulda had ice cream too". If you've forgotten or haven't been told, it's Friday. And Jason and I have decided to celebrate every Friday in May while at the same time making our contribution to SETX by dining at the local eateries and then giving a review. Don't mention it. It's our pleasure. Really.
Today we decided to eat at Bruce's Seafood Deli in Port Arthur. We'd heard about it from a couple of friends. They compared Bruce's to the now closed J Martin's Seafood on Nederland Ave. I agree. It near seems that J Martin must have changed his name and moved on down the road to Port Arthur. Bruce's serves salt and pepper shrimp so tasty that even if you order a large order of them, you'll only be willing to share one shrimp with your wife. If you like oysters, you're in luck too. There's more oyster than "fried outside", which is important. I was sorry to see J Martin's go but Bruce, you're alright too.
I'm so full that I've asked Jason's help in writing this review. Here's his take.
Service
We arrived at Bruce's right around 11:00 AM. The lunch crowd had not yet formed, but business was definitely picking up. By the time we placed our orders a line had formed behind us. A steady stream of hungry people entered Bruce's while we were there. There aren't a lot of bells and whistles as far as service goes. The menu is on the wall behind the counter, the lady at the front takes your order, and you go wait for your dish to come out. I take it that Bruce's is more of a take-out place than a sit-down restaurant. This matters very little to me. Just don't arrive expecting to be waited on hand and foot. There are tradeoffs here. On one hand, you have to bus your own table. On the other hand, you get to save money on the tip. I'm all for saving money to spend on dessert. For what they are doing, I would say they are doing it well.
Atmosphere
I didn't go there for the ambience. That being said, I found it to be clean and uncluttered. It reminded me of the old J. Martin's Seafood on Nederland Ave. I suspect there was a connection between Bruce's and J. Martin's. It was something about the oversized crawfish hanging variously on the walls that left that impression with me. The best part about the atmosphere was the light hearted conversations I could overhear between the patrons. Folks were trading stories, laughing and having a good time. I enjoy a place where people come to enjoy themselves.
Price - $$
This was good seafood. Kristi and I paid @ $26 for two plates of food plus drinks. That's on par with what we would spend just about anywhere else. What throws us off is that I always make Kristi get the next size up from what she would normally order. She would have ordered the 6 fried oyster plate if I had not intervened and upped it to the 9. It was well worth the money. Selection
Oh my gosh…they had more items on their menu than you can shake a stick at. There were pictures on the wall to advertise certain plates. I'm going to have to go back a few times to get my mind around the menu. It was too large to take in during a single visit. Most of it was fried items but there were some other offerings as well.
Tastiness
I had a combination I've never put together before: Salt and Pepper Shrimp and Chicken Wings. I'll admit, when I saw the picture of this dish on the wall, I thought it was the Shrimp and Catfish. I wasn't disappointed. The wings were tasty. The shrimp were large (as far as shrimp go). The food wasn't greasy and it was seasoned just right. It was piping hot when we got it to our table. As I mentioned earlier, Kristi had the Fried Oysters. Good choice! I judge a fried oyster by whether or not it tastes like an oyster after they've fried it. These were oysters! I could have eaten all of my plate and two of Kristi's!
Overall, this was a really good idea. We finished off the lunch date by picking up an ice cream at DQ and then eating it down at the river in Port Neches. No big boats came by but it was a wonderful day to have the windows down, catch some sun, and hang out with my best friend!
In case you wanted to try Bruce's for yourself, here's a map.
I get all excited when the mail comes this time of year. Just about every day when we check our mail closet, I find a handwritten envelope…… and I know. I know that it's an invitation. I can tell by the look of the envelope. I always hope for pictures on the invitation; particularly if it's a graduation invitation or an engagement announcement inviting us to a future wedding.
I received a shower invitation a week or so ago that had a RSVP card that requested a reply different from the usual. Unlike other RSVPs I've seen, this card asked the recipient to choose one of the following
___Wouldn't miss it for the world
___Will celebrate from afar
Unsure why at the moment, I recorded those nicely-worded responses to my memory not knowing that they would come to my aid a week later. I've had people trouble this week. For one, I found myself faced with a sullen argumentative young person earlier in the week. No matter how sensible and calm I tried to remain, my interaction with this person spiraled until I felt so irritated , had I been a oyster, my clamoring insides would have produced a whole string of pearls. Not that I'm ever hard to love…..
In the midst of my people problems, Rylie (our youngest) asked me to make her lunch last night. Not that the lunches I make are all that exciting. They're not. I've been trying to make the lunches healthy. I also might mention I haven't grocery shopped in a few days. Add in my lack of creativity and she ends up with a lot of lunches I'm glad I'm not eating. She told me this morning, "I want a lunch from you because I miss the notes". When she eats in the cafeteria she doesn't have one of those notes that I write telling her "Yay, it's Friday" or "You are the best hugger ever!".
And so she invited me to love her through a note (accompanied by a piece of brisket from the freezer and Lays chips).
My response?
I wouldn't miss it for the world!
Today for lunch, Rylie opened a red envelope with her name handwritten on the front. Stickers and carefully crafted words will remind her that I love her. And I love that.
Love is best enjoyed when you've an invitation from the person to which you're extending love.
The stinky part is when we seemingly find ourselves without invitation to love. One place where I find myself in this dilemma is with complete strangers, like the checker at HEB who ignores my heartfelt "How is your day going?". Not everybody appreciates the fact that I consider you my friend before I know you.
We encounter introverted people, people who are distracted by heavy matters in their life, people who just don't want to be our friend and people who won't accept our love simply because we're different than them. I often find myself hurt by those people.
But it goes without saying, that it hurts the very most when an invitation to love someone close to us, is rescinded. This has happened a few times (to say the least) since we've had teenagers in the house. It looks much like the picture I encounter when Rylie gives one of her characteristic long hugs to an unwilling participant who seems to hold their breath until she lets go. There are breaths, days and sometimes seasons where our expression of love receives the reaction, "You're not invited".
That's when we respond like this..
-I will 'love' you from afar.
Because
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 1 Corinthians 4:7
Love always has an invitation. And like the borrowed from the French, RSVP , God desires that we respond
I was in a foul mood this morning. I'm not sure if it was the clothing battle we had with one of our teenagers, the glimpse into the kids' disheveled bedrooms or the dream I had last night that I was a teenager who got arrested because my friend stole a nail file from a convenience store when I wasn't looking. I tried to blame Jason for my mood but then I realized that I didn't need to blame. I just needed to eat tacos.
In case you missed last weekend's post, Jason and I are searching for new spots to eat. May signifies the end of a school year which in turn signifies the end of another chapter. Like everybody else, we're a little tired and in need of a refreshing oasis. But Google shows no oasis that can be reached in a half-day trip. When you need to get away but you have to pick your kids up at three, sometimes pretending to get away is the best you can do. Today we grabbed some authentic tacos at the Taqueria Gonzalez. You'll find it at the intersection Hwy 87 and 82. We then drove to the Sabine Pass Monument Site. Here's our food review.
From the look on his face, Jason must have needed tacos too.
Service-
We got our tacos from a van so there's not much to say about service. There was one friendly man working. He was quick.
Atmosphere-
The backdrop to the taco van was a slew of refinery building things/structures; in other words not so pretty. So we got our tacos to go (There wasn't a place to sit there anyway) and we headed to Sabine Pass Battleground. We pretty much had the place to ourselves besides a swarm of bloodthirsty mosquitos (Bring a can of Off if you plan to go). Here are a few pictures.
Price- $
We spent around twenty dollars. I really thought we would eat for under twenty dollars this week, but…..we eat a lot.
Selection-
I thought the selection pretty wide considering the food was cooked fresh in a tiny van.
Tastiness-
Jason got a torta. I've heard of it before but had never had the privilege of feasting my eyes or tastebuds on anything quite like it. The torta was the size of a small Frisbee. Some tasty type of bun was filled with a fajita type meat covered with veggies (lettuce, avocado, onions). Boring me? I had the burrito. It tasted like a burrito. Not like a Taco Bell or local Mexican food joint burrito. It tasted just like I would expect a bean burrito to taste coming from a taco van….authentic. (By the way, the tortilla was homemade, which is a must for my full approval.) Jason and I also shared the mini tacos. Just like I like them, they were made with white corn tortillas filled with beef fajita meat and then more importantly filled with fresh cilantro and onion. We also had sodas in glass bottles which I just think is special.
As Jason put it, Taqueria Gonzalez was economical, quick and tasty.
They call us mama, mommy, mother and then probably on occasion, a less sweet name muttered under their displeased kid breath. But probably our most known name is Mom. Within those three letters we embody countless other names. Some of these names make us swell with pride; others resemble the us that imperfectly loves, day in and day out, the best way we know how.
M.O.M.
Maker of Meatloaf-
We know that meatloaf isn't all that pretty. We also know that any entrée connected to the word "loaf" usually doesn't set your mouth to watering. But we try. There is effort and there's love in the meatloafs and casseroles that we dutifully make for you when we'd usually rather be eating Mexican food with a nice waitress who keeps our glass full. We cook for you. Some of us are great at it and some of us even enjoy it. But I guarantee there are countless nights we cook because simply because that's what moms do.
Meddler of Media-
We're nosy, us moms. We care about what you're doing. So we stalk you. We look on your Facebook or Instagram to see what you've been up to. We want to know who your friends are. We read your hashtags making sure you stay away from the inappropriate. Sometimes we check your phone or your playlist on your ipod. You probably call it meddling. We call it monitoring. Either way, I promise it's done in love.
Manager of Mess-
This is probably one of your least favorite jobs of ours. Trust me. It's one of our least favorite jobs. We really don't enjoy sweeping or cleaning toilets that much. And believe or not, it's probably even harder to enlist you in helping out with the unnumbered list of chores. You often have to be asked more than once to pick up the shoes in the basket at the bottom of the stairs. And when you do pick them up, they're often thrown haphazardly into the wrong closets. Still we clean. And we train you to clean with the hope that you'll be a capable mom or dad yourself someday.
Mender of Maladies-
We hate it when you're sick, but I actually think this is one of the jobs we excel best at. When you have an awful stomach virus, we keep you hydrated. But in addition to that, we get your favorite blanket and help keep you comfortable. We get sick at heart when you're sick. We check your temperature umpteen times believing that if we keep taking it, your fever will go down. We swipe the hair off of your forehead and are at your side often before you can call out our name.
Mover of Mountains-
Moms move mountains. We figure out how you can make it to two important events at the same time. We buy a last-minute swimsuit when you find upon getting ready that last year's swimsuit won't fit anymore. I still remember the peach and brown swimsuit my mom bought me at Bill's Dollar Store on the way to a friend's party. I don't think I appreciated it as much then as I do looking back.
Maker of Molehills-
We show up in a big way in times of panic. But we're also good at freaking out about that dime-size ketchup stain on your new white shirt or the way your binder looks with its papers busting out in fifty directions with crumpled, bent edges.
Magnifier of Merits-
We know your good qualities. We know that you have a special handshake with the kid that many other kids ignore. In our eyes, you're the kindest kid that was ever created. We see how you have an uncanny ability to make people smile and we're flabbergasted when anybody (besides us) has the gall to not be endeared to you.
Manipulator, or (as I like to call it) Motivator
Though we see your good deeds and brilliant talents, we have an eye for teachable moments. Like the time you're at a ballgame and you have a whole handful of Airheads and you don't seem to notice the kid beside you eyeing your sweets. We mention that you "might" want to share. When you reveal that "actually you're not really into sharing at the moment", we often remind you of several good reasons that you really do want to share your Airheads candy. When you get older you'll ask why we don't' just tell you to share the Airheads instead of giving you the choice (……..but really not giving you the choice). You'll say that we manipulate you to do things we think you should do. We like to call it motivation.
Memorizer of Moments-
We tell everybody funny stories like how you "asked if we could pray first" that time you knew you were in trouble for your misbehavior at church. We remember how, at five, you held up spinach leaves pierced by your fork and said in your tone, disapproving of the salad, "What kind of sick joke is this?" We remember small moments, and moments big enough that the memory lodges our throats and clenches tight our hearts. -Like the time you spent a week in the hospital with RSV and pneumonia and the moment the doctor said "She's not out of the woods". We remember your first fist fight too. But it's funny. The moments are remembered, but how we look back on them sometimes changes.
Murmurer of Melodies-
You may not remember, but we sang to you when you were small enough to be curled up in our arms. When you were a bit older we sang "You'll be in my Heart" alongside when you were still enough to watch Tarzan. You may not know it, but we still sing over you. You may not hear it. Our melody may be but a murmer, but you still make us sing.
