Monthly Archives: February 2015

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Jason sent me a text meant to provoke jealousy this past Wednesday. The text came alongside a picture of a bottled coke and a delicious-looking plate of assorted tacos. Though envious he was eating without me, I remembered why I love that man.....and tacos.

He brought me back today. Salsitas is an authentic Mexican food joint at 3297 College St. in Beaumont.

For those of you seeking the real deal, instead of describing my plate with sense-inducing language, I'm sharing ten ways I knew this place was legit.

1. A telenovela (Mexican soap opera) with a scorned woman was on the tube.

2. You can count on fresh lime wedges and homemade tortillas coming with your meal.

3. Mexican blankets pair as wall decoration and curtains.

4. There was something creepy on the menu that I wouldn't eat, suggesting that this place serves cuisine beyond the amateur list of nachos and burritos.

5. They serve six kinds of tacos including pastor and azada. (Burger King isn't the only place that lets you have it your way).

6. We had to use part of napkins to blow our runny noses caused by truly hot salsa.

7. You can enjoy your meal with an Orange Fanta or Coke in one of those tall, thick glass bottles.

8. There's a taco truck outside with Christmas lights. I can't explain, but that feels authentic.

9. You get more cilantro with your dish than you do lettuce (the non-tasty filler).

10. The menu is in Spanish and you find yourself making sure you know what a ceviche tostada is. "That is fish, right?"

 

Here's Jason's foodie review to go right along with my ten reasons:

I had a lunch plate of Chile Verdes on Wednesday. This stuff was good. They have all the food stuff made up and on a steam table so you can see what's fresh and what's not. Since I was there around 11:30 both times this week, everything was fresh. It was raining Wednesday so there weren't any other patrons coming through the door, but the drive through line was steady.

The Chile Verdes was tasty, they were spicy and they were filling. That's what I'm looking for in a lunch plate. I also ordered a Taco Azada. I don't even know what that is. It's some king of delicious beef thing. Don't ask too many questions. Just enjoy.


Since it's Friday, I took Kristi back with me so we could have a lunchtime date. I was just a little disappointed. Instead of ESPN Desportes playing on three TVs and turned up loud enough to drown out a freight train, they had, as Kristi alluded to above, some telenovela thing going. It was like watching Days of Our Lives, but in Spanish. It didn't take away from the ambiance. I was just sad I didn't get to hear the announcer of the soccer game yell "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOALLLLLLLLLLL!"

Anyway, I figured since the one taco I ate on Wednesday was good, why not order 4 more. I did two Azada, one Barbacoa, and one Carnitas. That's Spanish for Tasty Beef, Delicious Meat, and Heavenly Pork.


These Tacos are simple and savory. Load them up with lime juice and hot sauce and you have the makings for a face full of flavor. I'm still sweating from the red sauce. Go with the green for a milder kick, but you will still be kicked!

Kristi went out on a limb with the Cameron Tostado. When I see and old food truck, my mind doesn't immediately say, "I wonder what their seafood tastes like?" No, far from it. But she was bold today. And this was one of those days where boldness paid off!


This was sheer goodness on a crunchy shell. She let me have a bite, and when I wanted to go in for a second bite, it was already gone. Add this to your "To Get" list if you get the chance to dine-in. If you're ordering out, it might get a little messy when you try to sneak a bite on the way home. It's piled high with Pico, Shrimp, and Avocado.

She also snagged a Chicken Taco. That was about the only English thing on their menu, but it was served up with full Mexican flavor.


I don't know why we love to take pictures of our food so much. I love taking pictures of Kristi taking pictures of her food.


On the way out, Kristi took a shot of this:


I don't know what it is. I'm sad that I didn't order it. This is my reason for going back sometime in the future.

If you're in Beaumont, anywhere near 3297 College St., not far from Baptist Hospital, stop by. You'll fill your belly without emptying your pocketbook.

 

If you've enjoyed this, let us know about other food spots you'd like us to try out. Also, make our day by subscribing to the email list. You can do that by entering your email in the block back at the top of this page.

Check out Jason blog at www.PastorBurden.com.

Here are some of the other spots we've been to:

Tracy's Seafood in Port Arthur

Abbie's Specialty Foods

Bruce's Seafood Deli

 

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Hallie Kathryn

a gods girlies file

You turn fourteen on Sunday. Last year you were surprised with a new dog.  This year you're getting advice.  Aging can stink.

My cherished daughter,

You surprised me when you asked me to write a birthday post for you.  You're the kid always with a strong sense of who you are and what you want. You prefer a pint of Bluebell (Dutch Chocolate) over a compliment and a book as opposed to long conversations.  So I'm all stirred up; ready to answer this invitation to write to you and about you.

You and I impulsively headed out the door last Saturday afternoon to take some pictures.  I have a new camera lens that I've been itching to use and earlier that afternoon we'd spotted a couple of cool picture props like that old gold Volkswagen van in a yard we passed.  You remember.  You also recall how I was curious as to why you wanted to use your guitar in your pictures.  You haven't picked it up in years.  Still, you thought a couple of snapshots of you picking out notes on your guitar would be fun.

guitar

It was while I watched you in front of me, guitar in hand, a girl on a mission, that a story swelled in my memory; one that I think fits the occasion.

About seven years ago, every Sunday night we'd sneak out the back door of Dorcas Wills Memorial Baptist at 6:50 on the dot, missing the second stanza of the closing hymn.  We'd hop in the car taking you a few streets down to a tiny house where you took guitar lessons.  You had decided you wanted to learn to play guitar.

You'd had a couple of months worth of lessons when your instructor asked to speak to me one night.  I sent you to the front room to watch one of the handful of worn out Disney videos available for Rylie's entertainment while we waited for you every Sunday.  She shared, of all things, her concern that you might have Attention Deficit Disorder.   The ironic thing about that suggestion is that you're the least symptomatic of the disorder out the Burden five.  Attention Deficit is something I know a little about.  I've read the book.  I'm probably going to write a book.  And I've got the t-shirt.  You do not have Attention Deficit Disorder. All of these thoughts were swirling as she explained, "She never wants to pay attention to the lessons I have for her".

She said

"She always wants to play her own song."

Always creating.  Slipped inside your lesson books you'd  bring folded-up pages of composed music with notes unintelligible to anyone but you. Apparently it had become a problem.

I had let you bring your music because I was glad you were writing your own. I was happy you were learning to love music.

You're still that way. You're unafraid to write the music to life.  And you're not afraid to sing your own tune even where others can hear. You're unmoved, for the most part, by those who don't understand its notes and verses. You are who you are, not who "they want you to be".

 a "do it myself" girl.

bday 3  Independence started for you while your legs still toddled in diapers.  Potty training, swimming and learning to ride a bike happened strictly on your time table ignoring any and every encouragement.  You would not be enticed with big girl panties bearing Dora or Disney princesses or the offer of an M&M for potty success.

A picture of a seven year old with a striped tank top and bird legs comes to mind. You were perched on your bike, helmet strapped on, pedaling down that little dead end street beside our house.  Struggling to keep your balance on a carpet of orange, dried-up pine needles, I knew to stay close behind you without having my hands directly on the bike.

Your dad and I shouted encouragement.

"Keep pedaling."

"Your leaning. Get your balance back."

"Get ready to turn."

"You're doing it!"

  It was YOUR feet that pushed the pedals in dizzying circular motion.  YOU learned to shift your weight when you started to lean one way too hard.  But, you had and have a cheering section that won't stop.

Remember that you have that in your dad and I.

Know that we experience immeasurable joy when you perform your poems and other things like your humorous monologue about "Wonder Bread". We're beside ourselves that you write some of the pieces you perform even though it's not a requirement in the contests you compete in.

Sometimes you don't enjoy our encouragement because it's in the form of discipline. We're there at your side to urge you to do better when your grades don't match your smarts.  I remind you OFTEN of the importance of smiling.

We're not your only fan section.  You've had beautiful people placed purposefully in your life all along the way including the crowd of people we call family who welcomed you that morning you said hello to the world for the first time.

What about that prestigious group you've been made a part of? You're a Babybug in a group of Ladybugs; a group of saintly women with life experiences you've yet to think of.

God has gifted you with family and friends of all ages.  There are women that listen to you and are wonderful to listen to. You have friends to walk beside you.  You're surrounded by men who give you a good picture of good company so that you'll know how to choose good company.

Stay you

- the girl with a determined nature and a mission all her own.

Don't stop writing your own music

and keep on pedaling

remembering these two things

1. Let those who love you join in on a couple of verses. Life is more beautiful when shared.

2. Look to the left and to the right and you'll see people cheering you on.  There won't be a time in your life that there won't be people to guide you along.  Learn, my dear, that sometimes you will need them and there will be times you have to ask.  People need people.

 Life is about balance

Your dad and I love you fiercely.

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He clutched it.  He pinched it between his thumb and index finger and held it up, eyeing it as if it were a diamond.  He rolled it between his fingers and then across the table.

"Smell it," he urged.

The question on his paper asked "What number sentence best represents an estimate of how many people attended the park on Monday and Tuesday?". But it was much too hard to concentrate on that.

He was in love......with a simple, round, orange smelly eraser.

Love and Smelly Eraser

He had bought it that day at the library.  And when I came to grab a small group of third graders for remediation, he brought it with him.  He opened up his math workbook just as did the other two students. But rather than becoming engrossed in the word problems in front of us, this little guy couldn't get his mind off of that eraser.

"I just love it so much!" he grinned.

I tried to capture his attention, tapping my finger on his math page. Normally I would have told him to put it away in his pocket.  I guess I was weak.  I mean, who couldn't be enamored, being witness to such happiness? As I asked the kids to line up to go back to class, I asked him if I could smell his eraser one more time, half for kicks, and half because I really wanted to.  He proudly held open his hand and allowed me to take in the orange aroma once again.  The other two girls followed suit and took in its sweet smell.  I suppose his love for that "fixer of mistakes" had rubbed off on us a little.

Such a picture he painted for me

-a picture of a child who was swept up.

Overtaken by the simple.  Not distracted, but wholly focused. And neither I nor my repeated requests to bring him back to earth were granted. He was single-minded...overcome with admiration.

On any other given day I wouldn't have allowed such behavior.  He was missing out on an opportunity to strengthen his problem-solving skills.  But that day I realized that maybe the life that's consistently snatched up by the world's demands is the one that's lacking.  We're missing out when we lose the ability to focus on what matters.  Some times it isn't math.

We're like that church in Ephesus; we forget our first love.  We're consumed with Facebook and our list of things that need to be fixed.  We rush to go at the first sight of the green light and don't stop, even when our heads have hit the pillow for the rest God gives his beloved.  And it seems when we do try and put our heart on better things, the world finger-taps the page, luring us back to its grips.

It shouldn't be.

We should delight in such a sweet aroma that surrounds us in Christ. And the fragrance of a life lived singly for Christ should be so sweet that it takes hold of the people around us ....just like my little friend with the smelly eraser.

     ....Thank God!  He has made us his captives and continues to lead us along in Christ's triumphal procession.  Now he uses us to spread the knowledge of Christ everywhere, like a sweet perfume. Our lives are a Christ-like fragrance rising up to God.......to those being saved, we are a life-giving perfume.

2 Corinthians 2:14,15

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To my Dearest:

You're a great gift giver, really you are; even though I've told the world several times over that you got me ten pounds of bologna for our first anniversary.   I know that I completely under-reacted the time you got me that cool dust pan with the built-in slot for my foot so I wouldn't have to bend over to sweep the muck up. You were thinking of my lower back problems.  You're always thinking of me.

love

Considering the things you give me on Valentines, and well, every other day of the year, I'm making a list of things I hope you won't be giving me this time around.

You deserve a little help

1. Unending patience- It's not that I don't love the patience you have with me, and it's definitely not that I don't need it.  I do.  But I figure you probably get tired of hearing me whine and complain about "how nothing's going right".  I know I exceed my text limit while messaging you that "we're STILL waiting for our appointment" and "when will you be home?".  You can't run and you can't hide.  Well I guess you could, but you don't.  You're so very patient.  My desire is that I'd be the wife that allows at least a pause to your patience by being less short-tempered and not so needy (By the way, could you pick up some bread and ice at Market Basket?).....kidding.

I'm hoping that this Valentines you won't give me....

2.  a response to everything I say, as well as a response to all facial expressions- I'm kind of a champ at ping-pong.  Some times I think marriage is a game of lobbing words and feelings to the other player with the hopes that the ball will be returned with precision  (right smack in the middle of my paddle).  In my better moments I'm aware of my overbearing need for to you respond to everything.......(respond positively, that is).  I really don't want you to respond honestly.  I want you to respond how I want you to respond.   I want you to be appalled when I'm appalled.  But I can tell if you're faking.  I want you to be interested in everything I tell you including what I read happened to a couple in Armenia.  You're supposed to be able to read all of my facial expressions, like the one I make as to say "Can you believe that?"

I feel much better (well a little) when you return the expression: "No, I can't believe that.  I'm flabbergasted alongside you!"

But this Valentines?

- I want to make a better effort to appreciate your steadfast nature which doesn't have the need to respond to everything.  That nature is just what I need to calm my crazy. No,  I'm not asking for a response to every little thing I say.

Something else that you've given me in years past that I'm asking you NOT to give me this time?

3. Constant companionship (at least companionship in the way I've always framed it) You come home from long days of work and sometimes you're worn out from talking. Your ears ache from listening-  No matter to me.  I have a whole day's worth of events to tell you about.  I proceed to tell you what happened to Hallie at lunch using more words than Hallie herself used to tell me about the event.  I share with you what the third graders are doing in Math this week and how HEB doesn't sell those Nature Valley Dark Chocolate Granola Bars that I like so well. Don't get me wrong.  I want to hear about your day too -and about what nightly news event has you stunned.  You just don't always work like that.  Companionship, you know, can consist of being in each other's presence

-not having to say a word.

Companionship should include silent understanding; respecting the other person's need to be at rest. This Valentines I vow

to give you space,

moments without words,

and afternoons without a play by play.

This isn't the first time I've made a commitment not to need these things from you.  And I'm sure it won't be the last.  Working on being the wife you deserve is a slow process (I think the process slows and maybe even reverses when you turn forty, and when you have teenagers), but I'm working on it.  That's why there's one gift that you always give me that I'll be thankful to get from you again.

Grace

Grace that hangs in there when I fall apart over burned out light bulbs and messy kid closets.

Grace that just listens when I complain about my figure while nibbling on a brownie instead of going to the gym.

Grace that guides me in things you weren't designed to care about like how I should get my hair cut next week.

And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.  John 1:16

You are a vessel of his grace.  Thankful for you this Valentines and every day.

I love you.

 

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I saw the writing on the wall this morning.......or on the guitar rather.

It was written in blue crayon. The strokes mimicked the disorder that is looming large in our house this week. The messy letters were written a couple of years ago, but stuck out to me today like a sore thumb.

guitar

Just take yesterday morning for example.

Jason had somewhere to be at 6:00 AM. I had an appointment at 7:30. Throw in the teenager's missing car keys. Then there was that tooth that was supposed to be missing from underneath the nine year old's pillow, but was still there. Yesterday morning was filled with appointments and frazzled disappointments. 

Now copy and paste the like into Monday morning and afternoon.  The events may not have been exactly the same, but Monday was a messy challenge too.

Go back and there was weekend vomiting. There was saying goodbye to the second family member within a couple of weeks. Bad news from friends.  We're dealing with grades again already and the six weeks has just begun. Yesterday there was time spent trying to help a college two hours away track down a misplaced school transcript that we've already found for them once.  There was also the lost prescription for medicine that called for a trip to the pharmacy then the doctor's office and then back to the pharmacy.  This week has held forgotten lunch boxes and tests we're unprepared for. We have more appointments this week than we know what to do with. Even my website keeps "burping" whatever that means.... It's as if all nature around me has a bad case of indigestion.

The writing on the wall, or uh the pink guitar on Rylie's untidy floor was a reminder of the messy. The cold, wet dripping outside the window like my mood is slightly soggy.

Two moldy pieces of bread with life stuck right in the middle.

Sometimes that's just how we feel.

Sometimes we're face to face with the writing on the wall.

 The book of Daniel recounts the origin of the phrase "the writing on the wall".  The words "Mene, mene tekel upharsin" which appeared on a palace wall foretold of the destruction of Belshazzar and his kingdom. It spoke of impending doom.

Now look. I really have no place speaking of impending doom. My troubles are real, but they're small in the right light.  It's just that my human condition views through a magnifying glass.

I guess it's fair to say sometimes I'm swept up in impending gloom.

I looked up the exact meaning of mene, mene tekel..... Mene basically means your days are numbered. It was the meaning of the word tekel that caught my eye.

TEKEL; Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting.

There's nothing that could be closer to the truth.

My circumstances and certainly my attitude, being weighed, is found wanting. Faced with frustration and disappointment, my vision becomes nearsighted. It's rather dark on the inside of that sandwich I find myself in.

Incomplete on my own.......I'm lacking.

Things outside my control have me grasping;........I'm found wanting......

It's times like these that we need to remember the words written on our hearts that outshine anything "written on the wall"

2 Corinthians 4-

6 For God who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of God’s glory in the face of Jesus Christ.

7 Now we have this treasure in clay jars, so that this extraordinary power may be from God and not from us. 8 We are pressured in every way but not crushed; we are perplexed but not in despair; 9 we are persecuted but not abandoned; we are struck down but not destroyed.

16 ....our inner person is being renewed day by day. 17 For our momentary light affliction[c] is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory.

18 So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Jesus answered, "Man (and this moody woman) shall not live on (moldy) bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God. Matthew 4:4