I had a most satisfying evening last night. Filled with games and fellowship and tasty food, what more could I want? At midnight we had some beautiful champagne and delectable strawberries, some of the best that I had ever tasted. [I did have to drive home very carefully because of that champagne.]

My writing student's father braved Beef Wellington after my haranguing him for months on end. It was not the most successful dish that he has attempted , but that truly did not matter to me. He tried and I was filled by the meal. What more could I want?

After the meal and the dishes, both of her parents listened as I read the chapter with the sermon I wrote. I found her father's response interesting because I could not discern if it was because I had not yet achieved what I wanted or because he had not read the rest of the story. The strange part was the utter silence that greeted me when my own voice fell silent. Did they like it? Did they understand what I was trying to accomplish? Did they become caught up in the scripture as I hoped, reveling in the majesty of both God and His Word?

After staying up most incredibly late two nights in a row, I have just awoken from a nap and am looking forward to another soon.

But now, I will yet again savor the memory of last night and set my keys to the story that has been woefully neglected of late. Now that the sermon is done, I must turn my attention to two noon meals that are just down the road a piece from each other but miles apart.