Last night I went out to dinner with Matt. I really didn’t know much about the whole affair, but Matt gave me more details as he discovered them himself. I wasn’t worried… I was going out with Matt. Who cares where we went.

So we ended up going to the Schindler Event Center on Xenia Christian’s high school campus. Yes.. CAMPUS. For a second I felt like I was at Michigan State driving the loop up the hill from the Spartan statue (Matt nodds his head knowing what I’m talking about… all others are clueless). Anyway… Xenia Christian Schools? Huge! And for serious… it’s a lot like a college campus. What they do in and with all the buildings still baffles me mind.

We arrived just in time to meet up with “Pastor” (as Matt calls him). It was nice to be welcomed by familiar faces and we even got ot eat dinner with Matt’s pastor and his wife, which was quite fun (as you will read later). We also ran into (not literally) Matt Burgy, Andy and Lisa Weems, Justin Williams, Chris from Crosswalk, and a few other less familiar (to me) faces in the big world of Baptist Association peeps.

It was in meeting all the people Matt introduced me to that I first learned of the name of this event. Check this out… “Ministers and their Mates”. Can you tell a man came up with that title? Mates? First thing I thought of was a porpus, then maybe some other wild animal. HEHE.
But no fear, the evening rose well above the confinements of it’s title.

After prayer, we were dismissed in a specific order to go to the buffet line. And where did our table fall in that order? Almost last. Carla (Pastor’s wife) leaned in to explain, “It doesn’t seem to matter where we sit each year, we are always last.” Matt joked, “Well, I guess we’ll be finding a new table.”

And then came the announcement straight from heaven, “At 7:15 you may go to the chocolate fountain, but please hold off until 7:15.”

At 7:15 we still sat at our table waiting for our turn for dinner.
“What time is it?” Carla asked Matt.
“7:15” came his smiling responce.
Pastor Steve looked at his watch, “It’s 7:18 by my time.”
“Let’s go get chocolate,” came Carla’s brilliance.
“Are you serious” Matt Burgy asked as Carla and Pastor Steven, Matt and I got up from the table, “Oh, ok…” Matt Burgy jetted after us.

That’s right… we had dessert first. And as we sat down to our dinenrs, we smiled at the long line that was forming at the chocolate fountain. That’s right… we were the rebels. And who started off our rebellion? The Pastor’s wife.

I have even higher respects for Carla after last night. Hehe. =)

I have a cat. His name is Cheddar. He is a fluffy, soft, lovable orange striped cat seen in the following pictures. Yes, he is a joy. And no… you can’t have him.

But then there’s this other cat…

Robin has a cat. He is a beast. And yesterday I received the mark of the beast. (Revelation punn.) Or for the sake of argument we shall call it THE MARK OF THE BOOTS.

While Boots can carry some pleasurable aspects to his character, yesterday he failed to show any. Last night after jumping on my leg at feeding time, spilling his dish of food and dumping his water bowl, Boots got evicted from the kitchen. Then, after dragging a bag of trash about the house, Boots found himself happily residing in the bathroom for an hour. [The ultimate torture chamber.] Upon coming out of the bathroom, I noticed that Boots had hit his right cheek bone on something and now had a swollen right cheek, causing his eye to remain closed. [Great! Now it looks like I beat the cat.] ~~ For all you extreme animal lovers… no fear.. He looks normal this morning.~~
Well, the fun did not end there.

In discussing Cheddar’s recent rough neck [not a derogatory term, but a description], we discovered via the ever-useful flea comb, that our furry friends had fleas. FANTASTIC! How or where they got it from is a mystery to us both. We think it could have been their trip to the vet. Nonetheless, a flea dip was in order. And that is where I received THE MARK OF THE BOOTS.

Boots was the first one to get dunked. He always prooves quite “challenging” in the bathing process, so I like to get him done first. Afterall, if we can survive Boots, we can survive anything. [Little did I know how acurate that thought would be.]

The howling and fidgeting began with the first introduction to water. [It sounded liek we were killing him one hair at a time.] He calmed down for a little bit as Robin and I went through the choriographed cat-dipping routine. Then came the outburst of craze and it happened… Yes… Boots bit me. My right arm has a lovely perfect row of cat teeth pressed into it. And yes, he broke skin. And yes, I was grateful that he was up to date on his rabbies and other vaccines. And yes I wanted to spike him. And no, I didn’t. But let me tell you what… in all the times we’ve bathed him, I have always been closest to the mouth. But never once have I fallen victim to THE MARK OF THE BOOTS. Oh I have received my share of deep five-claw scratches. But never teeth.

So now I am branded.

The mark of the Boots is upon me.

This morning I was reading Sarah’s blog. She spoke of us not forgetting the true meaning of Christmas. It spurred a thought process of mine. What’s the point of Christmas without Christ? Yes, Santa Clause would then skyrocket in popularity. But let’s be honest… America is able to materialize any holiday and even create some of their own (aka Sweetes Day, etc). Yes, our society can take any family holiday and turn it into a bloodthirsty, shop-o-holic experience of pure materialism and anti-family tendencies. I mean seriously… look at what they have done to Thanksgiving. Yes, you “give thanks” while fighting with family and gorging yourself on that “Turkey Day” and then the very next day you go express your thanks by making a mad dash through crowded store, loosing your sanity and personality for the gift that you just “have to have”. But whatever happened to a true Thanksgiving?

So maybe it’s our job to promote Christ through love and reverence to our Father. It’s so easy to get lost in buying the perfect gift for someone, but the truth is that the Perfect Gift has already come. While it may be wonderful to see someone’s eyes light up as they open a gift from you, let us not forget how Joseph’s eyes must have lit up atthe sight of our Lord. As the weather gets cooler, let us not forget how cold it could have been that night that Christ lay in the stable. Please, may we do whatever it takes to keep from forgetting that Christ is Christmas.

The manger scene is lit.
The cattle all in their stalls.
The angel firmly placed with golden locks flowing down her sholders.
The three wisemen stand at a distance adjusting the placement of their gifts.
The shepherds lean wearily on their staffs, preparing for the long night’s stand.
Joseph and Mary lean over the manger, hoping to stirr the perfect example of parenthood.
But what do we discover?
In all the preparation, we have forgotten the most important one.

The manger is empty.

Heaven forbid we ever get to a point in the Christ-following community that we have forgotten Christ on Christmas.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. So in honor of my rommate, here is my “4 a.m. Monologue”.

G’morning God.
It’s a little early, being 4 o’clock and all, but I trust that your timing is perfect.
I sit here on the couch listening to two purrers in the darkness.
No Franklin activity.
The heater blowing.
The refrigerator humming.
The couch cover’s much colder at 4 a.m.
Maybe I’m just more sensitive.
The rustling of the goldfish cracker box stirrs the wild out of once-peaceful kittens.
“Basic, not acidic.” Kelly’s advice echoes in my mind as I attempt to neutralize stomach acid.
The reflection of my bedroom light reveals activity in Franklin’s water.
Guess the headcount of those awake is now four.
Two cats, one turtle, one Monica. No Robin.
The orchestra of coughing, plastic bag crinkling and cat collar bells plagues the silence of a once-quiet apartment.
Personal space violations and finger bites from the vampire cat spur the completion of goldfish cracker snacking.
Now what?
Silence surrounds me.
I wish Robin were up. And yet I don’t.
She looks peaceful.
Overhead footsteps reveal that there are now five awake.
Two cats, one turtle, one Monica and one neighbor.
The footsteps stop.
Now back to four; two cats, one turtle and one Monica.
The cats settle back into the couch beside me.
My eyelids heavy. Alas… sleep becomes me.
Whiskers tickle my nose, reminding me that sleep does not belong here.
Cold toes find warmth beneath bedcovers. No Robin disturbed.
The 4 a.m. Monologue now the 5.
Sleap… please become me again.

It didn’t until nearly an hour later.