The picture of the sidewalk is my favorite.  And I know that I am
not an art major, but my last photograph has nice balance.  The
tree on the left and the negative space on the right. 
Despite a smaller size, the fire this year was crazy.  And still
hot.  Radiant heat does burn.  It poured through the whole
thing, and the smoke from the wet wood was fantastic.  A friend
noted that it was probably not unilke the pillar of cloud and pillar of
fire leading the Israelites.  Good call.  I am sure there is
some amazing life application that involves the downpour of the rain
colliding with the power of the fire, but I could not come up with
one.  Maybe something about purification?  But I've got
nothing.

It was my first homecoming, outside of "the service," since freshman
year.  I actually spent time with my family during an event. 
A very foreign concept.  My absence from the club was not as
monumental nor as melancholy as I thought it might be.  Just
another bonfire.  One with a lot of rain.  Just another
peprally.  One with a lot of stage.  Just another football
game.  One with a lot of heartache.  If you were unable to
make it down from GA or NC, know that you were missed.

It is always nice to eat out with family, swing clubs with dad, and
receive baked goods.  Mom brought with her another batch of bran
muffin mix.  This is the second large tupperware of bran mix I
have received in the past month, and half of the last batch is still in
my fridge.  Bran muffins are great, but it is hard for Abel and me
to finish them off, and my bran consumption is so much that it is probably not
healthy.  Is it possible to be too regular?  I do not know
who is telling my mom that I am constipated, but if you are, please
stop!  I am fine.  If you would like a bran muffin, or
twelve, let me know.  Seriously.

*He forces me into the path of friends.

*He comforts me amoung the houses of the dead.

*He drives away the jackals.

*He tells me my story, and no one elses.

*He keeps me safe on the narrow hillside path.  Stays between me and the edge all the time.

*He is Himself.  He is Himself.  He is Himself.

And to think I am reminded of this not through a Quiet Time, but rather through The Horse and his Boy.

Today a student asked me if I knew who Snoop Dogg was.  Hilarious.

An update.  I will try to hit on all areas of my life that you might or might not be interested in.

* I have completed six weeks of student teaching, and six weeks
remain.  Incredible.  I have begun to teach all day, and
weeks now fly.  I have received much self affirmation regarding my
choice in career thus far.  It is tiring.  It is long. 
It is rewarding.  It is fun.  Each class with a unique
personality.  I have gotten over any "I am in college.  Do
you think I am cool?" mindset that I might have started the year
with.  I think I am able to relate and connect with the students,
more so than an "adult," but I am all business when it comes to Algebra II.  Don't let my
youth fool you.  One class today was beginning to get out of hand
as I joked around with them.  Way off task.  No threat, no
yell would settle them.  I asked them, "How does it feel to be the
one class that is the sole reason for running me away from teaching and
the education system?"  They cheered in response. 

* I am road tripping this weekend to Tennessee.  For a
wedding?  For golf?  For a good friend?  You pick the
reason.  Either way, I am going.

* I left my classroom and headed to my truck late this afternoon. 
I felt good about the day, as I kept most classes productive and
survived a long lesson x5.  As I walked, it began to rain. 
Not wanting to drench my nice shirt/tie combo, I buckled on my backback
and began to run.  My run turned into a trot, as my backback
bounced with each step.  My trot turned into a wobble. 
Thought to self, "Brian, you look less like a teacher and more like a
lanky sixth grader trying to catch up to his bus."  I embraced the
rain and walked the rest of the way.  And this is not the only
reason I feel like I am junior high:

* Any girl I like, any form of a relationship I ever consider always
begins with pre-teen tendencies.  Why is this?  Why must I
insist on getting the scoop, before I move?  Why must a friend
talk to her friend, or a sister talk to her sister, before I can build up
courage enough to initiate?  It might bring self assurance, but
with it comes the awkward.

* Golf lessons.  I am taking them.  I found my swing.  But who to play with?