I preached today, so I spent all week (when I wasn't sick and feeling like crap) preparing a Palm Sunday sermon on Jesus on the donkey entering Jerusalem and the Rider on the white horse from Revelation. Plus Suzy was in a wedding this weekend in Columbia, and we didn't get back in until the wee hours of this morning.
We stayed with our friends Ryan and Amy, who watched our sweet baby boy while we did wedding stuff. Saturday morning I got up early so I could pick up breakfast for the whole crew. I was planning on getting chicken biscuits from Chick-Fil-A...
...but then I saw this:
It's red, and red means "Stop (and get some doughnuts)." |
I got my chicken biscuits down the road and pulled a U-ey. I whipped the car into the Krispy Kreme lot and got my dozen hot original glazed doughnuts.
Now I don't know what happened between the Krispy Kreme place and Ryan and Amy's house, but somehow we only ended up with eleven doughnuts in our dozen by the time I walked in the door.
Fifth Amendment rights... |
At least, that sounds like the most plausible explanation that I can think of...
But the four biscuits and eleven doughnuts that did make it to the house were our culinary care for the day. We sat in Amy and Ryan's living room, eating and laughing and talking, nourished by their friendship much more than the heart-disease-and-diabetes-breakfast-of-champions were consumed.
In fact, they even did a little culinary care of their own: feeding our baby boy while we were at wedding events. I'll leave you with a picture Amy texted us while we were at the rehearsal dinner:
"He just dominated some sweet potatoes!" |
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