Rockies

I realize that you are all just dying to know where I am now. I didn't make it to Canyonlands (national park just south of Moab, Utah) yesterday. I'm at a hostel in Durango. It's exquisitely clean, as the owner works here full-time, instead of putting a bunch of vagrants in charge (yes, I had chores every morning in Santa Fe). My dormmates were definitely more fun at my last hostel. I've thought about how my blogs have gotten more fru-fru the farther away from Houston I am, and the longer I am gone. That's true for everyone else, too. The Episcopal church I went to this morning even had its own fru-fru liturgy. Admittedly, I liked it, and it incorporated lots of stuff from Scripture that's usually glossed over in our patriarchy, like about God being our mother and how all of nature is in her womb. I came back to the hostel after church to eat some delicious vegan pot stickers from the local co-op, then headed out to explore the Colorado Trail, 487 miles of beauty all the way to Denver. My afternoon hike, which was less than 487 miles, was gorgeous. It looked just like Rocky Mountain national park, all green and blue with water so clear you can see way down into it. There were lots of mountain bikers to watch out for. The Iron Horse race was yesterday, between the bicyclists and the Durango-Silverton train. The bicyclists won. People here ask me if I mountain bike. I like my spinal cord intact, thank you very much. It's interesting how people try to connect with you when you are passing through with interests of their own culture. In response to local assumptions, I told the people here that I do not rock climb or mountain bike; I told the people at the monastery that I am not a nun; I told the people in Terlingua that I did not have any pot. Maybe I should ask them if they like to drive long distances across the United States, not knowing half the time where they're going to sleep that night. I am still planning on heading to Utah tomorrow. That will be less green, and more red. I really don't find green all that inspiring, no matter how scenic, so I am excited about returning to desert. I will be in Tahoe in less than a week to begin the vacation part of my trip with friends (yay!), so I will be getting in all the dusty red I can before then. Go in peace and love.

"Football is all about the blue chakra." ~overheard at hostel in Durango

Haiku

behind shades
mama bear blesses
with both hands

Pottery

All of nature loves. It does not love just this person or that person. It gives freely. The earth and trees embrace all who linger. I have set my intention to journey at least another couple of years in my striving to love all, and to love all well; of refusing to try to stuff another human into my canyon of loneliness, out of which bursts infinite creativity and acceptance. It is a sacred space in which I can meet another person without longing or expectation. I am looking forward to getting my hands in some clay when I return home. But the clay does not love back? It does. It is a gentle guide. It teaches my hands to listen as, together, we become the shapes we are meant to be.

Today

Adios Santa Fe! Off to Canyonlands! Whoohoo!

Santa Fe

This will be a short update. I'm not so sure this is the forum to talk about my experience at the monastery - it's a secret! It was lovely, though, in a very soft sort of way - very different from the stark beauty of where I have been. I got to see a blue heron and snuggle with some kitties. I spent a great deal of time listening. They had a very extensive library, and the birds there were very happy birds.

I've been in Santa Fe for a couple of days, and I've been having lots o' fun. That goes without saying, I guess. I've been hanging out with my dorm-mate from the hostel a bit, which has been fun, and I've been enjoying the full moon, lightening, art, people, and pie (strawberry-rhubarb - not vegan, but delicious). I walked a labyrinth yesterday until I got something figured out, which was a while. They have over 25 labyrinths in the Santa Fe area. Today I spent a lot of time on Canyon Road, where there are over 300 art galleries within a mile or so. That would only happen here. It's hailing and the rain is splashing, so I need to put up my computer and finish my glass of wine. Peace and love, friends.

Surprises

My trip has been full of surprises. For one thing, I am shocked that I've driven 3500 miles and have been on the road for three weeks and have just said, "so long" to Texas today. I am happily surprised to find that I now have a favorite national park, one that I hope to return to over and over. Guadalupe Mountains NP isn't all mickey-moused out like so many of our parks. You get to experience it, not just look at it. You can't see the park unless you hike. There are no driving tours, and hardly any roads, but there are 85 miles of trails. I can't wait to see more. From my campsite, the closest place to buy ice was 35 miles to the north, in White's City. That's where I got a shower for $3 yesterday, and you would have thought I had won the lottery. Headed south out of White's City toward the park, there's a sign that reads, "Next Services 180 Miles." Translation: Getting price-gouged for gas isn't nearly as bad as running out in the middle of nowhere.

Snakes are always surprising. I've seen a few ground snakes, but not until I was almost on top of them. One snake warned me today that I was getting too close. I heard a noise that didn't fit in with the rest of the noises, like my boots on the limestone rocks, the occasional bird, or a scurrying lizard; so I stopped. I looked up to see if there was something in the grass. I heard it again, and looked right at it. It was my first encounter with a rattler. I back up a few feet and stood there for a bit, unsure of how I was going to get off the mountain or how much berth to give the snake. It kept rattling at me, so I figured it needed a lot. I finally climbed over the boulder on the other side of trail just to be safe. I had been climbing up a lot of big rocks on that trail in a wash on the canyon floor, which was a lot of fun, so I felt like the expert by then.

Tuesday, I took a hike up a mountain that used to be a reef. I got to see fossils of critters that haven't existed for 250 million years, give or take. The only people on the trail were me and a geology class from A&M. I was surprised by their lack of curiosity. By the end of the trail, they didn't even know what the rock was that we were walking on, nor did they care. They acted like it was ludicrous that I even asked. One girl said she thought I was crazy for hiking up there just for fun. Granted, she was exhausted by the top of the mountain, and I confessed to several of them that I probably could not have made it to the peak by my senior year in college. By that point in my studies (of nachos and positing non-nachos at the Kettle all night), I was just an exhausted, smoky blob. I asked another student if they were going to Carlsbad Caverns, since they were only staying a few miles away. He said, "I don't think so. We're geology students." Ok, I was actually more appalled than surprised. I may need to reconsider my assumption that I will be teaching college students one day.

I don't want to sound too cynical. When you are traveling, you frequently rely on the kindnesses of others, and people have been overwhelmingly kind. Half of those disinterested college students got to the bottom of the mountain before me, and they cheered for me as I finished. A site host at some waterfalls I lazed at yesterday gave me explicit instructions on how to get to a grotto that was not marked with signs, nor on the map. He told me all about some great drives in the area. He even gave me some moleskin for my blistered heels before I set off to find the grotto. Today, I stopped at a roadside stand that had a petting zoo, a fishing hole, cider, and very clean restrooms. The owner told me where the cheap hotels and nice hotels were in Alamogordo, and which roads not to take. After I pulled out of the parking lot back onto the highway, he actually waved at me. Very cute. After realizing today that my atlas isn't in my car, someone gave me a NM map. Over and over, people have used their time and resources to help me locate paths or roads, the names of lizards or birds, and whatever else I needed, or merely had an impulse toward. People have been very kind.

I think of the trails that I have been on, and there is often a moment when a shift occurs, when it just takes your breath away. On "The Window" at Big Bend, I was hiking along a creek that was guarded with wasps and dragonflys, passing back and forth over the water, concentrating on each step (I'm no mountain goat). I looked up, and instead of canyon wall curving in front of me, there was an opening where the creek spilled into the canyon below. I could see a big rock with a slit down the middle, and past that, Terlingua, and past that, another mountain range. As I was climbing along the wash today, I looked up to see two towers in front of me, making a window for me to see a jagged peak beyond. As I climbed on, I entered what was called "Devil's Hall." This was not a place you would want to be if there was a flood. The rock walls went straight up, and the space between them was only about 15 feet. The silence. . . was. I don't think I had ever been in a grotto before yesterday. It was another silent place. I knew immediately why so many grottos are considered holy places. The water was so still and clear, I could look at it and see the reflection of the sparking light pattern it cast on the rock ceiling above. In other words, I could see the reflection of its own reflection. Huh.

I was surprised by the resolutions I made, and reported in a previous blog. I did say that I would start being vegan after I finished what I had in my cooler, but I found myself unable to eat the rest of the meat and eggs. I guess once you make up your mind, it's made up; but that still kind of weirds me out, especially since I really really hate to waste food. I didn't come on this trip to figure out how I needed to make some major changes, but it happens. I think we should send our youth out on vision quests when they come of age, whenever that is. So much of who I am has been shaped by my travels, and they're not over yet.

There is a billboard in Alamogordo, where I am staying tonight, with a group of smiling people in the front and three fighter jets coming around them toward the observer. The caption reads something like, "Alamogordo: The Friendliest Place on Earth." Yikes! I'm in Alamogordo because it's close to White Sands, where I got to go play this afternoon. I got to go sledding and make sand angels (devils?) in the soft, cool sand.

I am going to the Pecos Monastery tomorrow, so I won't be posting for at least five days. This was also unexpected, but it came to me quite clearly this morning. Peace, friends.

An individual dies when they cease to be surprised. ~Abraham Joshua Heschel

Get thee to a nunnery! ~Hamlet

Magical

I came back to the campsite to make sure it wasn't raining on my rainfly-less tent this afternoon. I had a Mexican coke, watched the butterflies, laughed at a lizard doing push-ups in front of me (maybe he wanted me to join in? yeah, right, lizard), and decide on a short trail before the sun went down. There was no rain in sight, and you can see a really long ways here, so off I went. Well, I started up the foothill, and sure enough, about 30 minutes into it, I felt a much colder breeze and began to hear lightening. Well, all I could think about were my friend's books in my tent, and my sleeping bag in my tent, and how I didn't want to be soggy all night, or be responsible for ruined books. I began hurrying up the hill at an accelerated pace, knowing that I was on a loop trail. I just kept getting farther and farther from my truck. Maybe I should have taken a different turn back at the dried up creek? I paused when I heard a flutter to my right. There were two bright yellow birds, with jet black wings covered with white spots. So cool. I turned to look behind me, and there was a rainbow stretching across the sky, saying, "Walk on." So on I walked up the rocky, dusty path. Suddenly, it was like I was in Oregon. The path was covered with maples and ferns and there was a spring flowing through, ever so gently. It was the second time in one day that I felt I entered a whole different universe. I felt refreshed as I continued on the trail, and less concerned about the dark clouds. I was at least on the right path, and that's always a big relief. The sun was shining bright, and I was feeling good. I stopped to take a picture of a tree with a pink trunk when huge rain drops began to fall lazily out of the sky, like the sky was just too full. My heart was like that earlier today, like it was just all too good and beautiful and big and tears came down. I looked across the whole hill and watched the sun light up the rain, making it seem electric. I enjoyed the sound of it plopping on my cowboy hat as I walked, enjoying myself too much to be worried about my sleeping bag and books. By the time I reached Syd, it was almost as if it had never happened, besides another rainbow stretching across the sky and just a few streaks down the back window of the camper. I had dried out completely, and was fairly confident that my sleeping bag would as well. Some deer with big ears showed me the way out to the main road. These had big ears, so I think they were mule deer, not tiny and fuzzy like the ones I saw in Big Bend.

This was just this evening. I went to Carlsbad Caverns this morning. Also magical. Another story for another time. Peace.

Elements

Earth
I bade farewell to East Texas today. During all those years living in Bryan and South Bryan, Highway 21 became one of my favorite roads, traveling to and from the hill country one way, and my grandmother's house the other way. One reason for this is the dance between earth and sky that I've seen so many times. This morning, while dark clouds menaced above, the fields shone, golden or fresh green, as if emanating their own light, generating their own warmth. Another reason is cows - lots of baby cows this morning! I decided today that I will no longer be eating them, or their milk. Prime rib was my favorite dish from the time I was five years old, and I sure do love me some cheese enchiladas, but I think there is a more authentic self for me to grow into. For one thing, ruminating animals produce 50% more greenhouse gasses than all of our transportation combined. Also, if I can't look into the eyes of a minnow, how can I munch into a cow, or a chicken or lamb? Lenten fasts have shown me that I am clearer, and more prayerful, when I abstain from animals and their products. Starting right after I finish the meat and eggs in my cooler, I will eat vegan for all but one meal a week, plus holidays and my friends' yard eggs, because those seem like happy chickens. Oh, and, according to waterfootprint.org, it takes 1,000 liters of water to yield one liter of milk, and an unbelievable 16,000 liters of water to produce one kg of beef, which leads me to my next element.

Water
When I was in the desert, there were ubiquitous signs warning visitors to not use too much water. Before I left Tyler, my grandmother, who will henceforth be referred to as Mamaw, mentioned that there were no dishes at her house. I assured her that I had everything I needed with me, except for water. At the house where I stayed this past week, Mamaw has her own well, with enough water for a town. I was the only one using it. After only a week in the desert, this made me feel rich, and led me to think all the more about abundance. How do I move closer to living out a life of abundance? Partially, as discussed in this blog, it is entering into more freedom by abstaining from things that dull me out, such as meat and cheese and alcohol. Abundance is lived through giving. Jesus talked about how you are blessed if you lend without expecting anything in return. It is indeed a blessing to carry your posessions so lightly. This is no "prosperity gospel," for I have seen both rich and poor be able to pull this off. It is a blessing to get to use any of our gifts--our time, money, intellect, talents, experience, heart--in service of others. I have been able to give to those very close to me and to those very far, and I experience abundance through that. I am excited that I will have more time and opportunity soon to become more involved in serving through church ministry. Also, gratitude is key to living out abundance. We could have everything in the world, but totally miss it, if we do not live in a spirit and discipline of gratitude. Finally, I think abundance is asking for what you need in prayer - not binding the Giver of Life to the letter of the request, but living with an openness to what comes. It is trusting that our divine Mother/Father is loving and is good, even if what you get does not seem good, or if it feels that all those petitions are just bouncing off the ceiling.

Beer
If you are thinking, "Beer isn't an element!" then you are obviously not Homer Simpson. I've been giving my drinking habits a lot of thought lately. They need to change. Last week I had to hide from the Terlingua sherriff after outdrinking all the locals who consider themselves "professional drinkers." This week, less amusingly, I lost a dear friend. I said in my last blog that I would rather be broken than break. I was the breaker. Both incidents were directly related to my binge drinking. No more. I'm done. My newly established limit is one drink per four hours. If I can't stick to that, then I will forgo all alcoholic drinks forever, so back me up on this one, friends.

Wind
There's lots of it out here. West of Abilene, they don't even bother putting the windmills up on the mountains. What's going to stop the wind? The wind farms are magnificent, for miles and miles, right along the highway. They looked very dramatic set against the dark clouds today. At one point, there was an oil refinery to my right, and windmills to my left - so much energy. Maybe I'll have more energy myself tomorrow. I stopped in Odessa for the night. It looks like Abilene, and is about the same size (around 100,000 folks). I lived in Abilene for a while. Driving through, I had to wonder why, especially since there was not one place where I wanted to stop and eat. It was cold, wet, and windy so Syd and I just kept cruising without a second glance, not even for ol' Hardin-Simmons U. If there is one word to describe the weather so far on this trip, I would say WINDY.

My forecast for tomorrow is bread and wine, followed by really big rocks. Peace, friends.

Whether it’s the sin of racism, greed, pride, or indifference, doing what comes naturally is what always gets us in trouble. Better to channel our thoughts, actions, and desires through the purifying filter of God’s Spirit and Word. ~Edward Gilbreath

Fishin'

I am staying at my grandmother's house outside of Crockett, TX. So is an armadillo; probably several families of armadillos. Only two other people have been out to the house, and they both told me the same thing: "You need to get your gun and get those armadillos." I went to the store yesterday to get a fishing license, and as I reached into my bag for my wallet, one of the employees said, "She's got a gun!". Telling people that I am from Houston does little to convince them that I do not own, nor want to own, a gun. My great Uncle Wetzel thinks that it is absurd that I am traveling without a gun, and my mother, who hates guns, seems to agree. "If I had a gun, I wouldn't use it. I wouldn't shoot anyone." That falls on deaf ears. I was just at the Houston County museum. Houston County was the first county in Texas, and my family got some of the original land grants. It is no use for me to ever try to move out of Texas again; that blood runs thick. The man at the museum, who has only been here for six years, commented that the county seems to have more churches (some founded by my family, of course) per capita than anywhere else he had seen. People here seem to have an unswerving faith in the words of their preacher, and in the strength of their weapons. And still I wonder about the Man of Sorrows, who turned everything on its head when he said to turn the other cheek, to work extra when forced into labor, to give to those who steal, and to bless those who curse. And still it is our hope that everything will be made new, that sorrow will turn to joy, that peacemakers will be called children of the living God, and that the marginalized and dispossessed will inherit the earth.

I went fishin' with Uncle Wetzel. He has a lakehouse on Houston County Lake, where I spent many Fourth of July's growing up. He would pull me behind his boat on an inflatable ski bob, with me yelling, "Faster! Faster!" and my brother yelling, "No! Slower!" It was on his boat that I got caught on a trot line, the hook going completely through my hand in the web between my thumb and pointer finger. Uncle Wetzel taught me how to cast, and how to reel 'em in, probably as soon as I could hold a rod. He picked up 3 dozen minnows to use as bait before I met up with him yesterday. Please keep in mind that I have weekly debates with myself about going vegan on a permanent basis and that the butterflies I massacre on the road make me feel sick. I looked into the minnow's eyes as I pushed a hook through its lower jaw and out through the top of its head. Big mistake. I got Uncle Wetzel to bait the rest of them for me. I told him it hurt my feelings. "Why?" How can I explain the connection I sense with every living being? The same reason that I can't shoot armadillos or human intruders. How can you explain that you would rather be broken than to break? And how can I say this while I'm eating a steak? I'm glad that I got to relive the good ol' days with Uncle Wetzel, but I think that'll be my last time to go fishin'.

Leave comments. Let me know you're out there in my little virtual neighborhood. I'm planning to head back West tomorrow, out to Guadalupe Mountains National Park.

Peace, friends.

"'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home." ~John Newton

Wildlife

I was climbing the Lost Mine Trail in Big Bend when I saw her, about fifteen feet up, snacking and watching me. She was tiny and furry, and I thought she must be an adolescent doe. Was I contemplating the mystery and wonder of life as I watched her, so much in her own skin, such a balance of strength and grace? No. I was thinking about the rotary motion of her jaw as she chewed with her mouth open, and how that is a necessary component of eating that human babies develop in the first year of life (You can take the OT out of the clinic...). Later, when I was coming down the trail, I discovered that she wasn't as young as I thought; she had her tiny baby tagging along with her. I learned from my river guide that they are a special kind of white-tailed deer that, in the US, are only found in Big Bend. I did not verify, but sounds good to me.

When I was in Yellowstone around 2000, I was amazed at how cute the buffalo at the gift shop were, while they were so ugly in person. This time, it was the javelinas, so cute in the gift shop, but in person, wowzers, are they ugly! I was glad to be inside Syd when I saw them cross the road. They are rodents of unusual size that resemble greaser pigs. I used to think that the creature singing Hakuna Matata in The Lion King was a warthog. I am now certain that it was, in fact, a javelina from Terlingua. It was all Hakuna Matata in that dusty town. Work was performed just long enough to support the purchase of Lone Star and schwag. It was really interesting for all of about five minutes.
Danny: Did you get the brakes on your truck fixed yet?
Hollywood (who talks just like Boomhauer): Nope, don't need 'em.
Lindsay: [laughs]
Hollywood: People know to get out of my way.
Lindsay: [nervously sips beer, thinking about the incline of the hill we're on]

I took an awesome canoe trip down the river, surrounded by 1500 ft canyon walls. For a while in the afternoon, we floated silently, listening to the bats waking up en masse, and beginning to flutter around; a thin layer of limestone separating them from us. My canoeing buddy was a priest for 15 years, and then ran a non-profit for 15 years in Brownsville. He doesn't like bats. We hit lots of rocks and had a great time. I asked him toward the end of our trip what day it was. "Thursday? It can't be Thursday!". I got out of that vortex as soon as I got off the river and paid for my stay at Las Ruinas, the campground/bar that was way better than the yucky hotel where I had been (El Dorado Hotel: I'd rather be camping).

The adventure has slowed down a bit. I'm in Tyler, where I got to spend Mother's Day weekend with my mother and grandmother. I also got to see some wonderful friends on my way here, stopping just long enough to get some cord for my tent poles, hear a fun Irish band, share some stories, and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, I'm heading to my grandmother's old house for a few days - the one in the country that she left for Tyler a couple of years ago. No telephone service there, so no internet, but I'll check back in soon.

Peace.

"I know it's not a party if it happens every night." -The Postal Service

The River Road

I am recuperating from my excursions at the El Dorado Hotel in Terlingua. I'm afraid that if I leave my room, I will have to talk to someone, and I am tired. These days, it is strange for me to be so social for so long. It seems that every year when I go out to the desert, I return home carrying more and more of its silence. So far, this trip has not been silent, besides a few brief swings when the hammock Sirens calling my name became irresistable. I went to two parties last night, and the locals can do it up right. I even had a lunch date today before I hit the road. I wonder if feeling more helpless in the face of nature makes people care more about community, and about each other. Last night's hostess said, "Out here, you've got to know where the water is." That's true for all of us, in whatever desert we find ourselves.

Staying in the teepee last night was fun, and it was nice to be out my truck so I could stretch out and not be stabbed in the side all night by a belt buckle. I felt like I was in a movie about The Doors as I watched the firelight dance on the canvas walls from under wool blankets.

Folks around here call state highway 170 "the river road." The river they are referring to is the Rio Grande. It was an amazing drive, especially for this desert-phile. The rocks would be red for a while, then black, then white, then yellow... and everything in between. I lost my stomach a few times on the roller coaster parts of it. Around Marfa and Alpine, I saw quite a few antelopes, even one hanging out with a couple of cows, but I haven't seen any this far south.

Peace, friends.

Abuelita

This was a story from the woman at the Marfa and Presidio County Museum. She was doing ejercicios to keep warm when I arrived. She told me that she would never want to live in a dangerous city like Houston.

There were some families who moved here from California, from San Diego, well yeah, from California, and their were boys who were trying to start a gang. And I think most kids are good, but you know, there are always some mischievous ones who would have followed them. But the kids, the kids themselves, put a stop to that. They weren't going to have it; not here in Marfa. I know. I used to work in the school. Those families didn't last very long here in this town.

"Do you only talk with abuelitas?" you may ask. Pretty much. I just need to figure out how to get them to take me home for dinner. :)

"We laughed because the world is beautiful and absurd and small" ~Ani Difranco

The Weather, or, What I Forgot to Pack

It's interesting how much weather can change an experience. The only clouds I saw yesterday were practically sitting on top of McDonald Observatory; and there they sat, all day long. Those telescopes pointing at Saturn showed us very dark images of clouds. Still, they did some great indoor programs. That ended around 11, so I went to see the Marfa lights. I ate some astronaut ice cream I had just bought, reminiscing about NASA fieldtrips and feeling confident that would lure the aliens into the vicinity, where a big, lumpy yellow moon had just risen. There were all these people with flashlights there though, so the aliens didn't show up. It snowed at the observatory today. It's supposed to be 30 degrees tonight where I'm camping, which brings to mind what I did not pack; namely, thermal underwear and gloves. It was so hard to imagine cold when it was already 90 degrees in Houston when I was packing. The clouds cleared around 2pm so I headed back to camp to shower in the best possible conditions today, even while standing on cold concrete with icy wind whipping through the bath house. I've never been so glad for hot water; except for that time Jenny and I stayed in the Club Med in Cholula after three weeks of dirty sheets and cold showers in Mexico and Guatemala.

This morning, I ate breakfast at the other cafe serving breakfast in Marfa. While I was talking to the motorcyclists from Fort Worth at the next table, a woman came in and I said, "Hey, Alex," and on my second day here I already felt like I was in Bryan. I went to a Cinco de Mayo parade in Alpine this morning, which started around 11. At least I got a really great parking place. It was generally miserable with the cold and rain and wind. Some of the kids in the parade looked like they were on the verge of tears. Primarily because of the weather, I stopped into a little store that had art, coffee, and ice cream, after the parade. I found some mugs for $6 that I had seen last year at La Posta when I was in Mesilla with Natalie. They have images of La Loteria on them, which brought back good memories of playing La Loteria in MX with Patrick's host mom. I hadn't bought any of the mugs in NM because they were around $25. I mentioned this, and the guy behind the counter, Victor, said, "My wife makes those." Go figure. He told me that they go on day trips to Mesilla whenever they can. Cool. I hung out there for a couple of hours, mostly talking with Victor's mother, Janie, who moved out here from San Antonio a month ago to take care of her beautiful grandbaby. I met Cristina, who makes the mugs. I also met Beverly, who throws big campfire parties every Sunday night, and her mother, who moved out from Houston after the last hurricane. The campfire party is where I will be tomorrow night. I'm going with Rose from Austin, who owns an art gallery in Marfa, who I met this afternoon after taking a shower. Everyone will be there. I ran into other people from the campground at a hot dog trailer where I stopped for lunch, 25 miles from our campground. Weird. I felt like this last summer, too, especially in Albuquerque, and a little in Las Cruces. I love being places where it is so easy to meet people and to feel connected. Maybe it's partly being out of Houston, and maybe it's partly travelling, and all the openness that goes with that. A woman from Mexico City today asked me how she knew me, or any of my siblings, as soon as she laid eyes on me. I simply said, "It's my presence," and she understood. Peace and love and open hands to all.

I am the Lord your God,
who brought you up out of the land of Egypt.
Open your mouth wide and I will fill it. - Psalm 81:10