Sunday Afternoon at Benbrook Lake

This past Thomas Sunday was marked, post-liturgy, by a refreshing and spontaneous decision to chuck all household chores (especially getting ready for an in-city move) in favor of an outing to Benbrook Lake, just to the west of Fort Worth. We packed a picnic, which you see to the right, and enjoyed the giggles of Anza as she tried to be like Momma and Papá and eat our crust and drink our juice like a big girl. We got run off by ants and gnats, however, so we slathered some sunblock on wifey and chiquitita and headed across Benbrook Dam, which overlooked the lake. I had Anza on my back in one of those little backpack thingies, and there was plenty to see, including the ginormous daffodill skeletons there...seriously, those things are ridiculous. Anza really liked talking while we hiked across the dam; we got into a marching rhythm of, "HUH-uh, HUH-uh, HUH-uh" as we went, the sun on our backs and the grass swishing past my legs.

I know there are many folks like St. Francis who are much more in tune with life outside the concrete jungle than this city boy, but I have to say that, for all the power and the glory of God I have seen in His sanctuaries (Ps. 62:2, LXX), there's something about nature that just breathes a prayer back into and out of me with little or no effort on my part and provides a lasting impression of He who clothes lilies and feeds sparrows, He who holds the universe in the palm of His hand. The heavens do declare the glory of God, and the firmament in all its overgrown, chigger-riddled wonder, does show His handiwork...and it's a dang good thing that "Day unto day utters speech / And night unto night reveals knowledge" (Ps. 18:1-2, LXX), 'cause I'm dang sure quick to forget that very glory whose light is meant to illumine me brighter than the very sun that tuckered out the little one...

Also...tonight during evening prayers, Anza was, of course, wanting to be a little clown and honk Momma's nose, start a giggle fight, the usual...when I looked over there, Anza caught my eye, spit out the paci and, as she's been doing for about the past week or so whenever I come in the room, said "¡Papá!" loud and clear, accent on the second "A" and all. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, her first word has to do with me, and it's in Spanish. Couldn't be prouder; looks like I'm doing somethin' right...