The MOG got back from a weeklong ministry trip to Texas last night. While they were there, our trailer got robbed and we lost over $15,000 worth of musical equipment. This is the second time this has happened, in Houston. Next time, we're filling our trailer with radioactive goo and laser robots, so tell your Mafia friends we're on our way.
But anyway, they had great ministry times, God really moved and once we got over the initial panic and deep despair, we all feel faith that He's got us and it's going to work out. The MOG is tired, though, no doubt.
So far this morning, he's been alternating between responding to emails about The Response and asking me, "What was it, exactly, you wanted me to do?"
I'll say, "We need to put money in the bank, buy some groceries. Maybe eat Taco Bell." as he types frantically. After a minute or two, he quits typing and looks at me, slightly irritated.
"Why aren't you answering me? What was it you wanted me to do?"
I'm laughing. "Bank. Grocery Store. Taco Bell."
He's looking at me with that unfocused look that means he is not looking at me.
After a moment, he looks down at his keyboard. Sighs, keeps typing.
"What was it, exactly, that you wanted me to do?"
I expect that eventually, today, we will eat at Taco Bell. It just might take a while to get there.