Dinner time has always been a special time in the Giles home. Laughter abounds, and everyone shares the events of their day. Tonight at dinner, 3 year old Landon was busy bringing us up to speed on his trip to the Post Office with Dad.

Apparently, they had seen a beautiful sunset, and his dad (Devon) had told him that God paints the sunset every night. And that He paints the sunrise each morning. And that He is so powerful that He had created mommy, and daddy, and papa, and GiGi, and everyone in our family.

You know what they say, "out of the mouths of babes"? Landon looked at his dad, smiled wistfully, and said, "no He didn't". As if to say, "silly daddy, is anyone really that powerful"? Since his dad is Superman, he probably thought his daddy had done all of that. They proceeded to talk about it on the way home, with Dad giving his son many examples of the power of God. Examples of a God so big and so powerful that He can do anything. And Landon just took it all in as they drove home.

So tonight at dinner, Devon asked Landon, "what did we see this afternoon when we were driving?". Landon thought for a minute, and didn't answer right away. So Devon prompted him, "What did God do?". Landon quickly replied to that question, "anything He wants to".

That's right, my boy. :-) He sure can, and does. Wish I could have put it that succinctly when I was three. And maybe I needed to be reminded of that tonight. God is able. Thanks Landon, for leading the bible study. And thank you, God, for the sunsets. They are my constant reminder that You haven't left your post. Ever watchful, ever vigilant, ever caring. Can't wait to see what you paint tomorrow morning.

Dream

I had a dream last night. In my dream, the most beautiful girl in the world was in love with me. She was loyal to me, was my very best friend, and was the absolute very best part of me. We loved being around each other. We laughed, and cried, and trusted, and lived, looking forward to each day together. And our romance was one for the record books. We were truly head over heels in love with each other.

She was so amazing! She always thought of everyone else before herself. She was a true example of God's love in her everyday life. And her family adored her. She had a lot of grandkids, even though she still looked young enough to be a newlywed. Have I mentioned that she was gorgeous?!? And for some strange reason, she overlooked all my faults, and let me know that she loved me with all of her heart.

She was an amazing cook. In my dream I was really fat, because I ate WAY too much of her food. But we were walking together every night so that I wouldn't be as fat anymore. And her desserts & baking were the best I had ever had. Dinnertimes were always special at her house. And she was the most accomplished hostess of all time.

So that was my dream. Pretty amazing, huh? Well, I was even more astounded when I woke up this morning. I looked over to my left, and there she was. My dream girl. My best frend. The one He had handcrafted for me. The most beautiful girl in the whole world. The love of my life, in my bed, in my life, in my heart forever. And I was still fat... :-)

So....the only thing not true about that dream were the evening walks. Guess we better get started on THAT point tonight. Because I am living a dream come true. Thank you, God.

Someone broke into our house last night. Well, at least that's what it SOUNDED like, when I woke up early this morning to the sound of someone tearing our front door off the hinges. It sounded like they were using a sledgehammer, steamroller, jackhammer combination. So I bounded out of bed, fully ready to take on the intruder in all of my pajama glory.

Bursting out the bedroom door, I arrived in the living room and assumed the pose that you're supposed to assume when someones breaking into your house....you know the pose I'm talking about...the macho look, the martial arts posture, the fists clenched, the chest puffed out....all the things that say, "you've broken into the wrong house, buddy. And you're fixin' to regret it!"

Imagine my surprise when I found our front door right where it was supposed to be. Unscathed. Pristine. Locked. And no one on the other side, trying to get in. Then I heard the sound again. It wasn't coming from our front door. It was coming from another area of the house. My sonar macho-martial arts hearing deduced it was coming from the middle of the living room. Behind me. Right where the dog cage was supposed to be.

With my eyes still struggling to focus in the dark, I made my way over to the dog cage, and peered in. Little Jezzi was running around her cage, bouncing off the sides like something obsessed. So that was where the demolition noise was coming from? I opened the front gate, and Jezzi shot out like a grenade launcher, and started to make the circle between the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Apparently this is the international dog sign for "I really have to go outside and pee". She was on her 14th lap by the time it took me to get to the back door, some 3.2 seconds.

Opening the back door, I reached for the latch to unlock the screen. But Jezzi was in too much of a hurry to wait. Straight thru the door she crashed, making one of those dog shapes in the door that you see in cartoons. Well, I guess that's probably the way she saw it happening in her "I really gotta go pee" mind. What actually happened is that she hit the door going 104, and bounced back into the kitchen in a blur of fur and spit. Not discouraged, she got back up, and shot back towards her outdoor restroom. This time I'd had long enough to get the screen open, and thru a combination of air/water propulsion, she jetted herself out the door and up the hill.

As I bent down to notice the dripping debris on my thankfully rubber houseshoes, she stopped halfway up the hill, looked back, and in a distinctly British accent, shot me a look that said, "can I get a little privacy here?". At that point, as far as I was concerned, she could have all the privacy she wanted. This admitted dog-lover was contemplating Jezzi barbecue-on-the-spit for dinner. I was uttering unintelligible combinations of words, all directed at our intelligence-challenged little furball. My wife was busy covering her face under the blankets so I wouldn't immediately see/hear her trying vainly not to laugh out loud. The quaking blanket and shaking bed always give her away. I cleaned my houseshoes (that I now realize are designed with HOLES all over them), washed my feet, stifled my giggles, and got back into bed.

It was now 5am. The adrenaline that had shot thru my body 10 minutes earlier was now saying "you don't really want to go back to sleep, do you?". My wife asked me if I was ok (in between the stifled laughter). Yes, I was fine. :-) Let's go back to sleep. So we both fluffed out pillows, and turned over, determined to catch another hour or so of sleep before sunrise.

Then, we did what every good, patriotic, God-fearing American does when their house is broken into in the middle of the night. We got up, got dressed, snuck out quietly, and drove to Dunkin Donuts. There's something about a sour cream donut that can make it all seem ok.

The sun has risen, darkness has receded, reminding me once again that God is faithful, looking over my every step.