Last night I attended a live recording featuring Travis Cottrell with good friends Wendy, Emmy and Jennifer. The event took place in a jinormous church outside of Atlanta, one that at first glance appeared to be a mall, minus the teenagers cruising in the parking lot. The wallet in my purse started vibrating thinking that a little retail joy was about to occur, but it turns out that escalators, trolley cars and huge domed buildings are how worshippers in Woodstock, Georgia like to roll.
Back in August some friends and I flew to San Antonio for a Beth Moore event that allowed the opportunity to meet Travis Cottrell, Beth Moore and her daughter, Amanda Jones. The humiliation of one of my encounters still stings a little bit, but I was convinced that for this event, if given a second chance, I might be able to act as though I had some sense.
I’m not going to go into the details, especially since at some point I really do need to pretend as though I am a functioning adult, but suffice it to say that the small interaction I did have left me jibber jabbering like the dork those of you who know me expect me to be. (For your information, jibber jabber is a word in blogger land.)
I met BooMama and BigMama, both more precious in real life than even on their blogs and exchanged very enthusiastic waves with the queen of hot rollers herself, Beth Moore.
It was a great night, with great friends and great music, as demonstrated in the photo below.
(I’m not sure, however, who invited Mr. Double Chin to accompany me on our trip. Why must he follow me everywhere? Doesn't he know how I loathe his company?)