Bless.

Bless everything. Bless bike rides and bike lights. Bless fake scar stories and predictions of hunting and harvesting. Bless Sunday and all that happened therein, with friends and crepes and church. Bless spiral staircases and the hospitality of a boy who offered us water only moments after returning from the grand tetons. Bless the funniest text message ever concerning the absence of pants. Bless that rather than putting pants on like promised the individual was wearing a bathrobe when we arrived.

Bless true confessions and Justin P. and 7th grade stories of Mrs. Mac and Sarah Freeman. Bless further stories of trash cans and confiscated notes and all of these things that I wish he would put in a movie. Bless laughing so hard I could not speak.

Bless Justin's prophecies concerning whom Kayte, Alicia, and I will marry that must necessarily be recorded for posterity. Kayte's husband will have back hair. Alicia's will look really good with a goatee. Mine will really like turkey sandwiches. When questioned regarding these prophecies he could only say that he knows people like each of us and their husbands have the characteristics he named. Now all I have to do is look for someone that likes turkey sandwiches, right? Thanks Justin!