A Tribute to 27 Years

All men have a sweetness in their life. That is what helps them go on. 

It is towards that they turn when they feel too worn out.

Albert Camus

Today is the 27th anniversary of two of my favorite people - these sweethearts who don't look a day over 25. 

All men have a sweetness in their lives, said Camus, and without it they cannot go on. My dad's sweetness has been my mom, from the day he first wooed that pretty girl of seventeen. The life of a small business owner is unpredictable, and often chaotic. Through it all Mom has been that gentle, loving force of sweetness and goodness and routine that keeps him grounded. They are so happy together. And their happiness has not been in the least bit self-centered. Instead, they took it upon themselves to bring six wonderfully wacky kids into this world. They raised us from a bunch of banshees...

...to the very closest of friends. 

They love us so deeply and so well, even when they aren't quite sure what to do with us. 

They appreciate good food and can put it away with the best of them. 

They are fiercely protective of each other and their relationship.

They still play dress-up and make-believe together. 

They have single-handedly raised and educated a colony of offspring...

...and welcomed new additions with open arms. 

They love their kids more than anything on this earth...

...with the exception of each other. 

They are world-class travelers, full of creative spontaneity. 

And every April 26 for 27 years, they get dressed in wedding clothes and pore over their wedding album like it was yesterday. 

Every April 26 our family huddles around the TV and watches, again, the timeless vows whispered by candlelight. Every year the mood is magical, unbroken even when my adolescent uncle is overcome by a suffocating tie and faints in the middle of the ceremony. Every April 26 my siblings and I are reminded, again, of the love that Mom and Dad have lavished upon us - first cultivated in their early years and growing, ever more strong, selfless and free - a love that established us on a solid foundation, saw us through our most difficult years, provided far above and beyond our needs and continues to intercede and care for us. 

Mom and Dad, words cannot express what a gift you both are. God knew exactly what He was doing when He knit all these Hoffmans together. You are both gems, and have given your children much to aspire to in our own marriages. May God bless you more richly than ever in this coming year together!

Freely Give

Freely you have received. Freely give. 

- Matthew 10:8

When we first moved to Texas, I was overwhelmed by the materialistic lifestyle. Store after store, restaurants and malls and theaters line both sides of the intricate web of highways that is Houston. Literally anything I could ever need is mere minutes from our apartment. As I've gotten accustomed to hopping in my car and driving 5 miles for my errands, I've noticed a strange phenomenon. Nearly every intersection has been claimed by one or more people - tattered, weather-beaten, holding signs advertising their hunger, their five kids, their desperation. Some come right up to the window and demand acknowledgement, or else determined ignorance. Others, defeated, stand with head hung low and have given up making eye contact.

Panhandlers have always made me uncomfortable, and the shocking prevalence of them in Houston makes me positively squirm with awkwardness. They accomplish their purpose very well. It's impossible to sit at the stoplights without a tummy full from dinner out turning slightly sour, or those shopping bags in the backseat losing a bit of their intrigue. My awkwardness makes me angry. "Why aren't they applying for jobs instead of standing out here?" "What kind of parent would make their child stand on the street all day as a sob story?" "Why give them money when they'll just use it to feed whatever addiction they probably have?"

A few months ago my pastor preached a sermon that turned my world upside down. The topic was compassion, the text Luke 6:34:36. "If you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to get back the same amount. But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil. Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful."

The people standing on the street corners aren't my enemies. They're not necessarily "ungrateful" or "evil." And even though some have been picked up as proven scammers, there is much legitimate need in this city. So why is it so very hard to give? Usually, it's because my logic gets in the way. Giving cash is dumb. It feeds the habit and may not be used for good choices. My pastor nailed that excuse too. We don't have the power to control what people do with our generosity, he explained. Having mercy requires obeying God and trusting that His justice will prevail.

My heart and my response to Jesus' sacrifice for me is what's at stake here. Can I truly give freely and trust God with what happens next?

I decided to take the challenge. I bought supplies and put together little bags with bottled water, a granola bar, McDonald's gift card and New Testament. There was one man in particular on my mind. For weeks I'd driven by him in the opposite direction, my heart breaking for the pain and defeat in his eyes. I prayed that he would be on my side of the street someday. And one morning, he was. I waved him over and, as the light turned green, put a rather large and femininely-wrapped bag in his surprised hands and gushed "Hello-Sir-I've-been-praying-for-you-God-bless-you-take-care-stay-safe." I will never forget that look of confusion, shyness, emotion, gratefulness. Here, at least, I had made a difference. I still drive by him on the opposite side of the street. And I pray that he is reading the New Testament, and that he has found hope.

Right before Easter I gave out another bag. The men look more confused than anything else, but I'm praying that as their immediate needs of hunger and thirst are touched, and a meal is provided, they will open the Bible and their deepest need will be met. How extraordinary to touch the lives of perfect strangers even in this small way.

Springtime at Home

"Home is the nicest word there is."

Laura Ingalls Wilder

It is the first day of spring, which means that Houston has already trampled on the concept of spring and marched directly into midsummer. It is days like these that I especially miss so many things about dear old Maryland…

::green::
So much green everywhere. The greenness of my front yard, sloping downward to meet the sweeping greenery of our gigantic weeping willow. Driving along winding highways framed by carpets of green. Green reaching upwards and outwards, as far as the eye can see.

::Mom’s lattes::
Better than Starbucks. Mild, creamy and faintly sweet. Our long, long talks in the early morning hours before anyone else is awake. 

::kitchen::
Airy, spacious, spring-green walls. Coffee pot and tea kettle. My favorite staples always in the pantry: peanut butter, crackers and dried fruit. Countless parties, people everywhere, late into the humid summer nights.

::neighborhood::
Flowering trees lining both sides of a broad, sleepy street. My neighbor’s award-winning landscaping, a breathtaking array of color as soon as the last frost dies away. Spreading lawns and winding driveways that give off an aura of countryside.

::butterfly bush::
Explosions of purple bloom that overwhelm our back porch, attracting butterflies, bumblebees and hummingbirds.

::swimming pool::
Where it isn’t too hot to lay in the sun and tan away those lazy spring afternoons.

::siblings::
Always a brother or sister nearby to go on spontaneous dates to Starbucks, play lively games of Nertz or Settlers of Catan, cook up delectable concoctions, play catch in the front yard or ride our bikes to 7-Eleven.

::smells:: 

Getting drunk on the scent of spring, so sweet and rich it brings tears to your eyes.

::new life::
Nests of blue, speckled eggs. The tiniest bunnies amid stalks of warm grass. Birds. Singing. Everywhere.

::church:: 

Beautiful songs reminiscent of heaven in the joy, the never wanting to stop. Preaching so powerful it catches your breath. Resounding “amens!” Freedom. Power. God in our midst.

::friends::
Dearest, lifelong besties. The friends you can catch up with and months feel like yesterday. Memories and hugs and so much laughter.

::old stomping grounds::
Parks and highways and stores you grew up in. Everything changes, and yet it is the same. The feeling that you could go blind and be completely at home, for always.

::tennis::
Playing with dad, the brother, the boyfriend-now-husband. Sweating and swinging next to the playgrounds you once toddled in. Places where everything takes you back.

::softball::

Freshly combed dirt and snow-white lines. The satisfying smack of ball into glove. Whistles and cheers, knee pads and catcher's mask. Spring afternoons hitting, running, drilling. The thrill of gameday victories. Medals.

::volleyball::

The recreation of choice at every gathering. Hours in the park with the same group of friends; nets dragged out at birthday parties and family reunions alike. Spike. Set. Dive. The perfect game, the perfect weather.

::Grandma’s house::
The smell of fresh herbs drying. Pumping away on a prehistoric player piano. Grabbing a cold Yoohoo from a first-generation refrigerator. Knitting. Sewing the Civil War costume that won first prize in high school. Baking breads and desserts of all kinds. Feasting on hot beef sandwiches and jumbo shrimp. Exploring the attic and the hayloft. Riding horses, gathering eggs, feeding sheep. Both Grandma’s houses are what storybooks are made of.

With every fiber of my being, I miss Maryland. I crave the beauty, the aliveness everywhere. I long to be home as much as possible. And yet, I bloom where I am planted. I am multi-faceted and educated in a way that only comes from being transplanted into an entirely new culture. God knows what He is doing. And with every visit, home becomes even more the dearest place on earth to me.