8. Here and There (Part I): October & November

The Winter of 2011 proved to be a blessed, fruitful and fitting conclusion to a year of transitions and adventures. The diversity of key events throughout October, November, and December are a small indication of just how much joy we're finding both within and beyond Dallas.

On October 15th, Jill and I explored the cultural experience of the Texas State Fair. It fascinated us to see how much there was to do and eat--and how much everything costs. Rides went for around $10 per person, so Jill and I stuck to the basics. The things we were told we must do included the Texas Star, the largest ferris wheel in North America, and the famous corn dogs. The former gave us breathtaking views of Dallas from over 20 stories in the air.

The latter gave us the satisfaction of tasting a sampling of the extravagant fried foods the Texas State Fair is famous for (we were content with the corn dogs, and felt no need to try the fried bubble-gum or fried butter). The rest of our time, we explored the free things to do, viewing the artwork, looking at car displays, and watching acrobatic shows (including one young Chinese girl who was able to build a tower of six chairs, one on top of the other, while she balanced on top of them!). It was a wonderful experience, and we made it out without spending too much.

A few days after the Fair, I joined Jill as a chaperone for a Cambridge college trip to South Carolina. We flew from Dallas to Charleston on October 19th, and from then to the 22nd, we toured colleges in and around Charleston and Greenville via charter bus. The students were all very well-behaved, so it wasn't too taxing on any of us. On the contrary, Jill and I were delighted to be able to tour downtown Charleston in some of the trip's free-time, as well as downtown Greenville.

Two of the colleges we visited were Clemson and Furman, both of which are significant universities for my family. Having never been to either campus, it was especially rewarding for me to get to rendezvous with the family I associate with each one. At Clemson, Jill and I got to see my cousins (who live not far from there), and at Furman, we saw them again, along with my two aunts. It was a special blessing getting to see family, and proved to be a very rewarding trip.

Throughout the journey, I also discovered that South Carolina very much likes my name. I had always wanted to visit Charleston, but was even further delighted to discover that it's situated between two islands: James Island, and Daniel Island. And this discovery was enhanced by discovering just how many university buildings had my name on them: I think, all-in-all, I ended up discovering some five or six of them, including Daniel Library (at the Citadel) and Daniel Chapel (at Furman), as well as a music hall and a dining hall (among others). If I were to put all those buildings together, I might have my own college. Regardless, it's quite nice to be welcomed in that way to a place you've never been.

November was a month filled with friends and family. In the middle of the month, I got a much needed break from classes with a two-week interval, including Thanksgiving Break and what is known as Reading Week--a week in which you are expected (and wise) to use your time off to catch up on seminary reading. The weekend before this break, Jill and I were delighted to have my brother, Nathanael, and his fiance, Emily, in town for the weekend. Scouting out Waco for future schooling, they had come down for several days and came through Dallas to spend a day and night with us on their way out. We decided to give them a tour of Dallas, but when we tried to figure out what to show them, we realized that Dallas for us came down to two things: Shopping and Food. So, we took them to Northpark Mall and The Cheesecake Factory.

It was wonderful to see them, and it makes us happy to think of what it might be like when they do eventually join us in Texas.

The weekend before Thanksgiving Break, we had the privilege of joining our Bible Study group in seeing The Screwtape Letters on stage (by Max McLean) at The Majestic theater downtown.

Following the show, we ventured a few blocks over to find a place to eat and were surprised to find the streets bustling with people for what apparently was the Dallas' Christmas-tree lighting event.

It was a beautiful surprise: The streets were closed to traffic and full of lights, carolers, people on stilts--even Storm Troopers (I'm still not sure of the connection, but there were quite a few).

After a delicious meal at a Mexican restaurant, we walked around the lighted streets, enjoying the onslaught of Christmas in the city. The only thing a bit off was the temperature of the night air--while the evening looked like Christmas, it definitely felt like Dallas at a nice, summery 80 degrees.

For Thanksgiving Break, Jill and I made our way once again to the panhandle of Texas to spend it with our good friends there in Canyon.

It was different not having Thanksgiving with family, but at the same time, it was meaningful to know that we have a home away from home with the Tudyks. We also got to meet their newborn baby.

We had an excellent time together, finishing the week with a trip to Palo Duro Canyon, which I utilized for one of my creative writing assignments, included below for your reading pleasure.

Light in a Canyon

Fading daylight stops us in the middle of the red trail. The uneven dirt path continues ahead of us, winding its way between dry shrubs and cacti to the Lighthouse. But the distant tower of rock stands black and featureless against the dusk, saying, “there, but no further.” We pause, perfectly still, in the middle of the Palo Duro, swallowed by the wild silence. "So quiet," I say, and as soon as I do, the silence goes. We turn around and swiftly retrace our path through the fading blue.

At the trailhead, the sun had been burning large and yellow just over the red canyon wall. The cacti sprawled along the side of the footpath, blackened, choking, and glad to see the sun go.

Once it climbed down behind the hills of clay and sandstone, leaving the giant sky, you could feel the air cool, bracing for the darkness. The clouds—acting agents of obscurity—had covered most of the sky. Yet even so, the sun had one final trick. A master painter, it threw its yellows up from behind the red hills at the silver clouds, and mixed it all together to make a fiery pink.

Now, the sun remains only as a dying grayness. My group marches on, and I struggle to keep up. I've heard before that predators always go for the one lagging behind. I quicken my pace, watching my white shoes run on a trail eaten by darkness. Of course, the darkness doesn't actually do anything. It doesn't have to. It just sets in and sits down on top of you, and lets you do the rest. It lets you forget all light—even the stars right above. I forget. My legs burn, ache, and threaten to quit right here. I ask myself again and again, "Will I make it out of this canyon alive?"

I've asked that question every day of my life.