Enough Is As Good As Plenty

I dropped a class last week. It's probably a good class; informative and what not.

But the disappeal lies in that it set out to teach me everything wrong in the world.

And basically how powerless I am to fix it.

Which basically, I am. Powerless.

I already get that. No lectures required.

And I was already making up words that sound smart to try and match the intellectualness of that class.

Disappeal is not a word, folks.

I'm about being informed and educated. Grateful, even, for the chance.

I just don't want to write six pages a week on paternalism and white supremism

and why it is irrational to trust in the metaphysical to bring about human justice.

For that matter, I don't want justice on human terms. Not merely on human terms.

After all, to Hitler, the purification of the arian race was just.

I don't think my interpretation of justice would be quite so skewed,

but the fact remains that I am powerless to bring justice to every evil in this world.

It doesn't mean I wont fight for it where I see a chance.

It does mean, contrary to Dr. Vasey's opinion, that I have every reason to trust

in the "metaphysical."

But I won't call God by that name,

a name that implies I am somehow able to fathom where He fits in and how He's working.

I was reading a play last night

(correction: writing a paper on a play. In august. An August paper. Let me hear you say "that ain't right")

in which a man was offered more food at a breakfast and told there was plenty.

His response was, "to me, enough is as good as plenty."

There is plenty wrong on this Earth.

To me it's enough to know that there is a plan.

Does that mean I worship a God of convenience?

Does it look convenient for the woman in this video to hold out hope?

For any of the people in the video to hold out hope?

How about for this woman? Or this one? Or this family?

Not easy. But enough. I don't need the plenty of reasons to not believe in God

when I know full well that He is enough.

I also know enough about the world to believe that He is plenty.

And finally, knowing that He is enough is as good as plenty for me.

It's also enough to the 4 and 5 year olds that I teach on Sunday morning.

This week I learned that they have a tradition.

I had the honor to be a part of it for the first time.

The Fear Box.

We take slips of paper, big enough to crumple up, and write one thing we're afraid of.

For some it's ghosts.

Others legitimately say something about family dying,

others fear falling and getting hurt.

After it's written they crumple theirs up and, one by one, place it in the box.

As they do they recite,

"I can trust God to do all things."

My fear was not doing well in school and being a bad friend.

I can trust God to do all things.

But don't worry, He's got the ghosts taken care of, too.

In case that was yours.

Then I found that I wasn't the only one with such a fear.

The psalmist wrote the same thing.

"Take away the disgrace I dread, for you laws are good" (Psalm 119:39).

Tally, I'm not in (Ar)kansas Anymore

Bike strapped on and all, a couple of Smiths trekked across the U.S. to a land I'll call "far, far away." Except for that I also call it home. And once again, it is becoming just that. It's mostly the people that make it such. But my camera died before I could get good pictures of them. Once again, I start the year with minimal pictures. Shame. I do have a few photos, though. Brace yourself, because it occurs to me that my "few" is another persons "lot."

This is my door. I know, exhilarating post. But the picture reminded me of a time when I was up against more work than I'd ever known, as I will probably be this semester. Funny how we grow like that. But I handled it then, I'll handle it now. Well, not just me.

Also, good luck getting in that door with its THREE locks. Seriously, wish me luck.

I had each of those puppies in use when I spent 24 hours in the apt. alone. Not that I was really worried. And not that I really felt lonely. It was such a good time of preparation. I got my clothes organized. Say what? Organized? You heard it. By color. Credit to the shoe system goes to mom, though.

I filled my bookshelf in typical History major fashion.

I made dinner in my kitchen. And then I made smoothies and a stupid picture of me and said smoothie.

Clearly it was time for some people time. Good thing Noelle called me up and said "come to Naptown!" So I did. In my (potentially not-so-) trusty car.

Once in the car I realized my phone was on low battery. So I wrote the directions on my hand. Just in case.

Never mind that the directions took the most roundabout way.

I just kept going.

and going.

and going.

I did get to see D.C.

Kind of.

Then there was crazy traffic. And then, after it took me 2 1/2 hours when it should have been 1 hour and 15 minutes (you know, had I done my research), I reached the home of the Modly's. And had dinner with the Ulmans. All four and a half of them.

We got awesome balloon art. I decided that I will go to balloon art school and make national landmarks for a living.

Then we watched (fell asleep to) "I love you, man." The next day I made pancakes with Dorian and walked around beautiful annapolis. Before I knew it, it was time to go move my roommate in. At 2 p.m. So I left around 1 p.m., a tad late after lunch. Big deal. It will just take 1 hour and 15 minutes this time, when I go the right way. Rookie mistake.

First I thought I was going the wrong way again. But I figured out the correct route. The only problem was the dead still traffic right around the time I entered VA. Whatever "virginia welcomes you." More like hates me. There is nothing quite so humbling as knowing you need to be somewhere, knowing you are letting someone down by not being there and having absolutely NO control over the situation. You couldn't even find a faster way home if you wanted to. And trust me, I wanted to. My spirits got as gray as, you know, the sky that day.

And I desperately needed to pee. But I couldn't because I was afraid to take an exit for fear that it make take me far away from my route. My fears were confirmed when I took the quantico exit and met a very serious guard who asked for my military I.D. The nonexistent one. Becasue of my run in with not-s0-rent-a-cop I decided not to use the port-a-potty I had spied on a construction site right outside of the base. That and I was late already.

Two and a half hours late. How's that for a first impression?

All's well that ends well, though. Because I got to pee.

Oh, and I got a roommate. So that was pretty cool (unlike the temperature).

And apparently there were no hard feelings because the next morning she made me pancakes. And didn't yell when I burnt two of them.

We set the table for Sunday morning breakfast before our apartmentmates arrived.

We're official like that.

Then monday happened and thus ensued academia and schedules and assignments and reading. Which brings me to now. What I should be doing now. I decided after a round of errands, which included eight stops, to stop by caribou coffee. I had every intention of getting some work done and organizing my planner and folders. But I felt I should take advantage of the opportunity to do some recap and introspection before I get far behind.

With just 3 days of school behind me, I haven't quite found the groove. Syllabus days are always the most overwhelming because it feels like all of the things outlined in front of you are due next week. They're not. I have to tell myself that. Apparently my self is pretty convincing because here I am not working. Well, not working on school.

I feel like I better understand what it is to purposefully not be working on school and it be okay. How to be careless for a while when all the cares in the world are around me. Because God cares about it all. He says it's not all about school. Or friends. Or family. It's all about Him. And He's got the rest, if I'm willing to put some work in.

Even still, He's got the rest.

After all, the joy in a two hour long bike ride with my Rooms (and for a little while, my extrooms) was not my doing.

The peace in a house of conflict was not my doing.

The deepening relationship with new(ish) friends is not my doing.

The BCM is not my doing.

The ability to learn at Mary Washington and knowledge itself is not my doing.

"For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you... Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality."

-Romans 12:3, 9-13

And as long as He is doing, I'm to do my thing cheerfully.

8 a.m.s or no 8 a.m.s

Papers or no papers.

Stress or no stress.

Arkansas or no Arkansas.

Big Head

It's probably not nice to call him that on his birthday.

But a cap that fits his head also fits perfectly on mine, so who are we really insulting here?

It's my most recent of nicknames for my beloved brother since I've been working for his best friend all summer. Every other day Jordan would demand, "call yo' big head brother up her'." I've called him by many other names throughout our childhood. Starting with "wook" moving on to "wookie" then dufus and lucas, to mr. pOlice man and Lukie. It's enough names to cover each of his roles in life. Husband, son, police man, Christian, friend. I, however, am particularly fond of his role as brother.

He's one of the few people I cherish as much as I cherish Emily. And for all intents and purposes, I've cherished him longer. No offense to Em, but she hated me. So really, offense to me. ;) Hate isn't the word. There is just something so annoying about a little sister getting all up in your room and taking stuff or mixing up your shampoos to make a concoction or entertaining your company or stealing all of your attention just by being born that you just don't really get over quickly. So while Em and I have some very fond memories of each other in our earlier years, interspersed are some less than pleasant. It's natural for sisters and I hardly hold it against her. But for every time I can remember getting upset as a kid, I can remember Luke doing his best to calm me down.

I went to Luke to be held as a baby. I patiently sat as he and dad played crash bandicoot on the nintendo because I felt cool just watching him. I proudly looked on at basketball games and ROTC marches, at each event feeling like a VIP because that was my brother out there. I came home from school with a story of a girl threatening me, so he strapped pillows to himself and made me fight. In the eighth grade (and ever) I didn't have a boyfriend on valentine's day and even though he had no money, Luke bought me and emily roses and m&m's to tell us how proud he was to be our brother. One night on the way home from church I mentioned that I couldn't drive a stick shift, so Luke did his best to teach me in the Harvest Foods parking lot. It didn't work because I had to pee SO bad, but it was the thought.

In a lot of ways, Luke pushes me. Like with the stick shift. He helped teach me to ride a bike. He told me I'd be okay when he strapped a leash on the back of his bike, put me in roller blades and told me to hold on while he peddled. And I was. He lets me help at miscellaneous projects and assures me I can do it. He teaches me to make a "W" with a roller paint brush to get the best coverage. He makes me kill the roach to help me overcome my fear of roaches. I really can't remember other specific times right now, but there have been a number of cases where I didn't think I could do something and he'd say "c'mon, Sade." And, so as to never disappoint my big brother, I would.

Where Emily teaches me a lesson in my strengths and weaknesses by having a personality so different than mine, Luke shows me strengths and weaknesses by mirroring a lot of similar personality traits.

For example. One day Stephanie, Luke and I were in the kitchen. Luke got a glass from the cabinet and shut it. Then I got a glass and it, uh hmm, slipped my mind to shut the cabinet door. Stephanie turns around to see the open door and sighs a sigh that says this is a battle she's not willing to take on. Still, she decides to grumble a bit under her breath to me.

Closing the door nonchalantly she mutters "this is so like him."

"what?" I ask.

"gets a glass and..." She goes silent mid-sentence and turns to her cutting board.

"what?"

It dawns on her that I was the culprit. Not her beloved husband. It is something he would do. It's just something I would do, too. There are many, many behavioral similarities like these. Not the least of which being our speech patterns. This summer I have adopted his habit of making every "a" a long "A". The bAthroom. An Apple. It's become so second nature that I can't even think any more up right now. I do know now to make a concentrated effort to shut the cabinet door.

I used to get so upset when Luke was in trouble. Especially the older he got. One time I remember him crying in his room after some big conversation he had with mom and dad. In my mind he was the brother who could do no wrong. And since he was the strong, invincible one I was always overwhelmed to see him broken. After all, he was the one assuring me I could handle... fill in the blank. So if he couldn't handle something, I felt defenseless. This one time I went in his room, he was maybe 16, me 9, and asked "are you okay?" It was a bold move on my part because I don't handle sorrow, however fleeting, very well. He gave an unconvincing "yeah." Appropriately unconvinced, I went to his side and awkwardly hugged his neck. He moved to hug me back and said in that familiar voice "thanks, Sade."

I felt the exact same kind of helplessness when he (voluntarily) went off to military academy for his junior year of high school. Again when he left for boot camp. When he subsequently came home on medical discharge. Leaving Ouachita. Losing his truck. Etcetera.

Emily has always been the "friend" little sister. Close enough in age to share a peer group and interests. When Luke was in trouble, she was the one to offer advice or express her disappointment. I was the "adoring" little sister. Less constructive in my childlike devotion and less poised to offer insight. But I empathized. Empathized because even back then I viewed life similarly to Luke. Very, very type B. The mistakes he made I could easily see myself making.

And because of him, I haven't had to.

Not that Luke's life is even close to my example of what not to do. It's what he does well that makes me admire him. It's that he has pulled through so far which inspires me. Luke doesn't do things half way. He's not a half way friend. He's not a half way cop. He's not a half way husband. Etcetera. I can't recall a time when he didn't call out as I left the house, "I love you, Sade." Not ever has he been ashamed to tell me that. I realize that some people won't ever get it from their siblings, and it is one of the greatest treasures I have as his sister.

He's passionate about what he loves. Lucky for us.

He's sociable as all get out. He's smart, but doesn't just save it for a classroom. He finds everyday ways to apply his knowledge. He's handy like that.

Most of all, He is dedicated to finding out God's will for his life. I'll never forget the summer of 2007. Because I am 7 years younger, I've never really done a lot with just me and Luke. So to spend 3 weeks with just the two of us representing the family on mission trips was a completely new experience. We spent 2 weeks in Brazil in June with a great group of 5 others, meeting faithful translators and missionaries while serving a poor community in Manaus. I saw Luke's heart for people really shine on that trip and watched him once again fall in love with missions.

Then, in July, we went on a youth trip to St. Louis for M-FUGE. The whole week was about giving and the "underground" of being a Christian-- Service and attitude and the things people don't see. On the last night I saw Luke at the end of the row of chairs in the big auditorium. He had bowed his head at the end of worship and sat in his seat to pray. Around him, the audience cleared out, even our group. I walked with them, but stopped short of the exit. I looked back, seeing him still. I didn't know if I should stay or go pray with him or just move on, so I just went and sat next to him with my hand on his shoulder. After a few minutes in this silent room, he got up and hugged me and we went about group time. I couldn't help but remember that night in his room. Two big memories I have that were not necessarily outstanding in their time. But they are exemplary of our dynamic and the example Luke sets for me.

It's not about being around someone all time. It's not about failure or fear. It's not about age or circumstance. Love is knowing someone is there. It's knowing you can just be. There need not always be words or advice or scorn. Sometimes love is just a willing pair of arms and the humility to let them wrap around you.

And while it may not have been the best thing to have had a childlike faith in my brother (especially with the roller blade/bike combo situation), it means I do have the capacity to have such confidence and trust in God. Having a brother who will be there to protect me further leads me to believe that I have a God even nearer.

On the eve of his 27th birthday, my prayer is pulled from a devotional book he gave me right before I left for freshman year at UMW. The prayer itself is not a part of the published book, its what Luke wrote on the very first page and dated "29 March 2007."

Oh Lord, open my eyes to see you. Open my heart so that I may experience you in a real way. A way that changes my life. In a way that brings me to my knees... to experience you in a way that would change the lives of those around me would be my life's goal... Oh Lord, King of Kings, show me but a portion of you so that I may count myself changed.

In between

I dropped Mom and Dad off at the airport this morning.

Now I'm sitting in my incredibly empty living room. Sitting and thinking. Thinking and praying. Praying and planning.

A lot like what I did on the way home from the airport. Except for then I was crying. I don't know why, really. The excitement for this semester is palpable and I have so much to look forward to. Really, I just have so much. I'm ready to get started. There was just something that stung a little today in the realization that my parents are gone. But not just that they're gone. I'm gone. I'm the one away from home. By choice, sure. By calling, even better. Some days just require an extra helping of courage. So I had a lovely drive home mustering it up.

As I drove off, still seeing my dad in the rear-view mirror, I turned my iPod on. I went to play something like "wonderful, merciful savior" or "all of me" or "i will show you love." Instead Francesca Battistelli's "free to be me" came streaming through my speakers. Which is only funny because last Friday on my road trip with Dad, he sang through the entire first verse and chorus searching for the title to this song. So there he is humming every word with me

doubling over in laughter. Maybe it was mean of me to let him keep going, but you would have done the same thing if you could have heard it. Besides, the memory served as my comedic relief this afternoon.

That, and when I told mom to call me she said "Oh, baby, I'm going to text you." Like she is something else because she has finally mastered the art of the text. Don't hurt yourself, baby ;)

Another funny thing? As I went through my music, finding songs to sing (cry) along to, an unlikely artist spoke to me. Don't laugh. Or do, because it is funny. I had just finished "wonderful, merciful savior" when Christina Aguilera comes on. With a song I would never really expect to teach me. Still, when it started with "young girl, don't cry I'll be right here when your world starts to fall," I knew it was time to get over myself.

After all, this is my choice and it is my calling.

Christina suggests I trust the voice within. I choose to trust in Him.

Tired. Scared. Lonely. Hurt.

Up. Happy. Surrounded. Fine.

Here.

There.

In between.

I have a lot. I mean, my living room is pretty bare. But the kitchen is stocked, my school clothes are bought and my tivo is running. The medicine cabinet is hanging in the bathroom, staring me down with the same challenge it brought this time last year. The stuff is not what will get me through-- it's not my hope. Not even friends or good intentions will carry me. It's you, God.

Jesus, make me courageous. Because no matter where I am, I'm in between Home. I feel it a little more today, and I'm grateful for that. I love you, that you are able to satisfy me wherever. This is me ready to let you. Satisfy, that is. Outside of wardrobe and good eats and a tivo.

And since it's in my head and relevant...

I'm a new soul

I came to this strange world

Hoping I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take

But since I came here, felt the joy and the fear

Finding myself making every possible mistake

la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la

(New Soul, Yael Naim)

Momma Said There'd Be Days Like This

And so I'm off.

I'm laying in the bunk bed that has been mine all summer. In truth, it is the guest bed. But I've called it mine. I swear (except I usually don't) I can still feel the sigh of relief I let out on the night I came home and plopped myself onto these sheets. I lay there thinking I had all the time in the world.

Contrast that with this morning as I threw the sheets off of me for the last time this go'round. Dread isn't the word. All I know is that there was a distinct feeling that I no longer had all the time in the world (tangent: for that matter, do I ever? Have all the time? I don't think I do. It's realizations like this, inherent lessons in going off that draw me back to my nestegg of the world so many miles away. Well, it's one of the reasons.)

I've said before that I feel most prepared for this departure. That is still true. But in all of my preparedness I hadn't quite stopped to soak in all that I'm going to miss. It's a blessing and a curse. It means I haven't really had much time to be sad. At the same time, I haven't gone around to savor everything I will miss. And now I'm an hour out from departure. So the sadness is condensed into these few minutes.

Bella. The little Puppies. My ceiling fan. My moms collection of Bibles. The last episodes of shark week on the tivo. The friends I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to. My library books that won't fit in Arkie. My bike. ... oh wait he's strapped to the back of my car. Ha! Let's just say this entourage is going to be a sight to see.

When I think of strolling up into FredVegas with all of this stuff, getting my key to the apartment, decorating, getting classes sorted out, getting to hug the necks of chiclets new and old alike, I get so excited.

Truth be told, I think the fact that I made mention of the things I will miss means that I have indeed savored them. There is just the inevitable fact that they will soon be gone. And since I can't do a dern thing to keep 'em around, it's not worth leaving my heart here with them. So instead I linger on the excitement.

Roots and wings... roots and wings... roots and wings.

I guess it's time to switch modes.

Momma said, momma said.

Good and Great

After a very emotional last Saturday night, I had a perfectly giddy evening (... morning.) this past weekend.

It's *almost* like God knew what I needed.

Almost.

Oh, okay. He did. Does. Straight up, all the time, looking out for this wayfarer. Which, in and of itself makes for a giddy evening. Throw in a few long time, long-been-far-away friends and everything is upped to elation. Belly laughter, even.

And on top of this, I get great news from Virginia on two fronts. An exciting announcement that I'm not sure I can share yet about the BCM as well as the i-dont-even-have-words-for-the-excitement call from Katie Jones that I do, in fact, have a for real roommate for next year. I mean, I had to get over the whole "omg now I have to share a room again?!?" disappointment, first ;) THAT was a joke. The two of us don't share, we fuse. And boy do we have a lot to talk about. But right now it's 12:45 and what sort of roommate starts talking loud past midnight?

There are actually so many people who have a phone call from me past due. I could make a list right here, but I wont. Still, I felt like I should acknowledge that fact. It's just that I had an amazing weekend tucked away in Dallas, bonding with some incredible women. Not the least of which being my mother. I can't wait to be in Fredericksburg bonding with some more of you amazing folks, but I only had a concentrated amount of time to live it up with the Gerlachs. And now an even more limited amount of time to cherish the people I love here at home.

I can't even believe it's time to leave.

Even more unbelievable is how prepared I feel to go. The most prepared I've ever felt, I think.

Not really ready. But surprisingly ready.

Got it? Me neither.

Part of the preparedness may have something to with the fact that I bought out the entire kitchen section of Ross: Dress for Less, with side items from the shoe and clothing departments. Mom came home in May with stories of this store, but y'all, Ross is amazing. The mere thought of my new orange mixing bowls makes me want to go whip up something straight out of a Julia Child cookbook.

Which reminds me. There is a moment in the movie when Julia and her sister are getting ready for a big fancy event. They are extremely tall, just plain big built women. So they get all beautified and are standing in front of the mirror observing themselves. Julia says, in an impressed tone, "pretty good." After pausing for a second she follows up with a "not great, but good." And the sisters laugh it off. It's quite a charming little snippet. Honestly something I think about myself a lot here recently. Not just in the looks department, though certainly there. A lot in the service/discipleship realm as well. I have loved this summer. But there are some areas that have been good and I am staring an opportunity to make them great in the face.

That opportunity, of course, being this semester. And by "make them great" I do mean "be made great." Because it hasn't been and won't be me doing the great.

I am ready to regularly exercise again. Not because I think I look bad, but because my body feels bad. I get out of breath on a stair case, I can hardly get half a mile on the treadmill before I have to start walking. Very slowly. AKA crawling. It's not cool. Like literally. It has been so hot and that, friends, does not make a girl want to run. But the um, we'll call them dimples, in my skin that have resurfaced since May are beginning to provide the motivation. I really don't mean to be vain here. I realize that it is a privilege I take for granted to even be able to function properly and run in the first place. That I have the physical and emotional means to get in shape is a gift. My desire to hit the gym has nothing to do with being the prettiest girl at the ball. But it has a lot to do with that as long as I have the means and ability to live healthily, I want to be a good steward of what I'm given.

I am ready to serve in avenues I have previously only thought about. Thinking has only gotten me so far in the past couple of years. I look forward to the doing. At fairview. At Micah. At the BCM. At the VBMB. It may sound stupid, but honestly a cute (that may be pushing it) little (again debatable) 1998 clunker/answer to prayer is going to make this happen. I cannot even begin to tell you how life changing a vehicle will be to me. Told you it would sound stupid. But hopefully my life wont be the only one changed. It is my honest prayer that Arkie be a vessel for me to work for, help, and learn from others. Cheesy as it sounds, my horizon has broadened. And whereas before I knew of needs, I feel like I have 10 times the means to meet needs. And meet people. Good will be great.

I mentioned last weekend that Mom brought up Psalm 86 after she came across it during a quiet time. Well, she did something with it. She pulled out every single quality of God mentioned in the passage and typed it out on a little note card. At the top it reads, "Because the I AM has been, I CAN be." (seriously, where does the woman come up with this stuff? ... right.) It's quite the lengthy list, as can be expected. To me they are the things that make the difference between good and great.

Because the I AM has been, I can be...

- a guardian of life

- trustworthy

- merciful

- joyful

- kind

- forgiving

- abounding in love to all who call my name

- a listener

- part of the answer

- great

- a doer of marvelous deeds

- taught/a teacher

- truth

- a deliverer/delivered

- compassionate

- gracious

- slow to anger

- faithful

- strong

- good

- helpful

- comforting

- encouraging

I'm just ready for God to do great things. Surely I look around and see that He already has. The new is just especially exciting.

The Big D

No, not her.

Although now I want to write about Deirge.

After all, she is the big D.

However, the D I'm referring to this morning is Dallas. The city that killed Kennedy (but I'm not bitter). The city that sits halfway between the Smiths and the Gerlachs. There. I'll look on the bright side. And so far this time with friends can be summed up with the word "bright." I have not laughed so much in the span of 8 hours as I did last night in a long time.

And Allie, the Gerlach nearest my age, isn't even here yet. She is coming in from a 5-week long mission trip this afternoon and we're making it a party at the airport. Sadly, I do not have my camera because Lindsey needed it for a project to promote her music. I figured she really had the more urgent need for the camera and it gives me an opportunity to really soak things up rather than be snapping pictures left and right.

Which I would totally be doing because this trip is delightful. Everything I need my last weekend before school to be. I think someone knew that. And He's just cool like that.

I'll save the recap for when it's over, but for now I just wanted to pop in and say that my own little slice of the world is pretty sweet. And speaking of slice, even though I promise I'm saving the recap, we saw Julie and Julia last night and I'm thinking of starting up actual cooking. I'll need that soundtrack first. But then I'm set to go. Well, you know, after I get all of the utensils. And stock up on ingredients. And move into a kitchen.

It may be a far off dream.

But this is Dallas, you've gotta dream big.

Lee Harvey Oswald did.