Seriously.

Friday was a bad day for not only me but also Charlotte and Beth. I can't pinpoint why, per se, but it was just one of those days that makes you particularly excited for the weekend. Charlotte and I came home from work to find Beth upstairs, just laying on her bed. We hopped on with her. The three of us laid there, stared at the ceiling, and started a chorus of:

Seriously.

Seriously.

Seriously.

(Apologies if you don't watch Grey's Anatomy and don't understand that reference.) Though we had an ambitious night of work ahead of us, we decided we needed to go out to dinner to 1) take the edge off and 2) celebrate our new house. After much indecisive driving about, we landed at Old Chicago, which ended up taking us most of the night. But that didn't deter me and Charlotte. At 9:00 Friday night we headed down to my apartment on Q Street and started to clean. We were throwing empty boxes over the balcony (apologies to the neighbors below, who looked baffled at the box storm at that hour) and packed the rest of my belongings before heading off for Round 2: Charlotte's bedroom.

It was past 10:30 by the time we arrived at Bristol Square. We loaded our arms with some cleaning supplies and headed up the stairwell when I noticed something flying around. Something big. I said as much to Charlotte and as she looked back at me to respond, she saw it. A bat! We both screamed and ran into the apartment, frantically slamming the door behind us. (Apologies to all the neighbors in her building.) We were stuck. All the paint supplies were still down in my car. We couldn't stay there all night. Here is the part of the story where I admit my wussiness, cowardness, and bad-friend-ness. I wouldn't budge. I couldn't go out there. So Charlotte, brave soul that she is, took my keys and made a run for it. The bat took a run for her. She claims he hit her head with his wing. He proceeded to chase her back down the stairwell, and luckily left the building when she opened the door.

Finally she made it back upstairs, I apologized for being a wuss, and we proceeded to paint her bedroom. And let me tell you, we did a craptastic job! (Apologies to Bristol Square apartments.) Starting at midnight, we did our best to remove the memory of the pretty teel from that wall by coating it with white. Finally, at 2:30 in the morning, we looked around and said, "It's not just good, it's good enough" (apologies to a former friend from college for stealing his line) and went home.

I have no smooth way to segue from that highly exciting story of adventure and intrigue to the quiet story of how blessed I was last night by music and friendship. This will be my third blog post in a year about our friend Andrew Peterson (see Sure of All I Hope For and Roommates and Reindeer), and though this was the seventh concert of his I've been to in seven years, I never grow tired of his shows. He performed last night with his friends Ben Shive and Andy Gullahorn out in west Omaha and it was once again one of those concerts that confirmed all that I believe in the deepest part of my gut. His honesty and genuine presentation always strike me, and last night was no different. There is just something about his songs and stories that penetrate my heart and remind me of the truth of the Story and the reality of God, His Kingdom, and the love that is woven through our days. He ended the concert with a hymn, and gradually stopped playing and left the stage to truly keep the focus on God. I didn't know the hymn, actually, but that was okay. I was just blessed to stand there and listen, to hear Tabitha on my left and Jonelle on my right, singing words they've known and believed for years, in praise to our God.

All that beauty and seriousness went out the window when we got home last night, though, as, in our collective delirium, Charlotte, Beth and I all went batty (no pun intended). Poor Matt(hew). He came over after the concert to fix our internet and was met with uncontrollable laughter that made no sense to us, let alone anyone outside of our insanity. At one point, Charlotte was laughing so hard she was crying, and at another point I blew milk out of my nose. What was so funny, you ask? I'm not sure. All I have to say is this: Nabity Pabity.

We are so crazy.

Seriously.