Texas Revival Week
This past week I traveled 1650 miles to San Antonio, Texas to attend a women’s praise conference. Sort of like an old time revival. My sister and her daughters invited me to attend and I thought it would be good to visit in Texas and take in a little spirituality at the same time.
I arranged all of our schedules, talked to the school bus driver, put extra stuff in the refrigerator, and left notes in every lunch box. I also left a list of instructions for everyone, made sure there was cash for all events, paid the bills, took a picture of the sunrise and headed to the airport.
My sister picked me up at the Austin (because she lives in Austin) airport and we were off for a great weekend of fun. We drove to San Antonio and saw all of the sights from the passenger seat of her little Prius as we navigated in a one-way circle looking for the convention center. We would putter to a stop and I would say, “Hey, look, there is the river…” and she would turn left. Another block, “Hey, there is the Ala…” and before I could get out my phone we turned left again. Left, left, left. I had my camera ready this time. I got off two quick pics of the Alamo before we squeezed in front of a HUGE bus to turn left once again.
We finally found the convention center, found a nice lady to direct us to the hotel and we only circled it three times before finding the parking garage. I checked us in while she worked with the valet boys. My nieces showed up within an hour and we were all set for a great weekend of spiritual revival with a bunch of women.
As we entered the convention center that night we showed our purple bands to prove that we had paid and were indeed part of the conference. We found seats wayyyy up front and visited with those around us. Over three thousand women were milling about talking while taking note of where the bathroom was. We knew that at break time, the advantage would go to those sitting on the aisles.
The band played. LOUD. We sang along. At first, we sang and watched the others clap and raise their hands to the ceilings. As the night moved on, we began to clap louder and “whooped” a time or two. By the end of the night my niece and I had our hands to the ceiling and were practically dancing in the aisles. We had a great time.
We walked back to the hotel with the crowds, went to bed, and started over early the next morning. The speakers were fantastic so we added some really loud “Amens” and clapped harder. We encouraged my sister to join us and by the last night we had both of her hands in the air. We DID dance in the aisles, clapping hands over our heads and acting just like a bunch of screaming teenagers. We had a BLAST and stood in line for over an hour to sign up for next year.
We parted ways on Sunday afternoon. We were all exhausted, filled with the spirit, and ready to see our husbands and kids. My sister and I talked all the way back to Austin. As we entered the house we were met by my brother-in-law and given hugs. That night around the table as we began to tell about our weekend, he said, “You guys didn’t do all that dancin’ and screaming did you? I just get so frustrated when people scream and throw their hands to the ceiling.”
I raised my eyebrows to my sister and replied, “Uhhh…no, no we, uuuhhh…we ahhhh…we prayed a lot and sang songs.” She nearly fell out of her chair.
As a matter of fact I was praying that very instant. “Dear Lord, please blind him momentarily when he opens his facebook page.”