The sigh. It can communicate so much, or too little. Sometimes just enough.
Last week Aaron and I got to go see the Five Irish Tenors at the Winston-Salem arena for next to nothing. WakeDiv provided our tickets, so we only had to pay for parking and treats (a shared drink and bag of popcorn). It was a delightful experience for my Irish-American self, especially as it was in such proximity to St. Patrick’s day.
I have to admit, though, that when I walked into our home and dropped onto the couch after the evening bus, I was tired. I was tired from my day of classes, but more emotionally hungover from the events of the weekend. I felt blissfully happy, timidly hopeful, scholastically stressed (5 weeks ‘til exams!), and utterly ready for a nap in the early-evening sun.
Aaron wanted to go to the concert, though. He is like that, ready and willing to experience art and wonder. Now, I’ll face any danger head-on, but the sheer pleasure of enjoying art feels sometimes too luxurious or something. Aaron, though, has the capacity to practice great hospitality toward that which is beautiful, other, or transcendent—and he won’t let me miss out on the grace of it, either.
God bless him for it. The Irish guys were a hoot. The concert was a gift.