How do you like your Jesus?

I like to picture my Jesus with angel wings singing lead vocals at a Lynard Skynard concert.  And I'm in the front row hammered drunk.

I like to picture my Jesus with a tuxedo tee-shirt.  You, know something kinda formal that says I'm formal but I like to party.
                                                                       --Cal, Jr. Talladega Nights.

It is with great pride that I confess that my 12 year old son can quote Talladega Nights on command and I laugh every time.  It's not Romans 8:12 but it still takes a good memory.

I coulda used some Jesus on Saturday when I pulled my hamstring. 
I was trying to do this:

On this:

 Oh snap.  Loser.

I had run 8 miles with my sister on a beautiful, unspoiled stretch of earth near her gawgus rivah house on the Potomac. I ccelebrated my run, my health and my pursuit of Yoga Teacher certification with a couple of glasses of  pinot grigio.  She started dancing on the picnic table and I will NOT be outdone I tell you.  I started with Warrior I on the bench and then felt called to slide down to the splits with no hands.  I hope no one else heard the snap because then my faking that I was fine would be found out.  I faked not limping.  Sounds like something our buddy Cal, Jr. from TN (above, left) might do.  But

I FOUND JESUS because I called.  Often I don't call Him but He just shows up like over the crest of a huge hill I'm sludging up or at the finish line of every race or in the face of my child or in the fresh veggies the earth births or in every single solitary Yoga class I take or in my dogs, my friends or yes friends cheesy crass humor that tickles me. 

 Jesus, Clair.  Raise your bar.  Just don't do the splits on it.

Lesson learned:  wine and Yoga tricks don't mix.

What have your learned lately?  Peace out.