The Lord works in mysterious ways, and we are Exhibit A. We have so many things going against us being cool.
- Both in our thirties. Cool Mum is 30, and I’m the oldest that Jesus ever got, 33.
- Have a toddler and are expecting our second bouncing, pooping baby boy in the near future.
- My latest attempt at redefining myself with a cool hairstyle ended like my attempt to pass the ‘skipping’ portion of the kindergarten curriculum: a miserable failure. (I was told that I was ‘galloping’. Well, sorry that I really looked up to horses when I was younger. Mr. Ed had a profound impact on my life.)
- We feel that the purchase of new underwear is cause for celebration.
But despite the mountain of evidence against us, we feel the coolest yet. Much like the redemptive qualities of The Island on LOST, Manhattan is redeeming our past offences against coolhood. In a city known for rude neighbors and service with a scowl, we are reaching new levels of coolness (as least in our minds).
Since moving to the Cool Duplex, we’ve been able to connect with people more than we ever have. Each week, our place hosts a rhythm of family dinners, playgroups, bible studies, spontaneous meals with friends, and LOST-watching parties, all with a refreshing variety of New Yorkers: established residents, newbies, singles, marrieds, all hailing from various parts of America and the world.
Many churches preach about community and many of us desire it. We feel blessed and pretty cool to be living in the middle of it. Thank you, Lord.
And even if we’re not any cooler than before, or even less so, there’s no denying that this is so cool, it’s ridiculous: