One of the things you're supposed to do when your wife has a baby is buy cigars. Not being much of a cigar guy, though definitely one who appreciates tradition, I pedaled over to Peretti's for a box of his best. Already at 9am there were a number of men in his store puffing away. He asked me how much I wanted to spend. I guessed, "50 bucks?" The gathered aficionados chuckled a collective raspy cackle. He said he could set me up with some Hondurans for $75. Sounded exotic. So I headed back to the church with my cigars in a box, making sure to stop by DD for a box of munchkins in case the cigars weren't much of a hit. And they weren't; at least not until I got to the women on staff. The hipster receptionist was among the first to elija el cigarro, followed shortly by the missions pastor who actually had his own cigar cutter that he'd brought back from a short term missions trip to Honduras. Eventually we had a quorum, enough to ascend to the roof and celebrate Violet's birth in proper form (sans receptionist who promised to join us next time). Admittedly, we all got a little sick (the missions pastor particularly so), a reminder that the fellowship of believers is a fellowship of suffering (Philippians 3:10). But also that we should rejoice with those who rejoice--on earth as it is in heaven (though the smoke in heaven is more likely the incense variety).
