I took doughnuts in to cheer my students up on Thursday. They’re really stressed out with midterms going on, and they’re beginning to resemble zombies. I have never gotten such a reaction to anything at 8 o’clock in the morning as I did to the revelation that I had brought doughnuts to class. I am a hero.
This weekend in Texas, I ate some incredible doughnuts at a place called Gourdough’s in Austin–pronounced like “gordo,” for all of you Spanish-lovers out there. (Click here to see a YouTube clip about the joint, which is housed in a retro silver bullet trailer.) These doughnuts are a big mass of fried dough smothered in just about anything you want. I ordered the “funky monkey,” a gigantic wad of fried heaven covered in cream cheese icing and grilled bananas. My friend–the bride-to-be–ordered the “flying pig,” nearly floating in a maple glaze and topped with crispy bacon. Yes, bacon. You’ve got to trust us on this one, but it was phenomenal.
I am probably genetically predisposed to this, but I sure do like doughnuts.
That said, I’m referring you to Everyday Liturgy, Thomas Turner’s blog, for our Sabbath meditation of the week. Last week, Thomas briefly pondered what it might mean to call oneself and one’s church “missional”–and guess what? It’s more than just handing out doughnuts. Oh yes. Doughnuts.
Go read what he has to say, and let me know what you think.