Love God. Serve others. Tacos.

Jason grew up with the glorious weekly taco night tradition, and his mother taught him to fry corn tortilla shells.  We occasionally made them for friends and family, but most Tuesdays you could find us at one of our favorite Mexican restaurants letting someone else do the cooking.
When we began to dream of what it would look like to fill our table each week, tacos seemed to be the only option even worth considering.

If you think about it, they are the perfect food.  Unless you are a robot, I am pretty sure you have no ethical or emotional objection to tacos.  They are fully customizable, gluten free, and just basically bring happiness to one and all.

I have a shelf in the pantry for taco staples, and everything else we need can be grabbed in a five minute grocery trip.  It's not fancy, but it is easy, and the prep has become part of my muscle memory.

Pull the meat out of the freezer, pick up sour cream, avocados, tomatoes, lettuce and Mission white corn tortillas (there is no other choice, no other brand.  Ride or die.)  Open the pantry and gather a can of beans for cheater restaurant beans, taco seasoning, and Rice-a-Roni Mexican rice (never ever Spanish, we only made that mistake once.)

 Half an hour before our new friends are coming over I start the rice and beans.  Then when the doorbell rings Jason starts making chips and shells.  Bar stools at the kitchen island are pulled out, water glasses come down from the cabinet, I start the chopping and guacamole, we share stories and ask questions.  Sometimes the kids are sent out to the trampoline or pool, sometimes they are in the other room playing the Wii.  Every time small hands walk by for handfuls of chips.  So many handfuls of chips.

This taco ritual involves everyone.  There is chopping, grabbing the arsenal of hot sauce choices, the filling different taco combinations for each kid.  All the while life is being lived. We find out how people met, what they dream about, and how they wandered into the school auditorium one Sunday.  We laugh, we cry, we make a mess, we pile the dishes in the sink.

It is by far my favorite night of the week.  It is chaotic, often noisy, and it is the good stuff.  Before we know it bedtime creeps up on us and we say our goodbyes.  Knowing that every taco shared that night is part of the story of our family's life.
What does this have to do with Tacos & Tees? Everything.  It is everything I am and everything I love. Jesus. Family. Others. Mexican food. Sarcasm.  Whether lyrics from my favorite hymn, or my commentary on the current political mess, this is me.  And it is about so much more than tacos.