Judge Not
Posted on August 31, 2014

Some time ago Page and I went to see the play “Big Fish.” It was magnificent, a celebration of music, dance, love, and life. It took me a while to get into the celebrative mode, however, because of the man who was seated in front of me. I nicknamed him “The Human Metronome.” He shifted constantly. He was tall and broad-shouldered. The seats were not designed for folks with longer legs, I suppose (folks like him... or like myself). And so, he had difficulty finding a comfortable spot. Each time he shifted, he would block my view. So, I would shift in my seat in order to see around him. That would last a minute (usually less), and then he would shift again, once more blocking my view. So, I, too, would have to shift to see the stage. It was constant, his moving left-to-right-to-left-to-right, like a metronome.

Through Our Dark Emotions
Posted on August 24, 2014

The late Maurice Boyd once said: “There are plenty of places in life that if we don’t pass through them, we perish in them.” That is an insight worth considering.

The Treasures Of Darkness
Posted on August 17, 2014

Throughout the Bible are verses tucked away in larger pericopes which we frequently pass by without noticing. One such is in Isaiah, the forty-fifth chapter, verse three. It says: “I will give you the treasure of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, Who summons you by name.”

Israel-Palestine
Posted on August 10, 2014

In so many of the world’s hot spots, there are clear villains and victims. Think Syria. Think Iraq. Think Russia/Ukraine. Think North Korea. Turn on the news, and such stories are without limit. However, when we read of the ongoing conflict between Israel and Palestine, whatever one’s political leaning, the issue is a bit more cloudy.

Aging
Posted on August 3, 2014

I spent last weekend at Topsail Island with Adam and Zachary. My sons are thirty-one and twenty-six years old. I’m, well, uh... considerably past that. Anyway, on Sunday afternoon we drove to a place a few miles for our cottage and rented jet skis. It was a blast. There were seven of us who had the 3:00-4:00 hour reserved. Two were my sons (as noted, ages 31 and 26), two were Marines from nearby Camp Lejeune (both appeared to be in their early twenties), two were the girlfriends of those Marines (about the same ages as their boyfriends), and then there was me. I was the senior member of the group. I was “the old guy.” I was the one that a lifeguard led out into the water, slowly driving alongside my jet ski, telling me not to be alarmed because he would be watching out for me, and saying I was doing really well when I got the speed up to 25 mph. Yep, I was his geriatric project.