I’m hiking along a mountain trail, and I come across this tree that one day long ago ran into a problem. As its roots probed down they confronted a boulder. The process might have gone something like this: ———- “We can’t grow into solid rock!” the roots yell. “We’re at a dead stop. Should we call it quits and just be a small tree?” —“No,” says the tree’s command center. “How big is the boulder?” “So big you can’t believe it. All we feel is rock.” —“Can’t you push it out of the way?” “No. It’ll probably push us…
[ Read More → ]My father’s notebooks contained a saying, “The only difference between a grave and a rut is their length.” I used to have a wonderful rut. My life in California was good. For more than two decades Kim and I lived the American dream. But it became an encompassing comfort zone that etherized my soul. I miss California, the ocean, the mountains, the desert, the endless things to do and places to go. I miss my friends, church members, colleagues, students, and loved ones. People in California asked why on earth I would go to Louisiana, and people here…
[ Read More → ]My daughter got a new puppy, and little “Mochi” is about four times the size of my Yorkshire terrier. Mochi doesn’t simply walk as most dogs do. She prances—like a joyful expression of being alive. When I take Mochi out on a leash, she stops to watch two people throwing a ball. Her head turns curiously at the sound of a car. She stares in wonder at a flock of birds overhead. She doesn’t chase squirrels yet because she’s too fascinated to do anything but stand and gaze. So I’m patient with her never-ending stops because her innocent fascination with…
[ Read More → ]A weed grows at the end of my driveway where it crosses the sidewalk into the street. One day it sprouts white flowers. It is small, and few if any people will notice it or care. But it’s beautiful–and stubbornly determined. It is completely surrounded and wedged in by slabs of concrete—not a good place to be planted, but it is. So it grows anyway in the little dirt it finds between the slabs and with the little water spared by the arid sky. As I take the photo, a friendly sheriff’s deputy stops…
[ Read More → ]The materialism of Christmas shopping used to be tempered by carols of angels and the newborn Christ. But now that anything “religious” has been pervasively banned from stores, we’re reduced to hollow gibberish about Santa and happy holidays. What to say? An alternative to feeling angry or cynical or sad is to remember that the original holiday, the Roman Saturnalia, was a happy pagan holiday to begin with. And before that, Jesus wasn’t particularly welcomed in Israel either—Herod tried to kill him (with horrific collateral damage to baby boys around Bethlehem). If Jesus were so inclined, he might say to us something…
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