Ordinary Life

We almost turned around. The wreck slowing traffic was on the opposite side of I-20, but increased caution and ample rubbernecking threatened to add a half hour or more to our ETA.  (I always prefer to beat that number, not extend it)  We were already cutting it close time-wise.  As our speed dropped from 70 to 17, we passed a sign for the next exit - 13 miles away. But we still had 99 miles to reach our destination.  I adjusted my GPS to  " country roads, take me home " and we talked about rescheduling our trip for another day.  But as we reached the 13th mile, we found ourselves at the front of rubbernecker's row. Traffic was moving at a clip and the ETA re-calibrated. We'd still be cutting it close, but we could make it if we tried. So, we tried.  And I'm so glad we did.  ~~~ Sometimes, when my heart is full, words are a tornado and all the raindrop details, a monsoon.  There's so, so much to tell you and,  as the white rabbit checks ...

When the news broke today that the Boy Scouts of America went "woke" by changing their name from Boy Scouts of America to Scouting America, opinions were quickly inked and aired - including perspectives from many people I respect and admire in church and Christendom circles.  Their resounding opinion was something like:  "... a sad measure of society in this day and age ." As the parent of a recently enlisted Scout - that is - a 'girl' Boy Scout- I've had some thoughts and would like to preface all that follows with "We just got here." I realize there may be more ramifications than a mere name change to simplify things.  I understand where the mind goes; the fear of eroded foundations and slippery slopes.  As my not-even-Tenderfoot-yet 'girl' Boy Scout put it: " If this would have happened a few years ago, before we got involved, we may have been saying the same things."  She speaks true.  But oh, the power of involvement to ...

  My buddy Delton is a good storyteller with a keen eye for the humor of simply being alive. He’s the kind of friend who listens between the lines and offers the gift of presence.  Delton’s lawnmower is his “thinking chair” and these chronicles a storehouse of contemplation across the years    Pull up a porch chair and sit a spell with Delton …  The Lawnmower Chronicles  

  On my honor  I will do my best to do my duty  to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times; to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.

I recently let my friends at Patheos know I was turning " The Pretty Good Report " out to pasture.   To quote my teenage daughter's favorite anti-hero: " It's me, hi! I'm the problem, it's me. "  I first encountered Patheos as a young-ish blogger, many years ago, at a time when I was also making my faith and life my own.  I explored a lot of new ideas by the authors-of-then.  I met with fresh perspectives and thought-provoking challenges; it was a season of growth and growing up.   As a result, I held Patheos with kind regard and the chance to join their ranks seemed like a good reason - perhaps even motivation- to write.  But the opportunity to write for them arrived in a different, more rooted season.  It is curious to look back and see how tall we've changed, how thick our bark.  " Further up, further in " as the Unicorn was heard to say.  I realized along the way that this whole journey is a continual forward motion until we rea...

I was grieving something I couldn't explain, so I bought a sympathy card.  I didn't write in it for some time. Mailing was further delayed by a literal drenching rain.  But what kept it pinned to my bulletin board long after it dripped-dry was the emptiness that follows calling Grief by name.  And then one day, post-marked months before, my words arrived.  Here is what I said to me (and now, to you, if need be ):                                                                                                                               November 12, 2023 "It is okay if you don't have words for ...

::: all hyperlinks contain secret messages :::  PEW, PEW, PEW The * old wooden pews in the Nazarene church I grew up in required a sort of sidewinding to maneuver one’s way out. But it wasn't just Nazarene pews that demanded this certain sort of leg-bumping-hymnal-rack-dodging-side-shuffle to reach the aisles. The pews in other churches worked much the same way - regardless of padding or denominational affiliation. This led many of us children to slide-scoot on our bottoms, down the pew towards the ornate end pieces that led to wide-stanced freedom. Sometimes, when long-winded adults stood like talking roadblocks in our way, one might high-step a hasty trot down the pew seats themselves, clearing stacks of hard-back hymnals and leather bound pages of the Good Book like so many hurdles in a race.  Joyful or no - it was a bad idea to make the horsey sounds out loud.  Other times,  we could escape by army-crawling  under the length of pews until we reached ** Wh...