A woman in our church had one of her worst fears play itself out on a bitter cold evening last week. She received a horrifying cell-phone call from her daughter who was four hours away in a blizzard and she was weeping hysterically and said her care was broken down. She was on an interstate highway near a major city in Ohio.
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When Old Glory Passes
Saturday our oldest daughter Holly rode with the National Baby Food Festival Queen’s Court in a parade in Muskegon. It was an all-American, beautiful day. While we were waiting for the parade to start I was instructing the little guys on the proper way to behave when Old Glory passes.
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Guarding the Flowers
One of my favorite places to be is in my old Adirondack Chair (You can read all about the Adirondack on the web site) on the front porch on a summer evening. I love to read there or visit with the children or just watch them play on the lawn. It is usually cool there and I am surrounded by fragrant flowers bursting with color.
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Lunch Hour in Utica
If my life were a movie I would fast-forward though Junior High. My Junior High years were painful. Like every Junior High kid I was dealing with awakening sexuality, and struggling with who I was and how I would make my mark in life. But I was sure I was alone with these strange feelings.
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Missing the Point of Life
Have you ever heard of Keith Drury? He teaches at Indiana Wesleyan and every summer he goes on an adventure. Sometimes he goes alone, sometimes with his wife, often with students. It is tiring just to read about his adventures. He has hiked trails in America, Scotland, Greece and Turkey, rode bikes, paddled streams, last summer he even took a moped tour of the Smokies. Here’s a link if you don’t believe me.
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The Wisdom of “Old-Timers”
Last week was summer in Fremont. This week we are back to winter. Don’t you love Michigan? No time to get bored with the weather around here is there? I was out on a call last week and with the sun roof open getting sun on my head and enjoying the first natural warmth since about last September and noticed the brilliant yellow Forsythia blooming. Whenever the Forsythia bloom I remember something the old-timers used to say: “Three snows after the Forsythia bloom.”
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