Once upon a time teenagers passed notes to each other in church. There is no doubt in my mind that there are 60 year olds out there today who were chastised by their preacher from the pulpit for their use of this mode of written communication in a worship service. But that day is long past. Teens text message each other during church now. In fact, I suspect there could be a few adults using their smart phones for something…
Another year is about to end. Most of us search for some sense of closure at the close of the year. It is a time for new beginnings. And it might even be a moment to declare a few resolutions. But the pains of the past continue to keep company with us by stealthily sliding under the entrance to the New Year. Baggage from the past barricades the entrance to the new beginnings that January 1st symbolically brings for everyone. …
Getting in the trouble with the juvenile authorities is never a good thing. And that is especially true if you are only eleven years old. It is not a good way to be voted must likely to succeed a few years down the road by your classmates. But Jimmy (Not his real name) found himself in trouble at age 11. But things were about to turn around. A gentleman who held an important supervisory position at the FBI signed up…
I was off for several days last week, so I spent a good deal of time reading assigned material for an upcoming retreat that is part of a two year residency that has spiritual formation as its focus. In other words, when this two year experience is over I should be a better person! (Actually there is a lot more to it than that…) By Friday afternoon, I was tired of reading about being a spiritual person. I was ready…
In August of 2007, we packed up all our firstborn’s belongs and prepared to make the two hour trek west to Abilene. I deferred to his mother and allowed her the privilege of riding in his car with him on his first trip to college. I drove the family van loaded down with all the necessities for life in a college dormitory. The conversation she had with our then 18 year old son that afternoon is not one she will…
Who Says Cops don’t cry…. I would like to say that the title to this piece is original, but it is not. Curtis Harrelson was the first police chief I served under. He composed an article by the same title for a professional journal over twenty years ago. It was excellent. Of course I can’t find the article anywhere! I officiated at Chief Harrelson’s funeral almost three years ago. I can’t pretend to replicate his thoughts, but the title fits…
Thanksgiving 2011 has come and gone. At The Knox Manor, we paid proper respect to time honored traditions. There was turkey on the table, we watched the Dallas Cowboys play later in the afternoon, and we at least thought about getting the Christmas decorations out of the garage. Everything appeared to be in proper order. On the surface, it was a normal Thanksgiving. But that was definitely not the case. We knew that Randall would not be with us for…
I heard a tale of two fathers last night at a Christmas party. Perhaps I should say that I heard a tale of two kinds of fathers! The first installment in the story unfolded as we sat around enjoying some traditional Mexican food. One the attendees at the party grew up in a home where both of his parents were educators in the public school system. I might add that they were employed by schools in a somewhat rural community. Brian…
Thanksgiving at Grandma’s… There is nothing quite like it. In our early married life, we made the trek to Grannie Obrian’s house situated on a half section of land 10 miles north of Lazbuddie and 20 miles east of Bovina. Grannie was a hard working lady. She knew how to put together a Thanksgiving feast. It never occurred to Grannie Obrian that you could buy pre-made pie shells in the frozen food section at the grocery store. At Grannie’s house,…
My short term memory is well beyond repair. Searching for my keys is a daily ritual. Coffee mugs have been found all over our office suite. My coffee mugs that is… I have been called an airhead and worse… But I can tell you that my first grade teacher drove a baby blue 1966 Mustang. I learned a number of years ago that poor memories are actually not beyond repair. When people approach me and share stories about one of…