Parts Unknown

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So while all y’all were glued to the television, watching Trump implode by

1) Refusing yet again to release his financials because he really doesn’t want you to know how deep is his involvement with Putin

2) Committing treason by daring Russians to find him dirt on Hillary because Trump frankly hasn’t a clue (to quote Biden) on how to conduct a campaign with dignity much less a country with honor

3) Making a mockery out of America and Amercians while he aligns himself as one of Putin’s personal assistants

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Everyday is a Jubilee for Each of Us

 

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I was packing up my bags when the phone call came. It was somewhere around 7 a.m. but I’d been up an hour already.

“Karen, looks like there might be a Jubilee going on.”

“Oh, wow!” I said. “Really?”

“I’m headed out to the pier to see,” Jane said.

“I’ll meet you there.”

For those unaware, there is this phenomenon that happens only in two places in the entire world – one is Tokyo Bay, the other is Mobile Bay.

They call it a Jubilee and I wrote about it in my book Will Jesus Buy Me a Doublewide? (Zondervan).

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A Most Fortunate Daughter

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I am a white, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, straight woman who for many years has identified as an Evangelical (in the strictest dictionary sense of that word, not the political one) for decades now.

In other words, I’m a most fortunate daughter.

There are certain assumptions made about me based on those things alone that puts me in good standing most everywhere I go. People assume I respect cops. I do. I honor the laws of the land. Except for traffic laws, pretty accurate.  People assume that I work hard. There is evidence of that in my life. People assume that I’m not a drug user, that I don’t have a secret YouTube station under a porn name, that I am not participating in any illegal activities of any nature, and that I would make a good neighbor because I wouldn’t fly a Confederate flag or put an old couch on my lawn or sell marijuana from my home.

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What’s a Little Cheating Among Friends?

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She turned her paper in weeks late, this honor student, this student body president, even though she understood that doing so would cost her points that would lower her grade significantly.

I would remind her nearly every class that she needed to get her work turned in. She would smile that gorgeous smile of hers and assure me that she was working on it.

Never once did she ask questions or ask for help or come see me privately to discuss the paper. She never texted me, never tweeted me, never emailed me, never communicated with me in any form or fashion, even though I made myself available before and after school, and in all of those various forms  of communication that are designed specifically for today’s generation of students.

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On the verge of a nervous breakdown

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I kept looking at the sky as the sun set over the Gulf last night. It was one of those glorious pink sunsets that turns the whole world rosy: the Gulf waters, the sky before me, the sky behind me, the very pier upon which I walked, the two men visiting from France and posing for a picture, all of it, all of us, bathed in rosy sunlight.

Dozens of us had just watched on as a young man, strong of hip and biceps, battled with a fish all along the pier. Starting at one end and working his way over the heads and lines of other fisherman around the end of the pier and back up the west end, a crowd following close behind as he broke into a sweat from the sheer weight and struggle. He was mindful and relentless, knowing that this was the catch that he’d talk about for years to come, the story he’d tell his grandchildren, should he have any, about the day he caught the big one while the crowds oohed and ahhed him along.

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