Donald Trump Posts

What Becomes of the Broken Children?

IMG_6656There’s a stillness over the house, the unusual quietness that is companion to the sick and ailing.  The Bean is sleeping now, propped up against a pillow that deludes his Mimi into thinking it helps him breath, being upright a bit instead of flat on his back as he most often sleeps. A Venti Latte sits here on the floor beside me. I don’t usually order the large ones but after the long drive that began in the gloaming hour and ended too late, I knew I would need double the caffeine.

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Cussing on the Way to Church

 

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It was there, while crossing the bridge that connect this part of Oregon with the southern part of Washington, that I glanced over at a boat cutting through the silver waters of the Columbia River. Maybe it was the stillness of the water. Or maybe it was the way the fading light cast out over the river. Just that brief glimpse from the steel archway joining the border of one land to another gave me pause.

So lovely is this world of ours.

I think about its beauty all the time and how one of God’s least talked about characteristics is beauty.

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Some Place East of Fort Benning

 

 

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There is this red dirt drive just off the highway, some place east of Fort Benning, Georgia. If you are speeding or lost in dreams yet unrealized, you’ll surely miss it. You might not even notice the sign declaring Floria’s Folk Art Gallery. Or the circle-board painted blue declaring Jesus is Soon to Return. Drive by too quickly and you’ll miss entirely the Letter from Hell.

Back in 2007, the first time I met Floria, there was only a small sign outside the shop. If Floria hadn’t been wearing her signature floral hat and busily working on a project outdoors, I would have missed her then. Thankfully, I have mastered my mama’s technique of stopping on the dime and giving nine-cents change. That first time, I came away from Floria’s with a picture of an African American girl reading a book. It sits in the frame Floria painted atop a bookshelf in my office. It cheers me, that painting does, and serves as a reminder of the places I’ve been and the people I met along the way.

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What’s Left of Right?

Karen’s Note: The following is a post from a veteran-turned-pastor friend. Many of you regular readers are already familiar with Roger.  Please feel free to share your thoughts with him. I know he’d like to engage with you on these matters. Roger lives and serves in Portland.

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On the Good News of Jesus from Matthew 5:21-37, Deut. 30:15-20,  Psalm 119:1-8,  1 Cor. 3:1-9

–by Pastor Roger Fuchs

 

Author’s note:  The terms “left” and “right” in this piece should not be taken as synonyms for liberal and conservative terms of politics.  Understand them as they are developed in the text.  As we are biased to right-handedness, so we are biased to believe in the rightness of our own ideas, sometimes to great harm.  My friend Karen has a term for this, the religion of “certainosity”.  There is a bit of it about these days… 

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The Things Refugees Leave Behind

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It was the last night he would be one, this grandson of mine, so I cradled him extra close as I rocked and whispered, “Whose birthday is it tomorrow?”

He popped the ba out of his mouth and smiled, “Mimi’s.” Then he flashed me one of his toothy grins. Sawyer Bean is a tease.

“Noooo,” I said, shaking my head. “Not Mimi’s. Whose?”

“Sawyours” he said, popping the ba back in.

We read a book, an old familiar one. One that I read to my own children, many moons ago, back when Carter was president, while pushing back and forth in that very same rocker. You know the book, too, I’m sure: “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can … I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could.”

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