it's the journey, man
“Out of the mouths of babes…” He is my baby sister’s only son. My sister is seventeen years my junior. Our father was gone well before she was grown and married…thus way before Zac, her son, was born. Zac grew up under the influence of a father who struggled with alcohol, drug, and various other…
I went to see Mom the day before Mother’s Day. She was in high spirits and, as always, so grateful for the visit and the gifts I brought. While we ate lunch with my baby sister and her crew, one of mom’s friends, the lady with the walker, who is, you better believe, a walker. She motors and weaves about that large facility from stem to stern and back again. Mom noted she was especially unsteady that day. She seemed distraught. Mom called her over.
“Happy Mother’s Day, baby girl,” Mom said to this woman who is her contemporary in age..
The lady burst into tears.
I was thinking the other day, as I read about another woke person getting trapped in her wokeness and being fileted by the people she was trying to impress, just how familiar that seemed. I was raised in a traditional Christian home, a fundamentalist Baptist home. I do not regret that one bit. On that…
Did you ever see a Thanksgiving social media prayer that looked like a brag montage? They are just so thankful that they are so wonderful and blessed with such skills, beauty, and excellence. It’s basically a (somewhat) subtler version of the NFL’s notorious Terrell Owens’ declaration, “I love me some me!”
A couple of weeks ago, my ear started ringing or whistling or screaming. I have struggled to describe it perfectly. It is a constant high-pitched sound that never ceases. The best description I can come up with is this: It sounds like a screaming, pissed-off cricket is trapped under my eardrum.
“3This is the tragedy of everything that happens under the sun: Everyone shares the same destiny. Moreover, the hearts of mortals are full of evil. Madness is in their hearts while they are still alive. After that, they join the dead. 4But all who are among the living have hope, because a living dog is…
“What is time? Friend… Or Foe? Teacher… Or Tyrant? Ally… Or Adversary? Blessing… Or Curse? Beginning… Or end? Yes. Yes, it is.”— The JourneyMan, 12/31/2020 Nothing brings to mind the meaning and passing of time quite like the flipping of the calendar. When a new year dawns, I feel mortal and hopeful. I feel the…
Hallelujah! The first time I heard this Leonard Cohen song, I could not quit hitting the replay button. There was something so powerful, so haunting in its lyrics and melody. Some of its more memorable lines etched themselves into my very soul… Love is not a victory march It’s a cold, and it’s a broken…
Some believe in yesterday The carefree days of youth Age and trouble miles away And every dream and hope is truth Some believe in tomorrow A flower in the seeds they’ve sown Untouched by pain or grief or sorrow Blessings bloom in troubles they’ve known Some believe in today They live in this very minute…
Hoppin’ trains on the east side of town Jumpin’ off on the west Playin’ flies and skinners in the sand Just tryin’ to live our best Dippin’, chewin’, spittin’ Walkin’ a country mile Hidin’ in the weeds at the drive-in For a glimpse of Walking Tall Stealin’ golf balls in the dark Cuttin’…
ChorusNot all the dead are buriedNot all the lost are foundNot every debt is settled When you’re six feet underground First VerseShe met him in the springtimeIt was 1959The Texas summer meltedInto cotton-pickin’ time His smile, it filled the roomHis laugh, it melted frownsShe was seventeen, west Texas QueenHe promised her the Crown ChorusNot all…
A Memorial Day Tribute to a couple of friends I have known. They were soldiers once and men of character and fortitude always. God bless their memory.
Jesus is the artist. You are the instrument. Your life is His song. Make it matter. Make it beautiful in its brokenness. If you must be triggered, be triggered by grace. If you must sing, sing unto the Lord a new song.
The word “humility” is derived from the Latin humilis, which means “low.” The misconception many have is that humility essentially equates to low self-esteem. Nothing could be further from the truth. Humility is not putting yourself down. It is not false modesty. It is not thinking you are not good enough or that someone else is more worthy. This is not humility at all.
Speaking up is what matters. Putting yourself out there, exposing yourself to the critics, the careless, and those who couldn’t care less. You have a message. Deliver it! You have a word. Speak it! If this is your gift, exercise it! If it is a passion, but maybe not a gift, nurture it, develop it.
Hurrah for the brave men and women of The Greatest Generation! Their wild celebrations after they had won world peace seeded the Baby Boomer Generation (those born in the years 1946-1964), of which I caught the shirttail.
It has been a tough week around here.
Tommy Weir, Donya’s dad and the patriarch of our family, had a scary episode with his heart a few weeks back. A couple of days ago, he received a call from his doctor with the results of the MRA (arteriogram) performed last week. The news was not good.
I needed a haircut….and, not just a haircut. I needed a haircut I could feel good about. Lately, I have struggled with it. I have given thought to growing out my hair and going for that professorial look, but I can never get past the stage where I can’t do anything to make it not look like a trashcan fire-warming, boxcar-riding hobo.
The most common altar song, the one sung more than any other, was Just As I am. How those preachers sought to drive home the fact that God was not seeking the whole, but the broken. He was ready and waiting to take you at your worst and give you in return His best. There was no need to polish the rust on one’s soul, no need to clean up one’s act. There was no need to rehab when He stood ready to redeem.
Come with me on a visit to yesterday. It is OK to visit the past, to glean its gleaming fields of laughter and tears, of sorrow and joy.
Just don’t dwell there.
I have been and remain The Journey Man.