Friday Tidings

My inability to resist temptation began quite young—with a can of paint. I’d watched my mom use shiny black paint to decorate a homemade toy stove. Watching her dip the brush into that licorice-colored paint and carefully apply realistic embellishments was fascinating. My small hands were only capable of scribbling, but that paintbrush seemed so effortless. She carefully cleaned the brush and placed the can on the garage shelf. She warned me to not touch the wet paint, and to stay away from the paint can. We went back into the house, but it wasn’t long before I returned to the garage and was holding the cleaned brush. I swished it against the garage floor. Spying the can on the shelf, I wondered what it might be like to paint. I pried the lid off and went outside to the porch. Soon I was painting as high as my five-year-old arms could reach. Just as I was putting the finishing touches on the last porch post, Mom caught me. I’d been warned not to, and I did it anyway

Another summer is here. Seasons are such reminders of our past. We recall vacations, celebrations, milestones, and sometimes we recall the toughest losses too. Seasons show us how far we’ve traveled—how much we’ve changed. Seasons can bring hope for what’s ahead. As a young teen, my daughter cross-stitched Solomon’s words found in Ecclesiastes 3:1. Never having cross-stitched before, she enthusiastically stitched the border, the verse, and then four trees representing each season. Not quite finished, but busy with life, she neatly folded her work and put it away—intending to finish it later. Recently, she unpacked an old box from her teen years, and there was the nearly finished cross-stitched verse. Taking some thread and a bit of her time, she completed what she’d started fifteen years earlier. Sometimes we begin things in one season, and finish them in seasons much later. As I gently fingered her careful stitches, I recalled the verse that follows—  a time t

Superman has returned to the cinema, but I don’t need tickets to go see him, because he lives with me. Perhaps he lives with you too. My superman has protected me for decades. I remember when carried me over the threshold of the life we’d share. My superman is committed—honor flows through his veins and travels right through his heart. His eyes have been fixed on me and never wandered away. Talk about giving me security—that’s my superman. When my superman fathered our children, he changed diapers and took his midnight turns during teething. During toddlerhood he created games and held those small hands within his large ones. He was the one who took the training wheels off and jogged alongside, ready to steady as needed. My superman has always worked two jobs—home and career. And he’s been devoted to both because he knew he couldn’t be the father he wanted to be without being a man of integrity and dedication at work. After a long day, he’d quickly cha

You are about to graduate from high school. You’ve taken your share of tests and feel fairly well equipped to manage life. But there’s another test coming right after you get your diploma. We’ll see if you’re prepared for this one. Remember as a little kid when you dealt with naptime, bedtime and time out? Soon enough you were learning how to tell time. Eventually, school became all about getting things done on time. Time is something that we all deal with. We can’t buy it but we can use it. We can’t borrow it or take it back.  None of us can keep it, but each day we spend it. We don’t know about tomorrow’s time, but here’s a promise: you can never have back the time you have lost. You’re graduating because you wisely spent enough time to earn a diploma. Now you’ll be dedicating more time to a career or college. There’s time to celebrate today, but tomorrow’s time is waiting for you to decide how it will be used. We don’t often think about how important t