Friday Tidings

Welcome to our first home—the back of our 1949 Ford pickup. It featured a makeshift canopy that we secured to a 2 x 6 board on both sides, and then bolted it to the truck frame. This was a remedy for the canopy’s tendency to fly off the truck.  We slept on an old mattress in back and kept a minimal amount of belongings inside. A friend let us park on his land, and for one summer in college we enjoyed our outdoor dorm room. At the time it was a way we could avoid rent and pay for other things like tuition and food.  But what it taught us was that we could live with less. We knew we wouldn’t always live this way, but for a season we did. And that season taught us that happiness wasn’t where you lived, or how you lived, but that you lived with love and a heart of shared hope.

Yes, I took a picture of a piece of firewood. Maple, to be exact. It was from a huge maple tree that was a hundred feet tall, but it had a dangerous lean. Since it was close to our cabin, down it came. In early spring, it was bucked up into firewood. Since then it has been “seasoning” —which means being left to dry out before heading to the wood shed. Now it’s July and as I was stacking it, I saw new saplings growing from some of the firewood. Honestly? The tree was cut down months ago and all on its own, several pieces of the firewood are growing new trees. Talk about resilience. Talk about survival. But that can happen with us too. We can get cut down. We can get left out to “season” and those who want to survive start budding new growth. That’s resilience, that’s a new start. If a maple tree can do it, so can we.

Summer of '64 Priest Lake with my grandma and sister.... Here's a project for all grandkids and grandparents—especially the grandparents: make memories. There is a precious window of time during childhood when grandparents can take a summer’s day and make it last. I already wrote about campfire memories—and those are wonderful. But these memories go deeper than that. Grandparents, take your time to share with your grandkids: the truth you’ve learned and the love you have for them. Speak the good words that can resonate deeply.  You won’t see the results now—or perhaps even in your lifetime. That’s not the point. It’s beyond your generation—it’s how your story will be woven into your grandchild’s story in a way that only God can weave our generational tapestry together. There really is no better legacy to leave. P.S. Uncles and Aunts, and other family members can make generational memories too! For the Lord is good. His loyal love endures, and he is faithful through all g...

Summertime campfires are a rare opportunity. No other season offers late sunsets and a sense that time can stretch a bit further. There’s just something about a campfire—and the faces of those you love sitting close by. My last childhood campfire was at my grandparent’s lakeside cabin. We’d taken the boat across the lake, meeting our good friends there. Grandpa built a rock-lined fire ring and started the fire with wood he carried in a canvas bag. Grandma unpacked a wicker basket with wieners and buns, marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers. The campfire was warm and mesmerizing. I stared into the flames and wondered where my life would take me in the years ahead. As a young teen, I had mixture of wonder and excitement. I saw my grandmother smiling tenderly at me—as if she read my mind. I smiled back. Did Grandma know that a campfire would help me hold onto this night forever?  As we all watched the wood burn away to embers, it did become a special night—one I still r...

  There’s an old logging truck alongside a dirt road that leads to an organic farm. You can drive past history on the way to a new generation of localized eating. Something old is on the road to something new. As America’s current residents, we are the way forward for those coming next. We Americans are sometimes weary and wounded, but most of us are willing and able to be the hand that helps those needing it. We are those who vote, pay taxes, listen to the news, and then determine to go to work the next day to support ourselves, and help those nearby, across the nation, and those in the world who have less. America is who she is because of who we are. No, we aren’t perfect, but we’re here trying to get better. Our American roots are deeper than we realize.  Until I knock on heaven’s door, I can’t think of a better place to live. And I’m thankful to be here. Happy Independence Day July 4, 2021.