Friday Tidings

Standing in my grandfather David Kramer's wheat field, 1983 I came across the book Rationality by Steven Pinker. If you need a dose of hope for the future, this could help. Especially now. He shares how the next hundred years could be brighter than we imagine because of how far we’ve come.   Yes, a hundred years can bring about good things—my grandfather, David Kramer, showed me this. He was the child of emigrants who had fled atrocities in Russia. (Sound familiar?) Escaping with a few personal belongings, along with the determination for a better life, they settled in Eastern Washington. A homestead grant gave them acreage to plant their specialty crop—wheat.    When my grandpa was just four years old his father died of diphtheria. David had already lost an older brother to smallpox. Then his younger brother contracted polio. His older sister was bedridden with epilepsy.  They were still over a half-century from the tremendous medical advancements I’d benefit from. At thirteen,

Over the course of many baseball summers, I was one of the parents cheering from the stands as our team played. The games displayed the exuberant talent that comes from teen boys doing what they love. They played to win, but even when they weren't winning, they vowed to stay in the game. While some games were all about the hits, others were about pitching. Those games featured young pitchers and how intimidating their pitches could be.  I loved watching Kevin pitch. He’d stare with utter seriousness as he evaluated each batter coming to the plate. He had a fast ball that could come right in for a strike. He also had a sinker that the batter would take a huge swing at and then miss. Batters walked back to the dugout probably wondering what had just happened. I’ve been thinking a lot about Kevin this week. He’s long past those baseball years, and after high school graduation, I kind of lost track of him. He served in the Navy, then developed building skills and was working toward

If you thought glitter was messy in the hands of a preschooler, I suggest decorative sugar sprinkles—especially the ones that are like tiny balls that bounce in all directions when spilled. But I wanted to do this. Valentine’s Day is about love, and for me, spending time—even messy time with my family, is the kind of love that fills my heart. While we worked, we chatted about what we were celebrating—it’s about loving others—and feeling loved—which is something, even at her age, she understands. As we made Valentine’s cards for her family, we talked about how love feels. That’s beginner’s love—we feel the love from those who care for us. At her age, love is wrapped up in a big hug, and time spent with her. As we know, life teaches us about love—sometimes hard lessons, but don’t give up on love. Even when love hurts, it also has the capacity to heal us. Love is an investment too. Some call it a love bank—you make deposits, one loving act at a time, and over time those investments g

You couldn’t miss the sign—it was at the intersection of the little town’s busy shopping district. Since I was walking I had longer to stare at it and let the words sink in. Step one has always been easier for me than step two. I kept walking. Further ahead of me on the sidewalk, I watched an elderly man pushing his walker up the gradual incline of the street. He’d been shopping, because I noticed two grocery sacks dangling from the walker’s handle bars. As he was negotiating a curb, his walker tipped and one of the bags fell, but thankfully, the man didn’t. A car immediately pulled over, the driver got out, checked on the man and retrieved his belongings. I could see the two having a friendly conversation. The older man nodded his thanks, and he pushed on as the younger man got back in his car. It all took place in less than two minutes. I had just witnessed Step Two right in front of me. I don’t know the religious convictions of the man in the car, but I know he just demonstrat