Friday Tidings

On a sunny Saturday, fifteen years ago, a semi-truck pulled into our rural school parking lot. Community members of all ages opened boxes of various-sized parts and pieces to build an amazing new playground.  None of us had ever done anything like this before. Someone quipped it couldn’t be any more difficult than building something from Ikea.  We split into groups and got to work. Our local church fed us while also coming alongside to help build. As I look at the photos, I remember all those smiling faces. We are older now. The youngest kids who helped us were the first to play on the wonderful new equipment. Now they’ve all graduated. The older teens in the photo have gone onto their careers. Some folks have moved away. Sadly, a few have passed on.  The project didn’t begin on this day. Over a year’s worth of community fundraising and partnerships made it a reality—but all those meetings and events brought us together to do something none of us could do on our own....

Have you ever had someone you loved, and you wanted them to love you the same way, but they couldn’t?  For me, it was Grandpa. No matter how many doors I tried to open to get inside his heart, I couldn’t find the right one. I kept searching. Grandpa could have been described as standoffish. He was guarded in his approach to humankind—wary of others until he knew their motives. Maybe it was because he had been a cop. He’d seen too much of human nature and the havoc it could cause—maybe he’d investigated too many murder scenes. I don’t know. I only knew him as Grandpa, and I loved him because he was.    Maybe he offered less love, but I didn’t calibrate my love for him, based on the love he had for me.   Now that I look back on his life, I think he endured the cultural and global struggles of his generation. He was keenly aware of circumstances and was constantly examining the data. He analyzed evidence and was naturally suspicious. He created Oregon State’s first crim...

I only have this one photo from my childhood Easter celebrations. My dad took the picture, so he was behind the camera, dressed in his suit and tie. We were about to walk down the street to our church. I remember the beautiful stained glass in the sanctuary and the organ music that filled the room.   The message of Easter—that Jesus had died and now had risen—was something I'd learned, but didn’t truly understand yet. It took growing up, growing older, and growing more weary of this world to appreciate the message of Easter. That message tells about the suffering Jesus endured, his sacrifice for us all, and ultimately winning the war against death—because he lived again. Jesus told us the most important thing we can do with our lives is to love God and to love others. He also gives us the power to do that and live with hope and joy in this broken world.  We also have his promise that our best life is the one that comes after this one—because then, there will be no more p...

It was my first time stopping for lunch at this deli since Covid began. I had missed their ample salad and soup selections. I carried my bowl of soup to the well-spaced tables. I watched as a middle-aged couple and their adult daughter cleared and cleaned their lunch table. Then the daughter opened a bag containing white envelopes, along with a bundle of what appeared to be invitations. She separated the stationery into neat piles. I watched the young woman tuck small cards into small white envelopes. She handed them to her mom who placed it with a larger invitation into the outside envelope. Dad took the finished product, attached address labels and then stamped them. They were focused on the task, but they talked and laughed as they worked. I saw the young woman’s engagement ring sparkle as she worked. So many weddings were put on hold during Covid, I wondered if she had been waiting for two years for this special day.  It looked like a stack of about fifty envelopes. I...

Without fail, I was the little kid who’d fall for every April Fools’ joke. Jokesters knew I’d look behind me because a huge elephant was there. Raucous laughter always followed. You’d think I’d learn, but no, I was the one foolishly looking up to see the flying saucer that wasn’t there. When I was a bit older, I’d listen intently as a detailed story was told that I foolishly believed. Then the telltale mocking laughter and the dreaded, “April Fools”.  Why was I always so gullible?  I tried to prepare myself to withstand the April Fools’ jokes. I knew the day was rigged against me. I must have had a label on my forehead that said, “I’m Your Fool”. But in adulthood, I’ve fostered a fair share of skepticism. I routinely check sources of things I hear or read. Good thing social media wasn’t part of my gullible youth—it’s a minefield of misinformation. No joke.    Actually, I do love a good joke—you just won’t catch me pulling April Fools’ jokes on others—I remembe...