#changetheconversation

[morning-walk]

I started a new blog called parables-proverbs-pericopes

This one has well over 1,000 entries. Read as many as you want as often as you want.

It was time to put on some new thoughts. You are very welcome to join me.

Peace be with you.

[morning-walk]

Eighteen years ago, this week, we were in Leadville, Colorado to climb a mountain.

Not just any mountain mind you. Mount Elbert.

The highest peak in Colorado which, you may be aware, is known for lofty places.

The journey was a bit of a challenge. The beginning was full of anticipation and optimism.

But the higher I got the steeper the slope became.

And the thinner the oxygen.

On more than one difficult leg I gave serious consideration to letting enough be enough. But something kept saying “just a little more.” I would spot a switchback and say that will be my next goal. Or perhaps there would be a particularly intriguing rock up yonder (it was far above the tree line) and I would set my sights to stand on it - or resting in its shade.

Long story short, I finally got to the summit. The view was spectacular but it was minor to the sense of joy I felt for just making it.

Just making it.

But this isn’t about that.

It is about the way so much of life is exactly analogous to climbing a mountain.

I am wondering if that is why Moses had to get up there to shine.

I am deliberating on the way Jesus radiated love and acceptance at the Mount of Transfiguration.

I am touched deeply at the idea of walking uphill to Sacrifice that is then followed by wonder and elation.

I am inspired from watching you make it to all those switchbacks, resting places, and peaks.

I am grateful that you have allowed me to walk along for a season. The times we shared and the ways we encouraged one another and the gasps that brought the pneuma deep into our lungs were the things that make for life.

Today I am again in Leadville, Colorado.

I won’t be making my way up the steep slopes around me.

But I will be giving thanks that over and over again my Walking Friend kept me going to all the summits I have known.

And the summit that will bring the journey to the most amazing view - and accomplishment.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

(I am going to be taking a breather from the uphill part of the Morning Walk. Maybe I will resume the hike later. Maybe not. Either way, I thank God that God’s tour through all this magnificent scenery brought us together. I pray you got a scintilla of the light I got from walking with you.)

[morning-walk]

I like the idea of a city without limits.

Bootville comes to mind.

A quick backstory might help. There is a high school sophomore named Trinity. He is a quadriplegic with trauma induced cerebral palsy caused by an automobile accident when he was two months old.

His caregiving needs are legion but they are more than met by his amazing grandmother Boot. She is widely known, deeply loved, and greatly admired.

And she needs a handicap accessible van.

Bootville was born.

In the briefest of time donations began pouring in to help purchase the van. Many are coming from her family. There is an avalanche of support from her classmates, friends, and coworkers.

And amazing gifts are coming from folks who have never met Boot and Trinity - and never will. In another city they might be called strangers. In Bootville they are called sisters and brothers.

Envelopes are arriving from Gadsden and Lubbock and Louisville and other suburbs of Bootville like Rogersville, Gooseflat, and Grassy.

Those envelopes reflect beautifully the makeup of our citizenry. They are from menfolk and womenfolk , Black folks and White folks, young folks and not so young folks, retired folks and students, gay folks and straight folks, conservative folks and liberal folks, and any other kind of folks you care to name who are united folks because they are good folks!

There isn’t a “my” agenda. The agenda is “ours.”

Everyone is voting with their heart and with their hope.

It really reminds me of another City not built with hands and not subject to differences but instead joined together because they see a Mayor that overwhelms all that.

We haven’t yet purchased the van for the mayor of Bootville.

That will happen soon enough.

What we do have is something that can’t be purchased at any price.

I pray we see it clearly and that we are forever warmed to the Giver.

In the meantime the city administration around here is smiling big.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I got an urgent message this week. Maybe you did too. It was a notice to update my “devices” due to a security flaw.

On a daily basis I am informed that one, sometimes several, of my friends have been “hacked” or “cloned” and that I must not respond to messages from them.

Folks out there are up to no good. Nefarious actions by sadly malicious folks who seek to exploit your personal information.

Sad.

But this isn’t about that.

It is about a hacking that helps.

There is a poem in the Book I read, and re-read, that says

“Search me and know my heart. Examine my anxious thoughts and set me straight.”

This is an invitation to be hacked! Thing is, we have confidence in the one who would invade those places that need invading.

May this hacker come to those places of doubt and sow seeds of assurance.

May this infiltrator bring a vision of the good things that will overcome the violent images that so threaten us.

May this software engineer take from us hearts of stone and give us the tender hearts that make us alive.

May we come to this moment confident that the visitor will clean up our closets, remove our bugs, and that we will be loved in a way we never thought possible but will always need.

And may we learn to invite a visit without notice, an entrance without knocking, a desire to be used without regret, and…

May we see the results from this new technology that will light the world.

Hack that.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I amused myself considerably Monday morning.

The force of habit took hold. I always begin on Mondays with preparation for the next Sunday’s teaching. I begin by turning to the lectionary.

When I did this yesterday I was intrigued, inspired, and somewhat daunted by the readings. Just as I began to connect the dots and make some progress toward a leading for the message it occurred to me…

The Cutie and I are taking a few days breather. We are going to be out of town next Sunday (and Tuesday) and my role will be filled by far more competent and capable folks.

Anyway, I chuckled. The routine has become so much a part of me that it formed me in ways I didn’t even have to consciously consider.

That got me to thinking about a quote I read several years - actually several decades at this point ago - from a writer named Richard Foster. It was in a book about spiritual discipline.

I note that much of my Monday morning routine is a spiritual discipline.

Anyway, the quote is “change worthy of the name takes place on the level of habit.”

In other words, if you have to think about it it isn’t change. It may be the act of changing but we aren’t there yet.

Here’s an example…I don’t have to debate brushing my teeth in the mornings. It is a foregone conclusion that doing so is healthy for me - and somewhat beneficial for others! It is so much a part of my routine that I do it without any conscious decision making.

You might say I turn to that toothbrush “religiously.”

I was taught this and I suppose I could abandon this - but it would be difficult.

The same thing applies to a life given to seeking God and, however falteringly, serving those God loves.

In my “habit” that is everyone.

All that to say that it occurred to me that this is God’s habit also. God seeks us and, however difficult, serves those he loves.

And that’s the teaching I won’t be doing next Sunday.

It had potential.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

They are there if you are inclined to use them.

I should know. I am an expert.

Excuses are available by the bushel.

Jeremiah said “I’m too young.” (I tried this one regularly.)

Abraham and Sarah said “We’re too old.” (My go to these days.)

“Too busy?” That one has been with us a minute.

On encounter after encounter folks who knew better told Jesus “it’s against the rules.”

It has long been known that if you want a reason to not do something you will ALWAYS be able to find one.

But this isn’t about that.

It is about the reason we do the things we do.

It is about the reason we cook a casserole to share with a hungry - or a lonely person.

It is about the reason we keep a stack of cards handy to send those ambush encouragements to people we love - and people we will never meet.

It is about the reason we take a risk on a wayward soul because that child of God might never get another chance.

It is about the reason we work hard and lose sleep to bring the good to a world that is consumed with the bad.

It is about the reason we buy vans and fund schools in Haiti and stock the shelves of shelters with groceries.

It is about the reason we hug one another and ask that tender question.

The reason?

It is never a bad time to do a good thing.

And even though we might have been inclined to sit it out, turn it off, or explain it away…

if it is a good thing and we do it…

It feels good.

And who needs the baggage of excuses anyway?

Own it.

We have been born to new life to be excuse free.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

I was browsing through a bevy of devotionals this morning. You probably saw many of them yourself. Truthfully, many that I read I did so because many of you forwarded them to me.

They can get sort of heavy. Lots of soteriology, eschatology, and ecclesiology. There is also a fair sprinkling of sociology, psychology, and political science.

Then I reviewed my blog from yesterday - which some few use as a devotional. It was about laughter.

At first glance it didn’t stack up too well. Those lofty thinkers with verbal and compositional dexterity can get your attention. Rightfully so I reckon.

But there is only so much of that stuff I can use, being limited like I am.

Then I came across a passage in the Book about foolishness confounding wise thinking. Seems like that author, at least at that moment, was pointing to something important.

Maybe it isn’t as complex as preachers and scholars sometime make it.

What if our Friend just wants us to relax, laugh, be free, and (I think he actually said this) love God and others?

What if we are being given the freedom to engage the goodness around us and within us without having to justify same?

What if it isn’t about figuring God out nearly so much as accepting that God has us figured out, loves our silly selves - and doesn’t hide from us?

What if a belly laugh and an ugly cry are the elements we have been missing that will lift us and cleanse us?

What if a bird song and a baby babbling are the tongues that are unknown - until we realize they have the message of the ages?

So anyway, as I wrap up another week of walks I am just trying to let go of the stuff that is beyond me so that I can fully and freely and finally embrace the stuff that is around me - and within me.

I am a simple man but…

…truth be told, that foolishness gets pretty profound.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

For a half century The Cutie has been consistent in telling me two things.

One, against all odds, is “I love you.”

The other is “folks don’t get your humor.”

That’s her kind way of saying “you ain’t funny.”

It’s a good thing I’m sexy.

Theoretically, you just smiled. More likely, your coffee came up through your nose.

Anyway, the Cutie got me to thinking about why my life is so often so full of funny.

It boils down to “less of me, and more of thee - and Thee.”

If I take myself seriously I am a downer to me and to the unfortunate souls who cross my path.

If I lighten up and listen laughter erupts and things get fun.

There is a proverb (17:22) that says “good humor is good medicine.”

It is one of my most cherished health considerations.

Another Bebop vignette…

When we were bellied up to the bar at Cafe Savannah and things got too serious all the baristas, and customers, moved to the other side of the house.

More frequently Bop would make some outlandish statement about how sexy he was (made you smile again) and we would erupt in the most outrageous peals of snowballing laughter.

One morning the barista Bop called Aphrodite (made you smile again) came over while we were laughing and said “why are y’all so tickled,”

I told her “just because we can be.”

And that’s a grace from God. God can’t be understood or explained. God can be experienced. In my experience, a smile follows.

Don’t underestimate the graces that make you laugh.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

(Tell me you didn’t feel better every time you smiled.)

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

Proverbs 22:6 is a problem. It gives a direction but it doesn’t give directions.

That’s the problem.

Some of the sweetest, kindest, hardest working, faithful, folks I know give it their best and the outcome, at least to mortal eyes, is a train wreck.

Then again, folks who, at least to mortal eyes, are scoundrels, reprobates, and most tragically, absent, produce some of the sweetest fruit.

I’ve been pondering this a right smart.

I have no directions either.

But I have come across what passes for me as an insight.

In my tradition the ultimate manifestation of faith is not what you want for yourself, it is what you want for your offspring.

In my tradition the ultimate Parent wanted for the Child sacrifice, service, and surrender.

Put that in a parenting book and see how many copies you will sell!

The Cutie pulled it off.

There have been way more mishaps, missteps, and morasses than we’d imagined. There quite possibly could be more. We are unique like that.

But here we are in a good place.

All we wanted for the offspring is that they be willing to sacrifice for the good, serve those in need, and surrender to the belief that in the mighty span of eternity that is precisely the outcome that matters.

One child plants trees all over town, and smiles at everyone and everything - and reminds you of Fred Rogers.

One child guides a program that admirably serves First Nation young people, one of the most at risk and least served demographics in this culture - and reminds you of Fred Rogers.

One child did an incredible job aiding the most impoverished children in the area and now is bringing comfort to hospice patients and their families, is an elder in her church - and reminds you of Fred Rogers.

The Cutie pulled it off.

I’m just speculating about the encounters she had in Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. 😳

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

They joined us for worship Sunday morning. They only come every couple of months. Sometimes less often.

They are among the many faithful folks in our assembly. Maybe the most faithful if there is such a thing.

Let me explain.

This dear, sweet, fun couple live in Foley, Alabama. I’ve never been to Foley, Alabama but as near as I can tell it is around six hours from our Gathering spot at Lucy’s Barge. They have a condominium property at Bay Hill and enjoy the beauty of this area and the kindness of the people. They come up when they can.

And they never come here without joining us for worship. They are folks you can tell are focused and attentive and the look on their face is one that encourages on every level.

I took it for granted that this reflected their life way down yonder in Foley.

Not so much.

A couple of years ago she hung around after the service. It was pretty obvious that she wanted to talk. After the commotion cleared she came over and shared something I hold dear.

She is very active with a very large and very savvy congregation.

He isn’t.

She told me that he won’t have anything to do with it. This wasn’t a criticism of him or of the congregation. It was shared with a tenderness about his good soul and his kind heart and his quest for a place - really a people - with whom he fits.

He runs from pressure. He reacts negatively to manipulation. And he has little use for obtuse and irrelevant theologies.

Never mind “showy.”

He just wants things to be real.

After she told me this I pondered for a minute and said, “he seems to be content when I see him.”

She said, “exactly.”

And every time I see them I have this feeling of peace.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

The Book records our Friend teaching about God answering prayer. Among other things he says “if your child asks for bread will you give her a stone?”

Hold that thought please.

This is going to be hard for me.

I hope it is good for you. My heart tells me it will be good for all of us.

What if all you have is a stone?

Among my friends in Haiti when times are tough (this is far more often than my writing implies) and the children ask for bread, but there is none, their parents give them a stone. More accurately, they give them a bonbon pousye’ te’.

A dirt cookie.

It has no nutritional value whatsoever and does permanent damage to their digestive systems - but it at least moderates the deep pain they feel in their bellies.

It doesn’t do much for the deep pain I feel in my heart.

Friday I was messaging with my Haitian daughter. Like a typical parent I asked how school is coming along. Education expenses are beyond her but many of you pay her tuition. She says things like “no one has ever given me a chance before.”

You ought to be proud.

She is making great progress and will have her nursing degree in another couple of years.

Some of you help cover her transportation for the daily commute on a motorcycle taxi.

Thank you for that.

No few of you have sent her clothes and shoes that I happily deliver.

Sweet.

So anyway, when we were messaging Friday she told me school was going well. Then, uncharacteristically, she said “Dad, I have no food.” She hadn’t eaten, except for scraps, in days. Pastor Joab and Madam Junia help as they can but the same day he told me of the frustration and pain from so many coming and so little to share.

I have “petty cash” some of you support and I wired her some money so she can eat. Not too much, so the bandits won’t target her, but hopefully enough.

Enough.

My Haitian daughter asked God for bread. At first I cried out “why did you give her a stone?!”

Then I realized he had given her bread.

It was in my pocket.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

Don’t ask me why but I have been thinking about Bebop a lot this week. We only knew each other for six years but some friendships were just meant to be. I don’t know another way to describe such an odd couple.

One of the places I could commonly be found over the years (not those places!) were care facilities - formerly known as nursing homes. It got more common after Bop became a resident and I became his caregiver.

I would go on Mondays, usually about 10 a.m. It became expected of me that I would go by McDonald’s and get two cups of coffee. We would sip the brew (not that brew!) and talk. Bop always wanted to know what I’d preached about the day before.

Side story…When Bop went to reside at the “home” he asked me if I had a Bible he could “borrow.” I wasn’t about to fall for that.

I asked the saints among whom I labor to buy him a Book. When I told him that was going on he asked if we could get his name on it. “I’ve never had a Bible with my name on it.”

So anyway, we would look up and read the passage I’d used the previous day and I would give him the condensed version and he would ask some outlandish questions. It was fun.

But this isn’t about that.

At least not just about that.

One Monday I rounded the corner of the corridor and immediately noticed a commotion. Serious looking folks were scurrying in and out of a room that, as I approached, I realized was Bebop’s.

He was having a cardiac episode and the staff had called for emergency help. I sat by him while we waited. He turned to me and said “I want to say ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’ but I don’t know all the words.”

I began to verbalize the 23rd Psalm, pretty much a phrase at a time. Sort of the way you give the marriage vows to nervous wedding participants. Bop repeated them after me and almost immediately relaxed a great deal.

Before we finished the EMTs showed up with the gurney and immediately began to prep him for transportation.

Bop said “Wait a minute. Padre is talking.”

I awkwardly finished the recitation and he distractedly completed the repetition.

As they rolled him out for the trip to the hospital he said “You lost me after ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’”

“But that’s all I needed anyway.”

Please, please, please, when you see him next don’t tell him I said so but…Bop was right.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

🎶If I could turn back time.🎶

One morning, actually most mornings back then, Bebop and I were bellied up to the bar at Cafe Savannah. Bebop didn’t handle aging as well as some folks and he was fairly consistent in his desire to be 18 again.

His motives weren’t all that pure.

He was absolutely incredulous when I always told him I wouldn’t want to go back at all.

I screwed up enough the first time.

We usually discussed such things at a high volume.

Sometimes at an embarrassingly high volume.

But this isn’t about that.

At least not just about that.

It is about one of my go to lessons in the Book I refer to regularly.

“…we can be sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.” Romans 8:28 (The Message)

Not everything is good. It doesn’t do anyone any favors to blame God for automobile accidents, cancer, floods, earthquakes or tornadoes.

Never mind poor choices.

But cracked pots, in the right hands, become heirlooms.

Splintered wood can kindle a fire that gives warmth to legions.

And the history we have lived, when lived in love, can produce things that are nothing short of miraculous.

That day at the bar at Cafe Savannah I told Bebop that every decision I’d ever made had brought me to that barstool, on that day, with him.

Then, I told him “I love you.”

He made a smart, inappropriate, remark - just before he teared up.

Your life of love is being worked into something good. Get on with it.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

I have been trying to drink more water.

I have been sitting by the creek more with nothing before me but beauty.

I have been listening closer to the words of friends - and strangers.

I have been seeking ways to give because then I get so very much.

All of these things I have been pursuing are there by grace and they are wholesome and much needed.

Much needed.

Thing is, I can easily be distracted. I will forget to drink water. I will find myself absorbing distressing news or fearful prophesies. I will become critical of someone’s heartfelt expressions and wonder how on earth they can end a sentence with a preposition. You know, important stuff like that.

And I can get fearful enough to forget all about the joy and peace of Daily Bread. Maybe you get distracted too.

But this isn’t about that.

It is about the spiritual parallels.

There is Living Water from which I need to regularly drink. Just as my body will shrivel and die without that curious combination of hydrogen and oxygen so will be soul be parched if I don’t go on down to the River of Life regularly.

There are things of beauty before me. We call them children and elders and hymns and paintings and trees and dragonflies. It is my loss that I so often fill my vision with wars and wages and wayward wandering that just makes me want to go cry myself to sleep. Usually all it take to find glory is a shift from a dark hole in my lap to a window on the wall - or in my memories of promises made by a Friend.

It is all too easy to find myself in the wormhole of accumulation and speculation when there, just over there, a widow will praise God (and hug me) for the tiniest bit of grace shared - only to then find that I had more than that with which I started.

And at the end of the day, or the life, I can be hydrated.

Or I can get all constipated over prepositions.

Now how much wisdom does it take to make that choice?

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

We are constantly walking into things that require more than we have. It’s at that point that I call to mind a reminder from this preacher, Paul, who was constantly walking into things that require more than we have.

“I am convinced that the one who began a good work in you will bring it to completion…”

We didn’t start it. It is not in us to complete it. But we get the joy of being a part of it and, by faith, we leave the outcome to the one who already crossed the finish line.

So…

I agreed not to reveal this guys name. He wants God to have any glory. I told him God gets the glory when his people show up.

Anyway, he agreed to let me share this photo.

It was a couple of years ago and his Dad arranged for the two of us to meet. We talked, prayed, and the outcome of it all was he got all wet in the Baptism I was honored to apply.

He was in the middle of a move from far south of Rogersville, Alabama to a town in Northern Indiana. I was blessed to be a part of a special day and sort of assumed that geography and, well, life, would sort of limit our shared walk.

Wrong.

My young friend wanted to live out at least a part of his faith among us so he opened a bank account and added his local family as co account holders. He deposits funds regularly to be used as his folks see fit in acts of love, mission, and grace.

A couple of days ago the balance was, I think, $400. His Mom asked if he would be ok with using the $ to help buy the van for Trinity Robinson. He told her to check the account.

She did.

There was $3,400 there.

“Use it.”

It was amazing. Just amazing.

It is also an ambush that the God of Grace sends with such frequency that if it wasn’t for my lack of faith I wouldn’t be vulnerable to these delicious surprises.

And it sort of set the stage for an avalanche of ambushes.

I stopped by where a couple of guys were working on a tractor. One of them slipped me a check and a warmth that came from the inside.

I was sitting at Jack’s trying to work up a teaching.

My phone buzzed. Another guy was buying into the ambush in a way that was spreading like a California wildfire.

In the midst of our communication my phone rang.

“Hey Brother Pat! Me and some of my friends are sending a check for Trinity’s van. What’s the address?”

A lady I know, but barely, sent me a text “I am putting a check in the mail today. Thank you for letting me live this love.”

An old friend called to say she is in. I know her. I knew that. It was just a matter of time. But I was surprised anyway.

Then another.

And another.

Even after I was in bed last night.

Being surprised by Grace is a way of life for me. Our Friend’s relentless love is just astounding. Just astounding.

I like it.

#wheelsandwings

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

p.s. I got asked “what happens to the money if we don’t reach the goal?” Hear this. Failure is not an option.

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

It will be so sweet if you share this around.

So Patricia and Mitsy, old friends with deep affections, were visiting. They do that regularly. This time I was mentioned.

I need to tell you about that.

Patricia, also known as Boots, is a remarkable woman. She is strong of body, deep of faith, and tender of heart. Like a lot of us she is a primary caregiver for grandchildren. In her case, four grandchildren. One of them, Trinity, is entering his sophomore year. When he was two months old his mom died in an automobile accident. He was severely injured in the accident and is a quadriplegic with trauma induced cerebral palsy. Patricia has bathed him, fed him, dressed him, made sure he was in school, and transported him to appointments, therapies, and any other need that came along.

You see, she loves that child.

It shows.

Thing is, the aged van she has driven for years has given out. Every week there is the frustration of pouring good money after bad. There is also the risk of being stranded in unforeseen but certainly unfortunate places.

Patricia shared this with Mitsy. Mitsy is rock solid, the sort of go to friend that folks approach with deep needs and great hope. She reminds you of another Friend.

Patricia and Mitsy thought I might be able to help raise money to buy a van.

Don’t ask me what they were thinking!

I talked to Mitsy. I talked to Boots.

Then I needed to talk to this Friend who keeps it real. That conversation happened as I walked Friday morning.

I told him my circle has gotten much smaller in the last few months.

He mentioned a guy named Gideon whose circle kept getting smaller until it had nothing but faith to lead it forward to the victory.

I explained about all the projects he already led me to tackle in Haiti, Florence, Rogersville, and Toonersville.

He reminded me what Uncle Dowe led me to accept…”you don’t know how many water jugs the Good Lord will fill until you put them out there.”

I reminded him (he seems forgetful) of my age, my diminished strength, and my declining cognitive ability.

He laughed and told me a lively story about Abraham and Sarah. Maybe you know where that led.

My walk was a bit of a struggle.

Then, quite suddenly, absolutely without forethought or conscious intention, I just said “thank you for giving me this good thing to do.”

And my walk got so much easier.

It was like I was floating, flying, and free. Before I knew it I was home and wondering how I got there,

So here it is my friends.

$70,000. New minivan with retractable wheelchair lift, lockdowns, and warranty.

Impossible. Right down our alley. We are calling this “Wheels and Wings”.

Before I could go public or even say go $5,400 was committed.

Let’s get Trinity and Boots some wheels.

And get ourselves some wings.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

Send checks to

The Gathering for Goodness, (note wheels and wings) POB 756, Rogersville AL 35652 100% will get where you meant for it to go.

[morning-walk]

I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

I am watching the swallows dart and soar. They will be moving in a direct line then suddenly swerve right or left or dive toward the water (I am by the lake).

Those sudden motions are because they detect a mosquito, or fly, or something.

I am telling you this because I have been told such.

I can’t see, hear, smell, taste, or feel anything.

Those birds can see stuff I can’t.

But this isn’t about that.

It just makes me think of the Spirit life.

The Spirit is like the swallows - only in reverse.

Surely that Spirit soars, floats, flies all around.

Just as surely it sees things I cannot.

It quickly turns if there is a bitter despair that needs some hope.

It gains altitude to lift us from those low places no one else senses.

Sometimes it hovers, ready but waiting, to see if we learned and grew before touching and teaching.

And most assuredly it darts, with lightning reflexes, if it detects a hunger for what only it can give.

Those swallows can detect a food source - and go get it.

That Spirit that is promised us can detect a need - and go meet it.

“I will talk to the Father, and he’ll provide you another Friend so that you will always have someone with you. This Friend is the Spirit of Truth.” John 14:16

I need Truth.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat