for the beauty of the park to not-so-wild geese congregating in the grass the walkers and joggers intent on not making eye contact flanked by smiling dogs the cool summer air of this mile-high morning makes my grateful hymn of praise for sidewalks that know my name
Once upon a time, a guitar was a guitar. No qualifiers were needed. Then along came rock and roll and amplification and we needed more than one word to describe the stringed instrument because there was more than one kind. Thus, what had always been a guitar became an acoustic
the corn is growing (all eight plants) as are the squash sweet potatoes cinnamon basil bee balm figs and echinacea tomatoes gooseberries peppers and eggplant (aubergine is a better name) along with muscadines peaches and asian pears I’m circling the garden along with schnauzers butterflies and bees aware that
Sunday evening I sat down to dinner with friends from Durham after I had made my last run to the airport of the day to drop off folks heading home from the Wild Goose Festival, which was held at Shakori Hills near Durham. Saturday was my friend Terry’s birthday
One of my morning rituals is to see what musicians have birthdays. Today marks the birth of Kris Kristofferson (along with Don Henley and Cyndi Lauper). Seeing Kristofferson's name reminded me of one of my favorite songs that feels like a good soundtrack for today, so I thought
When I was a student at Baylor, most any afternoon after class I made a stop at Baylor Records, a small independent record store barely a block off campus. It was a small rectangle of a room decorated with the obligatory record and concert posters and lined with wooden bins
these are the days of miracle and wonder this is the long distance call . . . -- Paul Simon, “The Boy in the Bubble” I know I’ve been away . . . I have seen many things walking in our neighborhood in conversations at church and around tables at the pub I even have stories
If you haven't already heard, consider this your invitation. The inaugural Wild Goose Festival is happening at Shakori Hills camp ground, not far from where I live here in Durham, North Carolina. Here is how the folks putting on the festival describe it: The Wild Goose is a
“Called as partners in Christ’s service” sings quite easily as a hymn, but we begin to get quite nervous when the reality sets in of what it means to live together like our predecessors back in Acts: bonded by a faithful tether, always having each other’s backs. Sounds
Dear Mr. Wallis: Yesterday, you published a post on your blog articulating why your magazine refused to publish an ad from the “Believe Out Loud” campaign, which calls for the full inclusion of LGBTQ folks in our congregational life. In explaining your choice you said, in part: But these debates
I went to sleep last night after hearing President Obama announce the killing Osama bin Laden and woke up to any number of blog posts and commentaries already written. You people need less sleep than I do – and I’m running on fumes. Those of us who love to put
Sometimes a life can get defined by a single moment or event: as the “doubter” Thomas gets confined, though that image does not represent the complexity of his whole being nor his broken spirit on that night when he spoke of touching and seeing -- there’s not one way to