My friend got a new mobile gps unit for Christmas; so he gave me his old one. I was especially grateful for this fine gift recently when I took my family on a Holiday road trip across northern Indiana. The shortest route to our destination took us through a town that I always get lost in. Every time I drive through it I’m determined to apply my prodigious wit to the problem and self-coach my way across this little town to the connecting highway. But I was like 0-for-3 on that fateful morning when I exited the interstate and headed for the next round of this navigational contest. The gps unit was glowing bright with cartographic images and navigational icons as I approached the pivotal intersection. I anticipated the confident and persistent voice of my onboard orienteering companion but she was strangely silent. So was my wife. The gps unit indicated that I should proceed straight ahead. But my instincts told me that I should follow the highway and turn left. Suddenly it was my turn to go, so I went straight. The road I then found myself on had a 35-mile per hour speed limit. And after the second or third stop sign I was having serious doubts about this gps thing. But I stuck with it and after several minutes we came out on a four-lane highway. The gps instructed me to go left on the highway and then turn right in 500 yards. So I did. And without a single wrong turn I had successfully traversed this little town for the first time ever and was now speeding toward my destination.
And so I’ve been singing the praises of this little electronic marvel that knew a shortcut no human could possibly have figured out. Only an intimate familiarity with local streets or a thorough study of detailed maps could have produced this knowledge. And now it was mine to command!
Yesterday I headed out on a three-hour road trip to my mom’s house, a journey I have made at least a hundred times. I stuck the gps to the windshield just to see what it would tell me. I am confident, as I depart, that I know every possible way to get there and have determined the quickest route. At the first critical junction the gps has to recalculate. Just as I suspected, how could it possibly know all the things I’ve discovered over the years of driving these roads? An hour and a half into the trip the gps is at it again. Telling me to turn left and leave the highway. I’m thinking it must be broke. I know these roads and there’s nothing over there that can work for me. At every junction it wants me to turn left, so finally I give in and make the turn. Now I’m doing 30 on an unfamiliar, narrow county road and I almost ran a stop sign. I start scolding myself for not trusting my own knowledge and good sense. But up ahead I see cars and trucks cruising at highway speeds on a road I will soon intersect with. “Wow, so this is where I am”, the voice that scolded me a minute ago now exclaims! A few minutes later I’m doing the speed limit plus 5 and now I’m recalculating.
This is the part where I avoid the urge to identify all the metaphors I see, or to show you my paper so you can see how I’ve connected the dots. I can think of at least one proverb and one hymn that could make a neat, pithy little application and wrap-up statement for my story. But I’ll leave all that to you. Let me know what you come up with.
DonaldD
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Happy Birthday to you!
We have this Wednesday night Middle School ministry at our church; we call it “FRED”. I know that FRED is “in transition” and I thought they were looking for speakers, so I volunteered. They told me that they already had all their bases covered. Imagine that, they were doing just fine without me! “Oh well”, I thought, “I’ve got plenty of other projects to work on”. A couple of days later I got a call from the middle school guy saying he made a mistake in his scheduling. He has an opening he wants me to fill. He says I need to talk about leadership.
I started thinking of what I could say to a group of 60 to 70 middle schoolers about leadership. I need examples. I need a story. And then I thought about my friend Terri. Terri goes to my church and that’s were we met, but not long ago she took over as my boss’s administrative assistant and receptionist in our office. And that’s where my story begins. You see, my boss, Mike, keeps track of everybody’s birthday in the office. He gets a card for everybody to sign and brings in a cake on your birthday. And near the end of the day we all get together in the break room and have cake. But we never sing the Happy Birthday Song. Some people have started singing but were quickly hushed. Others have threatened to sing but were immediately counter-threatened. Usually someone will jokingly announce, “last one in the room has to sing”, and the last person in the room will turn around as if to leave and forfeit free cake rather than sing. All sorts of good-natured work place jocularity, but no singing. And that’s okay, but Terri is new. And she’s a leader.
Well, last Wednesday was Mike’s birthday and we got him a card and a cake, and at three o’clock we assembled in the break room. Mike was the last one in, because he is the boss and has important things to do all day. As soon as he entered the room, Terri started singing the Happy Birthday Song, loud! She seemed completely oblivious to our consternation. Most of us eventually found our voices and joined in with all the enthusiasm we could muster at such short notice. And then we ate cake and resumed our good-natured work place jocularity.
And maybe that’s not as big a deal as I have made of it. But I thank God for Terri. One day, not long after she came to work at our office she and I were at the same table in one of those “Character-of-the-Month presentations. It was kind of like a Sunday School lesson, only without mentioning Jesus or referring to the Bible. And in our discussion time Terri whipped out her notes from a recent sermon at our church and, with her characteristic passion, exclaimed that our preacher made a very similar point the day before in church, and that it was very practical and meaningful to her. And then she turned to me for confirmation and comment. I agreed and expounded, but in a much less passionate tone.
Since then she has quite naturally drawn me into the conversation as she frequently tells our office-mates about some exciting truth she learned or a particularly meaningful moment of worship she experienced while at our church. And I suppose that everybody knows that I go to church, and that I try to present a reasonable level of sanctification at work. But the truth is that I have deliberately kept a low profile as a Christ-follower at work. But Terri is new, and she doesn’t know that I don’t actually sing the Happy Birthday Song. I just eat the cake.
I’ve got a birthday coming up soon. Let’s see what happens!
DonaldD
I started thinking of what I could say to a group of 60 to 70 middle schoolers about leadership. I need examples. I need a story. And then I thought about my friend Terri. Terri goes to my church and that’s were we met, but not long ago she took over as my boss’s administrative assistant and receptionist in our office. And that’s where my story begins. You see, my boss, Mike, keeps track of everybody’s birthday in the office. He gets a card for everybody to sign and brings in a cake on your birthday. And near the end of the day we all get together in the break room and have cake. But we never sing the Happy Birthday Song. Some people have started singing but were quickly hushed. Others have threatened to sing but were immediately counter-threatened. Usually someone will jokingly announce, “last one in the room has to sing”, and the last person in the room will turn around as if to leave and forfeit free cake rather than sing. All sorts of good-natured work place jocularity, but no singing. And that’s okay, but Terri is new. And she’s a leader.
Well, last Wednesday was Mike’s birthday and we got him a card and a cake, and at three o’clock we assembled in the break room. Mike was the last one in, because he is the boss and has important things to do all day. As soon as he entered the room, Terri started singing the Happy Birthday Song, loud! She seemed completely oblivious to our consternation. Most of us eventually found our voices and joined in with all the enthusiasm we could muster at such short notice. And then we ate cake and resumed our good-natured work place jocularity.
And maybe that’s not as big a deal as I have made of it. But I thank God for Terri. One day, not long after she came to work at our office she and I were at the same table in one of those “Character-of-the-Month presentations. It was kind of like a Sunday School lesson, only without mentioning Jesus or referring to the Bible. And in our discussion time Terri whipped out her notes from a recent sermon at our church and, with her characteristic passion, exclaimed that our preacher made a very similar point the day before in church, and that it was very practical and meaningful to her. And then she turned to me for confirmation and comment. I agreed and expounded, but in a much less passionate tone.
Since then she has quite naturally drawn me into the conversation as she frequently tells our office-mates about some exciting truth she learned or a particularly meaningful moment of worship she experienced while at our church. And I suppose that everybody knows that I go to church, and that I try to present a reasonable level of sanctification at work. But the truth is that I have deliberately kept a low profile as a Christ-follower at work. But Terri is new, and she doesn’t know that I don’t actually sing the Happy Birthday Song. I just eat the cake.
I’ve got a birthday coming up soon. Let’s see what happens!
DonaldD
Sunday, January 17, 2010
the Sacrament of Hospitality
I went to a funeral last Thursday. One of my friends had an 84-year-old grandfather who passed away at home and a couple of us guys took a road trip to attend the funeral in honor of our friend. When we pulled in to the parking lot at the Old German Baptist Brethren church we realized we were guests in a different culture. Most of the people we saw outside the church were plain-dressed folk, much like the Mennonites or Amish. There were groups of men; thin, handsome and bearded with their black, wide-brimmed hats standing and discussing the important things that men must be concerned with. There were family groups; holding the hands of toddlers, carrying the babies, and strolling toward the front doors. The ladies, with their hair up in bonnets, ankle-length dresses and long, sleeveless over-garments were entering through one door, while the men were moving toward another. And there were a few others who, like ourselves, were dressed in our strip-mall and super-store wardrobes.
My friends and I hung out in front of the large, plain, immaculate meetinghouse to enjoy the midwinter sunshine before the service began. A young man, wearing a black felt hat and black dress coat buttoned at the neck, welcomed my friends and me and engaged us in conversation. He was the first of many to greet us warmly and express genuine interest in how we came to be in their fellowship on that day.
When we entered the building, through the door that the other men were using, our new friend caught our eye and invited us to sit with him. For the next hour and a half we sat on plain, wooden, hand-made pews and listened to heartfelt sermons centered on the glory of a life lived in God’s will and the comfort and encouragement that our Lord and our religion provides when a loved one passes into eternity. And we joined our voices with those of the Brethren in singing acapella hymns. As soon as the first hymn number was announced the men around us handed my friends and me their personal hymnal to use. The gentleman who sat in front of me turned, and with a silent gesture offered me his hymn book. It was both well worn and well preserved, obviously a prized possession.
The sky had grown overcast while we were in the church and a stiff breeze blew across the snow at the graveside. After another, shorter sermon we sang many more hymns as the casket was sealed in a vault and lowered into the grave. Many of the men came forward and shoveled dirt into the grave until it was completely filled. And with that we were dismissed to the church basement for a meal.
In the church basement were many long wooden tables already set with table service and family-style dishes of food. Warm ham sandwiches, water and coffee were distributed until everyone had more than enough to eat. As the meal ended and folks got up to go their separate ways my friends and I visited with many more of the church members, and finally had to persuade one another that we needed to go home.
On the trip home we talked at great length about all we had experienced and what we observed and thought about the culture of the Old German Baptist Brethren we visited. But the one thing we kept returning to was the tremendous hospitality that the people expressed to us. We were three men from a much different community. Our culture and customs were fundamentally different from theirs. They have forsaken so much of the technology and conformity that we religiously embrace. But we hung our hats on hooks right next to theirs and shoveled dirt into the grave of their patriarch alongside their young men. They shared their hymnbooks and dinner table with us and warmed our hearts with the stories of their lives.
And so I find myself reflecting on the events of that day from my current perspective several days later. I am so moved by the hospitality and Christ-like love that these people expressed to me because so many people who I am much more familiar with treat other people, including me, the same way. I don’t have to look any further afield than my own home to find one who gives unselfishly, of the things most dear to her, to anyone God places in her path. No matter how their lifestyle or personal choices may differ from hers.
I have good friends who will accept me and include me and show me the way without expecting anything from me in return. I have an extended family and a church family who set a place at the table for me even though I do not always conform or contribute.
I thank God for taking me on a road trip to an Old German Baptist Brethren church to show me this.
My friends and I hung out in front of the large, plain, immaculate meetinghouse to enjoy the midwinter sunshine before the service began. A young man, wearing a black felt hat and black dress coat buttoned at the neck, welcomed my friends and me and engaged us in conversation. He was the first of many to greet us warmly and express genuine interest in how we came to be in their fellowship on that day.
When we entered the building, through the door that the other men were using, our new friend caught our eye and invited us to sit with him. For the next hour and a half we sat on plain, wooden, hand-made pews and listened to heartfelt sermons centered on the glory of a life lived in God’s will and the comfort and encouragement that our Lord and our religion provides when a loved one passes into eternity. And we joined our voices with those of the Brethren in singing acapella hymns. As soon as the first hymn number was announced the men around us handed my friends and me their personal hymnal to use. The gentleman who sat in front of me turned, and with a silent gesture offered me his hymn book. It was both well worn and well preserved, obviously a prized possession.
The sky had grown overcast while we were in the church and a stiff breeze blew across the snow at the graveside. After another, shorter sermon we sang many more hymns as the casket was sealed in a vault and lowered into the grave. Many of the men came forward and shoveled dirt into the grave until it was completely filled. And with that we were dismissed to the church basement for a meal.
In the church basement were many long wooden tables already set with table service and family-style dishes of food. Warm ham sandwiches, water and coffee were distributed until everyone had more than enough to eat. As the meal ended and folks got up to go their separate ways my friends and I visited with many more of the church members, and finally had to persuade one another that we needed to go home.
On the trip home we talked at great length about all we had experienced and what we observed and thought about the culture of the Old German Baptist Brethren we visited. But the one thing we kept returning to was the tremendous hospitality that the people expressed to us. We were three men from a much different community. Our culture and customs were fundamentally different from theirs. They have forsaken so much of the technology and conformity that we religiously embrace. But we hung our hats on hooks right next to theirs and shoveled dirt into the grave of their patriarch alongside their young men. They shared their hymnbooks and dinner table with us and warmed our hearts with the stories of their lives.
And so I find myself reflecting on the events of that day from my current perspective several days later. I am so moved by the hospitality and Christ-like love that these people expressed to me because so many people who I am much more familiar with treat other people, including me, the same way. I don’t have to look any further afield than my own home to find one who gives unselfishly, of the things most dear to her, to anyone God places in her path. No matter how their lifestyle or personal choices may differ from hers.
I have good friends who will accept me and include me and show me the way without expecting anything from me in return. I have an extended family and a church family who set a place at the table for me even though I do not always conform or contribute.
I thank God for taking me on a road trip to an Old German Baptist Brethren church to show me this.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
"H" is my hero!
Last night would have been a good night for me to publish a new post to my blog. We got home from our “small group” meeting a little early, I was still full of coffee and dessert and it was at least an hour before my bedtime. But I watched CSI Miami instead.
I was really excited about our small group meeting. I was scheduled to be the leader. I had rehearsed a little monologue that lead into the hymn I had picked out to sing. The hymn I picked out provided me with a tidy transition into a prayer time and then I was prepared to present a lesson based on 2nd Samuel chapter 20, a classic Old Testament cousin-stabbin’, guts-in-the-mud, action-drama story complete with the villain’s head flying over the wall.
So right after work I ran over to the church, crawled up in the attic, parted the cobwebs, blew off the dust and grabbed a dozen old hymnals. If I’m going to single-handedly revive the ancient sacrament of hymn singing I’m going to need more than my collection of four mismatched antique hymnals.
Then I visited a friend, attended an impromptu business meeting, picked up Brenda, and headed for the “Small-Group” Bible study and fellowship meeting. After we ate and everybody sat down in the living room, I got their attention and began my “monologue”. Before you judge me, let me just say that I am a much better speaker when I plan ahead what I’m going to say. Some people speak to think. Others think before they speak. I just can’t think and speak at the same time, so I try to be prepared. I got through my little story despite several interruptions and then discovered that the hymn I wanted to sing, “Tell it to Jesus” was not in the hymnal I had gotten from the church. So I had to substitute with another, “Take it to the Lord in Prayer”. That ruined my tidy little transition to prayer time. And then no one got excited about my lesson. I had taught this lesson two times previously and felt pretty good about it. The “20-Something gang that I teach ate it up. The “Young-Married” couples that we hang out with had a lot of fun with it. The “middle-aged” couples and singles in our small group just didn’t get excited about the action and the drama. I always try to do this “Socratic” thing and when I find a subtopic that resonates with people, just try to fuel the fire a little and steer them towards some point of application. They weren’t buying’ it and I got nothing if people don’t participate. Tough crowd.
These people are all awesome people. They are my best friends and I share life with them. I love them as brothers and sisters and they don’t patronize or flatter me. But all the way home I was feeling sorry for myself and wondering why the little program I had prepared seemed to fall so flat. So I sat down in front of the television and watched CSI Miami. “H” is my hero. He possesses the twin super-powers of telekinesis and mind reading. And he can transfix his audience without even making eye contact. Plus he never has to deal with anything as gauche as a winter coat or man-mittens.
I was still kind of disappointed and confused (angry) when I walked to work this morning. I went over the material I had prepared in my head. One of the points of application in the story is about how Joab’s name is mentioned repeatedly. He gets to do all the cool stuff. The “Wise Woman of Abel” is anonymous, yet God uses her to save her people. That made me think of one of the supporting Bible verses I had somebody look up last night: Matthew 6:1 (NIV) Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness before men, to be seen by them. If you do you will have no reward from your Father in Heaven. And then I had to ask myself what my motive was last night. What was the condition of my heart? Who was I trying to please?
I was really excited about our small group meeting. I was scheduled to be the leader. I had rehearsed a little monologue that lead into the hymn I had picked out to sing. The hymn I picked out provided me with a tidy transition into a prayer time and then I was prepared to present a lesson based on 2nd Samuel chapter 20, a classic Old Testament cousin-stabbin’, guts-in-the-mud, action-drama story complete with the villain’s head flying over the wall.
So right after work I ran over to the church, crawled up in the attic, parted the cobwebs, blew off the dust and grabbed a dozen old hymnals. If I’m going to single-handedly revive the ancient sacrament of hymn singing I’m going to need more than my collection of four mismatched antique hymnals.
Then I visited a friend, attended an impromptu business meeting, picked up Brenda, and headed for the “Small-Group” Bible study and fellowship meeting. After we ate and everybody sat down in the living room, I got their attention and began my “monologue”. Before you judge me, let me just say that I am a much better speaker when I plan ahead what I’m going to say. Some people speak to think. Others think before they speak. I just can’t think and speak at the same time, so I try to be prepared. I got through my little story despite several interruptions and then discovered that the hymn I wanted to sing, “Tell it to Jesus” was not in the hymnal I had gotten from the church. So I had to substitute with another, “Take it to the Lord in Prayer”. That ruined my tidy little transition to prayer time. And then no one got excited about my lesson. I had taught this lesson two times previously and felt pretty good about it. The “20-Something gang that I teach ate it up. The “Young-Married” couples that we hang out with had a lot of fun with it. The “middle-aged” couples and singles in our small group just didn’t get excited about the action and the drama. I always try to do this “Socratic” thing and when I find a subtopic that resonates with people, just try to fuel the fire a little and steer them towards some point of application. They weren’t buying’ it and I got nothing if people don’t participate. Tough crowd.
These people are all awesome people. They are my best friends and I share life with them. I love them as brothers and sisters and they don’t patronize or flatter me. But all the way home I was feeling sorry for myself and wondering why the little program I had prepared seemed to fall so flat. So I sat down in front of the television and watched CSI Miami. “H” is my hero. He possesses the twin super-powers of telekinesis and mind reading. And he can transfix his audience without even making eye contact. Plus he never has to deal with anything as gauche as a winter coat or man-mittens.
I was still kind of disappointed and confused (angry) when I walked to work this morning. I went over the material I had prepared in my head. One of the points of application in the story is about how Joab’s name is mentioned repeatedly. He gets to do all the cool stuff. The “Wise Woman of Abel” is anonymous, yet God uses her to save her people. That made me think of one of the supporting Bible verses I had somebody look up last night: Matthew 6:1 (NIV) Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness before men, to be seen by them. If you do you will have no reward from your Father in Heaven. And then I had to ask myself what my motive was last night. What was the condition of my heart? Who was I trying to please?
Friday, January 8, 2010
Wonderful Grace of Jesus
I have a very small collection of old hymnals, four to be exact. I love the old hymns. I usually refer to them as “the Great Hymns of our Faith”. I think we should sing hymns more often because they hold an untold wealth of passionate and practical theology, and they rhyme. Because you sing them, the music carries the lyrics along a wide path to a special place in your brain. I could say much more about this, and someday I will, but I must get to my story.
Our “Small Group” from church met recently at the home of a couple that have a piano. I know that the man of the house enjoys hymns as much as I do, so I brought along my hymnal collection. I was somewhat afraid to do so because I have no clue how to form any specific note with my voice and I knew that if I brought the hymnals I might be called on to lead. But I brought the hymnals and we gathered around the piano and sang several of the “Great Hymns of our Faith” lustily and with great joy!
A couple weeks ago “Bub”, the man with the piano who loves singing hymns, was in the hospital for a serious surgical procedure. I went to visit him and, after debating with myself at some length, I brought two of my hymnals, thinking that he and I might sing a little. I got off my motorcycle in the parking lot and took several steps toward the hospital, leaving the hymnals in the trunk box. You see, I really cannot sing. I sing at lunchtime when I’m home alone. I sing in the car when no one is with me. But I don’t sing very loud in church and I don’t want anybody to hear me sing. And I certainly don’t want to accept the monumental responsibility of sounding the first note in an a cappella choir. But I turned back to the bike, retrieved the hymnals from the trunk box, and went in.
Bub spotted the hymnals as soon as I entered his room. He seemed eager to sing. Our friend, Mike, was there too and he was not quite reluctant, but seemed less enthusiastic. But I had come this far so I pressed forward and suggested we sing “O, How I Love Jesus”. It’s a pretty simple tune and I know all the words so, in a safe monotone, I began to sing. Bub joined in and Mike’s lips seemed to be moving so we sang all four verses. Then we sang “Near to the Heart of God”. Bub was lying down so he couldn’t really get his diaphragm behind it or see the words. Mike is a great friend, but one hymn may have been enough for him. By the end of the second hymn I was trying so hard not to laugh! It reminded me of those painful, comedic out-takes from the American Idol tryouts! On the blessed final note we gently closed the hymnals and congratulated one another on our “joyful noise”.
Just then Bub’s parents walked in. I forget their names, but they are a beautiful couple. They were well dressed with joyful faces and happy greetings. “Well here comes our Tenor!” Bub greeted them. “We didn’t mean to break up your hymn-sing” was their reply. We assured them that we were quite done unless they cared to join in, and they began to express how much they love to sing the hymns. I wasn’t sure if they were eager to sing with us, or just being polite. But I assured them that if they were serious we would love to have them join us for a final number. Bub’s Dad took a hymnal and searched the index for his favorite song, “Wonderful Grace of Jesus”. Bub’s Mom and Dad stood side-by-side holding the book and I stood beside Bubs Dad. Bub lay back on his bed with his eyes closed. (Mike’s hymnal didn’t include that particular hymn so he, sadly, had to decline.)
Bub’s parents sang like members of the Gaither Homecoming crew! His Mom in a splendid Alto and his Dad in a glorious whatever-it-is that men sing in. I could see that Bub was worshipping in song and I harmonized with my signature style. By the time we sang the first verse and completed the chorus I was fighting back the tears!
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Sacred Mud Puddles
Vulgar Sacrament: Just an attempt at an edgy title for a lame blog? Or does it really mean something? I’m wondering about that myself. When I use the word “vulgar” I don’t mean jokes or gestures, usually, although I am familiar with several of each. I mean more like how before the Reformation people had to go to church and listen to the Bible in Latin instead of their own common language. If you were not a priest or a rich or educated person you spoke in a “vulgar” language. Poor, uneducated and even working class people were assumed to have no high aspirations and to be interested mostly in common, unrefined, or even ugly pursuits. You were vulgar. Like when the Apostle Paul wrote to the church in Corinth and said: “Brothers think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth." (1 Cor. 1:26)
When I use the word “Sacrament” I may be handling it a little roughly, or stretching it across a bit more broad an area than its fabric normally covers. What I mean by sacrament is any action we employ or behavior we exhibit that illustrates or demonstrates the Spirit of God in our hearts.
So now I hope you understand a little more completely what I hope to talk about. When I walk to an office building every day across the same potholes and mud puddles, startling squirrels and angering dogs on the end of their chains, that’s vulgar. If I lift up my eyes to the leafless treetops and bless God for his immutable covenants, that is a sacrament. If I can deliver an honest day of work and treat my officemates and others with respect and humility, that too is a sacrament.
DonaldD
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Familiar Footprints
Coming home from work today I could see the previous tracks of my footprints in the snow. They led back and forth across the sidewalks, parking lots and grassy intervals along my path to home. Often mixed together with many others or merging with my own, sometimes tracing a solitary path. And I began to wonder how many times I had walked this same path and how many times I would do so again. Are the destinations on either end of this path as static and predictable as the pathway between?
They say it's gonna snow tonight. Might get 4 or 5 inches. I'll welcome the snow for a change. It'll give me a chance to make some fresh tracks.
DonaldD
They say it's gonna snow tonight. Might get 4 or 5 inches. I'll welcome the snow for a change. It'll give me a chance to make some fresh tracks.
DonaldD
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Original Post
in the winter I walk to work every morning, walk home for lunch, then walk back to work and home again at the end of the workday. I look forward to these little 12 to 15 minute periods of solitude. I imagine the life I would have if i fearlessly pursued all my goals. I imagine what I would say to my audience if i was invited to speak at a graduation ceremony or staff retreat or conference. I imagine where I would go if I could travel at will or what I would write or paint if I could quit my job and spend my days in a studio or motorhome or tent. I may have some thoughts that others would be interested in or even enjoy. I may just be a dreamer. I'd like to find out and this may be a way to begin. I hope so. It's been really cold lately so i walk fast...may be short on posts until it warms up a little and I can take my time walking.
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