We golfers are a curious breed. Generally, we’re reasonable chaps – with enough sense to come in outta the rain.
But once we’re on the course? Not so much.
We golfers are a curious breed. Generally, we’re reasonable chaps – with enough sense to come in outta the rain.
But once we’re on the course? Not so much.
I got wind of a writing gig a few weeks back…and I wound up spitting the bit. Continue reading
It’s only about 530 miles from the St. Louis metro area…to Gatlinburg, TN…but five years ago this weekend, I remember thinking it seemed like a million.
On this, the Feast of the Transfiguration, thought I might re-post a reflection I wrote a bit earlier this year…when we were blessed to visit the very spot where Jesus dazzled…even as some key disciples dithered. Here’s what I wrote back in mid-Lent:
Perhaps Peter should have traveled by taxi up to the top of Mount Tabor. That experience certainly would have kept him from falling asleep.
We took a short hike at Castlewood the other day, and by the end I found myself wandering – in a bit of wonder – around Colossae.
It occurs to me that I might enjoy playing a round of golf with Abraham, the biblical patriarch.
It wasn’t a flash mob, exactly…but I had to wonder what the locals thought as they strolled by Ss. Peter & Paul parish in downtown Waterloo, IL last evening.
‘You got it all wrong.’
This uncomfortable notion turned out to be my main take-away (and perhaps the greatest blessing) of our visit a few months back to the Tel Arad National Park in Israel.
We found a piece of treasure a couple of years ago, my brothers and I, as we rooted around the bedroom where we’d grown up.