I want to write something meaningful.  I want to write something worth reading.


I want to write something real.  I want to share what I’m learning, only what am I learning?




And so I type something – and before I get to far I begin to see what I really want is you to think well of me, I want to sound deep, and well read. But without sounding like I’m trying to impress. 

Like a journal you leave about - hoping that someone will read it.


At times I am the man who reads a just so he can book so he can quote it later, vs the man who reads a book and is moved by the content therein.

A sentence, a phrase moves him.  He reads, and rereads.  He thinks.  He examines his life and his choices.



I remember being that man.  The man who read and was moved. 



That man is so busy.






And that saddens him.  Beauty not observed is beauty unknown. 


To see a sunrise, eat a breakfast, listen to a song, do my chores, to smell the hay – and to miss the beauty in them. 


But then I come home – I come home and kick my sodden shoes into a corner.  I pour a bowl of corn chex and and listen.


I listen to Jaymay, Palomar, Wayne Grudem, Sea Wolf, Working Poor, and Kris Gruen. 


And I fold my laundry, and I write – and I erase, and I think.  And I hear that music – not the music that is playing, but the echoes of a greater and grander song, the echoes mixing with a growing, groaning chorus. 


And all is good.  All is hard.  All is grace.


















u u u u u

Spent my evening trying to process enough of life to post a meaningful blog.  Only to be interrupted by Sadie.

Sadie getting out.

Sadie finding a skunk.

Neil moving doghouse.

Sadie getting out.

Sadie making lots of noise.

Neil turning up his music, trying not to breath deeply, while cursing the idiocy of the lower orders.

Sadie cornering a porcupine.

Neil being very temped to let Sadie learn her lesson.




Neil imagining the quite evenings, and peaceful mornings he could enjoy without this menace.

Neil realizing that an encounter with porcupine would most likely not prove fatal.




So rather than listen to a dog whimper all night, Neil with the aid of a long pole dispatched the porcupine. Found the hole in the fence.  Sewed it shut with baling wire.


Glared at Sadie.




and another evening gone . . . . sigh