If you’re aged like fine cheese (or just smell like it), this week’s message is for you. If, however, you are just a pup and reading this, you might keep the ideas for future reference since unless you go toes-up prematurely you will someday enter the land of the land of the wrinkled and broken. And that day will come faster than you ever imagined.

It was a cold, wet afternoon and a weary soldier stood in his mud-splattered uniform outside of the White House. With tears tracking his face he looked down at his shoes.

A young boy walking by asked him what was wrong and the man answered, “I’ve been trying all day to see the President, but I’m not allowed in. I have nowhere else to turn.”

Faith journeys begin in all sorts of ways. A fun exercise is to ask folks to trace the thread of belief back through their years to when it first began to make itself known and when belief followed.

The other morning found me earnestly rowing to nowhere at the Geezer Gym. Surrounded by several physical reminders of life’s fragile nature and brief tenure moved me to up my pace a bit in yet another effort to keep the old man out. Often I row and think or talk with friends I only see there, but this morning had me listening to a Tim Keller talk.

Last week’s entry in this space told just a slice of the story of John the baptizer’s folks, Zacharias and Elizabeth, found in Luke 1. The piece wondered about faith in the midst of disappointment and how life can make turns we would never choose, and reminding believers that God hasn’t finished writing his story in us.

The significant November snows opened Mt. Bachelor for the ski season earlier than I was prepared for. We went from a warm, breezy fall to mid-winter in a weekend. So, the other Monday I wandered up to the mountain to make a a dozen laps on my own before getting on with my day.

The other day, after a morning at the mountain trying navigate skiing with old equipment (me), I returned to eat, shower then sit down to spend some time reading on the Substack site before dropping off into a nap. Since joining Substack mid-summer, the breadth of my blog reading has significantly expanded. Much of it barely holds my attention, but occasionally a post comes along that is as cool as the backside of a pillow.

In my morning time with God the other day, the devotional I read retold the story from the older testament of Boaz and Ruth, a Moabite woman and not a Jew.

This is a story of a family with their fair share of drama.

Reading through the stories of the life of Jesus as John remembered them, I paused long enough to ponder a well-known episode.

Jesus has come up to Jerusalem from Galilee in the north country for the Jewish festival of Booths.