Some years ago I led a funeral service for a good man.

Born and raised in a small midwestern town, he left college to serve during WW2 and after the war he followed a similar path taken by millions of others: He finished school, married, had two children and continued in a worthy direction.

Talking with folks these days often feels like I’m navigating whitewater.

I have a few friends who spend as much time as they can on rivers. Ideally they travel for days at a time, camping along the way. The adventure and isolation and occasional dangerous stretches draw them back time and again.

Here we are already in the third week of Lent, that 40 day journey from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday. These are days to consider our lives, to slow our roll long enough to wonder how it all fits together and ponder if we are traveling on a worthy path or are corrections called for.

Every family has a story.

I was talking recently with a friend whose family is going through dang rough times. It seems that everywhere they turn another obstacle to a clear path rises up. They are bone tired and discouraged. Words like heartbroken and almost hopeless sprinkled their conversation.

And then I bonked...

On a clear summer morning few years back while on a bike tour with the fellows known as “Team Immatour” we climbed from North Fork, ID, up Lost Trail Pass and over into Montana. The climb at the top of the day wasn’t all that long, less than 20 miles, but the last six were fairly steep with exposed switchbacks.

“Let me tell you a story…”

One interesting part of being human lies in how much we understand through stories, pictures and illustrations. They function like Yaktrax on ice to get mental traction toward understanding new concepts.

Most Jesus-followers have pockets full of favorite Bible verses they know by heart. Like touchstones, they remind us of larger truths, especially when we are enmeshed in the stuff of everyday living. These provide comfort and hope and direction to walk our path.

An older friend has been meeting weekly with a young man for over four years. They initially met when the younger was bussing tables at a local cafe and a quite close friendship grew over time. They both are apprenticing to Jesus and while they are separated by decades and backgrounds, the two act like brothers.

Twice a month I’m part of a Zoom book study with some friends from college days. These are men who have done life together for decades. We trust each other and know one another well enough to tease, challenge, comfort and question as only old friends can.

The bible sure talks a lot about hope.

Over and over the teaching and stories from the past faith-filled folks look out beyond their circumstances and to their God for rescue and relief, reconciliation, and safety along with any other unmet need of the heart. Hope stands bolstered by belief and leads to a kind of trust that bears all things life delivers.

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.

I’d like to think I’m like this dog at the window, patiently watching and waiting. But our days have trained me a toward profound impatience like no other time. Unlike this picture, I’m more likely to pace, fret, wonder and worry, and question if what I so deeply desire will ever come into view. Who am I trying to kid, dogs know better how to wait and trust than me.