I have lost count of the number of times we have gotten our feet wet in the winter surf. Nine years ago, we took my mother's ashes there per her request. This photo is from Navarre, with its pier stretching into the right edge. Surprisingly, this image was taken with my iPhone just after the rain stopped.

We all have holiday traditions. I miss Sunday School parties, caroling, Bad Santa gift exchanges, serving Christmas Eve communion, decorating sugar cookies, and probably a dozen others. For a view like this, I might even drive through the night. Nah, I'm retired. I've got time to travel sensibly.

The nutcrackers are on the mantle, the train ornaments are in the display table. We'll soon get out the nativity sets. And Pentatonix is on the television (YouTube). We're starting. 

It's quite a relief then when you receive the news that still there is no evidence of cancer. My oncologist, Dr. Dana Thompson, entered the room and said, "Now this is getting exciting!" 3 1/2 years of being cancer-free since the end of my chemotherapy. Cancer reminds you that you are very mortal, at least the kind I had does. And the reality doesn't leave you. Thankful for physicians and care teams that are committed to cure if possible. And thankful for each new day. Looking forward to new destinations.

Why I am sharing this story is that our tree is covered with gift ornaments from parishioners, family, and friends. Judy would pause and say, "Do you recall this one?" Yes, it's from our first Christmas 56 years ago. And then each one of the ornaments surfaces another memory of beloved friends, many of whom are part of the church eternal. How blessed we have been and are. We both talked about how much we missed the class parties, and of course, our open house at the parsonage. (We don't miss the preparation for those, but we do miss the people.)

Advent calls us to wait again. Light a candle. Hear the prophetic message.

May we hear and see while we wait. 

Some might call it a personality quirk. Nah, it's a gift from God. (I'm kidding)

The photo is from a roadside in Acadia National Park in Maine.

And while I was lying on the "sled" that goes in and out of the machine, and the nurse had started the contrast dye in my IV, she said' "You'll feel a little warm." I knew that. How many times have I done this? But this time I was absolutely amazed to realize how quickly my heart had pumped that dye from my arm to my buttocks. I told the tech I am awed by the human body's functions. 

And I share this photo I shot in downtown St. Louis several summers ago. Can kids have any more fun by getting wet on a hot day? And so much fun to watch! Probably why I love to do it too.

And the notion of taking a daily walk to put oneself in a place where awe can be experienced was fascinating to me. I can't leave my yard without awe.

Yesterday, I noticed the sun shining through this leaf of one of our dogwood trees. Different from just a week ago. 

I noticed this yesterday along my fence, honeysuckle blooming. I am awed by these blooms, although this is out of season. Climate warming?  

My personal response to the elections and subsequent news is horror and discouragement. Not helpful for someone who gets blue from time to time. So, ponder with me "how to provoke one another to love". I usually associate provoke with negative actions and emotions, like anger. My colleagues had a fun discussion about this word this past Wednesday. "Provoke" includes an edgy aspect. Another possibility is "stir up". It's more than encourage. Eugene Peterson added a dimension, pushing it a little possibly, writing, "how inventive we could be in encouraging love..."  Oh, and the list of those I am challenged to love is endless. And I question, how do I love those who are unloving, and worse? 

The summons presented by this call is not about "them", but "us". And it appears that it's a mutual challenge. I cannot do this by myself, nor can you.

This photo is part of a wonderful, outdoor, sculptured trio of musicians in Loveland, Colorado. Calling us to a different attitude and confession of hope, made real in love and good deeds.

And now I have thousands and thousands of digital files. As I looked through a collection of them on my computer screen this week, I realized I had forgotten this one. Not bad! Surprised to see this one. I like the feeling. From West Virginia when I was participating in a photo workshop with Jim Clark.

I have also noticed that occasionally one needs some time between the capture and the appreciation of an image.

In retrospective, I'm not sure they enjoyed the day as much as I did. But I love going there to take photos. And it was an absolutely gorgeous autumn day. I struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder and I can be blue other days as well. But I needed to be outside that day, enjoying the spectacle. So I kidnapped a friend.

I haven't done that very often. Nor has someone called me frequently and said you need to get out with your camera. (It has happened.) But what a good idea. Kidnap a friend.

But I don't miss the November snow. At least not yet. This photo is from West Virginia. Truly funny, could be anywhere!

Some of these veterans' markers surprisingly indicate military service in World War 2, Korea, and Vietnam. 
 

Fascinating that this warning to his followers not to be like those kinds of people is followed by an observation about the generosity of a poor widow. I have known many poor widows in my life who were so generous, kind, gracious, strong, good, and faithful women. They will not disappear, nor will they retreat to the shadows. They have shed many a tear. And still, they will show up and give all they have.

This photo is from Liberia, 2008. I do wonder what she has become. Friends who have mixed-race granddaughters told me that the little girls cried Wednesday. 

I majored in unfulfilled expectations when it comes to photography. I imagined perfect photos in perfect light. Rarely happened. I was disappointed, angry even. Until I relaxed and shed my expectations so I could see what was there, and what was not crappy. 

Similar to this week. I haven't changed my values nor my hopes. My friends still want inclusion and justice. Millions desire a nation true to its ideals. Crappy weather can't hide the possibilities.

Why do I have such bad memories of this trip? We were at this spot for FIVE minutes! I took 20 digital photos of different compositions. I barely had time to unfold my tripod. What?!?! Yeah, this dude had been here how many times and had how many pictures of this lighthouse? And then we hear the classic photographer's lament: You should have been here last week (or last year). So, this is my best picture, taken the wrong week and the wrong time!

I'm a reflective person. Not the first person to speak. I like to consider options before a decision is made. The creative moment takes time. Can we just wait a while?

And I wonder where I fit. 

And here in my backyard during the first week of November, several of the azaleas are blooming. Quite different from last year when we had our first hard freeze of 28 degrees on November 1, and the forecast today is for 80 degrees. Could be a happy day. I took this photo yesterday, November 4.

I was also looking for a photo to illumine today's Gospel text, Mark 12:28-34. Jesus is asked which commandment is first, and he shares two. Love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. And love your neighbor as yourself. The first one is challenging, and difficult to measure. The second is real. That annoying person who is not like you. The one with the wrong political sign. Those who don't look like you or talk like you. And the ones who like different music and different books. Oh, those neighbors.

This photo is from New Hampshire with an exposure of .5 second. My camera is on a tripod. This is the Swift River in the Rocky Gorge Scenic Area.

This photo is from Door County.

Just enjoy the day. 

It's a challenge to remain centered in one's spirit with all the discordant noise swirling around. It's difficult to even ignore it. I imagine something different. I write. I read. I review years of photos. I can be centered for moments at a time. Two months is a lot of moments. And there's little fog outside my window. I want even less fog in my soul.

The Gospel lesson for today, Mark 10:46-52, is the brief story of a blind, annoyingly loud beggar named Bartimaeus. He's an outsider, like a number of others who encounter Jesus in Mark's narrative. "I want to see," is Bartimaeus's answer to Jesus asking, "What do you want me to do for you?" This conversation stands in sharp contrast to earlier ones: the rich young ruler wants eternal life but cannot surrender his many possessions; the disciples want favored power and position, but Jesus tells them they misunderstand the mission. Bartimaeus wants to see and throws off his one possession, his cloak.

Time and again, Jesus includes the outsiders with healing and forgiveness. No one is outside or beyond the love of God as witnessed in Christ. Why then do we continually try to shrink the reach of God's care, as if we are privileged to be on the inside and others deserve to be on the outside? 

The larger barrel was missing the metal bands that had originally held it together. The smaller barrel is more interesting and looks even older. Could it have been filled with tar once upon a time? I was surprised to learn that wooden barrels have been used for shipping various items for more than 2,000 years. Relics from long ago.

And then there are those music-lovers who have tunes in their heads and fingers like this fellow that I saw in Nova Scotia. An outdoors, well-used piano is not in tune. But he doesn't care! It's the song he loves and he's playing this concert for anyone who loves music.

The village smithy stands;

The smith, a mighty man is he

With large and sinewy hands,

And the muscles of his brawny arms

Are strong as iron bands.

You, like me, during elementary school probably memorized Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem The Village Blacksmith. The poem was first published in 1840, so millions of schoolchildren have memorized it these many years. But possibly, like cursive handwriting, it's no longer relevant. The poem tells of the widower blacksmith grieving for his wife but finding joy in family and work.

Every historical village recreation seems to have a blacksmith. This one I photographed at the Cuyahoga Valley National Park.

I usually see dozens of photos within a photo. I recall a workshop with John Shaw where he asked photographers "what were you taking a picture of?" and "Why did you take that photo?" Of these two photos, I like the horizontal one the best. These photos were taken at the Cuyahoga Valley National Park in Ohio. It's just a day's drive from Nashville with 33,000 acres and a railroad and waterfalls.

Soon, the speaker will discover limitations in the listener's stony response and steely-eyed stare and quiet demeanor and lack of dialogue. At least, I hope he eventually notices.

Fascinating that the ocean level rises and falls. And that someone figured out long ago that the timing could be calculated. And tables are published for specific locations when low tide and high tide will occur, and how much. It's a wonder that the seas vary that much and amazing that the variation can be determined and timed.

This is Popham Beach in Maine, where we got fooled. Large expanse of sand invites explorers to venture toward the sea, and especially to Morse Point. which is a large rock mass in the ocean. We walked on relatively dry land out toward the rock, and the tide rises quickly when it returns. The dry land disappears. Feet get wet. Frequently the tide here varies by more than 10 feet.

I make several notations of activities on my calendar every day, a journal of sorts. So, when I suspect that every day is the same, I can look at my calendar journal and note that something different happened that day. And I noticed it wasn't the same as yesterday or last week, and hopefully won't be the same tomorrow..

Our friends love the outdoors, so of course we had to venture to a number of places during our visit. But the surprise was the trail on the grounds of the facility that bordered a stream. The day was gray and threatening rain, but when we turned a corner, the sun burst through the clouds and illuminated the scene before us. 

I'm always the slowpoke because I want to stop and take photos. And thankfully, our friends are never in a hurry. Christie is interested in everything she sees and wants to be able to identify it. And Gerry, the ever-present teacher, is so excited to share details from rocks to trees to little critters. Good friends to spend time with. 

We've been blessed with innumerable friends to share food, and books, and faith, and photos, and walks in the woods.

I love summer; well, all the seasons. But I swim in the summer. And we have fresh fruit from the produce stand south of Nolensville. It must come to an end, whether I like or not.  Surprise, I don't control the weather. I don't know anyone that does.

I cut out photos from newspapers and magazines and pasted them into a scrapbook. I wish I still had that scrapbook, but I have the memories. 

I still enjoy trains, and steam is best. This shot is from the Colorado Railroad Museum in Golden, Colorado.

Inhale: How long, O God?

Exhale: This is too much to hold.

Inhale: I am not okay.

Exhale: God, with you I am safe,

Inhale: I don't have to hold every pain at once.

Exhale: I can feel and not be consumed.

Inhale: I won't rush my grief.

Exhale: These tears are sacred.

Life is imperfect. Except for fun with friends, and crisp air, and hot apple cider, and the wonder of fall color, and remembering past joy.

This location is not far from the previous post. I got in my car and drove around the area, looking for color. Truth to tell, fall color is not difficult to find in northern Door County in October.

But the real answer to the question of the best camera is the one you have with you. And in this case, I was walking with Judy and friends in Door County, Wisconsin, and came across this marvelous tree in wonderful light and used my iPhone 12 Pro Max to take the photo.

Could I have taken a better photo with my expensive Sony camera and expensive lens? Maybe. But I like this one, at just the right time.

And there are the fun moments, like this one when one evening Maddy was showing Amy something on her phone. I don't know what it was, but I couldn't help noticing the way the phone lit up their faces and snapped several photos. A daughter and her mom. Special time.

Faces lit by the screen of a phone can be a fun photo opportunity. Try it.

On further reflection about mysteries, I prefer fictional ones: Louise Penny or Mick Herron novels. Movies, and games also fit the acceptable mysteries. But the real mysteries of my life are unavoidable, like where I left my keys or phone. And we say, we'll see how this turns out. Hopeful is the better choice.

The posed question is a provocative, political one that caused John the Baptist to lose his head when he questioned the marital status of Herod Antipas who had divorced his wife in order to marry his former sister-in-law. Not just a trick question intended to trap or embarrass Jesus about the Law. Maybe a wrong answer implying criticism of the king will result in the death of Jesus as well. 

Jesus answered the Pharisees that Moses legalized divorce because of hard hearts. I think it's the same issue in the following passage, that the disciples dismissed the children because of hard hearts. My own denomination has fractured because of hard hearts. Unable to see women, children, immigrants, anyone who is different as real because of hard hearts. God's community is intended to be inclusive but grudges, judgmentalism, and hatred get in the way. 

By the way, this photo is from Acadia National Park.

Memories also flow about all of the orchards we have visited over the years, from my childhood and through parenting years. And cider donuts at the Myers Orchard east of Centralia.

But my first memory that surprised me when I saw this image again on my computer screen involved my freshman year at the University of Illinois. My high school classmate had noticed that the apple trees at the home of the university president were loaded with fruit. We could climb the fence and pick some. We did. We weren't caught and we likely picked no more than two each. I suspect we were not the first, nor the last. I don't think they tasted as good as the ones we were invited to pick in Door County.

This diversity of color remind me of my neighbors. We live at the end of a mile long road with twelve houses clustered at the last half. And living in those twelve houses are people from all over the world. A couple from Laos who have an incredible love story, a family from China that are conservative Christians, a multi-generational family from Honduras who are amazing brick masons, an older couple from Vietnam who came to the US after the war because he helped the CIA, a younger couple from Vietnam who own a number of nail salons, three Kurdish families who have become quite prosperous, and even a veterinarian from Memphis who lives with her parents. I need the Google translator sometimes to communicate with my neighbors. I am learning about Islam and Buddhism and eating food that was not familiar in my childhood. The new house being built next-door for a large Kurdish family has had lots of hard-working Mexican men construct it. They listen to happy music with lyrics I don't understand. 

More than 1/8 of the population of Nashville is foreign born. Outside the tourist areas, Nashville looks a lot like America. And calico corn.

I marvel at these rhythms in nature. The moon has a 28-day cycle.  Birds migrate at nearly the same time in fall and spring. I get distracted by chaos and noise. My spirit craves centering and quiet and calm. I just need to pay attention.

Last year, we traveled to the Northeast to visit dear friends in New Hampshire. And when you visit Gerry and Christie, you will spend a lot of time outdoors. And we did. This photo is from one of our shared outings. The weather was not the best and the fall color was rather dull. And in those kinds of circumstances, I like to use a feature on my cameras that create watercolor-like images. This practice encourages me to seek compositions. I am challenged to see the scenes differently, similar to my early days as a photographer when I shot with black and white exclusively.

I've tried my hand at painting. My sister is a talented painter. I am not. However, I can pursue a similar effect with my camera. I suspect it's not fair. the images my sister creates take time. I push a shutter and then add some processing in a software program. And I have a painting! I even got this image printed on canvas. I look forward to seeing it next week. By the way, this scene is in the sand dunes of Plum Island on the coast of northern Massachusetts. Just sand and vegetation and rocks, no water.

I hope friends and family get to see a full eclipse on Monday, April 8. I got to experience one in my backyard on August 21, 2017. Quite the experience that builds over an hour or so, reaches the magic moment for just seconds, and then the eclipse begins to reverse. Amazing!

I did not want to be standing in the chilly spring drizzle. But there I was. Waiting, praying. What was I, a young pastor, going to say to family members who would soon pass by, and see the first responders huddled in their mother's driveway?

Moments earlier I had been helping a group of volunteers wallpaper the parsonage kitchen. But our project was interrupted by an urgent call about one of my parishioners.

It was the days of double-digit inflation with a dizzying escalation of interest rates. Rising interest rates are fine if you are an investor, but debilitating and devastating if you borrow. Virginia had to borrow. Her husband had died the year before and left her with a farm whose major crop was bank payments. The previous fall had been the wettest in decades and the fields were too muddy to harvest, so the over-borrowed and under-priced crops bowed soggy along the country roads all through Christmas into February. In the cold gray rain, the fields were full of ruined hope.

And now, in the spring, when farmers usually decided what to plant and how much more to borrow, Virginia had made another decision. What in the world had made her think death was better than life?

Amidst the familiar passages for Palm Sunday are these jarring portions from Psalm 31: "Have mercy on me, Lord, because I'm depressed. My vision fails because of grief... My life is consumed with sadness..." (CEB) The words are jarring only because our image of this Sunday is colored by a parade of children waving palm leaves. However, don't these ancient words express a too-common experience, especially during these past two years?

The events of Holy Week can appear to be ruined hope. But that's true only if you leave early, before the ending. So here we are at the edge of expectation.

In death--life.  In sin--mercy.  And in the cold and gray, there is still hope in joyous resurrection.

A friend asked after reading about my granddaughter's softball activity if I had played on a school team. No, but I had imagined being an athlete. I wanted to be a catcher. I used my paper-route money to buy a catcher's glove, which I still have. But I never played on any organized team. We would play after school, although we never had enough players so we would take turns batting and fielding. I wasn't proficient at either. 

We played basketball at the outside courts and would scoop off the snow so we could shoot around. But again, I wasn't good at shooting or dribbling. I imagined being a scuba diver. I again bought a snorkel, and a mask, and fins with money from my paper route. But I couldn't swim. I didn't learn to swim beyond floating until I was a freshman in college. Admittedly, I have had an active adulthood with cycling and swimming and regular workouts at a gym. 

Still, I marvel at a granddaughter who excels in a sport. I enjoy watching her play. I celebrate her skills, batting and fielding. I'm proud that she encourages her teammates, and that she is developing leadership skills. And I'm grateful for her parents who have supported her in so many ways and spent so many hours watching her sit on the bench when she was younger. My granddaughter imagines some athletic accomplishments too, but she's a lot closer to achieving her goals than her grandfather when he was a kid. She's an athlete.

This image is of a very worn, ancient ball glove at the Tennessee State Museum.

The blooming season in our yard, if you don't count the hellebores, begins in March. But the number of blooming plants increases as April nears. We have three different kinds of jonquils in thirty different bunches scattered in the front and back yards. This particular variety, which I do not know the name, is the last one to bloom. Most of the others are still blooming. The tulips are blooming, as are the bleeding hearts, virginia bluebells, and phlox. Columbine will bloom Thursday or Friday. Azaleas are already showing the color of their blossoms. Bring it on! April provides the beginning of the show!

This photo, and many more to come, is the reason I bought a small compact camera that is smaller than my iPhone in length and width. The telescoping zoom lens fits easily in the 2-inch square opening of the chain link fence that surrounds the softball field. Additionally, the camera can take 20 photos per second or video as well. Maddy, our granddaughter, has been playing softball for half of her life. She loves it and plays well. So, several times per week, we drive twenty-five minutes to her high school to watch Maddy and her team-mates play fast-pitch softball. And I am so thankful for the opportunity to sit on the sidelines and cheer her on! One thing about this picture is that the catcher who plays for another high school is a friend of Maddy's because they played on the same travel team for several years. There was lots of chatter between the two girls as Maddy batted. And although Maddy has 8 stolen bases on the season, she didn't try to steal on K.K. because nobody steals on her. Although Maddy's team lost, they played very well. Maddy had a single and a double. Our spring is active because of her! Life is truly good!

Yesterday, we were in the building. Only the second time since March 1,2020. Worship in the sanctuary is not like worship online, although we have appreciated the cyber connection these past 25 months. The pandemic and my recovery from two cancer treatments prevented our usual worship. And as a preacher who loves good sermons, often not my own, I have to say the music is the reason to be physically in the building. Belmont United Methodist Church has outstanding music. Yesterday was a prime example: clarinet duet, amazing vocal solos, chancel choir, youth choir, bell choir, and organist all provided musical selections. I wept as I sang the hymns. I treasured every note. No doubt, it's the music.

The gospel lesson for the Fifth Sunday of Lent, John 12:1-8, opens with a celebratory feast. Martha, Mary, and Lazarus host Jesus for a meal of gratitude. Apparently, the reason for the gathering was to honor Jesus who had raised Lazarus from the dead. I can't imagine anything that would exceed the joy of this family having their brother come back to life. We know grief and sorrow. We have stood in the cemetery to remember dear friends and beloved family members. So, to have all that reversed by resurrection is startling joy. Mary performs the traditional welcome for a guest by cleaning the traveler's dusty feet. Here she goes further by using expensive nard to anoint the feet of Jesus and to wipe his feet with her hair. The passage notes that the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. Can you smell it? 

And Judas spoils the moment of welcome with a rude outburst. Judas was a guest in the house and complains that this perfume that Mary used on the feet of Jesus was worth a year's wages of a laborer. Was that an exaggeration? That's incredibly expensive perfume. What in the world must that fragrance smell like? And Judas insults them all by saying it was wasteful to anoint Jesus in this happy moment. Or was Judas just acting out all of his deep-seated objections to the direction of the mission of Jesus and couching it in the words of charity? I hear a message of shame that stinks up the gathering. I want to sit at that table in that fragrant room and ponder what is about to happen, caught between the joy of the host family and the foreboding of the coming betrayal by Judas. I think this scene captures much of our meditation during Lent. 

Yesterday, the last day of March, the blossoms on our dogwood trees began to open. On this first day of April, the signs of spring are abundant in our yard. The redbud trees are in full bloom, the cherry tree and spirea add white blossoms in our backyard, and the jonquils and tulips have been blooming for more than ten days. But I consider the dogwoods as announcing the arrival of truly warmer days. And I am eager for warmth and color.

Last month's CT scan and bloodwork are still clear of any evidence of cancer. I have lost more than 40 pounds in the last 7 months. During the past month, we have been thrilled to have three couples as overnight guests in our home, a joy we had so missed during the pandemic. Gathering all these in my heart, I celebrate the promise of April for health and life and joy. How I long for the promise to be granted throughout the world!

How can the shortest month seem so long? Even with the celebration of my birthday and the romance of Valentines, the 28 days of wintry February feels interminable! But spring shows up during the month of March. Goodbye winter and hello to spring! I am more than ready to be embraced by warmth.

This plant was added a few years ago to Judy's garden. But it's not a predictor of spring because it blooms in the winter. Hellebores, also called Christmas Rose or Lenten Rose, are evergreen, perennial flowers. And, no, they are not related to roses. Nevertheless, on the coldest days this past month, these blossoms gave me hope that someday spring would be on its way.

The hymn writer Brian Wren expressed his enthusiasm with the following words:

"The dancing air shall glow with light, and sun and moon give up their place,   

when love shines out of every face, our good, our glory, and delight." 

Carl P. Daw, Jr wrote this lyric to one of his hymns:

"O day of peace that dimly shines through all our hopes and prayer and dreams,

guide us to justice, truth, and love, delivered from our selfish schemes,

May swords of hate fall from our hands, our hearts from envy find release,

till by God's grace our warring world shall see Christ's promised reign of peace."

Epiphany is a day of light, and wonder, and hope, and promise. Last year, as I "zoomed" with my ministry colleagues in Illinois and Wisconsin, I was filled with bright enthusiasm on January 6. But, as we all remember the events at the US Capitol, the day turned dark. I have enough experience and training with group dynamics to fearfully predict that this loud crowd could become an out-of-control mob that threatened our Constitutional processes. As I watched the events on live television of a mob assaulting police officers and breaking windows and threatening members of Congress, I was horrified. I was watching a nightmare. 

January 6 was not the only dark day of 2021. I had my own. Many others throughout the year experienced grief, sorrow, fear. 

Darkness does not speak the final word. The smallest glimmer of light chases the dark away. I am a person of faith who believes in Light. Epiphany is the rehearsal every year of the conviction that God has entered our human history in Christ Jesus with the intention to save us all. Darkness never conquers Light. Never.

So, after the twelfth day of Christmas, we take down our decorations. I want to leave them up. I want to continue the celebration.

Another hymn I love was composed by Kathleen Thompson: "I want to walk as a child of the light. I want to follow Jesus. God set the stars to give light to the world. The star of my life is Jesus. (chorus) In him there is no darkness at all. The night and day are both alike. The Lamb is the light of the city of God. Shine in my heart, Lord Jesus." 

Four heads of cabbage, giant carrots, celery, onions, bean thread vermicelli, and three pounds of pork sausage mixed in a large bowl.

Seasoned and mixed in a gigantic bowl.

Then a small portion is spooned out on a square of spring roll pastry, and the pastry is folded to seal the ends, and becomes the roll. I think it takes lots of practice to create consistently sized, snug spring rolls.

Ready for frying in hot oil. We brought home 16 cooked, 48 uncooked, and about a pound of filling. Grateful for our neighbor's willingness to teach us how to create fabulous spring rolls.

No. Three inches of snow covered our deck by Monday morning, less than 36 hours later. And although the snow was wet and beautiful for a few hours, I prefer the white blooms of the obviously premature announcement of an early spring.

Sony A7r4, Zeiss 24-70 f/2.8; exposure details iso 1600, f/2.8 @1/2000 sec

I'm ready, too. Covid and cancer has limited our travel. But we are fully vaccinated, including boosters, and there's no evidence of cancer in my recent PET scan. I continue to be amazed that the lymphoma is gone. The chemo and radiation was a lengthy, tiring treatment, but apparently it worked. I will continue to have alternating PET and CT scans and blood tests every quarter for the next two years, but it looks like I am cured. So I am trying to regain strength and lose weight after treatment. Normalcy is returning. Not quite the same normal as before. I'm changed, different, as are so many experiences. But I am more than ready to explore again, embrace life and friends again.

I caught this bee in mid-takeoff the other morning on one of my walks with my my iPhone 12 Pro Max. Surprised at the quality of the image.

After yesterday's lament for a longer summer, I read an article in the Washington Post entitled "Our Summers Are Getting Longer, And It Could Be a Bad Sign for the Environment". I admit that I was being self-centered about wanting more days to swim in my pool. I tried to justify that it would help my recovery from cancer treatments. However, I don't want my desire for more summer days to contribute to global warming. I know I have enough bad habits, coupled with millions of other inhabitants of earth, that have already adversely affected the environment. The Washington Post article, written by Kasha Patel, noted that "summers are expanding while spring, autumn, and winter are becoming shorter and warmer..." Researchers have found by studying historical data that spring is beginning earlier and autumn later. The problem is that " small seasonal shifts can throw off the balance of our ecosystem form crop production to increased occurrence of mosquito-borne diseases." With my experience of being mosquito "bait", that sentence got my attention. What we are losing is the predictability of the seasons and the connectedness of our human experiences with plants and animals and other creatures, like bees, that benefit the quality of our lives.

So I take back my desire for more summer, with all of its creeping effects, like the image above. Our seasons are not just an opportunity for change to warmer clothing and appreciation for cider and pumpkins, but are an essential cycle. We all can live with that.

My last swimming day was September 16 which is early for the Hideaway. Two years ago my last swimming day outdoors was October 5. I need some more summer. My recovery is just getting started and more summer would help.

I admit that I like autumn as do so many others. A woman who had her wagon filled with fall plants and decorations at Fast's Greenery told me she had taken the day off from work so she could get started on autumn. I understand that. I love fall color and cooler temperatures. I hope to travel some after my oncologist gives me good news on Monday. Fall can be wonderful!

I just wasn't finished with summer. Mine was too short. My summer didn't really start until mid-August with my recovery. Sure, autumn will be great, and I will get stronger each day. I'd just like some more summer.

August was a wet month. On the very last day of the month, the remnants of Hurricane Ida dropped more than 3 3/4 inches on the Hideaway. August ended as it had begun with a day of rain on the 1st totaling 4 1/2 inches. More than 11 inches of rain for the month. 

Our neighbor, Mr. Do, stopped to talk while we were gardening the next day. His two dogs were missing. They get out of his fenced-in yard occasionally, but they never venture far. He asked Judy to check on the internet, and a short time later she saw the dogs picture on Next Door Neighbor. Someone had found the dogs on the road west of us. A quick reunion occurred as the finder returned the lost dogs. 

The next day, Mr. Do rang our doorbell and had a huge basket with potatoes, twice the amount in the photo above, to thank Judy for her help in finding the dogs. Because of the Afghan airlift that shared the news with Ida, I asked if Mr. Do had come to the US at the fall of Saigon. No, he had worked with the CIA for 10 years because he knew the Laotian, Thai, and Vietnamese. They taught him English. He, his wife, and one year-old son was flew out of the country about 6 weeks before the end of the war. He spent 15 minutes telling us of his experience in settling here and the challenges that he faced. Quite a story. My neighbors have stories of being refugees. My Kurdish neighbor, Gelil, spent three years in a tent with his family in a refugee camp in Turkey before they all were loaded into a truck for an all day journey to an airport. My Laotian neighbor escaped the communists by paddling across the Mekong River in the middle of the night during a driving rainstorm. I have received generosity and hospitality from each of them. My neighborhood is more like the real USA than any place I have ever lived. What a blessing it is to hear their stories about why they are Americans.

Someday I will attack! I've thought about it entirely for too long because I know what I will do: Change the "D" to an "R" and the "E" to an "O" so that "DEAD" becomes "ROAD". and add an "S" to "END". Road Ends. Waller Road is a cul-de-sac just beyond our driveway. The road ends, there is no outlet, turn around. We don't live on a dead end!

I'm having the same problem with my treatments now that I'm done. I'm not finished for I have more scans at the end of September and another appointment with my oncologist at which I presume I will receive an outline of my after-care. I know from previous conversations that I will meet with my oncologist every three months for the next two years, with additional scans. So I'm done, but I'm not done.

And my wondering about words was even stimulated about the discussion in Sunday School about "pilgrimage". Who goes on a pilgrimage and for what purpose? Doesn't it have to be an intentional choice? Does there have to be a destination? My experience with my cancer was not a pilgrimage, although I may have grown spiritually. I'm just wondering.

So

But my hair is beginning to grow again. I have appointments in two weeks with my oncologist and my urologist. Hopefully, I will hear good news from each of these doctors. I am ready to focus on regaining strength and health. I so appreciate the encouragement and prayers of so many.

This daylily's last bloom was Monday. It's called The Anniversary Pearl. I'm celebrating that this part of my journey is complete. And I will be thrilled when the radiation techs take all those target stickers off my body! I will not miss those. Now when can I get this infusion port removed?

The journey has been difficult for me but I have asked questions, done research, listened to others who went on the journey before me, and relied on family and friends for support and prayers. I have a lifetime of experience. Still, it has been scary at moments. 

The team that has been treating me will turn their attention today to a child who needs even more care and expertise. Blessings upon them. They exude confidence. They want to heal everyone. At any age.

The scapes (bud stalks) are nearly five feet tall! I took one with a watercolor effect. I like them both. I too am stretching.

Truth is, treatment is about done. I see it on my calendar. I'm ready.

Another view of its wings.

And surprise, this is the female version in its dark form. They were on opposite sides of the garden. Wonder if they will get together.

I don't think these are as common as Tiger Swallowtails, large yellow marked butterflies. But the Audubon Guide notes that Zebra Swallowtails "are the most abundant regular North American representative of the kite swallowtails, named for their triangular wings and long sharp tails. Despite a large range, the zebra occurs only near pawpaw trees or its relatives." The host for Tiger Swallowtails are deciduous trees. 

We must have pawpaw trees in the nearby woods. "Picking up pawpaws, putting 'em in our pockets..." Catchy tune!

It sings to me.

This photo is the scene when I enter the room. The white sheet covers my unique mold for my treatment. I lie down on my back, reaching my hands over my head and grasping the white vertical handles. The table raises and moves back into the center of the machine. The large head at the top delivers the beam of radiation and revolves around my body nearly 360 degrees. The square on the right rotates to the uppermost position at the beginning and the team uses the green laser to accurately position my body. The first revolution takes magnetic images that are sent to the radiation oncologist to assure that I am in the right position for treatment. The lymph nodes under my left arm are treated first. Then the team checks the magnetic images for the radiation of my stomach (empty for 4 hours). Upon approval of the doctor, the radiation is administered in the second half of the treatment. It all takes about 15 minutes. 

And during the second portion as the TrueBeam revolves around me with blinking lights and whirring noises, it sounds almost like it's singing. Not quite like the musical interlude that signals the end of the cycle of our washer and dryer in our home. But still, it sounds like faint singing. Probably hymns.

Today is treatment #5. 1/3 of the way to the finish line!

These hummingbird moths are members of the sphinx moth family. I believe this specific visitor to our backyard is a male Snowberry Clearwing because of its black legs and black line through its eye. The flared tail indicates that it is a male. It is half the size of a hummingbird.

Hummingbird moths have clear wings, edged in brown or black depending on the species. Unlike typical sphinx moths that fly at night, hummingbird moths are active during daylight hours. The moths lay eggs on plant leaves. The resultant caterpillars feed on the leaves and pupate in leaf litter. We have bunches of leaf litter!

Something to think about on Sunday, different from my health concerns.

And we make judgments about the differences that we notice, assigning value to our preferences.

Consequently, the people of the world are divided into strangers, friends, aliens, and enemies. 

What I understand about scripture is this division is not God's intention.

The epistle lesson for today, the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Ephesians 2:11-22 addresses this separation: "With his body, he broke down the barrier of hatred that divided us. He canceled the detailed rules of the Law so that he could create one new person out of the two groups, making peace....So now you are no longer strangers and aliens. Rather, you are fellow citizens with God's people, and you belong to God's household."

God's household is larger than most of us imagine.

As I thought back on the morning events, I laughed at the interplay of greetings and words. The patient before me, as we passed in the hallway, said, "It's all good!" Not to me necessarily, but maybe as a testament to his treatments. I thought at the time, wait! Have you been checking my website? The parking valet told me to have a great weekend. Possibly, because I over-tipped him. And it is free. 

It will be a great weekend. No treatments on Saturday or Sunday. It's a real weekend!

And Judy brought home sweet cherries from the grocery. I fell in love with sweet cherries 50 years ago when we drove around Lake Michigan and discovered sweet cherries at roadside stands. Three treatments complete. It will be a good weekend.

I am continually reminded how serious this cancer is, and how blessed I am that it was discovered early. Even the targets are temporary and will quickly fade. August will be here soon.

Radiation treatments begin tomorrow. Judy has re-marked the registration guide marks on my body several times. Physical reminders of the process for the next three weeks. My strength has not returned. I am impatient. But I am closer to the end of cancer treatment than to the beginning. Just a few more weeks.

And for some reason, as I watched the rain in my backyard, an old gospel hymn came to mind "Showers of Blessing." I looked through my collection of old hymnbooks and songbooks to find it. As I gazed at the page and sang to myself, I realized the words were deeply planted in my memory and spirit.

"There shall be showers of blessing:" This is the promise of love; There shall be seasons refreshing, Sent from the Saviour above.

And the chorus goes, Showers of blessing, Showers of blessing we need: Mercy drops round us are falling, But for the showers we plead.

And off I went on another internet excursion to see if there was a story behind the song. I didn't find that story but what was curious was who wrote the lyrics. Wikipedia noted that the lyricist was Daniel Webster. "The" Daniel Webster? No. Wikipedia is wrong! That's a whole other issue. Daniel Webster Whittle wrote hymns under several pseudonyms, which leaves me wondering why he would do that.  Again, I am wandering in the weeds.

My first reflection, though, was about showers of blessings, and how we long for the abundance of being soaked. With hope and joy and grace and peace and healing. 

I continue to ponder. meditate, ruminate (now there's an old word) on the days beyond the end of treatment. Four weeks from today should be my last radiation treatment and then about two weeks later I'll see Dr. Thompson again as a follow up to all of these months of treatment for lymphoma. That office visit will be far different from the one last March. That first visit was more than scary with so much I didn't know or understand.

Now I'm closer to the conclusion than to the beginning. The cancer appears to be healed, cured.

This dahlia bud is just beginning to unfold and will soon be full of purple like the one behind it. Even though it's just beginning, one can see the hint of purple. I'm seeing the hint of something far different after cancer. I'm going to continue to ponder and meditate and ruminate until I see it.

Last Friday I had my radiation simulation, and now I have a black cross marked on my chest and a line below my navel and one on my sternum and a cross under each arm. An x-ray will be taken as I begin each session so that the doctor and technicians can confirm that I am in the same exact position for each treatment. The treatments begin July 14, so I won't finish in July, and the final treatments will be in August.

The cancer treatments began four months ago and I still have another month of treatments. A new phase will begin soon, but for now I'm in between.

This blossom is far past its blooming peak and assumed a unique configuration. If you use your imagination, or just squint, possibly you can see the figure of a person. I notice that by squinting you are throwing away information that your eye can see when its fully open. Isn't it the same when you are ready to fall asleep? It's interesting to me that by discarding information, truth, we can see something that isn't there and make false conclusions. They may be entertaining fantasies, but it's not real.

This good news is still sinking in. A diagnosis of cancer is a shock to any of us. I received that diagnosis twice within nine months. The cancers were unrelated. The first treatment I chose was surgery, which was over in a few hours and required an overnight stay in the hospital. But this second one has been more challenging. I still have three weeks of radiation to complete, but here in the middle of the process I have already received my prognosis. All good. 

When I first started my website 14 years ago, I chose the tagline "It's all good" as an affirmation of God's creation as written in Genesis. I hadn't expected its personal impact as an affirmation of my healing. All good. Yes.

This photo was taken in October 2018 at Steamtown, in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Great place to visit, even in the pouring rain! 

We have friends that left yesterday on The Empire Builder, and that sparked a discussion at our dinner table about how Judy would like to take a cross-country train trip. Well, I would too. And then we began to imagine what that could be like. And where we could stay and what we could see.

Autumn is wide open for travel or visitors here at The Hideaway. Actually, family/friends/visitors/guests are welcome anytime!

If you can catch us at home, after this is all over!

And that's how this journey began with a surprising diagnosis of Large B Cell Lymphoma. And a stomach ulcer which was the cause of my pain. 

Yesterday, I had another endoscopy and the ulcer is healed. The day before, Monday, I met with my oncologist who reported the results of scans I had received earlier that morning. No evidence of cancer. He said that I am probably already cured of the cancer before radiation treatments begin later this month.

The cancer was discovered early. It was dangerous and aggressive; the American Cancer Society noted that only 50% survive this kind of lymphoma. But I was treated by an excellent physician and a capable team at Sarah Cannon Cancer Center. Of course, I will continue to receive regular monitoring. But I am thankful and blessed, surrounded by prayers and encouragement. Cured. Wow!

It's very nearly a spiritual practice, "blessing the day", giving thanks for blessings and noting those interactions that were less than blessings. The blooms are picked off and dropped into a large plastic tub. The beauty is past, often with just a hint remaining of the depth of its earlier color. The blessing is remembered. And we, even in that moment, are preparing to see the beauty after the next dawn. I'm very much in that mode as I prepare for my next cancer treatments, thankful for all that is past and what has been achieved, and looking forward to what the new day will bring. Especially when this is all complete!

Obviously, this relationship with my new neighbor has not gone well. I don't have problems with other neighbors. One even called me the neighborhood ambassador. My new neighbor thinks I'm the ass in ambassador. This is clearly a test of my beliefs and practices in forgiveness, and repentance, in grace and compassion. 

The trees are ugly, and certainly not anything I want to protect. I do want to be a good neighbor. In "Mending Wall", Robert Frost wrote: "He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'" And so we have orange markers and we are divided for the time being, and not good neighbors, nor friends, yet.

I have failed so far. And it may never change. But we have each seen glimpses of kindness from the other; we have just forgotten the possibilities for the time being.

Like so much else that can't be controlled: grace, love, compassion, generosity, understanding, peace. They all spread.

I have begun to think about what happens after cancer treatment is complete, and how I can help myself return to fitness and health. Some of the answers are obvious: exercise, healthy eating, no smoking (never a problem), regular check-ups, adequate sleep (will be a challenge), refrain from alcohol (again not much of a problem, hence the photo of Tipsy Parson). There were recommendations for emotional and spiritual support as well. I found an excellent resource from www.cancer.gov "Life After Treatment."

I did swim 4 times in the pool on Sunday with the longest duration being 10 laps (800 feet) with a total for the day of 2,000 feet. I didn't set any speed records, but that is quite an achievement in less than a week after my final chemotherapy treatment.

I do meet with the radiation oncologist today for a consultation about the process going forward. I anticipate that my treatment will be complete before my granddaughter returns to school for her sophomore year. It feels so good to have these three months behind me. Not tipsy at all!

Renewal. As good as new. Durable. Fixed. Repaired. Good for another 20 years.

Chemo made me feel old. Swimming makes me feel young.

Looking in the mirror is someone I don't recognize. But laughing fills me with hope.

This looks fixed for the long term.

I'm aware that my diagnosis and treatment has been recorded with a plethora of data. All to be tracked in my medical history. And of course, billed for payment. 

Yesterday, I did find energy to record some data, words to add to images that I have created recently. I use several photo-processing programs but have used Adobe's Lightroom program since it first was introduced. The Lightroom catalog notes that I have 113,296 images accessible on my desktop computer that are stored on several internal and external drives. And all the images haves lots of date attached to them, including the camera used, the date, the lens used, the settings of the shutter and f/stop, the iso (film speed in the old vernacular). Plus I have added words that will help me find common subjects or places or other identification. 

So, the data reveals that I have 331 images of Siloam Double Classic daylily. This is probably not the best of all of those photos, just the last one captured yesterday. It's obvious that I don't need that many pictures of this one flower.

Years ago, a friend asked, what are you going to do with all of these pictures that you have in shoe boxes and slide trays?

Indeed. If only knew how extensive it has become. I still don't know what I am going to do with all of these.

That's why I am smiling. Stephen Hawking wrote, "Half the battle is showing up!" There are myriad similar quotes but I am inspired more by a man with enormous physical challenges who succeeded beyond anyone's imagination.

Not my best picture. Cherish it because there aren't a lot of pictures of me floating around the internet!

After two days of depression, this day has already began as a blessing!

Chemotherapy Induced Peripheral Neuropathy is a side effect of vincristine, one of the drugs used to fight lymphoma. It may go away after treatment, and it may not. It could get worse. After treatment, the neuropathy may take several months to subside. If it doesn't get any worse than the current level of numbness, I can deal with it. Yes, it's better than cancer. But, oh my. 

I did swim Friday in my cool pool. I was numb all over, but that felt good to swim from one end to the other and back again. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. I couldn't tell that my fingers were numb, nor that I have cancer. Some victories take time.

If you slow down, you can observe the processes of nature. Slowly, there is a difference, a moment when the celebration begins.

Some join the party late and think it occurred as a sudden explosion of form and texture and color.

But everything takes time. Even healing.

I'm learning that every plant has ideal growing conditions, but they are not the same. Some require full sun. Some want moist soil; some dry. And then there are these plants that thrive in the shade. Notice there are no daylilies planted here. I suppose they might grow in this corner of the yard. But I doubt they would reach their potential growth and bloom.

Wondering if there might be some parallels with we human beings.

Judy had gone out in the yard with an umbrella and came back saying, "Get your camera and come with me!" I grumbled, picked it up, put on my garden clogs, and let her lead me to what she wanted to share. She was right, (again). I needed to be outside with open eyes. I took 125 photos in my wet backyard. And the funk was chased away.

So here is one sight that caught our shared attention.

Our first daylily bloom was actually yesterday with Egyptian Queen, and there is another bloom this morning, but it doesn't fully open until later in the day. Peacock Maiden is an appropriate flower to begin the season as it was a Christmas plant exchange a few years ago from Brent Weedman. He was someone I wanted to know better because we shared so many interests: photography, daylilies, Louise Penny mysteries, and similar political views. But he lost his life to Covid this past winter. He is so missed by his wife, Jennifer, and family and countless friends, and by Judy and me. So we celebrate the beginning of the blooming season with Peacock Maiden.

My healing season will continue through the daylily season of the Hideaway with its peak in late June when the effects of my final chemotherapy treatment will subside and my strength will begin to return. And the blooming will continue through July. Hopefully, I will have managed to return to swimming in a warmer pool!

It's a big family. And we all belong. Even the ones that I am embarrassed to think must not belong. And who think I don't belong.

Our magnolia tree has begun to bloom, joining the countless magnolia trees in the Nashville area. Magnolia species are numerous, with more than 210 belonging to the family, and they are ancient. I read that they pre-date bees and that there are fossils of them that are more than 20 million years old. The original pollinators were thought to be beetles. The center portion, the carpels, are substantive and can withstand the traffic of beetles.

We planted our tree 9 years ago on Memorial Day weekend and it was barely taller than the fence and now it's nearly triple that height. But it doesn't begin to compare with some of the massive Nashville magnolias. Still, I enjoy it so and the blooms are so photogenic.

These hardy trees, at least for the southern climate, testify to strength and resilience and amazing blooms. 

There are lots of warnings with each of the 10 medications I receive as part of my chemotherapy. I have avoided most of the nasty-sounding ones. But I had not noticed this paragraph regarding possible side effects with vincristine: "Effects on the nerves are called peripheral neuropathy. You may feel numbness, tingling, or pain in your hands and feet. It may be hard for you to button your clothes, open jars, or walk as usual. The effect on the nerves may get worse with more doses of the drug. These effects get better in some people after the drug is stopped, but it does not get better in all people."

As a result of phone conversations with my doctor's nurse, I now have pills for nerve pain (if I have any pain). But I was most troubled about whether this neuropathy is temporary or whether it is permanent and may become more significant. I also realized that I had begun to think I was going to get through cancer treatment with only a good outcome and no difficult consequences. My numb fingers challenged my rosy assumptions with a scary reality check. I still have another chemotherapy treatment ahead with an additional dose of vincristine, possibly.

My prostate cancer treatment last year came with a significant permanent loss. Will I have another loss as well in exchange for my lymphoma treatment? I don't know and won't know until weeks or months afterwards. I began treatment with the hope that I could say one day that I am cured or that my cancer is in "durable remission". That is still my goal, even if I have to make some adjustments to usual practices. 

It's definitely a puzzle that has no immediate answer. I do like puzzles, especially ones that can be solved like this one made of six identical pieces. This puzzle that I am facing now has an answer that I won't know for some time. I plan on making the best of whatever happens.

Hydrangea Arborescens "Mary Nell" was named after the wife of professor Joseph C. McDaniel of the University of Illinois. Apparently it is a fast growing variety of lacecap hydrangea. Michael Dirr reported in an article in Nursery Mag that he received two plants in January 2019 that had become 100 by August. This could become a problem! And they grow to five feet tall! I think Judy may need to find another spot in the yard for this new resident of the Hideaway.

Tournaments are all day events; often they are all-day, multi-day events. And when that happens, the whole family is at the ballpark. There are pop-up tents everywhere and electric generators and coolers on wheels. And if you don't have shocks on your fold-up chair so you can rock, you must have missed the memo. Parents and siblings wear team shirts just like the players. And the kids who aren't playing get bored.

Someone remembered to bring sidewalk chalk. And the walkways were covered with drawings and games.

Maddy was there to play softball, four games, all victories including the championship game with trophy and rings. (Although this photo is watermarked DaySixPix, I did not take this picture).  And it was our first outing to someplace that didn't have "medical" in the name!

Interpretations abound on this passage and its importance for the birth of the church.

I am struck on how it emphasized unity; that all could hear and understand. In a time of fracture and tribalism and disunity and information bubbles, the church could provide a setting where all belong. The church should.

But later in the day, I felt better. The pool temperature was 78 and I wanted to vacuum the final last portion of dead algae from the bottom of the pool. So I did. I even got in the water, and by 5 pm, the temperature had increased to 79. And I swam from one end to the other. A remarkable change from Wednesday when I got winded just trying to trim the weeds around one of the flower beds. Better each day. I am blessed. 

Judy's straw hat and Hideaway apron hang on the stair post. Each day we are moving closer to having company and saying good-by to Covid and Cancer. I am more than ready for visitors. Tourist season is year-round, every day, in Nashville. The Hartleroads and the Hideaway are nearly ready.

It's the kind of day that you search for shade. Several years ago we planted a Forest Pansy Redbud tree at the corner of the house where one of the large Bradford trees had crashed down in a spring storm. It's a beautiful replacement. 

And this afternoon as I ventured out of the house, I noticed the shade that tree provided and looked up to the sky through the underside of those glorious leaves. I've been writing so much about green lately, and our yard has abundant green. So I laughed when I looked up through the shade of this tree and thought how wonderful it was to have colorful shade. 

I'm an ordinary guy, but I love color. (Except maybe on my plate). Unfortunately, that affection for color has sometimes drawn unwanted attention, like the green-and-orange plaid bell-bottomed suit I wore for Easter (when I had hair) or the red and yellow Hawaiian jammers I wore on campus (when I used to wear swimsuits) or madras shirts and striped pants and lots of other clothing choices.

I mean if you have to choose, you might as well go for bold. Maybe I'm not so ordinary after all!

But I have been invaded with hope, embraced with hope, saturated with hope.

This hope did not come from within me. 

The hope came as a wave from a chorus of encouragers. The hope came as a lifeline from cancer survivors. The hope came listening to Dr. Thompson review the recent PET scan. The hope came from the scriptural affirmation of divine love for all of God's family, no one is excluded.

Whenever we need it most, we are baptized with hope, invited to feast at hope's table.

Not only does green grow in the cracks, hope blooms there too. 

I know it's just the chemicals that are creating my physical reaction to the treatment. And it will pass with time.

I'm glad there is only one more infusion treatment, and it is three weeks away.

But each recovery period seems to get longer and deeper. Nothing to do but wait it out. 

But it steals my ability to focus, and imagine, and plan, and do. Caught.

I moved a lot growing up. And shortly, also, after my graduation from high school. And I spent too many Mays packing to move to a new pastoral appointment in June. I think of all those who have transitions approaching.

I'm reminded too of all those around the world on the move, escaping war, and famine, and disease, and oppression. So much is left behind. I grieve for all I left behind. But I treasure the memories of friends, and shared meals, and laughter. I would have taken the welcome sign with me!

I am tired of war, and lying, and hatred, and prejudice, and greed, and injustice, and poverty, and hunger, and arrogance, and intolerance.

Jesus' followers are in the world, but not of this world. To be in the world is to be concerned that all of God's people are harmed by the powers of this world and that awareness defines the mission. To not be in this world is to not be seduced by the false ethics and selfish pettiness that surround us.

And some in the church get distracted by made-up culture wars, when the real evil is so damned blatant.

Eugene Peterson renders one of Jesus's last prayers for his disciples in John 17:15-17, "I'm not asking that you take them out of the world But that you guard them from the Evil One. They are no more defined by the world. Make them holy--consecrated--with the truth."

Carmelo Alvarez, in 2011, wrote, "In preaching on the truth of the gospel, there are some challenging ethical questions that might be considered. First, when the Gospel stresses "live by the truth" (3:21 NIV), it means to accept the ethical demand that leads to the doing of the truth in concrete actions. Second, it requires a faithful people to "tell the truth" (Dietrich Bonhoeffer), as a consequence of a conduct and a testimony (15:26) that witnesses to that truth. Third, it calls to a discipleship in solidarity and the promotion of true reconciliation. Today, more than ever, reclaiming the centrality of the truth of the gospel and living the gospel in truth are daring tasks. (Daily Feast, Year B)

Today, not unexpectedly so, is a low-energy day. Dr. Thompson advised me early on that this first week after chemotherapy I can expect a substantial reduction in energy and then my energy will begin to rebuild after the weekend. It has become a familiar pattern, not one that I enjoy. 

So I decided to share a pattern I do enjoy.

The good news, as my wife likes to say, is that I do not have emotional fatigue. I am more aware of what is happening to my body. My anxiety is less because I know more about the treatment and the response of my body. I have evidence that the treatment is working. I do not feel like I am surrounded by mystery. Knowledge is power.

And today has been another day of watching Judy garden. I think she is having creative fun. I know we are both anticipating the beauty that will soon appear in color and form. She even bought me a Japanese Red Maple today that we need to think about where it could be planted. Put our imagination to work. Good days ahead.

A friend said yesterday morning that if there were no humans, the plants would take over the planet in mere moments. 

I noted early in this journey that green grows in the cracks. Green has certainly taken over in our little piece of the world. 

I'm also aware of the growth that is occurring during my treatment as the chemotherapy kills cancer and fast-growing cells in my body and the white blood cells bounce back. Life is amazing, resilient.

A friend, Lynn Taylor, brought this sumptuous bouquet of peonies to our house yesterday to help celebrate our good news from Dr. Thompson.

My blood counts were excellent Monday morning. But the exciting news from Dr. Thompson was that the PET scan revealed my cancer is in clinical remission, "no abnormal uptake". "Perfect!" I had my third chemo treatment Monday and will have my final one four weeks later on June 7. Although I have stage 3 Diffuse Large B Cell Lymphoma which was detected early, the treatment has worked its magic. I will have another PET scan in late June as well as a repeat endoscopy prior to seeing Dr. Thompson near the end of June. He will refer me to a radiation oncologist who will determine the number of treatments. So July will likely be daily trips for radiation. Dr. Thompson was as excited as we were. 

Another friend said this morning, "All you gotta do is show up, and the docs do the rest!" And another added, "Prayers and a smart oncologist are a powerful combination!" Indeed, it is certainly working for me. Long range, I will be monitored every three months for the first year, and with longer time spans for the next five years. But after two encounters with different cancers within a short amount of time, I am hopeful, grateful, blessed, amazed, excited. I awoke early Tuesday. My joy has increased. Planning for the fall, where shall we go?

I do want to be well. I do want the cancer to be gone. And I know the medication cocktail must be doing what is necessary to kill the cancer cells. I will find out for certain today as I should hear the results of the PET scan that was performed on Friday. I should know the effect of the cumulative chemotherapy sessions on my cancer today. And it will probably be good news, at least I hope so.

I've included this photo to encourage me to have healthy snacks today. From past experience, I don't have much of an appetite on treatment day nor for several days. Today I may have a better sense of the treatment plan going forward as well. Good stuff could still happen today.

The Acts passage is the first instance of "all" meaning ALL when the message of God's love spreads beyond the Hebrew nation to the Gentiles. The non-Jewish listeners to Peter's message respond with exuberant praise which astonished the Jewish disciples. 

The 15th chapter of the Gospel of John explores the significance of being chosen for friendship by Jesus. And that followers of Jesus are to love as Jesus loves. Wouldn't that be amazing if the Church loved as Jesus loved? Too many examples demonstrate that's not true yet.

Psalm 98 is an exuberant hymn of praise that extends throughout creation.

The instruction in 1John 5 is to love those within the Church which is a constrained command for a group facing persecution. It seems to me that the Church fails to even love those within the Church.

Hopefully, this morning's class could be a fun discussion.

But it's simply not true. Many before you have traveled this road and there will be many after your journey.

You are not alone.

Surrounded, wrote the author of the Letter the Hebrews, by a great cloud of witnesses.

Google and various social media demonstrate that one's experience is not solitary.

Two observations:

My experience may not be the same as yours but it is not wholly unique. We can learn from each other's journey.

And we are supported by a large group of encouragers who care about us and want us to succeed.

Not alone. Never was. Never will be.

The image below of Autumn Ferns, cultivar "Brilliance", was shot with a macro lens at f/2.8 which results in a very narrow depth of field. One frond is sharply in focus while surrounding ones are shown in varying softness and the play of light even sends some into the shadows. Our experience is sharply apparent to us, sometimes to the exclusion of others. But I hope this photo represents we are not alone.

Creating the American West in Art. "The Rabbit Hunt" by E. Martin Hemmings

"Reading Woman" by Picasso

Titled "Man with an Ax" by Liana Porter, is this the result of a music hater?

Celebrating this near-normal day.

This is a rare day now. Few days are near-normal. Chemo on Monday. The days after will not be normal.

But later this summer, my normal routine will return. Friends. Grilling out. Swimming in the pool. Energized. Grateful. Blessed.

Judy has had a garden everywhere we lived. And here she has more room to create. And the garden is growing.

I watch and encourage. Her efforts will result in more opportunities for me to photograph. I do provide some aesthetic advice, what could make a good photo when the planting matures.

Paradise needs a little help. At least our vision of paradise.

And it's better than thinking about my challenges. Something is always about to bloom, and we can't wait!

I was just beginning to get accustomed to the routine when a new variable rises to the surface. Cancer treatment is a bit like the simulation games we used to play years ago and the leader would announce a new wrinkle that would significantly alter our strategy. A friend had asked me weeks ago about my platelets and while the number bounced around, it hadn't drawn my attention. Now it does.

No playing with sharp things. No tattoos. No flossing! Be careful! Seriously? One more thing to add to my feeling of mortality and vulnerability.

I'm certain the medical team will be watching the numbers and they have a plan for whatever complication shows up.

Just another week to breathe deeply, and be careful.

My name is called and I go back to the area where four chairs are located. One of the technicians sticks my finger. And milks my finger for more than enough to measure. I don't watch. She wraps a bandaid around my finger with a small gauze pad, tightly. I will be glad to remove it soon. I go to another chair around the corner to wait for the results. This time I expect to be told that I'm good and I can go home.

Next Monday, the technician will insert a special needle in my port for the blood sample and to be connected for my infusion. I think I am nearly halfway through this process. 

I'm looking forward to the Mondays that I will swim in my pool and not have to drive across town.

"Dear friends, let's love each other, because love is from God, and everyone who loves is born from God and knows God." (7)

"If we love each other, God remains in us and his love is made perfect in us." (12)

"We love because God first loved us." (19)

The writer makes a bold assertion: Love comes from God. We experience love in many different relationships and find it different in quantitative and qualitative ways. There are countless teachers and methods who claim to help us to learn to love. 

I have been reflecting on my pastoral ministry and shared with colleagues this week about my excitement of being appointed as a pastor to a church, and realizing that the fundamental task was to love them. I failed in many ways. But I also experienced being love far beyond what I deserved. It's been 20 years since I was appointed to a church and I am still amazed at the opportunity to love and be loved. Because I am still part of those Christian communities. 

I learned to love because I was loved by God, still am, and that love flows from my life, despite my failures. Truly amazing.

Or the kind of mystery that is not solved and invites readers to imagine an answer or resolution.

We live in mysteries. Why did that happen? Why didn't the expected happen? Why was I chosen or ignored?

Possibly it's the perspective of years lived to look back and wonder about events and intersections and missed opportunities.

I have sat in rooms of grief and been asked why and I had no answer.

I have questions too. 

Sometimes there is no answer.

At least, not yet.

I am eager to get to late June with chemotherapy complete and waiting for radiation to begin. I do want to be rid of the cancer. 

It's just that treatment day is no fun. And there are only two more of those. I can do this. 

And before my next infusion on May 10, I have a week of near-normal with friends coming to visit us. 

I may even make it to the Picasso exhibit at the Frist. Weeks ago I got some of the last tickets before they were sold out.

And Saturday is the beginning of May. Closer every day.

But I am grateful that my treatment season is the spring. And it will last into summer with radiation yet to be scheduled.

I have watched greenness grow in my backyard. Judy has spent two days scrubbing the green from our deck. The grass needs mowed.

Peonies have erupted from the ground and color is showing on their marble-sized buds. The dogwoods lost many petals in today's downpour.

The oaks are the last trees to leaf out and will soon obscure the western sky. We can even open our windows and enjoy fresh air.

So I am glad to be distracted from how I feel by what I can see and touch and smell. I even wandered around my cul-de-sac to see what my neighbors have blooming in their yards. The slow, bald man with his camera and tripod.

I do want the treatments to end, and take all the side effects with them. But I want the season to embrace me with green.

The Hideaway hosts an annual Easter Egg Hunt. Careful preparation is taken. Some plastic eggs even contain cash!

The organizers take great care in counting how many of the plastic eggs have been distributed throughout the premises.

Last year, because of the pandemic, the hunt was postponed.

But this year, the anticipation had been building for some time since the hosts had received their vaccinations and were eager to hold the heralded event.

Easter arrived and the solitary teenager searched the yard. Plastic eggs were counted. One was missing. The pair that had hid them knew it contained a chocolate Cadbury egg. But it was nowhere to be discovered.

23 days passed. And lo, in a bush next to the pool there it was. And the Cadbury egg appeared fine. We are awaiting the test taste to see how it survived within the plastic egg and the foil wrapping.

I'll let you know.

We have lots of outside seating! Five reclining lounges, six dining chairs, four bar height chairs, 2 aluminum chairs with the round table, four other chairs (2 of which are in the photo), 2 laid back chairs (down in Judy's secret garden), and an Adirondack chair that I built! Plus all the seat boxes around the deck, and the half-dozen places in the pool spa.  Not many takers during the pandemic isolation. But that's about to change. Because...

All the places are...

Waiting for friends

Waiting for conversation

Hoping to catch up on stories and travels

Sharing a joke

Celebrating that my white blood count is high enough that there is no need for antibiotics this week!

Simple victories...

Heading for a cure.

But I do enjoy a feature on my camera that transforms a photograph into a watercolor. And the reason I like to do that is that it allows me to see something different that a highly detailed image. The color flows in wide swatches and the form comes to the front and the texture becomes brush strokes, and I find a different appreciation for what I am seeing.

I need that for my cancer.

I'm not halfway yet through the treatments. Oh, I have had 2 of the four scheduled chemotherapy infusions but the effects last far longer than the one day at the oncology center. Today is another blood test to determine how low my white blood count has gone. I suspect it will be lower than three weeks ago, after the first test. My energy was lower all last week and there were a couple of challenging days to summon any strength. It would be terrific if I could blur those days to see the beauty instead of the details.

Dr. Thompson raised my stage to 3 last week. A technical adjustment he said which doesn't affect my treatment schedule nor his intention to cure my cancer. But muted brush strokes would have been helpful there.

Summer doesn't officially begin until around June 21. I should have recovered from my fourth chemotherapy by then. And summer will just be beginning. Radiation will follow. Maybe it will lend itself to more watercolor than chemo.

But the Psalm Lesson for Fourth Sunday of Easter is the familiar 23rd.

Here it is as Eugene Peterson voiced it in "The Message":

God, my shepherd! I don't need a thing. You have bedded me down in lush meadows, you find me quiet pools to drink from.

True to your word, you let me catch my breath and send me in the right direction.

Even when the way goes through Death Valley, I am not afraid when you walk by my side. 

Your trusty shepherd's crook makes me feel secure.

You serve me a six-course dinner right in front of my enemies. You revive my drooping head, my cup brims with blessing.

Your beauty and love chase after me every day of my life. I'm back home in the house of God for the rest of my life.

I did notice yesterday that the honeysuckle shrub is blooming next to the pool fence. This is not the aromatic honeysuckle vine that will bloom later and carries so many memories of spring in Illinois. Still, the blooms are everywhere announcing warmth. Some day maybe I'll see them and smell them when I am swimming. If I have the energy. Floating in the water wouldn't be bad.

But there are moments, like this evening near our dinner time, when the sunlight filters through the trees of our western border and illuminates the dogwoods. Of course, I notice, and have to take my camera outside. I forget the cancer. I ignore the fatigue. And I just appreciate what I can see. And the birds are singing, singing a hymn to the evening light.

The rhythm of the bloom parallels my chemotherapy pattern. I feel relatively good before each treatment. And then I have ten days of fatigue, mouth sores, more hair loss, increased vulnerability to infection. It is challenging for me not to see these days as loss. And then I gain strength, preparing for the next round. Ready to bloom.

I still find it incredible that I have had two different forms of cancer within a year. 

Each bloom signals there are possibilities and recoveries.

The magic blinking green firefly attached to my waist dispensed the dose of Neulasta yesterday evening. Other than the daily dose of prednisone, the medications of the second round are completed.

Now begins the obstacles following each chemotherapy treatment.

My first obstacle is realizing that chemotherapy and radiation will occupy most of my spring and summer. My last chemotherapy should be May 31, if there are four.

I imagine radiation will begin in July.

Another obstacle is lots of fatigue, which all in all, is the lesser of side effects. And is the product of the chemotherapy working. Unfortunately, it is just an extension of the isolation we practiced for a year before we received our vaccinations in February.

The other obstacle is my vulnerability to infection because of the destruction of white blood cells.

But there is a way through this.

Just as the rocks loom in Acadia National Park, there is a path around them. The obstacles do not block the way to my healing. Just one step at a time.

Created just 20 years ago, this medication and its automated delivery system will help my body develop healthy white blood cells to replace the cancerous ones that were dangerous to my health.

I am so grateful to physicians and researchers and scientists who are dedicated to eradicating cancer.

Yesterday, prior to my treatment, Dr. Thompson said the bone marrow biopsy was negative which was great news.

And to those who read yesterday's blogpost, I ate a whole peanut butter sandwich this time!

The last time I could not distract myself from what was happening. I took my Kindle, two other books, and a notebook. And a peanut butter sandwich.

I did not open the books nor the Kindle nor the notebook.

I ate half of the peanut butter sandwich.

This time I'd rather think pleasant thoughts and consider beauty,

and rest in God's hands, the support of prayer partners, and the care of my medical team.

This photo, with a watercolor effect, is the wild columbine in front of our home.

Judy and I have made a practice to name our blessings each night. Some nights, she does it for both of us when I am so weary, noticing what had brought joy to us during the day. Truly, I am...

Blessed.

Content.

Thankful.

Joy filled.

Healing.

Grateful.

Happy.

Loved.

The image below, that I have shared before, is from the old Chain of Rocks bridge (old route US 66) spanning the Mississippi River. I entitled it "Unexpected Joy." Do you see it? Do you have it?

I am no longer worried about how tired I will be, not as much as I feared. I am far more vulnerable to infections that first week after treatment than I realized before. I already have some medications that could be necessary for side effects I did not have and for those that I did have. 

I have more hope than three weeks ago. Green is, indeed, growing in all the cracks.

And I have a greater sense of a vast network of prayers and encouragement for which I know that I am embraced with grace.

And I am three weeks closer to being cured.

And we have squirrels. Too many squirrels. Big fluffy squirrels. And they have a partnership with the oak trees. The squirrels keep busy in late summer as the acorns mature and drop to the ground. These fuzzy creatures gather the acorns, one at a time (just one is a mouthful), and bury it somewhere in the yard, frequently in one of the daylily gardens.

I think the intention of the squirrel is to retrieve the acorns to eat during the winter. We find little holes throughout the yard where the squirrels have dug up a winter meal.

But some of the buried acorns are forgotten or not needed. And they sprout. A new oak tree begins. 

The gardener at the Hideaway is not pleased by these surprise oak trees. So she flexed her muscles and pulled up this oak tree all by herself.

She's excited by her efforts and has to show her photographer husband.

Life is truly a wonder. 

Wherever, whenever it happens.

There are three main groups of white blood cells: monocytes, granulocytes, and lymphocytes. (1) Monocytes are present in larger numbers when the body fights off chronic infections. They target and destroy the cells that are causing the illness. (2) Granulocytes are the white blood cells that contain proteins, and have three different cell subgroups. Basophils are less that 1% of WBC and focus on allergic reactions. Eosinophils respond to infections that are caused by parasites, as well as the inflammatory response of the body. Neutrophils are the majority of white blood cells and act as scavengers. They surround and destroy bacteria and fungi. These neutrophils were 3.1 before my first treatment and .4 one week later, important cells that were killed, along with cancer cells, by the cancer meds. And that's why I have to be careful around other people following each treatment. (3) The third group are lymphocytes with three subgroups. Natural killer cells attack and kill viral cells as well as cancer cells. T cells help recognize and remove infection-causing cells. B cells produce antibodies to help the immune system mount response to infection. My cancer is because B cells are running amuck, and will destroy the lymph structure which is why it is such a problem if it is discovered late.

So what fascinates me about this is how much white blood cells act like a team. Their joint purpose is to protect the body against infection and each one acts in concert with the others to help the body remain healthy by performing their respective purpose. These bodies within which our spirits dwell are amazing. Mine has worked wonderfully well for more than 73 years, approaching 27,000 days. Dr. Thompson and his team intend to make it possible that I have many more days. Thank them, thank God, and thank my many prayer partners.

I took this photo at Old Car City USA, White, Georgia. It's an iconic junkyard where none of the cars or their parts are for sale and where they charge you $10 extra if you bring a camera. Fun spot if you like old cars!

Resilience is toughness: being able to endure and recover from difficulty. Resilience is elastic: being able to bounce back from defeat. Resilience is strength: able to absorb adversity. Resilience is being embraced with grace.

Not just surviving. Blooming.

Yesterday my hair began to fall out. I told the pharmacist that it's not as much a shock for a man that's already bald. A friend asked, will you lose your eyebrows? They warned me that I could lose all body hair. I think that includes eyebrows. I wonder if it includes ear and nose hair, not that I have any noticeable, because of my good grooming habits! HA!

Next Monday I have my second chemotherapy treatment. And I have been going over the treatment plan to understand what I am receiving. I receive 10 medications with each cycle. The first 8 take about 6 hours, one after another, with constant monitoring by the care team.

1) Tylenol tablets

2) Benadryl, 50 mg, first time was liquid in my IV, during which I jumped all over the chair, not pleasant

3) Dexamethasone, a glucorticosteroid, treats nausea and lymphoma

4) Fosnetupitant, used with above medication to treat nausea and vomiting

5) Doxorubicin, the red liquid, that treats cancer by interfering with DNA of cancer cells

6) Vincristine, attacks normal and cancerous cells during cell division, hair loss, causes extensive tissue damage if it escapes the veins

7) Cyclophosphamide, works as above, but attacks normal and cancer cells during rest phase of cell division

8) Rituximab, monoclonal antibody, targeted antibody that attaches to the cancerous B cells and destroys them

9) Neulasta, attached to my waist and automatically dispenses 27 hours later, expensive ($6,231) stimulate WBC production in bone marrow

10 Prednisone, five daily doses, a steroid to decrease my immune systems response to the medications and to reduce reactions

Quite a regime, but far from the most difficult. Explains the fatigue. I'm counting all of this to kill my cancer!

I enjoy the smell of coffee brewing.

Although I probably should refrain from the coffee because my stomach ulcer may not be healed yet.

If we could only get together. I'm vaccinated. You? 

We could talk, share from our hearts. 

A hug would be nice.

I've missed being with people, haven't you?

Today is the second Sunday of Easter and the Gospel lesson (John 20:19-31) focuses on the apostle Thomas who is not present when the others encounter the Risen Christ. When Thomas is told by them that they have seen Jesus, he said he could not believe unless he sees and touches the wounds of Christ. I have preached on this text many times, but this week I am caught in a different way by Thomas's awareness of the wounds. He must have been present at the crucifixion. He either saw him die or viewed his dead body. I wonder if his grief wasn't affected by the reality of the wounds and prevents him from quickly believing the others' reports that they had seen him alive. Thomas isn't ready to move beyond the suffering. Maybe he wasn't with the others because he needed to grieve alone. I don't know. I may be stretching the scriptures.  I'm not like Thomas. I was always one to speed past the crucifixion and the suffering to Easter joy. And I wonder if I didn't try to make suffering invisible because I'd just as soon it not happen. I prefer to avoid my suffering and not just this event, but the suffering of many others. 

Some wounds are obvious. No one can miss that this person is injured. But most suffering is hidden, out of sight: sexual abuse, racism, broken hearts, dishonesty, mistreatment of all kinds. Or we choose not to see. And although there is no obvious wound, the injury may be even more devastating and dangerous to one's well-being. And these are the kinds of wounds that are easy to ignore or pretend that they are not serious or that they even exist.

I know I have failed to notice or care enough for people I know that were hurting. Forgive me for minimizing the suffering of others. I'm not asking for sympathy for me. I'm being taken care of. My cancer will be cured. But there are friends and loved ones whose pain we minimize in the hope that they too are not that wounded. Did we miss seeing how hurt they are?

The gospel account concludes with Thomas seeing the wounds of the risen Christ, and believing. The suffering is real, and so is the victory.

Cancer is a damn weed.

Cancer grows where it's unwanted. Cancer is like a weed threatening to push aside desired garden plants.

Cancer is like the weeds in my lawn, taking over and crowding out.

And it grew silently, without detection until a pathologist expertly detected it in a biopsy sample.

Cancer is a weed.

Yes, it's an ugly picture. Cancer is an ugly weed.

I wonder if it's working.

Is my body generating sufficient white blood cells? Will I experience the same side effects or will there be new ones?

I am trying to remain positive about the outcome. But I have begun to imagine what life beyond lymphoma will be like. My third treatment will be May 10 with a possible fourth treatment on May 31. And radiation after. When? I have no idea. And how many of those? 

I do have control issues. And all of this is beyond my control. And much seems to be dependent on the partnership between the chemo cocktail and the reaction of my body.

Spring is proceeding as well without my input or guidance and occurring in a beautiful display. Relax. Notice what is happening. Each day is a revelation.

So I am waiting, like this peony bud, for the right time, the full time, the color-burst time, the healing time.

The advice has been frequent: rest. Let your body take care of itself. I haven't always been very good at resting. I often failed at sabbath keeping. And truthfully, much of my resting during my working years was the pause caused by exhaustion. So I do not presume to be an expert on resting.

My body, however, has asserted itself. Rest is necessary for my recovery. And so I wait. I read. I nap. I take an occasional photo. I relax and let the healing ease my body and spirit. 

And I have to confess: it ain't all bad!

These seeds have a long lineage. The tree that bears these seeds were planted by the original home owner more than 20 years ago. This maturing tree produces countless seeds so the cycle can continue into abundant life, even far from this spot, with the possibility to multiply many times over.

Some prayers are immediate petitions that spring from this moment or this specific need, waiting for answers or resolution. How quickly they spring from our lips or those of friends and family.

But I realized that many, maybe even most, of my prayers were answered long ago when Dana Thompson entered medical school and decided to specialize in cancer treatment, even before the creation of the Sarah Cannon Cancer Center. He knows how to cure my lymphoma. He has done it before. Many of my prayers were answered by the training, compassion and experience of Dr. Thomas Lewis who first said "lymphoma" to my stunned ears. Many prayers were answered when a countless multitude of researchers and scientists began to develop treatments to cure cancer. Prayers were answered 20 years ago with the approval of a medication I will receive after each chemotherapy treatment to help my body make more white blood cells. Many of my prayers were answered when men and women decided they wanted to help care for cancer patients, and now carefully monitor my treatments and those of many more. They know how to do this. They want to help heal me and countless others. I am filled with gratitude for their skill and compassion.

As I contemplated all of this yesterday, I realized God had a head start. This all didn't spring into motion at the beginning of March, 2021. I'm just in a moment that has been prepared for healing. Some prayers are already answered.

But I got an unexpected surprise when I got the results of my white blood count yesterday afternoon. The technician performed a quick finger stick and asked me to wait a few minutes and she would have the results. Soon she appeared with my folder, and said you need to go to the treatment room so the nurse can discuss your results with you. First detour to the exit. Soon, the nurse appeared and said we need to check your vitals, are you coughing, have you had fever. Second detour to the exit. Wait over there, she said, I need to talk with the doctor. Another escape prevented. And before too long, she appeared again. "Your white blood count is 1.3." Way below normal. Last Monday it was 5.6, and the chemotherapy drugs had decimated my immune system. That's probably not medically accurate. But I was stunned. I was prescribed another antibiotic to take daily for a week, and be extra cautious with any person or substance that could infect me. My system would have difficulty fighting infection.

The reality is that's why patients are checked a week after treatment. I'm not the first to have a precipitous drop in WBC, and the staff knows what to do about it. 

But none of this is what I expected. I don't want more isolation. I don't want cancer. But I am surrounded by family and friends and medical experts who know what to do. So take a deep breath. I am held, watched over. This is not what I expected. But the doctor is not surprised. He's done this before. This clearly is not my solitary journey. So I can pay less attention to numbers and more to butterflies.

But as the sun warmed the air and melted the frost, they resumed their proud stand. I too was bowed yesterday, not by frost, but just by physical discomfort. I did not feel well; I was not a jovial host for Easter dinner and didn't participate in the annual Easter egg hunt. I am still better than I anticipated a week after my first chemotherapy. And I do believe I will bounce back like the tulips.

Later today, my white blood count will be checked to assure that the treatment is not suppressing it to precarious levels. And I expect to resume the journey toward spring.

And I miss it again this year.  And today, less than a week after my first chemotherapy treatment, I feel, well, yucky. Not nauseated, not really tired, just kind of awful. I suspect it's to be expected that some days I would not feel terrific. But even with my physical discomfort, I feel joy and hope and promise and compassion and gratitude and grace. Yes, Easter.

Michael and Judy wrapped our Japanese Maples in preparation for the hard freeze these last two nights. I watched. And thought how much their wrapping was an act of care, in similar manner that the women were preparing so long ago to wrap Jesus. 

After a year of Covid distancing, how much we long to wrap, embrace, care for friends and family. When I prayed for the sick, I would ask if it was okay if we held hands. There was power in the touch, in illness, in despair, in worry, in grief. More than any words we would say, we were wrapped in compassion. How often in my ministry did I rush through the activities of the Easter weekend and miss the significance of the Saturday preparation to do the final act of caring? And how it would prepare our hearts to see Sunday!

We are so appreciative of all the encouragement and prayers. It means a lot to receive the messages.

The lesson from Psalms for the day cites portions of Psalm 118 which begins and ends with the phrase "his steadfast love endures forever!" Constant, unending, compassion and grace is announced over and over, not only by this psalm, but others which affirm this experience of God's love. God's love will not weaken or disappear. God's love is for this moment and all those that follow. Change will happen in our circumstances, but our experience of God's care for us is an embrace that will not quit. Ever.

Lymphoma.

At first I heard nothing else as my doctor gave me the news. But the reality began to sink in after a few days, diffuse large B cell lymphoma.

How could that be?

Last summer, 9 months ago, I listened as another doctor told me I had aggressive prostate cancer, and the best option was to surgically remove the cancer. I had recovered well. My PSA was zero. No, the previous cancer had not returned; this is a completely different cancer, and even more perilous to my health. 

So the last two weeks have been filled with blood tests, and CT and PET scans, and doctor appointments, and counseling. I have a good prognosis with the test results from last Friday revealing that in addition to cancer in lymph tissue in my stomach, I have cancer in the lymph node under my left arm. Fortunately, miraculously, this cancer was found before I have any symptoms, and with little dispersal through my body. I have heard too many stories of patients who were diagnosed too late. DLBL is a serious threat; it can be fatal.

I am hopeful. My oncologist is confident that the cancer can be, will be, cured.

Next Monday I begin chemotherapy with a combination of four drugs. Every three weeks I will get an infusion that will take 3-4 hours. Nasty side effects may follow each week following treatment. The doctor said I may need radiation following the chemotherapy. And I will have lowered immunity with the risk of infection.

I got my second vaccination against Covid in late February. Supposedly, I am immune. I was ready to break out of isolation, see my friends, invite them to my home, eat in restaurants, go to the theater, hug my granddaughter. But I have something new stalking me. 

So I have a new journey ahead, not unlike the multitude of times I escorted parishioners through this perilous land. Except this time, it's my journey.

Of course I won't be alone. My neighbor said I certainly have more resources than the typical cancer patient: world-class medical facilities, amazing physicians, prayer partners including my Buddhist and Muslim neighbors, my wife and family, and my faith in God's healing.

I expect to be riding a roller-coaster of emotions, and sometimes the future may appear murky. But I have hope that I will be twice-cured.

Like everyone else in the world, I am eager to see 2020 move on. But the reality is that a new calendar year is a bit of an illusion. Today is not much different from yesterday, especially when one is retired. Nevertheless, there is a freshness about a new calendar, a new budget, a new president (soon-to-be).  I'm glad to be done with cancer, and hopeful for a COVID vaccination. I'm eager to be out and about again, and looking. This image is one I discovered last week as I was processing some photos from the autumn of 2015. I may have tweeked the saturation a little, but it does portray what I saw with the stack of basalt rocks at the Interstate State Park in Minnesota. I am looking for different in the new year, a different hopeful spirit in the country, a desire for justice and equality, a quest for peace, and images that will make me dance and sing (even at my age.)

One doesn't need a calendar to know that autumn is all around. As I drink my morning coffee and gaze out the window, I see one of our burning bushes lit by the morning sun. What a glorious day!

Actually, my countdown started two weeks ago as I looked at what adjustments I might need to make with the coming winter. Some might think I am rushing the calendar. But I need a marker of hope. I want to look forward to the future. this year I have survived cancer, avoided Covid, longed to hug my granddaughter, missed my family, yearned to visit friends. I want to move beyond the toxic chaos of political poison. So I set a mark on the calendar when life could be different again, maybe not normal, but not like it is now. Easter. The day of resurrection. Celebration. Spring. This photo is from April 5, 2020, captured in my backyard. 21 weeks until the dogwood is in full bloom again. And I will celebrate.

And to use the days ahead, I have begun to set goals so that these 21 weeks can have a purpose beyond waiting. I have a list of projects and hopes. By the time I get to Easter, life will be different.

Susan brought us gifts. She brought flowers to a gardener and a photographer of gardens. Wow! Unlike any flower we had in our gardens. The giver brought a special flower. But the point is not that the flower was different. The point is that it was a gift. Family is a gift. Faith is a gift. Friends are gifts. A simple day changed by a gift is truly a blessing. Every day can be changed by gifts and givers.

It's been a month since my surgery. The good news is that the pathology report reveals that the cancer was wholly contained in the prostate and the surgeon is confident that he removed all the cancer. When I return to his office in another month, I hope that the blood test confirms that I am a cancer survivor. I am so appreciative for the many prayers and notes of encouragement. It is good to know that the journey was not a solitary one. Thank you.

The magnolia tree in our backyard is reblooming as are a number of our daylilies. It's my hope that here in mid-August in a tumultuous year that we all might have an opportunity to rebloom.

I have prayer partners everywhere. And family and friends who are so dear to me that our relationship transcends words. So what happens now?

The reality is I have cancer. And I have an appointment with an exceptional surgeon in a world-class facility in the midst of a pandemic. But I am filled with hope. And peace. Veterans of this surgical procedure have given me details of their journey. And I can do it too. And I could ask for no one who cares for me more than Judy. Life is truly good. And I have years of moments ahead to be amazed at what I see.

Then I cropped the image to zero in on the bug and found something I have never seen. What is this?

So this is Himmelman's Plume Moth. I'm not certain that it is a welcome visitor in our daylily garden. http://www.cirrusimage.com/Moth_Himmelmans_Plume.htm

So many dreams have ended. May they be replaced with new ones. So new stories can begin. So we can make hope real.

So I guess there are more than three subjects in the photo. Slightly more. 

This photo is from Christmas 2008. She loved cats but didn't really want to care for a cat, especially with how they can get underfoot and cause one to fall if you're not careful. So we got her a battery-operated cat that would move and meow, and if left alone, would meow again for attention.

We have limited our exposure to COVID-19 by mostly staying home and wearing masks when out in public. I suspected when this all began more than two months ago that hand-shaking would be a greeting that would disappear for a while. Now I grieve that the precaution of wearing a mask is a political statement, and I felt uncomfortable in the local hardware store with clerks and customers not wearing masks or maintaining social distancing. So this ornament expresses my yearning for the future when our spirits can be free and healthy.

I'm pretty sure this is an early Oldsmobile, probably about 1952. Spinners on the hubcaps! And teardrop spotlights, and laker exhaust pipes!

It might have been how Stephen chose to deliver this message or the content that angered his audience, but he stirred quite a reaction. I have noticed some of the same reactions in our current crisis where a message provokes opposite passions. Truth is not heard. Facts are discounted. Messengers are accused of fraud. How can it be that grace is unfair and the poor can be ridiculed and abused? Not everyone wants to hear about hope and love and peace. But it's the only message we have.

Essentially, Stephen told his audience that they were in God's way, opposing the movement toward wholeness and justice and restoration. And they didn't want to hear it.

Sony 7rii, 90mm lens, f/13, 1/13 sec., iso 400, tripod, additional lighting by Lume Cube

I do have a terrific iris photo for tomorrow!

Iris season is well underway at the Hideaway. Two years ago Judy transferred some iris from Illinois to Brentwood so that today there 12 varieties blooming, a pittance compared to the number of daylilies we have. Here's one taken on the dining room table with the white shade closed, providing a perfect high key backdrop. This setting could be used for other subjects. Ah, some new things to try! Nevertheless, this photo shows just one way of photographing an iris without color. This variety is completely dark which probably accents the effect.

The Coronovirus has postponed the annual gathering until mid-August and reduced the meeting time to just one full day (two half-days). I have spent a bunch of days inside this building, so it's fun for me to consider this view from outside and this vantage point that I rarely experienced. I'm also reminded of all the people I miss seeing.

For me, the study of scripture includes a conversation between the original context and our current situation if we are to understand its relevance. The larger context of the letter is that it is addressed to a community that is poor and suffering, and that the pain has been experienced through no fault of their own. How does one live when circumstances are destructive? Who do we get to blame, who do we get to attack? Can we identify who has caused our current pain?

I hear Peter advising us that the witness of the community is strengthened when we react with love. I admit that there are dimensions to that conclusion that may sound weak and unresponsive to injustice. But we participate and thrive in a community that recognizes the leading of God, that finds strength and mercy in compassion.  In the cacophony of the sounds of destruction and hate, we hear the voice of God calling us to love as we are loved. We follow the Christ who suffered greatly but responded with love. Good is God's intention, not violence, or separation, or evil of any kind. Through grace, we are healed by love. The whole world will be healed by love.

Photo details: Sony 7rii, 90mm macro lens, 1/80 sec, f/6.3, tripod

As I processed the images, I decided I liked this one best of all. And I admit it surprised me. More of an environmental portrait! But keep scrolling as my partner likes the one below it better! By the way, this wildflower is Yellow Star Grass.

Today's gospel lesson is Luke 24:13-35, commonly referred to as "The Walk to Emmaus". Two travelers encounter a stranger on their way from Jerusalem to Emmaus, about 7 miles away. When the strangers asks about their conversation, one responds with "are you the only one" who doesn't know what has happened with the crucifixion of Jesus, and the emerging account of his resurrection. Even without the internet, and news media of every kind, the travelers are astonished that the stranger is ignorant of current events. But then the story flips with the stranger sharing the long view of the Biblical story and how the current event is part of God's actions. And then he pauses to share a meal with them, and they recognize the stranger is the risen Jesus. The kernel here for me, among other matters and insights, is that the study of scriptures is not just about the past, but is also critical for us to see God's actions now and in the future. In the midst of this pandemic, we need the long view about truth and God's care for all of humanity. And, oh how we need to break bread together! 

This image is from Acadia National Park in Maine, September 2018, just outside of Bar Harbor.

All of that is to say that I am thrilled to live in a community with an exceptional art center and the dedicated people who share their love of art to all of us who want to know more.

I watched him along time, standing in the dark. He kept checking his phone. He would shift from side to side, but always leaning against the same post. Was he waiting for a call? Or someone to meet him? Was he wasting time? In a little more than a week, we would be back home. Waiting.

This photo is from Beaufort, South Carolina. Before the waiting began.

When we were children, we didn't know about the true reason for the Easter celebration. I thought it was all about jelly beans, chocolate, and new clothes. But we are no longer children. And as my sister said this week that although we can't be together nor worship with our congregations, it's all about Jesus. Christ is risen! Alleluia! Those kids have something to smile about, indeed!

And then what did it become, a place of conflict, confrontation, treason, disappointment, deception, sorrow?

Today is Maundy Thursday. And part of our Holy Week observance has been to gather and remember and share in the Lord's Supper. We can't be in the sanctuary this year but the observance is no less real. And we remember.

Art will help us survive. Although I took this photo in the time before "social distancing" and COVID-19, I think this image speaks to our present predicament. These two people, standing more than 6 feet apart, contemplate this marvelous French painting of a time past of close social interaction. You can almost hear the chatter of diners, the clinking of glasses and silverware, the calling of children, the laughter of lovers, all the noise of an evening out. Looking on in silence, we remember, and long for its return.

How our lives change. Just a month ago, Judy and I left Nashville to meet our friends in Beaufort, SC. We spent Sunday night, March 1, in Waynesville, NC. We left early the next morning to continue our journey. We were eager to get there so we stopped only for gas and the necessary break. No photos on the way, except I couldn't resist when we passed the ruins of Sheldon Church, first built prior to the Revolutionary War. I was surprised to find the gate open as access to the grounds had been restricted due to vandalism. I have other photos, nearly 100, that I took on this brief stop that detail the structure and landscape. But I decided to share this one first because of the significant change in our world that has occurred in the past month. There are several massive mausoleums that hold the remains of the Bull family that were instrumental in the development of the area. I was caught by the signs of life in these monuments to death. I don't know what the future holds in these scary days. But I claim the signs of hope.

Stacking rocks can be helpful as a signpost to a trail, but we encountered similar stacks throughout the Northeast. Most of the time I think of them as an idle-time novelty, but they are increasingly viewed as destructive to habitat for all sorts of creatures. So I find them visually interesting, but...

Three weeks ago this morning (could it be that long ago?), our friends (Mike and Marcia, and Gerry and Christie) had left Quebec City to return to their regular lives, and we were left behind to explore. Judy wanted to go back to the old city. It was raining. There were few tourists walking the narrow streets of old Quebec. But this shop was open for refreshment. Within an hour, the streets would be so crowded that it would be difficult to move, but at this moment. there was time for a croissant, and reading, and snuggling. Oh, so appropriate. It's easy to fall in love with Quebec.

How many projects has this stool witnessed? This blue metal stool is located in the wood shop of the Maine Maritime Museum in Bath. I loved the aroma of this shop. It was large enough for several good sized boats to be constructed side by side. Tools and clamps were everywhere, and there sat this stool. Everybody I saw that day was standing to work. But I could imagine using it to sit while you sanded a hull, or painted a boat. I think there were lots of dripping paint brushes used in this space, and the stool was near the action.

Our visit to Acadia National Park in Maine was dismal for visitors, but terrific for photographers. Tall waves added to the fog created dreamlike scenes. I captured this image using a circular polarizer and neutral density filters. Exposure data: 100 iso, f/13 at 6 seconds. 24mm setting on 24-240 lens. The polarizer eliminated the wet, shiny highlights on the rocks. The neutral density filters allowed a slow shutter speed (longer exposure) which blurred the motion of the waves.

On a warm, sunny day we stopped to explore the Shoreham Covered Railroad Bridge, one of only two covered railroad bridges left in Vermont. The bridge was built in 1897 and last used in 1951. It was located on a short section of railroad that connected the Rutland Railroad with the Delaware and Hudson. We ate our lunch in the parking lot and took several HDR photos inside the bridge. We then moved to another bridge so I could take the photo below. And then I noticed behind me (photographers should always turn around to check the view behind them) that here was this fellow who was putting his canoe in the water. His dog was ecstatic to be going with him! I shouted that if every fishing buddy was as enthusiastic as his dog, no one would stay home. Oh, he's excited all right, the guy replied, but we are not going fishing. Tomorrow is the first day of duck season and we are going out to check on my blind. I got nearly as excited as his dog because they really made my picture better. And he even wore a red shirt. Now, that's special.

I waited on the bow of Norwegian Dawn for departure, and for sunset. Standing next to me were new acquaintances, Kate and Daniel, charming and inquisitive young people. Daniel had his camera and was hoping for a sunset. Kate was doubtful that the clouds would part and give these two nearby photographers a spectacular sunset. I have shot a ton of sunsets, in hundreds of locations, even on black-and-white film. Sometimes the sunset is spectacular, even if my photo fails to capture the glory. I have always waited in hope that this time would be incredibly awesome. But I admit that this evening I was doubtful, too, that the heavy overcast would surrender to the setting sun. It had rained all day, from the time we boarded the bus in Portland, Maine, through our arrival at South Boston Station to the short, but wet, walk to the pier provided by the gracious city bus driver who went beyond her scheduled stop. As we watched, there was a hint of a golden line that might get better at the right time. But it wasn't happening. And then the ship began to move away from the pier, further away from Boston Harbor. Daniel and Kate gave up on the sunset and bid farewell as they went to their cabin. I stayed on the bow, caught in the excitement of seeing the night skyline of Boston from the ship. I wasn't disappointed in the scene nor the image I captured. The adventure was just beginning.

My eye was captured by this pair during a recent trip to Cheekwood, the local botanical garden here in Nashville. The gardener obviously intended for visitors to see the contrast of color and shape and texture. But these plants were not the stars of the show. Or were they?

We all notice the obvious blooming accents of color that is scattered throughout the acreage. This display of greenery could be viewed as the backdrop to the blossoms. But I stop and ponder that it is the overlooked, the ordinary that gives structure to the garden. These plants provide interest, and often endure longer than the blooms. They invite touching. They have a depth of being. The viewer is invited to a deeper relationship. I know some fascinating people because they function in the same way: quiet, deep, strong, vital, interesting.

I got wet swimming today. Duh, by definition that happens. But today, it rained while I swam. I have been using a full face mask to allow me to strengthen my knee since the injury last September. So for lap after lap, my view point is from the underside of the surface of the water. It is another world experience with the sunlight sparkling through the ripples on the surface. Today, it rained as I completed the last few laps and the drops would pierce the surface about an inch or so during the brief cloudburst. It was awesome. And I felt the cool raindrops on my body as I swam and saw them plunge into the pool as I watched them. Wow! It's great to be alive!

We stay home during the summer. A pool and a daylily garden with 100 varieties encourage us to enjoy our personal resort. But we have been taking extended trips in the fall. And 2018 has all the possibility of being another fun experience with a cruise, and train rides, and bus trips, and a lobster boat, and Niagara Falls and completing our visits to the fifty states. I can't call it a vacation since I no longer work. I just call it fun.

I began with film, long before there were digital images. And when I first developed my film and printed my first photograph, it was black and white. I was stunned at the magic, despite the absence of color. One of my first jobs was working in a black-and-white darkroom, processing film and printing enlarged photographs. I love the simple monotone images.

But I forget even my own attraction to them. It is simple in Adobe Lightroom to see a black-and-white version of any color image by pressing the letter "v" on the keypad. I need to consider that option more frequently, like this one today.

Most of my adult life, I have watched the dial on the bathroom scale jump from one number to another. I admit I have been a comfort eater in my attempt to deal with personal stress. So I gained weight each time I moved from one community to the next. It wasn't a great amount with each specific move, but it added up over time. I would go on a diet when I reached a number that I thought was too much, and I would lose pounds. But they seemed to always come back. About ten years ago, I did reach my peak. I was too heavy. I see how obvious it was in old photos. I did lose some pounds and gained back some. And the roller coaster continued until recently. And I have been diligent with Weight Watchers online and exercise for 4 1/2 months. I will continue as I am probably just a little over halfway to my goal. I regret that I hadn't been more successful in the past. But I am doing it this time. And it's pretty exciting. The good news I found out in June was that my bathroom scale weighs two pounds heavier than the one at my physician's office. So this post is not photography related, but I wanted to depict how erratic I see the pointer as it bounces between the numbers on the scale. I took a number of photos where I varied the weight on the scale. And then I opened each photo as a layer in On1 and used the multiply blend mode and then merged all the layers. And you see the result. Pretty easy. 

Judy and Maddy spotted this bug floating in the pool yesterday. I took this photo with my iPhone so that I could identify it. Apparently, it is a red footed cannibal fly, Promachus rufipes. The size of these species of robber flies is 28-35mm. It was every bit that big. And looks ferocious. It is predatory with every other insect and will even attack hummingbirds.

This is my sister-in-law and her eight-month old great-granddaughter. I saw the opportunity for a fun photo when the family told that Karlee was beginning to pull herself up to a standing position. And that her favorite place to perform this was to use the window ledge. Sure enough, she crawls over to the window, reaches up to the ledge and pulls herself to a standing position. I took several photos as stood there, and then got an idea for Wanda to go outside and look through the window to her little girl. The moment didn't last real long, but long enough for half a dozen shots. This was the best one.

Last Friday, Judy and I were away from home, visiting family, and decided to take a morning walk in a local park. One of the features of that park was a rose garden. It was large, well-maintained, and aromatic with a variety of colors and shapes. We don't grow roses in our home garden. I don't think a real rose gardener would count "knock-out roses". Real roses require care. Judy complimented the two gardeners who were caring for the garden that morning. The man said, "Wait until you see next week." Alas, we would be at home and not witness the glory that he predicted. This specimen was pretty spectacular all by itself.

Someone built this cabin with dreams and hopes of being able to make it on the high prairie, near the border of North Dakota and Montana. Maybe they succeeded. This building appears to have been constructed a long time ago. Part of the walls are sod. It has been in this spot for quite some time. So maybe they succeeded.

But, now, no one lives here. And, by its dilapidated appearance, it seems that no one has lived here for a long time. This building has stories to tell, if we only knew how to listen.

This Sunday's lesson from 2 Samuel1:26-12:13 follows the reading from last week, and describes the prophet Nathan's confrontation with King David about his immorality. Someone has to speak truth to power and make clear what the King has ignored and is blatantly obvious to everyone else. Nathan presents a moral issue to David where an unknown offender has stolen a lamb that was precious to its owner. David is outraged by the naked violation of ethical norms. Who is this vile person who ought to be punished? Nathan answers, "You, you are the man." I have wondered over the years about how Nathan delivered this indictment. Was it a thundering accusation? Or was it a barely-whispered, sorrow-filled complaint? I have found myself in situations, that I did not want to be, delivering a similar message to someone who was hiding their sin and had damaged their congregation. I grieved that we were caught in human failure, that neither one of us were perfect. And it was doubly painful when the other person was my friend. We all have sinned. Just admit it. There is a crack in creation to which we all have contributed. Repentance begins there at that moment of confession. 

And so does mercy and forgiveness and grace and restoration. As the words form in the heart and spill from the lips, I am sorry, a new journey begins.

I didn't become a coffee drinker until I became a superintendent. Don't know why. I can't even pinpoint the day. And I am not one who needs coffee all day long, nor does it need to be strong.

Some might say I'm not a real coffee drinker because I put sugar in it. Some of my friends would say I put a lot of sugar in. Because I'm not a real coffee drinker. I've tried artificial sweetener and I can taste every single kind and find it ruins the coffee for me.

I am struggling, since I've been on Weight Watchers now for 4 months, that it is a challenge to begin the day counting at least 3 points for my sugared coffee. I tried it without for a short time. And discovered that I was just using coffee to get my sugar fix for the morning. Since I only get 24 points per day, and it will decrease as I continue to lose weight, the sugar in my coffee has an end in sight. The question is: without sugar, will I still be drinking a cup of coffee first thing every morning?

By the way, this sign is painted on the sign of a railroad diner car in Milton, Florida.

This is an 8 second exposure which blurred the motion of the ocean waves. I do recall that there was some wind blowing on shore, and it was difficult to keep my tripod steady in the sand. 

The Old Testament Lesson for today is 2 Samuel 11:1-15, the familiar story of lust and lies. The scripture reading sets the scene with the context that it is spring, the time when kings usually go off to war. That's a disappointing observation to say the least about the normalcy of war. But the point the writer makes is that David stayed home. And notices Bathsheba, bathing on a nearby roof. Without any hesitancy, it seems, he orders her brought to him. And although the text minimizes the sexual act, most likely he rapes this married woman. She gets pregnant and notifies David. To cover what he did, he brings her soldier husband back from the battle front with the hope that he will do what husbands and wives do.
But he doesn't go to his house. He doesn't have sex with his wife because he is an honorable man who knows that the loyalty of a soldier forbids him this pleasure while the battle rages. Even when David gets him drunk the following night, Uriah still does not sleep with Bathsheba.

David takes another step that deepens this tragedy. He tells his commander to place Uriah in the center of the battle and then to fall back so that he will certainly be killed by the enemy.

Make no mistake that this is a commonplace story of adultery. Rather, it is an indictment of a powerful man who acted beyond the boundaries. While this Bible story tells of an ancient event, it exposes truth in contemporary situations where powerful men use women for their own pleasure and deny their wrongful actions. David thinks he has covered his sin but, as we hear next week, he has only deceived himself.

Imagine the grief of Bathsheba whose life was turned upside down by the lust and greed of David. Imagine the embarrassment of a nation that is trying to develop a system of ethics, morality, and law distorted by a corrupt king.

Just my idea of a joke. How does one title these daily entries? There is a star, a light, an awning. There are other possibilities. I could tell about the scar on my hand that I got from an awning. Deep cut. I was in junior high, and somehow, I cut my hand from the awning over the front door. I bled a bunch. Probably should have had the cut stitched up. I don't know if I could even describe how I cut it, if I remembered.

It may look pretty. But it is dangerous. Take it from one who knows. I have the scar.

If ever there was a road that one could put a vehicle on auto pilot, this could be a good candidate. Straight road, virtually no traffic. Ditches on either side to help correct any straying. North Dakota. Just south of Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

Good road to practice driving, although it would be helpful to learn to turn left and right.

And where does it go? I don't know. I had some other place to be, and this road off into the prairies was not on the itinerary. Could have been an amazing discovery if I had turned from my destination and followed this road.

Instead, I just have a photo of a road that disappears on the horizon. What if?

Truth never goes out of style.

When we bought our house in 2011, several large concrete pots came with the purchase. Originally, eight-foot tall palm trees were in each one. The previous owner was intent on creating a tropical scene around the pool. Summer wind gusts would tip the trees and pots over, nearly depositing them in the pool. And then they had to be kept in the garage during the winter months. We tired of that scenario rather quickly. So a couple of summers, Judy planted hibiscus in the pots with yellow one year and red the next. And the last couple of years, she has planted petunias and sweet potato vines. The petunias have surrendered to the sweet potatoes.

So while I am photographing the daylilies in the morning, the sweet potato vines grab my attention. Every leaf seems to be a different color. They will not be ignored, nor be regarded as inferior to the morning's blossoms. The shapes and patterns have a beauty of their own that is different from the flowers. It is easy to pass by that which could be considered ordinary or common and miss the sweet beauty of diversity.

One of my growing areas as a photographer is my skill to process a digital image. I spent a lot of time in my formative years using transparency film, "slides". The emphasis is those days was framing the photo exactly, exposing the film exactly, and being very careful to eliminate unwanted things in your photos, from stray branches to litter. I still try to do that, but that is just the beginning with digital images. After the exposure is completed, there are a million things you can do to that image: crop, change the color temperature, change the tone values of light and dark, intensify certain colors or restrain them. And best of all, you can change it again and again. I shot this photo at the Missouri Botanical Garden several years ago. I'm still working on it.

Yes, I am a reflective person, pondering what is past, and wondering about "why" and "what if". Hopefully, I can see something new in what has already been.

This was the original photo:

Every night in Nashville, at least when the sky is lit up with a sunset. The lights come on in countless buildings, some are offices, apartments, hotel rooms, stores, and of course, music venues. Nashville is a growing, vibrant city. We live 25 minutes south of downtown,  close enough to visit, and far away enough to enjoy the solitude. I took this photo last November on a beautiful evening. I'm privileged to live here.

Emmett Kelly, known also as Weary Willie, was a famous clown of the early 20's stretching into the 1950's, He was born in Kansas, died in Sarasota, but is buried in Indiana. Peru certainly has a claim on him as well. He started performing in the circus as a trapeze artist in one of the circuses that wintered in my hometown, Peru, Indiana. So the character of Weary Willie shows up in Peru a lot during the Festival and portrayed by more than one person. Here, he is feigning hunger and one of the boys watching the parade offers him a candy sucker. This moment unfolded rather quickly as I was more intent on photographing the clown. But the little boy's outstretched arm completes the scene.

We recently visited the historic river town of Madison, Indiana, and as a friend advises: "When you are on vacation, eat ice cream." So, instead of supper, we went looking for ice cream. I pulled into the parking lot across the street from one of  the ice cream parlors on Main Street., and saw this scene right in front of me. The green brick wall with the two windows is completed by the shadow of the lamp post  I could say that I worked this scene and took dozens of photos, but the truth is I made just this one image.

Would I have been drawn to the windows without the shadow of the lamp? I don't know, but I doubt that I would have the same urgency to photograph the scene. Sometimes, just one element completes the scene, finishes it in an entirely different way. A different feeling is conveyed with the shadow.

Madison is one of the most picturesque places, with an abundance of photographic oppportunities. It is a fun town to roam with a camera.

I shoot raw images which means that I prefer to process my images rather than allow my excellent camera to do it when I push the shutter. So what that means to me is that I can return to this image that I took 10 years ago this coming October in Minnesota along the shore of Lake Superior. I have more skill to process my image and better tools so I can use the raw image I captured and process it so that it depicts the original scene as I remember it.

The photo below is the raw image without any processing. I used to be disappointed when I saw this on the computer screen, not realizing that it had all the data contained within so that I could eventually bring forth the scene when I first saw it.

The slower shutter speed, 1/40 second, does communicate the movement of the butterflies. the photo is more expressive of the near constant motion of these blurs of color. Not a mistake after all. I can even pretend that this was just what I hoped would occur.

Some art is just a happy accident, being in the right place to see. And inviting others to see.

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Yeah, I'm teasing some. But all in all, I choose today.

On our recent trip to Jackson, Tennessee, Judy discovered that the Greyhound Bus Station in downtown Jackson was an original art-deco style. History and Why Halfway We drove down at night to photograph it at night but there were no lights. So we went back in the morning and a bus was waiting to board passengers to Dallas.

Most of us don't travel this way anymore but there are many with limited resources who find the bus will get them where they need to go.

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Do you know of Shel Silverstein's poetry?  In his book, Where the Sidewalk Ends, is a delightful poem entitled "Hug O' War".  I'd like to share it with you.

   "I will not play at tug o' war.

I'd rather play at hug o' war,

Where everyone hugs

Instead of tugs,

Where everyone giggles

And rolls on the rug,

Where everyone kisses,

And everyone grins,

And everyone cuddles,

And everyone wins."

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Okay, what is this picture supposed to be? I was fascinated by the light coming through the textured glass in our front door.

After today's cold start, there are no more freezing temperatures forecast for the next ten days. It may be that rural Pennsylvania will have six more weeks of winter. But it is looking more and more like it will be early in Nashville and much of the southeastern USA. Our nursery man warns that it is still possible for a hard freeze. However, in light of the evidence, it is a challenge not to get spring fever. Especially when the tree buds are exploding. This is a macro image that is larger than life-size.

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"Isn't this the fast I choose: releasing wicked restraints, untying the ropes of a yoke, setting free the mistreated, and breaking every yoke? Isn't it sharing your bread with the hungry and bringing the homeless poor into your house, covering the naked when you see them, and not hiding from your own family? Then your light will break out like the dawn, and you will be healed quickly. Your own righteousness will walk before you, and the Lord's Glory will be your rear guard. The you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and God will say, 'I'm here.' If you remove the yoke from among you, the finger-pointing, the wicked speech; if you open your heart to the hungry, and provide abundantly for those who are afflicted, your light will shine in the darkness, and your gloom will be like the noon. The Lord will guide you continually and provide for you, even in parched places. He will rescue your bones. You will be like a watered garden, like a spring of water that won't run dry. They will rebuild ancient ruins on your account; the foundations of generations past you will restore. You will be called Mender of Broken Walls, Restorer of Livable Streets."

Isa 58:6-12 Common English Bible

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The 17,000 square foot mansion with 29 forty foot tall columns was built 4 miles east of the Mississippi River on a 2600 acre cotton plantation by Smith Daniel who died just after its completion at the age of 34. The mansion was used by Ulysses S. Grant during the war as a command post. In today's currency, the mansion would have cost nearly 5 million dollars to complete. The property remained with the family until 1974 when they donated the site to the state of Mississippi.

"One man's junk is another man's treasure", so the saying goes. I wonder if we won't end up with more junk than treasure.

Bailey's Harbor, Wisconsin.

The leveling of the water, its increase,

the gathering of many into much:

in the cold dusk I stop

midway of the creek, listening

as it passes downward

loud over the rocks, under

the sound of the rain striking,

nowhere any sound

but the water, the dead

weedstems soaked with it, the

ground soaked, the earth overflowing.

And having waded all the way

Across, I look back and see there

On the water the still sky.

So Jesus sits on a hillside where anyone and everyone could belong and he is surrounded by a crowd.  They wanted to be there to hear what Jesus had to say.  But I suspect there was the sneaking suspicion that they felt they didn't belong near this man of God.  The Pharisees insisted that God's favor was given only to those who obeyed God's law, but here was a whole crowd who didn't measure up.  There was the businessman, living in a dog‑eat‑dog world, who has lost friends but made money.  There is the young couple who couldn't resist each other sexually and were worried about someone finding out.  There was the woman scared of dying.  There was the one who couldn't help passing along the latest gossip.  They want to be there to listen to Jesus, but if anyone finds out who they really are and their weaknesses, they don't know if they'll hear humiliating laughter or screams of scorn.

I like the way Eugene Peterson paraphrases this portion: "You're blessed when you are at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule. You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you, You're blessed when you're content with just who you are--no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought." The passage continues, including

There are those who long to do right, they're going to do it.

There are those who banish feelings of revenge and ill will, they will be forgiven themselves.

There are those who have integrity within, they will see God everywhere.

There are those who work for peace, they are God's sons and daughters.

And to everyone of you‑‑‑God bless you.

Do you hear how I believe Jesus personalized these Beatitudes and included all who were gathered on the hillside, whatever their need, whatever their hope?  Here, where they thought they didn't belong, with just a few words Jesus included them all in the Kingdom.  This is what it is all about.  Jesus took what was true in their lives and turned it into blessing and the source of happiness.  It is not just a matter of sappy, shallow happiness.  It is not about becoming something different so that you will belong to God.  Happiness comes from God's blessing upon us, not by our actions.  The blessing of God is not earned.  It is a gift, a wonderful, undeserved gift.  It is like a kiss, given ‑‑because of who you are, in spite of doubts and fears, with the faint awareness that you are okay after all.  God pronounces his blessing upon who we are‑‑on the God‑shaped‑ness of our lives, where we have been kissed by that sense of wonder and awe.

"Light does not merely illumine,

but it brings a changed situation,

in which people depressed by the darkness,

under assault from known or unknown forces,

mired in anguish can experience the new day.

...everything becomes possible."

That will preach this weekend. I certainly saw light on Saturday.

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And I am grateful that our nation has deemed it important to set aside portions of this country as national parks for the enjoyment of all. This visit last February was at the top of Judy's bucket list. She did skip the mule ride when she saw how icy the trail was.

We all have opportunities to begin something new, all along our journey. We can turn this way or that, walk though this gate or that one over there. It is the process by choosing to go through the opening that we find something new. I'm looking forward to the adventure.

Today's image is the gate to the Melrose Plantation in Natchez, Mississippi. Sony a7rii, 90mm, f/5, 1/800, 1600iso, adjusted in Lightroom.

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From September through June I drove the 400 miles between Springfield, Illinois and our new home. I got to know the road pretty well, especially dodging all of the road construction in Illinois at the time. We probably bought too big of a house for just the two of us. (Duh, ya think!) But we wanted space for our family and friends to stay when they came to visit us. And Nashville is a great place to visit!

We have come to love this house, and living in Nashville. And Friday night was the Harvest Full Moon, hiding for a moment behind the clouds. And today members of our Sunday School class will celebrate with us, another one of the 50 events that we are using to remember fifty years of marriage. Burgers and brats, and s'mores of course. Life is good. By the way, since we came home from Seattle after visiting our cherished friend, Linda Summers, I've been in that pool 115 out of the last 123 days. Yeah, this is great!

Photo details: Sony a77ii, 100 mm f/2.8 lens, iso 400, 1/90 at f/6.7, processed in Lightroom.

From Old Car City.

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This image is from Tybee Island, Savannah, Georgia, nearly 12 years ago.

To promote literacy and the love of reading by building free book exchanges worldwide and to build a sense of community as we share skills, creativity and wisdom across generations. There are nearly 40,000 Little Free Library book exchanges around the world, bringing curbside literacy home and sharing millions of books annually.

Last fall we saw this library in Minnesota that matched the historic building nearby and contained an abundance of books in Swedish.

Our friend Eugene Baldwin, who is an exceptional author, drove down from Alton, Illinois to read two of his poems from his Genehouse Chronicles.

I suspect that this is recreated sign rather than an original in Fort Collins, Colorado. But it did make me wonder about "King Size."

A close up view reveals the tiny cilia attached to spines that provide the sea urchin the ability to move across the bottom of the sea. You can also see the spines in this cropped magnification of another image that I shot through the surface of the water. A polarizer helped to eliminate reflections on the surface of the water.

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I admit that to me the psalmist makes it sound easy and quick. That has rarely been my experience. I have observed that sorrow is eased with memories of better days, and the embrace of family and friends. And the spring that eventually comes after a winter like this one, even when it takes years.

This image is from Roslyn, Washington, where there are 26 historic cemeteries. And a thousand stories of people remembered and families cared for, and promises kept until the dancing begins again.

And here's a photo of the same rock, in different light and from a different point of view, at high tide. The depth of the tides in False Bay can be 14 feet. Yes, it was good to be at the cabin at high tide.

Most of the time, they were swimming along behind in a line. Occasionally, one little one took the lead. I don't know how old the ducklings are, but they can walk to water 12 hours after hatching and stay with their mother until 6-7 weeks old.

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But Jesus rebuked James and John.  It says "Jesus rebuked them" in lots of places in the Bible.  I always wonder what the rebuke of Jesus sounded like.  I know the rebuke of my mother.  I even know the rebuke of some parishioners.  Sometimes the rebuke of Jesus cut to the core of one's being‑‑‑ swift, clean, surgical.  At other times, the rebuke was tender and careful.  I imagine that the rebuke of Jesus could even on occasion have been just a glance.  Some ancient versions of this passage include the rebuke: "You do not know to what spirit you belong; for the Son of Man did not come to destroy lives but to save them."  The rebuke is not included in every version of Luke because there is some question as to its authenticity.  It sounds like the kind of warning Jesus might have given.  Wish no person hell.

We can imagine the suffering and the separation, the deprivation and the degradation of the condition we call hell.  Some do not have to imagine.  They have been abused by those who were supposed to love and protect them.  They know the pain and terror of diseased bodies.  They have experienced the scorn and humiliation of their community.  They are swallowed by the hopelessness of increasing debt and disappearing jobs.  The trap of addiction is all too familiar.  They know it all too well, even the neglect of good church folk. Don't add to the burden.

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With moss hanging from the branches.

And then we peeked through the trees and saw more mountains.

Now for some more amazing info with details of the photo. Camera: Sony 7rii, lens 90mm macro, exposure f/8 at 1/160 second, and the iso is 25,600. I didn't dare use that high of an ISO with any of my previous cameras. I am amazed. So I was able to take the photos I wanted with the museum's restrictions of no flash and no tripods.

By the way, this image is from my new Sony camera 7rii with the 90mm macro lens. Exposure data: iso 3200, f/5.6 at 1/640 second.

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After we spent the night in Yuba City, we saw a sign that advertised "Dinosaur Tracks".  Judy had read about this location in the guidebooks and wanted to stop. It was already sunny and warm, even if it was February, and the Navajo couple welcomed us to their rustic display shelter. She had jewelry of various kinds and explained that her husband would guide us. And just as we were about to set out across the dusty red rock landscape, she called him back and handed him a bottle of water. I wondered if we were in for a long walk and whether we ought to get our water as well. But, no, he used the water to spray in the depressions that were left centuries millennia ago in the mud by creatures that must have been larger than us. We were fascinated and awestruck at the footprints that were everywhere.

Utah. Moab. This past February. On our way to the Grand Canyon.

I love the colors of autumn and when some of the leaves fall, there becomes a transparency to the forest. You can see further. Details are exposed. And here is this grape vine wrapped through the limb of the tree. This scene is not too far off the Roaring Fork Motor Trail, just out of Gatlinburg.

I like the feeling in this photo. I have a framed print of this image hanging in my dining room. Just a few more days of autumn, please.

The Gospel lesson today is Mark 10:46-52, about Bartimaeus, a blind man who is restored to sight by Jesus. Bartimaeus could only beg, until he could miraculously see. There's more to ponder in the passage and the surrounding stories, if you can see.

Sony a7rii, 70-200 mm lens, A3E adaptor, iso 400, 135 mm, f 6.7, 1/500 sec, tripod

Details: iso 100, 35mm setting on 16-35 mm lens, f/13, 1/30 second, tripod. Processed to brighten the shadows.

This is the Presque Isle River in the upper peninsula of Michigan, just before it empties into Lake Superior, and joins more water, with more power. A photo that I took years ago at this very spot was one of my mother's favorites.

Every one with a camera of some sort, not just photographers, pause on the small (bouncing) suspension bridge to capture this scene of the solid rock and water-carved potholes.

Details: Sony a7rii with 90mm lens, iso 200, f/13, 2 second exposure, polarizer and neutral density filter.

Today will probably be the last swim of the summer as the days get shorter and the nights get cooler. It's been a wonderful summer.

I have a new camera. And two new lenses. Oh, wow! For my photographer friends, this image was shot at iso 2000 at f/5, with the new Sony a7rii and the 90mm f/2.8 macro, an incredibly sharp lens.
 

I'm sorry to see summer end. The summer weather has been mostly glorious. And soon autumn begins with scenes that delight the eye.

Can't wait to see. I'll take you along.

I can imagine other situations where it would have been helpful to easily make a 180 degree turnaround in my life. Just push the button, be patient, and head back in the opposite direction. Sounds theological.

The summer has been glorious. Almost like the days of childhood that stretch on for ever, beginning with watching the hummingbirds before breakfast to the seeing the fireflies flash in the darkness. I don't have the energy to go and go, but I still have the wonder. My appreciation has deepened of what I have the opportunity to savor.  And I have time to reflect even on reflections and days gone by.

The male demonstrated by his posture that he intended to protect the small ones if we got too close.

We've made a dozen trips to the far north including several visits to our dear friends, the Eischens, who live in Door County, Wisconsin. We are looking forward to our visit north this fall and listening for the loons.