Storms came through and brought cool air. We put more mulch around Baby Tree. Mylo took a little nerve medicine to smooth out the rough sections on the road to get his blood drawn. He has been sleeping since.

Days are filled with random acts. Mundane yet extraordinary. Acts saying I am here, see me, I am part of the plan. Delight in the doing. Joy in the journey. A voice in the wilderness. Part of the master mosaic.

We want peace until we become restless. Then we seek adventure with a kick. The kick becomes addictive. How do humans, given every opportunity to live together in harmony, want each other’s ant hill? Untold millions have died to capture a little terra firma for their side. Warfare is a little boy who became restless. King of the Hill. Mob movies intrigue us. We root for the Godfather, the antihero, or the supreme boss…until we must live under the dictator’s iron fist.

As God watches humanity, he must wonder if the Kid will make it. Do his children need a little Prozac before they have blood drawn?

Can one person have two faces? Do we look out of our window of the world with peace, love, vengeance, and fear? We seek justice until it is our kith and kin…then we seek mercy. Inexcusable, we say when we are wronged. Turn the other cheek, we cry when we are at fault. Understand our frailties, we ask as we deport others for looking different from us.

‘America for Real Americans,’ the throng cried! ‘You will never be us unless you were born to be us,’ Throng continued to chant. ‘God gave us this land and we took it by his sovereign will,’ Throng sputtered. ‘God says Buy American,’ Throng said as they beat upon their chest. ‘American is his language, all others are the dialects of dogs,’ Throng said as they croaked out their last furtive manic gasps.

The land was quiet and serene. Buffalo roamed freely. The Native American children laughed and played. Their mothers watched them with love and admiration. Their Dads hunted for food for dinner. In the cool of the evening, they would tell stories around the campfire.

‘Remember when there were so many from other countries here,’ He asked. ‘They had strange ways, although at first they were nice before they became restless,’ He continued. ‘It seemed they could not be happy with more land or wealth,’ He ruminated. ‘In those long ago days, they swore they were God’s Kids and that this land was their land,’ He smiled. ‘Fire came from the sky and burned up most of that generation,’ He said with tears. ‘Peace has returned to the good Earth after the restless struggle,’ He said…

It is warmer today. The evening breeze is tropical. Rain is coming. There is a lot of wind. Wind is a fact of life in our time. My cloth hat requires its wind strap. Have you ever lost a cloth or straw hat in the wind? It’s hard to catch. MJ lost her hat on the dock of a cruise liner, and a woman almost followed it into the ocean. Decisions are a bit like the wind. We follow the way they are blowing. If the winds are good, we feel upbeat. If there are ill winds, we follow their downward path. Mecurial, we are with a changing barometric pressure.

Sad people have felt the wind of change. Wind they did not see on their horizon. Their heading was due north when the wind blew them leeward. They need to adjust the jib to assist the mainsail with a course correction.

Ill winds leave ill people in their wake. Too many unforeseen gusts. Houses that are not made of brick or stone are destroyed. Just ask the Three Little Pigs. Two of the Three Pigs had their house blown down by the Wolf. The Wolf is blowing ill wind today. Vulnerable people are at the mercy of powerful political Wolves. They huff and they puff and they blow their house down. Who will care when the Church For Real Americans says go back to your own country, even though the homeless were born in the United States? Or the benevolent congregation says become like us and you will be rich…

There is a calm breeze in the woods. No manual to read on how to change the country. No loudspeakers with the incessant sound of the obdurate and obtuse. The peacemaker is there. Life continues on pace. There is meaning in helping those who can not help themselves. There is love on the silken wings of a butterfly…

The weather has been cool today. The warm-up comes tomorrow. As I woods-walked, I ventured into boulder territory. Massive, magnificent boulders from the ice age. Rocks that let you know your temporary status on earth. Some outcroppings are just next to the road. How many people have they seen?

I thought the United States had wonderful architecture until I visited Europe. Our buildings are good for new stuff. The cathedral of Notre Dame is 862 years old. So it goes with Giant City’s boulders. Their natural beauty has seen many cold winters and hot summers.

Boulders appear in our lives. Things happen that seem insurmountable. We are equipped with our hand saw and claw hammer while the boulders watch bemused. At times boulders release themself from their mountain and fall into the valley. It pays not to be in the way of the rolling rock. People build their expensive homes on boulders. Their strength and longevity challenge the beachhouse.

Sisyphus rolled a boulder up a steep hill only to watch it roll back to the bottom. He then proceeded to roll it back up the incline again. The importance of embracing purpose and mission is contained in the narrative.

‘Welcome all to our little meeting,’ the Preacher said. ‘Lately, I have heard of some leaders and politicians extolling us to build our lives on their tenuous claims of knowing all and seeing all, somewhat like Merlin in the old fortune-telling machines of our youth,’ the Preachers said. ‘To receive Merlin’s prognostications, you put a quarter in the slot and he turned his mechanical head with its manic grin and out popped the paid-for fortune,’ the Preacher laughed.

‘Who should we listen to for life advice?’ Chet asked Preacher? ‘Is it the easy, vengeful answer full of malice and venom,’ Chet continued. ‘Or are the boulders in these woods an example of permanence and sense of place?’ Chet said.

‘Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall because it had been founded on the rock,’ the Preacher said with a smile of love.

Frenetic activities come from a busy mind. Life comes at us all at once with little time to think about the results. The busier we are, the more successful we feel. We check off our accomplishments from our master list. Activity is our goal. We seek someone to realize our monetary value. Who will pay us for our time? The new vocation of Influencer is popular. There have always been influencers. Salespeople are paid to convince us that the subject of their influence campaign is worth our dollars. We used to call these people the power of positive thinking or con people. It is seductive to believe that words are the answer to success. Many are blessed with a loquacious gene.

Quiet time is vital to our mental health. I often refer to the ‘little man’ in my head who oversees my antiquated filing system. If I give him enough time, he will find any file. As he has gotten older, he takes somewhat longer. He wears a bookkeeper’s cap and is curmudgeonly. He does not like to be bothered. He takes his time. He always comes through in his own time.

Authoritarian governments seek to do a lot in little time and let the people being hurt sort it out. The ‘little man’ in their heads has not had time to find the files. Words are the coin of the realm. Truthful words are shunned. Influencers seek results, not peace or a sense of place. Confusion serves havoc well. Doubt feeds insecurity and fear. Fear is the goal of dictators.

Campus Pond was quiet this morning. Yellow flowers were prolific. No one was selling. No one was buying. There was nothing to check off the list. Who made the list?

Life is tenuous. We need air to breathe. We need our sleep. We seek the spiritual amidst the carnal. Bells of progress clang incessantly. Alarms go off at all hours. Tomorrow we will stop and think. We will research the truth behind the influencer’s claims. Who gains by the silken words of the politician? Has spiritual enrichment increased as our monetary donations have? Are some rich and most abysmally poor?

Influencer cries in the town square, ‘Trust Me.’ The hungry look to the sky. Influencer says that we all must suffer economic pain. Eggs are increasing in price.

Many have inherited their money. Others have powerful friends. They laugh when the poor say they can not afford to miss a Social Security check. It will mean no groceries nor rent, or medicine for the month. How could that be, the fortunate sons ask with a manic grin on their well-groomed faces?

Preacher invites the forgotten to the woods. Children who speak many languages are welcome. There is a wheelchair ramp. There are quiet moments in the woods. Time to find the dusty files of former days. Time to find the lessons of youth and war, suffering and deprivation.

I have been around several birthdays…67 and one and a half. A chocolate company reminded me of my good fortune. It made my day!

This year marks 50 years since my High School Graduation. It seems like yesterday and like many years ago. Time is fluid, and we humans are ruled by the clock. Not so for the universe. We linearly see our lives, we are born, we grow, we die. Is the past, present, and future subjective? Einstein said that time is a stubbornly persistent illusion. Is time relative to the observer? Is there a universal ‘Now?’

The physics theory of the Block Universe states that ‘all moments in space time are equally real.’ All moments in spacetime exist simultaneously.

I digress. We mark our lives by the special events in them. We look into a baby’s eyes and see new life and the continuation of our human journey. Our corporeal body breaks down, but our spirits are fresh and young as the day we were born.

Seasons remind us of our earthly journey. We are in the season of new life… resurrection. What appeared to die in the fall is back for another round.

‘Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; The time of singing has come, And the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.’

Mystery describes our journey back to Jerusalem. Ocean waves arrive on shore. The Sun sets, and the Moon is the light of the night. The rain falls on the good earth. There is the veil. The curtains are not quite pulled together. The explorer looks between the heavy drapery. There are Grandma A and Neva J. Pilgrims are eating the first Thanksgiving dinner. Men stand in soup lines, and Berl and Merl are working on Giant City State Park for the CCC.

‘I saw my first day of first grade,’ Billy B said. ‘I told Neva J that one day was sufficient and that I would not be going back,’ Billy B said with a laugh. ‘There I am reading the Bible Story Books at Ferrel Hospital and wishing I was connected with Christ and his disciples, Billy B said. ‘I was in my little bedroom when Neva J came through proclaiming Hit the Deck, you Rubberneck,’ Billy B noted.

‘It is all going on at once,’ Jane said. ‘Beyond the veil is all of our life events and everyone’s life events happening at once,’ Jane observed. ‘There are Presidents Washington, Lincoln, and Kennedy as if they were all alive and living their presidencies,’ Jane proclaimed with amazement.

‘Could it be that we are a part of a master exam by the Creator?’ Chet asked. ‘Are we in God’s Lab and he is waiting for the empirical evidence,’ Chet hypothesized. ‘If this is the case…what next,’ Chet mused…

It is said that the hills are alive with the sound of music, according to the song. If you listen, there is a knowing in the air. Something is afoot.

‘It was a regular day with dad working hard at bricklaying and me in school,’ Chet said. ‘Before we went to bed, Dad told me to always care for Mom,’ Chet recounted. ‘Dad answered that he had just received a good medical report from his doctor and expected to be around for years to come,’ Chet mentioned. ‘That night I dreamt that Dad died and in the morning he was dead in his bed,’ Chet said softly.

‘Our church was preparing to accept one of our congregation as our next pastor when there was another person better qualified,’ Billy B said. ‘I knew the man prepared to become the pastor was a fraud and had ulterior motives for wanting the job,’ Billy B went on speaking. ‘Later, he was fired for theft in his role as pastor,’ Billy B noted.

‘It is both a burden and a blessing,’ Edgar said. ‘Seeing the future is a herculean responsibility…the accolades and ridicule are exhausting,’ Edgar continued. ‘Is it a gift of God or the Devil?’ Edgar mused.

‘I have all of the answers, place your trust only in me,’ the Leader proclaimed. ‘Speak the words we tell you to speak and give of your finances until it hurts,’ the Leader said. ‘Those unlike us must be purged,’ the Leader said. ‘My policies, doctrines, ideas come from the many voices in my head,’ the Leader said with a wide smile. I have been spared for these last days of mankind,’ the Leader promised.

‘The land is so different now,’ Jane said. ‘Not many people,’ Jane added. ‘Libraries are empty and universities are closed,’ Jane noted. ‘Many are not welcome in the Government Church,’ Jane whispered. ‘Leaders’ vision destroyed so many good people while others became rich and think he is sent from God,’ Jane cried.

I was struck by the brilliance of the colors of the woods this morning. The same woods that I go to most days. Often it looks new. Is it new, or am I seeing it with new eyes? The changing of permanent things is mystifying. Ask two people what they witnessed at an accident, and they will have two accounts of what transpired. Physics believes that we assign meaning to what we see. The atomic and molecular structure of all things is constantly moving. Are our surroundings stable in our mind due to our brain’s clever trick?

The Pope passed away. He was a wonderful example of servant leadership and was inspirational to over one billion Catholics and all who watched or knew him. He saw humanity through love, not power. The Pope refused the Papal apartments with their luxury for a boarding house where he lived his Papacy. He wore the shoes of the common man and not the red slippers of the elite. He washed the feet of prisoners and embraced those who had been forgotten. A man called by faith for a big job.

The sunset on the April day. The people came on the day in their regular manner. As Jim Croce sang, there were planes to catch and bills to pay. Yet the day was different. Today was the first day of many lives. Today was the last day of many lives. The day was marked by long-anticipated retirements and weddings. It was special for its uniqueness of purpose. A day when the addict said Help is what I need. A day that dawned with possibilities. A day of opportunity. A day of hope.

‘Today I will begin losing weight,’ Chet said with determination. ‘There is something about April that gets my juices flowing,’ Chet laughed. ‘Somehow I suddenly realize I can do it,’ Chet noted. ‘No one can stop me as this April day is mine,’ Chet danced on one foot and then the other.

‘Today I will write and continue daily,’ Billy B proclaimed. ‘I have wanted to do it for many years now is the first day of the Writing Project,’ Billy B announced. ‘I will write from my sense of place, speaking of what the world looks like to me,’ Billy B said.

‘Preacher told us to carry his words to all the world, I will carry them to the poorest among us who have no voice, hope, and love,’ Jane said. ‘I will tell of the brilliance of color and rainbow of possibilities that I see in our kaleidoscope earth,’ Jane smiled with tears in her eyes.

‘Then I saw a ‘new heaven and a new earth,’ for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away…’

‘It has been an extraordinary weekend,’ Jane said. ‘We were in despair and now we have hope,’ Jane continued. ‘It is good to see each of you and feel your hearts united to continue Preacher’s work in the woods,’ Jane assured. ‘We must remember what he taught us to love each other and feed the hungry and bind up the wounds of the brokenhearted,’ Jane smiled through tears. ‘Time slips away so suddenly, but love endures,’ Jane whispered.

‘I am going to write his words so that others may read,’ Chet said. ‘I can see his kind eyes,’ Chet reminisced. ‘His voice was like rushing waters and birds singing,’ Chet laughed. ‘Preacher told me that I could write, and now I write daily,’ Chet smiled. ‘My mom was sick and he visited her, now she is well,’ Chet reflected. ‘Preacher spoke against the hate the leader foments, and when the leader heard Preacher’s words, he became silent and walked away from the political stage,’ Chet exulted. ‘Preacher told me to help the stranger in our land and to always have an extra plate set at the table,’ Chet said.

‘Preacher asked me to speak of what I had witnessed in the woods,’ Billy B said. ‘Preacher told me not to be afraid but to speak out boldly against prejudice and hate and to be a voice for the voiceless,’ Billy B continued. ‘I told him that I did not like to speak publicly and was an introvert. He said that God would give me the words,’ Billy B said quietly. ‘Preacher said that wherever people were gathered, he would be there also,’ Billy B remembered.

‘Let us begin our fellowship this evening,’ Mary said. ‘I have seen Preacher, he is not dead but risen from the tomb,’ Mary proclaimed. ‘Preacher is going to Washington to speak truth to power and hope for the persecuted,’ Mary promised. ‘Preacher told me to tell you that if you just look around, you will find him with you,’ Mary mentioned.

‘How are my friends? I have missed you,’ Preacher said from the back of the group. ‘Greetings and joy to you all,’ the Preacher said as he slowly walked to the front of the gathering. Walking to the front were a blind woman, a beggar, a man with sores all over his body, and a prostitute. Then came diverse people from all nations, and those who had been forgotten and maligned. Gay people walked forward with tears in their eyes and hope in their hearts. Prisoners…lepers, those with disabilities, and many shunned by society also came.

The group surrounding Preacher all had one thing in common…they had his kind eyes…

God is mysterious, and this mystery extends to how he speaks to us humans. The mystery provides confusion. Many proclaim a direct line to God, but have ulterior motives. Others speak truth in obscurity. We seek answers to life’s persistent questions. Hope for our hopelessness. We are like the Blues Brothers; we want to be on a mission for God.

The recent season of the television program White Lotus explored the characters’ search for God. How arrogant we are if we think we have all of the answers. I had a minister in my youth who attested to the evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson praying for him at her Los Angeles Four Square Gospel Temple when he was a returning marine. He swore that her prayer changed his life. Change is a good thing.

My current Pastor tells the story of being with the family of a terminal member of their family and their unshakable belief that God was going to heal the person. The Bible speaks of unshakable faith. How will we get through the trial of life without it?

I have heard ministers expound on their words being the words of God and that they must be obeyed, or destruction will follow. Not a great way to begin a faith journey. Ministers who want a direct line to your pocketbook and wallet. Churches that teach that the more you give, the richer you will become in money. I find no where Christ was motivated by riches. He spoke for those who had no voice, the forgotten of the land. The people that Jesus ministered to had no money, and when the widow gave a mite in the collection plate, he took note that she had given all that she had.

We are borrowing all of our earthly possessions. As the saying goes, you can not take it with you. It is possible to be owned by our earthly possessions.

Today, we see evil leaders taking advantage of poor people. Many pretend to be Christian, but it is a new creation of their own narcissistic ambitions. We seek the Bible to tell us what we want to hear. Thus, we bend political/religious leaders to fit a scriptural hero who has no relationship to the slayer of Goliath in any way.

We are waiting for Godot. As we wait, our brains do what they do best…find connections. God is found in the still, small voice of our hearts. He is found in the beauty of nature and the silence of a Wake. He is found doing something good for a person who could not do it for themselves. God is found in the welcoming of a stranger. He is in the eyes of a homeless child…

‘The stone has been rolled away and Preacher is gone,’ Jane said. ‘We heard he had died and was entombed by our politicians who were giddy with their triumph over his truth with their lies,’ Jane continued. ‘They accuse him of all manner of evil lies, validating their killing of him,’ Jane noted. ‘Preacher turned the other cheek and let them beat him, crown him with thorns and crucify him, asking God to forgive them because they did not know what they were doing,’ Jane cried. ‘Now he is not where they expect him and they are at odds to explain what happened,’ Jane exulted.

‘Preacher has been seen and heard in the woods,’ Chet said with a wide smile. ‘He met with many of our diverse group while the power players of our government were toasting their victory and planning their next evil endeavor,’ Chet said. ‘They say there is no telling where he will turn up but suddenly appears among believers without warning,’ Chet laughed. ‘Preacher was seen in the halls of Congress talking with Senators, Congressmen, and Congresswomen,’ Chet winked. ‘Many politicans are influenced by Preacher’s Story and his triumph over the Leader and over death,’ Chet noted.

‘Your young men shall dream and your old men shall see visions,’ the Preacher said. ‘Place your hand in my riven side and your fingers in the holes in my hands and see that I am the Preacher hidden from the powerful and religious and revealed unto babes,’ the Preacher said. ‘I can not be driven out by hatred…hatred is afraid of love,’ the Preacher promised. ‘Welcome the stranger and she who has no home into your land, remember that all of us were strangers once,’ the Preacher said. ‘Beware wolves in sheep’s clothing who appear to love you and then turn and rend you limb from limb,’ the Preacher said. Fear those who say that they are me, their motives are not pure,’ the Preacher admonished. ‘Look for me in the woods and the quiet places, not the spotlights and tinsel and sound of brass and tinkling cymbal,’ the Preacher asked.

‘Preacher met with some of us in the woods and told us to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and to give a drink of water in his name,’ Billy B said. ‘Preacher said for us to speak for those who have no voice and to lift up the sorrowful and oppressed,’ Billy B said. ‘Preacher told us to beware of false prophets to avoid the love for money, ‘Billy B said. ‘Preacher said that all humans are God’s children and that he loves all humanity,’ Billy B proclaimed. ‘Preacher said beware of those who say their message is his message when it is completely different than what he preached in the woods to us,’ Billy B whispered. ‘Preacher said that the servant shall lead us not the narcissist,’ Billy B smiled. ‘Preacher said that money is but a tool for this life and will not be remembered in the next world…in the next world kindness shall be the coin of the realm,’ Billy B exulted…