It was dry. The ground was thirsty. We were all a bit thirsty. Choc-Ola would not do. Neither would Mountain Dew. Milk was nice. Wine was fun. Vodka made you more thirsty. Water was the answer.

We sought a leader who had the answers to life’s persistent questions. Someone who could quench our thirst. A person who understood from the Gut how the world works. No Training is good, we said. Please review the mess the trained team has created. We are in a desert seeking an Oasis. Rich people have many jugs of water. It must be raining at their mansions. What about a rich leader who has the common touch? How different that would be. A leader who talks our language, who speaks our thoughts like he is reading our minds. A leader who came down from his throne to mix with we common people. A leader who was born for such a time.

Rain fell in buckets, sheets of waterfalls. It seemed good; it looked good for a moment. Everyone gathered their rain barrels. Ace Hardware and Lowes sold out of buckets. Many gathered the rain in tarps made to look like the American Flag. Songs were composed and sung about the leader who brought the rain. Soon his face and name were everywhere. Under his visage, the words, The Rainmaker.’ The rain kept falling. Roads flooded. Dams burst. Travel halted. Most did not own boats or have the money to fill their fuel tanks.

‘Listen to me and only me; I have the answers like no other,’ the Leader proclaimed. ‘The rain is going to stop very soon, everybody says so,’ the Leader continued. ‘In the morning it will be sunny and clear without a cloud in the sky, the Leader promised. ‘My Gut told me so,’ the Leader danced on one foot and then the other. ‘I have a wonderful brain. I went to the best schools. I understand the weather; I understand Rain,’ the Leader laughed.

‘So where is the door to Sears?’ Jane said. I walked out a few minutes ago after taking the escalator to the first floor. Now I can not find the door I came out of,’ Jane continued. ‘Remember, Chet, we were talking about SIU and the new class in the fall semester,’ Jane mentioned. ‘It was a class in the Home Economics Building,’ Jane prompted Chet to recall. ‘When I did not see you, I looked behind me, and you were walking into the Theatre, Jane continued. ‘The Exorcist was playing, and you kept talking about how badly you wanted to see it, hoping it did not give you nightmares or cause you to have psychological difficulties,’ Jane said pleadingly. ‘I can not find Neva J nor Billy B anywhere in the Mall,’ Jane whispered. ‘Something has changed; we are different,’ Jane noted. ‘I am excited to find a decent word processor; I will use it in my new classes at University,’ Jane promised.

‘Where are the kids?’ Neva J asked with a laugh. ‘This happens every time we come to the Mall,’ Neva J continued. ‘I know Jane was going to Sears to look for a word processor, and Chet wanted to see The Exorcist, but I have no idea where Billy B was going,’ Neva J mused. ‘I will look for Billy B in Walden Books. He loves. Soon we will eat lunch in one of the Mall’s fine restaurants,’ Neva J thought. ‘I bet he is in Wick’s and Sticks looking at the Tom Clark Gnome Sculptures,’ Neva J said with a grin. ‘Billy B lives for those statues of Gnomes and Witches, Hobos and Hobbits,’ Neva J laughed as she walked toward the store. ‘Where did Wicks and Sticks go?’ Neva J said in amazement. ‘It was right there a moment ago; now there is some type of funhouse with flashing lights and loud sounds. ‘ It’s full of kids laughing and playing mechanical games,’ Neva J mused quizzically.

‘Man of Man, where am I?’ Billy B said under his breath. ‘Sears store is empty,’ Billy B said with trepidation. ‘The four Theatres are gone, and in their place is a shoe store,’ Billy B continued. ‘I still have Witch Hazel, the Tom Clark Sculptor, and Enoch the Farmer, but where is Elizabeth the nice proprietor of Wicks and Sticks?’ Billy B said with some dismay. ‘I went to JCPenney, and they no longer carry televisions,’ Billy B said, rubbing his eyes. ‘I wanted to talk with Chet about The Exorcist. I cannot find him or the Theatre Where he viewed the movie. I do hear him crying softly,’ Billy B whispered. ‘ Jane is sitting on a couch holding a bag with a picture of a word processor; she looks frightened,’ Billy B continued.

‘The silence is deafening,’ Chet said. ‘There is nothing here, no laughter, no singing, no excitement about Christmas,’ Chet mused. ‘I found a photo of Jane purchasing her word processor and Neva J going to Walden Books.’ ‘I am alone but do not feel alone; someone is with me,’ Chet said.

We seek him here; we seek him there; we seek him everywhere. The leader who has the answers. We need answers. Many promise us they have the answers. Sadly, they have the answers that made them rich and successful, and sought on the lecture circuit. The rich have money but still the Burr. The persistent idea there is more to life. The rise of Money to the throne of leadership is compelling. Money opens the door to opportunity. The seats of power are reserved for the financial success stories. Certainly, if you knew how to make millions, you must know how to run a university or a country. Is the elusive Wisdom inherent in Capitalism?

Christ was born in a barn, a manger surrounded by animals. He was wrapped in swaddling clothes. The religious leaders did not know him. The political leaders did not know him. ‘The Common People heard him gladly.’ Christ said, ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and unto God the things that are God’s.’

Could we be looking in all the wrong places? Not long ago we sought wisdom in the reading of God’s Word in church on Sunday. Most folks attended church a generation or two ago. We knew the Stock Market did not have the answers. President Nixon did not have them either. Our elders taught us to be humble. Do not brag on yourself. Do good in secret. Wisdom comes from God; seek it.

Wisdom is more elusive than the Gold of Ophir. Solomon asked for it. Presidents that understood the burden of their office asked for it. We have a Burr under our saddle as we ride our horse home due to a lack of wisdom and the seeking thereof. Humility is a virtue. We have known this in my lifetime. It is not all about who can get the ear of the Emperor who has no clothes first. It is not about who influences more people. It is not about who looks better on television.

July is progressing rapidly. Ice Cream Socials are at hand. Families are rushing to get their summer vacations taken. Every idea is not the right idea. Ideas that hurt people are wrong. Ideas that destroy families are wrong. Ideas that demand everyone look like we do and worship like we worship and recognize love if it is in our narrow mold are wrong.

A storm is rolling in. The Old Man liked storms always had. Nature on the edge. A bit like life changing each moment. There is no time to become complacent. We must be watchers. In the Old Testament, the watchers were called Watchmen. Life is comfortable for the satisfied. But many have a nagging notion that there is more that they can do. If someone is hungry, feed them. If they are naked, clothe them. If they have no friends, befriend them. This was Neva J, who never saw a person down on their luck that she did not help. She did it quietly; no one saw. She did it humbly. Neva J remembered what it was like to have nothing. If she had a dollar, you had fifty cents.

The idea of charity being a tax write-off was not in our home. We were all in this together, and if our sister or brother, mother or father, son or daughter were suffering, it was up to us to help. No, look what I have but rather how can I help?

‘It is awful the shape we are in,’ Mr. Stocks said. ‘I do not know where to put my money; my bonds are failing, and the political climate is changing daily, hourly,’ Mr. Stocks noted. ‘I have little time to worry about the poor and homeless as I am consumed with worry about myself,’ Mr. Stocks proclaimed. ‘My dividends are suffering; the War in Iran is killing my portfolio,’ Mr. Stocks wept bitter tears. ‘I am rich; I have high debt; I must keep up with the Joneses,’ Mr. Stocks said softly.

‘I have a piece of sourdough bread from the bakery trash that is not soiled; we will share it,’ Rosie said. ‘The Baker will throw out the unsold sweet rolls soon; we will get some if we are lucky,’ Rosie continued. ‘Abigail, do not worry; things will get better for us the Preacher in the Woods said. ‘ Help is coming,’ Rosie promised. ‘I went to the church today, but they turned me away,’ Rosie continued. ‘They have a beautiful sanctuary, and there is peace there,’ Rosie continued. ‘The church Sexton saw me and gave me twenty dollars,’ Rosie noted. ‘His face was like the face of Christ,’ Rosie noted.

In the eyes of the homeless and hungry, middle-class people are rich. They have fine art on their walls and wood floors to walk on. When the middle class goes to the grocery they do not worry about prices. They satisfy their needs and their wants. There will be a vacation every year or perhaps more. Perhaps a cruise or a trip to New Orleans. The middle class will laugh and drink expensive cocktails. They will listen to jazz music and be saddened by the homeless sleeping on the sidewalks of the French Quarter. The middle class will be thankful for their comfort and the ability to do what they want to do. ICE agents will be there, but not for the middle class. They are the tourist bringing needed Tourist Dollars to the French Quarter. In capitalism, we place our trust.

Rain is coming. The distant thunder is a clarion call. Life is calm in the Woods. July is a week old. We awaken looking east and sleep toward the west. Our days are numbered, yet the hours seem plentiful. We take them, checklist each morning. What are the duties of the day?

Communism is a renewed threat in America, the leader says. Democratic Socialism is communism, the leader tells us. Putin is a Communist, as is Chi. A new Bogeyman to cloud the facts.

We have faults until we can create a Strawman to blame them on. Suddenly we are alright. We are exonerated for the greater good. Titles we do not know the meaning of. Rhetoric based on the reality of our fantastic story we have constructed in our minds. Do not worry about affordability; blame the Communist. The war in Iran, the Strait of Hormuz, obviously the Communist. When did we decide we prefer… much prefer the Story of Us to the reality of us?

‘So I am living the dream, Chet said. ‘I was riding herd with John Wayne the other day, and we stopped at the O.K. Corral and had breakfast with Wyatt Earp and his brothers,’ Chet laughed. ‘In walks Doc Holliday and tells Snidely Whiplash, ‘I’m your Huckleberry,’ Chet said wide-eyed. ‘Tess Trueheart walked into the saloon with Dick Tracy on her arm, with Breathless Mahoney walking behind them,’ Chet noted with some breathlessness himself. ‘Dick Tracy told John Wayne that he would join him at the O.K. Corral, and Tess Trueheart said she was coming also,’ Chet smiled. ‘Mumbles commented on the plans, but no one understood him,’ Chet laughed.

‘Wake up, Chet,’ Jane said. ‘You have fallen asleep while we were floating across Pounds Hollow. I think you were dreaming,’ Jane laughed.

So it goes as we carry our candles on the path home. Many use a fog machine to hide the path. There are real problems and solutions to those problems, or there is made-up stuff that is deceptive and damaging to us. We thrash about searching for the Wise Woman or the Wise Man to help us. The Strawmen wave at us along the path home.

Well, the 4th of July is over. Summer is in full flower. Kids know what August brings. School Days. The year is middle-aged. Next come the golden days.

Life felt smooth today. As the old guys said when I was a lad, ‘You live until you die.’ A good admonishment worthy of observing. We move through life asleep. As we avoid the real world, we seek happy pills. Others take a drink or more. Looking for happiness in a bottle or pill container is a depressing cycle leading to bad stomach and headaches.

A calm mind and a sense of place engender contentment. Honesty begins at home. We all are broken and cracked; that is how the light gets in, Leonard Cohen told us. We are light seekers. Darkness heightens the flickering light we see in others. As we stumble in the dark, we grab the wall and feel for the doorknob. When someone brings light to us, our lives are renewed. We feel the difference light makes when surrounded by menacing clouds. Many words are spoken, but words touched by God’s Spirit are special.

Think of the times that a friend or stranger said a few words to you and the clouds of depression and darkness rolled away. You felt there was no hope, no answers, no wisdom. Then God sent one of his broken humans with the light shining through, and you were rescued. At times we know the deeper answer to life’s persistent questions. Darkness enters our hearts, our minds become clouded, our sense of place has lost its compass. We watch for the light. Those who uplift with their words and smiles, deeds, and helping hands.

One candle in the darkness has a weak but comforting light. As the candle lights another candle and then more, soon the room has a warm and welcoming glow. When we do this while singing Silent Night at the conclusion of our Christmas Eve Service at church, I feel a deep understanding of the meaning of Christmas.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. led the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s with nonviolent protest and won a great victory. How about today, we, broken, cracked vessels of humanity, join to let the light of peace, acceptance,aand inclusion shed a warm glow over a world hovering in fear and darkness.

Pastor Meg spoke today of the many times in the Bible that the nameless and unrecorded made the difference in major events. Often God confounds the rich and powerful with the wisdom of those in the audience of life. Those folks who are unseen and unheralded have the answer to life’s persistent questions.

We, quiet people, are aware of the plot. Our focus is not on recognition but results. Although Abraham Lincoln was President when he gave the Gettysburg Address, he was last to speak on November 19, 1863, at the dedication of the Soldiers’ National Cemetery. Edward Everett was the main featured speaker. He spoke for two hours. ‘Everett was considered the most renowned orator of the antebellum era.’ ‘The day’s organizers originally invited Lincoln to deliver only a few appropriate remarks.’

I often told Presidents and Chancellors of Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale that they were missing a golden opportunity to learn how to recruit and retain students by not consulting with their civil service staff. The Staff was closer to the students than professors or administration and understood the challenges of attending SIUC.

Jesus hung with the disenfranchised and forgotten. He was comfortable with the wine drinker and the poor. Many of his disciples were fishermen. Not owners of fish companies…people who cast their nets for fish. Most of the world is Little People. Not in stature but in notoriety. People who think deeply and feel profoundly. God’s children who watch and wait for the opportunity to step in with a quiet word or suggestion that will save the day for the powerful and elite. Status means nothing to the Little People.

Women are the salvation of most noble causes. I saw as a lad in the halcyon days of Mom and me going it alone that she was a resourceful genius. Neva J sought no praise from others but rather to help those in need. She took night classes in photography, and she made little seem abundant to my little mind.

Chancellor Jo Ann Argersinger was a marvel as Chancellor of SIUC. Everyone loved her and worked together like I had not witnessed in my 20 years at that time on Campus. Elite men decided to terminate her without cause, and the Campus has never been the same.

Pastor Meg is a breath of fresh air! Her messages are uplifting and inspiring. I liked her the moment I met her. I believe we will do great things with her leadership to guide our congregation.

Mylo and the Old Man sat on the Writing Porch waiting for the Boom. The evening shadows were falling. The Bull Frogs were running the scales. Earlier in the day, Mr. Beaver visited us while we cooked the salameats. He had a broad Mr. Beaver Smile on his lips and a look of hungry curiosity in his eyes. As Aaron and Jonathon worked on the salameats, the Old Man put on his phone application that identifies birds by their songs. He identified eight on this 250th birthday.

When Mr. Beaver is happy, and the eight birds are singing as well as the bullfrogs running the musical scales, you know there is hope for us. No one was looking over our shoulders nor demanding a report of the day. All is not lost…yet. We must treasure what we have. You never miss the water until the well runs dry. The sun is setting over the trees, giving them a fall-like look. The fine art of trees has changed tonight. The Old Man writes many evening blogs but has never seen this happen. The trees have taken on a multi-colored golden glow.

There is the distant sound of children laughing. Stomachs full of dad’s barbecue and soda pop. Something different is happening. There is a beautiful rainbow! The colors seem to say happy birthday…do not screw this up. You have been given a second chance. Love each other. Take care of each other. You are all in a stormy sea and owe each other a terrible loyalty. The Captain is watching.

‘Well, we have arrived at another 4th without firecrackers,’ Chet said. ‘Earl was going to procure some legal firecrackers from Missouri, but he did not get there in time,’ Chet continued. ‘I suppose we will have to visit the creepy man in the alley behind Western Auto to see if he has any illegal cherry bombs,’ Chet winked. I hear that he is a graduate of MIT and that he makes his own fireworks,’ Chet continued. ‘He also has Black Cat firecrackers,’ Chet grinned. ‘At times he has Chocola for sale, and at other times he has Peppermint Schnaps,’ Chet explained. ‘I bought some Charles Denby cigars from him last 4th, Chet laughed. ‘He is a knight of the open road,’ Chet offered. ‘He told me last 4th of July that he had a special Bottle Rocket that would fly me to the Moon if I wanted to try it,’ Chet winked.

‘Let’s cut to the chase,’ Billy B said to the man with the trench coat in July. ‘I hear you have a Bottle Rocket that really is a Rocket,’ Billy B continued. ‘What do you require for me to buy one from you?’ Billy B asked with a wink. ‘I have been saving my money since Christmas for the possibility of riding a Bottle Rocket to the Moon,’ Billy B danced on one foot and then the other. ‘Do not trifle with me, as I am a serious man,’ Billy B admonished. ‘I am plannin on wearing my Zane Grey cowboy hat on the ride,’ Billy B said.

‘I will give you the Moon Bottle Rocket if you will smoke a Charles Denby Cigar on the flight, as I work for the Charles Denby Cigar manufacturer, Trenchcoat Man said with a sly grin. ‘I have a photographer with me who works for Life Magazine who will do a photo spread of

your amazing journey,’ TM noted.

The Old Man looked out at Brooks Pond. The Writing Porch had been his peaceful place for many years. The air was still, the heat oppressive. Tomorrow is the big birthday. Is it 250, just getting started, or 250 and the end is coming?

We celebrate who we are and what we have done. We telegraph our accomplishments far and wide.

‘Once I built a railroad, made it run. Made it race against time. Once I built a railroad, now it’s done, Brother can you spare a dime.’

The song of the forgotten who built this country only to stand in bread lines in the Great Depression. They were wondering and waiting for their country to see them.

Mylo likes his ears tickled. We like our ears tickled. We want to hear words that agree with our thoughts. Who will tell us what we want to hear? We are a bit transfixed on our Idols. The human that surpasses other humans. The human with the special ability. Reading the stories of God’s prophets, we wonder and wait for our prophets. Surely we must be as blessed as the people of the Book. It is easy to make the Bible say what you want it to say.

It is getting hotter around the world. Global Warming is not a hypothesis; it is a fact. We make light of what we do not understand.

Christ stood with those who had no friends. He spoke for those who had no voice. Jesus could be found with the people that the Pharisees walked to the other side of the street to avoid. He had dinner with the shunned of the world. Those not seen by polite society. The Forgotten were his friends.

All that glitters is not gold, but then again we like gold. A physical sign of prominence. Sometimes gold can hide our shame. Gold appliques on the Oval Office walls. Well-off folks give millions of dollars to see their name on University Buildings. Something that says they were there when they are not.

Is the patient on life support?

The Old Man watched as many gathered their money around them. They stared glassy-eyed at a golden statue. Many prayed at the beautiful feet of the Statue. Tears were shed and supplications offered. The diverse workforce of the country was busy working double shifts to keep body and soul together.

Annabell had a little replica of the Statue of Liberty she kept in her locker at work. She purchased it at a gift store in New York City many years ago. It reminded her of the blessings of living in America. Annabell’s family had been hunted in Haiti. The United States welcomed her, and she became a citizen over time.