To my son on his birthday…

“…dear son of mine, the baby days are over,
I can no longer shield you from the earth…”

It was on this day, eight years ago, when my eldest son Israel was born in an Oklahoma City hospital. The second child of our family, he has come a long way over this past year.

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Springtime calls her children…

“…there are sailing ships that pass
all our bodies in the grass,
Springtime calls her children
’til she lets them go at last…”

March in Rusk County has been the proverbial lion and roared forth in Springtime blossoms of bright white, blazing red, and royal purple.

Though our mornings yet remain quite cool, the afternoons act as prelude for a hot and heavy East Texas summer still to come. Warm enough to enjoy the outdoors, without the oppressive swelter of Julius and Augustus the lesser.

I think it is in this season, far more than others, where a redemptive understanding of our tiny place in Creation is most apparent.

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A man named Patrick

“…I am imperfect in many things, nevertheless I want my brethren and kinsfolk to know my nature so that they may be able to perceive my soul’s desire. I arise today through the strength of heaven…”

When most people think about St. Patrick’s Day, they usually think about shamrocks, leprechauns, parades, and legions of fraternity boys intoxicated on green beer. But even the most astute cultural observers may assume it has something to do with the folk tale of an earnest fellow driving the snakes out of Ireland æons ago.

It may surprise you to know that the man in whom this day is named is neither Irish, nor a proper Roman Catholic saint.

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