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.
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 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.
“…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.