So…I have never had writer’s block.  Can you hear my knuckled tapping wood?  What I have been is frustrated and over-obligated so that I could not keep up with this blog.  I have had all sorts of ideas about what I want to write here.

A few weeks ago I thought about telling the story of when I got a job as a welder to pay my way through college.  It seemed topical.  We were (are) going through some pretty stormy political times.  BUT, I hate politics.  Don’t get me wrong.  I appreciate those politicians who at least have the impulse to help others and the willingness to set through unending meetings about all sorts of esoterica and really important matters as well.

I considered writing about health care.  My recent journey with mother to the hospital had it ON MY MIND.  Oh, I have stories to tell about all sorts of folks in health care, but I’m not fully ready to share what I observed, and (worse) I have a feeling it is really important and funny and probably will not get any attention or perhaps way too much attention.

This time of year I always think about holding forth on matters of the church, but this year I dare not, not yet anyway.  There is a reason the framers went to such trouble to not have a state church, to keep politicians out of pulpits and preachers out of public houses.  I know these reasons because I read books, lots of books, and I have some things to say about this as well.  This too will have to wait.

On Christmas Eve, the birthday of my sister-in-law Carolyn, I drove out to Bitter Lakes, a bird sanctuary about ten miles outside of Roswell.  It was a gorgeous day and the birds were flying and honking and eating and doing all manner of bird things against an electric blue sky.  I thought of my dear friend Sue Coleman.  We once went to Bitter Lakes to shoot some photographs.  It was a grand time, and we only got in trouble once for straying down forbidden paths.  I thought back to other winter days when John and Mother and Carolyn and I watched the geese flock to Bitter Lakes for the night, their sound and glory stunning us with delight.  And still I traveled farther back into my memory, to a time when I was young and full of hope and went to the Bosque with Debra and Diane (Leslie may have been there, too), and we saw afar the great Whooping Crane, an unparalleled beauty even at great distances.

Before I begin holding forth on all the things that worry and anger me, I would like to hold forth on the beauty of the earth, on the glory of the skies.  Look up, friends, look up to the vault of heaven and see the blessings that are free to all and pristine.  See the infinite mercy of God, whose Son (in whom the hope of all resides) refused politics in service of the soul, and whose Spirit comforts me even now.