Stick Horse Cowgirls

I heard a great sermon Sunday.  It was about the story of the rich, young ruler.  The point of the story, my pastor said, was not just about “rich” folks—it applies to us all.  We all have things we prioritize over God…even our “good works,” as the rich, young ruler had always meticulously obeyed the law. Pastor ramped up, driving home the point that we cannot tell where we stand solely by our actions—that good actions can often mask impure motivations.  It is not the “outward,” he says, that is telling.  It is the “inward.” And this, folks, is where I was jolted upright because what I heard is: “ What is important is the “N” word!  Do you have an ‘N-word’ problem?” And, through the rest of the sermon about our “ inward struggles,” I heard repeatedly: “N word,” although I knew well what he meant.   It was my ears. My consciences is clear:  I have no “N-word problem,” although it is probably evident that my “inward” regions could use ...

What is it about me that makes random folks just want to tell me their troubles?  Probably I ask for it.  I am very interested in people. You’d think, being a divorce lawyer for over thirty years, that I would become bored and jaded by human drama—not so!  I remain interested.  I hope it makes me good at my job. Anyway, my paralegal/sister and I were in the ATT store today doing some phone switcharooing.  The man helping us was a nice, late fortyish man who noticed my business name on the account.  He asked, “ what kind of law ?”  I told him. He had a story. This guy has an 18-year-old and a 15-year-old from his former marriage and of whom he has custody.  Then, there is the just-turned-six-year-old by his baby-mama.  He has a concern about the situation she is living in with her mother (he should be concerned,  from his description).  We talked about it just a few minutes. As he walked us to the door, he quipped, “ I re...

I love words.  As a part of that interest, I love to consider regional differences in language.  In my next life, I think I’ll be a linguist.  This morning brought a discussion/disagreement on this very topic.  Although I doubt it is a “regional” question in this particular usage, I find it interesting.  (Yes, I am easily amused) Son and I were riding in the car together.  We passed a lovely, two-story, square-log home that is on our regular route.  (V will know immediately the place I am talking about).   He commented on it, calling it a “log cabin.”  This is NOT an actual picture of the place, but is here for illustrative purposes (such as the size of the structure!) This is reminiscent of his father, who also made this mistake of nomenclature.    The house in question must be over 3,000 square feet—a “cabin” it’ ain’t.   The second picture on the page ain’t a “cabin,” either. I remarked on this, saying ...

I am a cynic about “true love,” doubting that it exists—at least in the sappy-movie sense.   The only “true love,” I sometimes say, is that of the Creator for His Creation. We humans are too fickle and self-serving to carry it off. And, yet, something has happened in our neighborhood that makes me re-think whether true love can be found here on this earth. There is a couple down the road from me (we’re in a rural area).   They are in the latter-half of their eighties and have lived out here all their lives.  We will call them “Mama” and “Daddy,” for that has been their main identity the vast majority of their lives. These are kind, warm people.  When my mother lived out here, they reached out to her in a kindness that she will never forget. Their Son was born with severe disabilities over sixty years ago and has never seen nor heard so far as can be told.  He has lived his life in a completely helpless state with no sign of recognition and few,...