A Season of Gratitude and Reflection

Sitting here tonight, I'm kicked back in my faithful recliner, looking at this month-old picture of Nico and me, just thinking... I'm listening as Gaither's gospel music fills the room, and soon I find myself caught in a wave of memories. The melodies stir something deep within me, and I can't help but reflect on this Christmas season of healing and the newfound awareness it's brought – just how precious and fragile each day truly is.

The music takes me back through the years, each note awakening memories. Fifty-plus years with Mel – what a journey we've shared. Love, sweat, and tears have marked our path, creating a story uniquely ours. We've weathered storms and celebrated joys, each experience defining our life together.  Our home, once noisy and boisterous as Christmas break arrived is now quiet and serene-mostly!

As the "old-fashioned" songs continue, faces drift through my mind: friendships that have shaped me, relationships now tucked away in memory's sometimes foggy crevices. I think of high school and college friendships that I took for granted;  I think of former students, parishioners, and colleagues who've become dear friends, each connection adding richness to life's ongoing story. Some bonds may have faded with time, but their impact lingers, coloring who I became. 

Wouldn't you know it... just when the goofy emotions were about to overflow, my faithful Nico brought his new toy, dropping it softly in my lap. It has been 5 weeks since we've been able to play.  His head came to rest on my shoulder, as he snuggled in offering silent comfort. In that simple gesture – "welcome back" – he grounded me in the present moment, his unconditional love a gentle reminder of life's continuing gifts.

This season feels different somehow. Maybe it's because I've glimpsed life's fragility up close, or it's simply time's wisdom settling in. Whatever the reason, I find myself filled with quiet gratitude – for being here, for having more pages to write in life's story, for each moment that lies ahead.

As another year approaches, I carry with me a renewed appreciation for life's simple treasures – the warmth of unique relationships, the comfort of familiar faces, and the gentle reminder of love from a faithful pet. Here's to health, hope, and the precious gift of tomorrow.  

To everyone who has ever been part of my life, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!  

~ Mel and WCD 💓

 

A Journey of Healing: Gratitude, Resilience, and New Beginnings

As the holiday lights twinkle and the year draws to a close, I find myself overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude in the aftermath of hormonal craziness. My heart surgery has been more than just a medical procedure – it's been a profound journey of fear, transformation, hope, and deep appreciation for the incredible people in my life, especially my wife who amazes me daily. 

I want to extend my most heartfelt thanks to everyone who has been part of my support system through this challenging time. Your thoughts, prayers, messages, and unwavering support have been the light guiding me through what could have been a dark and uncertain period.

The road to recovery has been both humbling and inspiring. Each day brings new challenges, but also new victories. I'm learning to appreciate the small moments – a slow walk, a deep breath, and the ability to move forward with renewed purpose. This experience has stripped away the unnecessary and brought into sharp focus what truly matters: health, love, and the incredible resilience of the human body.

Christmas this year feels different. It's not just about the decorations or the gifts, but about the gift of life itself. I've been given a second chance – a fresh perspective from facing vulnerability and emerging stronger. The texts, the phone calls, the warm wishes – they've been my lifeline, reminding me that I am never truly alone.  

To my family, who has been by my side through every moment – your love is my greatest strength. To my friends who have checked in,  offered support, and stood beside me – you are the family I've chosen. To my medical team – your skill and compassion have been nothing short of miraculous.

This journey is teaching me that healing is not just physical. It's emotional. It's spiritual. It's about finding humility and gratitude in the most unexpected places and understanding that our greatest strength often comes from our most vulnerable moments.

As I continue to recover and look forward to the new year, I am filled with hope, love, and a profound sense of gratitude. Thank you – from the bottom of my heart (literally) – for being part of this incredible journey.

Merry Christmas!  💓💚🎄🎅 ~ wcd

The Rhythm of Healing

The Rhythm of Healing

The early morning light seems different that day. Not just the quality of pre-dawn glowing filtering through the hospital blinds, but something deeper—a light that seems to understand something you are just beginning to comprehend about life, breathing, and survival.  Scared but resigned to the inevitable. 

You remember the surgical prep like a strange, disconnected dream. The busy nurses with their gentle voices, the anesthesiologist's calm reassurance, your wife's hand—trembling slightly—holding yours. Your adult children quietly chat about nothing in particular.  Nobody has told you how surreal it feels to be fully aware that your heart is about to be stopped, examined, repaired, and then carefully restarted.

Modern medicine is a kind of magic most people never truly appreciate until they lie vulnerable on a cart being wheeled toward an operating table. Your surgeon isn't just a doctor—he's an artist, a technician, a miracle worker who can map the intricate landscape of your heart with a precision that feels nearly impossible.

Recovery so far isn't a straight line. It's a meandering path full of unexpected turns. Some mornings, walking from the bedroom to the kitchen feels like climbing Everest. On other days, taking a full, deep breath is your greatest achievement. You learn to celebrate the smallest victories—a step without pain, a moment of genuine laughter that doesn't make your chest ache.

Friends and family call or visit, their eyes a mixture of concern and hope. They bring stories from the outside world—a world that suddenly seems both incredibly vast and remarkably small. You discover that near-death experiences don't change you dramatically all at once. They seep into your consciousness like watercolor, gradually transforming how you see everything.

Nights are the hardest. In the rare moments when the hospital is quiet and your thoughts are loud, you trace the surgical scar on your chest. A roadmap of survival, of medical intervention, of your own unexpected resilience. Each inch tells a story of something greater than yourself—a complex dance between human vulnerability and extraordinary medical possibility.

You begin to understand that healing isn't just about recovering physical strength. It's about rebuilding trust—trust in your body, in medical science, in the mysterious process of living. Some mornings, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Not the performative kind, but a deep, cellular appreciation for simply being alive.

Your doctors and nurses smile, saying you are healing "beautifully." But beauty, you realize, isn't always about perfection. Sometimes it's about surviving, about showing up, about being willing to start again—even when starting again means something as simple as walking to the den or laughing without holding your chest. You have a renewed sense of appreciation for the people you love and for the important role they play in your very soul. 

I guess that life isn't about avoiding fragile moments. We aren't designed that way. It's about embracing them, understanding that your vulnerability is not a weakness, but your most profound strength.

So for now, it's one heartbeat at a time. Forward. Always forward.

Much love!  ~wcd

What!??

I'll have to say yesterday didn't exactly go as expected!  I went into the heart clinic to have an outpatient angioplasty and came home with orders to be at the hospital before sunup Monday morning for a triple bypass operation.  I've been fortunate in that heart disease runs rampant in our family DNA and not ever having any heart-related issues, I had lulled myself into a false sense of security!  

I'm looking forward to getting these next weeks and few months behind us and a new flow of energy kicking in!  Keep Mel and I in prayerful thoughts and I'll blog about my recovery on the other side of it all.  Hugs to my friends.  💓

Proverbs 3:5-6  "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not to your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your path."  

My sermon to myself today

Proverbs 3:5-6

WD, trust in the Lord with all your heart: Despite your health issues, trust that God has a plan for you. Even when the path seems unclear, believe that He is guiding you toward healing and peace.

WD, lean not on your own understanding: It's natural to seek answers and solutions, but sometimes our understanding is limited. Instead of relying solely on your own knowledge, lean on God's wisdom and guidance.

WD, in all your ways, acknowledge Him: Acknowledge God's presence in every aspect of your life, including your health journey. Pray for His guidance, seek His comfort, and thank Him for the strength He provides.

And He shall direct your paths: Trust that God will lead you through this challenging time. He will provide the right doctors, treatments, and support systems. His direction may not always be what you expect, but it will be what you need. 

Now be at peace.  ~wcd

I'll Always be a Teacher

 I’ll always be an educator--a teacher--at least in my mind. Even now, at 73+ with my white hair and weathered hands, that identity clings to me, woven into the fabric of who I am.

Retirement might have closed the door on my official "teaching" days, but it didn’t close off the teacher within me. Once you’ve been an educator, that title sticks around, like a stubborn stain. Or maybe it’s more like a tattoo—one you carry with pride, forever a part of your story.

Over the years, it’s become clear that teaching isn’t just about the lesson plans or the chalkboards/smartboards; it’s a way of looking at life, a mindset that’s hard to shake. I see learning moments everywhere—in conversations with my grandkids, quiet reflections while painting, and even reading the newsfeeds. Teaching makes you see the world a little differently, with a lens of curiosity, always looking for connections, lessons, and insights to share.

The funny thing about being a teacher now in your seventies is that you become a student, too, just in new ways. I often feel like I’m learning just as much from the younger generations as they might have from me. My grandkids teach me about the newest gadgets, show me how to navigate social media, and give me insights into what it means to grow up in today’s world. Their lives are full of digital shortcuts and modern twists that we would’ve never imagined. I ask questions, and I’m not afraid to let them teach me. The roles might switch, but the heart of it stays the same. Teaching, in its best form, is just a shared experience of learning together.

Looking back, I think about the values I tried to instill over the years—kindness, curiosity, resilience. Those aren’t the kinds of lessons that change with time. In fact, the older I get, the more I realize that it’s the simple, timeless values that matter most. It wasn’t the rules or history dates that I hope my students remember, but the feeling of knowing that someone believed in them. Teaching isn’t always about what you say; often, it’s about how you make people feel.

What I love most about teaching, though, is that it builds a kind of legacy. Not in the grand, fame-worthy sense, but in a quieter way. Each student, each person you’ve touched, carries a piece of what you shared. They might not remember the exact words, but they remember how they felt in your presence. And that feeling ripples outward, passing from one generation to the next. I see that ripple every now and then—when I hear from an old student or when someone messages me to say they remember something I said.

So at 73+, I’m still an educator. And I think, no matter how many years I live, I always will be.

Be at peace. 

My dad was a veteran

The Gravestone That Tells His Story

There is something deeply moving about visiting my father’s military gravestone. Engraved with symbols that capture his service in WWII, it stands as a tribute to a man who served his country in a time of need.

 

The marker is simple but dignified—a lasting record of a duty fulfilled. His gravestone doesn’t just mark his resting place; it connects us to his story, his values, and the generations before and after him who also believed in service and loyalty to our country.

 Thank you for your service, sir! 

 

Back porch therapy

 

I remember this picture of me on our back porch swing at the Getaway Place.  The swing creaked gently as I rocked back and forth, watching the sun eventually dip below tree lines. At our country retreat, the evening air carries only cricket songs and the whisper of wind through the pines. It should be peaceful. In many ways, it is. Yet my mind churns with the weight of all we're facing as a nation.

I went there seeking clarity, or perhaps escape. The wooden slats of the old porch swing at my grandmother’s place must have held generations before me, each likely wrestling with the challenges of their own time. Did they also feel this peculiar mix of exhaustion and determination? This tension between the desire to retreat and the call to engage?

The thing about stepping back is that it allows you to see the whole picture more clearly. From this back porch vantage point, I can trace where we've been and glimpse possibilities of where we might go. The problems don't disappear – they're still there, stark as ever. But something shifts in how we relate to them.

Fighting for what's right isn't always about charging forward with flags flying. Sometimes it's about finding this quiet space where we can replenish our reserves. Sometimes courage looks like sitting still long enough to remember why we began this journey in the first place.

To those feeling weary in the struggle: I see you. I feel it too. The temptation to give up, to say "let someone else carry this burden" grows stronger with each disappointing headline. But history has shown us that change comes from ordinary people who simply refuse to stop believing in better possibilities.

As the evening deepens on my back-porch therapy couch and stars begin to emerge, I feel something steadying within me. Not a fiery resolve, but something cooler and more sustainable. A quiet certainty that while I may not see all the answers, I can still show up tomorrow. I can still extend a hand to others walking this path. I can still believe in our capacity to heal and grow as a nation.

The porch swing keeps its steady rhythm, and I realize that perhaps this is exactly where I need to be. Not to escape the fight, but to remember how to fight differently. With grace. With persistence. With hope that flows not from naive optimism but from a deep well of commitment to what's possible.  Tomorrow, I'll return to the work that needs doing. But tonight, I gather strength in stillness, knowing I'm not alone in this journey. And neither are you.

Be blessed and at peace. ~wcd

When buzzwords fail

Many of us who are Christians can feel a sense of comfort when we hear a politician using familiar religious language. A quick Scripture quote here, a nod to shared beliefs there – it’s natural to feel a connection. But are we called to something deeper than this shorthand?

This question has nagged at me for years. Through prayer, study, and a lot of thoughtful reflection, I've come to see that God's idea of justice and compassion runs far deeper than any campaign slogan. The Old Testament prophet Micah’s words stand out to me: “Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.” These aren’t separate ideals; they’re threads woven together, each supporting the other. Pull on one, and the whole thing starts to fray.

In the early days of the church, believers faced similar dilemmas. They were under Roman rule and had to navigate issues like taxes and citizenship without compromising their faith. Yet, they didn’t gravitate toward leaders who only spoke “religiously.” Instead, they sought a framework for living that honored God in all aspects of life, including politics.

Now, with a few more years behind me, I’m learning to ask questions that push past surface-level sound bites. When I’m evaluating a policy or position, I find myself asking: does this approach recognize the inherent worth of each person as bearing God’s image? Does it reflect compassion for those on the margins, as we’re often reminded to do? Does it encourage stewardship of the earth and our resources?

Sometimes, these questions don’t lead to easy answers. I’ve had to wrestle with political opinions that don’t always align with others in my community. But these discussions, when done humbly, lead to a deeper, more nuanced understanding.  Sometimes it's difficult. 

It’s easy to fall into the habit of cherry-picking verses to justify a position, but that often leads to shallow conversations. I’m learning to consider the broader implications of policies – how they affect those who have the least power or voice, whether they uphold both truth and grace, and how they align with God’s character. Engaging thoughtfully with politics doesn’t always mean finding the simplest answer, but it often leads to the most faithful response.

For me, Christian citizenship goes beyond finding politicians who speak my language. It’s about engaging thoughtfully, comparing policies with biblical principles, and asking how these choices align with the life and teachings of Jesus. This can feel like more work than just reacting to religiously framed sound bites, but I think it’s a step toward being a faithful citizen of both our earthly communities and God’s kingdom.

As we navigate the ups and downs of political seasons, I’m reminded of Jesus’s words about being “wise as serpents and innocent as doves.” Maybe that wisdom means looking past polished packaging and diving into the substance, weighing everything against the counsel of Scripture, and aiming to reflect Christ in how we engage.

It’s not always straightforward. But by committing to a more holistic view of politics through the lens of our faith, we may find ourselves better equipped to seek the good of our communities while remembering where our ultimate citizenship lies.

In the end, our goal isn’t to find a politician who echoes our favorite verses but to participate in ways that honor God and serve others. This path requires discernment and a willingness to look beyond the surface. It calls us to understand the times and respond with both wisdom and compassion.  It won't be easy.  

Be blessed ~wcd

Sunrise or sunset?

 

The sheer volume of media we consume daily is staggering. From social media feeds to 24-hour news cycles, we are constantly bombarded with information. This unrelenting media presence has undoubtedly shaped the outcome of the recent election, often prioritizing sensationalism over substance.  And that's what works. 

The concern here is not just about the quantity of information, but the quality. Media outlets, driven by the need for clicks and views, often resort to sensational headlines and biased reporting. This can skew public perception and influence voting behavior in ways that are not always aligned with the facts.

As citizens, we must recognize the power of media and its potential to manipulate our thoughts and actions. We must shift our focus from being passive consumers of media to active, informed participants in our democracy. This means critically evaluating the information we receive, seeking out diverse perspectives, and engaging in meaningful discussions about the issues that matter.

What worries me most is the impact on future generations. Our children and grandchildren are growing up in an environment where media consumption is a constant. They are being shaped by the same forces that prioritize sensationalism over truth, and this could have long-lasting effects on their ability to think critically and engage meaningfully in civic life.

We need to reclaim our role as citizens, not just consumers. By doing so, we can ensure that our decisions are based on thoughtful consideration and genuine understanding, rather than the fleeting influence of media bombardment. This is not just about us; it's about the legacy we leave for those who come after us. We need to be a nation where informed, engaged citizens are the norm, not the exception.  What have we become?  More importantly, where are we headed?  Is this our sunrise...or sunset?

She Said TV was evil.

 

This picture isn't of my grandmother, but when I think back on my grandma’s opinions about television, I can still hear her adamant insistence that it was inherently “evil.” To her, that glowing screen (to which she turned her back) was not just a device; it was a powerful force capable of leading people astray. Now, decades later, I’ve realized that while I once thought her perspective was extreme, she might have seen something I didn’t. With today’s overwhelming media landscape, her concerns about “true/false bombardment” resonate more than ever.
Growing up, my grandmother held strong convictions about the world, shaped by her generation's values and cultural influences. She believed that television could degrade morals and pull families apart. In her eyes, it was more than just a new source of entertainment—it was an intrusion that disrupted family conversations and blurred the line between reality and fiction.
In her day, information was a precious resource. There were fewer sources of information, and news was delivered with a certain sense of authority. Most people relied on local newspapers, radios, or word of mouth, and all media carried a slower, more measured approach to information. When television emerged, it brought a new immediacy and visual allure that had never been seen before, reshaping the way people received and interpreted the world.

The fear of television was not unique to my grandmother. Many people of her time believed that this new medium could foster a sense of detachment from reality. Some viewed it as morally compromising, a way for Hollywood and advertisers to influence personal values. Religious beliefs also played a role, as some saw TV as a potential catalyst for eroding traditional values, family unity, and respect for others.

Television wasn’t just entertainment; it became a cultural force. TV altered daily routines brought new ideas into homes, creating a shared experience that connected and divided audiences. In a way, my grandmother sensed a cultural shift away from the simplicity of her upbringing toward a more complex and connected world where ideas could be broadcast to millions.
Fast-forward to today and my grandmother’s concerns about TV seem quite quaint compared to the current media landscape. Today’s media is an endless flow of information coming at us from every angle—social media, 24-hour news cycles, streaming services, and more. With this influx, it’s harder than ever to separate truth from fiction, and the concept of “true/false bombardment” has become a real issue.

This constant stream of information magnifies my grandmother’s old fears. We now face the challenge of navigating a digital world that often blurs fact and opinion. It’s a delicate dance of figuring out what’s real and what’s biased, and it requires an almost constant awareness that wasn’t necessary in her time.
When I look back at my grandmother’s view through a modern lens, I realize that calling TV “evil” wasn’t about the technology itself. It was about the potential effects on our thoughts and choices. Is technology inherently bad, or does it depend on how we use it? Her warnings about TV seem almost prophetic when you consider today’s tech-driven world, where screens dominate every waking moment. Today, with so much information at our fingertips, her cautionary tales about “evil” media seem more like practical advice.

It’s easy to get swept away by sensational headlines or trending stories, but skepticism keeps us from accepting everything at face value. In a world where everyone has a platform, a healthy dose of questioning protects us from falling into misinformation traps.

One lesson my grandmother’s perspective taught me is the importance of personal choice. We can’t control the media landscape, but we can control how much of it we let influence us. Setting boundaries helps us maintain a sense of agency, especially in matters of local, national, and global urgency. As I navigate today’s world of instant information – good or alarming- via the internet, smartphones, and social media, her wisdom echoes in my mind, guiding me to seek balance and stay mindful.
Looking back, my grandmother’s views on television taught me more than I realized. Her warnings about the “evil” of TV weren’t about fear—they were about understanding the power of influence. As we face today’s media challenges, I want to carry forward her wisdom, knowing that while technology will always evolve, the need for discernment remains timeless. This last election underscores that warning and dire need.

Be mindful, and be at peace! ~wcd

He's TWO already!

 These two years with this guy have flown by.  It has been like having another semi-human clown in the house!