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