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“Revenge is a dish best served cold” is not uttered in The Godfather movie, though it is found in the novel, by Mario Puzo. While I’m not given to revenge, it seems it is most often cooked like a mess sergeant in a hot-headed rage and then slung like hash. Note to Self: Avoid any place whose chef is feared for the pettiest form of revenge. Growing up as a teenager in Florida, my mom and stepdad took my sister and I to the many farms that allowed the public to exit their cars and pick their own fruit or vegetables. Rural roads with U-Pick signs were like current gas stations that sell lotto tickets… they attracted a certain type of people, like us. We’d even bring our friends.

For years, I have viewed photography as a good friend. I never felt as if I traveled alone as long as I had my camera by my side. Recently, however, I have relaxed my emphasis on picturetaking because I have no more room for picture frames or albums at my house…and there’s no need to take 20 pictures at Christmas if you can capture the best five or six to tell the story. But on a recent weekend vacation, I couldn’t resist the urge to play with my camera. We were staying at a resort in Central Florida where wildlife had a sure refuge. On the first evening, I tracked ospreys up and down fairways usually reserved for golfers. Getting a picture of an osprey is not as easy as National Geographic would make you believe. You have to be quick with the shutter and not given to vertigo. After I spun around in circles, peering into the setting sun, craning my neck as I attempted to move my camera in the same direction that the birds were flying, I found myself staggering to the sides of the fairways which might not have seemed too unusual to the trees which stand guard there, but it was disconcerting to me.

I wanted to take a moment to say how much I appreciate you, the reader, for taking time each week to read “Living On Purpose.” I’ve written sermons, songs, and books, for over 40 years, but only started this faith column on January 2016. Each of my columns have file numbers, and as several editors have noticed, this week is number 500. It’s hard to believe that 10 years has gone by so quickly. We know that 500 weeks of messages is small compared to many pastors and teachers who have presented thousands of sermons. Sharing my heart with you is very special, and this week I’m celebrating God and grateful to Him for making it possible.

“You could live on a dollar and 27 cents a day,” the husband said to me, shaking his head.

No one did it better than the Drifters in the early 1960’s. Up on the Roof topped the charts at No. 5 among pop songs. Lately, I have been diggin’ me some Drifters.

I wonder how hot it is on Mercury in the summertime. Mercury, as you know, is the closest planet to the sun and therefore the hottest. This South, as you know, comes right between it and Venus giving us the number two status in the solar system for heat production. Or so it seems, in the summertime. I remember the summers of my childhood 40 years ago. The heat was different in the 1960s--it was everywhere. You had little or no air conditioning with which to compare the outside air, so you merely looked for the coolest place outside. I can tell you where it was: under the mimosa trees in the morning, in the back bedroom which was shaded by magnolias at noon, in the cool spray of sprinklers in mid-afternoon and under the sheltered carport before suppertime.

I'll Tell You What

What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you think about the word, “fellowship?” Since I am a Baptist, I start thinking about potlucks or really any gathering oriented around food. How do youth ministers get students to gather together? They offer free pizza! But fellowship is about something more than just food. Last month, we started breaking down the traits of the early church. In Acts 2:42, it says that they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to fellowship and the breaking of bread, and to prayer. Previously, we focused primarily on what it meant to be devoted to the apostles’ teaching. Continuing down that road, we want to ask the question, “What does it look like to be devoted to fellowship and the breaking of bread?”

When I look back to the Fourth of July during my earliest years, it wasn’t a party. There were no computer-generated displays of fireworks. It would begin, instead, with a quiet picnic lunch underneath a cross. That may surprise you, but for those who knew my family well, it wasn’t a big surprise. We didn’t own a boat or a swimming pool. My father was tied to his desk on Commerce Street most days, but when a red, white and blue holiday came to pass, he took my mother and I to some church, on some hill, with some creek running by it, where the breezes were cool and the day was quiet. And nobody else would be there.

When I’m looking for a bottle of wine, I might as well be in the auto parts store looking for brake calipers. I spend so much time on the wine aisle that people think I drink a lot. I don’t drink a lot. I don’t even drink a little. I’m simply overwhelmed, confused and uncertain of which bottle to choose. The major difference between the grocery store and the auto parts store is that wine bottles are so pretty—beautiful shapes and lovely colors of glass, with labels that are stunning.