Opinions

Each year my college friends and I move mountains to get to one another; this past weekend, we settled on the side of one to analyze the year gone by. We were at Callaway Gardens in Pine Mountain, Ga., where the azaleas bloom magnificently amongst golfers and artists, birdwatchers and music lovers.

I bought a green recipe file when I entered the ninth grade. It was a generic, metal file, necessary for home economics class. It probably cost less than a dollar at V. J. Elmore’s Five & Dime. The usual suspects went into the file: Blonde Brownies, Spaghetti with Meat Sauce, Hot Chocolate, Sloppy Joes with Pickles. Those were the recipes we students prepared in and out of class, eating—or refusing to eat—our experiments in the kitchen.

A single death at the hands of an illegal alien has been dismissed by current President Joe Biden, who won’t even mention Laken Riley’s name. While she was out for a jog on campus, the 22-year-old nursing student at the University of Georgia was attacked and murdered on Feb. 22. She was on the dirt trails that meander around Lake Herrick when police allege Jose Antonio Ibarra, 26, committed what they called a “crime of opportunity.”

Years ago I worked in a department of five people and one day our director was replaced with someone new. The new leader of our team brought a small radio into our office and started playing secular rock music. At first it seemed innocent but after a few days it was apparent this was a subtle spiritual weapon that was being used against me. As a young man, I listened to these songs, but when I made a vow to God to maintain a devoted relationship with Him, I knew this includes keeping a clean heart and mind. I’m not saying all the songs are sinful or wrong, but as they were seeping into my conscience, I was opening the door for negative seeds to be planted into my soul that were influencing me in the wrong direction.

Dishonest people have no idea how many worries their Honest counterparts have.

My husband, Peter, and I were surprised that two plates were missing. We stay in our little apartment in Mexico and, while we’re gone, all our dishes and glasses remain in the cupboards. We pack away most of our spices, but we leave the vegetable steamer and the pressure cooker and all the art on the walls. We leave it all in the apartment which, we assume, is rented out to other people while we are gone, although it is hard to know for sure because everything is always right where we left it. But this time, two plates were missing. And I knew where they were.

Last night was surprisingly calm, all things considered. I told my husband, Peter, that he should not plan to get a good night’s sleep. I told him this because Peter has never had a cat, and yesterday, we adopted one.

One of my wife’s favorite sayings, which we heard from a pastor some time ago, is that “Your most important contribution in life might not be something you do, but someone you raise.” We both love that quote and we are praying that our kids will grow up to be world changers for Christ. Further, I think that quote could be altered to simply say that your most important contribution in life might not be something you do, but someone you disciple.

For holiday houseguests in my Alabama home-away-from-home, I was putting fresh sheets on three beds when one guest offered to help. An extra set of hands, arms and legs really can make a difference when a fitted sheet is stubborn and unwilling…and aren’t all fitted sheets stubborn and unwilling?