Change Is Gonna Come
 
I was listening to the great Sam Cooke singing, “It’s been a long, a long time coming, but I know a change gonna come. Oh, yes, it will.” That song has been echoing in my mind as I have been reading Matthew 21, the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem.
 
A triumph.
Hosanna in the highest.
For the first time in His short life, Jesus is publicly honored as King. The crowds finally acknowledge the King of Kings.
 
But we know a change is gonna come.
 
It did not take long.
The betrayal.
The plots.
The plans already in motion.
 
Those same voices that cried, “Save us! Save, we pray!” soon turn and call for His death. Change comes quickly. It always does.
 
I have been thinking a lot about those crowds. The ones who shouted “Hosanna!” on Sunday and “Crucify him!” by Friday. And I wonder where I would be in that story. I am afraid I might be swept up in the crowd, carried along by fear, anger, confusion. I am afraid I might be one of the ones calling for suffering, for death, for the horrors of crucifixion.
 
Holy Week is a week of change.
Triumph to tragedy.
Palm branches to a cross.
Shouts of praise to shouts of violence.
The anger, the frustration, the manipulation by those desperate to keep their power.
Does any of this sound familiar?
 
And yet here is the good news.
 
We know how the story ends.
 
Change comes.
Love wins.
The crucified One rises again.
 
So, we keep the faith.
We hold on to hope.
We love one another, no matter what.
Love your neighbor as yourself, no matter what.
 
Love wins.
Change is gonna come.
 
Scripture for the Journey
John 16:33
“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”
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​On the Verge… Almost There!
 
We are on the verge of full-on Spring. Yes, the calendar says it’s already here, but someone forgot to tell the weather folks. We’ve had a taste of summer, only to tumble sixty degrees in a matter of hours and land right back in Winter. It seems like I am forever living on the verge.
 
I often feel like someone who is always almost moving forward. I reach that point where I’m ready to release outdated ideas and long-held beliefs, and then the old ways return. They’re familiar, even when they no longer lead me where I want to go. My heart knows it’s time to let go of what no longer serves, yet my brain clings to the comfort of the known. Why change when my little world feels safe? Maybe the world should change instead. Yes, that’s it.
 
I know I am made in the image of my Creator. I believe that deeply. And yet, there are times when I catch myself creating a Creator in my own image, one who thinks like I do and fits neatly into my comfort zone. I know that is wrong-headed, but dismantling old patterns is hard work.
 
 So here I am, in a season of reflection and release. I’m trying to stay open to shifts in behavior, thought, and habit, especially the ones shaped by that angry old man inside. It is time to welcome new opportunities and insights, to seek deeper relationships, and to renew my communion with the One who made me.
 
Scripture reminds me that this work is holy work. Isaiah offers the invitation: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing.” And Paul echoes that promise in his letter to the Corinthians: “If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come. The old has gone, the new is here.” These words feel like a gentle nudge forward, a reminder that God is already at work in the places where I hesitate.
 
I’m on the verge again. It is time to step out of this comfortable cocoon and let go. To release the control freak in me and be willing to experience it all: Love, Joy, Peace, Hope, and Faith. I’m on the verge. I simply need to take one more step.
 
Prayers welcome.

Music, Memories, and Johnny Cash
 
We enjoyed a wonderful tribute to the music of Johnny Cash at the Repertory Theatre of Saint Louis on Sunday. From his beginnings in the 1950s, Johnny wowed fans with his unmistakable sound. He was a bit of a hero to this old man in his younger days. I loved the music, the stories, and that outsider image he wore so well.
 
Rooted in rural America, country music has long served as a vessel for expressing deeply held beliefs, values, and experiences of faith and spirituality. The country music of my youth was woven from memory and meaning, not just nostalgia, but a way of honoring those who came before us, the land we love, our rituals, and the seasons of our lives.
 
As I sat in the audience listening to the lyrics of “Man in Black,” I felt a moment of reverence in the act of remembering. The words ring truer today than ever. The music felt thoughtful and grounded in the world we’re living in. “I’d love to wear a rainbow every day… but until things are better, I’m the man in black.”
 
It’s the stories that bring back a quiet remembering. A moment of gratitude as the music becomes a way of keeping what matters alive. You don’t have to be overtly religious to feel a kind of reverence in this music, a deep connection to something spiritual, a uniquely human way of touching the soul of both the artist and the listener.
 
The music brings a bit of melancholy to my memories this morning. I’m remembering those who are no longer here, the people who introduced me to Johnny Cash and so many others. Those who shaped me in ways I’m still discovering. Their influence continues to echo in the person I am today.
 
So here I sit, surrounded by music, memories, and Johnny Cash as this Monday morning in Lent moves forward. Today I remember. Today I am a little sad. And today I am grateful for those who came before me and loved me into who I am. “I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your wonders of old. I will meditate on all your works and consider all your mighty deeds.” — Psalm 77:11–12

​First Day of Spring
 
The long-awaited day has finally arrived. The season of renewal is beginning, a time of transformation, awakening, and quiet growth. As the first flowers lift their heads and the earth begins to stir, I feel energy returning to this old man’s soul. This first day of spring marks the shift from winter’s rest and restoration to the abundance and generosity of Creation.
 
Spring reminds us of the earth’s overflowing goodness. Fields swell with new life, and the air carries the sweet scent of blossoms. It is a season of plenty, a season for giving thanks. Gratitude becomes its own kind of prayer, gratitude for the gifts of Creation, for the wonder that meets us at every turn, for the beauty that unfolds whether we notice it or not. I am in constant awe of the quiet miracles happening all around me.
 
As I witness spring’s beauty unfurl, I pause, breathe deeply, and whisper a simple prayer of thanks. The world can feel so heavy right now, offering too little joy and too much noise. Spring invites us to return to what is real, the warmth of sunlight on our skin, the laughter of loved ones, the simple grace of a shared meal. Even in the chaos, beauty remains if I am willing to slow down long enough to see it.
 
And so, I hold close the promise from Lamentations that God’s mercies are new every morning. On this first day of spring, that promise feels especially true. New mercies. New beginnings. New hope rising from the ground beneath our feet.
 
Take a moment. Sit. Breathe. Give thanks.
 
Welcome to the first day of Spring
 
Thanks to the Creator who renews the earth.  May God also renew our spirit in this tender season.
May gratitude take root in us and may hope rise like new growth after rain.

Pretty in Pink
 
The hyacinths have survived the brutal chill of the past few days and now add a welcome splash of color and joy to the parterre garden. They are certainly pretty in pink. It’s amazing how much color shapes us. Our emotions, our energy, even our spirituality shift in its presence.
 
Pink, especially, evokes warmth and comfort. It carries messages of love, compassion, and healing, a gentle companion on the journey.
 
In the spiritual tapestry, pink reminds us of unconditional love, deep compassion, tender vulnerability, and emotional restoration. It symbolizes healing and balance. It invites openness, softness, and the release of what weighs us down. Standing among the flowers, I feel that invitation again. The journey continues. Life moves forward. And perhaps it is time to set down some of the burdens I have carried too long. It is time to forgive.
 
“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”
Ephesians 4:32 
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Forgiveness has a quiet but profound power to reshape our spiritual path. When we choose it, we create space for healing and renewal.
 
Letting go of past hurt lightens the heart and reconnects us to ourselves, to others, and to the Holy. Imagine releasing the weight of anger and letting the gentle energy of pink surround you like a soft shawl of grace.
 
When I finally choose forgiveness, it becomes an act of restoring my own peace. Forgiveness is my gift to myself, a way to return to balance, to remember that we belong to one another, and to allow the Spirit to move freely within us.
 
I am allowing the light of pink to guide my steps today, reminding me that healing is possible, forgiveness is within reach, and grace is already blooming at my feet.

​What a Difference a Day Makes
 
Sunday morning found the Doodle Girl and me walking in the neighborhood in shorts on a sunny, balmy 67‑degree March day. This morning, we bundled into our warmest winter coats and stepped out into a frosty 22 degrees with snowflakes drifting around us. Light snow, yes—but still snow. What a difference a day makes.
 
The lovely daffodils that stood so bright yesterday are now bowed and drooping in the cold. The wind is sharp, the wind chills no joke, and I feel every bit of it in these old knees.
 
We are certain of very few things, but change is one we can count on. I’ve been thinking about change a lot lately. In so many ways, I’m praying for it. We long for change in this war‑torn, angry, weary world. We pray for peace. We pray for stability. We pray for more love and less hate. We pray.
 
Looking at the daffodils, this morning was a sad reminder of how quickly beauty can be undone. And yet, we know they’ll return next year in their full glory.
 
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.”
— Lamentations 3:22–23
 
Change happens. We know this. This is where hope lives. This is why I continue to have faith. Love will win. I have to believe that.
 
What a difference a day makes. By the end of the week, spring will return to our little garden. The sun will shine again. We’ll break ground and plant our lettuce starts soon. The cold frame waits. Today, we walk in faith, hope, and love.
 
What a difference a day makes

Things Change
 
It has been a bit of a whirlwind around the old Carondelet Cottage this week. The tuckpointers finished the east and west walls, and they look beautiful. I cleaned up the gardens on both sides once the work was done. Then came the need for a new water heater. While the plumbers were here, I decided it was finally time to add a water spigot on the back of the house to make summer watering easier. After forty years of dragging a hose around the house, I was ready for a change. And as anyone who lives in a hundred‑year‑old home knows… things change.
 
The water lines were not up to code, so those had to be replaced. The gas lines to the water heater needed upgrading as well. Then, while drilling through the brick on the north side for the new spigot, the brick decided to come loose and fall back into the house. Yes, indeed. Things change. They couldn’t finish that part of the job until the brick was repaired. My mason was tied up with other projects, so it was back to my friendly hardware store for advice. In the end, the old gardener got the job done. The brick is secure and looks pretty good, all things considered. I call that a win.
 
And still, the changes keep coming. You know you live in Saint Louis when you turn on your air conditioner, use your fireplace to knock off the chill, turn your furnace back on, pull out the electric blanket one more time, and then realize you may have put the snow shovel away a little too soon. All in one week. Yes, indeed—things change.
 
Things change. It is the rule of life. It keeps things interesting. It keeps things frustrating. And it can also provide hope. When we look at the anarchy of the world right now, the hope of change is real. It is what we cling to.
 
We are being called to learn perseverance. As we accept the changes that are inevitable, we discover that we come out stronger on the other side. James reminds us, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance” (James 1:2–3).
 
Perseverance:  because things change.

Hope in Stormy Skies
 
The skies above the garden before the storm rolled through were something to behold. The clouds were churning, the colors shifting into shades we seldom see. It was eerie and beautiful all at once. The thunder was foretold in every swirl of the sky, yet the glory was still present. It was a reminder that even when storms are on their way, grace remains.
 
It is Spring in Saint Louis, no matter what the calendar says. The wild swings in temperature and the return of thunderstorms are proof enough. Yesterday brought 80 plus degrees, and tonight we may dip into the 30s. A wild ride indeed. My old arthritic bones are feeling every bit of the change.
 
I used to laugh when my grandparents claimed they could predict the weather with their knees and hips. Now I know they were telling the truth. And yet, even with the aches and pains, I would not trade this life. I have been given the gift of a simple life filled with love. Yes, there are aches. Yes, there are curveballs that come out of nowhere and knock us off our feet. But there is also a certain calm that comes with age.
 
The wonderful thing about getting older is that we have seen it before. Hopefully, we will see it again, though there are certainly some things I would prefer not to repeat. Still, we know that with time and work, things can and do change. That is where our hope lies. We must hold fast to hope. Hope fuels faith. Faith fuels love. And love, as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. reminded us, is stronger than hate.
 
The truth of love is real. It can change the world. It may be the only thing that can. Hatred cannot drive out hatred. We know this. Ask the old men. They have seen enough to guarantee it does not work. As Paul writes, in the end three things abide: faith, hope, and love; and the greatest of these is love. Amen to that.
 
May the changing skies teach us to breathe deeply, trust gently, and walk forward with grace.

​Starting Again
 
“Let us press on to know the Lord; His appearing is as sure as the dawn.”
Hosea 6:3
 
The sun is shining and the daffodils are in full bloom, the first bright signs of Spring showing their beauty after days of rain and clouds. It is easy to be lured into Spring Fever and want to begin the gardening season in earnest. And then I remember that this is Saint Louis, the Midwest capital of wild and unpredictable Spring swings. Cool your jets, old man. Spring has not truly arrived. She has only offered a glimpse of future glory.
 
After the cold, grey, frigid stretch of Winter, it is no wonder we ache for color again. I miss the beauty. I miss the smells. I miss the joy of harvest that comes with the turning of the season. The spring lettuce seeds are ready. We have already started reseeding the lawn in preparation for Summer. There is work to be done, but patience is the key right now. Oh, how I yearn for true Spring and fresh veggies.
 
Gardening teaches me patience more than anything else. There is so much hurry up and wait. There is the hope of planting, the faith of watering and weeding, the love poured into tender care. And yet, disappointment can still come, like last year’s hailstorm that wiped out the entire harvest of snap peas in one afternoon. The weather is unpredictable. Temperatures and rainfall are unpredictable. So, we plant in faith, continue in hope, and wait in loving patience. And when the unpredictable happens, as it always does, we start again.
 
That is the lesson of all gardens everywhere. We start again. We replant. We prepare. We work and we keep trying. In the end, the flowers will bloom. The vegetables will be harvested. The faith, hope, and love will bear fruit, even if there are bumps and bruises along the way. Kind of like life, right? We get knocked down, but we rise again. We keep moving forward in faith. Forward in hope. Forward in love. And in the end, we will harvest once more.
 
Go in quiet courage, held in the promise that nothing planted in love is ever wasted.

Under the Grey Skies
 
Keep calm and carry on.
 
“Keep calm and carry on” popped into my head this morning as we stepped out into the grey for our morning constitutional. The little Doodle girl, of course, is completely unbothered by such skies. She is happy in all weather. The grey hits me a bit differently.
 
The damp weather hits harder as I am getting older. The aches and pains of arthritis hurt a bit deeper in the damp and chill. I sometimes struggle with the constant pain. Then I remember to move. To get up and move. To carry on. I move on, carry on, and keep going. Once you stop, it is almost impossible to start once again. Once you give up, you are finished.
 
“Keep calm and carry on” lands differently when you’re living it. The stolid Brits created this slogan to help people hold onto courage in times of uncertainty. It was never meant to silence fear, but to offer calmness as a companion, a reminder to slow down, breathe in and breathe out, and let the noise settle the way raindrops settle into the soil of the garden. We need the grey skies and the rain for the tender shoots of Spring to flourish once again.
 
I think of the promise in Isaiah: “But those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” These words steady me. They remind me that strength is renewed in the waiting, in the trusting, in the simple act of taking the next small step.
 
It is our purpose to carry on. To keep doing the small, faithful, fruitful work. Today, under grey skies, we still choose kindness in a world that feels saturated with hatred. We continue to offer hope where hopelessness seems to reign. We keep the faith alive. We keep the home fires burning. We keep loving when love is hard to find.
 
I am reminded to be still. I am reminded to listen for the wee small voice. I am reminded to stay grounded. Stay hopeful. Keep loving. I am reminded, again and again, to keep calm and carry on.
 
My hope is that calm walks beside you today, and courage rises quietly with each small step.

RAINY DAYS AND MONDAYS
 
The rain has come and gone on this first Monday morning in March. I’ve always loved the old Carpenters song: “Hanging around, nothing much to do but frown. Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.” I love the song, the incredible voice of Karen Carpenter, and that beautiful arrangement. But truth be told, I love a good rainy day. And now that I’m an old, retired guy, Mondays are simply another day of the week. Sorry, Garfield.
 
The rains came renewing the earth. The soil is soaking up the heavenly moisture on this almost Spring day. It is cold and wet, but it is a different kind of cold and wet in March. There is a shift in the air, a hint of something waking up. The garden feels it too. As the Psalmist says, “When You send Your Spirit, they are created, and You renew the face of the earth.” The Spirit of the Creator is real and alive in this season. I can feel the change.
 
I need that change. I need the weather to break open into Spring. I need the sanctuary of the Garden, a place to escape the noise and anger and war raging in the world. Not to hide, but to breathe. A bit of white space for the soul. A quiet corner where my spirit can rest and gather strength again. As another Psalm reminds us, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Renewal outside and renewal inside, working together.
 
And maybe that is the gift of a rainy March Monday. The reminder that even in the cold and the gray, something new is already stirring. “His mercies are new every morning.” New mercies for the earth. New mercies for us. New mercies for the places in us that feel tired or worn thin.
 
“When You send Your Spirit, they are created, and You renew the face of the earth.” Send Your Spirit to us. Renew us. Renew me. Renew in me a spirit rooted in faith, restored in hope, and overflowing with love for others and for myself. Renew the face of the earth. We pray.
 
May this be a day of quiet mercies and small renewals, enough to carry us forward with hope.
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