​IT’S GOOD TO BE OLD
 
One of the many gifts of retired life is rediscovering old hobbies. On a cloudy or rainy day, one of our favorite things to do is wander through an antique shop. We stroll past the “antiques” and laugh because we remember using half of them, the cookware, the furniture, the gadgets that once felt so modern. We think of our grandparents and parents. We think of the ones no longer with us. And we smile.
 
I like old things. I really do. And I like being old. I know that’s not fashionable these days. I’ve heard plenty of folks insist that calling someone old is ageist. Well, I’m old. I like being old. As Mark Twain would say, “It sure beats the alternative.”
 
This season of life is rich and full, busy in the best possible way. I have the time and energy to help others. To tend my garden. To be present for my family and my wonderful chosen family. I finally have the gift of time to give, something I never had when I was working 80 hour weeks.
 
It’s good to be old. I truly believe age is not something to pity or apologize for. And it certainly isn’t something to fear. We older folks have the power to make this stage of life vibrant, fun, and bright. We must, otherwise we waste a full quarter of our lives or more.
 
I think about the Psalm: “O taste and see that our God is sweet.” This is the time of sweetness. The time when the days feel slower, deeper, more generous.
 
It’s good to be old. It feels like stepping into the quiet, green heart of Ordinary Time, where the ancient blessings still breathe.
 
May the sweetness of these days linger.

UNEXPECTED KINDNESS
 
Too often lately I’ve found myself becoming a bit jaded. A bit suspicious of everything.
Is this a scam.
Who’s calling me now.
Is this email or text even real.
 
Every article seems to warn the elderly (of which I am one) to beware. If it sounds too good to be true… it is. Hang up. Don’t click. Be suspicious of everything.
 
And then the unexpected happens.
 
The unexpected kindness of strangers. The unexpected kindness of unknown followers of Dr. B’s blog, @carondeletkitchen. Unexpected kindness still happens; we have proof.
 
We were coming home from a play date with our beautiful niece and great‑niece and decided to stop by the supermarket for a few items to finish a meal we were planning for the week. We gathered what we needed and found ourselves in line with the funniest checker, kind and smart and able to talk to a wall. We were actually having fun at the grocery store.
 
A few young men got in line behind us, and before we knew it, all of us were laughing and having a hoot. The groceries were totaled, and as we reached for our wallet, the young man behind us said, “NOPE! That’s on me!”
 
Flabbergasted, we kept insisting no, but he was so kind. So insistent. He offered us a sweet blessing and sent us on our way.
 
Unexpected kindness.
 
And it doesn’t stop there.
 
Dr. B has been writing her blog for five years now, and it was recently nominated for a 2026 A‑List Award from St. Louis Magazine. So many of her followers have reached out with kindness and support. We have been overwhelmed.
 
Unexpected kindness.
 
As I prayed and reflected on the week, one word rose to the surface: Grace.
Grace is love unearned. Love undeserved. Yet love given anyway.
 
Scripture says it simply and beautifully:
 
“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”
Ephesians 4:32
 
Grace.
Unexpected kindness.
Abundant love.
 
May grace go before you, kindness follow behind you, and love walk gently at your side.
​

​LETTING GO
 
I’ve long loved a line from E.M. Forster: “We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
 
Lately I’ve been around young folks, all energy and ambition, working hard on their careers, chasing the next promotion, trying to move forward, move up, move on. The gifts of youth. The fire of youth.
 
I’m no longer young. Not even close. And honestly, I’m fine with that. One of the quiet necessities, maybe even the hidden gifts, of aging is becoming comfortable with who we are rather than mourning who we are not. I’ve grown rather fond of the weird old man I’ve become.
 
I’m also comfortable with the word old. Somewhere along the way it became an insult, but I don’t hear it that way. One of the blessings of getting older is realizing that what makes us valuable is the depth of our spirit, the quality of what we say and think, the way we show up in the world. It’s no longer about speed or busyness. I’m grateful for the chance to move slowly now, forward yes, but with less urgency and more intention.
 
I am an old man. I’ve let go of the things I can no longer do, many of which, if I’m honest, I never enjoyed all that much anyway. And I’ve learned that aging itself isn’t the hard part. The hard part is the fear of aging. The fear is what plagues us.
 
But here’s the truth: life doesn’t end until it ends. And when it does, we won’t be in charge of anything anyway. So why let fear run the show now? Let go of the fear. Let go of the script. Let go of the life you thought you were supposed to have.
 
Here’s to growing older without apology,
to moving slower on purpose,
and to noticing the good that was here all along.
a quiet life | deeply noticed

​WE DO WHAT IS POSSIBLE
 
I’ve been thinking, and praying, and struggling with the same question over and over: What can I do right now? What contribution can I make to help change the way things are? And do I even know what “better” looks like anymore?
 
This country that I love, this state and this city where I have lived my entire life, feels so broken. So many people are angry. Hurt. Exhausted. The world is at war. Despair seems to be the word of the day most days.
 
What do I do? What can I do?
 
I do what is possible.
What is simple, sacred, and ordinary.
I do the things that I can do.
 
I can grow vegetables and fruit and share them with my neighbors. I can give money to organizations feeding the hungry and clothing the naked. I can be kind and generous. Tenderhearted. Forgiving. (I’m trying to be tenderhearted and forgiving… I truly am.) I can do what is possible, what is possible for this old man in south Saint Louis.
 
We do what is possible because that is what is available to us right now. We can stop and smell the flowers. Pause and listen. Pray for peace. Live with joy. Yes, it is still possible to have joy.
 
I feel it every time the little guy down the street comes driving by in his tiny electric car, or when his moms pull him along in that little red wagon. The giggles and smiles are full of joy.
 
We do what is possible.
It is possible to still find love.
It is possible to still find hope.
To still find faith.
To still experience joy.
 
That is what we do.
We do what is possible.
 
May the small, possible things we offer become like little lanterns, lighting the path home.

​SIGNS OF HOPE
 
Just when I think my hope is dying.
Just when I think my faith has totally run dry.
Just when I’m at my lowest and struggling my hardest… that’s when I see a small, simple sign of hope.
 
It was a beautiful morning in May. That alone should give me hope. And the Doodle girl and I were doing her morning constitutional around the neighborhood. She was checking in on friends and neighbors and doing her Doodle do when I noticed something new.
 
A food bank box.
Take something. Leave something.
Take freely. Give freely.
It says so right on the post.
 
A small sign of hope when you need it most. A reminder that there is still so much goodness and kindness in this world. In this City. In this neighborhood.
Goodness. Kindness. Hope.
 
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
(Romans 15:13)
 
Abound in hope.
 
“Let love be genuine; hate what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal; be ardent in spirit; serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope; be patient in affliction; persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; pursue hospitality to strangers.”
(Romans 12:9–13)
 
Let love be genuine.
Hate what is evil.
Hold fast to what is good.
Love one another.
Rejoice in hope.
Be patient in affliction.
Persevere in prayer.
Abound in hope.
 
What more is there.
What more do we need?
Love one another.
Abound in hope.

May hope meet you in small places,
may kindness find you before you ask,
and may love — simple, ordinary, steady --
be the light that carries you home.

STRUGGLING WITH CHRISTIANITY
 
I’m struggling. Like so many of us, I’m wrestling with the hurtful, angry, and hateful things being said and done in the name of Christianity. I’m struggling with a world that tells me I must follow a false prophet in order to be a “true” Christian. And so, I’ve stopped calling myself one.
 
I am a follower of The Way.
A believer in Jesus the Messiah.
A lover of God’s creation.
But I cannot call myself a Christian.
 
The word Christian means Christ‑like, and goodness knows that does not describe this old man. I pray. I believe. I have faith — most days. I love as best as I can. I hope, though that’s a daily battle. I try to love my neighbors, all of them. I really do try. But I struggle. I’m trying not to be a judge… or a drudge, for that matter.
 
I just can’t use the word anymore. It feels like it’s been co‑opted by a loud, angry crowd who worship a God shaped in their own image. I don’t want a God shaped in my image. My goodness, that would be terrible. Nobody needs that in their life.
 
So I choose something simpler:
to follow my heart,
to follow my faith,
to live this one day as it comes.
 
Not yesterday.
Not tomorrow.
Just today — this small, simple, ordinary time.
 
This is my struggle. I know I’m not alone. I’m not even sure I’m right. I’m simply trying to live according to the good news, the words of Jesus in the Gospels: Love the Lord with all your heart, your mind, your spirit… and your neighbor as yourself. That’s my struggle too.
 
I’m struggling. I’m praying. I’m trying to love everyone. And I’m struggling because some of the people who make my heart ache are also people I know. People who do real good in the world. People who give generously, who stock food banks, who show up for their communities. I love these people even when I cringe at their words.
 
Good people sometimes do bad things.
I know this because I’m one of them.
 
And maybe grace begins here… in the quiet place where we admit we’re all still learning how to love.

​A WEIRD OLD MAN
 
I was reading an article in the @nytimes about “The Gift of Getting Weirder with Age.” It was thoughtful and beautifully written, as expected. I agreed with most of it, though I had to smile at the idea of getting weirder with age. I’m not sure I have much room left for that.
 
I’ve always lived a little off to the side of the main path. Not as a rebel, just as someone who wandered where curiosity tugged. I was the band kid with a reading list that made librarians tilt their heads. Even now, when Amazon tries to recommend books to our shared account, the poor algorithm looks like it needs a nap. Confusing it is one of my small joys.
 
I’ve always marched to the rhythm of my own small percussion section. At this point, changing would require more energy than I possess. I am who I am, shaped by grace and time and a thousand quiet moments. That old saying, “God don’t make no junk,” still feels true in my bones. I hope all of us who feel a bit different can remind the world that being different is not a flaw. We offer color, texture, and unexpected beauty. Without the odd ones, the rainbow would be beige.
 
As I prayed and thought about this whole idea of getting weirder with age, I found myself imagining Jesus during His ministry. Talk about someone who must have seemed strange. Did you run out of wine at your wedding? “Hey, Jesus!” He loved a good party. He welcomed the wrong people. He told stories that unsettled the comfortable. He was not the Messiah the establishment expected. He was the holy troublemaker who kept messing with the tidy order of things.
 
Maybe the world needs that kind of strangeness again. Maybe the time is ripe for people who see differently, love differently, hope differently. We might not fix everything, but we could bring beauty, music, and a few good belly laughs back into the room. At the very least, the soundtrack would be better and the decorations more interesting.
 
Weirdos? Yes. The world could use more of us. And I could use the laughter.

The Mystery of Pruning
 
Gardening is about adapting. Gardening is about changing things when needed. Sometimes a plant needs to be moved. Some plants need to be cut back to the ground in order to flourish. It can be painful to do because the plant looks, well, sad. And to be honest, it can be difficult for this old man to do the necessary pruning. But in the end, the plant gets better. Not simply the same, but bigger, stronger, and more bountiful than ever.
 
“He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit, he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” (John 15:2)
 
The Creator of all things does for us what we do for our gardens. Pruning is difficult. Pruning sometimes hurts. Pruning is scary. Pruning is waiting for the healing. Pruning is doing the work of recovery. Pruning is becoming even more fruitful.
 
Not simply the same, better.
 
When we know it is time for some pruning, it may come as a surgery we hoped to avoid, or bad news that arrives out of nowhere. A sudden death of a loved one. Unexpected. Scary. Difficult. The pruning begins. It hurts. We suffer. Then, sometimes slowly, the healing begins. The work of recovery starts. We begin to heal. We begin to be fruitful once again. Not simply the same, but better. Stronger.
 
May you be tended by grace in every season of your becoming.

​May the Holy Gardener
stand close beside you today,
steadying your heart
as the cutting-back begins.
 
May the quiet wisdom of the garden
teach you to trust
what you cannot yet see.
 
May new strength rise in you
like green shoots after rain,
and may you find yourself, in time,
not simply the same,
but better.

​LOVE THY NEIGHBOR
 
The little Doodle Girl and I walk our neighborhood just about every day, usually several times a day. She is a very active presence in our community. I always carry my phone with me for several reasons, but mostly because I am taking pictures of interesting things along the way. One of the many churches we pass regularly had a new sign up the other day: “Love thy neighbor. No exceptions.”
 
Unfortunately, my first thought was “how brave.”
My second thought was “how true.”
I wish my first thought had been the truth of it, full stop. But I am an old man with a lot of baggage, and the world we are living in has such anger toward so many of God’s people for reasons that make little to no sense.
 
We were given ten commandments to live by. Simple, straightforward rules that make sense. Even those ten were distilled down to two: love the Lord with all your heart and love your neighbor. No wiggle room. No buts or ifs or qualifiers. Love your neighbor. No exceptions.
 
I stood there taking the picture and let it all sink in. I have been thinking and praying about it a lot lately. Imagine a world where we loved our neighbors without exception. Imagine how different our news feeds would sound. Top stories of people helping each other instead of harming each other. Of course there are countless stories of kindness, but they get drowned out by the noise of hatred, anger, war, genocide. The list goes on.
 
Here is the part that hurts. So much of the anger, war, hatred and genocide are done in God’s name. The very God who told us to love our neighbor. No exceptions. There used to be a bumper sticker that said, “When God said love thy neighbor, I think He meant do not kill them.” I think God meant exactly that. Do not kill them. Love them. Feed them. Clothe them. Help them. Love your neighbor. No exceptions.
 
Imagine.

​May the God who calls us to love without exception
soften what has grown hard in us
and steady what trembles with fear or weariness.
 
May the Spirit widen our seeing
so that every face becomes a neighbor
and every neighbor becomes a reminder
that we belong to one another.
 
And may Christ, who loved us first,
teach our hearts again and again
the simple, difficult, beautiful way.
 
Go in peace to love your neighbor.
No exceptions.

BITTERSWEET
 
The end of April is a bittersweet season for this old gardener. We celebrate the birthday of our beloved goddaughter, and we remember my mom’s heavenly birthday. She would have been 90 this year. It is hard to believe she has been gone for 21 years. Yesterday also marked the anniversary of my father in law’s passing, eleven years now. In just a few days we have attended funerals and birthday celebrations. We have received wonderful news and some frightening news. April holds all of it at once.
 
Life is that way. Good things happen. Hard things happen. And we do our best to carry it all.
 
A couple of days ago, on our way to a doctor’s appointment, we were doing our morning readings as we usually do. The passage was from Matthew: “Come to me, all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” 
I will give you rest. Lay your burdens down. I will give you rest.
The words were exactly what we needed.
 
Life is bittersweet, the good and the hard mixed together, but we are reminded that there is One who is gentle and humble, One who offers rest for our souls when we need it most. We are not alone. We do not have to walk through the darkness by ourselves. We have Someone to lean on, Someone who helps carry us when the weight becomes too much.
 
The Good Shepherd is there.
Listen for the voice.
 
I am trying to quiet myself enough to hear it, that steady whisper saying, “I am here. Come and find rest for your soul.”
 
May the soil beneath your feet
steady your spirit today.
 
May the first green shoots of hope
find their way through whatever feels heavy.
 
May the Gardener of all things
tend the hidden places of your heart
with gentleness and light.
 
And may rest come to you
like soft rain on thirsty ground
leaving your soul renewed
and your path made clear.