Fridays With Willis

Sometimes it is OK to say, “Good Enough.” Alhough using that term is anathema in today’s culture, still there are times when “good enough” is, well, good enough. All vacations don’t have to be spectacular; a sports event does not need to be the best of the season, nor even the league. The best, the epitome, the pinnacle, need not be a constant goal, or standard. Sometimes, good enough has more staying power than exaggerated expressions of accomplishment.

Excellence, precision, and accuracy in performance or accomplishment do have their place. They should not be cheapened or managed shabbily. Yet numerous aspects of life need only benign or casual attention. As an example, your family spent the day with the grandparents. The kids played in the creek behind the barn; lunch under the old oak tree was sumptuous, and the trip home continued way past bedtime. So, you let the kids skip their bath tonight. It might be a less-than-perfect end to the day, but it is good enough.

Good enough~? Absolutely! This Puppy is Good Enough!

Many people live tightly wound lives, virtually overachiever lives — risking health, and often harming relationships. They may not think of themselves as overachievers, but their personality traits say otherwise. You may have overachiever tendencies — perfectionism and exacting standards, a relentless drive for success, difficulty with your life-work balance, fear of failure or inadequacy lurking beneath the surface, or, even more visible, you may tend to take on excessive responsibilities.

To focus on perfection or getting it right has its place in various endeavors: finance, engineering, and anywhere that facts and accuracy are essential. But in other human endeavors and relationships, precision, perfection, or persnickety people can create more problems than they solve. In such endeavors, good sense can offer the salve of “good enough.” In a little league game or a school play, good enough may mean your kid at least got to play or when playing golf with a friend, at least you enjoy the time outdoors together.

Are you too focused on getting the lawn border micro-shaped? Are the plants in the window box perfectly balanced? Do picture frames slightly skewed drive you nuts? Chill; sometimes good enough is, well, good enough. Yes, it is. Especially when your child or spouse wants or needs your attention. Balanced priorities exceed perfection. Sometimes “good enough” can improve your life.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2026

So, how’s your fasting going so far? Any better than your New Year’s Resolutions of a month ago? Shrove Tuesday (Fat Tuesday) just passed a few days ago. If you have no idea of what I’m talking about, let me help: Shrove Tuesday is the day before Ash Wednesday in the Western Christian calendar, which begins the season of Lent. In the early days of Christianity, Lent was a time of preparation for new converts. After Lent, on Easter Sunday, the new converts were baptized. Some churches still follow that practice.

Shrove Tuesday, according to Britannica, is “… the final day before the austerity of the Lenten fast, Shrove Tuesday has many customs pertaining to food—in particular, sweet foods containing eggs, sugar, and fat, which were commonly forbidden during Lent and would otherwise go to waste.”

Some churches have Pancake Dinners on Shrove Tuesday, thus following the tradition of using up eggs, sugar, and fat before Lenten fasting begins. The extreme of that practice is the Mardi Gras, as can be found in New Orleans and other cities, where carnivals and wild celebrations are rampant.

Fasting, the practice of denying the body of excesses, is a practice to focus one’s physical life toward spiritual matters, as a means of drawing closer to God (TRWV, The Revised Willis Version). Many United Methodist Churches, as well as Episcopal congregations, emphasize fasting as a Spiritual Discipline, and it is one that is encouraged during Lent.

On a whimsical note, a friend of mine grew up in Kansas. He told me of an amusing practice his community had for Shrove Tuesday to launch Lent. He said a Methodist church there held annual dinners on Groundhog Day, serving what they called “Groundhog (ground hog) Sandwiches.” The dinners included sausage biscuits, pancakes, coffee, Hot Chocolate, and other dishes.

But I digress — fasting and self-denial during Lent can be taken to unreasonable extremes. The point of a spiritual discipline is not to see how extreme one can be in a discipline, nor to make it an exhibition of one’s spiritual excellence. Such has been a problem throughout the history of humanity. Jesus noticed the practice publicly displayed. He condemned the Pharisee (who) stood and prayed about himself with these words, ‘God, I thank you that I’m not like everyone else—crooks, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. (Luke 18:11 Common English Bible).

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2026

I moved recently, and a large component of my moving included books. Grandmother Jewel Moore ignited the flame for my love for books. For every life celebration — Christmas, birthday, Easter, whatever, her gift was a book and always one of the classics, geared to my reading level. Her gifts of books are treasures I have always cherished. I could immerse myself in a book—once, my children wrapped my Christmas present while I was in the same room with them, without me realizing.

Over the years, professional reading required increasing my book collection as much as personal interests did. We often quipped that if we ran out of money for food, we could always stir-fry a book. A visitor in our home once asked if I had read all the books on my shelves? Like any book lover, I have a section of books entitled “I intend to read.” Vogue India writer Asma Siddiqui said, “The unread pile of books shouldn’t be guilt-inducing but reassuring; proof that we have access to thoughts and stories we might love.”

Books figure into who we are and our outlook on life. Psychologist Ruchi Ruuh wrote that “Bookshelves have always reflected our inner world. They show what subjects spark our curiosity and what ideas we identify with. Owning a book can be as emotionally satisfying as reading it.” Giving up a book is almost like having to give up a cherished pet on moving day. And handing over that book always had to be done as carefully as the adoption process.

But I digress. In the process of my move, I was able, thankfully, to place some valued books in a library where they were not only welcomed but also will be used joyfully. While other books, not significantly prized, I was able to offer to a local charity. Then came the final decision; what about the rest of my books? That became the hardest part. 

Some titles evoke latent memories of early projects, or foundational turning points of my intellectual or emotional development—notations in margins, and handwritten indexes in blank back pages. Such is the stuff of who I was, or my becoming. I don’t know about you, but for me, picking up a cherished book to peruse or to snuggle down to read once more is like revisiting a dear friend or a beloved vacation spot. 

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2026

No “Fridayswithwillis” until we resolve the glitch in my Microsoft subscription–the workspace for my craft. I’m hoping we resolve it right away, but for two weeks now, I’ve been locked into a loop-of-death. My Editor and I are working on this matter and you will soon be receiving regular posts…

For over two centuries, warning signs have been posted at railroad crossings; the most famous, and still in use, is the “Stop. Look. Listen.” crossbar sign. It is a good life lesson, too. The words admonish us to pay attention. Good advice. Especially now. In our current chaos.

I have a friend who does just that. She pays attention. No matter how busy she is or the busy swirl around her, when we talk, she stops. She looks. At me. She listens. To me. It is not that I am all that special. She does that for everyone when she is engaged in conversation with them.

Some years ago, at a large conference, I reconnected with a long-time friend; well as it turned out more like an acquaintance. We seemed glad to greet each other and immediately began catching up — until he saw others he knew. As we talked, he kept looking over my shoulder, still trying to continue our conversation, while waving, or nodding to passersby. He was not paying attention.

To pay attention costs. Isn’t that why it is termed “Pay” attention? It costs time and effort; you give up other shiny things for the one thing to focus on. It is not easy. Today’s culture, shaped by television-and-movie-crafteded visuals, hones us down to 15- second or fewer attention spans. This process conditions our minds to rely on rapidly changing sights and sounds.

It is not only for danger or hazards that we should stop. Look. Listen. We miss a great deal of life if we don’t pay attention to the little things. Think of the last time you stopped, sat down just to absorb the moment. Did you feel your breathing? Did you cherish its dependable lifegiving value? When did you look at living things on your lawn–butterflies flitting from one blossom to another: bees sipping nectar, taking it to their beehive? Or upon opening your front door, did you listen to the outdoors? –cicadas, the birds (yes, they are still out there and singing), the breeze in the trees? 

People may not remember what you said to them, but they will always remember who you were to them. You were present. You saw them. You paid attention to them. You listened with your heart as well as with your ears and eyes. You paid attention.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2026

I met Al Pearson when he was ten years old. As with most boys, he was a mischievous boy! He couldn’t sit still in church, so his father, Lawton Pearson, anchored him within arm’s reach on the front row. Lawton was the Sunday School Superintendent, and while he led the singing, made announcements, and did Superintendent things, he needed Al within an arm’s reach.

I visited Al Pearson a few years ago, at the heart of his beloved Pearson Farms. True to his ancestors’ customs, he cherishes the peach business and its prominent place in the culture of Peach and Crawford Counties, GA.

Al took me to the old Hebron Church, which is now a part of Pearson Farms. Decades ago, the church closed due to dramatic population loss. After two or three iterations of various uses, Al Pearson decided to restore the old Hebron Church. Planned usages include employee education, weddings, community events, and business meetings.

Although Al Pearson has seen Georgia lose its premier place as leading peach producer (Georgia is now #3, behind South Carolina and California). Yet, Georgia still holds the title, “The Peach State,” which is something of an empty title. Nevertheless, Pearson Farms maintains vigilant efforts in keeping up with climate change as well as market demands.

Keeping peach production on track and profitable is an endless battle. There are some unpredictable components that directly impact production and profit; among them are weather and market demands. Modern meteorology can help in predicting weather conditions but

cannot control them. Hopefully, the recent January cold weather will benefit Georgia peach growers — most varieties of peaches grown in Georgia need 500 to 800 chill hours (that is, temperatures below 45 degrees).

Nevertheless, just as new life was found for the old Hebron Methodist Church building, as the world changed around it, so has peach production. Producers discover new varieties and recipes, further expanding the market. Georgia leads the way in exploring varieties that are more favorable to climate change. Survival depends upon it.

I find it encouraging that Georgia farmers seek and follow good research for traditional crops, like peaches. Times and circumstances change; Ecclesiastes 3:1 says it best: There’s a season for everything and a time for every matter under the heavens.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2026

Canaries provided early warnings of dangerous carbon monoxide in coal mines for centuries. Carbon monoxide is odorless and, therefore, a silent killer. Coalminers learned to take canaries into the mine with them. If the canary died, it signaled the presence of deadly gas. A canary in a coal mine was standard safety procedure until 1981. According to The Smithsonian magazine, Britain (In December 1986) officially outlawed the use of canaries in the coal mine and ruled in favor of “electronic noses,” gas detectors with digital readings. 

The term “canary in the coal mine,” became a common metaphor for an early warning sign of impending danger. So today’s “canary in the coal mine” warns of current and expansive muting of the press, threatening our society as we know it. Today’s news organizations are often hobbled by partisan censorship — distorting reality and infecting societal comity. I can’t say with certainty, but I am convinced that some strong, independent news sources are our “canaries in the coal mine.”

These independent news sources struggle to balance strong, accurate news gathering and the dissemination of news on tight budgets. They send journalists into the depths of events and developments that have impactful results and implications. Print newspapers are falling like pecans in Albany, GA, in the Fall, and with their decline, accurate and in-depth reporting goes with them. 

What is going on with affordable housing in our town? What truly is happening in transportation issues around us? Who or what is happening to and within our Education system? How are we ensuring our election system is available to every citizen?

Investigative journalists with independent news media dig deeply beneath the hype and sensationalism. They discover the basics of an issue, digging into its background and matters that influenced it. I remember when a Georgia governor railed against “Those lyin’ Atlanta newspapers” for exposing local corruption, exposing some questionable actions.

Free Press is a standard for the health of democracy. Democracy is not a political party; democracy is a government where all citizens choose their leaders by voting. It is not government by conglomerate corporations, run by their super-wealthy. Democracy is not government run by over-funded political action committees.

Some people contend that certain citizens should not vote because they are less-educated, speak differently, or are deemed ignorant. The free press is a valuable, legitimate vehicle for informing our residents. The free press provides fair, unbiased information, as contrasted to packaged, constructed commentary, so commonly heard over the past year.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2026

I once had a secretary who grew up in Buffalo, NY. She told me horror stories of enormous snowfalls, usually caused by “lake effect” winds. Being from South Georgia, I cannot conceive of living under snowfalls that rise above roof gutters so you cannot open your door. I do know, having visited up North, many homes there have vestibules. These small anterooms serve as something of a decompression chamber against the brutal weather outside and the warmth inside the house. Vestibules are a welcome home feature for those living in such harsh weather.

I had not been living in Atlanta very long when the area suffered “Snomegeddon.” Interstate ramps and lanes were jammed with jackknifed tractor-trailers; vehicles of every kind were found twisted, ditched, sideswiped, and otherwise stranded. The entire Metro region was almost completely gridlocked. Various news readers and reporters–I hesitate to call them journalists–scoffed at us Southerners who didn’t know how to drive in snowy weather. (I resist gloating over how our friends up North have been managing recent blizzards.) How would a cut of a news story of their snow event work here?

Even though brutally wintry weather makes life difficult, it is possible to live under such conditions and find fun and joyful activities. State transportation operations are becoming better at anticipating and acting on snow and severe weather events. Cities and towns provide ice skating facilities; ice hockey is popular, and abundance snow falls provide opportunities for beloved recreation activities.

Safety conditions for winter fun the world over continue to be improved, as modern technology and improved training develop. When my grandchildren were young, our families went to a ski resort in Colorado. It was my very first experience at a ski resort. I was impressed by the care and attention to safety that the staff gave to our grandchildren. They had a barrel of fun, and nothing in their snow experience troubled them.

The Scout Troop I worked with several years ago went to Rabun County, GA (yes, that is Georgia), for a fun day of Snow Tubing. Large numbers of children and young people were enjoyed riding the lift and snow tubing downhill. By the time the day ended, they were exhausted but thrilled by the experience.

Critics of other places must take note of the old maxim: “There is enough of the bad in (where we live) and enough good in (other places) that it behooves none of us to be critical of others.”

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2026

As happens from time to time, this morning, as I was getting my day started with my usual quiet time, the print seemed blurred. My eyes, still adjusting to the morning light, took a while to clear up. By now, of course, the text has taken on its usual revelation. Not only do printed words, but also circumstances and landscapes, take on unusual appearances.

Recently, an online friend wrote, “Things are not always as they appear“. He wrote of several things that are not what they appear to be, such as a cinematic gimmick — manipulating instant mashed potatoes so they appear to be falling snow.

A few years ago, I was in Atlanta for a three-day conference; I stayed at the apartment of Melanie, my daughter. I planned to take her out for dinner after the conference ended; we planned to meet at a Mall when she got off from work. The conference ended early, so I spent the rest of the day in the Mall Food Court. I had brought a book to read. Some gossipy women sat nearby. At the appointed time, my daughter, looking fabulous as always, walked up. I got up, hugged her, and said, “Wouldn’t you know! The conference ended this morning. If I had not left my clothes in your apartment, I would have called you to cancel our dinner, and I could have gotten home by bedtime.”

Over Melanie’s shoulder, I saw eyebrows raise on those gossipy women. Melanie and I turned and left for dinner. When we were out of hearing distance of those women, I said to Melanie, “Wow! Those women thought they heard of a juicy tryst brewing!” We laughed all the way to dinner. Things are not always as they appear.

Now, we are in a new year. Christmas is over, and Santa Claus is packed away until next year. Reality is facing us. Faith and Fantasy are not dual. Fantasy is illusory. Magic tricks are illusory. They deceive the eye, causing belief in imagined structures or motions. Faith is trust built upon a relationship. You have faith in your bank — a trust relationship. You trust in God — from trusted relationships. These relationships have been built by our fathers and mothers of the Faith, over centuries. The crucible of their experience yields a trustworthy pathway. 

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2026

By the time you read this, the official New Year’s Celebration will be over. In a few days, you will settle into living out 2026. Despite the tired bodies, crumpled gift wrappings, and food dishes stashed, joy remains. Even when tacit moments sing, happy memories of festive occasions may now seem distant. Even if grief hangs heavy like a cold, clingy covering, part of that grief holds residual recalled moments when joy bubbled, adding to our mirth from memories of long ago.

The favored New Year’s anthem, “Auld Lang Syne,” is a Scottish folk song by Robert Burns. Far be it from me to attempt hermeneutics on Brother Burns. But suffice it to say that it calls forth friendships formed close enough to linger long in memory and distance. I do not know if there is any relationship between the January desire to hold onto friendships that only memories hold, and the February emphasis on New Love — a la Cupid! One could stretch the thread of this argument into the newness found in Springtime soon to come.

While chasing the “new” should not always dominate one’s path, “new” can have its advantages. New-fallen snow can help cover the landscape’s or streetscape’s ugliness. New rainfall can not only wash away dross but bring refreshing nourishment to plants and other living things. New relationships, new ventures, and new opportunities can bring refreshing diversity to the life of a person or community.

As I write this, I must confess that I am also sending a message to myself. I have not always been one who embraced change enthusiastically. I first noticed this when I entered high school. I transitioned from eighth- grade Deepstep Elementary School (14 students) to attend the ninth grade at high school with sixty-nine students in town. I resisted — almost didn’t get on the bus. I fearfully adapted to “changing classes” in my new high school.

Ever since then, I have faced newness of change; sometimes in fear and trembling, and sometimes like an excited child rushing to the Christmas tree with expectations growing that “the authentic Lionel train” set that spews fake smoke would be there! Through most occasions, I have grown; sometimes intellectually, and sometimes in bravery.

Sometimes I grew despite my reluctance, like a Pine nut, struggling to break through a granite crevice on Stone Mountain’s windy slope. In virtually every challenge, I can look back and say, “Wow! What a ride!”

©Copyright 2026 Willis H. Moore