Author: willishmoore (Page 5 of 24)

Under the spread of White Oak trees at the edge of a swamp, we found gray mounds of earthworm castings. Just what we were looking for. John Will Voss, my cousin, and I planned to go fishing in Deepstep Creek. But we needed earthworms, and there was not a fish-bait shop within miles. Each of us had what was left of a hoe handle, so we were well armed to get fish-bait on our own, by worm-grunting. This adventure was new for me. I usually found earthworms in moist places near flower beds and the water well. John Will assured me that we would find eonough by “Worm Grunting”. I was wary, but his adventures around Deepstep were always interesting and fun. So I was all in for it.

I followed intently what John Will did: he located one of the little gray mounds, and stuck the broken hoe handle into the mound. I did that too. The earth was soft, grassy, and moist. As he pressed the handle into the dirt, he wobbled it as it sank into the ground. Somewhere about twelve inches into the dirt, as he kept wobbling it there appeared an earthworm, crawling onto the grass about a foot and a half away. John Will kept wobbling the handle—but more vigorously. As I did the same thing, I too, found earthworms crawling out of the ground. As we moved from mound to mound, “Grunting” the earthworms out of the ground, we got enough for this day, We gathered up our bait buckets and headed off to the edge of the millpond to catch what we really wanted for the day—Red-Breast Bream.

I often think of that day and is produce—which was abundant; not just the earthworms for fishing; especially other benefits of the day. The growing friendship with John Will, learning a fascinating way to collect fish bait, the joy of the outside, and the abundance of God’s creation—these and more, enriched, and continue to bless my life. There are times in life, brief though they may be, that open galaxies of opportunities and memories, enriching our lives. John Will’s family moved away and I never saw him again. But the memory of our treks in and around Deepstep Creek and millpond linger. They continue to enrich my life.

I hope that you, dear reader, have an abundant cache of memories that enrich your life and personal relationships. If you grow really close to someone, you develop a binding trust. I think of numbers of times when I was uneasy or fearful about a venture and remember when John Will’s friendship and support bore me up on eagles’ wings, and made success possible. Who would have ever though “Worm Grunting ” would do that?!.

Jesus found such a relationship in Simon Peter. Yes, I know. We think of that Apostle as the one who denied Jesus—not once, not twice, but three times. And yet, early on Jesus had seen in this man a solid rock. And said so. Well, we all are human beings. We make mistakes. We fail. Often. But it is that at the heart we can, and do embody the Holy. Just as Jesus lifted Peter out of the stormy sea, He will lift you out of your sinking despair.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2024

Just a reminder, the Honey Bee is the official Insect of the State of Georgia. This designation was given in 1975. I remember my dad had several Honey Bee hives on the farm when I was a young boy. Those pure white bee domiciles were lined on the edge of a field in an abandoned roadway. It was as if the colony had its own avenue.

According to the US Department of Agriculture is the A. mellifera, the most common domesticated Honey Bee. Sometimes called the Eastern Honey Bee, it finds a cozy home among us. The Honey Bee is one of the most proliferate pollinators, making giving them great status among farmers, gardeners and, well, honey-lovers. When they feel threatened, in an act of defense a bee stings. If the threat increases other Worker Bees join in the fray. When a Worker Bee stings, its stinger embeds into the flesh, continuing to deposit venom, while the stinger breaks off—and the bee dies.

A bunch of years ago, i owned a hive of bees—for about two hours. I was visiting a friend as he was disposing the household of our mutual buddy, who had deceased. He said, “I just don’t know what to do about Jim’s Honey Bees! I don’t know anyone to give them to.” Faded childhood memories flashed in from the Honey Bees of my childhood, I said—without giving it any thought—I’ll take them. When I got home I told Paige I was now the proud owner of a hive of Honey Bees. She looked at me with that “Paige look,” and said, “You know what bee stings do to me, don’t you?!” —which ended my bee keeping career.

Honey Bees and honey were here before human beings. According to The Honey Association–-Exactly how long honey has been in existence is hard to say because it has been around since as far back as we can record. Cave paintings in Spain from 7000 BC show the earliest records of beekeeping, however, fossils of honey bees date back about 150 million years! Honey and Honey Bee references populate our songs, stories, folklore, and lessons. In 1957, Jimmie Rodgers had a hit with a witty Country & Western song, weaving in the creation of the world, Honey Bees, and a girl he called called Honeycomb.

There are more than five dozen mentions of honey in the Bible. That is enough to verify the longevity of honey. Many of these references to honey have to do with the Promised Land described as “…flowing with milk and honey…” Merriam-Webster says it means a place where there is plenty of food and money and life is very easy. Many immigrants thought that America was a land of milk and honey. Some of the other biblical references have to do with food, or gifts; The Psalmist raises the judgments of God above the sweetness of the honeycomb; almost all of the references indicate joie de vivre—that’s my choice. Thank God—and the Honey Bees for Honey.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2024

Everyone can sing. Some better than others. Some of the best singing lives only in the the singer’s own mind. And that is OK. Music is often thought of as “the universal language.” Mothers sing to their babies, not worrying if they are being judged, or can carry a tune. It is, after all, singing. When the Lord delivered the Children of Israel from the chariots and warriors of The Pharaoh, Miriam, the sister of Moses and Aaron, launched into a victory song! Paul and his missionary partner, Silas, sang in prison—at midnight. There is no silencing of singing!

In the early 1970’s the United States (and much of the world) was embroiled in intense conflict—internal and external. Discouragement lay on too many of us like a suffocating hot blanket. Out of the UK, Canada, and ultimately the United States arose an endearing song—- “I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing in Perfect Harmony.” The song exploded in popularity. For the decade of the 70’s, its catchy melody and calming lyrics resonated within the very hearts of millions.

You may recall, the song was an oasis in the midst of a desert of angst during the Vietnam War. Sometimes singing is simply so inviting that everyone within earshot joyfully joins in. I think of Paul McCartney‘s song Hey Jude (there’s some intro first)—it is a song, not unlike some of the early Gospel songs—without written verses—where everyone joins in—they learn the words as they are repeated over and over—becoming one voice.

On a related matter, The National Institutes of Health reports that  Contact with the mother’s voice, both prenatally and after birth, is also extremely important for creating an emotional bond between the infant and the mother. I once read of a baby whose mother daily sang to it during prenatal times. Soon after birth the baby became desperately ill. Doctors feared the worst. At some point, the mother began her ritual of singing. As she kept it up the baby began to recover, and thrived.

John Wesley, the father of the Methodist Movement over 500 years ago, was a great enthusiast of singing—as was his brother Charles, who wrote hundreds of hymns–over 150 of which are in the United Methodist Hymnal. In the front of that hymnal, are “Directions for Singing” (there are seven) directions from John Wesley. In No. IV he says, Sing lustily, with good courage. Apparently, over the years, Methodists did just that, and became known as “Singing Methogists.”

Methodists have developed a legacy of singing; Garrison Keillor, of the late Prairie Home Companion, once said,  I do believe this: People, these Methodists, who love to sing in four-part harmony are the sort of people you can call up when you’re in deep trouble. The Bible has untold references to singing—some specifically using the word “singing,” most others refer to the presence of joyful noise or rejoicing. One reference I particularly like is from the Psalmist Come before His presence with singing. For me it says “God loves singing”—it is yet one more time when I feel God’s presence.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2024

I am sorry to learn that Nest Camera #1 is offline at Berry College (temporarily–I hope) ; they are having some technical problems. Apparently Nest Cam#2 is still in service. In 2012, a pair of Bald Eagles set up housekeeping—in a manner of speaking—-atop a tall pine tree on the campus of Berry College, Rome, GA. These Bald Eagles have kept up housekeeping there ever since. It did not take long for college officials to set up the “Nest Cam” and follow the Eagle family. This year, GA Power Co donated the use of a truck and staffed it to set Nest Cam #2, providing additional viewing opportunities. The link below offers a plethora of information on the Eagle Nest Cam.

https://www.berry.edu/eaglecam/nestcam

Since 1978, the Bald Eagle has been listed under  the Endangered Species Act. After nearly 50 years being proceted, the come-back of Eagles is welcomed news. Bald Eagles are in so many ways—environmental necessities, not to mention their icon status as the US national symbol. Their mesmerizing splendor entices onlookers. The Bald Eagle is a noble raptor. As I considered the value of Eagles, I pondered the word raptor; raptors include eagles, hawks and yes, buzzards. I think I have made my peace with the fact that Bald Eagles are in that dyspeptic cadre of birds. But, as we say, you can choose your friends, but you cannot choose your family.

In essence, we recognize the Bald Eagle is a raptor; The word “raptor” means “to seize or grasp” in Latin. Raptors use their powerful, sharp talons to capture their prey and to defend themselves. Several bird species are considered raptors. Eagles, hawks, kites, falcons, and owls are all considered birds of prey. According to Merriam-Webster; a carnivorous medium- to large-sized bird (such as a hawk, eagle, owl, or vulture) that has a hooked beak and large sharp talons and that feeds wholly or chiefly on meat taken by hunting or on carrion.

There are more than three dozen references in the Bible related to Eagles–most of which speak of their strength, elegance, and admirable qualities. One of my favorite passages is the one related to family. It tells how the eagle sets its young on their path to adulthood, and helps them on their way. I notice that the Eagle avoids setting itself up to have “Boomerang Children.” They are launched, taught to fly, and there is no turning back. Jesus also mentioned that looking back is not worthy of the Kingdom of God. We live in the moment, making the future possible. Our hope lies in God’s compassion, which is new every morning.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2024

Looking out front as I write this, our daffodil bulbs are beginning to reveal their tender green sprouts. I marvel that those brown buried bulbs of last year emerge from their deep, cold bed splashing their cheerful color. A Daffodil is a thing of beauty. About this time of year—winter slinks away it clears the way for Spring; dainty green daffodil spikes emerge from the cold earth. As they blossom into a blaze of beauty, their yellow blossoms virtually sing of bright days ahead.

Springtime is welcomed by a spectacular palette of color. This beautiful plant is revered by many; it holds the secure position of being the national flower of Wales. In many other countries the daffodil presides as a symbol for cancer charities. It is ironic that the beauty of a daffodil conceals its sinister secret; a daffodil is poisonous to some animals. But before pet owners exile the daffodil, choose a bed that your pet is unlikely to visit. Anyway, it’s not that the daffodil is a predator lurking to get your pet. Set your mind to enjoy the beauty.

Flower gardens of all sizes, sprinkled throughout the neighborhood bring not only fresh views, but also invite visitors; Honey Bees, Butterflies, humming birds, and in some cases ideal locations for bird nests. Good gardeners, I am told, choose their flowers almost scientificly; which flowers flourish in this location, which ones are not compatible with which, or are likely predator or foster plants. In the process I also discovered that the Daffodil is from the Narcissus family. If you really want to have a mental workout, try learning the names of the whole family.

I am a remarkably poor gardener. Therefore any , advice, guidance, or other suggestions I offer are from family, friends, or search I must do to be legitimate. Southern Living says Daffodils are easy to grow. After preparing the soil well, they pretty much take care of themselves; sunlight, rain, and seasons serve them well. I guess that is another reason they appeal to me, given my history as a horticulturalist.

When the first Daffodils display their golden smiles, it just must liven the heart of anyone who sees it. The disciples of Jesus were having a hard time understanding what Jesus was teaching. Then he made it simple (again!) for them; do not worry. The Daffodils do not make their own clothes! Look how God cares for them! (RWV Revised Willis Version). Actually, I really like the J. B. Phillips translation translating as “…the wildflowers…” Somehow, in my mind’s eye, I see Jesus romping among wildflowers with little children, carrying one on his back. How joyful Jesus is, despite the acidic attitudes of the Religious Elite. So, as Jesus did, rejoice, and enjoy this lovely world in which God surrounds—and gave us! Happy Springtime! The View is free!

Weight loss has been in the news a lot lately. It is the annual “Start-over-turn-over-a-new-leaf” habit folks get into each New Year. Warped use of medical concoctions–both prescriptions and flaunted fake ones—feed this craze; fasting is often mentioned as a way to lose weight For a long time fasting has been used by human beings—for myriad uses in many variations.

But, I am making a left turn here: Encyclopedia Britannica defines fasting; abstinence from food or drink or both for health, ritualistic, religious, or ethical purposes. John Wesley, the father of Methodism, practiced fasting faithfully, from sundown on Thursday to sundown on Friday. A fairly familiar time of fasting in the religious realm is during Lent, which begins on Ash Wednesday—like Easter, the date varies according to the Moon—this year it is next Wednesday—February 14,

During Lent Fasting will be observed by many of the faithful— the world over—and in many forms. It will go from foregoing a practice, or habit (or favorite food); or giving up all food but water—yet there is also a form of fasting called “Water Fasting—not recommended unless supervised by your medical doctor; actually, almost any fasting over a period of time should have your doctor’s approval.

Typically, your Faith connection gives healthy guidelines for fasting. I recommend the chapter on Fasting in Richard Foster’s book, The Celebration of Discipline. It is detailed, sensible, and a clear focus on the reason to fast—not just during Lent, but also other spiritual disciplines. The late Dallas Willard, a Baptist Professor and author has an excellent book with chapter on Fasting. (Spirit of the Disciplines— I think it is out of print now, but you can likely find it in Bookshop.org ).

The U. S. Catholic says; The practice of eating fish is related to the day we typically abstain from meat: Friday. This is the day that Christ died, so abstaining from the shedding (and consuming) of blood seems appropriate. Friday, the sixth day, was also the day that God created animals, so abstaining from meat is a symbolic “stay of execution” for cows, pigs, and sheep—just as the cross saves us from eternal death..

Although each of us has personal Faith practices, Jennifer, my daughter and I look forward to Fridays in Lent. We we like get “Fish on Fridays” at Holy Cross Catholic Church in Tucker durning Lent. I don’t get a free dinner for saying this, but they do a really great job; from guiding the drive-thru pick-up-and-pay line to the masterful manner in which they quickly shuttle your delicious meal(s) to your car window.

A culinary precursor to Lent is Shrove Tuesday, or “Fat Tuesday,” the day before Ash Wednesday. It originated out of the need to empty cupboards of fat ingredients to prevent the household from breaking fast during Lent. (Kinda forces fasting!) The day(s) is also called Mardi Gras—a wild carnival-like celebration concluding Fat Tuesday—you know, the last blast of gaity before the sober sojourn into the 40 days of Lent. A secular spinoff of Fat Tuesday, many Pancake houses often offer popular pancake deals on Shrove Tuesday —usually called by another name—like “Pancake Day.”.

Many of these assorted ways of observing Lent can, and often do, gravitate to excess. Faithful Christians tend to take seriously Jesus’ guidance about shedding ego -involvement and abuse of spiritual practices. He pointed out abusive practices, for example in prayer; the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. Or the proud man lifting his own piety above others. Jesus called for simple direct discipleship, not comparative behavior. My favorite counsel Jesus gave his disciples is a simple, quiet directive. It is not about the vanity of weight loss, or superior spiritual vigor. It is to draw close to God.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2024

As the drumbeat of this year’s political detritus pelts us, I felt this a good time to share with you, my reader, a piece I wrote several years ago:

Atul Gawande wrote: Better is possible. It does not take genius. It takes diligence. It takes moral clarity. It takes ingenuity. And above all, it takes a willingness to try….

...and, I might add, it takes courage. It is not the courage of the mighty warrior, or the one highly trained in battle. It is that moral compass that draws one to the high road. The road of persistence. Paige, my late wife, kept a placard on her desk. It read:

Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day, saying, “I will try again tomorrow.”

You and I both know of folks like that; at the end of every day, they go to bed tired, often empty, and/or weary of their circumstances–broken dreams, vocational concerns, dealing with health issues (their own, or those for whom they are caretakers)–yet they rise with the sun to take on the new day. 

As Atul Gawande wrote, “Better is possible,” even though it seems impossible. All it takes to see that truth, is to look around, from the beautiful lily emerging from the messy mud of a pond, to the frail nest of twigs holding an eaglet, to a magnificent cathedral. Impossible?  Looks that way, but my,  what a result!!  The words of the Frankie Lane song ring in my ears; 

I believe for every drop of rain that falls
A flower grows
I believe that somewhere in the darkest night
A candle glows
I believe for everyone that goes astray
Someone will come to show the way

As poetic as it is, there sings a truth that surpasses the senses or intellect. What we often call the “real world” often cries in protest that better is not possible, saying “We’re going to Hell in a Handbasket!”  An old political quote, that is funnier than it was helpful back then complained of the “Nattering Nabobs of Negativism.” We do, of course, often face the naysayers. But more from Frankie Lane, lifts our spirits:

Every time I hear a newborn baby cry
Or touch a leaf
Or see the sky
Then I know why
I believe 

Although the words stop short of saying “…in God.” it is implicit. Of course many of us—I would hope—all of us know that belief in God does make “Better Possible.” Not long ago, Mayor Bottoms of Atlanta told the crowd, in the face of some horrors, “We are Better than this!” It was echoed often by other leaders, official and non official. Better is Possible.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore June 2020

Groundhog Day is next week. Pennsylvania has its famous February 2 weather prognosticator, Punxsutawney Phil. Lest you forget, in Georgia we have our own famous—well, sort of famous—Groundhog Day Weather Prognosticator—General Beauregard Lee. Below is his castle and signet,

General Beauregard Lee will emerge from his happy habitat early in the morning of February 2, to herald horrible or hopeful weather for the next six weeks. For decades General Beauregard Lee held forth from Stone Mountain, GA. Since 2018, he gleefully guided Groundhog Day celebrations from his cosy cove at Dauset Trails Nature Center, Jackson, GA.

Beginning in 1981 The General predicted three long winters and thirty-nine early springs (one year there was no report). Next Friday, we will learn if we will have an early Spring or a long Winter. Stay tuned. If you’re bustin’ to know his prognostication for 2024 immediately, you can scurry over to Dauset Trails Nature Center near Jackson, GA for February 2 —-be there before dawn for his report–and enjoy the celebration planned around this remarkable event. Who cares what Punxsutawney Phil says! The General has a 60% accuracy as contrasted with Punxsutawney Phil‘s weak 30% accuracy.

Georgia, with its motto—Wisdom, Justice, Moderation, stakes out a pretty substantial conflation of glory. Not so much with General Beauregard Lee. Right away his original name was a bit troublesome; the little rodent’s  (Marmota monax, also known as a woodchuck) name was changed to the current one—more whimsical, not to mention more acceptable. The General started out at the Yellow River Game Ranch in DeKalb County, GA. The Game Ranch later fell into hard times, and caring souls saw to it that he came to live and thrive at Dauset Trails Nature Center in Butts County. Each year his February 2, festival draws crowds to celebrate—hopefully continuing his winning steak of predictions!

I have never made a Winter-Spring prediction, but I will take a stab at it here: look for an early Spring—Draw and Quarter me if I’m wrong. Groundhog Day gives a good reason to celebrate such a whimsical myth as this. In the midst of winter’s wrongs it is good to get a lift for the human spirit. Cold days and long nights tend to be mood altering. Although Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) affects less than 19% of the population, celebrating Groundhog Day just may fit the bill for us all.

Brain and Behavior Research Foundation points out that most of us are affected to one degree or another during cold, dark, shorter, solitary days of winter. Some folks have feelings of lethargy or loneliness which tend to cause “winter blues.” We all tend to go through winter blues sometimes—usually briefly. Maybe the Northern Mockingbird songs in mid-winter can draw us out of winter blues. Birdsong certainly is a cheerful contrast to gloom.

When Winter hits, myriad opportunities for joy and hope spring up all about; Winter Solstice, New Year’s Day, MLK Day of Service, Ground Hog Day, Mardi Gras, St. Valentine’s Day, St Patrick’s Day, and Easter–to name a few celebrations. Without researching it, I posit that most of these celebrations could also be means by which the human community can successfully navigate winter blues. Winter is a time of preparation for Spring and the rest of the seasons.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore January 2024

Growing up out in “the sticks,” we did not have running water. My grandfather had a windmill that pumped water into a tank providing a reasonable facsimile of running water. I am told that he rigged a spray nozzle under the water tank so he could take his daily bath. Early each morning he would go out for a shower under the tank. The story is that one freezing morning, he had to take a fat pine torch to melt the ice clogging the fixture. Then he he took his daily shower, had breakfast, and went to open his store; that’s a story for another time.

This week, while watching the Kansas Chief’s (successful) play-off game–in record-breaking low temperatures—my attention was fixed on Andy Reid, their coach. Although there were huge heaters all around, Reid plied the sidelines—with rapt attention to every move and heartbeat of his team—while icicles formed on his mustache! It was interesting that the TV cameras switched often to Reid’s icicle-swathed mustache. He was undisturbed—Icicles or not, he focused on his team.

Not only does the Brrrrr of icicles bring out the brave, the Burrrrr also brings out beauty. A friend recently posted a picture online of an icicle clinging tenaciously to the roof, capturing a morning sun ray. When a sun-ray glistens on an icicle it often casts a prism of color. It’s sparkle is spectacular. Every icicle is unique and invites a glance of joy, maybe even launching a nostalgic trip down a trail of happy memories.

Even when icicles cause water pipes to freeze, not all is bad. I remember times of deep freezes. Frozen water plays havoc with cooking. My parents would gather us around the fireplace, improvising meals over the open fire. We toasted sandwiches using a wire popcorn basket, and made hot chocolate in the tin coffee pot. Bacon or ham sizzled on a cast-iron skillet—a sensory ambush pervading the room from the fireplace. As tough as those days were, they yield a wealth of memories.

When on cold days icicles form, warm rays of the sun make our spirits sparkle. I am not a North Pole kind of guy, but when winter’s freezing hits, spectacular scenes pop up; gutters, waterfalls, and sprinkler systems shout arrays of glistening icicles striking a note of joy in my heart. What a spark of joyful surprise when in the midst cold, dark, winter, sunlight pierces the gloom; an icicle sprays a rainbow of color cheeing the heart. It must be something of what Noah’s family experienced, emerging from the Ark and seeing the rainbow; it is a sparkle of hope and new life promised by God as it spreads like the first clear sunrise of spring.

© Copyright Willis H. Moore Jauary 9, 2024

We are awash in conveniences that tend to make us impatient—if not somewhat lazy. Case in point; we get annoyed at minor hinderances—the Internet is slow, traffic is heavy, we have to wait long in the doctor’s office, or in line at the grocery. Annoyances becloud our thinking. Our culture has so conditioned our expectations for instant gratification that we automatically expect to get what we want. We internalize “I want it and I want it now.”

Maybe we have reached the point that we feel that we deserve it—-now. I once heard an illustration of this attitude. A guy was going out his front door one morning and there lay a $20.00 bill on the welcome mat The next morning as he went out, there was another $20.00. Each day it happened all over again. One day he went out and there was no $20.00 bill. He got very upset! “Where is my $20.00 bill?” He groused.

Expectations are created both by how we live and by choices we make. We are born into circumstances that create expectations. Often our expectations rest on a feeling of privilege. As a child, I felt priviledged—we were not by any means wealthy. My grandfather let us live in one of his former tenant houses. Our house was near his store—I felt free to hang out there a lot. My uncle’s machine shop was next door; my cousin and I felt free to play in and around his expensive tools and machines—developing our versions of simple machines. I expected to be loved and accepted entirely. Privilege can ooze into your life undetected. As a result, I cruised through childhood naive and felt inviolable.

Many students now are expecting college acceptance letters—they had sent applications earlier. Their expectations drive them to work harder in school, work on volunteer projects, and develop solid character building habits. I think it is important to have high expectations. Undergirded with integrity, persistence, and ethical principles, even unreasonable expectations can go far; for example, Bishop MIlton Wright said, almost two centuries ago, “Man will never fly.” Almost two decades before Bishop Wright died, his sons, Wilbur and Orrville had successfully launched the aviation era. The boys had high expectations.

I think of Joseph; his youthful high and mighty expectations may have prompted his brothers to fabricate the tale of his grisly death’ the tale they told Jacob, their father. They had sold Joseph to some traders. However, as you may recall, over time and trusting in the God of his fathers, Joseph was able to curate his faith, intellect, and compassion in a redemptive way; it reconciled him with his brothers, and more importantly, laid a trace toward Christ. Expectations can be traitorous or treasured.

© Copyright Willis H. Moore 2024