Category: Uncategorized (Page 15 of 26)

A couple of nights before I started writing this installment, our neighborhood was beleaguered by dramatic thunderstorms. My grandmother, who grew up in, and lived a lifetime in Gwinnett County, called such loud flamboyant weather, “Electrical Storms.” This electrical storm was spectacular; jagged stabs of dazzling lightning danced across the skies; a colorful spectacle, something like lore of the Old Norse god, Thor, hurtling his jagged lightning bolts onto the earth.

Zach, my grandson and I stood spellbound in our carport, as this marvelous mixture of light show and sound unfolded—punctuated with continuous loud, crashing booms of thunder. As the thunder rolled, I thought of Rip Van Winkle who, having imbibed overmuch brew, offered by a strange sojourner, slept twenty years—through the American Revolution; he thought he was hearing games of ninepins played by his strange new friends. But when he awakened from his slumber, he discovered the booming noises were the the Revolution, not games of nine pins. The Revolution, now over—-had dramatically changed his world .

Storms can birth remarkable changes; both in landscape or life. That afternoon, in our neighborhood the only real drama was a fallen tree and utility pole across the major street that runs behind our house. One, or both, took out neighborhood electricity for six hours, blocking the street for the duration. Comparatively, there was no harm; when at the momen;t there were news reports of devastating flooding and storms in Appalachian areas of Kentucky.

Was there ever a more appropriate message than the one Charles A Tindley wrote? .
When the storms of life are raging,
Stand by me (stand by me);
When the storms of life are raging,
Stand by me (stand by me);
When the world is tossing me
Like a ship upon the sea
Thou Who rulest wind and water,
Stand by me (stand by me). He goes on to say, In the midst of tribulation,
Stand by me…In the midst of persecution,…and, When I’m growing old and feeble,…

The past two and a half years of the Pandemic have reinforced the reality that you can survive, and actually thrive in the midst of storms. It is more than anecdotal that families and communities pulling together, become more caring, increasing the value of their relationships. Not all, of course, but many psychologists will point out the positive difference it makes in families and communities who—not just weather the storm—but also come out better for it. Basically, it depends upon their attitude—the only thing you have control of.

An emotionally disturbing, physically, and possibly life-threatening storm endangered the ancient prophet, Elijah. Chapter 19 tells the entire bazarre story; and yet—the prophet grew stronger and became quite the leader, having gone through the vision, and actual, storm.

A dramatic storm at night, in the midst of the Sea of Galilee, threatened a boatload of Jesus’ disciples. Terrified, they shook him awake, pleading for his help. Of course he calmed the sea, but I think, more importantly, his attitude and demeanor was just as calming for them. When a storm has passed on, we tend to relax; even in the midst of cleanup, we feel a sense of relief. Even more reassuring, and reinforcing is when someone demonstrates confidence, hope, and a sense of joyful anticipation; especially with a splash of humor in the situation.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

In the midst of a snowstorm, this humorous sign:

Early in my life, my family had several milk-cows; Maude, Pet, Daisy, Bessie, Elsie (who was the spitting image of Borden’s Jersey, Elsie), and—Star. Family lore has it that as a toddler, I gave Star her name. As the story goes, when Star was born, my mom and dad took me to the feedlot to see the new calf; just as the sun was setting I was asked what name should we give the little calf? I looked up, and seeing the glow of the evening star, said “Star!” And thus, Star was named. It made a good story anyway.

When she grew up, Star became the Alpha Cow—if there is such. Usually our cows grazed in the pasture behind our house. Occasionally they were herded down the dirt road to the pasture along side Deepstep Creek. My task became herding them up that road back to the feedlot. My job became a lot easier because, once I opened the gate from the pasture, Star led the little herd in the proverbial “Bee-line” to the feedlot. She was definitely in charge, and to my great joy, she would guide them there quickly and safely! Task done! Much to my relief!

Fast forward a bunch of years—the dawning of the Global Positioning System. My first GPS was a Garmin-mount-on-the-dash thingy. A friend of mine named the female voice of his GPS “Nadine.” I planned to name mine; I thought of how Ole Star would lead the cows home to the feedlot; I told the story of Star to my young granddaughter, Katie. She not only liked the idea, but also said, “Papa, it was a Star that guided the Wise Men to Bethlehem!” That nailed it for me! I named the female voice “Star.”

GPS operations now have become astoundingly precise. For example, we now know why those intriguing “Corn Mazes”—so popular at fall festivals—can be so precisely intricate. Professionals program a GPS on a farm tractor, setting it to guide the tractor making fantastic, labyrinthian, trails in a cornfield. Even in a cornfield, a trusted guide is a treasure immeasurable!

In a splash of ironic Eastern humor, Jesus warned his followers not to follow blind guides; they lead to disaster. He was pointing out how important it is, not only to have a goal, but also to follow reliable leadership, a trusted guide. On another occasion Jesus called some leaders “Blind leaders,” and condemned them for their faulty, if not outright false guidance.

Another sense in which following a star is rewarding; following toward a worthy goal, as the Magi did—which Katie clearly pointed out. The Magi knew from diligent, life-long study, this star signaled a game-changer. A powerful vocational calling, or a deeply felt summons is like that star in the East, compelling, like a lodestone— virtually irresistible in it’s command over one’s life. Jesus likened such a call to a Pearl merchant searching for sumptuous pearls. Seeking such a “star” becomes a magnificent obsession, which is likely to lead to a life lived with joy.

Vocationally, finding and following that “star” gives one a satisfaction reaching far beyond what financial compensation can offer. Some months back, I mentioned Bill Powell, who years ago was a morning DJ on WMAZ radio in Macon, GA. Bill often told his morning ride-to-work-radio-audience, “If I didn’t need this job to make a living, I would do this for free!” It was obvious he had found and followed his star!

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

My garden has been a little bit like Charlie Brown’s Christmas Tree; simple, symbolic, and—sullen. But with the help of my daughter, and an occasional input from our lawn-care guy, things are looking better. Merriam-Webster defines “Garden” variously; a …”plot of ground where herbs, fruits, flowers, or vegetables are cultivated (or)…a container (such as a window box) planted with usually a variety of small plants… (or) an open-air eating or drinking place.” My garden only faintly resembles any one of the above. But I do not lose hope.

As I reflect on it, actually the Earth emerged as a garden! You may take Genesis 1-2 literally, or consider the Universe evolving over billions of years. Either way, you pretty much understand that we all started in a garden. My take on this is that God is, first of all, a gardner. You may wonder that since I grew up on a farm (in middle-Georgia), why I’m this inept gardner. One must actually garden, to become a gardner. As I grew up, my dad was in charge of our garden; Planting, cultivating, harvesting, all were his. I was often pressed into weed-control, but that did not translate into understanding the secrets of gardening.

But I digress; a garden by whatever measure, is a wonder, a joy to behold, a blessing. This year for Father’s Day, my daughters gave me a membership to The Atlanta Botanical Garden: as it turns out membership includes scores of other botanical gardens nationwide. Last week I took a friend on my first visit to The Atlanta Botanical Garden, and we strolled more than two miles in this paradise; punctuated by a mid-day lunch in the wonderful onsite restaurant. The experience checked off every point in Webster’s list! The beauty is exquisite!

There were some necessary crafted trails, bridges, and an elevated canopy walk for navigating the Garden; it suggests to me striking similarities to the archetypal “Garden of Eden.” Throughout the world, there are untold numbers of gardens; from extravagant to mundane—each is of significance to its creator(s). It is said the Hellenistic culture called the Hanging Gardens of Babylon one of the Seven Wonders of the World. You and I can only dream of their beauty, but the memory of their uncanny beauty lingers in fact and fiction.

When the wicked Prophet, Balaam discovered God’s favor of the Israelites, his heart was touched, and he reversed the direction of his assault. For only that brief moment, he saw the beauty of the land—gardens, green growing things, and true elements of beauty. As twisted as Balaam’s mentality was, I see his ever-so-brief transformation as a direct manifestation beautiful gardens can bring about.

For a few years, I lived in a small town in South Georgia when the local hospital board decided to beautify its landscape. They designed marvelous small gardens where ambulatory patients could stroll, sit, and view; escaping the dreary confines of a drab hospital room. A wealthy local land owner complained loudly and long that landscaping would be a waste of taxpayers’ money. Fortunately his voice did not carry the day, and the beauty of the gardens won.

The prophet, Amos, told his people that God would deliver them; among the things to expect would be that they would be able to plant gardens. More recently, gardens were favored; during the lean times of WWII, “Victory Gardens” were prominent. They not only boosted morale–by lifting the spirits of citizens; many of whom were not directly involved in the “war effort”—but also they helped the nation save on transportation, food for the military, as well as peripheral benefits.

My gardening skills will improve, albeit slowly. I often turn to our local garden-guru, Walter Reeves and the University of Georgia Extension Service. I am relying on these excellent resources, and the help (and patience) of my daughter; There will also be some sweat, blood, and tears, on my part. Hope is on the horizon!

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

To set the record straight, there really was once a man named Johnny Appleseed. According to Britannica, his real name was John Chapman, (born September 26, 1774, Leominster, Massachusetts—died March 18?, 1845). Legend, myth, and fascination wrought tales, folk songs, melodies, even “The Johnny Appleseed Blessing;” often used for grace at summer camp meals. Some legends portray him as a roving jolly man, planting apple trees as he roamed the American frontier. Turns out that he did not plant so many appleseeds, as much as establishing apple nurseries, teaching horticulture in his unique way.

Johnny Appleseed provided apple-tree nursery stock to the pioneers. Apparently the series of apple trees he planted, and apple-tree nurseries he established across the midwest, begot the moniker, “Johnny Appleseed”. According to at least one report, he often wore a mushpan, inverted on his head. Johnny Appleseed spent time with Native Americans, learning from them, as well as teaching and helping. Nevertheless, he was a genuine dedicated, albeit eccentric, nurseryman. Not so much the happy wanderer, for he did own 1,200 acres of land—a lot in those days; he died from exposure.

Legend has it that he had a gentleness with animals, was devoted to the Bible, and knew a lot about medicinal herbs. As I read about him, I thought of a story Jesus told about “…a man who went out to sow…” It was a practice his listeners were acquainted with; there are difficulties and opportunities in any planting endeavor. The point Jesus was making also implies persistence, vision, and caring. In the manner of Johnny Appleseed, we all are called to care for the planet, and the people herein.

The early chapters of the Book of Genesis present stories of the creation of the earth and the Universe thereof; it also assigns its cultivation and care to us humans. The stories are beautiful, and exciting. They are also realistic in presenting the truth of toil and tension. A lot more responsibility for care and keeping lies on us than we humans tend to employ. We are not puppets, and we own the benefits and blights of our behavior.

“Giving Back” is a term we hear a lot. It is a responsible kind of statement. When I think of Johnny Appleseed I think that many generations before us sacrificed so much by giving back to their present and future generations. It is an authentication of another teaching of Jesus; he said give and it will be given to you, good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over.

To a great measure, Johnny Appleseed practied what he found in his Bible;” Send your bread out on the water because, in the course of time, you may find it again. (Ecclesiastes 11:1 CEB). A current practice that proves the point is often found in the drive-thru at Starbucks, or Burger King; a driver pulls up to pick up the order and the cashier says, “Your order was paid by the person just ahead of you;” it is called “Paying it Forward.” Johnny Appleseed paid it forward; for generations to come.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

When we lived on St. Simons Island, GA, Paige and I had some friends, a clergy couple, Harriet and David. They were what the Islanders called “Snow Birds;” people who lived up north in Summer, and down on the Georgia Coast in winter; Once, while visiting them, Paige saw their Russian table china; beautiful blue and white place settings. Their son, based in Moscow, Russia, had sent this set to them.Paige was entranced.

When my fact-finding trip to Russia, with the General Board of Global Ministries (UMC) came up, Paige beseeched me to find a set of china like Harriett’s while in Moscow. With great blessings, fortune, luck, or perseverance,—and our wonderful translator/guide—I found an identical set. The vendor carefully packed—in a cardboard box—each piece; I very gingerly lugged that box from point-to-point-and- airports, across Eastern Europe, including Estonia;I was afraid that if I opened it, I would release the magic of that carefully packed treasure. You will be happy to know that upon arriving on St. Simons, Island, and opening that precious treasure, it had not a crack or chip. It was a miracle. Immediately, Paige found the ideal place to display it in our home.

The find was precious to Paige. Right away she put the set into our living room étagère for friends and visitors to enjoy viewing; it was precious to me, in that I found it, and arrived with it in tact. Kool and the Gang used the word “Cherish” to express this profound sense of treasure; in their song we hear that sense of Precious;

“—Let’s take a walk together near the ocean shore
Hand in hand you and I. Let’s cherish every moment we have been given,The time is passing by, I often pray before I lay down by your side
If you receive your calling before I awake
Could I make it through the night. …The world is always changing
Nothing stays the same
But love will stand the test of time

You must remember also— you are precious! You are precious to your mother. Even if you have feelings of estrangement, there underlies that bond that only a mother has. Probably one of the most dramatic, if not the most memorable court decisions on motherhood, comes from King Solomon. Two prostitutes came before him, each claiming possession of a baby. You can read the whole story, but my point here is what happened in the heat of rage; the real mother of the baby opted for the infant to be given to the other woman, rather than allow the Judge (King Solomon) to cut the baby in half to give a half to each woman. Thus, the “real Mother” emerged—verifying the depth of a mother’s love. It truly was the greater love of which Jesus spoke.

Moreover, you must also remember; you are precious to God. God cares about you even beyond the extent of the mother in Solomon’s story. Yes, I know. There is an expansive difference in cherishing something as a precious object, and cherishing a person as precious–“highly esteemed or cherished“–per Merriam-Webster. In one way or another, we all have that special internal vault where certain people, places, and things are held in precious regard. it is an innate part of our human condition.

As the Apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthian Christians,   (13:7-8a, 13 JBP) Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. It is, in fact, the one thing that still stands when all else has fallen…(13)In this life we have three great lasting qualities—faith, hope and love. But the greatest of them is love. I think he is saying “Love is most precious of all.”

©Copyright Willis H. Moore

Clyde was a short, read-headed, freckle-faced professor of speech when I met him at college. A the time, was my Speech 101 professor, who cut me no slack. I mean none. Ever. He knew I was headed for seminary to be a Methodist minister. He made sure I didn’t have what he called “the ministerial tone” in my speeches. His concern was more than my having an unseemly veneer; he meant to make me a good student.

Working my way through college, I cleaned bathrooms and did groundskeeping at a state park, was a go-fer in an Auto Parts store. ran a steam press in a pants factory—on the night shift, drove a school bus, a church bus, and served in the Army National Guard,(not in that order nor all at the same time). Clyde took me on as his assistant in the college Speech Department, which helped with my tuition costs. When he and his wife, divorced, I baby-sat his two little girls while he taught night school.

I came to realize that Clyde meant business about making me a good student. One night I stayed all night for a fraternity frivolity, and slept in the next morning, missing his 8:00 a.m. class. I got a Zero for the day! Despite our close working relationship and my having been through four of his classes, he cut me no slack. It stung, but taught me about integrity. Even though we had a close relationship, he preserved a professional perimeter.

Life, family, and graduate school (doctoral studies, this time) figured into my having lost touch with Clyde. Ten years ago, he called me. Once we were reconnected, we visited by phone often. I learned that not only had he earned his Ph. D., but also authored several academic books. In retirement, he continued a sort of mini-vaudeville or rubber-chicken circuit. I was not surprised, because he loved folk singing and entertaining with his guitar. It kept him lively.

Not long after one of our phone visits, Clyde had a severe stroke, losing most of the use of his right side. He had to give up his guitar, keyboard, and on-stage performing. Nevertheless, he kept his great attitude, funny, positive, and often hyperbolic tales, for good measure. When Clyde died, Liz, his wife, told a very affirming message he left for me. I saw that his being hard on me was his way of deeply caring.

Friendship is a treasure. True friendship is something like a ship; when in port there are all kinds of activity. When the ship sails, it is out of sight, and maybe out of contact. But when the ship returns—reconnects, all activity resumes. I think of Jesus and his friends at Bethany. He knew they were always there. He knew he could always count on them. And they could count on him. Remember, when his friend Lazarus fell ill, his family called on Jesus to come cure him.

On another occasion, six days before the Passover, when Jesus faced his final and most devastating encounter, he went to his friends in Betany. He knew he would be received, loved, and find comfort for his soul. That’s the way it is with friends. You knock on the door, and inside a place is made for you at the table; abundant, or sparse, there is always enough for you.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 202

Recently I was in a conversation with a friend about living in the present. He said, “Remember, the windshield is larger than the rearview mirror.” While it may be helpful, from time to time, to glance into the past, but dwelling in the past can be harmful. Past mistakes cannot be corrected; we can learn from the past, but cannot repeat it. Nor was the past “the good old days.” Good was there, and is important for building onto. But dwelling in the past detracts from the present.

Cars did not have a windshield as standard equipment until 1904. Even then, for about ten more years windshields were optional. The name “Windshield” seems to describe its function, but that is only part of it. Its critical use is to assure that the driver can see the road ahead clearly enough to drive safely. As cars were able to go faster than ten MPH, wind, dust, bugs, debris, etc. obstructed the driver’s view. So, although wind caused by a speeding car is a huge issue, the driver’s ability to see the road and obstacles ahead comes first.

Which brings me to the point at hand; the windshield is larger than the rearview mirror—for a reason. It provides that wide, unobstructed view of the road ahead. The rearview mirror is for seeing the road behind; although it is not entirely essential; it is important—even though, to an extent, in an emergency one could drive a vehicle with a limited rear view. One certainly could not accomplish any journey safely by only looking in the rearview mirror.

I find it less less helpful looking back on the past than looking circumspect at the present, which could also help prepare for the future. When I taught Driver Safety for AARP, part of the curriculum included emphasis on “situation awareness;” know what is going on around you with a sense of readiness for what is, or could be happening. Although it did entail glancing into the rearview mirror, the focus was on the present situation.

Jesus counseled both. Do not dwell on the past. He said, dwelling on the past renders one unworthy of the Kingdom of God. Such distraction wastes valuable time and energy. Jesus focused on the Present. In reality, the past is gone and cannot be re-lived. Without any hint of contradiction, Jesus also urged his followers to look at the present and assess the future. “Count the cost” he said, not to discourage a worthy venture, but to gain a realistic assessment of the venture or enterprise facing you.

The Apostle Paul was adamant about not clinging to the past, but pressing on; much lay ahead of him; in a word, the best is yet to come. This driving force not only beckoned him, but also powered him in mission. Brother Lawrence, that monastery cook from the 17th century learned to live joyfully in the present. He was often consulted for guidance. He wrote, “Let us thus think often that our only business in this life is to please GOD, that perhaps all besides is but folly and vanity.”

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

While writing this week’s adventure, my weekly installment of “Pearson Farm Peach Box” arrived, wafting the smell of peaches warm in the sun. Last year I began subscribing to receive the box-a-week throughout peach season. For me, it is part nostalgia, and part love of wonderful Georgia peaches.

At the beginning of this peach season a friend and I visited Al Pearson in Fort Valley, GA. When Al was ten years old I was a student pastor at his church, Hebron Methodist. Al is now an immensely successful peach grower-shipper—albeit simi-retired. He is a fountain of knowledge of not only Pearson Peach Farm, but also the heritage from which he benefits. Al delightfully regaled us with family, community, and peach farming tales. He even admitted to having been a little squirmy in church services back then. Al’s stories reminded me of the story of Joshua, telling his people how important memory of important passages of life is.

My primary interest—well, maybe some of which was homemade peach ice cream and seeing Al’s microchip controlled peach packing operation—was especially the old Hebron Methodist Church adjacent to the Pearson Farm. The church closed long ago, as members died, moved away, and times changed. Al and the Pearson family obtained the building in tact, and over the years its use varied. The family felt deep attachment to that church; so they “washed its face, combed its hair,” you might say and put it to community use. It has hosted piano recitals, concerts, weddings, receptions, corporation meetings, and training events.

If you live in Georgia, your vehicle license plate bears the moniker, “Peach State.” However as a peach producing state, Georgia does not hold the top spot—only third place; but hold on, there is a legitimate reason Georgia remains the “Peach State.” South Carolina, our beloved next door neighbor, and arch rival in football, hails as number two, behind California. The departments of agriculture in both Georgia and South Carolina are in agreement that Georgia rightfully retains the “Peach State” title.

Here’s why: The title stems (Pardon the pun!) not from who grows the most peaches—California retains that title (well, it does unless the horrific drought going on in the entire state parches their peach crops). But I digress. Georgia owns the title because of its role in uniquely turning out new varieties of peaches through hybridization. For decades people driving through Georgia found highway signs dotted the highways —from the ridiculous to the sublime—hawking delicious tree-ripened peaches; even kids with their little peach stands and hand painted signs stood along roadside among peach packing houses,

Having grown up on a farm, I recall that when God created a garden; God told humanity to farm it. Common vernacular holds that Eve violated God’s command, took an apple, ate from it and gave it to Adam—causing the downfall of us all. Not so. Eve did not bite or offer an apple to Adam—nor any fruit. God did not forbid them to avoid certain fruit; God commanded only—do not eat from that “Tree.” I take from this passage that all good things were created by God for our tending use, and enjoyment. Apparently even the “forbidden tree” was not evil. God only forbade us to violating God’s command.

Peaches, of course are not mentioned in the Bible. It is clear, however, that all humankind is charged with responsible stewardship of the land and the fruits of the land. Taking the long way around to say, that Georgia remaining the “Peach State” verifies responsible farming and multiplying not only the varieties of peaches, but also the expansive efforts to feed the world.

In a later Fridayswithwillis, I will tell about how miracles have emerged from ABAC (Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College), a few miles further South on I-75/U.S. 441; grasses were developed there to grow in arid climates in the world—-helping farming to be fruitful. By the time you read this, peaches from my Pearson Farm Peach Box will be ripe enough for me to enjoy that luscious fruit! (Upon arrival at my door, it usually takes a couple of days for full ripening)—this variety ships—peaches in tact—a result of what God called humanity to do, “…farm this land.” ©Copyright 2022

There is a story about a city dweller and a backpacker walking along a busy city street. The backpacker stopped and said, “Did you hear that?” The city dweller said, “No. What?” “A cricket,” said the backpacker. “How did you hear a cricket amid all this traffic noise?” asked the city dweller. They continued down the street picking up on their previous conversation. Secretly, the backpacker slipped out a quarter, letting it rattle onto the sidewalk. Suddenly the city dweller turned and looked for the coin.

I am not always in touch with my surroundings. However, it is a joy to be awakened out of mental meanderings by bird song, or other sounds of nature. Sometimes I sit on my deck hearing—and watching birds. Some of the birds are readily recognized by their distinctive call; a mourning dove, a hoot owl, the chirp of a redbird. Occasionally a chipmunk, or a squirrel scoots by. Last night as I drove home, a little brown bunny rabbit was sitting in the middle of my lawn. Later Jennifer, my daughter, found a small family of bunnies frolicking down by the fence—as only bunnies can! The fascinating part of this is that my house is in Metro Atlanta, in a neighborhood right next to a very busy street. Yes, sometimes the traffic drowns out the sounds of nature. But what I listen for is the community of nature surrounding me.

When I go hiking, although noise of commerce is sometimes a bother, I discover that it is important to focus on my surroundings; even there I find the gurgle of nearby South Fork Peachtree Creek, or the rustle of river canes. A blue Heron, making no noise, stands as if posing for Backcountry magazine . My grandfather often took us grandchildren on walks through woodland on his farm; he could find delicate purple-blossomed wild violets, and in the stream, ground puppies (Salamanders to the benighted among you).

I often hike with a friend, who readily recognizes flowers, leaves, and shrubs by name. Frequently I take pictures. We abide by the Boy Scout rule, “Leave no Trace;” take only pictures and memories. Such a habit leaves a heritage of joy and beauty for others who may go along this way. I think that someday, I’ll write about the legendary Johnny Appleseed. The words inJoni Mitchell’s song Big Yellow Taxi are not only haunting, but also foreboding:

So they paved paradise
Put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique and a swingin’ night spot

Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone
They paved paradise put up a parking lot

I try not to become a “Holier-than-thou” nature lover. Preserving nature has a symbiotic flavor to it, as it should. The Genesis version of the Creation story not only describes created nature, but also assigns responsibility for its care and preservation to us humans.

The wonder of Psalm 8 always captivates me with its magnificence of nature. It calls to us human beings to see, enjoy, appreciate, and enhance the handiwork of God. It is unfortunate that the term “Tree Hugger” became inserted into such conversations as this. It is a pejorative term, meant to disparage sincere environmentalists. To be sure, there are those who go to radical or extreme measures to make their point. But tending God’s magnificent creation is the responsibility of all humanity.

Just as we listen to what we are attuned to, so also we pay attention to what matters to us. Compared to the Universe, the Earth is a tiny habitat. It is the only habitat we will have. It is ours to care for, tend, and enjoy. I think I can hear God saying, “Ok, you children! Clean up that mess, or you won’t get any dinner!”

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

This is not about a particular person; it is about discovery. I often find myself dismayed for not having paid more attention to the subject of an obituary. Thoughts like, “I could have been a better friend to…” “He and I had so much in common…” Or, “If I had known this about him, I could have introduced him to…,it would have meant a world to both.”

Almost everytime I read an obituary of someone I knew, the obituary reveals a multi-faceted person; often, as it turns out, I didn’t know the person, really. Times like these can lead to good self-evaluation exercises. It gives you a chance to question your relationships; how you reach out to people, or how you respond to those who reach out to you.

Typically, I only turn to obituaries when I learn of the death of someone I knew. Some people say they read obituaries daily— to make sure their name isn’t there! 😮 they say in jest. But this isn’t about someone dying; it’s about someone living. Not anyone in particular; maybe a friend, or an acquaintance, or a member of your church or club.

Some Psychologists and other writers suggest that for an exercise in self discovery, write your own obituary; not the real one. The exercise is to help you reflect on your values; what and who you cherish. What you say “No” to; in itself is something of a definition of your character. This exercise in writing your obituary is not a venture into the macabre. It is one way to get something of a perspective on your life, or how you view your life. As joni Mitchell sang, “You don’t know what you’ve got, till it’s gone…”

At the risk of stretching the point I think of Psalm 8; David wrote, When I look up at your skies, at what your fingers made, the moon and the stars that you set firmly in place—what are human beings that you think about them; what are human beings that you pay attention to them? Writing your obituary could offer some perspective on your life; how you reflect on the worth of your life. If you happen to be “down” on yourself, Psalm 8 can offer positive reflection.

It is not stretching it to pay attention to the teachings of Jesus. He put great worth in God’s creation of human beings. On one occasion he said we are worth more than a sparrow. Two sparrows sold for a farthing —which means one sparrow was worth 1/8 of a penny—and not one sparrow falls to the earth without God caring about it. That kinda puts your value way up there!

The Apostle Paul gives sound advice for the focus of your obituary (though that was not his point); Don’t cherish exaggerated ideas of yourself or your importance, but try to have a sane estimate of your capabilities by the light of the faith that God has given to you all. He calls on you to claim what God has given you so that you may be a benefit to others. Most of us want to leave a legacy; how much more important it is to leave a living legacy. Paige, my late wife, wanted to leave her living legacy in this way; she called it her “Ethical Will.” ( So you don’t have to scroll all the way down the “Archive” the text is below).

Paige’s Ethical Will

I, Paige Moore, being of sound mind, desire to leave to generations to come, my Ethical Will. I desire you, my reader, to know that…

…The love of my life, Willis Moore, my partner in marriage, attracted to each other since Georgia Teachers College days, find one lifetime not long enough.

…God’s gift of teaching to me was intended to serve Him in mission,

…The precious children of my youth, my legacy, are the pride of my latter years.

…My devotion to my church is the evidence of my faith.

…The cultivation of friends bears witness to His words: “As you have done it to the least of these you have done it unto me.”

…My present suffering is small cost to see my Master face-to-face.

…The children of my children, my grandchildren, are my true inheritance.

…My treasure, above all things, is Jesus my Lord and Savior.

…When I leave this life, I take nothing with me.  What I leave behind is of no monetary value. My legacy is the life I have poured into others, following my Master’s admonition.  I have done it to the least of these, thereby doing it unto Him.

Spoken by Paige Moore on this 20^th day of August 1918 and recorded by Willis Moore.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022