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

As I sat on my deck on an overcast December afternoon, I watched the bare limbs on our cluster of hardwood trees. Dark limbs reached upward towards hovering clouds that threatened showers. Although arrival of astrological Winter had passed, the weather was balmy. Just a week earlier, we had wrapped waterpipes because of a hard freeze. The weather is oscillating between warm and winter temperatures. 

I began ruminating over the past months; those same trees had been lush with rich green leaves, ,abundant acorns, and hickory nuts. Squirrels scampering over the ground leaping onto the trees had tantalized our Corgi, frustrating her as they dashed to safety. Now a scant scattering of lingering leaves was accompanied by an abandoned squirrel nest. What a contrast to the months before. 

Although early summer rains had been abundant, the earth was over six inches low for rain by now. The heavy crop of leaves was now cycled back as nutrients for the mighty oaks. Bird nests, now empty, had provided a new crop of our feathered friends. Snapshots fail to tell the story of nature’s cycles. But thoughtful attention to nature does describe how nature reinvents itself for new growth.

Taken with the long view, those bare limbs tell something of the story of vibrant life teeming all around them. It is something like you’re breathing. You inhale; you exhale. But you do not stop. Each breath sustains life and is necessary. Those bare limbs burst forth in greenery earlier this year. Now they are bare. They are regrouping for new growth in the next season.

Christmas time is something of a time of renewal. The year has brought difficulties and delights. Looking back, we can see places where we really dropped the ball or made poor decisions. If we take the year into perspective, we can find times of victory, maybe even small ones, yet they are victories. Christmas offers opportunity for reconciliation, a time of renewal. It’s not the toys, presents, nor even the parties. It is a time to acknowledge Emanuel — God with us. 

Looking at those dark, cold, bare limbs could have been discouraging. Yet as I sat in the declining temperatures, I began to feel a sense of warmth inside. Dark, cold times do not define the future. They are fallow times. Times for new growth, new hope. I think of the seasonal song, “We need a little Christmas!”

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2025

I have several friends, rural and urban, who care for feral cats. As I learned about this (what I considered) eccentric behavior, questions arose: Where did these cats come from? Why do you spend time and money on caring for them? Are you right in the head?

Each of my friends is very smart. They are professionals; well retired professionals. And, I understand their compassion for animals. The question that remains is, “Where do these feral cats come from?” In too many cases the answer is infuriating; too many feral cats were dropped off out in the country, or in back-streets by people who just didn’t want them any more. They threw them into the elements to fend for themselves.

It is sad that human beings will toss out a living being, leaving that being to fend for itself; no home, no immediate means of food, and no protection from the elements or danger. Such behavior is heartless and cruel. Fortunately, in some cases there are other human beigs who who have deep compassion for God’s creatures, and reach out with food, water and some degree of care for those forlorn felines.

As sad as it may seem that anyone would cast out a domesticated animal to fend for itself, it is even worse that any human parent would cast out their own child to fend for themselves; and it does too often. In present times, it happens more often when a son or daughter comes out; some parents kick them out of their home; some parents disown them. However they spurn them, that child is left to fend for themself. They must search for shelter, food, clothing, and some means of support.

Worst of all, they are vulnerable to the worst of society, those who would exploit them in the worst of ways. Fortunately there are organiations who offer safe help, such as shelter, food, clothing, and guidance for self support. While you would think a church would be the first line of support, you would not be entirely correct. Only a few churches get involved with helping LGPTQ+ people. . One such group in Atlanta is an organization called Lost-n-Found Youth. The organization has found that 40 percent of homeless youth identify as LGBTQ+. Their thrift store helps support homeless LGBTQ+ youth in Atlanta. While you would think a church would be the first line of support, you would not be entirely correct. Only a few churches get involved with helping LGPTQ+ people.. One such group in Atlanta is an organization called Lost-n-Found Youth. The organization has found that 40 percent of homeless youth identify as LGBTQ+. Their thrift store helps support homeless LGBTQ+ youth in Atlanta.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2025

This Sunday is the Third Sunday of Advent. Christians the world over celebrate Advent as “the coming of Christ at the Incarnation;” basically, advent means “coming into being.” There are four Sundays celebrated during Advent; Typically, Sundays between Thanksgiving and Christmas Day.

Many Christian churches and families mark Advent celebration with an Advent wreath, which holds four candles evenly spaced on the wreath’s circle with a “Christ Candle” placed in the center of the circle. Typically, the candles are purple, with the third candle being Pink, for the Third Sunday in Advent. The Pink candle is known as the “Candle of Joy,” or “The Shepherd’s Candle.”

In our church, members of the congregation, typically a family—but sometimes other volunteers—lead a lighting ceremony during morning worship to light the candles in designated order. Recently our student Interns led that ritual, with great meaning. Sometimes, when a family leads that part of worship, we get an extra chuckle, and even a special poignant moment—when a child breaks forth in unexpected insight.

That the “Shepherd’s Candle” means Joy can have important significance in mid-December; schedules have become crowded, expectations—especially among little children—have kicked up a few notches, and weather, over which we have no control, just may have thrown a monkey wrench into everything. Joy is on no-one’s radar. Joy is the redeemer. Come to think about it. We’re celebrating the coming of The Redeemer! In times of tension, we’re often counseled to “Pause. Breath deeply. Let your soul re-set.” I think this is the message of the candle of Joy.

Sometimes life, or circumstances force us to do just that. Pause. Reset. It may be broken leg on the way to a crucial meeting, a flat tire on a back road out of reach of AAA, or just plain stomach flu. Whatever; it screeches you to a halt, and if you’re wise, you pause, reflect, reconnoiter, and take a new lease on life.

Sometimes I am able to experience joy by reflecting deeply on life, friends, and nature. At other times joy comes slipping up on me like Millie’s little white cat=feet, as she cuddles in my lap. I hope you find joy, not just as the Shepherd’s candle is lighted, but also in the accord of your daily doings.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2025

Favorite foods for Christmas, according to Good Housekeeping author Susan Choung, include roasted potatoes (76%), mashed potatoes (75%), turkey (73%), bread or rolls (70%), and stuffing or dressing (70%). Ms. Choung pointed out that this list was from a 2020 YouGov poll that closely resembles the typical traditional Thanksgiving menu. She, however, has her personal preferences: “I’m dreaming,” she said, “of a white Christmas and a holiday menu that features a big hunk of beef, creamed spinach and baked potatoes.”

Take a poll from among your circle of family/friends. It could closely resemble the Good Housekeeping list or vary widely. I suspect you have your own personal preference for your Christmas menu. As families grow, or blend, personal choices—sometimes influenced by medical/dietary needs—change over time. Such changes can become a challenge for planning Christmas Dinner.

My family held onto traditional Christmas culinary choices. My maternal grandmother added raisins and coconut to the sweet potato casserole. She also topped it with brown sugar and roasted pecans. Paige, my late wife, and I added a Christmas Eve menu that I came to enjoy a great deal — oyster stew, served with crackers, and a cheese ball alongside. A cranberry juice cocktail topped off the meal. It was a perfect repast before going to church for Christmas Eve worship.

Another food tradition accommodated the visit from Old St. Nick. We adopted the Christmas morning brunch. Naturally, the first thing Christmas morning was seeing and enjoying what Santa brought during the night! Food was not anywhere near the minds of the children! Finding, opening, playing with, and enjoying toys dominated the attention and activities of everyone.

Combining food preparation with Christmas morning fun was made easier with a sausage/cheese/egg casserole, prepared the night before. It could then be popped into the oven to feed hungry mouths without fanfare and was ready at a convenient point as hunger pangs beckoned toward the tempting smell of that casserole baking. Santa sometimes happened to drop off a lagniappe, such as Krispy Kreme donuts, much to great rejoicing among the natives! 

We get excited, and sometimes critical of the food fare at Christmas. Fun, food, and joyful festivity need not chafe or destroy the holy holiday. Good planning and managed expectations are essentials in celebrating this special time of the year. Whatever your food preferences that are served at Christmas, those tantalizing aromas arising from the kitchen linger for a lifetime.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2024