I suspect that this is your prayer as well as mine. I further suspect that if most people out there who aren’t atheists are honest, this is probably their prayer as well.

Trust and faith are the antidote to worry and fear. The perfect love of Jesus still casts out all fear as we receive it and allow it to overwhelm us.

Imagine that– being overwhelmed by perfect love instead of fear? I want that.

Amen.

I’m all for new music and branching out and trying new things, but sometimes it’s good to go back to the tried-and-true classics.

I chose Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison and Johnny Cash at San Quintin as my soundtrack for my traveling for the past two days.

For the Johnny Cash fan, you just can’t get any better than these two recordings. There’s an energy that fuels these recordings that I haven’t found in any of his other albums. It’s raw and fast and loud and counter-culture.

It blows my mind to think that 2018 marks 50 years since the recording of Folsom Prison. In my mind, that album holds up as well or better than anything since. It’s true country music that doesn’t sound like every other country music record out there.

I can’t recommend it highly enough, so of course I’m providing links to get both albums.

https://smile.amazon.com/At-Folsom-Prison-Johnny-Cash/dp/B000028U0Y/ref=sr_1_1?s=music&ie=UTF8&qid=1518148707&sr=1-1&keywords=johnny+cash+at+folsom+prison&refinements=p_n_binding_browse-bin%3A387645011

https://smile.amazon.com/San-Quentin-Complete-1969-Ncert/dp/B00004W17B/ref=pd_sim_15_1?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B00004W17B&pd_rd_r=0SWDQYZMNNZ92N7B54S8&pd_rd_w=7cqJP&pd_rd_wg=lOXXv&psc=1&refRID=0SWDQYZMNNZ92N7B54S8

It’s 10:14 pm on a Wednesday. I’m tired. This is one of those nights when the creative juices have run dry. I even looked through my memories on this day from Facebook hoping to jumpstart something, but it was all for naught.

I say some days the best you can say is that I survived. Not that I had a particularly bad day. It was actually rather pleasant in a very unspectacular sort of way.

I just feel that we need to celebrate the small victories more. Like the fact that you and I are still here. That we showed up today and didn’t quit.

I feel that deserves a reward, like chocolate or a nap. I’ll let you decide which.

This is a fairly accurate rendering of what I look like trying to get up at 5 am in the morning. It’s not pretty, but I still manage not to roll over and hit the snooze icon on my phone.

I call that a win.

First off, congrats to Nick Foles and the Philadelphia Eagles. They certainly deserved to win tonight, and Nick deserves to be the MVP of Super Bowl LII (which I assumed that he won since I left before all that).

Second, I admire and respect Tom Brady and the New England Patriots and the season they had. I’m not going to get caught in all the wave of people hating on Brady and Belichick and the Patriots. They got to where they are by having a fantastic front office who drafted  and signed the right players for each position.

I personally thought the commercials were improved from the last few years, particularly the one with Eli Manning and Odell Beckham, Jr. recreating the iconic dance scene from Dirty Dancing. That was an instant classic in itself.

Last year, I drove to Spring Hill for Super Bowl LI. This year, I went to Hendersonville. I definitely have put in the miles on my Jeep for a good cause, although next year I’d like to stay closer to home if at all possible.

Who knows? Maybe those hometown Titans will be representing the AFC next year?

I’m aware that it’s a stretch, but stranger things have happened in the world of sports, especially in recent years. And after all, a sports fan can dream, can’t he?

Once again, I’ve enlisted the aid of a “guest blogger” for tonight when I can’t think of anything original that’s worthwhile. It’s from Frederick Buechner about the Beatitudes of Jesus from Matthew 5:1-12.

“IF WE DIDN’T ALREADY KNOW but were asked to guess the kind of people Jesus would pick out for special commendation, we might be tempted to guess one sort or another of spiritual hero—men and women of impeccable credentials morally, spiritually, humanly, and every which way. If so, we would be wrong. Maybe those aren’t the ones he picked out because he felt they didn’t need the shot in the arm his commendation would give them. Maybe they’re not the ones he picked out because he didn’t happen to know any. Be that as it may, it’s worth noting the ones he did pick out.

Not the spiritual giants, but the ‘poor in spirit,’ as he called them, the ones who, spiritually speaking, have absolutely nothing to give and absolutely everything to receive, like the Prodigal telling his father ‘I am not worthy to be called thy son,’ only to discover for the first time all he had in having a father.

Not the champions of faith who can rejoice even in the midst of suffering, but the ones who mourn over their own suffering because they know that for the most part they’ve brought it down on themselves, and over the suffering of others because that’s just the way it makes them feel to be in the same room with them.

Not the strong ones, but the meek ones in the sense of the gentle ones, that is, the ones not like Caspar Milquetoast but like Charlie Chaplin, the little tramp who lets the world walk over him and yet, dapper and undaunted to the end, somehow makes the world more human in the process.

Not the ones who are righteous, but the ones who hope they will be someday and in the meantime are well aware that the distance they still have to go is even greater than the distance they’ve already come.

Not the winners of great victories over evil in the world, but the ones who, seeing it also in themselves every time they comb their hair in front of the bathroom mirror, are merciful when they find it in others and maybe that way win the greater victory.

Not the totally pure, but the ‘pure in heart,’ to use Jesus’ phrase, the ones who may be as shopworn and clay-footed as the next one, but have somehow kept some inner freshness and innocence intact.

Not the ones who have necessarily found peace in its fullness, but the ones who, just for that reason, try to bring it about wherever and however they can—peace with their neighbors and God, peace with themselves.

Jesus saved for last the ones who side with heaven even when any fool can see it’s the losing side and all you get for your pains is pain. Looking into the faces of his listeners, he speaks to them directly for the first time. ‘Blessed are you,’ he says.

You can see them looking back at him. They’re not what you’d call a high-class crowd—peasants and fisherfolk for the most part, on the shabby side, not all that bright. It doesn’t look as if there’s a hero among them. They have their jaws set. Their brows are furrowed with concentration.

They are blessed when they are worked over and cursed out on his account he tells them. It is not his hard times to come but theirs he is concerned with, speaking out of his own meekness and mercy, the purity of his own heart” (Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark).

Happy Groundhog Day!

Well, that depends on whether you’re a fan of winter and groundhogs.

This time around, that fat little groundhog stuck his little head out of that hole in the ground and saw his shadow, so that means six more weeks of winter.

Or it could mean that spring comes in mid-February, like it did last year. I still think that groundhog from last year was smoking something.

Today also marks the 35th anniversary of the passing of my grandfather on my dad’s side. I still miss him, even though my memory of him is fuzzy. I was only 10 years old when he died.

Still, he’s part of the legacy of a good family that I’ve been blessed to have.

As for the groundhog’s prediction, it sure felt like it today. I made the mistake of having some sweet iced tea with my dinner and paid for it all the way to my car. Lesson learned.

So to sum it all up, it’s cold out, winter’s here for a while, and I’m feeling very blessed anyway.