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image by usgs.gov
Trout, much like the cutthroat in the pic above (by usgs.gov), have taught me much about the finer aspects of the spiritual life. Honest. When fishing for the hatchery-raised idiots in California’s roadside streams, Power Bait works well with fish who don’t recognize genuine trout food. Scientific research has blended the scent trout love with a consistency that will stick on a hook, yet with no nutritive value. But I most love hiking into the backcountry to find…
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image from banffandbeyond
On a late June morning we fired up the bikes and rode out of Kalispell, Montana, expecting great things at Glacier National Park. Early indications didn’t encourage us. The chill cut deep and we endured 30 miles of mostly urban traffic. So far, the shivers from cold and the frustrations from traffic seemed typical. Nothing awesome, just unpleasant conditions. Then we entered Glacier. The first ten miles or so were straight and slow and serene as we skirted Lake McDonald. Evergreens provided a covered archway and limited the visibility, and I relaxed in the slowness. The frustrations of the earlier morning ride seeped away and I sensed God’s presence again invading my soul. Serenity soon ended as…
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image by Priyesh Hiwaley
At its core, worship celebrates the reality that God has more innate worth than anything we can find in heaven or earth. Our English word comes from “worthyship,” so in worship by definition we focus on him. Get that well, it forms the foundation of all that will follow. Similarly, the most common Greek word for worship is “proskuneo” (Matthew 4:10 for one example), to fall at the feet in adoration, or to acknowledge that God is our superior. That concept scares me. Greatly.
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image of Avenue of the Giants from California Through My Lens
I’ve long said, as a semi-joke, that riding greatly increases my prayer life. And it should--a lot of idiots drive cars, bikes trade protection to gain speed and maneuverability, which inherently increase the dangers we face, bad weather can cause problems, and we all make mistakes. So, I pray that God in his mercy would keep me safe. But prayer plays another vital role in my riding…
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image from yelp
Last spring while at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference, I noticed an artist. Her easel set, she’d already begun to paint the flowers about 6 feet away. She paused, looked intently at the flowers, then returned to the canvas. Just a few moments later she stepped up within a foot of them, another pause, then back to painting. One more pause as she moved back 20 feet, then she shifted 5 feet to the right, and returned to her work. Why? She wanted…
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This post will feature no great event, like being pulled over by cops with drawn guns, like Chapter 36 of God, a Motorcycle, and the Open Road. No heart stopping fear like in Chapter 3 when this hippie biker strolled in a redneck bar. But it has something likely better—an example of how to discover…
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image by Jamie Tedesco of Taos, IG jtedesco8877
My two years in Taos shaped my life and gave me a purpose and direction. I often reflect on its influence, and often miss those days. Without regrets, yet I still miss it. The dry powder of Taos Ski Valley. The eager trout just below it. Sopapillas at Michael’s Kitchen. A bowl of green chile at the Kit Carson Café. The First Baptist Church, who loved me back into the ministry. And the sunsets and sunrises! Jamie Tedesco has become a Facebook friend through another great Taos friend, Jeff Boyer.This pic of Jamie’s of an Easter sunrise provides…
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1974, me in the red tank top. With hair. I still have those beads.
A hot August night outside Beaumont TX may qualify as one of the worst of my life. I’d cruised out of New Orleans earlier that day, on a chopped ’73 Honda 750. For old riders who remember “Easy Rider,” yeah, it had a metal flake flag painted on the tank and side covers. In the pic above, that’s me with the red tank top. I took off on the trip with no notice and fewer plans. Just a backpack with a few clothes, a sleeping bag, a poncho for a ground cloth, and no tent. That last omission proved problematic. On this night, the heat and humidity kept me from getting in the bag, but the mosquitoes and other unknown biting Southern bugs put me back in. So I gave up about 3 am, and…
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