Hello Again, Old Friend

Earlier in the day, the trout on Rock Creek almost jumped into my creel. I’d parked alongside the road and hiked overland to a rarely fished stretch, not another fisherman in sight. Anywhere. I loved both the solitude and lack of competition. The first hole yielded a small brown, maybe 8”, who likely appreciated being returned to his frigid home.

He was the first of twelve trout caught in just over two hours that day; two were keepers at 14” each, and provided dinner for Sheila and me my first night back. Pizza at the campground’s café and a hot shower seemed to top off the day. But God was yet to surprise me. Relaxing in the small cabin…

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Roadmaps

Several years ago a buddy and I hopped in my Ford van and headed to Yosemite for some winter camping. We hit all the backroads we could find, but faithfully followed the map. Until we got lost. The map just didn’t match the territory; it couldn’t get us to our goal. Running on fumes from the detours, the van crept into the aptly named Dinkey Creek, the last gas station for a dozen miles, just as the operator was closing it down for the winter. An hour later and we’d been hiking in snow.

            This week, a Facebook friend sparked a challenging discussion when she posted an article “Sick of Christianity?” The author seemed to want to rewrite the Bible and condemn judgmentalism in the church in order to justify

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