Turbulent Transformations

A fellow teaching compatriot, Leilani Smith, has crafted a new skill since we both left the school—painting. That’s her “Water into Wine” above. I easily saw the blue of water, at the top right, and the red of wine at the bottom left, and the turbulent mixing of the two in the center. But she neither intended nor noticed the faint presence of a face top center. A suggested jaw line, a mouth and nose, and shaded eyes.

What a metaphor of the turbulence that accompanies following Jesus and the transformation he brings to our lives. Let’s experiment and…

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God Flashes

God shows up in unexpected times and places, if we look for the signs. Here’s one.

Each fall I typically journey to the Sierras. The trout are hungry, getting ready for winter, and bite gladly, not aware of the hidden hook. The cottonwood and aspen are changing colors, rare seen in most parts of CA. The people are scarce, even more rare in California.

Not too far back, one trip featured great fishing, 38 trout in 8 hours on three creeks. The aspen put me in awe, with the most glorious golds and yellows in years. And the people—well, I found more photographers than fisherfolk along the streams. Thankfully…

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Angel Wings

A few years back while living in the Conejo Valley, one Friday at about 6 AM I walked out to get the morning paper and found clear, calm blue skies, and a nicely temperate temperature. Why so many move to SoCal. By 10 AM, everything changed. The typical slight southwest wind reversed itself into a Santa Ana condition, a high gale coming from the northeast, with gusts up to 70 mph. And I was headed into the wind that afternoon, leaving for a…

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Angel Wings

A few years back while living in the Conejo Valley, one Friday at about 6 AM I walked out to get the morning paper and found clear, calm blue skies, and a nicely temperate temperature. Why so many move to SoCal. By 10 AM, everything changed. The typical slight southwest wind reversed itself into a Santa Ana condition, a high gale coming from the northeast, with gusts up to 70 mph. And I was headed into the wind that afternoon, leaving for a…

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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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