Walks with Barry - Profoundly Simple: A Walk Reframed

  In the span of just a few days, the season has changed in my little neighborhood. I don’t mean the official first day of Fall has arrived or that there has been a drastic and noticeable change in the weather. No, in my neighborhood the change in seasons is marked by the decorations that brighten the yards and homes. With most of the homes having small children living there, each season brings an outpouring of creativity and humor. It makes one smile. This particular display is simple and traditional. Flowers in fall colors, hay bales and a pumpkin. Yet it says it all. Seeing this image immediately turns the mind to Autumn. Suddenly my mind is filled with memories of crisp weather, beautiful leaves, football games and time in the colorful woods. So much from such a simple display. Sometimes less really is more. That can be true, even when it comes to our religious life. When I think of those persons whose lives have really brought light into my life, it has been those who are somewhat

  It was a strange sight to see this stack of five drawers set out at the curb. Just the drawers. Not a cabinet or vanity. No knobs. No various random items that had once filled the drawers. Just empty drawers, neatly stacked. I couldn’t help but wonder what had once filled them. Sometimes we can find ourselves feeling the same way about our lives. We once felt full and life was good. Our time and our hearts were full of all kinds of joy and meaning and purpose. People we loved. Work that was fulfilling to us. The ability to embrace the present moment and hope for the future. Then it all changes. Loss and grief come. Disappointment drains us. We feel like empty drawers, wondering what happened and how things could change so quickly. Where did everything that filled us go? Jesus has words for such times in our lives, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find re

  When I was a boy, we lived in an area that frequently saw tornado activity. I was fascinated by the fact that a tornado could touch down and cause such destruction, yet randomly leave a particular building unscathed in the midst of all the wreckage. The contrast was striking. How could such extremes exist in such close proximity to one another? It didn’t seem possible. As I walked past this house on the corner, these two bushes caught my eye. Standing next to one another, the image seems to sum up these past 20 months or so in the stark demarcation of survival and death. Like so many people fighting Covid 19 , some fall mildly ill and others die. Organizations and businesses labor under the same difficult challenges, some survive and the others collapse under the strain. The hard freeze of the “Snowvid” event in February spared some plants and killed others. Yes, in these days the sharp contrast between survival and defeat seems more vivid than ever before. Or maybe we are just more

  On this particular morning, the sun seemed to be rising perfectly in line with the sidewalk, like a plane rising from the runway. The horizon was obscured by the canopy of Crepe Myrtles that line the walk, giving the result of this other-worldly glow to the path ahead. It was beautiful. For a few moments of my walk, it looked as if the sidewalks were made of gold. Then the biblical story of Jacob came to mind. “Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, ""Let me go, for the day is breaking."" But Jacob said, ""I will not let you go, unless you bless me."" So he said to him, ""What is your name?"" And he said, ""Jacob."" Then the man said, ""You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striv

  Oscar Wilde wrote, “A flower blossoms for its own joy.” Well, this must be one happy flower. What a beautiful gift to the world! The vibrant color seems to literally glow, even in the bright sunshine. The intricacies of the petals as they form a sphere, both delicate and sturdy at the same time. The tiny splash of yellow that serves as the perfect crowning touch. This flower embodies joy to me. When our individual lives blossom, we not only blossom for our own joy, but for God’s joy. Each person is created to glow, each in our own way. Each life is as intricate as the petals of the flower, fit together in ways that make us uniquely ourselves. We, too, are delicate and sturdy at the same time. When we live into who we are, we blossom, and there is joy all around for ourselves, for God and for the world. The scriptures tell us, “For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field sh

  On this particular morning, on this particular manicured lawn, sits a chair. It has seen better days. It is well worn and one-armed. It feels to me that it should not be a solitary chair, but should be grouped around a table with other similar chairs. But here it is, at the curb all by itself. I was struck by the fact that it is angled to look down the street in a specific direction. It wasn’t squared up to the curb as discarded furniture always is in my neighborhood. It gave me a sense of anticipation, of excitement. Someone is on their way. There is something to look forward to in the very near future. I wonder who? I wonder what? This took me back to when I was a little boy and would climb one of the trees in our front yard every afternoon about 5.15 to keep watch for my daddy’s truck as he made his way home from work. When I spotted him, I would jump down and race to to the top of the hill so that I could hop on the step side and ride down to the driveway. I remembered the cool S

  As I approached this house, for the life of me I could not guess what had been placed on the sidewalk. It clearly was not the typical chair or table set out for trash pickup on Monday morning. The shape was strange and the height tall. The closer I came, the stranger it seemed. Even when I drew near, it took me a moment to register the identity of the mysterious object. It was a cat thing. Not being a cat person, I have no idea what the proper name would be. But I think the idea is that cats climb and sit and scratch around on this elaborate piece of furniture. Perhaps it spares the homeowner’s upholstery, carpet and sanity. Or, maybe it is just fun for the cat. As I walked away, I thought of how this object was in tact and seemed to be fully functional. All it needed was a cat. Everything else was there for it to fulfill its purpose. But without the cat, there was not anything else for it to do. It couldn’t double for an end table or serve the purpose of chair. No, this was a piece

  As I constantly walk through a neighborhood of thick, lush green lawns, this house always stands out. On the strip of lawn that stands between the street and the sidewalk, the owners chose a different direction. They removed the grass and created the opposite effect. Small gravel, various sized rock; it gives a desert feel as you pass. At first I found it startling. Then it grew on me. To my eyes, it now has its own kind of beauty. I remember the first time I traveled out west to the high desert of northern Arizona. I was on a mission trip with a group of youth from my church. My first impression of the stark landscape was not positive. I had listened to others speak of the beauty of the place as we prepared for the trip. To say the least, I was confused. All I saw was, well, nothing. Lots and lots of nothing. But an interesting thing happened. As I spent time there each summer, it began to look different to me. I began to see the beauty of the sunrises and the wonder of the bright m

  It began with a quiet afternoon. Then came a loud crash. Thinking a picture or mirror had fallen off the wall, I walked through the house to investigate. Upon arriving in the living room, it became clear the cause of the noise. One of the three large windows that front my house was broken and shattered. The safety glass was slowly spidering across the full window and glass was soon to start falling into the flowers below. It seems some neighborhood boys were playing and a rock hit my window. A small rock. What started as a little hole soon spread to take out the entire window. Fortunately, the inner pane of glass remained unbroken. As I looked out at St. Francis, these words of the Apostle came to mind, “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” As I looked out, all in my line of vision was distorted. The cracks changed the way the light entered the room. The trees had lost their shape. The house

  As I walk my neighborhood each time, I enjoy the sizes and shapes and colors of each of the houses. The variety is amazing. People have expressed themselves and their unique personalities in so many ways. I have come to feel I know something about each family, even though I have never met them. At times I feel there is a sense of comfort among these streets, a peacefulness that comes with contentment. On this particular morning, I notice another structure, a new thing, at least to me. It could have been there for years, but I just noticed it today. And it is my favorite color, blue. This bird feeder is ready to welcome guests , you can just feel it. The color gives it that little something extra. Were I a bird, this would be my regular lunch stop. It is in a beautiful shady spot with a great view. What more could a bird desire? What does it take to be content? Too often we think that we will find that peaceful place through the acquisition of more things. Sometimes we think we will f

  This is not the view you want on a construction site, but for over a month there has been nothing but rain, rain, rain at our church. The hole was dug to prepare the foundation and the rains began. What looks like lake front property is actually the foundation work where the new building will be attached to an existing one that is scheduled to be remodeled as a part of the project. Every day the man comes out and every day he runs a pump that pulls the water up and out of the hole. Then the next deluge comes, and he does it again. When the weather breaks, he will be ready. I respect and admire his work ethic and his integrity. He shows up everyday and does what he can to keep us heading in the right direction, in spite of the weather. Sometimes we can feel that our lives are caught in a similar situation. We can feel we show up every day. We do the work. But the next day the hole fills with water once again and we fear we are back to square one. The Bible teaches over and over agai

  This spot has become somewhat of a “Bermuda Triangle” on my walks through the neighborhood. Strange and curious things happen here. It is on this same spot, not long ago, when I came across a car bumper lined up perfectly in an empty parking space. It was if the parked car had vanished and the bumper stayed behind. This morning, in front of that same parking space, I find the floor mat from inside a car. It is clean and vacuumed, leaning up against the utility pole as if waiting for a ride. It took a moment for me to take it in and for what I was seeing to register in my brain. Life is sometimes like that, is it not? We roll along with our routines and plans and, suddenly, things are out of place. We stumble into our own private “Bermuda Triangle”. It can be as dramatic as a hurricane or as subtle as personal disappointment. All manner of things can disrupt our lives and hurl us into a place in life where everything seems strange and curious and out of place. Such moments serve as a

  One of the first things I saw on my morning walk was this orange traffic cone planted squarely in my path. It was a random sight; there was no pothole, no construction, no danger. Just a single traffic cone standing watch, perhaps warning of something unseen that lies ahead on the horizon. It brought to mind the sound of my momma’s voice as she warned me of so many things as I grew up. She warned me of many dangers I could not see. She put up a few traffic cones in my life. Out of her religious practices, she warned me of the dangers of drinking and dancing. Yes, dancing. She warned of the dangers of being in places I had no business being. She warned of how hard it was to rebuild a good reputation once it was lost. She warned of the importance of loving and respecting all people while choosing your trusted friends carefully. She warned of how choices I made when young could affect the rest of my life. Like this traffic cone on the sidewalk, at the time I could not see the danger. Th

  As I walked away from our neighborhood park, I saw this display on the curb. It appeared either the aftermath of a street party from the night before or the preparations for one soon to come. The stereo was complete and ready to go. All that was missing were friends and neighbors, laughter and dancing. I saw a party waiting to happen. It gave me pause to think how it really takes little to make life a celebration. Friends, neighbors, family, perhaps a little music. Things don’t have to be elaborate or complicated. We see people coming together in such ways in the harsh circumstances of the past days. In hurricanes and fires, in all kinds of loss and trauma, we see people finding strength and power in each other. Strangers become friends, nameless neighbors become family. It may be a while yet before there is dancing, but the celebration is on the horizon. Hope is glimmering when they look at each other and it seems that the sun will rise again after all. That in itself is a party. I

  I’m late on this holiday Monday, but I made it! As I walked this morning I was taken by this view in my neighborhood park. As I turned onto the path, this area, covered with wildflowers in season, was freshly mowed and still damp from a shower yesterday afternoon. My mind was filled with the words of the Psalmist, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” This little spot was a green pasture for sure. Behind the tree line flows a slow

  “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth.” When I see a dramatic evening sky, these words always seem to fill my mind. I am particularly drawn to the lines, “They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth.” What beautiful poetry the Psalmist creates. There are things that are beyond the reach of words, things and experiences in life too beautiful - and to painful - to be described. As a person of words, of this I am well aware. The miracle of a new born child. The depth of grief. The joy of loving and being loved by another. The pain of disappointment. The thrill of finding hope. The awareness of the nearness of God. Experiences, both positive and negative, are beyond our reach wh

  Somewhere up ahead on the block, poorly aimed sprinklers have watered the street during the night. The spray collected and turned into a steady flow along the curb. As the sun rose and reflected off the water, it appeared as a river, flowing out of the east. It was strangely beautiful. I remember as a boy being amazed each time we would cross the bridge that spanned the Arkansas River. At Little Rock, the river is wide. I wondered, both to myself and aloud, how it was possible that the river never ran out of water. It flows and flows and flows, steady and strong. How could it be? Herman Hesse writes, “Have you also learned that secret from the river; that there is no such thing as time?" That the river is everywhere at the same time, at the source and at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the current, in the ocean and in the mountains, everywhere and that the present only exists for it, not the shadow of the past nor the shadow of the future.” Rivers hold a powerful p

  From time to time I like to stop my walk and enjoy this view for a few minutes. Like most neighborhoods in this metropolitan area, the houses were built with the backyard property lines bordering an alley. The alley provides entry to many of the homes by way of gate and driveway. The gas meters are read from the alley. It is in the alley where our trash and recycling are picked up each Monday. But this view is different. Every other alley is paved with concrete. For some reason, dating back to 1957 when the neighborhood was built, this alley was left unpaved. So it appears a sleepy country lane. It is shady and green, it seems cool and breezy, no matter the high temperatures of summer. It calls to me and draws me in. I would like to walk into this scene and disappear into the peaceful world that seems to wait in the distance. It is a living portrait of serenity to me. Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and lear