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Looking Like Carl

December 15, 2025

“ And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” (2 Corinthians 3:18)

The Youth Sunday School Class I teach told me that I look like Carl Fredricksen from the movie “Up.” They even found a picture on the internet and displayed it on the screen in our classroom…with me standing beside a backgrounded Carl. Unfortunately, there was a resemblance. I’m a few years away from(hopefully) being a full-fledged member of the Carl Club, but he is leaking into me.

Most of us are hopeful that we resemble someone who is nice, or at least good-looking. A good friend of mine was compared to supervillain Gru from the “Despicable Me” film series. Funny how both of us have been compared to animated characters.

My hope is that, despite my similarities to Carl, minus the walking stick, I am resembling Jesus a little more each day, as opposed to being villainous and despicable. It’s a daily…no, I mean an ongoing moment-by-moment possibility. The closer I stay to Jesus the more I understand His mercy, compassion, forgiveness, and grace. When I talk about needing peace of mind, I need only to look in His direction and have a chat with Him about my troubled soul.

Our culture’s understanding of transformation is more instantaneous. You weren’t, and now you are. You didn’t have it, and now you do. My hunger was transformed in a few moments by the super-sized McDonald’s meal; and then shortly after that, my appeased appetite would be transformed into indigestion. Transformation is understood differently in the physical world.

In the spiritual world, it’s a journey, more like slowly turning a giant freighter in the midst of the vast sea. It’s a daily prayer of repentance and hope, thankfulness and praise.

I am thankful for others who have been on this journey before me and whom I can look to as reflections of Jesus. My dad was one of those. Some say I am a physical recreation of him. He was the Deacon Emeritus of his church, a man wise and grounded, kind and friendly, a listener and a doer. In his last couple of years of life, he had what was called a “hurry-cane,” like Carl’s, but he was never in a hurry when there was someone who needed a word of encouragement or redirection.

I may look like Carl Fredricksen, but I hope I reflect Laurence Wolfe.

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Slip Ons

December 11, 2025


“Diligent hands will rule, but laziness ends in forced labor.” (Proverbs 12:24)

I bought a pair of shoes that are “slip-ons.” They sit on the floor of my closet, and I effortlessly slide my feet into them. I’m not sure how I feel about it. There’s a slither of guilt as I slip into the slippers. Is it a sign of my laziness? As Proverbs hints, am I one of those slackers that thinks work is a four-letter word? Oh, that’s right. It is.

What are the limits of convenience? I have visions of Rosie the Robot from The Jetsons, running around and making life easy for George and company.

Slip-ons are nice. I don’t grunt when I slide into them. When I revert to a pair of shoes that have shoelaces that need to be tied, I grunt as I lean over to tie the knot. I never used to grunt like a pig when grabbing the laces, but it’s now come to that. Unfortunately, I don’t have slip-on socks, so Porky is still making sounds.

Which prompts the question? What’s the next invention that will lean me even more into being incapable of labor? A car that drives itself? (Oh, I guess technology is ahead of the game already on that one!) A business that allows me to order up a meal without having to cook it, and have it delivered to my residence? (Oh! I’m way behind on that one!) A buttoned-down shirt that doesn’t need to be buttoned, but just slides on (even over my mid-section)?

I know, I know, convenience has saturated my life for a long, long time. I’m now having a hard time even remembering the pre-microwave oven days, or the days when someone had to actually get out of their chair and walk to the TV to change the channel. In the distant memories of my mind are the days before my grandparents had indoor plumbing. (Yes, they had an outhouse…complete with spiders and other creepy things)

The bible seems to promote a work ethic that has now been redefined. When work ethic is discussed, it is usually equated with getting things done, rather than slouching in the recliner with a beer and a bag of chips close at hand.

Students with a solid work ethic are usually organized and complete their assignments on time… and well. True confession! I was a procrastinator who completed assignments at the last minute. In recent times (Maybe it’s a COVID thing), students don’t even do the assignments. Sloth has settled into the classroom.

Of course, our churches have “slip-ins.” They are people who slip in and slip out, like cars in a McDonald’s drive-thru. Slip in to get a nugget of spiritual direction and slip out to resume the other 99% of life. That is, unless there is a crisis that needs more than a moment. That sounds like a variation of laziness that results in “forced labor.” Forced labor being defined as “having to deal with what has been ignored.”

Back to my “slip-ons.” One remedy is to hide them in the closet and return to my days of grunting and bending over in discomfort. Or, maybe a better solution is to balance my convenience with another way of service and help, like emptying the dishwasher, shoveling the snow in the driveway of one of our neighbors up the street who is dealing with cancer, making myself available to help at school, or inviting the neighborhood to our house for hot chocolate, cookies, queso, and chips on a Sunday afternoon. (Actually, Carol orchestrated that last suggestion this past February, and 20 of our neighbors came and stayed…and stayed…and stayed, almost like they were cherishing the moments)

Every time I slip on my slip-ons, it is now a reminder that my life is filled…okay blessed with an easiness. I’m reminding myself that the easiness is also a path that frees me up to do harder things.

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Alan

October 22, 2025

“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” (Proverbs 27:17)

As I flip through the chapters of my life, I have become ever increasingly grateful for the men with whom I’ve crossed paths. Not that there haven’t been some incredible women who have influenced me as well. After all, I am married to one of them.

Sometimes the male figures have joined me on my journey for a short time, while other guys have been along for the ride so much it’s like we’re grizzled cowboys sitting around the nightly campfire together. Short-timers and long-rangers have both been instrumental in my personal and spiritual development.

A recent “cowpoke”, so to speak, is an older fella’ named Alan, who sits at the same Starbucks counter as I do. Alan is nearing eighty, drinks his coffee from an actual Starbucks mug (just like my parents did…minus the Starbucks label), and shares the same faith view of life as I do. We talk about chess, our health status, the latest class that he is auditing at the local university, and life. Our lives can not be separated from our faith.

Alan reads my blog and, no doubt, will be slightly embarrassed that he is the prime focus of this one, but it’s true. My life is a little better because of our early morning chats. He tells me about books that he has read, or is reading. John Mark Comer is one of his favorites, while I lean towards Philip Yancey.

Alan shares simple wisdom with me, not wisdom that requires a theological surgeon to decipher. Our wives have the same first name and he hails from my neck of the woods. As we talk, questions arise about the confusing situations of life and how we sometimes have learned what’s paramount in importance by walking through the fires.

We don’t go to the same church, eat at the same restaurants, or drive vehicles of similar models. In fact, I always know he’s at Starbucks by the fact that his anciet Jeep Cherokee is backed into a space. At 5:30 in the morning, it stands out in the midst of the near-empty lot. He’s absorbed in his reading, often his bible close at hand, and unaware of my entry until I say, “Good morning, Alan!” Sometimes he’s in mid-swig as I say it, but at 5:30 he’s usually ready for a refill.

In return, he greets me as I walk the ten more feet to the other end of the counter and deposit my backpack. After I get my Yeti mug of the Pike Place brew, he strolls down to my position, white mug in hand, and we update each other on the goings-on of yesterday and the hopes of the day we have begun.

In some ways, we walk another day together, two brothers privileged to have come together in a most unlikely place, simply because we like coffee.

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Speed Limit Therapy

September 22, 2025

   “He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
 he restores my soul.” (Psalm 23:2-3a)

I was annoyed!

The stoplight changed…kinda. It skipped me, and went back to cars going east-to-west, instead of my north-to-south direction. My knuckles went white as I gripped the steering wheel as if I was The Hulk.

A grandpa-style Buick turned from the east heading south just about the time my stoplight turned green. The LeSabre crept south at…the speed limit! I was in the vicinity of the speed limit as I quickly closed the distance between our two vehicles. And then I crept along behind Uncle Wilbur…and on…and on…and on.

I noticed my breathing quickened as impatience oozed from my body. Uncle Wilbur arrived at the next stoplight a mile down the road right about the time the light turned yellow…and then red. More east-to-west traffic.

And, seriously, it hit me…the dreaded question: Why am I in such a hurry? I wasn’t even going anywhere of importance. If I were on the way to the hospital (which was in the opposite direction) that would be one thing, but I was simply taking the car to the car wash. The car wash, where the attendant would have me pull into another line, almost bumper-to-bumper.

The light that Wilbur and I waited for gives preferential treatment to the east-west folk, so we waited. I think I needed the wait. I needed some therapy that smacked me square in the face about my speeding-though-life habit. I needed a Wilbur to be a driving force in communicating my urgent need to slow down. And not just while driving, but rather like the life zone version of a school zone, complete with flashing lights blaring at my insensitivity.

We have a new law in Colorado that allows motorcyclists to pull up to a red light between two lanes that are heading in the same direction. Invariably, when the light turns green the motorcycle acclerates to sixty before any of us vehicle-trapped people are even up to twenty. I hate the law, because it’s a reflection of our hurried-up culture, as well as a reminder to me that I’m utterly jealous. (Side note: Motorcyclists death are up sixty percent since 2018, and 2024 was the deadliest in Colorado history)

My speed symptoms are not a one-therapy-session situation. Like a dense sheep, I rush ahead with no thought about where I’m going or why I’m doing it. I need a couch in a counselor’s office that will force me to get off my feet.

Perhaps you’re more like me than you realize. Maybe we should pray that a LeSabre-driving Uncle Wilbur turns in front of us more often. It might be a case of, as Hebrews 13:2 says, “entertaining angels unaware.”

Slow angels, mind you. Real slow.

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Inflating Purposelessness

June 27, 2025

  “Everyone, then, who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. 25 The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall because it had been founded on rock.” (Matthew 7:24-25)

We have a vehicle that has a tire problem. It’s not that it needs to be replaced. We’ve done that. For some reason, the same tire keeps losing air pressure. On a monthly basis, the low air pressure light comes on, and we pump more air into it. No matter how many times we do it, cold weather aas well as hot weather, it seems to be a situation where we keep trying to pump something up that can’t hold it.

It reminds me of so many tires in the sports world. That is, our culture has a way of trying to pump purpose into purposelessness, importance into the non-essential. And being people who tend to be swayed to buy swampland in Florida, we fall into the pit of the pointless.

For example, last week there was a sports program on TV of the Dog Surfing Championships, one canine after another standing stiffly on a surfboard. Add to that the time slot for the Slippery Slide Race, the Professional Pillow-Fighting League pummeling, and the Kickball Battle of the week and a person is able to waste a whole afternoon watching contests that are about as meaningful as my Aunt Irene’s “afternoon stories” (soap operas).

It seems that our lives are so rootless that we’re on the lookout for someone or something to root for. Like the continual pumping of air into my tire, it doesn’t hold with lasting meaning. It doesn’t mean we should stay away from activities that are enjoyable and entertaining, but we have a bad habit of avoiding what is most important because we’re fixated “…on a tire that won’t last.”

I saw an interview with an Episcopalian nun named Sister Monica Clare. A new book she has written entitled, A CHANGE OF HABIT, talks about the realization of where she was spending her time. She color-coded her calendar according to different pursuits. For her, God is the top priority, but her calendar showed that she was spending very little time in ways that involved the Holy. Thus, she reorganized her life to “pursue her pursuit.”

What would we say is most important, and what are the pursuits that we keep putting air into that continue to go flat? And what are the events of life that people keep telling us are important, almost vital to our existence, that we have bought into but are really meaningless? There are passions and pastimes, and we sometimes confuse the two.

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The “Meh” Birthday

May 4, 2025

“The sun comes up, and the sun goes down,
    then does it again, and again—the same old round.” (Ecclesiastes 1:5, The Message)

Tomorrow, I hit 71! My brother tells me it’s one of those “Meh” birthdays. It’s hard to get excited about it. It’s like ordering vanilla at Baskin-Robbins. Who does that??? Probably 71-year-olds.

I tried to find a scripture that would help me understand “meh-ism”, but all I found were numerous references in Proverbs about being a sluggard, getting spit out of Jesus’ mouth for being lukewarm (Revelation), and making the best use of my time because we live in evil times (Ephesians).

“Meh moments” hit all of us. Next year’s 72 will have a bit of entertainment to me, since I graduated from Ironton High School in ’72.’ On the other hand, each birthday reminds me of the fact that more of my Fighting Tigers classmates are no longer fighting. Their fight has ended.

Kind of a dreary thought.

I find it harder these days to battle through the “meh-ism” than the more intense difficulties of lower back pain, athletes I’m coaching who need their attitude adjusted, driving in the midst of psycho drivers, and managing my hunger for fried foods as my cholesterol level is screaming at me.

Some days, I’m like Simon Peter after Jesus has been crucified. He’s at a loss as to what to do, so he goes back to fishing because…”What else is a guy to do?”

My roots watered with Baptist guilt, shower upon me disbelief in how I have just wasted a whole day without getting anything constructive done. On “Meh Days”, a person tends to keep asking, “Why? What’s the point?”

I know, I know, I’m sounding like a paraphrase of Ecclesiastes. Hitting 71, however, gives me a new perspective on the subject of meaninglessness. Tomorrow is my birthday…and it just is.

I think hitting 71 will tell me that it’s okay to sigh, to not be as excited as a Colorado Rockies every time they unexpectedly win a game, or also as depressed as the same fans on the regularity of their defeats. It’s okay to trust that the Master will guide me through the day, to nor have to always be behind the steering wheel. dictating to Him like an Uber driver on the clock.

As it also says in Ecclesiastes 1, “There is a time for everything…a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away…a time to love and a time to hate.”

Tomorrow is just…a time. Another day, I will lean on Jesus to pull me through.

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The Yellow Squiggly Line

July 2, 2024

“I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.” (Isaiah 43:25)

Yesterday, I was traveling down Interstate 25 through Colorado Springs, and in the middle lane, a yellow line suddenly appeared. It wasn’t a yellow line that had been carefully painted by a road crew to mark the edge of the road or a no-passing zone. This line appeared to be something that had gradually leaked out of the back of a truck. It had a shakiness to it, like the squiggly graphing line that comes from a lie detector test.

The yellow line continued down the highway for the whole distance of my drive. Six miles later, when I exited the road, it was still snaking its way south. I wondered if the driver would pull into his driveway another few miles away, hitch his pants up, and walk to the back of his pickup to retrieve his five-gallon can of yellow paint, only to discover he now has six ounces left to do the job.

Metaphorically speaking, the yellow squiggly line represents several things. On the downside, it reminds me of the mess of my life, the ways I’ve left chaos in the wake behind me. As Romans 3:23 says, “All of us have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” In different ways, we have left a trail of trash. We’ve made a mess of things, a mess of opportunities, a mess of relationships, and a mess of situations. Like the yellow squiggly line, people view our transgressions and wonder why we would have done or said something or acted the way we did.

We leave an impression behind us whether we know it or not. The words we speak, our attitudes, the kindness we show, and the characteristics we are known for all leave a trail of significance or disappointment. Sometimes, and for some people, that trail of significance goes on and on for a long time. It’s only for a while for other people, as their connection with us only lasts until the next exit ramp.

The amazing thing about the God we serve is that He comes behind us and wipes up the messes. Like the road cleaning crew, God causes the yellow line of our failures to disappear. As Isaiah 43:25 says, “…he remembers them no more.” Isaiah 44:22 has Him saying to us, “I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist.”

Our lives often look ugly, but God cleans us up, and not just partially, but thoroughly. He takes care of the yellow squiggly lines. There are many days where, at least for me, He’s having to do some major clean up.

Thank you, Lord!

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Wrong Emoticon

June 20, 2024

“My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry…” (James 1:19)

In my advancing years, I have done a good amount of writing. My Words From WW blog is closing in on 1,500 posts. Sometimes they’re serious, sometimes ludicrous, but most of the time I try to take a life situation and draw a spiritual teaching or pondering from it.

Sometimes, it’s evident that the reader either didn’t get the point or didn’t read the whole blog. Maybe he got bored, or maybe she got distracted, but the reader still made some kind of comment or gave me one of those emoticons. Perhaps I was the one at fault and wrote poorly enough to cause confusion.

I’ve had a couple of occasions where I’ve read a Facebook post or a text and wanted to give a reply. One time, I skimmed the post, and when the “emoticons” appeared, I hurriedly hit the “Wow” to indicate how amazing the news or the accomplishment was. The only problem was that I punched the wrong emoticon. Instead of the “Wow!”, I hit the “Haha” laughing uncontrollably emoticon. Think how small you would feel if your friend was sharing about the serious six-hour-long surgical procedure he was about to undergo, and you replied by hitting the “Haha” emoticon. He’s about to go under the knife and you send him a face that is laughing uncontrollably.

Oops!

One of the issues with communication is our rush to get through it. After all, there are a ton of Facebook posts that we need to respond to: Sylvia got a new aquarium, Bobby posted a video of him lifting weights, Gladys is going to the zoo, and Troy got his braces off. So many people to give some kind of reply to, so we head an emoticon in their direction. In a time where there is more information shared and ways to share, we listen less. There’s an emphasis these days on over-communicating, while at the same time we “under hear.”

Jesus had a few conversations that weren’t heard or understood. Some of the most religious folk already had decided they didn’t like what he was saying— even before he said it. The disciples often had side conversations, trying to figure out what Jesus meant. And then there were the parables that would have had Goober and Gomer scratching their heads. Sometimes, we hear with our ears but not our heads or hearts. Sometimes, the Holy Spirit speaks to us, but we’ve already determined what the leading is. How might the gospel stories be told differently if the disciples had listened for the deeper meaning? How might the problems in the Corinthian church have been solved if the ones who were always talking, always complaining, had waited for the Spirit to speak?

With social media today, James’s words need to seep into our laptops and cell phones. Honestly, his words are more important in those arenas than face-to-face dialogue because most of our communication is not done in person. Being slow to speak and quick to listen would eliminate most conflicts a typical person faces. It would assuredly lessen the caseload of professional counselors and attorneys.

Pondering James’s words, it seems that more listening and less speaking would also slow down the rise of anger and calm the rage that seems to erupt as rapidly as forest fires.

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The Entitled Nature of Happiness

February 25, 2024

This afternoon, my family will sing “Happy Birthday” to three family members who have birthdays close together. We’ll enjoy being together, eating pizza and salad, opening gifts, and being amazed by the buzz of activity that occurs anytime our three kids, two spouses, one girlfriend, and five grandkids gather.

It will be a happy time, a blessed event. In the midst of it, assuredly, there will be a few moments of pouting because the four-year-old is being denied his third piece of cake, or the fifteen-year-old is told to put his third bottle of soda pop back and get a glass of water. The four-year-old may drop his chin and stare at the floor in protest of the denial, but the fifteen-year-old will engage his mom in debate with the question “Why?”, and further statements of the wrongful parental mandate.

And then two minutes later it will be forgotten.

Thus, the unrealistic expectation of happiness. Happiness is now something we have come to believe we are entitled to. Let me clarify. Happiness is “getting what I want,” no matter the effect it may have on others or the consequences it may have on myself. Happiness is about the moment, about my immediate desire, and, most of all, happiness is often in a battle with health…spiritual, emotional, physical, and mental.

The Apostle Paul had a few things to say about “happiness at the expense of others.” He has some heated words in 1 Corinthians 11 about the selfish actions of some of the attendees at the gathering, which usually included some kind of meal and the observance of the breaking of bread and drinking from the cup in remembrance of Jesus. The offenders were thinking only of themselves and happiness at the expense of others. Some people worship happiness at the risk of future peril.

When happiness becomes our narrative, things like “discipline,” “order,” “practice, “wise planning and actions,” and “what is just and right” get pushed to the back. Thank God, Jesus’ goal was not to be happy. If it was, He never would have gone to the cross for us.

Overseeing a four-year-old’s constant seeking happiness in each moment is one thing, but when adults have that mindset for their lives, it creates incredible and often ridiculous conflict. It can be seen in schools where students cringe at learning math concepts because it interferes with their screen time. It can be seen in churches where the wisdom of the church leader is questioned because it interferes with what some of the people want. It can be seen in a child’s relationship with his parents when he seeks fulfillment in the moment and they’re unyielding. It can be seen in a player’s displeasure with his coach because he doesn’t get the playing time he wants. And it can be seen in a mentoree’s disgruntlement with his mentor, who sees the future consequences if wants in the present are yielded to.

There’s nothing wrong with being happy, but for many people it is the sole platform to stand on. In the disorder of our times, it blurs the mission and purpose of our lives.

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The Smile in Death

December 3, 2023

“When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

 Where, O death, is your victory?
    Where, O death, is your sting?” 1 Corinthians 15:54-55

My last surviving aunt or uncle passed away about a month ago. Aunt Jerry was about as sweet and hospitable as anyone, related or otherwise, that I’ve known. She had edged into her 90s and has now danced into Glory. I’ll be flying back to Kentucky for her memorial gathering in a few days. It will be one of those bittersweet times when I’ll reconnect with my cousins and recount old stories of our aunts and uncles and our Papaw and Mamaw Helton.

The death of the loved one will be the stimulus for smiles and laughter about what has been, the memories of family and front porch conversations.

Recently, I’ve experienced the passing of several people who have been a part of my life. A couple of them were unexpected, while others were the endings of longstanding health issues or longevity. The number of deaths in a few months’ time has caused me to be more reflective about the tracks behind me, the ripples in the waves of where I’ve come from, and the people that were involved in those pieces of evidence of one’s life.

Death seems to live all around us, but we try to live as if it isn’t there. Not that we should incorporate a meditative moment each day to ponder its presence, but perhaps we should think of it in different terms instead of treating it like the long-lost uncle that no one wants to talk about anymore.

The passing of my Aunt Jerry causes me to remember her warmth and kindness. She was an encourager, speaking words that made you feel blessed to be alive. Memories of my childhood days in Kentucky are punctuated with her pleasant voice and personality.

Death causes one to halt, to ponder, to cherish, and to grieve. It’s like one of those rest areas along the highway that one realizes he needs to pull into for a few minutes instead of thinking it isn’t needed. It’s a pause before continuing on the journey.

For the follower of Jesus, death is a stepping across. It’s a transition from what is to what will forever be. Scripture tells us of the hope of glory and gives us a glimpse of it. However, living in Glory is an experience that will not be fully appreciated until the Christ-follower arrives. It’s going to a paradise that we’ve only heard stories about, but haven’t seen with our own eyes.

Just as there are the tears of death, there are also smiles in death. It’s the unavoidable final act for each one of us. May each one of us not be so caught up in what we won’t be able to take with us that we lose sight of the One who will, with open arms, accept us.

The One who will smile upon us forever more.

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