The Journey

Looking backward, it was 1945. A costly World War would end. In Southern California, the jacarandas were blooming. Their purple blossoms contrasted beautifully with their green leaves. The blueberries I came to love were fresh and sprouting as was the sweet corn. It was the time of year in which yours truly, this club-footed infant in Detroit, first entered the beautiful, delicate, and dangerous place that is our planet.

Looking forward, it was that same time of year, but, 1985. I was forty. I was born again of the Spirit. This was the phraseology used by Christ. He had filled a deep hole in my heart. I began a journey to overcome smugness and arrogance, while, deepening my capacity for love. No easy task, but now guided.

My 76th year began recently. My capacity for love is deeper than it was 35 years ago.

There is still a long road ahead. I have a few late evenings of exhaustion in which I can half relate to my precious, more alert wife in our 43nd year of marriage. Sometimes, I am dulled even more by the sedative drone of the television. The idea that my heart is sensitive and open is a figment of my imagination in that half-awake state. Balancing my life with her more readily is a key part of the journey before me. May God grant me the patience and sensitivity to love more deeply.

To my past and present readers: I just went live on my third, and perhaps final, book of memoirs in mid-June. Hope you read it and find it a respite from our new restrictive lives. Here is the link:                                                                    

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