Sunday. The day of rest. Mandated by God. A part of our culture and a part of our childhood, this gentle day has in today’s society been relegated to just another busy day as we sprint through our lives as though we were not really running the marathon that is life. In years gone by families gathered and friends met and lasting romance was seeded on gentle Sunday afternoons. Barbeque meant family and friends rather than football and Facebook. We would gather and connect with the cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents and stories were shared and history passed on. Hard working fathers could relax and laugh, and children would find harmless mischief and happy abandon. Mothers, sometimes spending all week caring for children and household, could connect with much-needed adult conversation. It was a time to reflect upon the week that was and make plans for a future full of promise and opportunity.
It is Sunday, and I sit by the banks of the stream, swollen by the recent rain. It speaks to me of spring, and renewal. The sun is out now, and green shoots and emerging leaves spot bits of green here and there to brighten the skeletal chill of winter. Soon the sky will fill with songbirds, and the crickets and frogs and those mysterious creatures that you never see will crowd the air with song melodic in its discord and so loud as to drown out your deepest thoughts.
Our time is like the water in the creek, always moving toward the future, depositing that which has found its place and snatching up that which is still searching, moving it along through the currents and eddies until a destination once again is reached and another wanderer finds his rest as those rested or unprepared are set once more upon their journey.
How important for us, then, when we find a place of rest that we take the time to also prepare, for we all are on that journey through time. The floods will always come. It is always up to us whether and how we prepare.
Chubb's "My Walk In The Woods" 
Chuck well put as I too miss the days of family, when things seemed much simplier and we had ones that we could count on. Today we are isolated islands that use this media to reach out almost nervously to see if there is still some of that same feeling still there. Hoping that it is but scared that it is not and so we hide behind this blanket to shelter us from any chance of pain
Monty, things did seem a lot simpler back then, but then we were young and the weight of the world was not yet on us. We’re still here, though, and as long as we make the effort to reach out to each other what we had will always be there. It does point out that we should make a point of getting together and catching up on a regular basis. Months turn into years that turn into decades before we realize how long it’s been and how much we actually miss each other. Let’s make a point to not be strangers. No need to feel isolated. It’s the same as when we were kids. You are always welcome at our house.
Awesome photo! Very thought-provoking words. You’re are sooooo gifted!
Thanks, honey, I just try to live up to the inflated image of me that you mistakenly aquired twenty-eight years ago. Thanks for your blind love.
I like it you write alot like I think, wow PG did not know this before.
no wonder you enjoyed my pics at the river
Wow, I am just thinking as I read this, WOW time flys by and how we dont get to see much of anyone anymore. The days that anyone gets together anymore are thanksgiving and christmas. Other than that…well you get the picture. Keep writing. I love reading these. So inspiring to me and others. Dont stop doing what God has intended you to do. Love you and miss ya!!!