Family Gathering

by   April 6, 2024 with No Comments

By Doug Creamer

            Last weekend was Easter, and my family gathers at my brother’s house each year. They make getting together such a memorable time. There is always plenty of great food and plenty of places to sit and enjoy it with family. The extra bonus last weekend was the wonderful weather. It was a stunning spring day.

            After we ate, the adults began “hiding” the Easter eggs. There were so many plastic eggs that many of them were out in plain sight. I saw my brother with the ladder out and wondered if he was hiding eggs on the roof. He was actually retrieving a toy plane, which he had to retrieve again later in the day. There were a few eggs placed high in the V of a tree. One of my nephews held a child high in the air to get them down. Wish someone had caught a picture of that.

            The fun part of the Easter egg hunt is that it is not just for kids. Everyone from the toddlers to the patriarchs in their nineties was moving as fast as they were capable to collect as many eggs as possible. The plastic eggs contained both candy and play money. The play money was turned in for fun prizes. Both the adults and kids clamored for the best ones. The laughter and the joy echoed through the air like a welcome spring breeze.

            The gathering began to wind down as various ones began to head for home. The clean-up went quickly, as many hands make light work. Family gatherings always seem to go by fast. As I drove home I was kept company by the sounds of laughter and the new memories that will be tucked away like buried treasure. Another holiday gathering for the record books.

            Here I sit a few days after our family gathering, still nursing the memories of the conversations with nephews who are growing a business and another who is starting a new career. It is interesting to hear how some nieces are navigating careers while others are dealing with the joys of motherhood. It was fun to talk with siblings who are about to retire and those who wonder if they will ever retire. It was fun to watch the patriarchs as they enjoyed their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren spending the afternoon together.

            I thought about the family members who couldn’t make it to this gathering. I wonder how they are doing. It is impossible for entire families to gather when many live so far away and have other family commitments. I find myself wondering how they are doing and hoping they are surviving the ups, downs, and challenges of life.

            Family gatherings are important here on earth. I try to make as many as possible but I have missed a few over the years. I believe that there are family gatherings every time a loved one passes and joins their family waiting for them in heaven. It must be a great celebration with wonderful food and lots of laughter and conversation. There will be lots of old stories swapped. None of the conversations will revolve around future doctor visits, aches and pains, or lack of hearing.

            There is one catch. Not everyone will be at these heavenly gatherings. In order to attend these great reunions you have to be a member of the family of God. The invitation is available for everyone to attend, but some never sent back their acceptance letter. The acceptance involves asking Jesus to be your Lord and Savior. That’s the ticket. God wants every human being on earth to be there, but He lets that be our choice. We choose to accept His invitation or we decide by default not to be there for these wonderful family gatherings. The choice is ours.

            There are many people that I am looking forward to seeing when I arrive for my banquet. I encourage you to make the most important decision of your life, to accept God’s invitation to come to heaven. No one can do it for you. It’s up to you. I want to see you in heaven so make the decision today. You don’t have to fix your life. Jesus is an expert at helping you because He has helped many others before you. You haven’t strayed too far. The Bible is full of people who have done terrible things and yet found forgiveness and acceptance in Jesus’ embrace. That same acceptance is available to you without any cost. I am not sure what I will eat first; I am mainly looking forward to the gathering of family and friends!

Contact Doug Creamer at PO Box 777, Faith, NC 28041or doug@dougcreamer.com

Shrine Mont Dawn

by   April 5, 2024 with No Comments

By Roger Barbee

 For many years I was part of a school’s administration that planned and supervised  annual retreats for its high school students. One of the most popular activities on those retreats was the group hike to the large rock outcrop at the summit of Great North Mountain.  We gathered our students onto the rock, and they would gaze east, looking far below to the village of Orkney Springs and Shrine Mont, the Episcopal Conference and Retreat Center for the Diocese of Virginia. It was a view that gave dimension to the hike they had just completed and to the village and retreat center. During one of the retreats, a student asked if some of them could hike back to the summit the next morning to see the sunrise. That is how I came to be standing outside the dining hall the next morning where about a dozen seniors met me, each gripping a flashlight in the morning chill. Leaving the center’s parking lot, our sleepy group walked past the outdoor chapel and followed a shadowy fire road where the walking was rather easy, even in the thick darkness of the woods.  But soon enough, the rather smooth way of the fire road gave way to the trail, a narrow rock-filled path that served as a stream after every summer storm. Carefully we walked up the steep trail, each of us working in his or her own way to step gingerly on and around rocks. The walking was such that not even this group of high school seniors did what adolescents do best—talk. The flashlights’ beams and the labored breathing of walkers marked our progress, but we finally arrived safely at the summit and our destination.  

We helped each other to climb onto the large stone outcropping, and the deep quiet was only disturbed by the many clicks as we turned off our flashlights. Getting comfortable on the outcrop in the thick dark of the forest, we reverently watched for the sunrise.  The dawn came slowly to the valley that held the village and retreat center far below. A student asked about the lakes we saw, and another explained that what we were seeing was not lakes but concentrations of fog in low places that looked, in the low light, like lakes.  Sitting in awe of the scene, we each tried to guess exactly where on the forested horizon  the sun would show. Time in that stillness seemed halted, but suddenly one of the students said in a hushed shout, “There it is.” We each turned to our left, looking beyond the resort of Bryce, and watched in that dawn’s cloistered light until the sun grew so bright that we had to turn away, unaware that as we had been mesmerized by the sun rising, the warming of the earth had caused the heavy fog to evaporate, revealing the retreat center and the village of Orkney Springs far below us. When the sun cleared the far horizon, a student said (with only the wisdom of a high school senior), “Well, that’s over.”  We then stood, stretched, and quietly commented about what we had done and what we had seen. We then hurried down the trail to the dining lodge for a breakfast of fried apples, sausage, and pancakes.

In Hold Everything Dear, John Berger writes, “A mountain stays in the same place, and can almost be considered immortal, but to those who are familiar with the mountain, it never repeats itself.”  For many years I led students and teachers on the hike to that large rock on Great North Mountain.  But only that one time did some students want to walk in the dark in order to witness a sunrise from the rock.  Since that morning I have seen dawns come over at Shrine Mont and at other locales. Many dawns. Many years. Many students. And all are like Berger’s mountain: All the same without repetition.

The student who announced, “Well, that’s over,” was right. Our shared experience of the hike in the dark and that particular moment of seeing dawn come is now past, but I hope that the effect of rising so early, walking in the dark with  classmates, and witnessing such a fine dawn is still with that student and all the others. I hope that that memory is one carried onward into their lives so that, when needed on one of those dark trails we all walk, it brings light, warmth, and hope.

Accurate Measurement

by   April 4, 2024 with No Comments

By David Freeze

Things are much different with races these days from when I began running in 1979. 5Ks are all the rage now and there are lots of choices within an hour’s drive. Forty-five years ago, we often drove 2 or more hours to find a race and 8K, 10K and 10 milers were popular. The 5K was usually the secondary race if it was even offered. Walkers seldom participated then, but last week’s 5K at Concordia Lutheran Church Love Thy Neighbor event had them as about a third of the field. Races were affordable nearly everywhere, but today’s pricing often tops $40-45. There were no participation medals then, but now the biggest city races nearly all have them. But good races had accurate courses and they still should.

In the ’80s and early in the ’90s, we didn’t have as many ways to measure the distance of the race or a run of any length. The best way to get an idea of the distance was to drive the course and hope the vehicle odometer was calibrated correctly. Nobody had satellite-capable watches like the industry standard Garmins that arrived on the scene in the late ’90s and early 2000s.

I believe that these Garmins are the best satellite watches on the market, but still they are not totally accurate. Neither are popular sites like MapMyRun and Strava. It is very common for a new race to call with the idea of already having their course mapped out. Or that they have drawn it on GIS. None of these methods are recognized as accurate by the Road Runners Club of America or the United States Association of Track and Field. All this will come as a shock to a large percentage of runners, and at least one race director in a nearby county who still drives his car over the course for a measurement.

So, how do we get an accurately measured course? It starts with a solid wheel on a handle, one that can be rolled along ahead of someone walking the course. Called wheel measurers, they measure feet and inches. The wheel is solid, not air inflated. This wheel or a Jones Counter, a bicycle mounted measurer, are all that are recognized as accurate. With the Jones Counter, the bicycle tires have to be calibrated for air pressure. No wonder the measuring wheel is the easiest to use device.

When setting up a course, either the start or finish point have to be chosen by the race director as most important. The 5K course can be measured forward or backward, and I usually measure forward if the start line is the most important while going backward if the finish is most important. By measuring backward, I would measure the .1 of the 3.1 total course first and then measure the third mile next, then 2 and 1. Each mile is 5,280 feet. That figure never changes. A tenth is 528 feet. A 5K course is 16,368 feet. Each of these points are marked with paint and occasionally with an old-style bottle cap secured with a nail driven into pavement.

Next most important to the actual distance is that the course be measured the way an experienced runner would run it. In other words, to match the shortest distance possible over the designated course. This term is called “running the tangents.” Legal, proper and expected.

There is a certain amount of math that complicates an intended course when it is not an out and back to a point that includes both the start and finish. A few of our local courses end several hundred feet from the start. Sometimes a turnaround point has to be calculated, and always should be marked and designated with a big cone or barrel. It gets to be even more interesting when different roads, called a loop, are used to return to the start or finish.

The next time you line up to walk or run a 5K or any distance race, remember that someone put a lot of effort into making the course accurate. Rowan County courses have a great reputation on this subject.

Look for future events at www.salisburyrowanrunners.org

Seeking God Across the Street

by   April 3, 2024 with No Comments

By Theresa Parker Pierce

            When I was three years old, my family moved to a house across the street from a church. I was too little to notice the building but the playground caught my eye. I spent the rest of my childhood appreciating the swings and sliding board. Looking back now, I realize that no one ever told me I was not wanted. Over the years, I made friends with the neighbor children and we played kickball on the open field beside the sanctuary.

            I was an unchurched child. I would grow up to be a first generation Christian. It never occurred to me that I was any different than any other child. Cars came and went to the building and while no one ever invited me to join them, the people were always kind.  

            When I turned five, my mother wanted me to attend kindergarten. There was no public preschool. It was convenient enough that the program was across the street and I could go alone. For me, this was the best thing ever. My teacher was amazing! On a sidenote, she called me “my girl” and became friends with my mother. I visited in her home as an adult and kept up with her until her death at the age of 90. Mrs. Mary, as she asked me to call her had a name that was hard to pronounce, Noftsger. I fell so in love with my teacher, that she marked my chosen profession. I retired with 35 years in education. She would say of my teaching, “I am so proud of my girl.”

            Attending church kindergarten, opened a door for me. I asked my momma if I could attend Sunday School. She agreed and I was delighted. Sunday School included more of the lessons I had learned at church kindergarten. We sang, heard Bible stories and talked. Other children asked questions and the teacher answered them. I did not talk. I did not know what to say. I just took it all in.

Sunday School started in a large room. A basket was passed and I placed a small offering in it. A pianist played hymns and songs. I sang at the top of my lungs. The chairs were easy to rock back and forth in. The superintendent took attendance. We were dismissed to small classes, segregated by boys and girls. It was the 1960’s. Then I walked home.

One thing I noticed was a baby nursery. It did not occur to me at the time, but now I know that children younger than me obviously went to church before age five. I could not change the knowledge that my life was different. I was just happy to be there. I loved the colorful posters of Jesus and the children. I loved the teachers. I wanted a string of Sunday School pins for perfect attendance but I knew that was unattainable and accepted it.

Vacation Bible School was even better than Sunday School. I could attend for a week in the summer. They had cookies that fit nicely on my finger. We drank red koolaide in tiny cups with refills. VBS was Sunday School amped up! We took turns holding the flags and Bible for pledges. We visited an orphanage and for once, I saw children who had less than me. It was a game changer. My Sunday School teacher grew up there. I had hope for my future. I wanted to be just like her.

Just when I thought things could not get better, I was invited to join the Children’s Choir.

I think this is when things began to change from wonderful to struggles. I was used to singing from the bottom of my heart but this was serious business. It felt like school. The choir director said, “Someone is off key.” I just knew it was me and began to fake singing. I wish now I had not but I also forgive my younger self. I understand.

            I was growing older and I knew how to survive in my home. But at church and school, I became aware of the world of nice clothes. I did not fit in. I looked nice. I was clean. My clothes were pressed. My mother made them with care but the world of brands cast a long shadow over the teen years of church.  

A beautiful Sunday School teacher drew me in. Just when I began to be disillusioned with church, Mrs. Powers stepped up to teach the Junior High class. It was the first time the boys and girls were mixed. I did not talk or ask questions but I knew she loved us and that was enough. My best friend and I were a dynamic duo. We sat together. It was enough. Our teacher loved us so much, she moved up with our group every year until we graduated high school.

I was not always invited to the parties of the other girls and boys. I was not cool. I joined the Youth Group. I saw hypocrisy. I heard kids making fun. I began to wonder how church kids were different from school kids. But fortunately, there were enough mentors, adult and teens that gave me hope. I watched my best friend’s family attend church, have devotions and do things differently. I wanted that kind of life. Not everyone was perfect. I heard stories. I began to understand how church attendees struggled like everyone else.

            My inner voice kept me going to church and I am so glad that I did. At the age of twelve, I joined the church. My parents attended my baptism and started going to church. I made life- long friends at what I came to call, “my home church.” I grew up to be a church member, nursery worker and VBS teacher. I chose a better life for my children and grandchildren. I still go back to visit. I tell everyone there the difference they made in my life. I thank God that my childhood home was within walking distance of a church. Never underestimate a small child who is seeking God.

            I grew up to raise my family in church all because I was mentored. I remembered and sang the same songs I learned as a child. I have thanked my home church many times. My life was changed. I read somewhere how one Godly man can change the trajectory of generations. A Godly mother can do the same. I thank God every day for those who pointed me in the right direction.

Dear Lord,

            When I meet young and old, help me to remember that those who enter our church may not bring money or skills. Help me remember to not see them as a number. Help me to look at that child as a future parent. Please help me to mentor and encourage others who don’t look or act like me. Help me, please to protect them from human obstacles to their future as a believer. Most importantly, Lord, help me see everyone through Your eyes. Amen

Encouragement: Please consider inviting people to your church, especially children. They can be game changers for their future family. They can discover God’s peace and joy. Going to church gave me peace in my heart. The church showed me a different way of celebrating Christmas and Easter. I learned it was more than Santa and egg hunts. I found joy in singing, listening to testimonies and turning my life over to Christ. I encourage you to invest or continue investing in children. You can point the way for young person and change not only their life but their children and children’s children. I am living proof. Ray Boltz sang a song called, “Thank you for giving to the Lord, I have a life that was changed.” Someone did it for you, will you sew into God’s kingdom to change your neighbor, city and world?

  1. Do you invite people to church so you can earn a prize?
  2. When someone attends your church, do you size them up by what they wear or if their parents will donate to the church?
  3. Do you allow people to attend church to grow or only look at how they can contribute to the volunteer staff?
  4. Are you willing to mentor children with an open heart, giving them a ride to church and or including them in your programs?

The Youth Leader

by   April 2, 2024 with No Comments

By Ann Farabee

My early experiences with a worship service took place when I was 13. It consisted of passing notes back and forth between my friends and boys that I liked. There was an offering envelope holder on the back of each pew and that envelope was perfect for writing notes to friends. Talking or whispering was not permitted.

At some point during my teen years, my friends and I began slipping down to the altar during what was referred to as the altar call. That was when I began to find less need for passing notes and a newfound need for bowing at the altar in prayer, surrounded by my peers in our youth group. Our youth group never went to the altar alone. We went together and our youth leaders went with us.

That group became my friend group. We soon began going out to eat on Sunday nights after church. I barely noticed at the time that my mother was one of the parents driving us there, and she was making friends, too.

Yes, these memories included food for our bodies, but it was much more than that. It was the beginning of my spiritual development that I would cling to throughout my life.

Our youth group met at church, met in homes, went bowling, played putt-putt, prayed together and stayed together. We shared our problems. We shared our testimonies. We were a group — that became a family — as a result of the sacrifice of time of a leader.

That leader made sure we would break bread and be fed during our teen years.

One evening during youth when we were praying as a group, I remember someone lifting a hand toward heaven in praise. I opened my eyes to see whose hand that was, and it was mine.

I never looked back.

There was spiritual power in that sacrifice of praise from my heart that day.

I recognized that power as the power of the Holy Spirit working in my life.

Never ever underestimate the power of a youth group. I learned the value of having friends who valued what I valued.

I learned about salvation through Jesus Christ. I learned about a relationship with Jesus Christ.

I learned to be friends with others who believed as I did — that Jesus died on the cross for us — and rose again — as a sacrifice for our sins — so that we could live eternally in heaven with Him.

Together, we also learned to worship. Worship is defined as praising, admiring and expressing reverence for God, both privately and publicly. Worship refers to an overall lifestyle of serving and glorifying God and reflecting His glory. The Greek word for worship means to encounter God with praise. An encounter with God is exactly what we needed then — and what we still need today.

Jesus placed a desire to worship in our hearts.

Each week, we need to break bread and be fed.

Still today, what I feel on the inside spills out of my heart and out of my mouth. However, I may feel a little guilty about the wasted offering envelopes.

Thank you to my youth leaders. Your sacrifice of time changed my life.

Life from Death

by   March 31, 2024 with No Comments

By Ashlie Miller

“Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.” – Martin Luther.

I have a growing love of botanicals – their colors and fragrances, the intrinsic detail of each plant, each petal. It is astounding! Yet, I have mixed feelings about receiving plants as gifts. Upon receiving them, my eyes gleam with hope, but then, reality sinks in. I have to feed, water, and protect this living green thing. I have managed to keep five children fed several times a day, in clothing that mostly fits, and put to rest as needed, but I make no such promises with plants. Did I neglect to water you? Did I overcompensate by drowning you? What are these spotty things on your leaves? It looks like you have left us, so do I toss you or hold out false hope?

I found an amaryllis bulb from two Christmases ago that I had tossed into the garage, forgetting what it once held. Upon visiting my stepdad this past Christmas, I saw that the bulb given to him the previous year was flourishing. I asked him, “How did you manage that?” and wondered if there would be hope for my poor, neglected bulb. Of course, I forgot to follow up when I returned home. A month passed before I found it again, but when I did, I finally planted it in a pot with dirt, showering it with water. When I say “planted,” I mean I stuck it in dirt, not even fresh dirt  – something from a bag I found hidden in the shed. Sigh, even my efforts seemed half-hearted. However, in recent weeks, I beam with delight, seeing something green sprouting and flourishing – currently 10-12 inches of greenery. It feels like a resurrection!

I am sure many readers have green thumbs or at least enough dirt under their nails to prove they know what they are doing. Does it astound you when a plant comes back from what seems to be the perils of death? Maybe you rescue plants from the clearance shelf or even the dumpster. You may have even purchased those resurrection plants (Rose of Jericho) through Amazon to witness such a phenomenon. I think deep inside us, we love the idea of life coming from seeming death. What a lovely reminder during the Easter season – the Resurrection season! Not only was Christ resurrected from actual death, but the same power that raised Him can also transform those of us dead in Christ, miserable in the existence and bondage of sin. The same power will give Christians a true, bodily resurrection, not merely a spiritual resurrection.

Romans 1:16 – which by now the avid reader knows is a favorite verse of mine – points to nature’s general revelation of God’s attributes. That knowledge compels us to learn the special revelation of ideas like redemption in the truth of God’s Word. Through general revelation in nature, these signs of resurrection in what is seemingly dead – a resting plant bulb – are a pale comparison to He who was truly dead and fully resurrected. But it is something to learn from and to point us to God’s Word.

As you nurture diseased or seemingly lifeless plants to health this spring season, may your heart and attention be directed to the resurrection that has occurred in Christ and that which will happen for believers in Christ. What an opportunity to worship as we work, grow, and cultivate!

Ashlie Miller and her husband Chad do a lot of weeding, nurturing, and pruning….but mostly on their 5 children in Concord, NC. You may contact her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.

God as Our Father

by   March 30, 2024 with No Comments

            Let’s face it, there are not many families like The Brady Bunch or Leave it to Beaver. There are no families with the perfect moms and dads and all the kids who never do anything wrong. We like to watch those families and dream. The reality is that no one has a perfect family.

            How can any perfect family exist when we have fallen from grace? That being said, many of us were lucky to grow up in good families where many good memories were created. As a public school teacher, I know that many students grew up in less than ideal conditions. Many families were fractured, leaving students with emotional scars and hearts wishing for the fantasy families that we find on TV.

            Given that no family is perfect, we all have memories we wish we could erase and some that are very special treasures. Most of our parents and grandparents tell stories of their childhood that we have heard numerous times. Did you hear about walking to school uphill both ways? What precious memories!

            The trouble with the bad memories is that they impact our view of the Heavenly Father. God is a wonderful and good Father. The trouble comes with how we imagine or perceive that relationship when our only comparison comes with our earthly fathers. Even the best father on earth is flawed and can give us a blurry vision of God our Father.

            As a teacher, I knew some of my students had never met their father. That could make them feel like God is absent, distant, and doesn’t care about them. Some of my students had parents that were divorced. That could make them feel like God has other priorities and doesn’t really have time for them. Some of my students experienced some kind of abuse from their fathers. That could give them an image of an abusive God who wants to belittle and hurt them.

            There are many good qualities in my life that come from my father. The quality I admire the most is his work ethic. My Dad always worked with the highest integrity and I tried to live my work life by those same high standards. I always thought my Dad dressed sharply. I always liked wearing nice clothes with a great tie. These are just two of the qualities that I appreciate about my father.

            How do we have a relationship with God our Heavenly Father? We can’t see Him, although we can talk with Him. Many people choose not to talk with Him, but I think life is much better when we do. Many believe that God is too busy with world events to be interested in our lives. Nothing can be further from the truth. Because God is omnipresent and unrestricted by time, He can be intimately involved with each of us all at the same time.

            The Bible is God’s love letter to us, filled with many promises about our present and future. He wants us to know that He is planning our future here on earth and what He has planned for those who believe in Jesus when we arrive in heaven. There are many examples of how God interacts with people and how deeply He cares for each one of us.

            The Bible tells us over and over again that God loves us. In fact, once He discovered that our relationship was broken with Him because of sin, He made a plan for how to fix the problem. He sent His Son Jesus to die on a cross to pay the price for our sin and failures. The Good News we celebrate on Easter is that Jesus did not stay dead but He has risen and become victorious over death and sin. By accepting Jesus as our Savior, we can have a relationship with God our Father. It’s a free gift! All your sins and failures wiped away! No more guilt or shame. Then we can experience God’s immeasurable love.

            I want to encourage you to make the very important decision to accept Jesus as your Savior so you can be assured of your place in heaven. You can experience the love and acceptance of God deep in your heart. His perfect peace can wash over you and free you from worry and anxiety. You can know a joy residing in you that cannot be shaken by the crazy things that are going on in our world today. Make this Easter the best yet by accepting Jesus and getting to know God as your Heavenly Father.

Contact Doug Creamer at PO Box 777, Faith, NC 28041or doug@dougcreamer.com

Renewal

by   March 29, 2024 with No Comments

By Roger Barbee

March 19th was the first day of spring and the March equinox, which occurred at 5:37 A.M EDT, is marked. I noted the sun’s position over our house roof as I rode the stationary bike which I had recently moved from the screen porch to the front, on a corner of the driveway. The changing of the bike is a seasonal one that places it on the porch for the winter cold but outside for all the other days. Thus, each March when I begin riding in the front of our yard, I anticipate a renewal with neighbors and other walkers.

The spring equinox occurs when the earth tilts so that the sun crosses the equator, and the northern hemisphere shifts closer to the sun, and we begin to experience spring followed by summer.  This day of equal light and dark is almost magical, and I thought of the Greek myth of  Persephone, and her journey from the underworld that brought the earth its renewal each spring.

The spring renewal under the forty pine trees in our front yard is spectacular, and for my new rides here, the life of rebirth is awe inspiring. I marvel watching all the life under our pines—the male birds staking territory like settlers on the prairie, the emergence of fresh leaves on every plant like splashes of paint, and the innumerable green shoots bursting forth like rockets escaping gravity. But I am most eager to re-acquaint myself with neighbors who I have not had a meaningful conversation with since last fall.

            Over the past two weeks, I have shared in good renewal chats with Ethel; Martha, Rich and their poodle-doodle Buddy; and exchanged a “Good morning” with others. Some neighbors, like Ken, do not count because he had often visited with me on the screen porch—even in the coldest mornings.  But one pair I have not renewed with is Max and her standard, cream-colored Pomeranian Puccini, nicknamed Puci. He generously carried the nickname as well as his formal one.

            Max and Puci live near the end of our dead-end street, and for the three and a half years I have ridden the stationary bike in our front yard, I have always known they were coming up our road because I would hear him barking at each vehicle as it passed. His short, sharp bark at a passing vehicle was a signal for me to begin watching for them on the ox-bend of our road. Sure enough,  I would soon see him walking with his mistress along the edge of the road. He would stop and inspect odors only he or other dogs could detect, study other objects of interest, and then royally continue on to the intersection near our house that marked his turn-around. When Max saw me riding the stationary , she would say, “Puci, let’s say hello to Roger,” before walking over to chat. He would greet me with one of his barks, allow me to touch him if he were in the mood, and after being polite long enough so as not to embarrass his mistress, he would turn to face the direction of their home. It was his announcement that they had given me enough of their morning, and it was time to go. Then off to home, his sharp barks and noble carriage marking his journey to whatever awaited him at home.

            The spring equinox announces change. The scene that I rode in last fall is still like that where I  ride now: The forty pine trees, the road, my shop building, the vast sky, all of it is the same as last fall. Yet, over the winter months, change did occur and, while some of it is expected, some of it, like death, came unannounced, bringing its companion grief. Then the sadness.

            Puccini, the grand little fellow, died from cancer. No longer will his short, sharp bark herald his coming like the whistle of an upstream steamboat. No longer will his well-groomed, cream form move gracefully along the long bend of our road. No longer will he wait patiently and regally as two humans chat away precious minutes of his morning walk. During the cold of winter he, as King David wrote, “Went the way of all living things.”

 Puccini, the cream-colored, standard Pomeranian, was just a dog, but what a fine dog he was.  And because we embrace that, we will be renewed when we celebrate an early-morning bark signaling that a dog comes round the bend of Isle of Pines Road.

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