I don’t always learn by teaching. Sometimes, I learn by conjuring up some humility, reminding myself that I’m not an expert in – well – anything, and finding someone who IS, and then submitting to their instruction. On this point, for the past several years I have been studying mediation and more specifically, conciliation, methods. This is done in a quest to be able to help people who are tangled up in the chains of conflict to escape with their valued relationships in tact.

I went to work Friday morning with Africa on my mind. Actually, I went to bed the night before the same way. Truly it has been in the forefront of my thoughts since the call. I left Conway for the airport around 4 p.m. Friday. After familial salutations and my oldest son helping me with luggage, I checked in and went smoothly thru TSA to Gate whatever. Without too much wait, the plane for Atlanta began boarding and in sense, I was on my way to the Dark Continent. It was a 1 1

The sun was beaming in my window this morning, beckoning me to come out and enjoy the clear skies. I had one more class to attend at the conference, and then Lib and I were free to take whatever route home we wanted. Interstate, with its open throttle, laid back groove; twisty hilly curves with the obligatory shifting and leaning, or long gentle curves where you might scrape a peg once in a while. Yes, Arkansas has it all. I chose Highway 23 from Brashears to I-40, and any ri

I woke up to the sound of rain and thunder again yesterday morning. There’s not much that puts a damper on a day for a motorcycle trip like waking up to rain and thunder. Thankfully, I was prepared for this, as I had watched the news the night before enough to see that scattered showers were forecast. So I looked at the radar and instead of admitting defeat and climbing into the Toyota to drive to my conference in Northwest Arkansas, I waited out the storm. Once I made it to

I left my visit with my new vodou priestess friend feeling educated and thirsty. For that reason, and to quench my everlasting curiosity about all things curious, Lib and I rolled just a few blocks down the old, worn out streets of the Vieux Carre’ to LaFitte’s Blacksmith Shop. Built in 1722, it is one of the oldest buildings, if not the oldest, in Louisiana, predating St. Louis Cathedral as well as the Cabildo. It is now one of the oldest bars in the U.S. I left Lib outside

Interview with a Manbo As much as anything else, this was an attempt at proving that people with very different beliefs can still engage in civil discourse in 2018. Ms. Glassman and I did just that. It was my pleasure to talk with her in the Island of Salvation Botanica, in New Orleans, La. The first thing of note about this shop is the lifesize statue and shrine to Marie Laveau outside the door. Ms. Laveau was a vodou priestess – called a Manbo, or Mambo, by practitioners –

As I said previously, after a pleasant lunch and good conversation with Pastor Strong of Brown’s Chapel, I set off into the Alabama summer heat, south toward the coast. The ride was uneventful, which is sometimes a good thing. Punctuated by a couple of light rain sprinkles and otherwise intermittently sunny roads with little traffic, I made it to Panama City Beach in good time and found my hotel. The next morning I rose knowing I had plenty of time due to the buses not being

Right, then. Obviously, by the title, this is installment 4 in a series of some unspecified number of posts.  Ironic maybe that I’m not naming the denominator in my own fractions, but whatever. I would suggest reading 1, 2, & 3 in order to help this one make more sense. What if we look at less appealing common denominators? It’s not so hard or even offensive to compare ourselves to rockstars, writers, or revolutionaries, but what if we start comparing the revolutionaries to t

Unless you’re fairly young, haven’t studied much history at all, or haven’t cared enough about it to remember when you did hear the stories, you’ve heard of Selma, Alabama. Sadly, it is not famous so much as infamous, like Salem, Massachusetts – its anagram. The common denominator between the two is fierce bravery met with ignorant cruelty. Selma is where Bloody Sunday happened on March 7, 1965, and last Sunday I had the pleasure of attending Brown’s Chapel AME Church, where

I look forward to this trip every year, for the dual reasons of working with youth at our church camp in Florida and the motorcycle trip down. I pick a different route to the same location every year, and this year I chose to travel a northern route through these southern states, stopping in Oxford,  Tupelo, and Columbus, Mississippi, and then Selma, Alabama on my way south, and then after a week in Panama City Beach, stopping in Orange Beach, Alabama, New Orleans, Louisiana,

Anyway, I am in Florida for my annual youth church camp trip (Florida17). This time, I made it all the way down with no mishaps. Lib’s fuel gauge is acting a little quirky, but that’s no biggie compared to a busted tire, destroyed phone, or burning jacket. This year I made a few stops along the way to see some interesting things to make an interesting – or not, you be the judge, point. But back to the math: It is my understanding that to find the sum or difference of two frac

Voodoo Death is a real thing. I’m not saying this out of superstition either – at least not out of my own superstition. In this sense, a curse is a real thing. If we apply this same pattern to less occult and more common occurrences, we discover a problem. I’ve heard it said many times by young and old alike, on the receiving end of the curse: “Well if they already think that of me, I guess it doesn’t matter if I do . . .” This is a sad situation indeed. The first grader is c

Sometimes I feel particularly blessed. As in much more so than I deserve. When I’m not being especially grateful, I often think this word is overused in today’s culture, but not today, for me, right now. God has given me a wonderful wife – M, who understands me and puts up with my crap. She recognizes my need for travel, and for two wheel therapy, and is generally gracious about both, to the point that I’ve seen some other guys be a little envious of my freedom. God and my wi

Let’s start with the negative, just to get it out of the way. Seeing the high mountains reminded me that I’ve always dreamed of climbing mountains, and have never done it.  There’s something about approaching 50 years old that makes you think you won’t accomplish things if you haven’t even started yet. I’m pretty sure that’s not really true though.  Further, seeing Gerry Spence’s office brings me to the realization that I will probably never be the world – or even nationally

This morning I rose from my slumber at 6 something, and as MCL slept in, I took a stroll on a trail along the shore of Jackson Lake. By myself, so to speak.  As much as I love my people, a solo stroll (can’t really call this a hike – just didn’t qualify in my book) lets my mind and senses appreciate my surroundings more. When I first started out, I was quite aware of my violation of several rules of bear country: I was hiking alone, in the morning, quietly, with no bear spray

Last night we stayed in a rustic cabin at Colter Bay, Grand Teton National Park. No tv, no wifi, no radio, no cell service. Glorious. It has a metal roof, so when a shower comes through the valley, we enjoy the audio benefits without the downside of being cold, wet or miserable. And we engage with one another. That’s mostly good. As in it’s good after people have had a meal, or a nap, or even shower. Before any of those activities, sometimes I wish some people had a distracti

Our next stop would be the most fascinating yet. Given the source of what we were witnessing, I repeatedly wondered how Dante Alighieri would have described it. We saw multitudes of hydrothermal land features: geysers, vents, fumaroles, boiling ponds, paint pots. Ridiculous. Colorful. All the result of the fact that thousands of feet below was a lake of boiling magma – one of the largest active supervolcanoes in the world. And all these features are the means by which it let

I awakened to sunlight streaming through the blinds at 5:47 a.m., and made sausage and egg biscuits for MCL as they got up and began readying for the day. I think I woke up at least 4 times to use the bathroom in the night, and on the last trip I may have broken my second biggest left toe when I hit the black coffee-table between me and the bathroom. After a long squelched wail of agony, I stayed up and started the breakfast. C said he woke up about 20 times because L hogged

In Natchez, Mississippi, U.S.A., there is a very small piece of land, just a few feet square, with iron cuffs and shackles cemented into the ground as a memorial to the slaves that were once bought and sold on that spot – one of the major slave markets of the Southern United States. This spot always makes me pause. And initially when I pause, I’m not thinking of white privilege, or black lives mattering, or the heritage of the three perspectives on the Civil War (Yes, 3.  Nor

At 6:54  a.m. at Little Rock Airport Gate 4, everyone seems to respect the quietness called for by the early hour, except two people. Of course.  There are two men seated in the Sky Priority section that have the good grace to drink their orange juice and read their paper serenely, bothering no-one. Befitting of the higher class seating. I sit at the counter facing the breezeway, where only occasionally does someone shuffle by on the way to who knows where. To my immediate le