Faith journeys begin in all sorts of ways. A fun exercise is to ask folks to trace the thread of belief back through their years to when it first began to make itself known and when belief followed.

The other morning found me earnestly rowing to nowhere at the Geezer Gym. Surrounded by several physical reminders of life’s fragile nature and brief tenure moved me to up my pace a bit in yet another effort to keep the old man out. Often I row and think or talk with friends I only see there, but this morning had me listening to a Tim Keller talk.

Last week’s entry in this space told just a slice of the story of John the baptizer’s folks, Zacharias and Elizabeth, found in Luke 1. The piece wondered about faith in the midst of disappointment and how life can make turns we would never choose, and reminding believers that God hasn’t finished writing his story in us.

The significant November snows opened Mt. Bachelor for the ski season earlier than I was prepared for. We went from a warm, breezy fall to mid-winter in a weekend. So, the other Monday I wandered up to the mountain to make a a dozen laps on my own before getting on with my day.

The other day, after a morning at the mountain trying navigate skiing with old equipment (me), I returned to eat, shower then sit down to spend some time reading on the Substack site before dropping off into a nap. Since joining Substack mid-summer, the breadth of my blog reading has significantly expanded. Much of it barely holds my attention, but occasionally a post comes along that is as cool as the backside of a pillow.

In my morning time with God the other day, the devotional I read retold the story from the older testament of Boaz and Ruth, a Moabite woman and not a Jew.

This is a story of a family with their fair share of drama.

Reading through the stories of the life of Jesus as John remembered them, I paused long enough to ponder a well-known episode.

Jesus has come up to Jerusalem from Galilee in the north country for the Jewish festival of Booths.

I’d like to think I’m like this dog at the window, patiently watching and waiting. But our days have trained me a toward profound impatience like no other time. Unlike this picture, I’m more likely to pace, fret, wonder and worry, and question if what I so deeply desire will ever come into view. Who am I trying to kid, dogs know better how to wait and trust than me.

If I craft a picture of Jesus in my mind, I see him brushing sawdust from his clothes and hanging with working people, playing games with groups of kids, waving to outsiders of all stripes to come close, powerfully challenging religious norms and those who push them, teaching huge truths wrapped in plain brown wrappers.