Amidst the tempest's fury on the Scottish island of Iona, our pilgrimage to St. Columba’s Bay became a journey of self-discovery and brotherhood. As rain cascaded and winds howled, the bonds of friendship and the echoes of our shared pasts converged, transforming us from boys to men. Through laughter, tears, and unexpected tumbles into the River Spey, we found redemption and renewal, leaving behind our "Columba's tears" and emerging changed by the transformative power of experience and kinship.

We are all broken people. Until we acknowledge our own brokenness we will be blind to it, blind to the effects of that brokenness. Remember, these pieces of us are lost in darkness, we need God’s light to help us find our brokenness.

These occasional moments of quasi-competence, stir an interest in the significance of cross country skiing. Underlying metaphors and significance seem ripe for discovering. But those are the love-struck words after a third date, not the slow wisdom grown over years of attentiveness. Even so, the rhythm of cross-country skiing calls out to be noticed.

It’s probably a regular occurrence for you- in your work meetings, the gym, or even at church. Sometimes church is the worst, as pharisees are often the least secure.

It is fun to reminisce about the beauty, goodness, and hope that Easter brings through the eyes of a little boy. However, in recent years it has been much more difficult to recapture these feelings on Resurrection Sunday.

After all the effort, time, and money, I keep running into more obstacles. The sense of accomplishment, enjoyment, and fun that I had been seeking in the finishing of this project was yet again elusive. Rather than taking the kids on a ride and buying ice cream, or showing up at a car show with a picnic lunch, I was bound to spend more hours laying on my garage floor. Rather than joy, I had the weight of disappointment and discouragement pushing me down. A bad April Fool’s joke.

This is my story. And it’s not really about a jeep.