As I drove home, I surveyed the land and sky. A cemetery with patriots and others. An orange sky. America’s colors unfurled with evening wind. I lifted my phone. Snapped a picture. Why? To remember. What exactly? That the men and women are now removed from here. That their lives here are now (perhaps?) reduced to a bromide or dates or relationships on a slab of gray concrete or marble.

One’s theology is crucial.

Teach me to number my days. One life. Make it count. For the truth.

I don’t know of anyone who hates the beach.

I know folks who may prefer the mountains or the woods (I get that completely) but there is something about the sounds of the waves on the sandy shore, and the breeze from the ocean, and the sounds of the sea fowl, and the way that dolphins swimming parallel with the shoreline inside the sandbar, makes us all smile and bristle with excitement like children.

We simply behold what is, and delight.

I just returned from a few days with fellow soldiers. The team of which I’m a part got to pour into fellow soldiers. We taught skills in communication, stress management, money personalities, personality types and personality patterns, and more.

But most of all, we spent time together sharing and getting to know one another and deepening relationships with one overarching goal: resilience. Being able to take a punch, so to speak, but get back up and keep going. Bouncing back. And recognizing that we don’t fight alone but as a team; therefore, we ought to invest first of all in people.

I was able to spend time with guys whose skills far surpass mine. They are faster, stronger, and more agile. But what our team did, I think, succeed in was planting seeds of spiritual maturation that can take root and bear fruit, both in the short-term and in the long-term, over their careers and future lives.

We enjoyed some seafood in the evening, walked miles along the shores, took in the sounds and smells that the beach affords, patronized some tacky t-shirt stores, bought overpriced coffee, and more.

But it was worth it. Why? Speaking for myself alone, I think it’s because we sometimes need to get away from the familiar to recapture what ultimately matters and why we do what we do. For me (one who tends to prefer mountains and woods and ridge lines), water, sun, sand, and each other are hard to beat.

Salute to the soldiers I’m privileged to serve, the Unit Ministry Team of which I’m a part, my mentors, my family, my unit, and to the Author of all good things.

“Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls. But they said, ‘We will not walk in it.'” (Jeremiah 6:16)

The context of the preceding verse is the imminent destruction of Jerusalem during the lifetime of Jeremiah due to the sins of the people. God sent Jeremiah and other prophets to call people to repent, to turn back to God, and to live according to God’s ways. But just like in the Garden of Eden, the people chose to believe the serpent. They believed a lie and the father of lies, the devil. They thought they knew better than God. They thought they’d be just fine without God at the helm of their lives and as the anchor of their souls.

God was gracious to send prophets like Jeremiah and others to speak forth the words of God. To do what? To plead with people to “ask for the ancient paths.” That is, to seek wisdom, to obey God. And to do what when those ancients paths are revealed? To walk in them. To apply that theology. And what will come if people walk in wisdom? Rest for their souls.

But if there’s one characteristic of the fallen human heart it is this: obstinacy. “We will not walk in it,” (Jeremiah 6:16b). That’s fallen man’s posture. The shaking of the fist in the face of God and gritting of the teeth and rebelling.

And so when you see leftist cities overrun with crime, when you see godless governments go from working for the people to canceling people, seizing their assets, and incarcerating them, you should not be surprised. It’s symptomatic of spiritual rebels screaming, “We will not walk in it.”

I have to laugh when I see biological men compete as women and then naturally dominate the sporting events. Why complain? You said there was no difference between men and women, right? Non-binary, you said.

When you defund police and then watch as your cities degenerate into Thugville, why complain? You got what you asked for. “We will not walk in it.” That’s your mantra. Behold, the fruit of thy ways.

It’s an old story but one which most refuse to learn. And so the headlines and obituaries and persecutions and cancellations continue. The state grows bigger; governments squash the individual because the individual will not govern himself.

Obstinacy against wisdom, against the ancient path, against God, has consequences. But most refuse to listen.

And when it comes to your doorstep, it’ll be too late.

Meanwhile the prophets have been canceled or worse. Because the people chose obstinacy and now they are reaping their rewards in full. Lord, have mercy. We have lost our way. Obstinacy vs. redemption via the gospel. We are reaping the whirlwind.

In no particular order below are some glimpses from my miles today with my hiking poles, hiking boots, a Faulkner novel, a journal, a pencil, and other items, but most of all, I simply beheld what my eyes saw, what my soul responded to. I hope you enjoy.

How one views scenes like this reveals clues to one’s theology. In a universe devoid of a sovereign Creator, why would such a scene exist? Why would men have designed the fence such and such a way? And why would streetlights be placed a certain thought-out number of meters apart? And why would we manicure our lawns and plant shrubs and cultivate them for aesthetic appreciation if the universe is a cosmic accident? It seems clear that intention and design–divine and human–pervade the universe and all creatures. Why would cosmic accidents entertain themselves via intricate design? After all, animals don’t design fences, plan the architecture of a running track, place streetlights, and plant and preserve timber. No, those are intentional acts by intelligent creatures who owe their own particular giftings to their Builder, too.

I jogged a bit more and returned eventually to my car and drank the remainder of a gallon of water I’d kept on the floorboard. Something caught my eye. I looked up on a pine telephone pole. A red-headed woodpecker was circling the pole and pecking away. His colors were magnificently bright. I could have named him “Patriot” because he was red, white, and blue. He ascended and descended the pole, pecking away at the pole, that red head moving faster than I could capture with my eye. Amazing. LIke the tree, the bird captivated me. Why such beauty? Why the eyes to see it? Why the sun to provide light? Why the ability to sense beauty and want to appreciate it and share it?

Later I returned to my place, tired and hungry. While I prepared my supper, I returned to a book I’m reading this week, Stephen Nichols’ Heaven on Earth: Capturing Jonathan Edwards’s Vision of Living in Between.

Just because this world will burn does not mean that we should leave it rotting on the vine. God put Adam and Eve in the garden to cultivate it. As they did, the garden would reveal the presence and the glory of its Creator at every turn, displayed with the dawn of every new day. Though this world is fallen and sin-cursed, it remains God’s world. He desires that we cultivate it, and even that we enjoy it (48).

Since we find that we live in an intelligible world, and we have the means not only to apprehend it, but also the abilities to cultivate, shepherd, and tend it, do not all these realities clearly suggest and imply not only the existence of a Creator, but also that He delights in beauty, and in making it for us to enjoy? Why? It is possible that He intends beauty as a conduit for our delight in its Author? And sometimes that could be as simple and yet spectacular as a hardwood in winter, a red-headed woodpecker, and a theological worldview that acknowledges the masterpiece we tread upon.

The picture is blurry because I took it with my phone through the kitchen window. A mom is cleaning her girl.

It is moving to watch their soft eyes, their silent communication, their understanding of interdependence.

Family is a theme among them, too.

Salmon and orange above. Bathing all. For those who saw, it snatched the breath.

A bird unclasped his talons. Pine bark chipped from the brown-shingled limb.

And feathers flew towards the light as the brown-shingled limb rose and sank rhythmically with a bird’s leaving.

Some days the air is brisk, the sun smiles, the trails beckon, and Brewster’s ready to be on point. Again we take to the trails and it could not be better. He’s an old boy now, but he still presses on, as we rack up the miles.