Yevet Tenney

With the vestiges of winter snows swirling around me, and the icicles dripping from the roof, I wonder about Al Gore’s global warming theory.

As the unrest in the nation continues to unfold, I turn more often to the Holy Scriptures searching for answers to life’s challenging questions.

This morning I climbed in my van and caught a glimpse of a silver thread of hair mingled with the normally brownish-gold ones. I wasn’t horrified or even sad. I deserve those sliver threads; after all I am at the tail-end of a half a century, and I have seen a few sunrises and sunsets in my young life.

Sometimes I look at the glitter and ostentatious glow of Christmas with a feeling of sorrow.

Shortly after Reg and I were married, we invited some friends over for a Christmas party. The tree shimmered with decorations of red and gold. Packages tied in shining bows snuggled under the tree. Nametags spelled the names of each recipient. There was no mistake. Every man, woman and child would receive two or three gifts and when Santa came, it would be a magnificent celebration of giving and getting.

I can’t help but wonder how it must have felt for the Pilgrims to have stood on Plymouth Rock and gazed out into the vast gray ocean as the windswept waves slapped the shores of a freezing, uninviting wilderness.