People come and go in our lives. Sometimes we immediately sense their importance; other times it takes a longer view to value their influence. The latter is the case with my mentor of the high country.

I’ve always thought “hiatus” was a funny-sounding word: hi-ate-us. When you hear it, or see it used in a print-sentence, it conjures up a host of images. However, in my case, the word is a perfect-fit because I am taking a hiatus.

We celebrated a “western weekend” here at St. Mark’s United Methodist Church in Lincoln, Nebraska last weekend. I enjoy cowboy poetry and used a poem by cowboy poet Red Steagall in my sermon called “Riding for the Brand.” While doing my research I came across this Father’s Day poem by Tamara Hillman entitled Dad’s Boots.

There is a terrible old preacher joke about the name of the Old Testament prophet Isaiah’s horse. The correct answer would be Is Me. How do I know? Well, because Isaiah was constantly saying, “Whoa Is Me!” GROAN! I do know that when it comes right down to it if I don’t preach the gospel, woe is me!

My friends who know me as Reverend Baseball often hear me intone, “Everything counts in baseball!” Sometimes in that wacky world played between geometric lines that form a diamond even the things that don’t count end up resulting in imperfect perfection.

I was involved in a conversation with some folks recently about how “Decoration Day” has become “Memorial Day.” Being old enough to remember when and why folks used the decoration moniker for the holiday it got me thinking about its purpose. Perhaps the best way we can celebrate the day is by becoming living memorials.