By Wayne Allensworth The boy jumped over a fence and headed toward the pond, where a rock pile at one end made a rippling waterfall. It’s cold out, a few days past a warm Christmas. The wind is blowing fiercely, and the last leaves have flown and left naked branches on the trees near the pond. The limbs rattle and sway on the tallest trunks. The evergreens provide splashes of color against the...
By Wayne Allensworth Verily, I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of Godas a little child, he shall not enter therein — Mark 10:15 My grandchildren remind me of Jesus’ comments about the faith of little children. To be sure, Proverbs told us to raise our children properly, that they should not depart from the way. But I believe that Christ was referring to something innate in...
By Wayne Allensworth It’s approaching mid-November and in the morning sky the rising sun, bright as it climbs in a China blue firmament, has moved closer to the moon, a half orb at this stage, the half facing the sun bright and clear, reflecting morning’s light. The leaves are turning finally, after a second Indian summer and then the onset of fall temperatures. I follow a stream and arch my neck...
By Wayne Allensworth To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour… The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons Are the fruits of the two seasons. A survey of October skies. As I walk and watch and experience the change of seasons, however gradual in this part of the world. But still there, still...
By Wayne Allensworth Human beings live in webs of relationships — relationships that overlap but are prioritized by most people in most places, in most times, by proximity. These priorities are the basis of moral teachings which, when codified and extended to all members of a polity in law, become institutionalized, at least in theory. But the oldest rules of all, the ones we know without needing...
By Wayne Allensworth A French TV documentary from the 2000s showed Amazonian rainforest tribesmen reacting to images of the modern world. Their eyes were wide with amazement — and, I think, some sense of sadness, even of foreboding. Their reaction to astronauts on the Moon was one of dismay, much, as I recall, like that of my great grandmother, who viewed the landings as somehow blasphemous. The...
By Wayne Allensworth Our conscious memory is like a mist that covers the summit of a vast, awesome mountain. Brain scientists say that we retain memories of everything that ever happened to us. Under hypnosis, or during a near-death experience, a panorama of one’s life can be drawn out of the mist. And sometimes memories veiled by the unconscious mind can still, they say, affect our conscious...
By Wayne Allensworth The picture remains embedded in my memory. An old man — my paternal grandfather — touching a name carved into a stone wall. The wall was a monument erected to honor fallen servicemen from Houston. It was early summer and hot, as sticky hot as it gets down there. It was the only time I ever saw him get emotional about the loss of his oldest son, my namesake, in a time that was...
By Wayne Allensworth What follows is an excerpt from a piece I wrote a couple of years ago that remains relevant: Our people must begin reconsidering their history. Where they came from and where we wish to go. An end to foreign adventures and to militarism should be one of our aims. That’s the best way to honor the memory of the fallen. Perhaps we should also take more time to honor another kind...
By Wayne Allensworth On Easter Sunday before the service, I was sitting in church and watching the congregants come in. What I saw gave me some cause for hope. A few of the ladies wore hats — “Easter bonnets,” we called them in the past — and low and behold, a few of the children were dressed up. Dresses, ties, little jackets. It’s not that I think God cares what people wear. It’s about us...
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