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Commentary
I can count my very best friends on a shop teacher’s hand.* That’s somewhere north of two but south of five. When I’m anticipating my next precious conversation with one of those friends, I often think back to previous conversations. What has developed in my thinking since last time we talked? What has changed? How do I think differently now? Such questions prompted this poem. The world—and much of my thinking—has been in turmoil the last few years. It’s hard to keep up with who the “good guys” are in thought and action. I have picked up, and then laid down, too many banners.
On the other hand, personal turmoil is probably better than personal stagnation. It is by God’s mercy that we grow and change.
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* I know, that’s not a very good introductory sentence. But when will I ever get to say it again?