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Rod Hugen's Posts

Narratives in my head…

Many years ago I remember telling my friend, Wayne, that he ought not attribute motives to another person. I assured him he couldn’t possibly know what was rattling around in someone else’s head. He acknowledged my rebuke and was repentant. A short while later he confronted me about the comments I had made about someone else’s motives saying, “Aren’t you the one who told me to never attribute moti...

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On grief…

Grief comes spewing out when you least expect it. A word here. A taste there. A smell. A song. A question. Insignificant, random moments that are suddenly thrust on you and tears flow and your heart is pierced and all the loss comes falling out in a heap in the middle of God knows where. It’s not arrangeable or scheduled. It can’t be forced. It just happens.  I was at the doctor for the annua...

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Loss

They slowly slip away, one by aging one, limping down alone these ancient saints take little with them but simple, godly hearts and tattered memories.  The things they built become decrepit edifices, abandoned now by children’s children and the children after them. Beside decaying paths the old ones slowly fall away.  Soon there is no memory, no recollection they were here.  The world goes sp...

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Bridges

Cantilevered prayers, desperate floating cries, secure me to a mighty God through Spirit’s groans, bridging to the Maker who weeps of my collapse. Knowing I can’t stand alone, he spans chasm walls, extends the girders, welds beam to beam with an underpinning love  that never lets me go. In the swirling chaos where nothing solid lies, far beneath the seething waves tension and compression war....

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Religion God Accepts

Ruth died. She was my mother’s best friend and the wife of Pete who became something like a dad to us kids after our dad died in 1969. Pete would come over most weekends and do things like fix a leaking faucet or replace a water pump on Mom’s ‘88 Oldsmobile or help Mom with balancing the bank book. It was the stuff of everyday life. Ruth would most often come with him and she and Mom would chat wh...

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Clickers

Sometimes I’m the ‘clicker’. Somebody has to be the clicker so it might as well be me. The clicker has an important job. It requires some skill. When you’re the clicker timing is everything. You have to be attentive; completely hyper-vigilant. It can be rather exhausting paying that close of attention. It helps to suffer a bit with obsessive compulsive disorder. If you miss a click everything gets...

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Our Neighbor

He owned the backyard. Or at least he thought he did. He wasn’t the nicest of neighbors. He went to war with any intruder daring to enter his property, driving them all away. An obnoxious defender of territory, he never backed down from a fight. He was certain that the beautiful purple desert sage bush at the far corner of the lawn belonged to him, as did the hummingbird feeder dangling from the p...

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The Day Will Come

The clouds go galloping off like Clydesdale plow horses, powerful, majestic, thunderous.  They leave cleansing, cooling rains that wash clean the dimly painted sky.  A million shimmering stars wink against the pristine night, glisten, gleam, and glow, calling to the One they know, telling of His glorious greatness.  In wordless, breathless praise announce the dawning of the day when the light come...

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Fallowness

I grew up on a small 160 acre farm near Pella, Iowa and it was a very different life than living here in the city. It was a life lived with a deep understanding of the natural world and of God and our dependence on him. Farmers are quite attuned to the world around them. They read the skies and recognize the different kinds of clouds and what weather they might bring. They observe when a cow is si...

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