As a flawed human and American, I’ve recently been thinking about the Preamble to our Constitution. I’ve been drawn to these words: “in Order to form a more perfect Union.”
Today, when I ponder those words, it appears to me that America’s leaders are doing their best “to form a more imperfect Union.”
Does Mike Johnson, Speaker of the House of Representatives, understand empathy after he recently denied a request for the late Reverend Jesse Jackson, Sr. to lie in honor at the United States Capitol?
Is Secretary of Defense, Pete Hegseth’s vanity more important to him than the integrity of his work after his staff complained about “unflattering” photos taken of him by press photographers?
Some congressional leaders have made anti-Muslim statements. Don’t they understand their comments only create more tension?
In an NBC news interview with President Trump, he commented about US airstrikes on Iran’s Kharg Island. He stated: “but we may hit it a few more times just for fun.” Mr. President—no military pilot’s family thinks a bombing run is “just for fun.”
Federal Communications Commission Chair, Brendan Carr, has threatened to remove broadcast licenses over President Trump’s criticism of the media’s coverage of the war with Iran. Chairman Carr have you read the First Amendment recently?
Unfortunately, we are experiencing a betrayal of America.
It is an appalling betrayal like Judas Iscariot’s disloyalty to Jesus Christ.
This is a sickening betrayal of America as our leaders have selfishly lost their hearts, their compassion, and their souls.
Alexis De Tocqueville wrote: “The greatness of America lies not in being more enlightened than any other nation, but rather in her ability to repair her faults.”
America, if we don’t wake up, the faults of our “imperfect union” will be our end.
Submitted to the Richmond Times-Dispatch on 3/16/2026 for consideration as a letter to the editor. The letter was not accepted. Bill Pike
Graphic design courtesy of Blue Hydrangea Studios (PLE)
Early on Friday morning, April 3, 2026, I removed the purple cloth from the cross on the front lawn of our church.
I replaced the purple with four torn pieces of black cloth.
(Photo Bill Pike)
The black represents the somber, solemn remembrance of the death of Jesus Christ on the cross.
As you well know, I’m no theologian. Good Friday seems an odd label for naming the day that Jesus was crucified on the cross. I struggle to find the goodness with a good person like Jesus dying this way.
Additionally, you are probably thinking, Bill isn’t much of a Christian if he doesn’t understand this sacrifice as an atonement for sins, thus a win, a victory over sins and death.
Today, I spent my time on the grounds of our church. I was trying to make the place look pretty for Easter Sunday. I had help from a contracted grounds crew, but not every square inch of our property is covered in the contract.
Most of my time, I was in combat with the weeds. Weeds in borders, weeds in sidewalk cracks, weeds in the mulch surrounding the base of trees, weeds in the fissures of asphalt—weeds, weeds everywhere.
In one border, the weeds were so thick that I knew a huge spider, or a slippery snake were going to have a bit of fun with me. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.
By late afternoon, I was tired of the weeds, and the weeds were tired of me.
Weeding offers solitude.
Weeding can be a time to ponder.
I have an early morning routine that starts my day with the devotional magazine the Upper Room, a well-worn script for prayers, and a computer stop at Bible Gateway.
At Bible Gateway, I always read the Verse of the Day.
One day this week, the featured verse was from Psalm 14 verse one (New International Version of the Bible): “The fool says in his heart, ‘there is no God.’ They are corrupt, their deeds are vile; there is no one who does good.”
I’ve thought about this verse quite a bit during the week.
I’m sorry, but at my age, I’m having quite a few of those fool days—‘there is no God.’
Easter is such a contrast to Christmas.
At Christmas, we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, and even with this story there is tension. But like a Hollywood script, the early part of Jesus’ life worked out.
With Easter, the contrast is obvious. Now, we are talking about the end of his life, his death on a cross. There is a tension in this story too.
Lots happened in the days following the birth of Jesus. I like the verse of scripture from Luke Chapter 2 verse 19: “But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”
In John Chapter 19, we learn that Mary was near the cross watching her son. His simple words to her were: “Woman, here is your son.” I wonder what Mary pondered in her heart following the death Jesus?
I wonder if she thought, yes, you are my son, and you shouldn’t be dying this way.
Did Mary think—God where are you?
You turned the lives of Joseph and me upside down with his birth, and now he is being crucified on a cross.
What kind of deal is this?
A good man, who did good things in your name, crucified on a cross, right in front of me.
Perhaps, you recall the movie—Steel Magnolias.
Oh no, Bill is going Hollywood on us again. Doesn’t he know that Hollywood isn’t real life?
Yes, I know Hollywood isn’t real life. Yet, a good scriptwriter can make words come to life. Robert Harling, the writer of Steel Magnolias, accomplishes this in a a powerful scene in the cemetery following Shelby’s funeral.
Shelby’s mother, M’Lynn is joined by four of her closest friends. The women are there in support of M’Lynn.
M’Lynn responds to her friend, Annelle, “And it’s a real good idea. Shelby wouldn’t want us to get down mired down and wallow in this. We should handle it the best way we know how and get on with it. That’s what my mind says. I wish someone would explain it to my heart.”
Returning back to Psalm 14 and my struggle with Easter. Maybe you disagree, but I don’t see my heart as corrupt, vile, or incapable of doing good.
The fool in my heart wants to understand why.
Wanting to understand the why is human.
Doesn’t matter if it is M’Lynn in the loss of her daughter in Steel Magnolias, Mary in the loss of Jesus on the cross, or any parent who has suffered the premature loss of a child.
We want to understand why, and we want to know where was God?
I hope you and your loved ones have a good Easter.
Maybe before next Easter, I’ll spend more time pondering with my friends the weeds the death of Jesus.
(Photo Bill Pike)
And maybe, the fool in my decrepit heart, who argues with God about a lot of things, will finally hear God’s heart.
Probably a miracle, but every member of our group was on the Denali bus at 5:30 a.m.
(Photo Bill Pike)
Our driver gave us lots of information about park rules and regulations including how we were to handle ourselves on the bus.
The driver/guide was in constant chatter. This was mostly scripted, but with occasional personal comments.
Our bus (Photo Bill Pike)
The bus was equipped with a camera that allowed the driver to zoom in on wildlife sightings. Flip down monitors were scattered throughout the bus.
These monitors allowed riders to see the wildlife that had been alertly spotted by a fellow passenger.
If a passenger shouted out animal, the bus came to a halt.
The passenger who made the sighting then described what he/she spotted and every eyeball on the bus focused on that speck of white. In this case it was a Dall sheep.
Binoculars and cameras with expensive lens were used to increase the chances of finding a moose having his antlers manicured at a Denali spa.
In truth, the bus’s exterior camera was excellent in picking a few of the finds made by passengers.
For me, the sightings of wildlife both real and doubtful became tiresome. Alaska has done a good job of marketing the state’s wildlife.
The well maintained road gave us clear views. (Photo Bill Pike)
However, the wildlife are coy about when and if they will make an appearance. One source I spoke with on the condition of anonymity stated that the wildlife aren’t pleased with their current contract.
Our five hour tour tallied no moose, one possible sighting of a bear—maybe a brown boulder, red squirrels, a hare, the state bird— the willow ptarmigan.
While on this tour, we received water, a box of snacks, and a nice booklet with excellent photos about Alaska.
Again, the scarcity of wildlife sightings drew me more to the landscape. During our drive—permafrost, mountains, vast meadows, isolated ponds, a river, and rugged rock formations were all around us.
One of those clear views (Photo Bill Pike)
The Denali Park road crosses the Teklanika River. According to several sources, the Teklanika is a 91 mile long tributary of the Nenana River. Additionally, this section of the park features a popular campground with 53 sites for camping. The National Park Service manages the campground.
Teklanika River (Photo Bill Pike)
As far as the famous peak, Denali, the mountain was as bashful as the wildlife. Lots of clouds kept us from seeing Denali. Once again, a source I spoke with on the condition of anonymity stated that there is a tension between the cloud cover union representatives and the advisors representing the peak.
No matter the direction, the landscape was special. (Photo Bill Pike)
Overall, it was a good ride. However, I wonder if the five hours could have been compacted.
Our competent driver and guide deposited us safely back at the lobby. We took a break in our rooms, and then regrouped for lunch. Somehow, that ride had made us hungry.
After lunch, we check out a few shops.
My two wise friends (Photo Betsy Pike)
Then Betsy, Dan, and I took the free shuttle to the Horseshoe Lake Trail. It was here that we were rewarded—we saw a moose, a female moose, grazing in the shallows of the lake.
Our first moose sighting (Photo Betsy Pike)
Luckily for us this moose, seemed to sense that she was a photo op for tourists. She stayed around munching for longer than tourists anxious for a real moose sighting deserved. Again, the trail and all that surrounded it are quite pretty including several beaver dams along the way.
Beaver dam (Photo Bill Pike)
From there, we caught the shuttle back to the Denali Visitors Center. This was a good spot for all information related to Denali. The place was packed.
Just as our shuttle was leaving to take us back to the hotel, our alert driver spotted a moose casually munching on some weeds around one of the parking lots.
Our second moose (Photo Bill Pike)
Back at the hotel, we made a reservation for dinner and headed back to our rooms.
The Commander had picked up an annoying head cold. We weren’t surprised at this intrusion. No matter if we were on the ship, train, or bus we heard an assortment of coughs and sneezes.
In preparing for dinner, I was hoping to take a hot shower. Instead, I took a shower with a lousy temperature. At some point, Holland America must make some upgrades to this facility. It is starting to look a little weary.
After dinner, we took two walks. First, a river walk behind the hotel that took in a variety of landscape plantings and the rapids of the river rushing by in the background. On two occasions, we saw rafters rolling by quickly.
River behind the hotel (Photo Bill Pike)
Our second walk, took us across the highway, and we walked the boardwalk of restaurants and shops that wanted our wallets. We obliged by purchasing some ice cream.
On the walk back across the highway, we figured out our departure plans for Wednesday morning.
We had to roll out early on Wednesday, but not at 5:30.
I’ve enjoyed this stop in Denali.
While it is true that the viewing of wildlife wasn’t as grand as advertised, and despite never having a clear view of the famous peak, Denali, I would not trade this stop for anything else.
I’m sorry to be redundant, but the beauty of the land and the water makes up the difference.
Clearly, the good Lord’s angels were at their best when this precious land was carved out.
On Sunday evening, we made sure that we had properly tagged our bags for their 6:00 a.m. pickup on Monday.
Today, we travel by train on the McKinley Explorer for a little over seven hours to Denali. Once we are settled into our lodging in Denali, the Commander and I are scheduled to go out on a guided hike.
The train ride to Denali National Park was at times indescribable. Sure the occasional sightings of wildlife added to the journey, but in truth for me the best part of the train ride was the scenery.
One of the early water views from the train (Photo Bill Pike)
I could have taken a million photos. No matter where my eyes took me, no matter the terrain, didn’t matter if it included water views, mountains, vegetation— what I saw was stunning.
Rich forest along the way (Photo Bill Pike)
Added to that was the high quality of the train’s personnel who gave us local knowledge about where we were and what we were seeing.
A pretty view from the back of the train (Photo Bill Pike)
This quality of personnel also included the waitstaff, and yes, the kitchen staff. They were exceptionally gifted in providing hospitality. I wonder how the human resources department for Holland American finds these good people?
Our lunch in the dining car was an unexpected surprise. Quite simply, the food was delicious. The triple berry tart for dessert tempted me to have one every hour for the remainder of our trip.
Gradually, the train chugged into the Denali depot. There a bus picked us up and drove us to our lodging for the night. The Denali Lodge was owned and managed by Holland America.
As soon as we departed the bus and walked in the lobby, there was a massive power failure. Not what management or guests wanted or needed.
We found our rooms. Our luggage had already arrived. There was a bit of clumsiness with the power out, but we figured it out.
With our rooms secured, we regrouped at the bar.
Even with the chaos of the power outage, the staff kept their cool. Our waitress told us we would need to pay for drinks in cash, and that cold sandwiches were being provided for free. We ordered our drinks, and in a few minutes our sandwiches arrived.
My pals (Photo taken by our waitress)
Betsy and I had to be back in the lobby by 6:30 p.m. for our guided tour. We made it back without any trouble.
Eight people had signed up for the tour of the Oxbow Trail. Only six of us were present for the tour.
It was a cool, rainy evening, but the personality of our guide and his expertise made up for the conditions. Any reluctance we had to attend because of the weather conditions was quickly removed.
We learned so much about Denali and the trail we were walking.
Pretty flowers at the Visitor Center along the Oxbow Trail (Photo Bill Pike)
Our guide informed us about the twenty seven species of mosquitos that grace this part of Alaska. He also shared insights about the red squirrel’s habits, winter moose scat, the native trees, wildflowers, and the pretty north flowing Nenana River.
The Nenana River (Photo Bill Pike)
With regard to the power failure at The Denali Lodge, our guide told us that repairs can take time in this remote environment.
Often, linemen from the power company must travel two hours from Fairbanks to Denali. Despite this information, he was hopeful that luck might be on our side.
Our ride back to the Denali Lodge was pleasant as the Oxbow Trail had been a treat. I would recommend this 1.5 mile loop to anyone. Our guide gave us an insightful orientation to Denali.
Maybe, the travel gods were looking out for us. At some point after, 10:30 p.m. the power returned.
We had to be up early on Tuesday morning. We were all scheduled to take a five hour guided tour inside the Denali park. The tour started at 5:30 a.m. Our ride for the tour was to be a school bus.
Nothing like a train ride through stunning landscapes (Photo Bill Pike)
(Graphic Design courtesy of Blue Hydrangea Studios PLE)
As reported in the Washington Post on March 11, the Pentagon has banished press photographers from taking ‘unflattering’ photos of Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth.
Secretary Hegseth and his staff aren’t thinking clearly.
They are missing an opportunity by not publishing snarky, snarling, stare down photos of Secretary Hegseth in action.
Can you imagine the impact such ‘unflattering’ photos might have on Xi Jinping, Vladimir Putin, and Miguel Diaz-Canel?
Maybe if Xi, Vladimir, and Miguel have a makeup studio by their press briefing room like Pete does, then they could share some of their makeup tips with each other.
Who knows, maybe casting Secretary Hegseth in a bad light with these photos triggered the unforgotten trauma he experienced with ‘unflattering’ school pictures while a student in elementary school.
Conversely, with America’s struggles, Secretary Hegseth and his staff should be ashamed.
Consider some recent ‘unflattering’ photos related to Secretary Hegseth’s work.
I wonder if he has seen the post-attack photos of the six American service members who lost their lives as a result of our attack on Iran?
What did he see in the faces of the parents of these service members when their bodies were returned to America at Dover Air Force Base?
More importantly, what did those families see in Secretary Hegseth’s face?
Since the beginning of our country, Americans have known the horrors of war for both sides.
In our attack on Iran, an Iranian school building was hit killing 150 innocent people. If American Tomahawk missiles were responsible for this tragedy, I wonder if Secretary Hegseth’s conscience will be troubled?
I know whose hearts will be troubled forever by this ‘unflattering’ loss of American and Iranian lives—their parents.
Leaders more concerned about the vanity of their appearance have no business leading America.
This letter was submitted to the Washington Post on 3/12/2026 for consideration as a letter to the editor. The letter was not accepted. Bill Pike March 27, 2026.
Today, the Major League Baseball (MLB) season opens.
Seems too early to me.
Growing up, I never tried out for a baseball team in the community or at school.
Yet, baseball consumed me.
I purchased baseball cards.
Waited for the afternoon paper to arrive to check the box scores.
And at night, my AM only transistor radio could pickup the broadcast of the New York Yankee games.
I was a Yankees fan.
I listened to those games.
I could reel off with no hesitation the starting line-up for the Yankees.
Of course, Mickey Mantle was my favorite player.
At home in the backyard was my father’s large garden plot. Behind the garden was a barren field.
The kids in the neighborhood turned it into our “field of dreams.”
We played non-stop— girls and boys.
Bats were cracked, baseballs lost, and sometimes egos were bruised.
But, we always came back the next day to play.
My love of the Yankees faded.
My wife’s relatives converted me to a Red Sox fan.
When our oldest daughter lived and worked in Chicago, my allegiance shifted to the Cubs.
To tell you the truth, now that the Red Sox and the Cubs have each won a World Series, I barely pay attention to baseball.
At my age, I’m a natural born whiner.
So, I whine about the ridiculous salaries.
According to Sportico, “ the 15 highest-paid MLB players will earn an estimated $718 million overall in 2026.”
I was an English major in college, and even I know that’s a lot of money—just shy of $50 million dollars per each of those 15 players.
And with baseball still being our so-called “national pastime” I chuckle that Venezuela defeated the United States in the first ever World Baseball Classic.
Let’s get the disclaimer out here, I’m no expert about baseball. However, I sense that all players must have good eyes.
It is essential for hitting, and so many other taken for granted pieces of the game.
In David Halberstam’s book “The Summer of ’49,” I love the story about Ted Williams being called out on strikes.
Ted Williams was known for his remarkable 20/10 eyesight.
Being called out on strikes really agitated him.
For this game, the agitation continued in the dugout where teammates teased him about being called out on strikes.
In his bellowing about being called out on strikes, Williams asserted that—“home plate was out of line,” and that was the reason he was called out.
The next day, the Red Sox manager, Joe Cronin went out to measure home plate. Ted Williams was correct. Home plate was out of line.
In my aging, I have become more aware and sensitive about my vision. Cataract removals and two corneal transplants have made me more protective of my vision.
For sure these medical improvements have helped my eyesight, but I wonder have they helped me to truly see the world in front of me.
In the movie about baseball titled “Moneyball,” I appreciate the conversation between Peter Brand, the Assistant General Manager for the Oakland Athletics, and General Manager for the team, Billy Beane.
Using player data and computer analytics, Peter Brand is charged with finding value in players “that no one else can see.”
Mr. Brand states that “people are overlooked for a variety of biased reasons and perceived flaws—age, appearance, personality.”
How many times in my life have I failed to find value in people because of my “biased reasons” and their “perceived flaws?”
How about this place called church? How many times has the church failed people for the same reasons?
How many times have I been exactly like the person in the scripture from Luke 6:42: “How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when you yourself fail to see the plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”
If good vision is essential for a baseball player, it is also essential in the real world too.
As a confessed whiner, I’m also skilled at worrying.
I worry about my country.
I love my country, but at this very moment— I don’t understand my country.
Yes, I am worried.
I think about this quote from Helen Keller: “Better to be blind and see with your heart, than to have two good eyes and see nothing.”
In the time I have left in this weary old world, I can no longer afford to see nothing.
I need to become better in finding the value in people that “no one else can see.”
I was thankful for the deep sleep that kept me from feeling or hearing the ship’s silent docking in Whittier.
Dock area in Whittier (Photo Bill Pike)
This morning, we worked our way to the busy Lido dining room. I think everyone had the same idea—grab breakfast, woof it down, and hustle back to recheck our room.
Took a few minutes, but we found a table. Worked our way through the assorted food stations, and made our breakfast choices. Back at the table, Butch and Marian found us, and we had breakfast with them.
As we ate, we compared our prep notes for leaving the ship, or as the cruise director from Holland America likes to say—disembarkation.
After breakfast, we quickly worked our way back to the room. There we made a final check to ensure we were not leaving anything behind. This included rechecking our backpacks to make sure that everything we needed for today was scrunched into place.
When our letter of the alphabet was called, we worked our way down to the gangplank for departure. A few raindrops were sprinkling down. Most of the short walk to where our train was waiting was covered.
Once aboard the train, we received an orientation about what to expect during the two hour and thirty minute ride. The train had large windows and a clear glass roof.
Looking out the train’s windows (Photo Bill Pike)
All along the route, employees described where we were and what we were viewing. Early on, we saw two moose grazing. Narrow waterfalls appeared in some spots.
The ride became interesting when the train arrived at the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel.
According to the City of Whittier, this tunnel is 2.5 miles in length making it the longest highway tunnel in America.
The tunnel has some additional unique qualities—the tunnel is one way. It is used by cars and trains. The road bed is designed to allow cars to ride over the train tracks.
Two more distinctions for the tunnel, it is designed to withstand minus 40 degree Fahrenheit temperatures and 150 mph winds.
This single lane traffic with an alternating schedule saved taxpayers millions by not having to construct a second tunnel.
As the train continues to push toward Anchorage, we can see Cook Inlet. Train personnel tell us about the dangerous mudflats at low tide.
A section of Cook Inlet (Photo Bill Pike)
Sadly, people have lost their lives in the mudflats. The mud is like a quicksand. That mud will not let a person go. When the cold water tide returns, you know what happens.
We make it to Anchorage. A shuttle bus takes us into the city. A section of the civic center is used as a staging area by Holland America.
We experience a bit of disorganization, but everything works out. We were able to deposit our backpacks in a secure area and from there we walked to the 49th Brewery.
My well-made beer (Photo Bill Pike)
This is a huge facility with a large crowd already in place for lunch. It took us a while to be seated. The Commander and I were crunched for time as we had a 2 p.m. trolley tour of Anchorage booked.
When our lunch arrived, we ate quickly. With a faster pace, we walked toward the meeting point for the tour. Remarkably, we arrived on time.
The tour was good. We saw a lot. A knowledgeable tour guide provided good local stories about fishing for salmon, the devastation and tragedies from the 1964 earthquake, seaplanes, and an assortment of facts about moose and bears.
Hopeful fishermen (Photo Bill Pike)
After the tour, I returned to take a photo of the Anchorage Log Cabin Visitor Information Center. The cabin has a sod roof and is surrounded by stunning flowers.
(Photo Bill Pike)
Additionally, I took a photo of a blue bear statue. Apparently, numerous bear statues are located around Anchorage.
(Photo Bill Pike)
We walked back to the civic center, grabbed our backpacks, and made the short walk to check into the Captain Cook Hotel.
Took the elevator up to our room, oriented and organized ourselves, and reconnected with our pals.
With our friends, we worked to find a restaurant for dinner. There were multiple restaurants close to the hotel, but cruise shippers like us were already in lines waiting to be seated. Eventually, we found a nice place and settled in for our meal.
After dinner, our group made plans for breakfast and our early morning train departure to Denali.
From our hotel room window, we had a nice view overlooking a section of Anchorage. However, I will confess, I miss my nightly view from the porch outside our room on the cruise ship.
Tonight, there will be no watching the ripple of the water from the movement of the ship, no snow capped mountains beyond the shoreline, and no sinking orange light as a setting sun slips behind charcoal clouds.
Yet, both seasons, remind me of these simple words from Psalm 46:10: “Be still and know that I am God.”
When I think about the life of Jesus, especially during the time of his disciples, he had to search for quiet moments and stillness.
Finding quietness and stillness in our busy and often loud world isn’t easy today.
However, in my stillness, I’m often drawn to think about the humble and meek. These people have quietly given of themselves to serve others.
My 31 years of work in public schools connected me with many kind hearts who could cool down an agitated parent, communicate with a challenging student, and lift morale when the school day weighed us down.
On mission trips, I’ve experienced the same understated leadership where individuals met the needs of volunteers, homeowners, and building suppliers in demanding environments.
In the church where I work, I appreciate the volunteers who work behind the scenes to ensure that a community event, worship service, or funeral goes well.
On a quiet, gray, dreary day during Lent, be still and reflect on the meek and humble who have impacted your life. Within minutes, a drab day will brighten.
That’s because these unselfish servants have “it’s not- about- me” hearts. They have hearts like Jesus. They sacrifice for the good of all.
Prayer: During the stillness of Lent, remind us of the people with “it’s not about me” hearts who have touched our lives. Amen
Bill Pike Richmond, Virginia
Note from the author: Honored to have this devotional published in the 2026 Daily Lenten Devotions for the Society of St. Andrew.
On the afternoon of Wednesday, March 11, a record high temperature of 89 degrees was set in Richmond, Virginia.
In Richmond, the next day, the afternoon temperature dropped to 39 degrees, and cold rain switched over to snow.
For two hours, heavy wet snow flakes fell turning trees and the grass white.
That mad March snow (Photo Bill Pike)
March is mad.
Beyond its weather madness, March is mad for another reason—college basketball.
March is the time of the year when the regular season comes to an end. Conference tournaments are held.
Then on Selection Sunday, this year, March 15, college teams across America wait to see if their season’s accomplishments merit being selected to participate in the sixty six team tournament.
For teams selected, there is a feeling of exhilaration.
For the teams who were not selected, heart crushing disappointment hits them and their fans.
When the tournament opens on Thursday, March 19, America is captured. A disruption occurs. Lives are consumed. Everything pivots off the games.
My introduction to basketball came in the fourth grade.
On a spring afternoon, two of my classmates, Johnny Huffman and Tommy Hinson, from Hillcrest Elementary School in Burlington, North Carolina walked to my house. They invited me to play basketball at the Huffman’s house.
We walked back to the Huffman’s house. For the remainder of the afternoon, I attempted to play basketball for the first time.
I could not have lived in a better location for basketball.
I lived in the heart of the Atlantic Coast Conference. Four of the conference’s founding teams—Duke, North Carolina, N.C. State, and Wake Forest were in close proximity.
I followed these teams by reading the boxscores in the Burlington Daily Times News. Listened to radio broadcast of games on an AM radio, and watched a weekly televised game on Saturdays broadcast in black and white.
I didn’t possess the skills needed to make teams at school, but I enjoyed playing in the neighborhood and on our church team at the YMCA.
Those days are long gone.
While I still love basketball, I no longer let the game consume me.
I follow the game from a distance.
That way I don’t torture my rapidly aging body with mental and physical stress. It isn’t good for an old man to shout foul, fiery language at an unresponsive television screen.
In 2009, our church started a program centered around Upward basketball and cheerleading. From January through February our fellowship hall is converted into two basketball courts. During the week teams have late afternoon practices. Saturday is game day.
I think the original intent was maybe, just maybe, this basketball and cheerleading offering might help our church to pick up new members. I sense that hasn’t been a win for the church.
On the afternoon of Saturday, February 21, 2026, I found myself sitting in the lobby outside our church office. I was waiting for the last Upward basketball game to end.
Earlier in the day, our lead building caretaker had been admitted to the hospital. I was there to get the building ready for Sunday.
While waiting, I noted a piece of paper on a table top. I went over to checkout the paper.
In the script of a young child, I read these penciled words: “I hate basketball.” Under that statement was a drawing of an unhappy face.
The heartfelt note (Photo Bill Pike)
I showed the note and drawing to our Director of Kids and Family Ministries. She had noticed a young girl sitting in the lobby working on that piece of paper.
Immediately, I was curious about the young lady’s reasoning.
Was she unhappy because her parents were requiring her to play basketball, or was she disgruntled because she was required to watch a sibling participate?
By the time I finished getting Trinity Hall its restrooms, hallways, and classrooms back in shape after being used by 400 people—I too could feel a bit of disdain toward basketball.
When I think about the game of college basketball that I grew up admiring compared to today’s game, quite honestly, I’m disgusted and disappointed.
That disgust and disappointment is all grounded in money.
That money has birthed:
Geographically Illogical expansions of college athletic conferences
NIL (name, image, likeness generates money for players)
The transfer portal has destroyed loyalty to a team
Players who play for one year and then bolt to play professionally
In my humble and non-expert opinion, each of these have hurt college basketball.
That hurting of college basketball is linked to the following questions:
At this very moment, how many college athletic departments are running in a financial deficit?
How many college presidents and board of visitors lack the spine and courage to say to alumni with deep pockets—we don’t want your millions to buy college athletes and potential national championships?
How many collegiate athletes who fail to earn their academic degrees, but secure large professional contracts end up filing for bankruptcy?
How many more investigations are lurking out there about coaches who can’t play by the NCAA rules related to recruiting and running their basketball programs?
The same question can be asked about student athletes and gambling. How many more investigations will uncover gambling with professional gamblers to fix a game?
In doing a bit of reading about this college basketball season, I sadly learned about how Anthony Grant, coach for the mens’ team at the University of Dayton has been treated this year.
Coach Grant and his players were the target of unhappy fans and gamblers after losing a game. These hateful messages were addressed by Coach Grant and the school’s Athletic Director.
Later in the season, some Dayton fans wore t-shirts suggesting that Coach Grant be fired.
Without question, college coaches and their players are always under pressure to win. I’m not sure all fans, including alumni, understand how challenging it is to secure a winning season and the potential championships that go with it every year.
This year, March Madness is a bit more mad for another reason—since February 28, the United States has been involved in a war with Iran.
For sixteen days, American service members have been attacking Iranian installations. I wonder what the families of the thirteen service members who have been killed in this war think about this madness?
That madness of losing a loved one will never leave those families—never.
Part of me would like to meet the young lady who left us the “I hate basketball” message.
I appreciate how she shared what was on her heart.
Maybe, she wanted to get the adults who run the program and her family to think deeper about her needs.
Maybe, she wanted our church, the church who sponsors the program, to think deeper about what we were offering.
In Pat Conroy’s book, My Losing Season, he thinks deeply about his senior year of playing college basketball at The Citadel.
Chapter 16 is titled Christmas Break. In this chapter, Mr. Conroy writes about eight days of practice that started on the afternoon of Christmas Day and ended on New Year’s Day.
He regarded those practices as “the worse time of my life as a ballplayer.”
I worry that our young note writer might feel the same way about her Upward basketball experience.
I hope that will not be the case for her.
Despite March and its madness, the month does have some good traits— St. Patrick’s Day, Spring officially arrives, and baseball season is around the corner.
With the March basketball madness, I wish you, your bracket, and your favorite team the best of luck.
Just remember, someone you encounter during this basketball madness might not be as steadfast as you are about keeping tabs on an orange ball.
This person might be having “the worst time” of his/her life.
And chances are that difficulty can’t be attributed to the madness of how a basketball bounces.
Ok, my first photo this morning was taken at 4:50 a.m.
Sunrise July 5, 2025 (Photo Bill Pike)
I think the photo is a keeper.
For you late sleepers out there, I’m not your guy for sleeping late.
Since arriving in Vancouver, my old body sleeps, but my old body wakes up early too.
I’m also beginning to think that the sun doesn’t sleep in this part of the world. It is light when I go to bed and light when I wake up.
The ship is equipped with a very nice fitness room. In a few minutes, I’m headed there for a workout. I’ve had the privilege of using this room some other mornings, and the experience has been good.
A row of windows on one side of the room allows passengers to take in the pretty views of the Alaskan wilderness and shoreline. This morning, a gentleman working out on a machine close to the windows reported seeing a couple of dolphins jumping. I missed that sighting.
This is our second full day at sea. Today, Saturday, July 5, 2025, we would begin the repacking process.
After breakfast, I started working through the set of specific instructions given to each passenger. Those instructions would be important to follow as we are preparing for leaving the ship on Sunday. One order caught my eye, our luggage had to be outside our rooms by 11 p.m.
Taking a break from the preliminary packing, we opted to attend a couple of video presentations—one on whales, and the other a behind the scenes look of what it takes to run the ship during a cruise.
The piece about whales: Alaska Up Close: Pacific Giants was well done and informative.
The behind the scenes look, titled: A City On The Sea was impressive.
In this piece, what caught our attention the most was food—pounds and pounds of food.
But, we were also enlightened with the construction of the ship, including the technology used to provide water, electricity, and keeping the ship in motion.
Connected to each of those essential components is a member of the crew. From tip to tip of the ship, the key factor for me is the dedication of the crew.
After this enlightenment, we attempt to attend the Dutch brunch, but there was fifteen minute wait. So, we walked to the Lido dining room where they were celebrating Cake Me Away! If you were a cake lover, this was the place you needed to be.
Our afternoon was unremarkable—walking the deck, reading, napping, and finalizing our packing.
Saturday afternoon (Photo Bill Pike)
We could have opted to participate in the Polar Bear Plunge at the Sea View Pool, but our sanity prevailed.
Throughout the afternoon the scenery continued to be enjoyable as the Captain and his crew pushed the ship toward College Fjord.
College Fjord was discovered in 1899. Located along a twenty mile section of Prince William Sound, the glaciers located here are named after East Coast colleges. Schools for women and men are included in the naming.
Here we would be able to view Harvard Glacier.
Located in Prince William Sound, the Harvard Glacier is a beast.
The face of the glacier is 1.5 miles. The glacier is 300 feet thick, 24 miles long, and covers 120,000 acres in the Chugach National Forest.
Additionally, the glacier is known for its calving and blue ice. Calving is when large chunks of the glacier break off crashing in the water below.
While we were viewing, this calving happened several times.
Note the calving in the middle (Photo Bill Pike)
With the calving, when the large pieces of the glacier hit the water, waves immediately start to roll across College Fjord.
I overheard a lady comment that the rumblings of the glacier reminded her of thunder rolling and echoing off the parched land of a Midwest prairie.
I admired her description.
That glacier thunder is an indescribable sound. There is no flash of lightning. Some where deep in the chasms of the ancient ice a silent fracture becomes a resounding clash and crash of percussive sound— a thunder clap. That thunderous calving disrupts any tranquillity in College Fjord.
That thunder is topped only by the contrast in the colors of the glacier. For sure sections of snowy white are present. From that white, we saw contrast into shades of gray and coal black. Unfortunately, some of those darker shades are related to pollution.
Yet among, the grays and dark charcoal colors are various shades of blue—a blue that your eyes will never forget.
Remarkable blue (Photo Bill Pike)
Here is one explanation for the blue color of the glacier from the USGS: “Glacier ice is blue because the red (long wavelengths) part of white light is absorbed by ice and the blue (short wavelengths) light is transmitted and scattered.
This glacier viewing experience was enhanced by commentary from the ship’s Wildlife Guide.
Our last night of dining on the ship, we had reservations at the Pinnacle restaurant. I opted for grilled halibut. I wasn’t disappointed.
A delicious dinner soup (Photo Bill Pike)
Gradually, the ship was charting a course away from the College Fjord. The Captain and crew intended for us to have a late night docking in Whittier, Alaska.
Back at the room, we finished up the packing, and placed our properly tagged luggage in the hallway.
Couldn’t resist a few minutes on our deck/porch/veranda!
Staring into the wilderness beyond the rocky shorelines. the majestic deep green of the trees inch their way up the inclines of the mountains.
With these two days on the water, sometimes, the green is broken from the silent intrusion of a waterfall. Like a ribbon of white, it cascades down toward the shoreline.
Near the rocky peaks of the mountains, snow is still hanging around. The snow like me is reluctant to leave this pretty place.
Pretty mountains with snow hanging around (Photo Bill Pike)
Just as memorable as the glacier blue is the surface of water moving away from College Fjord. It is dotted with dollops of ice.
Pieces of the glacier (Photo Bill Pike)
I hope Alaskans and Americans will continue to preserve this precious land and water.
might be baloney 