The extreme heat warning was first issued for Richmond, Virginia on Thursday, July 2, 2026.
Two days later on Saturday, July 4, the extreme heat warning was still in place.
When I left for my run that Saturday morning, the temperature was 77 degrees, humidity 88%, dew point, 73 degrees, and wind out of the south at 3 mph. If you moved an inch in any direction on this miserably uncomfortable morning, you were guaranteed to perspire.
For the next 35:49, that’s all I did. When I finished my run, I was drenched. No part of my old sack of bones was dry.
Despite these conditions, I saw walkers, a couple of runners, and neighbors walking their dogs. One neighbor said to me that he was simply trying to beat the heat.
The only way to beat the heat on a day like this is to hope that you have an air conditioned home.
Despite the heat, I did enjoy my run.
Yes, I said I enjoyed my run.
It is always an enjoyable run if I spot a bluebird.
This morning near the end of the service road that runs parallel to Westham Parkway, a bluebird briefly zoomed in front of me. Just like the blue on a blue crab, there is nothing like the blue of a bluebird.
Bluebirds are so flitty. Rarely do these pretty birds stay in one spot. Any movement causes them to quickly exit.
Once I was back home, I was fortunate to see another favorite bird the gold finch. This was my first spotting of the summer. Two of these bright yellow birds were enjoying a breakfast of coneflower seeds.
Even though the harsh, bitter cold of our 2026 winter is gone. Winter in a very small way is still hanging around our neighborhood.
On this run, there is an unusual intersection. Brookside Road and Bryn Mawr Road empty out on to Westham Parkway. There are three stop signs, one for each road.
Where those roads intersect, I find the remnants of winter.
To try to help drivers gain traction on our ice covered roads, snowplow drivers sometimes spread a mixture of salt with tiny granules of gravel and sand. As winter melted away, those particles of gravel and sand with the help of wind, rain, and car tires have worked their way down Brookside and Bryn Mawr.
Unless we have a succession of cloud bursting showers, I don’t think this left over grit from winter is going to be leaving the flat area of this intersection.
I admire the grittiness of these tiny particles of sand and gravel. They have endured a harsh winter, the energy of spring, and the stubborn heat and humidity of summer.
Who knows some day, they might be washed into Westham Creek and flow into Westhampton Lake on the campus of the University of Richmond.
From there it is conceivable to flow over the spillway by the student commons heading toward the Kanawha Canal, the James River, and the Atlantic Ocean. I can only begin to imagine such a journey.
But, it is also possible that most of the gritty particles will stay put. They will not be swept away by rainwater, blown by the wind, or dispersed by the friction from car tires.
Deep in what’s left of my old brain, I compare those grains of sand and gravel to people. People who stand at the intersection of their lives.
Maybe they are trying to figure out a new direction in life.
Maybe they are worn and frazzled by the daily struggles they encounter.
Maybe they are weary from being run over by the meanness of life, the struggle to find stability and success.
Maybe they are in a vicious generational cycle full of instability and constant failures.
Maybe, they are in need of hope, grace, and mercy.
Maybe, they just need someone to reach out to them.
Someone to listen without judging.
Someone to acknowledge that despite the burdens they are carrying, these people at the intersection of life do matter, and the struggles in their lives matter.
To them hope, grace, and mercy might be just as flitty and unattainable as a streaking bluebird or gold finch.
1 Thessalonians Chapter 5 verse 11 offers these simple words of wisdom: “Therefore encourage one another and build up each other.”
At church, this past Sunday, I spent a few minutes talking with one of our older members. When I asked him how he was doing, the dedicated husband and father talked about his wife.
For many years, his wife has been impacted by the devastation of Alzheimer’s disease. Recently, her conditions took a turn for the worse.
This change necessitated a different living arrangement. His wife needed more around the clock care. He told me how much he missed having his wife with him.
In these difficult circumstances, I attempted to follow the guidance from 1 Thessalonians Chapter 5 verse 11, but I’m certain my words were way off the mark. His sadness is breaking his heart.
If you are looking for a good piece of fiction to read, I recommend The Correspondent by Virginia Evans.
The book focuses on Sybil Van Antwerp. Sybil was an accomplished attorney who uses her letter writing to try and make sense of her life and the world around her.
In a letter she wrote to Larry McMurtry, the author of Lonesome Dove, she states: “and I suppose, back then, I was reading fiction in search of assurances that there was still a reason for hope.”
Clearly, I’m not the brightest grump in this old world, but at the challenging crossroads and troublesome intersections of life isn’t that what we are searching to find—just a tiny grain of hope?
In the miserable heat and humidity of another summer in the South, might the gritty remnants of a weary winter give us a bit of hope?
And I wonder what might give that much needed hope to those trapped in the crossroads and intersections of an unstable life?
I think the answer depends how much you, me, we, us can put into action these words: “encourage one another and build up each other.”
might be baloney 