love – might be baloney

Acorns, soccer, and a light fixture

October 16, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

On the afternoon of Friday, October 9, 2026, our yard needed to be mowed.

Before I could start mowing the front yard, I needed to remove about ten million acorns.

In truth, I can’t believe we have so many acorns. I thought the summer’s excessive heat and timid rainfall might curtail the acorns this year. I was wrong.

The acorns have been falling from a stately oak tree that lives in the corner of our neighbor’s yard.

This majestic oak has quite a canopy. The spread of this canopy intrudes into our yard.

There are so many acorns that even squirrels are disinterested. Wacky as squirrels are, they might regret their indifference this winter.

Our flower border along the fence line and a mulched section under the dogwood tree have some of those ten million acorns.

The acorns thud when they hit the ground. They bounce off the asphalt. The acorns pop loudly when they careen off the roof of my parked car or its windshield.

Driving over the acorns, sounds like ice cracking on a road surface on a frozen winter morning.

After I had finished raking as many as I could out of the yard, a neighbor who was walking by looked at my pile. She commented, “Wow, that’s a lot of acorns.”

She is correct. I expect after the acorns stop falling that between both yards we will conservatively estimate close to twenty million.

Acorns to be shipped to you (Photo Bill Pike)

Perhaps you remember from the movie, Forrest Gump, this introduction from Forrest’s new best friend: “My name is Benjamin Buford Blue, people call me Bubba.”

You might recall that young Bubba was all about starting his own shrimping business after the Vietnam war. Bubba could reel off all the possibilities for preparing and selling their harvested shrimp.

Based upon Bubba’s list, I’m beginning to wonder if there might be a market for acorns. According to several sources, some reliable, and some probably unreliable, acorns can be eaten.

If I believed more in the reliable, I could like Bubba name multiple culinary possibilities for the acorns—acorn pancakes, acorn ice cream, acorn muffins, spiced acorn cider, lightly salted acorns, acorn brittle, acorn upside down cake, emulsified acorn soup, acorn slurpy, acorn pudding. You get the idea.

Perhaps, it might be worth calling the Rose Bowl Parade. I’ll bet those clever float makers could find a place for the acorns on their floats.

Seriously, I’m thinking about reaching out to the Virginia Department of Forestry. They might take a million of the higher quality acorns off my hands for potential seedlings.

I know next spring at least half of our front yard will be sprouting oak leaves from the buried acorns.

Meanwhile if you live in a part of America where there are no oak trees producing acorns, for $29.95, I will gladly ship you a pound of acorns.

Before heading out to the Richmond Folk Festival on the afternoon of Saturday, October 10, we had grandparent soccer duty.

The Commander Supreme drove west to the Shady Grove YMCA facilities to watch our third grade granddaughter, Josie, play soccer.

The Commander left early so that she could survey the sale at Tweed. Tweed is one of the most dangerous retailers in Richmond for wives to visit. Husbands cringe when their wives say I’m going to Tweed.

I made no stop at a retailer on my way to Tuckahoe Middle School where our first grader, Ellie, would be playing her game. Both Josie and Ellie play in leagues coordinated through the Tuckahoe YMCA. Ellie’s team holds their weekly practice before the start of the game.

I think the Tuckahoe YMCA does a good job with this program. I particularly like the wording found on the back of the t-shirts worn by the coaches. It reads: COACH CARING, HONESTY, RESPECT, RESPONSIBILITY.

Despite efforts from my friend, Robb Spotts, who played collegiate soccer, coached at the high school level, and still officiates local soccer games, I do not understand the rules of soccer. Perhaps our granddaughters can assist my soccer mentor, Coach Spotts, in my tutelage.

Despite my soccer denseness, I do appreciate with lots of patience from their coaches how these young ladies improve their soccer skills.

I know grandparents are not supposed to brag about their grandchildren, but I’m going to break that rule.

The Commander Supreme reported to me that Josie has improved her skills. Josie scored a goal, and she had multiple saves when playing goalie.

At one point during the game on Saturday morning, I saw that improvement in Ellie’s soccer skills. I have no photographic proof, but here is what I saw.

The other team had the ball. One of their players was pushing the ball down the sideline on the side opposite from where Ellie was positioned. The player had an open field down that sideline.

Ellie from the other side of midfield saw this player breaking away. She ran with the grace of a yearling who had just discovered its stride. Ellie turned on her afterburners, caught up with the player, steered the ball away from her, took the ball back up field, and with some soccer gods’ luck kicked in a goal.

I wanted to see a replay. I wanted to hear a commentator compliment Ellie on her field of vision, her foot speed, and her pivot to work the ball back down field to score a goal.

Until I croak, I will replay Ellie’s play in my mind forever.

The remnants of Hurricane Isaias came to Richmond with a much needed, gentle rain on Sunday morning.

In opening up our church, Trinity Methodist, I was greeted with a text message from our Kids Director, Jen. A slow rotting pumpkin had slimmed a carpet tile in a classroom.

And, I remembered that I needed to replace a burned out light in the mini-kitchen in the Welcome Center.

I popped up the carpet tile, replaced it with a substitute, and disposed of the rotting pumpkin. With warm soapy water, I scrubbed the stained carpet tile, rinsed it, and placed the soggy tile in the Trinity Hall mechanical room to dry.

Next, I worked my way to replacing the burned out light.

Someday, I would like to have a long conversation with the designer of the light fixtures that grace our Welcome Center. That conversation would also include the architect who thought it would be a good idea to install these fixtures in the Welcome Center.

My battles with these fixtures are not pretty.

Troublesome light fixture (Photo Bill Pike)

God’s ears burn when the confrontation with the dead bulb starts. Any slim chance that I had for even seeing the pearly gates of heaven slip further and further away when wrestling with replacing these lights.

This Sunday morning was to be no different.

Armed with a ladder, a Phillips head screwdriver, a pencil, gloves, and a new bulb, I started.

The first challenge is to remove the bulb from the socket without it breaking. Just so you know these bulbs are not your standard screw in type. With a gloved hand, I gently try to remove the bulb. Step one failed.

Eventually, I was able to coax the bulb to release. With its cracks, I placed the bulb, into a small cardboard box.

Next, I used the screwdriver to unscrew two screws holding the metal canister in place in the ceiling tile opening.

Quickly, with the pencil, I attempted to push in the new light bulb. The pencil is just the right length, and with the eraser I can apply pressure to push in the bulb. Rushing, I failed again. I did not have the new bulb snug in its four sided opening. The bulb landed hard and cracked on the countertop.

More muttering of unacceptable language spewed.

So, I regrouped. Went down into Eaton Hall to grab a new bulb. Came back into the Welcome Center, repositioned the ladder, and started over.

This time the bulb was snug. I put the bulb back into the cone, realigned and tightened the two screws and shoved the fixture back into the ceiling. Unfortunately, the base of the fixture was not flush with the ceiling tile.

Now, I had an unacceptable gap. I removed another ceiling tile, shoved my head into that space, and saw the problem.

To hold the fixture in place on the metal grids where the ceiling tiles lie are two adjustable metal bars. These two bars were not positioned properly. With the assist of more rotten language, I finally found the correct position for the bars. Now the base of the light canister was flush with the ceiling tile.

If you’re still reading this baloney, you are either laughing hysterically, crying for my incompetence, or wondering why, why does God and this church keep this old guy around?

I can’t answer that question.

But, I do think about the words on the back of that YMCA t-shirt worn by their coaches.

Where have caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility gone in our world?

Have they become lost in the chaos of our headlines?

What do acorns, a soccer game, and a light fixture have to do with those words?

The over productive oak tree is simply being responsible to the rules of nature that it has followed since its birth.

Luckily for our granddaughters, the YMCA is still an organization that values caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility. Just imagine the impact we could have on each other and the world if we thoughtfully applied these words.

As for me and that light fixture, despite all of the heartburn it gave me, I do respect the light it provides.

And continuing on the as for me, my wife will tell you that at times I care too much.

I had a school leader tell me one time that I was “honest to a fault.”

And as for responsibility, it is in my DNA.

Where are caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility in our collective DNA?

Maybe acorns pinging off our noggins, the innocent hope of children on a soccer field, and the stubborn collision between an old grump and a light fixture will remind us that we need caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility more that ever.

You, me, we, us need to reconnect with these words.

They are in our DNA.

Winston Churchill said, “Words are the only things which last forever.”

You, me, we, us need to make sure that caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility last forever.

When life goes sideways

September 21, 2026 Bill Pike2 Comments

Late on the afternoon of Friday, August 21, 2026, long time Trinity member, Ken Hart, showed up at church.

Ken arrived with his leaf blower. The crepe myrtles in the Bicentennial Garden drop their pretty pink blossoms on the brick paver sidewalk.

Those blossoms track into the building. This is especially true after a passing summer thunderstorm.

When I saw Ken on Sunday morning, I thanked him for his work.

I also told him that the sidewalk was covered again this morning with those pretty pink blossoms.

Somedays, sidewalks go sideways.

Early on that same Sunday morning, I used a couple of brooms to clear the sidewalk again. As I was sweeping those pink blossoms, I looked down into the pile where I saw a motionless butterfly.

I picked it up and placed it on the top of one of the brick columns. The butterfly was a monarch. Stunning in its color, its patterns were perfectly designed and sequenced, a flawless example of an angel on earth.

I felt bad for the butterfly. I thought back to all of the times Eric Carle’s “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” had been read to our children before bedtime.

Somedays, life goes sideways for butterflies.

Out on Patterson Avenue, Virginia Route 6, where Normandy Drive empties on to Patterson there is a water line leak. Water has been bubbling for over two weeks now.

That bubbling created a large pot hole. The pot hole was large enough to be a hindrance for drivers. Despite shutting that travel lane down, and using orange traffic cones and gravel as a band-aid repair, none of that has kept right front tires from slamming into the hole.

One morning, I watched a county school bus make a very awkward turn on to the open lane on Patterson. I don’t think the bus driver enjoyed making that turn.

Somedays, life goes sideways for water lines.

This week, thousands of miles from Richmond, Virginia, life went sideways in Nepal. I have never seen such immediate and catastrophic flood destruction. There was no blink. Didn’t matter if you were a human being or a man made structure, you were gone.

Somedays, life can unexpectedly go sideways.

A few weeks ago, life went sideways for our new senior pastor, and her husband, who is also a pastor. He was diagnosed with a very rare, but dangerous oral cancer. His second round of surgery was yesterday.

Cancer always makes life go sideways.

Somewhere in America there is a small business owner who is feverishly attempting to figure out how to make payroll for this week. The business owner understands loyalty and sacrifice. Deep inside, the owner wonders how much longer loyalty and sacrifice will last.

Making payroll makes life go sideways.

My sister and I always remember August 31, 1992 and September 1, 2002. Those were the days when we lost our parents.

Losing a loved one makes life go sideways.

Up in heaven, I wonder if life goes sideways for God and Jesus?

My guess is life goes sideways every day in heaven.

Twenty-four seven, there is no down time. There is always a crisis.

For people like me, who try to be good, who try to understand and apply the teachings in the Bible to my daily living, my belief in what I have held on to for all these years can go sideways too.

I want to know why life goes sideways?

Yes, this is a reoccuring whining theme for me.

But, the truth be told, this is a reoccuring, whining question for you too. You want to know why life goes sideways.

Quite honestly, God and Jesus are tired of me and my why.

And all my whys are grounded in the New Testament of the Bible—the miracles. Why was sight restored to someone? Why were demons cast out of a young man? Why were lepers cured? Why did a judge finally cave in and rule in favor of the woman who had consistently pestered him? Why, why, why, why, why?

Every August, I keep an eye on a gardenia shrub. The gardenia is located on the west side of our home. It is in a narrow border beside our trash cans and recycling container.

That gardenia blooms in the late spring. Sometimes in August, the gardenia surprises me with a few fragrant singular blooms.

This August, the gardenia didn’t disappoint me. I caught a whiff of its fragrance when taking out some recycling. I searched the shrub and found the single white bloom buried among waxy green leaves.

That gardenia always circles me back to my parents. They had prolific green thumbs. For this gardenia, its roots are linked back to my parent’s yard. It’s blooming in August always makes me think of our mother and father.

There have been years, when life had gone sideways for the gardenia. Challenging winters with coatings of ice and harsh northwest winds have on several occasions burned its green foliage.

Despite the bitter winter, the gardenia finds a way to persevere.

When life went sideways for our parents, I think their perseverance came from their faith.

Clearly, there is no stopping of life going sideways.

Perhaps when sideways arrives, I need to think more deeply about this quote from Helen Keller: “Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.”

Instead of me constantly whining why about sideways, I need to commit to help those who are still here with the “overcoming it.”

It will be difficult for me to overcome my whining why.

But, I’m going to work on it.

How about you?

Wedding Day Saturday, May 30, 2026: A Toast

June 6, 2026 Bill Pike2 Comments

Before, I start, how about this weather. Since Thursday, we’ve had spectacular weather.

I was told to keep this short, no goofy humor, no preachiness, and above all don’t embarrass us.

Nice try.

I’d like to start by thanking everyone for being here this evening.

Over the last few days, we had family and friends arrive from London, England, Hawaii, California, Texas, Tennessee, Illinois, Georgia, Massachusetts, New York, Maryland, North Carolina, and Virginia.

We are honored to have you with us.

But in truth, my most heartfelt thanks goes to those who opted not to attend—bless your hearts.

We are deeply appreciative of our friends, Bill and Cabell Longan for helping Elizabeth and Jackson reserve the Commonwealth Club.

Thanks for every staff member at the Commonwealth Club and our wedding coordinators.

Appreciate the staff and volunteers at Trinity United Methodist Church for their help too.

Thanks to those “dangerous” steel magnolias who hosted bridal showers in North Carolina and Virginia, and the bridal luncheon yesterday.

We also want to thank the Cates and Phipps families for their gracious hospitality at the rehearsal dinner.

The whole evening was delightful—delicious food, connecting conversations, and heartfelt toasts to honor Jackson and Elizabeth.

We look forward to being with you at more family gatherings in the future.

That thanks goes also to some special heavenly guests Ken and Liz, Bill and Louise, Susan and Larry, and two of my uncles Harry and Ralph who adored Elizabeth.

I’ve been thinking about this day for a long time.

I have determined that weddings are not about fathers.

Weddings are all about the mother of the bride or groom.

Our family has been exceptionally lucky to have my wife to be our leader for these events.

Her command center was the kitchen table. All of the lists, notes, and orders were developed there.

Betsy, I love and thank you for all of this.

The words—“Just Chill William” are engrained in what remains of my gnat size brain.

Perhaps that might make a good two-sided t-shirt. On the front “Just Chill William” and on the back a rendering of William in a block of ice with the words “William Is Frozen.”

For a wedding, fathers lose their “Miranda” rights.

George Banks played by Steve Martin in the remake of the movie Father of the Bride showed us that.

I will spare you my George Banks inspired “flipping out” grievances.

Relatives and friends offered me advice related to the wedding.

My sister-in-law, Abby, told me to stock up my basement office with survival supplies and stay down there until a couple days before the wedding.

At one point, I told my college pal, Dan Callow, I’d like to pull a Forrest Gump, and start running away. But in true Dan wisdom, he told me that would be too easy.

So, Jackson, every father prays that his daughter will not end up with Mr. Wrong.

I guess the good Lord was listening, because I think for Elizabeth you are Mr. Right.

I say that for lots of reasons. But over these last couple of years, I’ve seen and admired your quiet endurance and resilience.

And in the ups and downs of that endurance and resilience, I’ve witnessed your love and respect for Elizabeth.

Jackson, we love you and welcome you to our family.

Elizabeth, where do I start?

Quite honestly, I thought at one point during your senior year of high school that I would be faced with two options.

At that time, you and your mother “loved” each other so much that I thought I’d be visiting one of you in prison and the other at the cemetery.

I’m thankful that eventually “love” intervened and persevered.

Jackson, I’m sorry, but the shopping gene that Elizabeth possesses is from the Cloud side of the family.

That is countered by her stubbornness which has long been linked to an unmuted gene from the Pike family.

Elizabeth, I want you to know that I love your endurance and resilience too. I’ve seen that at work in your personal and professional life, and I’ve seen this with your love and respect for Jackson.

The March 2026 issue of Southern Living Magazine has an article titled “She’s Got Game.” The article focuses on six Southern women who have impacted women’s basketball “both on and off the court.”

One of those women is Kara Lawson. She is the coach of Duke University women’s team.

A 2022 video of Coach Lawson talking to her Duke players gained much attention through social media.

Here is part of what Coach Lawson said to her players:

“We all wait in life for things to get easier. Most people think that it’s going to get easier. Life is gonna get easier, basketball’s gonna get easier, school is gonna get easier—it never gets easier. What happens is you become someone that handles hard stuff better.”

Elizabeth and Jackson, I know you know that marriage isn’t easy, but through your experiences with each other you will learn to handle the hard stuff better.

Handling that hard stuff better is grounded in what might be a dying word—loyalty.

Your love and loyalty to each other won’t make life easier.

But your love and loyalty for each other can carry a marriage for a long, long, long time.

Years ago, at Lakeside Elementary School, one of the young teachers on our faculty was engaged.

From her wedding invitation, I cut out and saved these words from the Song of Solomon Chapter 3 verse 4: “I found the one who loves my soul.”

To Elizabeth and Jackson, it is clear to me and everyone here that you “found and love each others souls.”

We pray that love will sustain you and your souls for forever.

All the best!

Note from the author: A few minutes after 4:30 p.m. on Saturday, May 30, 2026, I had the honor and privilege of walking our youngest daughter down the church aisle and to the altar for the wedding ceremony. On behalf of her mother and me, I handed her over to Jackson. Long may they endure.

“Now go and do likewise”

May 15, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

I’m honored to be with you this afternoon.

Perhaps, we’ll learn a little bit more about each other over the next hour.

That’s right.

I was told to fill up an hour.

Just kidding. I don’t want you to be late for dinner.

Let’s see if I can do better with the humor.

From Bob Hope:

ON TURNING 70  ’I still chase women, but only downhill.’

ON TURNING 80  ’That’s the time of your life when even your birthday suit needs pressing.’

ON TURNING 90  ’You know you’re getting old when the candles cost more than the cake.’

ON TURNING 100  ’I don’t feel old. In fact, I don’t feel anything until noon. Then it’s time for my nap.’

ON GOING TO HEAVEN
‘I’ve done benefits for ALL religions.
I’d hate to blow the hereafter on a technicality.’

Ok, enough humor, let’s get serious for a few minutes.

My guess is that you are familiar with Luke Chapter 10 verses 25-37, this is the parable of the Good Samaritan.

Let’s revisit those verses:

The Parable of the Good Samaritan
25 On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
26 “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”
27 He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’[c]; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[d]”
28 “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”
29 But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
30 In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead.
31 A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side.

32 So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.
33 But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him.
34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him.
35 The next day he took out two denarii[e] and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’
36 “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”
37 The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”
Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

Somewhere in America today, maybe here in Richmond, a person will be accosted, robbed, and beat to a pulp.

Why does this continue to happen in our world?
What is wrong with us?

Why is that same mentality present today just as it was on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho?

A couple of blocks from Trinity, I know two neighbors who experienced a dangerous encounter with robbers. My neighbors were lucky.

Again, why is this repulsive behavior still a part of our society?

Why can’t we do better?

Maybe the answer can be found at the beginning of this parable.

The expert on the law addresses Jesus as “teacher.”

I wonder if the robbers on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, the individuals who accosted my neighbors, did anyone attempt to teach them something as simple as the difference between right and wrong?

Were both parents in the home? Was home life stable with an abundance of nurturing and love? Were there rules? Did they attend church? Were they compliant in a school environment?

Did they have a moral compass? Did their hearts understand good versus evil? Prior to making their poor decisions, did anyone ever take the time to listen to them?

In the summer of 2025, my wife and I had the privilege of traveling with two couples from college to Vancouver for three days, and then we boarded a cruise ship that took us into Alaska.

Yes, it was a remarkable trip. One I will never forget. This was despite Mr. Moose not being on every Alaskan street corner as the tourist marketing had suggested.

Within walking distance to the hotel where we stayed in Vancouver is the magnificent Stanley Park.

On our last morning in Vancouver, three of us took a walk into Stanley Park.

During that walk we came across a statue of Governor General Lord Stanley from October 1889.

Inscribed at the base of the statue are these cherished words: “To the use and enjoyment of people of all colours, creeds, and customs for all time. I name thee Stanley Park.”

I love the honesty of that wisdom from Lord Stanley.

And, I also love that the Good Samaritan was not influenced in his decision making by “colours, creeds, and customs.”

Yet, here we are 137 years later from Lord Stanley’s statue, and we continue to struggle with the “colours, creeds, and customs” of those who don’t look like us.

Jesus taught us to love despite our differences in appearance. Why is this so difficult for us to do?

Our last day in Alaska was in the city of Fairbanks.

The pretty Chena River flows through Fairbanks. There is a river walk that showcases the river with lots of local history woven into the displays along the river.

During our exploring, another statue caught our attention.

We came across a display about the 1913 Pioneer Ascent of Denali. The display clearly captured this historic event, but the focus is on one of the climbers—Walter Harper.

Next to the display is a marvelous statue of Mr. Harper capturing the essence of Harper on the climb and his outstretched “hand up.”

Harper possessed the all-around skills for the climb, but he also possessed the essential human skills for his willingness to always extend his hand to help.

Like Walter Harper, the Good Samaritan, extended his hand to help the beaten traveler.

What had the Good Samaritan, Lord Stanley, and Walter Harper been taught in their lives that allowed them to see the world differently by extending a helping hand to a neighbor in need?

What made them different from the Priest, the Levite and the robbers?

Last Monday afternoon, my wife had her first cataract surgery.

At the surgery center, it is tough to wait patiently when you are anxious to have the surgery performed.

But eventually, her name was called by a nurse.

After confirming that my wife was really my wife, the nurse said to me, “I’m going to take good care of her. “

I responded by saying, “Thank you, I know you will.”

Isn’t that part of this parable?

Doesn’t Jesus want us to confirm that we are going to take “good care” of our neighbors?

The March 2026 issue of Southern Living Magazine has an article titled “She’s Got Game.” The article focuses on six Southern women who have impacted women’s basketball “both on and off the court.”

One of those women is Kara Lawson. She is the coach of Duke University women’s team. Coach Lawson played for Pat Summit, the legendary coach at the University of Tennessee. Additionally, Coach Lawson is the Head Coach of the USA Women’s National Team.

In 2022, a video of Coach Lawson talking to her Duke players caught a lot of attention through social media.

Here is part of what Coach Lawson said to her players: “We all wait in life for things to get easier. Most people think that it’s going to get easier. Life is gonna get easier, basketball’s gonna get easier, school is gonna get easier—it never gets easier. What happens is you become someone that handles hard stuff better.”

Perhaps, that’s the difference between the Good Samaritan, and the robbers, the priest, and the Levite.

Perhaps, the Good Samaritan had already learned how to handle the “hard stuff” in life better.

He knew how to respond to Jesus’ command: “Now go and do likewise.”

In today’s world, why is that so hard for you, me, we, us to “go and do likewise?”

In 1898, Lord Stanley wasn’t hindered in his thinking about “colours, creeds, and customs.” He went and did likewise.

Fifteen years later, Walter Harper knew how important it was to extend his hand of help no matter the environment or location. The same for Walter Harper, he went and did likewise.

With regard to our neighbors, doesn’t Jesus need to hear from us the same words that the nurse spoke to my wife and me just prior to her surgery—“I will take good care of her.”

Doesn’t Jesus want us to take “good care” of our neighbors just like the nurse and the Samaritan did?

Is that easy?

No.

Remember what Coach Lawson pointed out to her players, “it never gets easier.”

Life might not get easier.

But, life can get better.

That requires our hearts to drop our fears, to love our neighbors, and to “go and do likewise.”

Let us pray: Father of us all, touch our hearts to drop our fears, to love our neighbors, and to “go and do likewise.” Amen

Author’s note: On the afternoon of Tuesday, May 12, I had the privilege of presenting this devotional at Lakewood, a retirement community in Richmond. This program is part of Trinity UMC reaching out to its members beyond the walls of the church.

Valentine’s Day: “their song is love”

February 14, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

According to a report from CNBC, the National Retail Federation and Prosper lnsights and Analytics, Americans will spend an estimated 14.6 billion dollars for Valentine’s Day.

Clearly, I wasn’t included in the survey.

I’ll hope that Trader Joe’s hasn’t sold out of their high quality $1.00 cards, and somewhere today, I’ll find appropriate chocolate for my Commander Supreme.

If Trader Joe’s is sold out of cards, I’ll use the stash of crayons, colored pencils, and markers that our grandchildren keep here to create a card for the love of my life, my Commander Supreme.

I always loved the title of the Beatles’ album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

I think quite a bit about those words “lonely hearts.”

At 72, I’m much more aware of “lonely hearts” in the world today.

You might be aware that lots of data is out there related to loneliness.

Some report that 1 out of every 6 of us experience loneliness. Others report that figure as 1 out of every 5.

In 2023, the U. S. Surgeon General declared “loneliness” an epidemic.

I wonder how much of our loneliness is based upon the pace of the world?

Is it because our days move so fast that we become less aware of the lonely people around us?

Perhaps, combatting loneliness depends upon our hearts.

Can we slow our pace, can we open our hearts more, can our hearts be more attentive, can our hearts give more time?

Recently, Henry Chambers, an attorney and law professor at the University of Richmond, was our community guest at Pub Theology at the WayGone Brewery.

Early in his career, Dr. Chambers talked about a mentorship that he participated in at a local school. Some how, Dr. Chambers was able to build a relationship to bring a quiet, shy student out of his shell. It was Dr. Chamber’s patient heart and time that helped this student to move forward.

Yesterday at our church, we celebrated the life of Mr. Bob’s wife, Vickie.

Attending the funeral were numerous Hispanic students and families from Oak Grove Bellemeade Elementary School. Mr. Bob is surely sad and lonely from the loss of the love of his life, but on the tough days ahead of him, the love of those students and their families will get him through.

I wonder if any of the pollsters in America have conducted a survey about our hearts. What might we learn about our hearts?

If they framed a question about the hearts of political leaders, I wonder what Americans would say about their hearts?

Soft hearted soul that I am, I can tell you there might be a heart beating in the chest of some of our leaders, but those hearts have no love, no compassion.

I once had the privilege of speaking at our church during December. No pastor has ever set a perimeter for me as in don’t say this or that. Pastors are time conscious. My only guideline— stay within a fifteen to twenty minute time frame.

In speaking about the birth of Jesus, and the love that was brought into the world with his arrival, I cited a song from the Beach Boys titled “Surf’s Up.” The song isn’t about surfing or Jesus.

“Surf’s Up” might be one of Brian Wilson’s best compositions. The song features lyrics from Van Dyke Parks that will leave you scratching your head.

But for that Sunday morning in the pulpit, I was focused on the tag of the song. This is the end where all the harmony of the Beach Boys’ voices are woven together.

In that tag, these words are sung: “I heard the word, wonderful thing, a children’s song, have you listened as they played? Their song is love, and the children know the way.”

It is no secret that I love the artwork created by the students at the Trinity UMC Preschool.

Working with their teachers, these students have created some heart touching masterpieces.

On this Valentine’s Day, I wonder what our hearts might learn from our children?

They provide us a gentle reminder: “ a children’s song, have you listened as they played? Their song is love, and the children know the way.”

If we are going to make it in this chaotic world, we need to find the way of the children and their song of love.

It’s our only hope.

Happy Valentine’s Day

Student artwork Trinity UMC Preschool (Photo Bill Pike)

Thanksgiving: “I don’t get no respect.”

November 27, 2025 Bill Pike2 Comments

Rodney Dangerfield was a gifted comedian.

His self-deprecating humor made me laugh.

In his rapid fire delivery of jokes, he always found a way to work in what became his identifying line—“I don’t get no respect.”

For lots of reasons, that’s how I’ve come to feel about Thanksgiving.

Over the last several years, it appears to me that our respect for Thanksgiving is eroding.

Retailers know this.

For example, the National Retail Federation expects Christmas sales in 2025 to “exceed a trillion dollars.”

Forecasters predicted that Halloween sales for 2025 would be in the range of twelve billion.

Thanksgiving is projected to be in the four to five billion range.

Growing up in North Carolina, Thanksgiving was always a drive on U.S. 70 to my grandmother’s home in Greensboro.

Sometimes, there was a stop on this twenty minute drive at Mt. Pleasant United Methodist Church for a morning Thanksgiving service.

The spread of home cooked food for our lunch time gathering was amazing. As an overweight kid, I was in heaven.

And yes, I like pumpkin pie. However, my favorite Thanksgiving dessert was persimmon pudding. I think my Aunt Evelyn always made sure we had persimmon pudding.

The other thing that I remember about those gatherings was being huddled in a small den with a television that projected a black and white picture of the Detroit Lions and Green Bay Packers playing their traditional Thanksgiving Day game. At the time, that was the only game broadcast or played.

Money has changed that. From Thursday through Sunday, football games at the collegiate and professional level are non-stop.

In November 1975, I spent my first Thanksgiving away from home. I was in Milton, Massachusetts, a pretty New England town just south of Boston.

I was with my future wife’s family. Two days later, that beautiful lady and I were married in West Hartford, Connecticut.

Lots has transpired in those fifty years.

And even though, Thanksgiving is squashed between the billions and trillions of Halloween and Christmas, it continues to survive.

We must never take the survival of Thanksgiving for granted.

The survival of Thanksgiving depends upon you, me, we, us.

We can’t let Thanksgiving die.

If Thanksgiving dies, so will we.

Maya Angelo said it better: “If we lose love and self-respect for each other, this is how we finally die.”

For Thanksgiving to continue to have a life, we must ensure that our children and grandchildren understand why it is so important to be thankful.

Being thankful can’t be taken for granted.

In the fall of my sophomore year at Greensboro College, biology professor, Dr. Kemper Callahan, put that into perspective for me.

This is what I have come to Dr. Callahan’s Thanksgiving Lecture. He simply told our class that we should never take Thanksgiving for granted. That included appreciating all of the people who make Thanksgiving happen. Dr. Callahan put a strong emphasis on farmers—no farmers, no Thanksgiving.

Successful Farming reported in July of 2025: “More farms nationwide filed for bankruptcy in the first three months of the year this year than across the entirety of 2024.”

What will the continuing struggles of our farmers mean for future Thanksgivings?

While I love the Thanksgiving food, Thanksgiving is also about family.

How lucky I have been to have been nurtured by a family every day of my life. That is a luxury not available to everyone.

As crazy as families can be, even an ounce of stability can make all the difference in a person’s life.

I see that generational stability in our Thanksgiving gatherings. Internally I ask—how different would my life have been without that stability?

I also ponder how much better America could be if that stability was present for all of our families. We might be surprised at how lives could improve by solving those generational cycles of instability.

In my work at Trinity United Methodist Church, I see hope for Thanksgiving. That hope comes through the art work of the children in the preschool.

I love walking through the hallways in the days before Thanksgiving. I get to see the Thanksgiving artwork gracefully resting on the floor or gently hanging from a wall mounted hook. These masterpieces are in their curing stage with glue and paint drying before they are transported home.

Who knows maybe these heartfelt creations will be cherished and preserved for future Thanksgiving celebrations.

Isn’t that part of what makes up respect—preserving what we value?

Rodney Dangerfield figured that out.

Mr. Dangerfield learned that his audiences anticipated and valued his famous line—“I don’t get no respect.”

I can hear him now.

Thanksgiving is coming. I gotta tell you, when I was a kid Thanksgiving got a lot of respect. Not now. Thanksgiving is like a panini sandwich flatten on a press by Halloween pumpkins and retailers overstuffing our Christmas stockings.

I hope you and your families have a good Thanksgiving.

And remember to endure, Thanksgiving needs our respect, our hope, and our thankful hearts.