The Narrow Trail

By Virginia Smith

In Utah’s Wasatch Mountains just east of Salt Lake City there’s a trail I love to hike. It’s called Donut Falls. I drive up Big Cottonwood Canyon and leave my car at a small and often crowded parking area, lace up my hiking boots and take off. There are two trails – the first is wide enough for a car, though no vehicles are permitted up there. It is easy, with a gentle grade and few rocks littering the way. It’s a beautiful hike and leads to the top of the falls where I can see the donut, a giant flat rock with a round hole where thousands of gallons of rushing mountain water pour through.

The second trail isn’t so easy. It’s narrow, steep, and often jagged. I stop periodically to catch my breath, and at one place I have to climb down a six-foot muddy ledge, holding on to tree roots for balance. But it’s worth the extra effort, because the narrow trail ends below the falls instead of above it. All that water pours through the hole above me and thunders into a sheltered pool, refreshing me with a cool mountain spray as it rushes past me over a stunning rocky creek bed. The view from that angle takes my breath away. It’s well worth the struggle to get there.

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Justified

By Cheri Cowell

Recently several high profile court cases played themselves out in the media. Emotions were high on both sides, and depending on which media outlet you listened to, when the verdict was pronounced justice had prevailed or had been done a disservice. I wondered what it must feel like for the victims in each case, and what it must feel like to the accused when the jury finds them not guilty when they are, or guilty when they aren’t. It is difficult to imagine a verdict that is truly just.

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So Not My Gift

By Cynthia Ruchti 

I caught myself saying it again the other day as I cleaned up the church kitchen after helping to serve snacks during fellowship time following the worship service.

Choosing how much to purchase and prepare for an unknown number of congregants is “sooooo not my gift.”

The family of a newborn is counting on me to provide their supper on Wednesday night. Me? I can cook. It’s not that. I actually cook pretty well. But I feel so much more comfortable writing a clever little poem for a baby shower than I do providing a meal. I told the deaconess in charge of scheduling meals for situations like this, “I found it funny, considering my crazy life this week. Rather than saying yes, I should have requested meals for ME!”

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The Words of My Mouth

By Gina Stinson

Praise, compliments, encouragement, lies, yelling, gossip, exaggeration, truth—all kinds of words that can come out of our mouths. It’s easy to see why we would need to join the Psalmist prayer for acceptable words to the Lord! The Bible warns us in the book of James about the daunting task of keeping our mouths under control. The job was tough then, and it’s tough now.

The verse is Psalms outlines the process pretty carefully. First, it talks about our physical and spiritual make-up—that battle between the flesh and the spirit—the tongue and the heart. There are so many times when the things we think about slip off our tongue with no thought. A word spoken in anger, gossip or a lie. There is almost always an aspect of regret or guilt after the words are spoken; and the heart plus the spoken word do not equal “acceptable in God’s sight.”

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WORSHIP: All That Jazzy

My Boston Terrier, Jazzy, worships me.  Maybe worship is too strong of a word, but I don’t think so.  She follows me from room to room just to be by my side.  She’ll rest at my feet or beg to lie in my lap.  When I take a nap, she jumps up in bed and pressed the small of her back against the small of my back.  She covers me with her kisses and looks up at me with an expression of adoration on her face.  She trusts me to provide for all of her needs and many of her wishes.  When I come in the door, she can’t wait to greet me.  Jazzy is content just being with me.

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