We are driving under a blue sky—the promise of spring— and the road is bleached white from its winter salt treatments. The trees rim our going, bark-bared and pristine, flashing glimpses of pale new skin underneath the peeling old. I shiver at the way the white settles into the cracks of worn out things—remnants of the cold; dried up bones of the skeleton that supports a body made of trees and grass and concrete, of flesh and blood. Just this morning I noticed them—those fine white lines settled around my eyes.


Every day Christ trusts us with his name, great talents and resources, and a redemptive vision for the world. We, in turn, seek to be faithful─creating a climate of trustworthiness that is felt by everyone with whom we interact. We keep our word, and we make things right.

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