Chicken Feathers


There was a peasant with a troubled conscience who went to a monk for advice. He said that he had circulated an awful story about a friend, only to find out later that the story was not true. “If you want to make peace with your conscience,” the monk said, “you must fill a bag with chicken feathers, go to every door in the village, and drop at each of them one fluffy feather.”

Crosswinds (Dallas: The Next Chapter Publishing, 2014)

Here’s an idea for a book. The setting is a smoke-filled bar in an airport in North Carolina. Shut down by a raging storm, the airport has become a temporary prison for travelers waiting to catch a flight out. A chance encounter in the crowded bar brings together a crusty old sailor and a young seadog straight out of boot camp and headed to his first assignment at sea. The two strike up a conversation, and a friendship is born. The entire book will be a detailed account of the conversation between these two sailors over the next eighteen hours as they pass the time waiting for the storm to subside.

You Just Never Know

The Mourning Parents

(cc) Alex Birkett – Flickr

Sometimes, you just don’t have any idea what other people are going through.

I recently received a couple of Facebook messages about my book, Living With a Broken Heart, that blew me away. Perry and Shirley Elkins are dear friends with whom Susan and I worshiped at the College Street Church of Christ years ago.