Assisted Living

Posted on February 9, 2026 by Doc Arnett

I sat in the waiting area,
pretending not to see the residents
doing their physical therapy.

I watched—secretly—as one lady,
old and thin,
stood slowly and stiffly,
then shuffled her way through the cones,
pushing her walker in a slow-motion slalom,
weaving her way across the vinyl floor
while her therapist walked alongside,
one hand gripping the wide strap
wrapped around the waist
to keep what little weight
the woman still had
from tilting too far toward
her next calamity.

When she was through
and trundled slowly back down the hall
to her room,
I saw the next crew come in—
three women and two men—
all in wheelchairs,
rolling toward whatever was next in their lives.
Making what effort they could
to make that better than what was just past.

Whether prayer or prophecy
or just the logical extension of my own awareness,
I could see that what already sagged over their lives
could be drifting toward me.

But as a Carpenter less than half my age
once said—more or less—
no amount of dread can change the least bit of life
and why add to this day
the aggravation that may not come with the next one?

And so, I gave thanks
that I could rise from sitting to standing
without too much demand,
and walked down the hall to visit a neighbor
who may be even more hard of hearing than I am.

I’m sure they could hear us laughing
clear down to the other end of the hall.
In this world where the next morning’s light
might be more than we will ever see,
we did not pause to offer any apology.


H. Arnett
2/9/2026

Posted in Aging, Christian Devotions, Christian Living, Death & Dying, Family, Poetic Contemplations, Relationships, Spiritual Contemplation | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Witness of a Winter Moon

Posted on February 4, 2026 by Doc Arnett

High above in the keen thinness of a January night,
a three-quarter moon glistens snow and ice.
A few high clouds—too thin to shroud the light—
stroke gentle texture between stars and frozen earth.

Shadows of a mammoth cottonwood
pattern the white blanket beneath the tree,
an interweaving of bending boughs
plowing their curves onto the hard-faced snow.

Looking back to the sky,
I see something I missed only a moment before:
a jet a few miles above the earth,
tracing its path just above the clouds.

At this angle under such a bright moon,
I can see not only the twin plumes of condensing vapor
stretching out toward Denver,
but even a hint of the shape of the plane.

Too high above the frame of the earth
for the sound to make itself known,
it is only by a chance glance toward heaven
that I happen to see this brief witness.

Clouds drift into the sifting night,
vapors disappear in the absorbing atmosphere,
the moon phases its way through Kansas winters,
and even this aching cold will pass in time.

But, at least for a while,
this memory of a moment
caught in unexpected light
will last beyond its passing.

Posted in Metaphysical Reflection, Nature, Poetic Contemplations, Poetry, Spiritual Contemplation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Wrong End of the Shovel

Posted on February 3, 2026 by Doc Arnett

Have you ever gone through a time in your life when doing the minimum felt like more than you could do? Maybe a time when you were sick, or had been injured, or were dealing with so much emotional weight that you felt overwhelmed? “One day at a time, my rear end! Girl, I’m just trying to get through the next hour!”

And then, there are other times when you felt so powerful and capable you could dig a hole using the wrong end of the shovel?! You breezed through the routine demands of the day and had energy left over! Cleaned out three closets, organized the garage, even pulled the refrigerator out and cleaned back there… (So that’s where little Cousin Joey ended up!)

You know, everyone goes through those times, right? There are times when life stacks up like giant Jenga blocks and then someone pulls out the bottom piece and it feels like everything falls on us at once.

I think that’s why the Traveling Tentmaker told us, in the same paragraph in Galatians 6, “Bear one another’s burdens… [and]… each one must carry his own burden.”

Although the KJV and some other translations use the word “burden” in both places, the NIV and others translate the first sentence with “burden” but use the word “load” in the second one. Why? Well, at least two reasons, I think.

First—and primarily—because the early manuscripts use different words in each case. In the first case, the Greek word “baros” is translated as “burden.” It literally means “weight.” In the second case, “phortion” is translated “load.” It literally means—oddly enough—“load.”

Weight/burden indicates something too heavy, something beyond normal, something that can’t be lifted and carried with reasonable, normal effort. Something that exceeds capacity or responsibility. Pushing a wheelbarrow with 200 pounds of concrete is something I can normally do. But if I have a broken arm or a twisted ankle or pneumonia, it’s no longer normal. It becomes too much

Sometimes life becomes a burden because of excessive weight, sometimes because of personal limitations. In either case, I need help. That’s when caring Christians step in and share the burden. The suffering one’s weight is eased for the duration of the need but the distribution keeps it from being too much for anyone. I don’t shove you out of the way and pick up the whole thing… I take enough that we can do this together.

Paul reminds us all that we cannot shirk our own responsibilities. And… that being a member of the body of Christ means that all are to live in compassion for one another. So that no one has it too easy—and no one is crushed by their burden. We have to be willing at different times to let others know so they can show up. And, when we do know, we show up.

Improves the traveling for all of us, don’t you think? Sometimes the map isn’t just about the destination; it’s also about making the trip better.

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Witness of a Lesser Light

Posted on January 30, 2026 by Doc Arnett

I had to run a quick errand in Wathena just three miles away last evening. When I came back, I stopped at the end of our driveway down by the road. I put the empty trash can in the back of the CX-5 and then checked the mail. As I closed the lid, I looked down and noticed the stark silhouette of the post and box etched on the ground.

At first I thought it was the shadow from the billboard lights over next to Fleek’s Market. Then I noticed the angle was wrong. “Oh, that must be from the moon!” I realized and looked up.

Sure enough, high above the frozen ground of northeast Kansas, a three-quarter moon shone brightly. Brightly enough to cast the shadow and illuminate a few high, thin clouds. And… the contrails of a jet a few miles high and headed east. The long narrow plumes stretched out behind the jet, glowing in their reflection of the moon’s fine light.

I wondered whether anyone else in the area happened to look up and see that same sight, the calm, simple wonder of night’s small favors—a bright moon, passing clouds, and a solitary jet headed to some distant destination.

It really doesn’t matter how many or how few take note of our passings in the night. As long as we reflect the Light and stay on our path. And—eventually—reach our destination. That. Does. Matter.

Posted in Christian Devotions, Christian Living, Metaphysical Reflection, Nature, Spiritual Contemplation | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Same Sun, Different Skies

Posted on January 28, 2026 by Doc Arnett

Heading down to the horse barn this morning, I noticed a long, tapered cloud off to the east. The southern end of its lower portion glowed orange and red, burnished by the light of the yet unseen sun. “I’m gonna keep an eye on that,” I promised myself, “That should be spectacular in a few more minutes.”

Randa and I fed the horse and started mucking the paddock. The chores went well, or at least as well as chores go when the wind chill is this close to zero! That spectacular sunrise thing, though, that was another matter.

That long, tapered cloud had moved north instead of east. Zero clouds to reflect the sun’s rising glory.

In a cloudless sky, folks from California to Oregon see the same sunset. Ditto for the sunrise from Georgia to Maine. With no clouds, it’s pretty much the same, assuming no fog or smog.

But with clouds that all changes. Move a few miles north or south and it’s a different scene. The lower and closer the clouds, the more dramatic the change. Maybe better, maybe worse, maybe equally lovely. But different.

And of course, we could be standing shoulder to shoulder and still see different things, even when looking at what seems—and scenes—the same. One person sees the glory of charging stallions, fiery breath curling at the platinum-flared edges. Another sees an angry shark, menacing and deadly. Still another sees angels ringed around the saints. And some, maybe most, see beauty that passes by unnoticed by others too focused on the tasks at end to glance up at a glorious sky as day fades into dusk.

So, yes, perspective matters. As does perception.

But the glory of the lower heavens is often shaped by the closeness of the clouds. Unlike the one that waits beyond the shrouds of this world’s seeing. That glory is fixed by the hands of God and will fill with awe and magnificent joy all who view it.

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Coping with the Cold

Posted on January 26, 2026 by Doc Arnett

Having never lived in or near the Arctic or its polar opposite, I’ll grant that I’m no expert on cold weather. Therefore, when I say “It is bitterly cold” here in northeast Kansas, I realize that some might sneer, “Bitter? Man, you don’t even know what cold is!” Granted, but I’m still going to argue that for this old Kentucky kid, minus eight is close enough to pass.

When Randa and I headed out to the barn this morning, the wind chill was a negative twenty-one. And, indeed, I do view that as a negative.

But what a great day for gratitude!

Our power hasn’t gone out before, during, or after the storm. Our house is dry and warm. We have good clothing, warm boots, heavy duty gloves, and mittens. Scarves and knit head coverings that we used to call “toboggans.” And, after the chores were done, hot coffee and fresh biscuits with butter and jelly.

So, we’ll give thanks and yet pray for those who were not spared from the devastation and destruction of ice. The images from Oxford, Mississippi are nothing short of heart-wrenching. Crystal-shrouded piles of trees and branches and power lines and utility poles. An almost Arctic tinge to temperatures and millions without power.

In the deepest throes of this world’s woes, we find our faith tested, our compassion questioned, our genuine devotion divulged. It is a challenge to remain calm during the calamities, to hold to hope even with frozen fingers, and to count our blessings during the testings, to bless those who curse us, and to remember that without love, we are nothing.

Posted in Christian Devotions, Christian Living, Nature, Spiritual Contemplation, suffering | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Hard Cider Jelly

Posted on January 22, 2026 by Doc Arnett

I’ve made apple cider for decades now, first starting when my older brother Paul and I would crank the old mill that Dad bought before either one of us was born. It was at least secondhand when he bought it. Paul and I are both in our seventies so that means that old cider mill was probably cranked by Abraham Lincoln. He used to live in western Kentucky, too, so, you know… close enough.

Anyway, several years ago, I started making apple cider jelly. Not from apple juice; from actual, real, hard cider. I’d simmer the stuff in a crock pot with a few sticks of cinnamon and a bit of brown sugar. Then, do the jelly thing with a lot more sugar because that’s what Mother Sure Jell said I had to do. Of course, by the time the cooking was done, all the demon juice had evaporated.

I tinkered with different recipes and the one that got the most rave reviews was my “Captain Jack’s Pirate Jelly.” I added a bit of rum and bourbon to that one and it was mighty fine, I’d have to say. None of the alcohol made it to the canning jars but the blend of flavors was mighty satisfying. Of course, when sugar is the primary ingredient, it’s kind of hard to ruin it.

Hard, but not impossible.

This year, I started off by reducing twelve cups of hard cider to eight cups of… whatever reduced cider would be. Hardshell Baptist Cider?

Then, I added some black walnut extract from simmering wood shavings for a few hours and letting that steep overnight. Then, I made jelly.

Well, I should say that I initiated several attempts to make jelly. Apparently—and most men would be too stubborn to admit this, I reckon, but I was raised different—following the directions makes a difference. Instead of starting out by adding the pectin (Sure Jell) first, I added the sugar. Stirred constantly, brought to a boil, added Sure Jell, bring back to a boil, boil for one minute, pour into jars, put on lids and rings, hot water bath, remove, dance to the happy little dinking noises as the lids seal. Let stand for twenty-four hours.

Trouble was, my jelly didn’t jell. Even after second and third efforts at rescue. Even after doubling the pectin and increasing the sugar amounts by fifty percent for the re-try. It just wouldn’t set. I guess once you’ve ruined it by reversing the sugar/pectin thing, it’s just ruined. It ain’t supposed to be that hard to make hard cider jelly!

Men of lesser determination and greater good sense would have given up at that point. But I was raised different.

“Well,” I said to my Self because nobody else would listen, “If it’s going to act like syrup, we’ll just make syrup.” So, Self and I emptied all the jars back into the big stewer and triggered the gas. Four hours of stirring every few minutes later, the hard cider stuff had reduced by half and thickened noticeably. “Looks like syrup,” Self says to me and I agreed. So we poured it back into the little jars. Started with fifteen cups of stuff and ended with seven-and-a-half. Still looked a bit runny, though. Which is what you want for Hard Cider Walnut Cinnamon syrup, right? Especially while it’s still hot.

Riiighhhttt…

Next morning, lo and behold, a miracle! The syrup had turned into jelly! Really strong, tart, jelly. People of less discerning palate might even describe it as “a bit harsh.” Blasphemy!!!

It’s not a total loss, though.

 I’ve found that if I dissolve three tablespoons of the stuff in eight ounces of boiling water, it makes a right good cup of—wait for it—spiced cider. It was a mighty long trip to get back pretty close to where I started.

Kind of like when the Lord brings a backslider back to the altar. It’s the destination that determines whether or not the trip was worth it, isn’t it? Even if we’d have gotten there a lot sooner if we’d only followed directions.

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Chores on a Bitter Morning

Posted on January 19, 2026 by Doc Arnett 
It was not the sparse coating of snow 
That made us reluctant 
To go down to the barn to feed the geldings. 
Nor was it the lack of morning sun,
Though either one of those might suffice
If we chose to search for reasons. 

Instead it was the aching combination 
Of low temps and a strong north wind 
Bending body and mind toward finding
Another layer of cloth to wrap around 
Our shirted shoulders under heavy coats
In a wind chill that held well below zero.

Gloves inside mittens gave sufficient cover
To keep fingers from stiffening too much,
Though it made unchaining the gate a bit tougher. 
We mustered enough will and effort
To work through the chill of our chores
As we tended to the horses. 

There are times when it is not easy to find
What it is, exactly, that leads us through such duty. 
This morning, I am certain
That it is neither Truth nor Beauty.
Randa does it for love of horses;
I do it for love of Randa. 

And both aware that there are times
When the why matters so much less
Than the doing.
Posted in Christian Devotions, Farming, Metaphysical Reflection, Nature, Poetic Contemplations, Poetry, Spiritual Contemplation | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Moments of Glory

Posted on January 15, 2026 by Doc Arnett

Sometimes, when dawn comes just before the leading edge of a storm front has stretched entirely toward the east, there’s the least bit of a rim of clear sky, a border of light between the night that still covers the earth and the flush of morning’s coming. Yesterday was one of those times. Driving to work from Cynthiana, Kentucky to Georgetown in the slow brightening, I saw the occasional paleness leaching through a thinner section of dark, dappled clouds. Halfway between Leesburg and Oxford, as the curve of the road coincided with a dip in the near ridge line, giving me a view clear to the horizon, I saw, suddenly, a blast of red filling the break between earth and storm dome.

Not in hues and tones like the light of a fire but a solid shade, the red of steel ripe for the anvil. Brilliant but not blinding, it forged a beacon in the sky. In only a moment, it had passed into softer shades, strangely dimming in the rising of sun, then covered by ridge and clouds.

There are those moments in life, like the first lifting of a toddler’s hands, to stand unsupported, for only an instant, while parents applaud. Like the first word of a grandchild on the phone five hundred miles away. Like an unexpected call from a friend from years ago or the embrace of a grown child back home from overseas.

In mind’s eye and memory, the fragile joys of this life are held, not so much for remembering the past as for reminding us of a greater glory.

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