Opinion/Editorial

Boy, it is difficult to write words of hope, peace, and love. As I sit at my desk this morning to start my column, I am a bit perplexed at the complexities I see surrounding our lives. I look one way and watch folks aiding one another, whether in hospitals, food distribution lines, or contri…

The approach of the school year brings with it a distinct dread for me this year, as I’m sure it does for many other parents. The Floyd County School Board has voted for children to return to school five days per week, and I think the choice is a fair one. Of course, parents still have the o…

My dear friend was just telling me about her garden. With childlike glee she expressed her joy over planting all sorts of veggies and delightful herbs.

I was sick this past week, and it just about scared me to death.

For the last couple of months, we have been bombarded with rhetoric going back and forth about Confederate statues and monuments all over the country. Even here in our area, the great debate is brewing about Nathan Bedford Forrest, who has a statue in Myrtle Hill Cemetery at the entrance to …

When I think about this, it brings back a smile to my face. I thought it was funny back then, and I still do now. I will let you be the judge. I can shut my eyes, and the whole incident comes back to me.

Owned by the North Georgia Conference of the United Methodist Church, Camp Glisson is located in the beautiful north Georgia mountains, near Dahlonega. I have many happy memories of Camp Glisson. I attended from the summer before I began sixth grade through the summer before I began 10th grade.

“I just can’t stand this place anymore. I am the one who always has to be responsible. No one else seems to help or care. Everyone depends on me to get things done. When am I going to have time for myself? I hate my job and I don’t want to do this anymore!”

The coronavirus has infiltrated America, causing death, sickness, and fear for most of 2020. Today, tropical storms are brewing in oceans, waiting to land on the shores of this country. Currently, tensions are reaching a fever pitch between ethnicities. Gun violence and suicides are on the r…

As I prepare to flip the calendar to August, it dawns on me that we’re mighty close to that time of year that is almost holy in this neck of the woods.

It was 30 years ago today that the Americans with Disabilities Act became the law of the land. Since its passage, people with disabilities have seen their lives improve significantly. Less frequent are the days when a person with a disability needs to worry if the public building they have t…

At least there’s one thing that COVID-19 can’t take away from us this year, and that is our ability to grow things. Gardening, that is.

Most of us take going to school for granted. Today we are on a new path that is untrodden. Years from now we will look back and see the fork in the road and try to recall what could have made the difference on the road not taken and the reason for the choosing.

The first thing I noticed about the extraordinary Nazneen Akhtar Rahim was her voice. As a voice professional I often register with a person on a sonic level before I get to know them. Nazneen’s voice was straight out of the London neighborhood near the British Museum.

Like all young boys, I wanted to be a cowboy. There was a time when I would go to the movies and see Buck Jones, Wild Bill Elliot or maybe Roy and Gene round up the bad guys. Each always rode a very smart horse that was the most beautiful thing in the world to a small boy.

When I was kid, I enjoyed playing dolls, especially paper dolls. Etch-a-Sketch, Silly Putty, Slinky, and board games — including Scrabble, Mouse Trap, Password and Clue — were all things I liked to play with. Ultimately, my favorite activity was riding my bike.

“Fancy” is a formidable creature, affectionately named by the locals. She received an accidental gift last summer; a gift that would make her famous throughout the state of Idaho. I made her acquaintance in the briefest of moments in my sister-in-law’s front yard as she searched for water in…

Wait! I believe there is a way to heal our problems regarding this summer of gloom, doom, disappointments, and political craziness. No, I have not cooked up a coronavirus vaccine in my kitchen, but just an idea I brewed to give us all a reprieve from sadness.

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female, for we are all one in Christ Jesus (Galatians 3:28, NKJV).

I’ve been very fortunate to be able to make a living in the fields of broadcasting/journalism for 42 years. It has been an enjoyable career of choice, something I actually majored in — and minored in, for that matter — in college.

We journey hard and gentle down paths carved out for us, then work against sand and dirt and root to carve out our own. Mud under nails, calloused fingertips, labored breath. Proof of life.

This isn’t really an anniversary, but I recently realized that I have written about 150 columns for the Rome-News Tribune, and it has me looking back to the beginning of this grand adventure.

With all of the problems and issues that pastors must deal with, when to open the church doors should not be one of them.

I was looking though Facebook and someone had put a picture of an outhouse on it. They had asked the question “does anyone know what this is?” Of course I did, it was an outhouse.

July 9, 2020. The Rolling Stones were scheduled to give a concert in Atlanta. My boss had tickets for the concert. In fact, I think seeing a Rolling Stones concert was on his “bucket list.” What a trendy activity to check off a bucket list.