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About hurdjp

Christ-follower, bush pilot, teacher, writer, speaker. New book of stories and essays---planned for late 2026. Other books available on Amazon, etc.: Blessed Unbeliever (a coming-of-age novel), Wingspread: Of Faith and Flying (memoir), Horse-and-Buggy-Mennonites (documentary).

Wingspread Zine for October, 2025


Spreading wings in a perplexing world
October, 2025                                                    James P. Hurd

Please forward and share this ezine with others. Thank you.

Contents

  • Writer’s Corner
  • Blessed Unbeliever 
  • This month’s story: “The Returning”
  • This month’s puzzler:
  • WINGSPREAD Ezine subscription information
  • Wisdom

Writer’s Corner

Dedicated to people who love words. Words are miracles that brand humans as sentient creatures―creative, inventive, exploring. Taste the words as they roll around on your tongue; let them fill you with wonder.

Want to browse archived WINGSPREAD stories? Click here, then click under “archives”     https://jimhurd.com/     These stories include memoirs, stories about bush flying, personal essays and other topics.

Here are a few examples:

“Why do I Make Stupid Mistakes?”
https://tinyurl.com/4b36sest

“A Blessed Death” https://jimhurd.com/2025/01/

Writer’s tip: If you’ve seen a metaphor used before, don’t use it. So many metaphors are hackneyed and trite (a purring engine, flat as a pancake, as bright as the sun)  Try to think of fresh metaphors.

Word of the month: A “contronym” is a word with two opposite meanings. For example:CLEAVE – to split apart (“Cleave the log in two”) -or- to cling to (“Cleave to your principles”).

Task for you: Incorporate two new words into the next paragraph you write. You may even, like Shakespeare, make up your own words. Try turning a noun into a verb (“The baby aped her mother’s motions perfectly.”)

Book of the month: Christian Reflections. C.S. Lewis (Walter Hooper, editor). 1967. Nerd alert—sometimes Lewis is hard to read. And yet here he reflects on important issues: Unanswered prayer, ethics, Christianity and culture. Ironic that even right-wing Christians have “adopted” this pipe-smoking, bourbon-drinking Oxford don who accepts evolution and speculates about purgatory! However, he lends his great mind to powerful Christian apologetics.

BLESSED UNBELIEVER novel

Available in paper or Kindle version at Wipf and Stock Publishers, Amazon https://a.co/d/9su5F3o or wherever good books are sold.

New story: “The Returning”

Fifty-four years ago I traveled from Venezuela to Pennsylvania for our wedding. Now I’m tearing up entering Pennsylvania for the first time without Barbara. I learned to see this world through her eyes―now I love the place even more than she did.

     This year spring has come early to Lancaster County—green meadows of alfalfa, new-leaved trees, gardens of tulips, daffodils and phlox, the faint smell of spread manure. We pass eternal stone barns with their earth bridges rising to the second level. We hear the clip-clop of passing grey and black buggies.

We find the Willow Street Mennonite Church is thriving—lots of young families and children with many of Barbara’s relatives sprinkled in. A good Easter service. The promise of new life even as we memorialize its ending. I hear the “Lancaster lilt”—”youse staying for dinner? . . . it spited me . . . outen the light . . . there’s more pie back . . . baby’s all cried up; maybe she needs drying . . .”

To read more, click here: https://jimhurd.com/2025/10/01/the-returning/

Leave a comment on the website, subscribe and share with others. Thanks.

You can also access this and other recent articles on Substack:  https://jameshurd.substack.com/p/the-returning   

This month’s puzzler (thanks to Car Talk Archives)

 An off-duty policeman is working as a night watchman in an office building.

He’s doing his nightly rounds, and he comes to a closed door. Behind the door, he hears voices.

He hears people talking, and an argument seems to be taking place. Raised voices, and yelling. Then he hears one of them say, “No, Frank! No, don’t do it. You’ll regret it.”

And then he hears what sounds like gun shots. Bang, bang, bang.

He burst through the door. What does he see? A dead man on the floor, and the proverbial smoking gun.

Now, in the room there are three living people. A minister, a doctor and a plumber.

He walks over to the minister and says, “You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent.” 

How does he know that it was the minister that pulled the trigger?

Good luck. 

 (Answer will appear in next month’s WINGSPREAD newsletter.)

Answer to last month’s puzzler: 

With the velociraptors pursuing you on Isla Nublar, your life depends on taking the correct fork in the road. You meet two guys—one always lies; the other always tells the truth. You get only one question. So what would the one question be to make sure you could get to the dock?

Here it is. 

I would look at one of the guys and say, “If I were to ask the other guy which road takes me to the dock, what would he say?”

Here’s why.

If you ask the truth teller, he is going to say, “The liar is going to tell you to take this road.” And that would be the wrong road, because he’s a liar. 

And if you ask the liar, he is going to point to the same road, because he has to lie about what the truth teller will say. 

So there ya have it. 

Subscribe free to this Ezine  

Click here https://jimhurd.com/home/  to subscribe to this WINGSPREAD ezine, sent direct to your email inbox, every month. You will receive a free article for subscribing. Please share this URL with interested friends, “like” it on Facebook, retweet on Twitter, etc.

If you wish to unsubscribe from this Wingspread Ezine, send an email to hurdjames1941@gmail.com  and put in the subject line: “unsubscribe.” (I won’t feel bad, promise!) Thanks.

Wisdom

  • Pre- means before, and post- means after. Using both at the same time would be preposterous.
  • Through prayer the Christ within us opens our eyes to the Christ among us.
    Henri Nouwen

Depending on each other: Every morning for years, at about 11:30, Yolanda, the telephone operator in a small Sierra-Nevada town, received a call from “James” asking the exact time. One day the operator summed up nerve enough to ask James why the regularity.

“I’m foreman of the local sawmill,” he explained. “Every day, I have to blow the whistle at noon, so I call you to get the exact time.” Yolanda giggled, “That’s interesting, All this time, we’ve been setting our clock by your whistle.”

Obsolete Insults & Colorful Terms

  • caitiff – wretched, despicable person
  • knave – dishonest man
  • varlet – rogue or rascal
  • coxcomb – vain, conceited man
  • scullion – kitchen servant (used insultingly)
  • slubberdegullion – slob, slovenly person
  • looby – awkward, clumsy fellow

Ode to the Married Man

To keep your marriage brimming
with love in the loving cup
whenever you’re wrong admit it
whenever you’re right, shut up.
                              Ogden Nash

                    Learning how to order coffee

This list will help you tighten your writing―eliminate unnecessary words. My personal opinion is that this list is absolutely necessary―it’s a true fact.

                                                Advice for parents

The Returning

How memorialize 89 years of life?

Barbara died in December. It is now April and my daughter Kimberly and I depart Minneapolis and travel east on a mission―to carry Barbara’s ashes back to Willow Street Mennonite, her childhood church, founded in 1710. It feels so right to bring Barbara full circle back to the place where she grew up immersed in her family’s dairy farm and in this Mennonite community surrounded by relatives and friends in beautiful Lancaster County., Pennsylvania.

This year spring has come early to Lancaster County—green meadows of alfalfa, new-leaved trees, gardens of tulips, daffodils and phlox. the faint smell of spread manure, We pass eternal stone barns with their earth bridges rising to the second level. We hear the clip-clop of passing grey and black buggies.

Fifty-four years ago I traveled from Venezuela to Lancaster County for our wedding. I learned to see this world through her eyes―now I love the place even more than she did but I’m tearing up as I arrive for the first time without Barbara.

We find Willow Street Mennonite Church thriving—lots of young families and children, with many of Barbara’s relatives sprinkled in. Even as we memorialize life’s ending, their Sunday Easter service promises new life. I’m enjoying hearing again the “Lancaster lilt”—”youse staying for dinner? . . . it spited me . . . outen the light . . . there’s more pie back . . . baby’s all cried up; maybe she needs drying . . .”

On Saturday, thirty people gather for Barbara’s memorial service. Joe Sherer, Willow Street minister, uses Barbara’s memoirs book to enrichen his remarks. I am humbled that Allen and Rachel (Groffdale horse-and-buggy Mennonites) have come, along with David and Sarah Lapp, the Amish couple who now farm the old Breneman farmstead. Both couples had to find car transportation.

I am blessed that all our children are here. Jeny has flown in from northern California and speaks of her childhood in the Hurd family. Son Timothy shares remembrances. When I rise to speak, I stand mute for several moments. Then, “Each life is sacred to God. Thus, it is fitting that we meet today to celebrate the life and faith of Barbara Ann Hurd Breneman. . . . When we moved to Colombia she comforted me after an airplane crash, nursed me through a bout of Typhoid fever. . . . Barbara was the beating heart of our home. Always loyal to her husband, a sacrificial wife and mother. She fiercely fostered our social, emotional and spiritual development. . . .”

The service complete, I retrieve the urn and lead the way out to the graveyard. In this cemetery lie Barbara’s parents, grandparents and other relatives. Don Breneman, who mows the graveyard; says there are 2200 stones. I apologize for giving him another one to mow around. I lower the brown wooden urn into the ground. We pray, leave flowers, then depart.

I feel at peace; feel that we helped Barbara circle back home to the place that formed her, the place where she now rests in the plot that awaits my future arrival. Sadness overwhelms me but even more, gratitude—for Barbara’s life; her blessed death; her great gifts to me, our family, our community and our world. I take comfort in our Lord’s words, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

May eternal light shine upon her.

WINGSPREAD Zine for September, 2025

Spreading wings in a perplexing world
September, 2025                                                    James P. Hurd

Please forward and share this zine with others. Thank you.

Contents

  • Writer’s Corner
  • Blessed Unbeliever 
  • This month’s story: “Silver Acres Formed Me”
  • This month’s puzzler: “Island of Truth and Lies”
  • WINGSPREAD Zine subscription information
  • Wisdom

Writer’s Corner

This section betrays my belief that to be a writer is to be a lover of words. Words and human speech―miracles that brand humans as sentient creatures―creative, inventive, exploring. Taste the words as they roll around in your mouth, marvel at them, let them fill you with a sense of wonder.

Writer’s tip: First-person-present tense is gripping, immediate. It’s hard to write in this tense but give it a try. (Example: “I park the car in front, get out and walk up to the door. . .”)

Task for you: Try writing a 100-word paragraph using only the present, first-person tense.

Word of the month: GOBSMACKED (Obsolete) To be a writer is to be a word-lover, including obsolete words. This word comes from Irish and Scottish Gaelic. It still pops up in other places in British slang―for example, “shut your gob!” If you say that you were “gobsmacked” it means that you were so astonished, it was as though someone had smacked you in the mouth (Wikipedia). A phrase with a similar meaning: “Slapped upside the head,”

Book of the month: The biblical book of Ruth. A marvelous story about a foreign refugee woman (Moabite) who travels into Israel, finds a living, finds love and becomes an ancestor of King David and of Jesus. Hear her aching, immortal words to Naomi, her mother-in-law“—Beseech me not to leave thee . . .”

BLESSED UNBELIEVER novel

Sean McIntosh ingested fundamentalism along with his mother’s milk. And yet as he reached his late teens his doubts overwhelmed him and he proclaimed himself an atheist—while attending Torrey Bible Institute! This is his story.

Available in paper or Kindle version at Wipf and Stock Publishers, Amazon https://a.co/d/9su5F3o or wherever good books are sold.

New story: “Silver Acres Formed Me”

When I entered sixth grade, Jim Hayden, who always wore a dark suit, white shirt and tie, taught our Sunday School class. To get to his classroom, us five boys—Gene, Fred, Ron, John and I―had to climb stairs up to a small room under the squat bell tower. This was our first “segregated” SS class and he seized the opportunity to warn us against sexual temptation, enlightening us on the meaning of certain sexual hand signs and counseling us how to behave with girls. Silver Acres was big on teaching the dangers of sex. However, the only temptation I was feeling at the moment was to pull the church bell rope which passed through the classroom from floor to ceiling. Yet I remember the delicious discovery of the second sex at Silver Acres. At that age, girls were attractive, mysterious and untouchable.. . . To read more, click here:  https://jimhurd.com/2025/09/02/silver-acres-formed-me/

Leave a comment on the story and share with others. Thanks.

You can also access my stories on Substack:   (2) Silver Acres Formed Me – by James P Hurd – James’s Substack

Want to browse archived WINGSPREAD stories? Click here:  https://jimhurd.com/ then click in the righthand column under “archives.”  These stories include memoirs, stories about bush flying, personal essays and other topics.

Here are a few examples:

“Trouble in Paradise” (a whimsical take on the Adam and Eve story) https://jimhurd.com/2024/04/  

“Lone, Wandering But Lost?” (challenge of land and air navigation) https://tinyurl.com/3yuzsw3j 

“Egg McMuffin Miracle” (A personal “angel” epiphany)  https://tinyurl.com/24a5zr6y

This month’s puzzler, ”Island of Truth and Lies,” thanks to Car Talk Archives

This one is a classic. I’ll set the scene. 

You’re on Isla Nublar, the island from Jurassic Park. There are dangers around every corner. Pterodactyls are circling overhead. Tyrannosaurus Rex’s are nipping at your heels. The only hope to escape is to get to the dock before the last transport leaves the island. 

You’re driving along this road in your Nissan Pathfinder heading for the dock and you come to the proverbial fork in the road. You don’t know which way to go so you try to find someone to ask. 

Now, unfortunately, on this island there are only two kinds of people: liars and truth tellers. The liars always lie, and the truth tellers always tell the truth.

So you come to the fork in the road, and there are two guys there. And you know that they always travel in pairs. There’s always one liar and one truth teller. But you don’t know which is which. And you really need to know the way to the dock. 

So the puzzler question is, what one question could you ask either one of them that would certainly get you onto the right road and to safety where your boat awaits at the dock?

You only get one question. What would it be?

Good luck.

 (Answer will appear in next month’s WINGSPREAD newsletter.)

Answer to last month’s puzzler about the broken stone: 

This one was hard!

So what were the weights of the 4 individual pieces after the large stone was broken? Remember, the pieces of the broken stone could now be used to weigh any item, assuming those items were in 1-pound increments from 1 pound to 40 pounds, using the stones and a balance scale.

So how much did each piece weigh? And the hint that I gave was, how would you weigh 2 pounds?

Here is the answer:

One of the pieces has to be 1 pound. And if you use the hint I gave, then the next one has to be 3 pounds. Because if you put 1 pound on one side, and 3 pounds on the other side, that would equal weighing 2 pounds. If you weigh 2 pounds of hay on the 1 pound side, and it is equal with the 3 pound side, you know you have 2 pounds of hay.To weigh 4 pounds, you put the 1 and the 3 together. 

So if you follow this logic, you will see that the amounts have to be powers of 3 and there are four powers of 3 between 1 and 40: 1 pound (30), 3 pounds (31), 9 pounds (32), and 27 pounds (33), and these four add up to 40. Pretty slick, huh?

Subscribe free to this Ezine  

Click here https://jimhurd.com/home/  to subscribe to this WINGSPREAD ezine, sent direct to your email inbox, every month. You will receive a free article for subscribing. Please share this URL with interested friends, “like” it on Facebook, retweet on Twitter, etc.

If you wish to unsubscribe from this Wingspread Ezine, send an email to hurdjames1941@gmail.com  and put in the subject line: “unsubscribe.” (I won’t feel bad, promise!) Thanks.

Wisdom

Obsolete Words. (You still find these occasionally; sometimes in the old King James Bibles!) Demonstrates how words and usage change.

  • anon – soon, shortly (“I will come anon.”)
  • betimes – early, promptly
  • peradventure – perhaps, maybe
  • yclept – called, named (“A knight yclept Sir Gareth…”)
  • hark – listen (“Hark! The herald angels . . .”)
  • prithee – I pray thee; please
  • fain – gladly, willingly
  • nigh – near
  • ere – before
  • whilom – once upon a time
  • shew – actually, just an obsolete spelling of “show”
  • begotten – born
  • espoused – engaged
  • buckler – a small, round shield
  • manger – a feed trough for animals

Contronyms (single words that have opposite meanings depending on the context)

  1. Sanction – to approve (“The committee sanctioned the project”) / to penalize (“The country was sanctioned for violations”).
  2. Oversight – supervision (“She has oversight of the department”) / an error by neglect (“It was an oversight on my part”).
  3. Dust – to remove fine particles (“I dusted the shelves”) / to apply fine particles (“I dusted the cake with sugar”).
  4. Left – remaining (“Only one slice left”) / departed (“She left the room”).
  5. Trim – to decorate (“Trim the tree”) / to cut away (“Trim the hedge”).
  6. Bound – heading toward (“She’s bound for Paris”) / restrained (“He was bound by ropes”).
  7. Cleave – to split apart (“Cleave the log in two”) / to cling to (“Cleave to your principles”).
  8. Seed – to plant seeds (“Seed the garden”) / to remove seeds (“Seed the watermelon”).
  9. Screen – to show (“They screened the movie”) / to hide (“Screen the porch from the sun”).
  10. Weather – to withstand (“Weather the storm”) / to be worn away (“The rock weathered over time”).
  11. Fast – quick (“He runs fast”) / fixed, unmoving (“The rope was held fast”).
  12. Clip – to attach (“Clip the papers together”) / to cut off (“Clip the coupon”).
  13. Apology – expression of regret (“He gave an apology”) / formal defense or justification (“Plato’s Apology”).
  14. Peruse – to read carefully / to skim casually (usage has shifted over time).
  15. Bolt – to secure (“Bolt the door”) / to flee (“The horse bolted”).
  16. Overlook – to supervise (“She overlooked the project”) / to miss noticing (“He overlooked the typo”).
  17. Go – to proceed (“Go ahead”) / to fail or be spent (“The battery has gone”).
  18. Dusty – covered in dust (“Dusty shelves”) / sprinkled with dust-like particles (“Dusty snow on the mountain”).
  19. Temper – to soften (“Temper justice with mercy”) / to strengthen (“Tempered steel”).
  20. Out – visible (“The stars are out”) / extinguished (“The fire is out”).

                                    I can relate . . .

WINGSPREAD zine for August, 2025

Spreading wings in a perplexing world
August, 2025                                                    James P. Hurd

Please forward and share this ezine with others. Thank you.

Contents

  • Writer’s Corner
  • Blessed Unbeliever 
  • This month’s story: “Delivering the Orange Daily News”
  • This month’s puzzler: “The Broken Stone”
  • WINGSPREAD ezine subscription information
  • Wisdom

Writer’s Corner

Writer’s tip: You can indent the first line of each paragraph but do not indent the first line of the first paragraph in your article or story, or the first line following a major subheading or break in the story.

Complaint of the month: Autocorrect has become my worst enema.

Task for you: Write a 100-word story using only dialogue. Dialogue grabs the readers’ attention. Remember, each change of speaker needs a new paragraph.

Book of the month: The Complete Tales of Winnie-The-Pooh, A.A. Milne

Button Children’s Books. A delightful story of a chubby, fuzzy little bear and his friends who live in the 100-acre wood. Winnie is a “bear of little brain” but he has a heart of gold. Good stories to reread in these troubled times

The only kind of writing is rewriting. Ernest Hemingway

Check out my BLESSED UNBELIEVER novel

Available in paper or Kindle version at Wipf and Stock Publishers, Amazon https://a.co/d/9su5F3o or wherever good books are sold.

New story: Delivering the Orange Daily News

I got off my bike, leaned it against the brick wall of the news alley and stared through the barred window at the bubbling pot of molten lead. This was the first day of my first job―delivering newspapers for the Orange Daily News. . . .

The Daily News hired Johnny to be part delivery supervisor and part wet nurse. He worked with the paperboys, handling screw-ups and drying tears. Johnny told us, “You guys are entrepreneurs, independent businessmen.” Turns out that meant less liability for the paper—and we had to eat our losses. He would take us out door-knocking―a bleak task where we tried to sign up new subscribers. But how sell something you weren’t crazy about yourself? We liked Johnny who organized games in the YMCA gym and told a few dirty jokes. He would hold up an orange, army-type hat with “Orange Daily News” printed on the side and say, “You’ll get one of these cool hats and for every five new subscribers you sign up, you’ll get to pin on one of these shiny buttons.” I thought, I’d rather just get more cash. . . . To read more, click here:  https://tinyurl.com/4k73pdcb

Substack access: The article is on Substack but I haven’t yet learned how to grant public assess to it.

Leave a comment on the website and share with others. Thanks.

This month’s puzzler, “The Broken Stone.” Thanks to “Car Talk Archives“

This is a non-automotive puzzler. Here we go.

Years ago, somewhere far, far away.

A farmer had a 40-pound stone, which he could use to weigh 40 pounds of feed or hay.

He would sell feed in 40-pound bundles and hay in 40-pound bales. He had a balance scale. He put the stone on one side, and he piled the other side with feed or hay. When it balanced, he knew he had enough to sell. 

Then one day, a neighbor borrowed the stone. But he had to apologize when he returned it because he had broken it into four pieces. And he felt really bad about it. 

As it turns out, the farmer who owned the stone later told the neighbor that he actually had done him a favor.

The pieces of the broken stone could now be used to weigh any item, assuming those items were in one-pound increments, from one pound to 40 pounds, so the farmer thought this was a great improvement.

So the puzzler is, what were the weights of the 4 individual stones after the large stone was broken?

And here’s the hint―how would you weigh 2 pounds? 

Good luck!

 (Answer will appear in next month’s WINGSPREAD newsletter.)

Answer to last month’s puzzler: 

Recall you have to decide which of three switches on the first floor turns on a light on the third floor. You’re allowed to go up and check the lightbulb only once.

Here is the answer.

Turn all the switches off.

Then you turn the first switch on and you leave it on for 10 minutes.

Then you turn it off and turn the second switch on.

You leave the third switch in the off position.

Then, you go upstairs to check the light.

When you get upstairs, if the bulb is on, then you know it is switch #2. 

If the bulb is off, and it is cold, then it is switch #3. 

If the bulb is warm, then you know it is switch #1. 

And that is how you do it. 

Oldy but goodie.

Subscribe free to this Ezine  

Click here https://jimhurd.com/home/  to subscribe to this WINGSPREAD ezine, sent direct to your email inbox, every month. You will receive a free article for subscribing. Please share this URL with interested friends, “like” it on Facebook, retweet on Twitter, etc.

If you wish to unsubscribe from this Wingspread Ezine, send an email to hurdjames1941@gmail.com and put in the subject line: “unsubscribe.” (I won’t feel bad, promise!) Thanks.

Wisdom

An historic 1946 picture from Mission Aviation Fellowship archives of Betty Green, one of the founders and first pilot with the mission. In the background is her Grumman J2F Duck―a bi-wing, radial-engine amphibian that she flew in New Guinea. I was privileged to know this godly, gracious woman.

Spelled the same, but different pronunciations and different meanings: 


1) The bandage was wound around the wound.

2) The farm was used to produce produce.

3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.

4) We must polish the Polish furniture.

5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.

6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.

7) He thought a birthday was a good time to present the present.

8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.

9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.

10) I did not object to the object.

11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.

12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.

13) They were too close to the door to close it.

14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.

15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.

16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.

17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.

18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting, I shed a tear.

19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.

20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

I called Willow Street, Pennsylvania cemetery about a tombstone for Barbara and me. Sticker shock–expensive. I delayed a month but finally called back and ordered one. They’ll put Barbara’s birth and death year on it and my birth year and a dash. Turns out they’ll charge me extra when they have to come back and chisel in my death date. So I think I’ll just ask them to put in “2060” right now. I figure it’ll give me something to shoot for.

I must be getting stronger. Last year I couldn’t even carry $50 of groceries with my two hands.  James P Hurd

Delivering the Orange Daily News

I got off my bike, leaned it against the brick wall of the news alley and stared through the barred window at the bubbling pot of molten lead. This was the first day of my first job―delivering newspapers for the Orange Daily News.

It was a small paper and “daily” was a stretch—we didn’t deliver on weekends. Some of the paperboys called it “The Orange daily butt-wipe.” The year I started, the Daily News certainly printed the big headlines—Emmett Till’s murder, Rosa Parks and the Montgomery bus boycott, Bill Haley’s sensational Rock Around the Clock, the launching of the first nuclear-powered submarine, building the first McDonald’s restaurant, and the spectacular Disneyland opening. But unlike the larger Santa Ana Register, the Daily News mainly covered local issues like road construction, the championship-bound Orange Lionettes softball team. It covered how my friend’s father embezzled money from the First National Bank or published the story of the Fourth of July parade with the barred jail sitting on the plaza where they would lock up local dignitaries. And of course, crossword puzzles and the Dear Abby column.

The Daily News offices sat on the Orange Plaza, an enormous roundabout in the center of Orange with tall palm trees and fountain. You entered the Daily News from the sidewalk, where the front office concealed the room behind with its rattling printing press that spit out thousands of papers each day.

I had two fights in the news alley—won one and lost one. When I hit Hawkins in the belly, he started crying and the fight was pretty much over. I felt strong and powerful―until Shockley did the same to me. I doubled over in pain and started bawling. Johnny, the delivery supervisor, took a dim view of fighting: “Knock it off! You boys can’t work here if you’re going to fight.” So pretty soon we learned our place in the pecking order.

We were never allowed to enter the press room but since the alley ran alongside, you could press your face against the protective window grill to watch the guy at the linotype, a marvelous machine that turns keystrokes into lines of brass molds. He would pour the lead-antimony-tin mixture into the molds to form the letters. The nearby printer swallows a huge roll of newsprint, then spits folded papers out the other end. You could smell the newsprint and almost feel the heat of the molten lead.

After Orange Intermediate would let out, I would bike through the city streets, park my Schwinn bicycle with its white sidewall tires in the news alley and wait with the other boys. Sometimes the papers were late so I would walk down the alley to a small jewelry store that had a cooler. You opened the lid to see where the Coke bottles hung on a rail, put your dime in the slot, then slid out an ice-cold bottle. It tasted marvelous on a hot summer’s day even if it froze your brain and people warned you that you could get instantaneous pneumonia. I bought one every day, reasoning that it was wise to form good habits.

The Daily News hired Johnny to be part delivery supervisor and part wet nurse. He worked with the paperboys, handling screw-ups and drying tears. Johnny told us, “You guys are entrepreneurs, independent businessmen.” Turns out that meant less liability for the paper—and we ate our losses. He would take us out door-knocking, a bleak task where we tried to sign up new subscribers. But how sell something you weren’t crazy about yourself? We liked Johnny who organized games in the YMCA gym and told a few dirty jokes. He would hold up an orange, army-type Daily News hat and say, “You’ll get one of these cool hats and for every five new subscribers you sign up, you’ll get one of these shiny buttons to pin onto it.” I thought, “I’d rather just get a bit more cash.”

An alley ran back about 75 feet alongside the building to the paper-folding room with its dirty brick walls, bleared windows and dark interior. It smelled like a sweathouse out of a Dickens novel. Sheet metal covered the tables where we slipped and folded the papers. “Slipping” meant putting a section or two inside the front section. On rainy days we had to shroud the papers in wax sheets. Folding was a work of art. You would fold the whole paper in half, then turn down a corner triangle, fold again, then tuck the triangle inside to make a little packet. After you finished folding you stuffed them into your white canvas bag labeled “Orange Daily News” and hung the bag over your bicycle handlebars.

I would ride out of the alley with my laden paper bags hitting my knees, head over to my Pine Street route in the northwest part of town. On the way, I swung by the gas station on Glassell Street that had a vending machine where I would buy a Heath bar. Reaching Pnne Street I would start throwing papers onto the porches or at least onto the sidewalk up near the door. The papers sailed and curved so you needed expert technique. We had to memorize the house numbers. Mrs. Weaver wanted me to walk up and leave the paper on her window sill and for my trouble, a shiny dime would appear on the sill on Fridays.

Most of my paper customers were nice people with only occasional complaints about late deliveries or stray papers. We loved the PIAs—“Paid in Advance” but we had to go out each month to collect from the other people. Sometimes they would say, “Come back next week.”

The route didn’t always go smoothly. I played on the Orange Intermediate basketball team and one day we had an away game. My dear mother picked up my papers downtown, folded them, then drove to the school and hung the paperbags on my bike. But when I arrived someone had pulled all the papers out and torn them up. I had to make a tearful, late trip to the office to pick up more papers and deliver them in the dark.

When I entered high school, I graduated to a six-mile, rural paper route. The houses sat far apart but most of them were PIAs so I didn’t have to collect. I didn’t have to bike downtown―they delivered the papers to our front lawn. If the papers were printed late and it was getting dark, my mom would drive me in our 1955 Ford station wagon while I sat on the tailgate throwing the papers.

Eventually I graduated to using my dad’s Cushman motor scooter. The route finished over on Santa Clara Avenue and there wasn’t a north-south street nearby so I would cut through the Fairhaven Cemetery to drive home. But if it got too late, they would close and lock the gates and I would have to make a long detour. One night it was very late and dark, the gates were still open and I had the headlight on when I entered the cemetery. I was traveling fast, eager to get home, riding along a line of Eucalyptus trees. I had to jog left through the trees to pass from the Santa Ana cemetery to the Fairhaven side. I jogged, but with it being late they’d put a chain across the break in the trees. I jammed on the brakes, left a dark skid mark and stopped with my front wheel touching the chain.

I somehow muscled the scooter under the chain and drove past a huge, dark building―the mausoleum that had fascinated us kids since we were in elementary school. We would tiptoe through the marble halls, talking in whispers. Then we’d yell and run, our voices echoing as we raced toward the door. I never would go in there alone. I passed on by, exited the cemetery at Fairhaven Ave., rode the half mile down Cambridge Street to our house and wheeled into the garage.

I wish now that I had told Mom how much I appreciated her helping with the route. And I wish I’d told her that, when I had to make the long ride home after dark, how I loved seeing the welcoming lights of home and smelling the late dinner she’d cooked for me.

WINGSPREAD Ezine for July, 2025


Spreading wings in a perplexing world
July, 2025                                                    James P. Hurd

Please forward and share this ezine with others. Thank you.

Contents

  • Writer’s Corner
  • Blessed Unbeliever 
  • This month’s story: “On A Roll”
  • This month’s puzzler: light switches
  • WINGSPREAD Ezine subscription information
  • Wisdom

Writer’s Corner

Writer’s tip: Start your novel or story in media res (“in the middle of things”). For instance, you could start it just before or just after a crisis, peaking the reader’s interest. You can then double back and tell the story more chronologically.

Word of the month: NERDSPLAINING  (I made this one up!)  This refers to a very intelligent person explaining something but using words and ideas you’ve never heard of.

Task for you: Write a story of 100 words without using any adjectives or adverbs (good practice in using fewer, more direct words). Here’s a prompt: The most unusual holiday I ever spent.

BLESSED UNBELIEVER novel

Available in paper or Kindle version at Wipf and Stock Publishers, Amazon https://a.co/d/9su5F3o or wherever good books are sold.

New story: “On A Roll”

After flying to San Francisco, embracing my dear California sister and catching up on our lives, I get up to use the bathroom. It smells fresh and has a new towel laid out. But when I reach for the toilet paper, it’s facing the wall—backwards!

I’ve known Anne all my life―her opposite political persuasion, her preference for a different kind of church. None of this ever came between us. But the toilet paper shakes me. Where did she learn this? I don’t remember this happening in our childhood home. If she does this to the toilet paper what else is she hiding? Uncontrolled passive aggression? Anger issues? Never before have I noticed any serious issues. Did she do it on purpose? . . .

To read more, click here:  https://jimhurd.com/2025/07/15/on-a-roll/

Share the story with others and leave a comment on the website. Thanks.

Access more of my articles on Substack: https://jameshurd.substack.com/publish/post/164503545

This month’s puzzler (thanks to “Car Talk” puzzlers)

This one is complicated, so make sure you concentrate!

There are three on/off switches on the wall on the first floor of a building.

You can tell when they’re switched on or off because they are either clicked up for on, or down for off, like a light switch.

You don’t know which of these three switches controls an incandescent lamp on the third floor of the building. The other two are not connected to anything and don’t do anything at all.

You are allowed to toggle the switches on or off as many times as you please.

Further, you are allowed to walk just once to the third floor to check the lamp to see if it is on or not.

So, how can you know which switch controls the lamp on the third floor?

(Answer will appear in next month’s WINGSPREAD newsletter.)

Answer to last month’s puzzler: 

What was the man buying in the hardware store if one costs 60 cents, but 200 costs only $1.80?

He was buying house numbers, the little numbers you put on your house! 

He lives at house number 200. So he just needs three numbers: a two and two zeros. Three times 60 cents equals $1.80.

Good one.

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Wisdom

Musings on Love

  1. “Love is sharing your popcorn.” – Charles Schultz
  2. “Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love.” – Albert Einstein
  3. “Love is an ocean of emotions entirely surrounded by expenses.” – Thomas Dewar
  4. “I love you more than coffee, but please don’t make me prove it.” – Anonymous
  5. “A guy knows he’s in love when he loses interest in his car for a couple of days.” – Tim Allen
  6. “Marriage is like a walk in the park. Jurassic Park.” – Anonymous
  7. “Love is being stupid together.” – Paul Valery
  8. “Honesty is the key to a relationship. If you can fake that, you’re in.” – Richard Jeni
  9. “Forget love, I’d rather fall in chocolate.” – Anonymous
  10. “My wife and I were happy for twenty years – then we met.” – Rodney Dangerfield
  11. “My wife has a slight impediment in her speech. Every now and then she stops to breathe.” – Jimmy Durante
  12. “Love is the only kind of fire that is never covered by insurance.” – Anonymous
  13. “If love is the answer, could you rephrase the question?” – Lily Tomlin

The joys of family life

  1. “Insanity is hereditary; you get it from your children.” – Sam Levenson
  2. “Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.” – George Burns
  3. “Having children is like living in a frat house – nobody sleeps, everything’s broken, and there’s a lot of throwing up.” – Ray Romano
  4. “A family reunion is an effective form of birth control.” – Robert A. Heinlein
  5. “The advantage of growing up with siblings is that you become very good at fractions.” – Anonymous
  6. “Remember, as far as anyone knows, we are a nice, normal family.” – Homer Simpson
  7. “Home, nowadays, is a place where part of the family waits until the rest of the family brings the car back.” – Earl Wilson
  8. “A family is a unit composed not only of children but of men, women, an occasional animal, and the common cold.” – Ogden Nash
  9. “Being part of a family means smiling for photos.” – Harry Morgan
  10. “The other night I ate at a real nice family restaurant. Every table had an argument going.” – George Carlin
  11. “The family is one of nature’s masterpieces.” – George Santayana

Classic One-Liners

  1. “I always arrive late at the office, but I make up for it by leaving early.” – Anonymous
  2. “Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, ‘Where have I gone wrong?’ Then a voice says to me, ‘This is going to take more than one night.’” – Charlie Brown
  3. “If you think nobody cares if you’re alive, try missing a couple of car payments.” – Earl Wilson
  4. “My fake plants died because I did not pretend to water them.” – Mitch Hedberg
  5. “I told my wife she was drawing her eyebrows too high. She looked surprised.” – Anonymous
  6. “I want my children to have all the things I couldn’t afford. Then I want to move in with them.” – Phyllis Diller
  7. “I used to think I was indecisive, but now I’m not so sure.” – Anonymous
  8. “I’m writing a book. I’ve got the page numbers done.” – Steven Wright
  9. “A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.” – Steven Wright
  10. “I dream of a better tomorrow, where chickens can cross the road and not be questioned about their motives.” – Anonymous
  11. “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.” – Groucho Marx
  12. “Always borrow money from a pessimist. He won’t expect it back.” – Oscar Wilde
  13. “Behind every great man is a woman rolling her eyes.” – Jim Carrey

On A Roll

Traveling out of state you never know what you’ll run into—alien environment, alien customs. You want to be open-minded but where do you draw the line?

After flying to San Francisco, embracing my dear California sister and catching up on our lives, I get up to use the bathroom. It smells fresh and has a new towel laid out. But when I reach for the toilet paper, it’s facing the wall—backwards!

I’ve known Anne all my life―her opposite political persuasion, her preference for a different kind of church. None of this ever came between us. But the toilet paper shakes me. Where did she learn this? I don’t remember this happening in our childhood home. If she does this to the toilet paper what else is she hiding? Have I missed her darker side? Uncontrolled passive aggression? Anger issues? Never before have I noticed any serious issues. Did she do it on purpose?

I determine to take the high road here. I turn the roll around on the holder, exit the room and greet Anne as if nothing happened. But when I later pop into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I feel slapped in the face―the toilet paper is reversed again! We never exchanged any angry words—she just reversed it without asking me.

I spend a sleepless night, tossing, turning and troubled. I give myself a lecture: You’re not the host; you’re a guest. You must go with the flow and overlook things. Get over it. And yet I can’t. I can eat different foods she prepares, engage in long conversations about topics I’m not interested in, go places I don’t want to go. But the toilet roll—I just can’t let it go.

In the morning neither of us say anything but I can feel the tension rising. I wonder if Anne has talked to her husband but I don’t sense any estrangement when I talk to him about cars, airplanes, softball. Maybe he doesn’t know about it, or worse, doesn’t care. I dread the coming weeks and months with this bone of contention lodged in my throat.

I have forgiven her, really, but I wonder if I shouldn’t talk to her. At breakfast, Rich hasn’t gotten up yet and Anne and I sit savoring the comforting coffee and scrambled eggs cooked with just a hint of tabasco sauce. I take a deep breath and begin: “Anne, I noticed the toilet paper was reversed and when I turned it around you turned it back. I want you to know I’ve forgiven you and will never bring it up again.”

My sister’s eyes widen and her mouth opens but nothing comes out. Finally, “Oh, Jamie; I didn’t know that was such a big deal. I’m sorry.” Not said patronizingly but full of respect and I don’t detect any anger. (I notice that women tend to apologize, even if they don’t think they’ve done anything wrong.) We share small talk for a few awkward minutes. I think this helps; I feel my muscles relax and the tension dissipate. From then on, I turn the roll her way but later I notice she comes in and turns it back my way. I count that as a sign of our mutual respect.

A couple days later I red-eye back to Minnesota and Uber home after midnight. My own kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. My bathroom! I feel relief wash over me as I reach for the toilet paper and find the loose end facing front. It feels so right.

Why make such a big deal of this? Because if you let things like this slide, next it’s slurping, double chip-dipping or maybe even grand larceny. I figure I did her a service by nipping bad behavior in the bud. And anyway; one of my strongest spiritual gifts is judgmentalism.

Since that difficult day I’ve moved on; I’m not holding on to it. Like, every time I call Anne, I assure her that I’ve put the toilet paper conflict behind us and will never bring it up again. And I congratulate myself on achieving reconciliation after such a sharp misunderstanding.

But I sometimes wonder if she’s still doing it wrong.

WINGSPREAD Ezine for June, 2025


Spreading wings in a perplexing world
June, 2025                                                    James P. Hurd

Please forward and share this ezine with others. Thank you.

Contents

  • Writer’s Corner
  • Blessed Unbeliever 
  • This month’s story
  • This month’s puzzler
  • WINGSPREAD Ezine subscription information
  • Wisdom

Writer’s Corner

Writer’s tip: “If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.” Elmore Leonard

Word of the month: DEIPNOSOPHIST: An expert in the art of discourse while dining

Task for you: Find a piece of writing that you really enjoy and use it as a template for your own writing: style, vocabulary, metaphors, characterizations, description of scenes, plot.

BLESSED UNBELIEVER novel

I confess I sometimes more enjoy talking to atheists than to Christians. My atheist friends seem honest about their doubts. Although my own doubts have been addressed, they have not been quenched. I believe we are all on a spiritual quest and I wish to know the quest of each person I meet. Blessed Unbeliever (below) is the story of one such quest. Much is autobiographical (I won’t tell you which parts!). But the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Blessed Unbeliever (paper or Kindle version) can be found at Wipf and Stock Publishers, Amazon https://a.co/d/9su5F3o or wherever good books are sold.

New story: “Venturing Beyond the Pale”

*Note: This is a different kind of essay where I trace my personal journey from fundamentalism into a more ecumenical faith.

“The President,” sarcastically so called because he was thermometer-thin, unathletic and mute, sat alone on a bench near the Orange High School snack shop. I felt pressure rising in my gut as I sat down to “witness” to him about how all people are sinners and how he needed to “accept Christ” to escape eternal damnation. He said nothing. After about twenty minutes I got up and walked away—and never spoke to him again. My most embarrassing day in high school; I felt like I had committed a violation.

Witnessing to The President was an example of what fundamentalists did. . . . To read more, click here:  https://tinyurl.com/asepunwc

Leave a comment on the website and share with others. Thanks.

This month’s puzzler (thanks to “Car Talk” archives)

Years ago, back in the 80’s, a guy walks into a hardware store to purchase something for his house.

He asks the clerk, “How much is one?”

The clerk says, “60 cents.”

And the guys say, “Okay, how much for 12?”

The clerk says, “$1.20.”

So the guy says, “Okay then. I’ll take 200.”

And the clerk says, “That’ll be $1.80.”

And the puzzler is very simple. 

What was he buying?

Good luck, friends.

 (Answer will appear in next month’s WINGSPREAD newsletter.)

Answer to last month’s puzzler: 

How start building a bridge across Niagara Falls? They held a kite-flying contest. The first kid to be able to get his kite to land on the other side of Niagara gorge won the contest.

So once the kite was across, they attached a rope to the kite string and pulled it across. And they did this with the rope until they were able to pull the cable across. Pretty brilliant. 

And the kid’s name was Homan Walsh, a 16-year-old kid from Ireland who won the contest and made history. 

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Click here https://jimhurd.com/home/  to subscribe to this WINGSPREAD ezine, sent direct to your email inbox, every month. You will receive a free article for subscribing. Please share this URL with interested friends, “like” it on Facebook, retweet on Twitter, etc.

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Wisdom

C.S. Lewis’s stepson tells the story of a time when Lewis was walking with a friend and a person on the street came up and asked him for spare change. Lewis emptied his pockets and gave it all to the man, and once he had left, the friend challenged him, “You shouldn’t have given that man all that money, he’ll only spend it on drink.” To which Lewis replied, “Well, if I’d kept it, I would have only spent it on drink.”

The upward path of human evolution

Empathy. These eleven short stories make us think twice about the daily happenings in our lives.

1. Today, I interviewed my grandmother for part of a research paper I’m working on for my Psychology class. When I asked her to define success in her own words, she said;
“Success is when you look back at your life and the memories make you smile.”

2. Today, after my 72 hour shift at the fire station, a woman ran up to me at the grocery store and gave me a hug. When I tensed up, she realized I didn’t recognize her. She let go with tears of joy in her eyes and the most sincere smile and said;
“On 9-11-2001, you carried me out of the World Trade Center.”

3. Today, after I watched my dog get run over by a car, I sat on the side of the road holding him and crying. And just before he died, He licked the tears off my face.

4. Today at 7 AM, I woke up feeling ill, but decided I needed the money, so I went into work. At 3 PM I got laid off. On my drive home I got a flat tire. When I went into the trunk for the spare, it was flat too.

A man in a BMW pulled over, gave me a ride, we chatted, and then he offered me a job. I start tomorrow.

5. Today, as my father, three brothers, and two sisters stood around my mother’s hospital bed, my mother uttered her last coherent words before she died.

She simply said, “I feel so loved right now. We should have gotten together like this more often.”

6. Today, I kissed my dad on the forehead as he passed away in a small hospital bed. About 5 seconds after he passed, I realized it was the first time I had given him a kiss since I was a little boy.

7. Today, in the cutest voice, my 8-year-old daughter asked me to start recycling. I chuckled and asked, “Why?” She replied, “So you can help me save the planet.” I chuckled again and asked, “And why do you want to save the planet?”

Because that’s where I keep all my stuff,” she said.

8. Today, when I witnessed a 27-year-old breast cancer patient laughing hysterically at her 2-year-old daughter’s antics, I suddenly realized that I need to stop complaining about my life and start celebrating it again.

9. Today, a boy in a wheelchair saw me desperately struggling on crutches with my broken leg and offered to carry my backpack and books for me. He helped me all the way across campus to my class and as he was leaving he said, “I hope you feel better soon.”

10. Today, I was feeling down because the results of a biopsy came back malignant. When I got home, I opened an e-mail that said, “Thinking of you today. If you need me, I’m a phone call away.” It was from a high school friend I hadn’t seen in 10 years.

11. Today, I was traveling in Kenya and I met a refugee from Zimbabwe. He said he hadn’t eaten anything in over 3 days and looked extremely skinny and unhealthy. Then my friend offered him the rest of the sandwich he was eating. The first thing the man said was, “We can share it.”

Venturing Beyond the Pale

“The President,” sarcastically so called because he was thermometer-thin, unathletic and mute, sat alone on a bench near the Orange High School snack shop. I felt pressure rising in my gut as I sat down to “witness” to him about how all people are sinners and how he needed to “accept Christ” to escape eternal damnation. He said nothing. After about twenty minutes I got up and walked away—and never spoke to him again. My most embarrassing day in high school; I felt like I violated him.

The Comfort of Certainty

Witnessing to The President was an example of what fundamentalists did. Twice on Sunday and most Wednesday nights our family would drive the eight miles to the church that cradled my childhood: Silver Acres. The men would arrive in suits and women in hats, some with veils. Pop McIntosh led the singing, waving his arm to keep the beat. Before I left elementary school, I had memorized the lyrics of “Power in the Blood,” “It is Well with my Soul,” “Abide with Me,” “Blest Be the Tie that Binds,” etc. Earl Ward taught me to play chess and on men’s potluck night, Mr. Ballew always bought cherry pies, baked by his Emma.

Before Brother Cantrell preached his sermon, he would invite people to join the church: “We’re fundamentalist, independent, unaffiliated, Bible-believing, premillennial, pretribulational.” I thought, if you understood that string of big words serves you right if they baptize you. After church Bro. Cantrell and Walter Loitz would talk Bible and football.

At 10 I could recite all the biblical books in order: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers . . .  We would have “sword drills,” using our “sword” to see who could look up verses the fastest. I became a Bible nerd, reading my Scofield Bible, and devouring Bro. Cantrell’s big words: Inerrancy means that the Bible contains no errors of any kind. The world is that territory “beyond the pale,” outside the camp, that place of temptation that lies under control of the Evil One. The rapture, tribulation and millennial kingdom referred to events happening at the end of time. He talked a lot about the end times. Modernist referred to people or churches we shunned, some of which questioned the resurrection, the virgin birth and biblical inerrancy. Some fundamentalists even practiced “secondary separation”—separating from those (e.g., Billy Graham) who themselves fraternized with modernists (e.g., Martin Luther King, Jr.). My friend Jerry was mainline Methodist—I once asked him if his church celebrated Easter! Unlike them, we did not kneel in church or make the sign of the cross. No crosses hung on the wall at Silver Acres, no pictures of Jesus. Instead of liturgy and sacraments we anchored our beliefs in Bible verses.

Growing up, I felt as if knew God’s plans for my life and for the world. And I confess, I carried a teeny bit of pride in my arcane vocabulary. I felt no need to help make the world a better place because the world was under control of the Evil One. So we endeavored to only persuade people to join us as we waited for Jesus to come back.

After WWII, many middle-class Americans valued high morals and a conservative lifestyle but fundamentalists went further. Bro. Cantrell preached against smoking, drinking, dancing, movie theaters and gambling. Of course I grew interested in the church girls. I watched Kay Cantrell sitting broadly on the piano bench in her see-through blouse (pushing the boundaries of fundamentalist norms). One day in the Cantrell parsonage I saw two books lying on the dining room table: What Every Christian Boy Should Know and What Every Christian Girl Should Know. The second sounded more interesting but as I was paging through it, Mrs. Cantrell walked in and warned me, “Jamie, that book is only for girls.”

I was the only one in my grade who did not take square dance classes in middle school. Even into college I never touched a cigarette, never gambled and never drank alcohol. Do I regret these constraints? No. Years later, these same moral values restrained me from jumping into bed with an over-eager girlfriend. I harbor a teeny regret missing the great movies—I never entered a theater until my twenties.

The Scofield Bible, with its authoritative notes, clarified biblical complexities. It erased the ambiguities, melted the mysteries, quieted my questioning and defeated my doubts. It felt good to be certain—you demonstrated your faith by not questioning. I learned that Jesus, son of the transcendent God, died not only for the world but for me.

But we did not merely parrott propositions. It was a social movement created by a faithful band of people who wished to live separate from the world. As a young person I embraced fundamentalist faith and enjoyed being part of the ingroup. It gave me a way to understand the Bible and embrace life-orienting beliefs. It gave me a task—carrying God’s message to the world. I understood why evil existed in the world, understood how to protect myself from it. This buoyed me through the tempests of my early life.

Silver Acres gave me a moral gyroscope that helped me survive the pains of adolescence. It assured me of who I was and what my purpose was in the world. I received precious gifts—a loving community, a dense network of friends and supportive adults. I knew who my people were and who my God was. Silver Acres insulated me from that world of sin and temptation beyond the pale. Later, the church pointed me toward Bible Institute and Christian mission.

Cracks in the Wall

And yet, as I moved into adolescence I began to feel like a social leper—different, conspicuous, isolated. There weren’t many fundamentalists out there. I grew to dislike worldly people, criticized their wrong beliefs, judged their lifestyles. I became more and more socially isolated and confused.

Further, I started doubting the great fundamentalist doctrines. The ordinance of communion bored me. Bro. Cantrell would spend half the service assuring us that “this is only grape juice and crackers; nothing to see here.” Ushers passed crumbled saltines and little plastic cups of grape juice along the rows. If communion food was merely grape juice and crackers, why bother? I longed for something deeper, more connective as I explored how far I could tip the communion cup without spilling the juice.

Since the Bible was inerrant, I was terrified I would find one small mistake that would destroy my whole faith. I worried about conflicts between the gospel accounts and how to reconcile the Old Testament God who commanded the destruction of the Canaanites with the New Testament God-in-Jesus who preached unconditional love?

Fundamentalists argued that the Bible is literally true “in all it affirms.” But how could the book of Revelation be literally true? Locust-shaped horses with women’s hair and stingers in their tails, stars falling to earth, a beast with ten heads . . . Surely these were symbolic?

I had the most trouble when the text touched scientific subjects—the “four corners” of the earth, the sun rising and setting. If you did the genealogies in the Bible, the universe seemed to be only 6,000 years old. How could this square with scientific findings?  Surely the text was pre-scientific? How convince worldly people to accept something I myself had trouble believing?

Opening the Door

When I moved to Cal State Fullerton and joined Intervarsity Christian Fellowship, I encountered a wonderful community that included strong Christians from mainline and Catholic traditions. I enjoyed friendships at Cal State with non-Christians and even atheists. My very questions and doubts gave me a kinship with them. I became more transparent and found they would frequently open up about their own questions. I was expanding my scope, widening my tent, embracing the world beyond the pale. I had found an expression of faith I could believe in and even more important, a faith that I could celebrate and share.

Not long ago, I boarded the Amtrak to travel from Mattoon, Illinois back to Minneapolis. Finding my assigned seat, I discovered a young man stretched out across it, asleep. I cautiously woke him. sat down, and for the next two hours, enjoyed an amazing conversation. Jamil, married and in his early twenties, was Palestinian, a “man without a country.” And Muslim. Formerly, I would have argued with him about the Bible or the deity of Christ. But this day, I found I was talking to a man in transition. His marriage was in trouble and he was looking for a mosque and an imam he could relate to. He was full of questions. I sympathized, talking about my own quest for a church and minister. We parted friends and talked by telephone a couple of times after that.

I treasure my fundamentalist foundations but today I’m happy living “beyond the pale” and learning how to embrace all people in God’s beloved world, happy learning that we all are on a spiritual quest.