Children see things that adults overlook. What looks like gravel to us, looks like a miracle to them.

Morning light roses the gaps between the slats of a wooden blind. Ice crystals cluster on the window pane.

“Where you work?” The cowboy holds up a swollen wrist. “Randall Feedlot. My horse slipped in the soup.”

When I drive by the abandoned Midway Drive-in, I imagine Hollywood films featuring beautiful women, brave soldiers, rugged cowboys...and happy families.

Jorge loved his work, yet he love his Savior even more.

“Standby!” I raise my arm, ready to cue the news announcer the second that we go on air.

Twenty years of chomping tumbleweed and flinging stones the size of baseballs. Yep, Tuff was one tough machine.

A man came into the store who looked homeless. He emptied the contents of his bag and took out a needle.

In the side room of a church, a silent picture sings the song of a young woman standing at an easel, pencil in hand.

The taste of desperation.

Rita, my sister-in-law, resides in a nursing home. She can no longer converse. Occasionally, a slight smile appears on her face.

Their faces gaunt. Their eyes are blurred. Their shirts all soaked with sweat.

The old man asked if I was familiar with the Cristero War.

What comes to mind when you hear the word, "work?"

I parked my truck in front of a house near the church. In the driveway of the house stood a car with widows smeared with liquid chalk: “Go Tigers!”

He cared about his truck and his saddle. She cared about the pecan tree.

Consider the blacksmith. The fire scorches his skin and the din of the hammer deafens his ears, yet he is intent on the tool he is shaping.

It's been long, hot summer in West Texas.

Did you know that crickets that can sense the breeze produced by a charging spider?

Would you rather read a book or watch a movie? I prefer books.