Monthly Archives: August 2026

How to Win the Game by Halftime

We got almost two inches of rain last night from a couple of fairly big thunderstorms that plowed across our neck of the woods and hereabouts. It’s so wonderful to get good rain this time of the year because it’s getting to be near that time when the autumn woods need rain to make all those beautiful colors as cool north winds begin to stir. If the weather is too dry in late summer, the leaves all just turn brown and fall, but when the rains hit just right, they get kind of waxy and shiny as they find the colors the Creator assigns to them. If you’re a follower of this site, you’ll already know this old hillbilly tends to wax poetic over the fall colors, and I don’t think this year will be any exception.

This autumn portends some different, ominous changes to the whole world, and frankly I don’t believe this existence in which we find ourselves is going to last much longer. Before you get your hackles up – and it’s understandable if you do – I’m painfully aware of the content getting published about needing to get prepared for hard times ahead, but the preparation this site advocates is mostly about spiritual preparation. In the end, being prepared to meet our Maker will be the ONLY preparation of any consequence and that realization must come sooner rather than later, because for it to actually work out to be of positive consequence it must be dealt with, and wholeheartedly if at all.

For the typical unbeliever who tries to continue straddling the fence between becoming a righteous follower of Jesus or simply living in the world and adapting to each and every kind of craziness the enemy throws at us, maybe you should look at this life like something you probably understand, like a football game. Yeah, think of this life as one big football game and right now we’re playing in the first half. People spend all their time chasing after money and good times and sure enough, just like touchdowns on the scoreboard, they’re racking up what they believe to be a big lead that will surely result in a win, and they tend to forget about that other half they still have to face. Most folks consider success to be about fancy homes and fast cars, boats, private jets, and whatever other items of instant gratification they can accumulate here in the first half. There’s a tendency to taunt us “losers” who appear to be falling further and further behind because of our quest to serve Jesus.

We don’t desire the same lifestyles as the unbelievers, because our “Coach” has given us some vision. We understand what’s ahead, and we trust our Coach who has assured us of victory in the next stage of the contest if we don’t get too worried about what our score looks like to the world in this half, but trust Him. Flashy cars and bank accounts only last until halftime – when your friends, relatives, and acquaintances lay you to rest and promptly start to divvy up all the things you “scored” as you erroneously presumed you were actually driving up the score. You came into this game with nothing, and you will leave it with nothing, no matter how much wealth you amassed during the first half. Google Jacob Rothschild; Sheldon Adelson; Dick Cheney. The game was over for them by halftime, and no matter what they had, they didn’t take a dime with them, and unless they took an opportunity to repent, they face a long and dismal second half indeed.

Just like the first half of this contest, which has varying lengths of time for different people, the second half isn’t really a half at all. It begins when we face our ultimate Referee, who will no doubt disqualify many from the contest entirely. He gave us the rule book and expected us to live by it, but we decided that we could rig the game in our favor – always outside the rules, so many of us gave no heed to them and proceeded to run up a score that would never serve to benefit us at all, for that second half was yet to be faced. That second “half” will last for all eternity, and it is when that unimaginable time begins that we will realize we actually gained victory. The other side will only then understand the depths of their loss. We will have won because we trusted our Coach, who taught us how to play a winning game and not get worried or excited about how dark things looked in that first half. We learned not to envy those with earthly gains that – to their eternal dismay – could never benefit them in the second half, but then they ignored the very rule book which could have taught them there would even be a second half. They did not prepare for what came after that big halftime show in which their great score seemed to assure them of victory, but alas for them victory was not meant to be.

When the “influencers” of the world keep harping on getting prepared, almost all of them are in one way or another talking about getting prepared for a future here on earth and how to survive some catastrophe in this first half of the game, but some of us are crying from the roof tops about preparing ourselves for the second half – listen to the Coach and trust Him, He’s saying that what’s important is on the other side and we should be preparing for that. We should have our minds focused on what we need and how we should live to get into the next life and stop worrying so much about how to survive in this one. The very first play of the greatest game is to make that decision to trust our Lord, our Coach, our Mentor, Jesus Christ. Beyond that is to try and live our lives in servitude to Him and to love our neighbors – even the foreigners among us. Play by the rules and thus avoid penalties as much as possible, and you will be playing to win – we must win – the alternative is too terrible to imagine, but the victory will be worth the effort we exerted on every down!

May the blessings of the Almighty Father find and keep us.

MK

Ode to an Ozark Autumn

I mentioned in an earlier post that I lost all of my old site content. I found this one in an obscure document file and reconstituted it – albeit a little early – for this iteration of Folkpotpourri. If you remember this one, you are definitely a long-time reader of this site:

Reach with open hand and open heart; take hold, if you can, those delicious hues of autumn sunset draped in lonely north wind mingled with bedraggled cloud, soon to be brooding for times of verdant summer mist, already near lost in forgotten stories of yesterday.  Indeed, yesterday, the stately woodland rang with melodies of summer, orchestras of wild birds and breezes generously blown from tame southlands where it is easy to imagine such ambience is nurtured.  Yesterday, where shadowy vines of darkest green wound grandly in a tapestry of misty treetops, trains of scarlet now cling to amber and golden hickory crowns revealing they indeed claimed for their own the loftiest boughs of the wood, as indigo and silent winds increasingly and incessantly coax them into a cumulative slow dance to the autumn symphony.  The autumn stage is set, hasten to allow these scenes of nature’s marvel into your memory, do not ignore the accompanying sound – aggrieved rasps of black birds, lonely and whispery whine of the grey squirrel; cold, clear water from unseen woodland fountains trickling over limestone escarpments, soon to be immobilized by icy silence in bounds of copper and yellow leaves.  Every roadway becomes a wonderland.

A great oak stands sentinel, watching somberly, attentively, as the furnace of summer wanes once more among the last few cauldrons of October, now interrupted by nights of cool mist wafting about starlit glens of intruding autumn shadow and whispering threats of rime to brittle, fallow leaves.  His watch unbroken through countless seasons, has once more patiently awaited the gum tree and sumac to emerge from sylvan dressing halls where the Master adorned them with exquisite gowns of profound crimson; they drink from deep, unseen vessels to another celebration of inimitable woodland hues.  Hordes of squirrels secret away for winter scraps of wild provender breathlessly scavenged among leaves, rocks, and prostrate moss-covered sentinels of yesterday.

Raindrops bide, percolating in low-hanging, leaden billows, at last to wrestle free and pitch to a bleak arid earth and to darken streams of dry stones patiently awaiting; blessed raindrops, to soak desiccated trails through endless thirsty hollows. Cold, autumn raindrops, to silence the crusty blanket of new-fallen leaves in expectation of the stealthy white-tailed stag; soon he will need the silence of wet leaves as he busies himself dutifully tearing openings in the fallow carpet to provide irresistible earthen patches to be searched out by does, in obeisance to the ritual that makes them this year’s concubines.  A seasonal urge will soon take him and for weeks he will pursue his regal posture of golden but waning autumn and brook no interloper into his realm.  He has no choice; his role is assigned by the Master.

In the coolness of the October night, as a full moon assumes command of the celestial ocean above, coyotes gather to discuss in shrill voices those pertinent notions of interest only to themselves (and perhaps the bobcat), but in nocturnal earnest, as shadowy breezes drift over a moonlit landscape abundant with small prey lurking fearfully, silently, and most intently eavesdropping on the conversation.  Ignoring the crazed chorus of coyote howls, secretive night birds take notice of the changes in weather that are upon them.  Occasional hoots and rustles in cool oaken boughs hint of their disdain; indeed, some have, in fits of irremediable insult, even departed to spend winter in climes greener and more amenable. 

On most afternoons now, a murder of raucous crows stationed along the edges of the wood take up hurling insults and name-calling; not at all pleased with nature’s effrontery.   Through tears in the dark clouds, rays of silver sunlight reflect from black feathers, perhaps illuminating, perhaps illustrating their displeasure at the way of things.  Their antics and curses go unheeded however, by the autumn wind; it has chosen to stay and it will, mirth or grief of irascible birds notwithstanding.