Well, to make the task easier we have opted for an inexpensive weed eater/whipper snipper/grass trimmer/edge trimmer, or whatever you call it, to go with our low tech rotary mower. It's a Black and Decker and rechargeable. So this morning I'll be getting that bad boy assembled, fired up, and knockin' down those arrogant bits of vegetation that have thought they were oh-so-safe.

And, hey! High temp today is supposed to be 83F!!

In other news did I mention my first article is in print, in the May issue of the magazine I write for? For most writers, this is the pay-off, even more than the cash. Your name, as it were, on the marquee outside the theater, circled by a row of blinking light bulbs.

I remember the feeling and probably felt it most distinctly in 1969 when I started writing a weekly column for a college student newspaper. Those were the days of political ferment across the country and there was a sense of power in the written word. Students in those days would grab copies and read with interest the latest controversy. Anyhow, writing in that context was pretty much sheer fun. Nobody was telling me what to write, or how, or even how much. I'd just bang away on our manual typewriter, writing whatever I fancied--humorous, political, whatever--and submit it. And magically, it would show up in print, unaltered, the next week for my little audience.

Not bragging, just stating the facts, ma'am, but people did give me compliments. The college dean, after I graduated, shook my hand and thanked me for my efforts. (I was sort of the resident conservative in withstanding the forces of campus radicalism, such as they were.) And the college p.r. director contacted his friend or acquaintance, Hal Bruno at Newsweek (later president of ABC News) and suggested I become another one of Newsweek's "campus correspondents." (In those days, due to all the campus unrest, Newsweek had campus stringers across the country to file reports as needed.) I, of course, didn't have the slightest idea of what I was doing when they did ask me to file something, but the point is, the college p.r. man had the impression I was pretty good. (The gig served me well, by the way, since in applying for jobs later I could include on my resume "Campus Correspondent for Newsweek magazine.")

I peaked early. Later that decade there was my stint on a small weekly paper followed by the Wilderness Years. As I've sometimes idly imagined it, I was like Moses tending his sheep prior to the burning bush, David hiding in the caves of Abdullah, or the Israelites waiting to cross Jordan. Now, with this new chance to get published, once again I am breaking out and who knows where it might lead.

Very likely, this is twaddle and nonsense. This time around--as I've chronicled it here--if I succeed, even slightly, it is by the sheer grace of God. Perhaps the best analogy might be Jacob (Israel) limping away after wrestling with the angel. He was taught an important lesson. God didn't really need him to get his work done and in fact for Jacob to be useful at all, he needed to start with a sense of his utter brokenness.

This, essentially, is how I've felt. The writing for publication at this stage of the game, honestly, and I mean honestly, I could take or leave. I've had a few moments of fun, but largely it's been very tough sledding. My sense is, "keep doing your best and take this as far as it will take you." Each success now is a minor miracle, and if God wants it to continue and grow, so be it.

'Cause on my own, it ain't gonna happen.