While taking my afternoon walk down our private road towards the mailbox, more of a chance to exercise my replacement knee than to check on the mail; I happen to notice a single red leaf on the ground.  I’m not sure which tree it fell from; this being only the second week in September, it seemed a little premature to have Fall leaves.

The afternoon temperature was right at 90 degrees, about normal for this time of year.  I’d walked enough to notice beads of perspiration had formed on my forehead.  I take my cellphone with me on these walks, just in case I need to call for help getting home, in case my knee decides it’s had enough.  I still find it rather amazing that folks can take photographs with their “phone”; so, I snapped a photo of the fallen leaf.

That single red leaf, as my mind worked to explain why I’d taken a picture of it, that single red leaf represents hope.  That’s right, hope.

Looking around at the many trees that line our private road, they all appeared to be dressed in various shades of green indicating that Summer was in full swing.  I was unable to identify the tree which had lost the single red leaf and yet it had to be nearby.

Fall and the resplendent colors we look forward to are close, so close as to make me hopeful.  The air will change from being in the nineties to a more comfortable setting, maybe a light breeze out of the north to blow lots and lots of leaves about.

Perhaps my youngest grandson will come to visit and he can toss handfuls of leaves into the air, delighting as they fall around him without a care in the world.  We’ll then go into the house, enjoy a cup of hot chocolate to warm up, and smile at having lived to see the seasons change.

Two weeks from now we’re having a wood-burning stove installed in our living room. At this moment it’s in the shipping crate sitting on the porch awaiting the scheduled installation.  In biblical terms, this would be called faith.  We haven’t seen any cold weather, at least not at this time, and yet we are acting on the hope that cold weather surely follows the first fallen leaf.

During the hottest days of summer, I was splitting large tree chunks down to a usable size that will fit the wood-burning stove we purchased.  That kind of labor, effort spent on the expectation of something that had yet to be…that’s the definition of faith.

Hope and faith are essential elements to having joy.  They have nothing to do with how much money you make, whether or not you are living in a fancy home or under a bridge trying to figure out where your next meal is coming from.  If we can have hope in our hearts and minds that good things will happen and then act with faith believing that things will work out, then everything will work out just fine.

Self-Educated American, Senior Edi­tor, T.F. Stern is both a retired City of Hous­ton police offi­cer and, most recently, a retired self-employed lock­smith (after serving that industry for 40 plus years). He is also a gifted polit­i­cal and social com­men­ta­tor. His pop­u­lar and insight­ful blog, T.F. Sterns Rant­i­ngs, has been up and at it since January of 2005.

Last Sunday I drove my clean and polished 1999 BMW Z-3 Coupe to church.  As I pulled into the parking lot a few raindrops began to fall and it was a close call getting in the back door as buckets of rain fell.

I didn’t think much of it until after church when it was still raining.  Driving from Madisonville back to Buffalo wouldn’t be near as much fun with the roads wet.  I’d have to drive conservatively rather than my normal aggressiveness; letting the car have fun while going through the gears was not an option.

The last couple of miles to my property are on ‘county roads’.  That means leaving the asphalt pavement and driving on crushed rock or dirt.  If it’s dry then a cloud of dust follows you, covering the lower portion and back end of the car.  If it’s wet the road becomes a slip and slide covering the lower portion and back end with a layer of mud.

Since it was still raining, all I wanted to do was park the car in front of the house and get inside; spraying off the mud would have to wait.  As it turned out it waited all week.  It was depressing just looking at my pretty green jewel sitting there covered with a film of dirt, but there were plenty of chores around the property that took priority.

One of the ongoing tasks is splitting firewood from stacks of tree trunk sections that are behind our storage trailer.  At one time that wouldn’t have been such an ordeal; but after you reach 70 there isn’t much get up and go in this body.  So, after chopping a small bundle of firewood down to size it’s time to cool off, take a nap, and try again later.

The property needed mowing, something I usually break down; doing the front two acres one day followed by the back acre the next.  Feeling spry and wanting it done, I got all three acres mowed.  That back acre needed to be double-cut so it’s more like doing two acres.

Then today we drove down to Huntsville to get our grocery shopping done as we prepare for Independence Day; our kids and grandkids coming up to visit.  I’m glad the property got mowed as it looks so inviting, but that dirty BMW sitting in front of the house wasn’t going to let me off the hook.

There was a challenge handed out the other day, what did your family do at Christmas?  A handful of memories floating around so I’ll start with writing a wish list.  This was done either on Thanksgiving or very soon thereafter.

We’d jot down, in our very best handwriting, items we considered worthy of asking Santa for. It didn’t matter if the requests were based in reality; but as a rule, these items had been seen on television or in one of the many catalogs, catalogs which many folks referred to as Wish Books.

After completing the assignment we’d place our lists on a plate along with some cookies and a bottle of Coca-Cola.  The idea was to make sure the Big Guy was rewarded for having traveled over to our house and considered our requests.  We were told that Santa wore magic mittens and that while holding up our notes to be read, those mittens would catch the pieces of paper on fire; proof that he’d read them would be ashes left on the plate.

We didn’t need an alarm clock to get up the next morning as we all raced to the dining room table to witness the miracle which had occurred during the night.  There would be a scorch mark on the china and a small clump of burnt up ashes.  It was the beginning of the Christmas Season, official and verified.

My folks must have been gluttons for punishment as they’d also told us that Santa was the one who decorated our Christmas Tree, that all we had to do was pick out a good one, keep it watered out behind the garage until Christmas Eve, and then haul it inside to the living room; Santa would do all the rest.  Once the tree was in the living room it was easy to convince us to get to bed.

I should mention that I learned some of my locksmith trade vocabulary from my father, who never was a locksmith, as he struggled to get the trunk of the tree to fit inside the classic tree stand.  Apparently, other trades, auto mechanics and carpenters come to mind, use similar vocabulary to express frustration.  I later found these magic words remarkably similar to terms used by police officers.

I can’t imagine how late my folks stayed up that night putting lights, ornaments, and tinsel on the tree as they also put together bicycles, dollhouses, wrapped and sorted gifts to be put under the tree, and… I almost forgot, fill our stockings and hang them at the end of our beds.  It makes perfect sense, now that I’ve gotten older, that my folks would want to sleep a little later on Christmas morning as our excitement level climbed slightly higher than the Empire State Building.

We were to wait in their bedroom while my father made sure Santa had actually come.  That translated means he went to the living room and plugged the extension cord into the wall so the Christmas Tree lights would be on when we came in.  Remember, the night before when we’d gone to bed that very same tree was bare; but as we entered the room it was dazzling pure magic.

In my teen years, having pretty much figured out the Christmas magic thing, I remember hearing my father carefully open the door to my room as he carried a stocking to place on the end of my bed.  As he did his best not to make a sound I smiled and respectfully called out to him as he exited, “Goodnight, Santa.”  He smiled back and accepted the fact that I was no longer a little boy, and, as I recall, he even winked back.

Several years ago, there was a story printed, or perhaps I might have heard it from the pulpit; some of the details have left my memory so I’ve taken ‘creative license’ to replace that which I’ve forgotten. Accept my apology for not remembering the original author.

A congregation was asked to donate an extra portion during the Christmas Season to help families that were struggling. The challenge was given the week of Thanksgiving with the intent of having enough money collected before Christmas to offer relief for several families; a fine meal with all the trimmings, new clothing, and shoes, some toys for the children, and such depending on how much money could be collected.

One family had a meeting when they got home from church to consider various ways they could help with this wonderful project. The father said that after getting home from work he’d collect firewood and sell it. The mother would take in laundry and use that income to add to their contribution. Their son said he’d collect empty soda bottles and redeem them at the store while the daughter would babysit.

They did this for the entire month of December leading up to the final week and collected a little over fifty dollars which they proudly handed over to their minister. The father knew their contribution was probably smaller than most since he wasn’t one of the more affluent members of their congregation; but he wanted to know how much had been collected, thinking perhaps he could figure out a way to make up the difference by cutting down on some of his regular expenditures.

The minister sat quietly considering the moment as he tried to explain the situation in a way that would make sense. “We’ve received just over forty dollars in contributions so far, you being the only ones to have taken up the challenge.” The minister sat silent for a few more moments before continuing his thoughts.

“You see”, he looked heavenward for assistance as he struggled to further explain, “…your family was on my shortlist of those who could have used a little help during the Christmas Season.”