Cornerstone: (n) a stone uniting two masonry walls at an intersection.

My children hate President Trump.

I suppose I could take a couple of paragraphs and try to explain the level of dissatisfaction that seems to trouble their souls but then I might funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
be promoting their rumors.

On the other hand, I live in a community where I often find myself surrounded by people who think President Trump hung the moon. (Well, probably didn’t hang the moon, but has acquired building rights on it.)

When I get around my children, they sometimes become convinced that I am a conservative Republican because I refuse to join them in their vendetta against the President. And when I meet up with old friends who were once hot sauce and have become milder over the years, they are a little fearful that I might be “too liberal” for them.

I am neither liberal nor conservative.

I find myself being the stone that the builders often reject. They look at me and say, “He’s too gentle. He’s too calm. He’s too accommodating. He’s too open. He’s too willing to share. He has no place in our plans for a cataclysmic conclusion.”

I do sometimes feel rejected.

I don’t hate the President of the United States. I don’t even wish to tell you whether I agree or disagree with him, since he personally has not asked my opinion.

I am not the kind of person who likes to hide behind rocks, spit at people when they walk by, and then run.

Likewise, I am despaired of joining clubs or organizations that refuse to change their rules or guidelines when the mercy of realization has made it clear that transformation and adjustment are in order.

Yet I take heart.

There is an old adage: “The stone the builders rejected becomes the cornerstone.”

Somewhere along the line, my angry children and my complacent old friends will meet each other once again and I will be there…to bridge the gap.

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Bridge: (n) a structure carrying a path across an obstacle.

Less than five miles from my boyhood home was a covered bridge.Dictionary B

I often drove out there, parked my car and sat on the end of the bridge, looking over the scenery. It was so beautiful–so old-fashioned that it was nearly antiquated. But it still held the weight of vehicles and performed its natural function.

It was artistically placed in the countryside–so much so that I failed to realize that it spanned a ravine and expanse of water.

I giggled over its practical use because it was so attractive. Someone could have built something ugly to cover the water, but instead they constructed this gorgeous piece of architecture.

So stunning was its essence that I forgot it was just a bridge–a way to get from one side to another without falling into the valley.

It made me wax a little eloquent–or perhaps even over-stated.

For I tell you–never in our history has there been a greater need for ideas to bridge the gaps.

Maybe we could take a clue from the covered bridge and learn to make our notions and doctrines so appealing that people don’t notice that they are evolving from one point to another.

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