By Michael Avery
On Sunday afternoons, the prophet often invited some of the animals to join him on his journeys up Little River. One day, to his surprise, two muskrats who had long been loyal passengers approached him with news of their discontent.
In a far off land on the edge of a jungle, or so they had heard, lived another prophet, one who had built a wondrous boat. The river he crossed was much greater than tiny Little River.
By Michael Avery
A mountain goat stumbled upon a secret pathway that led to Eagle Rock. He was intoxicated by the breathtaking scenery and marveled at his good fortune.
By Michael Avery
Recently, I was recalling how my mom used to cut the ends off the bacon when my brother and I were growing up. When I asked her about this, she replied that it was the way she’d always done it. It was how her own mother had done it when she was growing up. When we discovered the reason why my grandmother always cut the ends off the bacon, my mom and I had a good laugh. I wrote a parable one day to share the lesson we learned from the experience with others.
By Michael Avery
Giving is not limited to holidays and birthdays. Every moment arrives with a potential opportunity to serve life and give from the heart. Some, as this short parable demonstrates, are willing to go the extra mile for love.
By Michael Avery
One day a priest stopped by the cabin of a prophet asking for donations. The money, he explained, would buy chairs for his church. The name of each donor was to be inscribed on a brass plate and then attached to the back of each chair in recognition of the giver.
By Michael Avery
If you’ve ever driven from Roseburg, Oregon, up to Crater Lake, you’ve passed the Colliding Rivers viewpoint at Glide. This is the only place in the world where two rivers meet head on, according to the sign posted at the viewpoint.
The North Umpqua River is swift and powerful. On the other hand, Little River is calm and gentle. One day, I realized what an amazing metaphor Colliding Rivers represents. I even wrote a short parable about it.
By Michael Avery
Are the memories we tenderly take out of our treasure box from the past simply remnants of better days, or do they carry messages yet to be delivered? Could they really be “Waking Dreams in Retrospect?”1
As I reminisce about a trip I made many years ago into a remote area of the Bohemia Basin near Cottage Grove, Oregon, it occurs to me now that what I found there was equally as valuable as the parable it inspired.
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