By Scott Keith

“If you are a manual laborer, you find that the Bible has been put into your workshop, into your hands, into your heart. It teaches and preaches how you should treat your neighbor. Just look at your tools––at your needle and thimble, your beer barrel, your goods, your scales or yardstick or measure––and you will read this statement inscribed on them. Everywhere you look, it stares at you. Nothing you handle everyday is so tiny that it does not continually tell you this, if you will only listen…. All this is continually crying out to you: ‘Friend, use me in your relations with your neighbor just as you would want your neighbor to use his property in relations to you.’”

By Scott Keith

This is a short blog written by my son, Joshua Keith. He is an honorable man who believes that the life of the mind is often played out in the work of the hands. I think here he shows himself to be a better-than-average young writer as well.

Before I begin, I’d like to introduce myself. Hello, I’m Joshua Keith. That’s correct, yet another Keith. It’s hard to throw a rock and not hit a Keith on this blog, huh? My father, Scott Keith (Grandpappy Keith), asked me if I would write a blog this week, so I decided to do it on one of the most commonly asked subjects about me.

By Paul Koch

While I much prefer my neighborhood Ace Hardware store to the Lowes across town, there is something that makes the trip to Lowes worthwhile. It’s not so much the personal shopping experience (I’ll take the knowledge of the guys and gals at Ace over Lowes any day, plus they have free popcorn!), rather it’s the spectacle that you can find at Lowes that makes it a joy to go. I’ve begun to notice something delightful in the wide and spacious aisles at Lowes.

By Cindy Koch

Burning. Panting. I can’t quite catch a deep breath. Pain from my stomach shoots into my limbs, frizzling, tingling all the way to my fingernails. Fuzzy fire prevents my legs from moving any faster. I have growing fears they will give out on me every unsteady step I take. A single ankle screams and clenches fast to my foot, threatening to twist off the course. Claws of breath scratch from the inside of my chest. My heartbeat punches the back of my eyeballs. Red with determination, I fight to keep them open and focused, even under the boiling, stinging sweat.

By Scott Keith

Our youngest child is our daughter Autumn who is sixteen years of age. She has always been a very competent child. She learned how to do things very early; walking, talking, tying her shoes all came quickly and seemingly natural to her. When we would teach her to do something, as soon as she had even the slightest idea of how to do it, she would push our hands away and