Floundering with my father is among my most cherished childhood memories. Armed with a beat-up Coleman lantern, two gigs, a stringer . . . we’d head to the water. When the sky got nice ‘n’ dark, we’d wade in about knee-deep and stumble off into the night.

Paul certainly proved himself a prophet when he wrote: “But the Spirit explicitly says that in later times some will fall away from the faith, paying attention to deceitful spirits and doctrines of demons” (1 Tim. 4:1).

John Steinbeck’s delightful little volume Travels with Charley fascinates me each time I read it. It tells how the author and his dog took to the highways, traveling hundreds of miles, encountering all sorts of interesting people and intriguing situations.

A few winters ago in Stockholm, Sweden, an eighty-four-year-old woman sat for two months on her balcony before a neighbor discovered she was dead. The woman was found sitting in a chair, dressed in a coat and hat, her forehead leaning against the railing.