To the Editor:

I still remember September 27, 1953. That was the Sunday my brother, Greg, and I were baptized and committed our lives into following the way of Jesus Christ. From that day at Second Avenue Methodist Church in Rome, Georgia, I have attempted to live as a person of faith. 

To the Editor:

To all Donald Trump supporters who identify as Christians:  I’m writing to summarize Trump’s unholy actions during Holy Week and challenge you to defend them.  

This past weekend, I served as a cabin leader for Winter Retreat, an annual youth event hosted by First United Methodist Church.

Amid a tough time for law enforcement when stories about good officers leaving the profession dominate headlines, the Waynesville Police Department is losing one of its most experienced and respected officers. But while many leave law enforcement due to burnout or poor workplace culture, Lt. Tyler Trantham’s exit is different — it’s a matter of faith.

Novels that touch on faith and God have long intrigued me.

By Nina Dove • Guest Columnist

When I walked into a Reconciling Ministries meeting at my church (First United Methodist Church of Waynesville) four years ago, I had very few expectations. The Reconciling Ministries Network (RMN) is an organization devoted to promoting the inclusion and acceptance of LGBTQIA+ persons in the church. Having been raised in a church with a large percentage of retired ministers, and retirees in general, I was cautious about our chapter of RMN; I assumed, walking in to the room, I would see primarily young and middle-aged adults, and perhaps one or two crotchety homophobic elders only there to voice their dissent. Not that I thought that people over 65 were incapable of being open-minded, but to some extent I believed the stereotype that older people, especially religious ones, would refuse to accept gay people. 

There, in Sumter County, Georgia, not far from the Alabama line lies the tiny town of Plains (pop. 784), a most unremarkable place home to a most remarkable man. 

Home for President Jimmy Carter has always been the clay roads and cotton fields of Plains, except when he was at Annapolis, in the Navy, or serving as state senator or governor or president. 

The night after my mom died, my dad stepped out on the front porch with my brother-in-law, whose father had passed away only a month earlier. As they looked up, two shooting stars, one after the other, flew through the night sky. We were convinced it was our two family members comforting us from afar.

Globalization has made our big world seem much smaller, but it’s also pushed us farther away from one another. 

Instead of focusing on finding common ground with those who have opposing religious or political views, society segregates itself with others who believe the same way they do. 

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My favorite time of day is quiet time. Every morning before the hustle and bustle of the day begins, before I turn on my laptop or check social media on my phone, I spend at least 30 to 45 minutes in stillness with my thoughts, with God, with the whispers of the universe. It’s become a daily ritual for me, and one that’s a lifeline. 

My quiet time began in earnest when my mom passed away last August. After saying good-bye to her, I realized the only way to truly grieve was to be alone. While I appreciated and still do appreciate encouragement from friends and advice from those who’ve had the same experience, true healing began once I embraced solitude. Only then were the memories clear, my new reality processed and the tears raw.