Not all of us are privileged to have children. We don’t know why God choses some of us and leaves others wanting the experience.

When I was coming up there was an accepted order of growing up. You graduated high school then either went on to college, you joined the military or you went into the trades – construction, mechanics, equipment operator, culinary school, etc., etc. In your early 20’s thoughts of marriage and building a family came into play. I was 22 when I married Terrie. I was 25 when we our first child was born. I was very immature, frightened of the responsibility I had assumed, totally self-absorbed in my job, didn’t know the Lord and generally, with the exception of every example my father had provided for me, was not prepared to be a father. Fortunately I was married to a woman who was just the opposite, very mature, not frightened of much of anything, willing to give up her career as a teacher, had a deep faith in her creator and was excited at the prospect of being a mother. She understood that the life growing inside her was a gift from God. She accepted the responsibility awarded to her, the responsibility to care for and nurture a living human being that had been entrusted to her.

Getting married and building a family seem much different today and I am sorry to see so many parents who don’t seem to understand what having kids is all about. I attribute much of the problem to what I believe is a change in attitude about marriage. Marriage for so many today is like leasing a property. Start out with a short term then when it comes time for renewal if you don’t like the terms, move out and find a new, in this case, relationship. There is a lack of endurance, an avoidance of commitment and children become pawns in a game where no one wins. Both my sons were in their 30s when they made the lifelong commitment to marriage. They each were patient, waiting for God to present the exact right person to share the rest of their life with. Their patience and faith paid off in spades with spouses who are extraordinary people; smart, loving, faithful, fun, creative and committed to the marriage. They are women who understand the Biblical definition of marriage and the rights and responsibilities that go along with it. And they are women who will be amazing mothers to their children. None of them ever considered their decision to marry a short term trial. They made the commitment for life.

Brandon, our oldest, is experiencing the indescribable joys and trials of being a father. I can tell he is a great dad by the way his daughters adore him. I knew Brandon was going to be a wonderful father because I had observed him with his friends children. He was a natural and all the kids loved him. Watching him today causes me to reflect back on my days as a young father and makes me wonder if my boys adored me or feared me. I always tried to hold them accountable for bad behavior and reward them for good behavior and yes, there were times I wanted them to be scared. Above all, Terrie and I always made sure they knew they were loved, by us and by God. All that said, Brandon understands the fragility of his daughters. He understands that he has been given the privilege of raising them and that they are amazing human lives who need him every minute of every day. His parenting exemplifies his realization of what God has entrusted him with.

Now I have the honor and privilege of watching Tyler, our youngest, become a father for the first time. Tyler is 38 – 13 years older than I was when Brandon was born. Like his brother he has grown into a fine man of faith. He is confident, he is strong both mentally and physically, he has an extraordinary wife who supports him in every way and he is so excited about becoming a father. I have absolutely no doubt that he too will be an amazing, loving father. He will revel in the joys of being a father. He will cherish his children, nurture them with his love, his knowledge, his experience and his desires for their lives. He and Chelsea will build their family on a solid, unshakeable foundation of Biblical truth, with the acknowledgement that children are indeed, “a heritage from the Lord.” Being Tyler’s Dad, I have so much to be thankful for.

Much of the way I will measure my life will be dependent on the way my sons handle fatherhood and through observing the way they cradle their infant babies in their arms, hug them intently as they grow from adolescence to adulthood, comfort and support them when needed, encourage them and free them to be who they were created to be. I know that sounds completely one-sided. Parenting is certainly best done in twos, a husband and a wife and without Terrie I would have been completely lost.

I dedicate this blog entry to Brandon and Tyler, sons, husbands, and fathers who I love, admire and respect. For those of you who are blessed to have children, enjoy every moment, from start to finish. Don’t be one of those people who say, “before I knew what happened they were grown and gone. If you do it right, they are never gone. They will always be your children, your prodigy, your legacy. That precious newborn that God put in your hands might be a fully grown adult but they are still your child. May all fathers and mothers live with the knowledge that “Children are a heritage from the Lord

There are not enough words, paper or time to describe what a great father my Dad was to me and my sister. I am quite sure he never read a book about being a father. He certainly didn’t take any classes to learn how to be a father. When he became a father there weren’t counselors he could turn to whenever things weren’t going as well as he hoped. He did however have a few key things going for him. First, he had a great father who provided a positive example to follow. His father was a tough Dutchman, a farmer, an entrepreneur, a no nonsense, no fluff kind of guy but also a man of heart and character. My Father was also a man of heart and character as well. The second thing my Dad had going for him was the never failing support of a wonderful wife. Along with her they became a duo that worked together in an unchoreagraphed waltz, always letting him be the lead, never stepping on each other’s feet, never contradicting one another, always moving in unison to an inaudible soundtrack. Finally, my Dad had faith. He had faith in his ability to do the job of being a father but more importantly he had faith that God was with him every step of the way.

My Dad provided a great example to follow. I wanted to be just like him and so many of the lessons I tried to teach my sons, as they grew into men, were based on the lessons my Dad taught me. Unlike so many young men today, I was blessed with a father who was home, who was involved and who cared enough to discipline me or my sister when needed. That is the kind of father I wanted to be and that is the kind of father I pray my sons will be.

Being a father should be a conscious choice. A choice made in concert with a loving wife. Being a good father takes work, it takes commitment. Being a good father requires the willingness to make gut wrenching decisions and the intestinal fortitude to do the right thing even when love for your child tempts you to override responsible action. Being a good father must include being a really good husband because without a strong, loving, husband wife relationship being a father becomes exponentially more difficult. To be a good father a man must be in control of his emotions because there will be times when anger goes beyond the simmering level, when fear confuses even the strongest man, when pride creates thick cataracts on the eyes, and when heartbreak shakes the foundation of faith. Being a good father also requires a willingness to admit when you don’t know the answer and to place your trust in our one true father, God. If you choose to be a father, be prepared because you will experience all of the above and more. Just know the rewards are so much greater than the trials.

So as Father’s Day comes and goes each year, always remember being a father is a gift, a gift from God, a gift that can be complicated because it carries great responsibility. If you are blessed to be a father, enjoy every minute of it because not everyone gets to be a father. If you are blessed to be a father stand tall, be firm in your love for your children, stay true to your heart and your character. If you are blessed to be a father, always thank your father in heaven and accept with a willing spirit the trust he has placed in you and take special joy each year when it is once again time to say, Happy Father’s Day.

It has been a while since my last post. I told you when I started this blog that I was going to write when God prompted me to write and yesterday He did that very thing. Some of my friends tell me they hear from God daily, sometimes several times a day. Some of them describe their conversations with Him in very graphic terms, actual audible conversations, while others feel a nudge from the holy spirit. My experience yesterday was more like a full body rush, a rush that was tangible, almost alarming. It happened when I was on my way home from a morning workout and I was thinking about my morning conversation with Terrie. God clearly told me I needed to write about it.

Yesterday was Thursday and for me it was a day filled with catch up work but no matter what day it is I always try to start it in a very intentional way. The first thing I do is thank God for another day, then my thoughts turn to Terrie and my family. Terrie and I happen to be in different states right now so instead of getting to spend time with her during breakfast I make it a point to call her. I love to hear her voice in the morning no matter where we are at but yesterday that voice on the other end of the phone was different. It took me a minute to realize why her voice was different yesterday but then it dawned on me, it was Thursday, her hiking day. The smile in her voice told me so.

21 years ago Terrie and a couple of her friends who share her love for hiking decided they would dedicate every Thursday to hiking together. That decision led to the formation of what became, The Kept Womens Hiking Society, an extraordinary group of women. This group of close friends exhibit an uncommon loyalty for each other that is hard to describe. Every Thursday, rain or shine, snow or wind, no matter what the conditions, they find a way to be together. Sometimes it might be two or three of them, other days it is all 16 of them. At least once per year they do a trip together, maybe to a national park or to a resort that offers great hiking opportunities but more importantly a place for them to be together for several days. They have done major hikes, from Crested Butte to Aspen, through fields of spectacular wild flowers and through the stunning rock formations, arches and canyons in Moab, Utah. They have summited several of Colorado’s fourteen-thousand-foot peaks. They have gathered at a winery and blended their own wine, Chateauneuf-du-Kept. They have taken balloon rides, traversed avalanche debris, struggled up trails filled with scree, encountered bears and moose, enjoyed the beauty of high mountain lakes surrounded by rugged cirques, snow shoed, skied, and driven thousands of miles to reach desired hiking locations. They celebrate birthdays together, cheer the births of grandchildren, take care of each other when someone is sick or hurting and they pray for each other. Oh, and once per year they invite the “keepers” to join them for a party. The Kept Women even have their own logo which they proudly display on caps and the shirts they produce every year that list all of their major hikes, just like a rock groups tour shirt.

No matter where I am at, or what I am doing, without looking at my phone, without looking at a calendar, giving no conscious thought to what day it is, I can tell from talking to Terrie it is Thursday. On Thursday, when she is with her hiking friends, Terrie’s voice smiles and it is something all of us men should wish for our wives or girlfriends. For me, hearing Terrie’s voice smile is a wonderful gift, a gift that tells me she is alright, and we are alright. It is a gift you cannot buy with diamonds or trips or flowers. It is a gift that comes from love, from calmness, from freedom, from a joyful heart.

Too many men keep their wife from experiencing “the smile.” The idea of it scares them. As with most things in my journey as a man it took me a while to figure this out but now, I am neither threatened or challenged by the idea that Terrie has this close group of friends and cherishes her time with them. It doesn’t mean that spending time with me cannot make her smile. No, this is something completely different. This is something I need to encourage her in because it nourishes her. The smile I speak of is rooted in joy, it is filled with emotion, it is sustained by understanding.

The smile I am talking about is something you need to listen for and learn to recognize. That is not easy for men. We don’t listen well and we learn what we want to learn. If you are married and have not heard the voice I speak of, start asking yourself why. Take time to read Ephesians 5:25 – 33. Paul gives us a really good analogy for how we should love our wives. If you aren’t married, you are lucky because you have time to practice. Learn what triggers her voice to smile. Pay attention to the sometimes little signs that will signal to you she has found something special, something that ministers to her soul, something that blesses her heart, something that makes her voice smile. Then do everything you can to encourage her to do or experience that something often. I am not suggesting you have a duty or a responsibility to do this. Instead, it should be something men should desire, something we encourage, something that ministers to us as much as to her. So, the next time you pick up the phone to call her, sit across a table from her, listen to her conversation with a friend or hear her say good morning to you, ask yourself, does her voice smile?

I don’t know about you but I am so tired of hearing phrases like, “in these extraordinary times” or “given current circumstances” or “when we get back to normal.” Man, talking about throwing you on a drag. We need to have some FUN!

I try to take long walks every couple of days and I have been listening to various podcasts while I am getting in my 3 miles. I have been intentional in searching out sites that have podcasts dealing with subjects clearly oriented toward men and our everyday lives. I found one produced by Brian Tome, the founder and Pastor at Cross Roads Church in Cincinnati, Ohio. The title of his Podcast is, “The Aggressive Life.” That intrigued me, a church Pastor talking about living aggressively? Based on what I have always been taught in church, aggressive and faith aren’t synonymous. Even more interesting is the subject of Episode 54 which is “having fun.” Huh? An aggressive Pastor who wants us to have fun?

When I was growing up, fun was dramatically different than what most kids consider fun today. We weren’t subjected to all the rules and oversight kids deal with today. Nor did we have all the organized sports and activities kids participate in today. I know, the term “subjected” implies involvement isn’t by choice and sadly we all know Dads who are living vicariously through their kids. Please, please, don’t do that, it isn’t fun. In a lot of ways I feel fortunate that my pre-high school years were spent in a place that didn’t have a lot of organized sports. Sure, I played little league baseball but that was about it. For the most part we made our own fun. We didn’t need to practice to have fun. We didn’t have rules for having fun. We didn’t need special coaches or trainers or psychologists. We didn’t have a date on our phone calendars to tell us what day we could have fun. We didn’t need expensive game consoles, laptops, an Internet connection or anything else. We made up our own ways for having fun.

From the time I was a 4th or 5th grader and all the way up until I became a “stud” ninth grader it was common for me to leave the house early on a Saturday morning meet up with some buddies and not show up at our house again until I got hungry which was usually after dinner time. We played army out in the fields with toy guns. We caught blue tailed lizards and horny toads which we took home and kept in our garages until they died. We rode homemade skate boards that we made using the metal wheels from our sister’s clip-on roller skates (not always a good move) and any wood board we could find to attach them to. We took the Briggs and Stratton motor off an old lawn mower, figured out how to attach it to a mini bike frame the brother of one of the guys welded together in metal shop at school and then rode the thing all over until the old engine quit running. We “chose up” teams and played football and baseball for untold hours at the local park. We also fought like we were auditioning for Brad Pitt’s Fight Club. The whole time our parents never really knew where we were at. They did know we would come home eventually, sometimes with bloody noses, a black eye or some road rash from crashing on the mini bike or falling off a skateboard. Mom would patch us up with some Mercurochrome and a couple bandaids and we would get right back out there again the next day. We were boys, we played like boys and boy did we have fun.

So what happened to us? Where did our fun go? We grew up – that’s what happened to us, we became men. Most of us got a job, got married, started a family, took out a mortgage and a car loan and allowed society to put us into a grinder filled with other peoples rules and expectations of who we should be and how we should act. Worse yet, in the last 20 or so years we have been emasculated and convinced we should not live the life God created us to live as men. Jim Burgen, Pastor of Flatirons Church in Lafayette, Colorado once said, “The original sin was Adams passivity.” Well, guess what guys? We are being molded into passive, uncommitted beings who have allowed society to beat us into thinking we should not act like men, we should not fulfill our God given role as men, and we shouldn’t have any fun. Even more concerning, most of us don’t encourage our kids to have real fun!

Now, before you go off the rails, I am not advocating you become an irresponsible, narcissistic, misogynistic, anarchist. What I am saying is we need to stop letting society convince us we shouldn’t act like what God created us to be, MEN. And in addition to being leaders, the heads of our households, bread winners, responsible husbands and fathers, and faithful followers of Jesus, we need to have some fun!

So how do we turn the ship around? First of all, quit listening to all the criticism aimed at you exercising your natural instincts – you were born a man and God gave you unique qualities because of it. We are hunters. We are providers. We are protectors. We are leaders. We should be like a bull elk, stomping around in the forest, marking our territory. Now that guy is having some fun! Now before you show this to your wife, girlfriend or any other female which will result in them hurling all sorts of accusations at me and then telling you to delete my blog from any memory you might have – calm down. Do you see anything here about males being the superior gender? No you do not. That is because despite what you might have been taught God created man and woman to compliment each other. Each gender has specific gifts, none of which are better than the others. I am simply identifying God given male characteristics that will ultimately shape what type of fun we have. I will however challenge anyone, male or female, who attempts to correct or confuse Gods intent for us as men. Let’s have guy fun!

I should mention what guy fun isn’t. It isn’t vulgar, it isn’t deceitful, it isn’t prideful, it isn’t destructive toward people or property, it isn’t irresponsible, it isn’t mean or ill intentioned, and while it isn’t always safe it should never be at the expense of your wife or family. On the flip side it is honest, it is clean, it is creative, it is productive, it is considerate of others, it is steeped in tradition and history and it results in a satisfying confirmation that we are who God created us to be – men! Certainly you need to carve out time to have fun with your spouse or children but guy fun needs to be with other guys. Real fun should put a smile on your face, a smile that cannot be wiped off, a smile that your wife or girlfriend, sons or daughters will love, not resent.

I can’t tell you how to have guy fun – you have to figure that out on your own. Yours might be calling up a bunch of buddies, meeting at a local park and wearing yourself out playing basketball or touch football. For others it could be spending an hour at the local shooting range trying to refine your aim prior to your next hunting trip. Still others might define their fun as throwing a couple sleeping bags, a tent and their fishing gear in the back of a pickup, along with a couple cans of Campbells Pork and Beans, some beer, and a bag of Cheetos (for breakfast of course) and heading out to a new location to slay some unsuspecting trout. The key is, men need to have man fun. So get out there. Quit listening to those who want to convince you that we can’t have fun because we are in extraordinary times or that our current circumstances mean it is deviant to even think about having fun or heaven forbid, there will be new normal that will change our whole perspective on fun. You didn’t sign up for a life of drudgery, enslaved to a career and all the expectations our society wants to strap to your shoulders. Be the man God wants you to be and have some fun while doing it. You will find your life will be so much more fulfilling, exciting and interesting and you will become a better husband, father, friend and person. Go have some fun!

Beatle John Lennon sang, “And so this is Christmas and what have we done? Another year over and a new one just begun.”

I have been searching my photo files for a good Christmas photo to use for this installment of defreshtalk but I have so many I finally gave up and decided to continue without posting a photo. All of the searching for that perfect photo did accomplish one thing though. It reminded me that a huge part of Christmas is the memories its’ celebration creates. Celebrating Christmas is about traditions, traditions that run deep in families.

I remember how fun and exciting everything was leading up to Christmas Day. That excitement was driven by memories of past Christmas’ and the things our family did every year as part of our celebration. Thanksgiving came and went and the first lighting of the Advent Wreath at church signaled it was time to get ready for Christmas. Church was a big part of our annual Christmas celebration. We were Lutherans but because my Dads best friend was an Episcopalian his church also played a part in our annual celebration – more on that later.

In those days public schools celebrated Christmas in a big way. There were orchestrated Christmas recitals and plays, the halls were decorated with Christmas stuff we made in class, they would even put up a Christmas tree in every classroom. The day before school let out for Christmas break there would be a school-wide Christmas party complete with homemade treats to eat, gifts for the teachers and singing of Christmas carols (yes, Christian carols). Of course we were also excited about getting the next week off from school – we always went back to school on the first weekday after New Years. Celebrating Christmas in school helped rev up the excitement of the season.

The days off from school were filled with time honored activities. My dad would give me and my sister a stipend for Christmas shopping out of which we had to buy gifts for him, my mother and in my case, my sister. There would be one day set aside with my mom for baking cookies, making fudge and a special concoction my sister loved named “Divinity.” There were also days designated for us to spend time baking and decorating cookies with each of our grandmothers. Decorating involved cookie cutters to form figures like Santa Claus, snowmen, angels, canes and sleighs. Once baked the cookies would then be painted with various colors of sugary frosting, multi-colored sprinkles, cinnamon balls and sometimes, little silver balls. I always wondered who the person was that came up with those silver balls because biting into one of them was like trying to bite through a miniature bowling ball. I suspect it might have been a Dentist because those things could break teeth! You could always tell which cookies had been decorated by my sister and which were mine. Hers could have gone into a bakery display case. Mine on the other hand were thick with that yummy frosting and showed a disregard for making the cookie look anything like the figure it was. By the end of the baking and decorating session the kitchens would look like a flour bomb had gone off and having done a lot of sampling of our work we would be on a sugar high that would last for days.

My Dad loved celebrating Christmas. From the day Christmas season ended, my father was already looking forward to the next one. So what were some of our families traditions? Dad’s birthday was on December 16 so that was the date the Christmas tree went up. Any time before that and the tree would dry out before New Years Day which was the traditional day for taking the tree down. The tree was always purchased at a pop up Christmas tree lot where Dad would look through the various trees until he found just the right one. He would then enter into the negotiation phase of the purchase, using all of his bargaining skills to get that last 25 cent concession from the lot owner – an expensive tree in those days was around $7.00. We would then tie the tree on top of his Plymouth station wagon and head home to show Mom what a great purchase we had made. And just like that our family Christmas had begun again. We would get out the boxes of lights and foil garland and when Dad had finally mastered getting the tree to stand upright in his old, wobbly Christmas tree stand, we would start decorating what would surely be our best ever Christmas tree. He would moan and groan about the number of light bulbs that had burned out since last year. He would have one too many Hot Buttered Rum drinks causing my Mom to get a little “displeased” with him. He would play the Al Martino Christmas album on his console stereo, taking a break from the decorating activities every 20 minutes or so to flip the record over to side two. And as a last act of bravado he would climb his old rickety wood ladder to place the tree topper star ornament on the very top branch sticking straight up toward the ceiling. Of course there were always a few challenges along the way such as that string of lights that worked fine before they were wrapped around the branches of the tree at which time they quit working completely. There was the year we left for Christmas Eve church service and returned home to find out the dog had decided to pull on some of the ornaments and had pulled the entire Christmas tree over – that old wobbly tree stand Dad wouldn’t give up on provided little resistance to a determined Poodle. And then there was the year Mom announced she kind of liked those new, modern aluminum trees with the rotating light that turned the tree different colors. Holy cow, I thought Dad was going to burst an artery but then he calmed down and simply said, “Now Virginia, those aren’t very traditional.” The whole thing was always a bit of an ordeal but the result was always a mesmerizing, twinkling, colorful masterpiece that would be plugged in early every morning and would remain plugged in until everyone had said goodnight.

My Dad also loved decorating the outside of our house. The only problem was a large part of the outside decorations involved something called “Luminarias.” Luminarias are a traditional southwest decoration and were said to be used to light the way for The Christ Child. You have probably seen modern Luminarias, rigid, upright plastic bags with a small light bulb in them that are used to line walkways. Well, the “real” Luminarias that were a huge part of outdoor decorations in an area like Albuquerque were a little more involved than simply setting out a set of light bulb lit decorations. Many times Luminarias became a neighborhood project with everyone in a several block area encouraged to set them out on Christmas Eve and Christmas night. There were vendors that would go door to door selling small paper bags, sand and the small flat candles that were needed to make the decorations. Some people would simply line their sidewalk and driveway with them while some would also line the concrete block walls that divided most of the house lots. Dad would usually order around 150 set ups and you know who got the job of putting the Luminarias together. It was a tedious job that involved rolling down the top of the paper bag, uniformly of course, filling the bag with just enough sand to keep it in place in case the wind blew – also making sure each bag had the same level of sand so the final touch, the candle, would line up with the one next to it. The bags were then placed along the sidewalk, driveway and the top of the wall, equidistant from each other. Finally, before leaving for Christmas Eve church service my job was to go from bag to bag, using a long candle, lighting the candles in each of the bags – keep in mind there were usually around 150 of them. It was a lot of work. Unless you have seen an entire neighborhood bathed in the golden light from these simple decorations you cannot understand how beautiful and spiritual the experience could be. The local newspapers would even publish stories reporting on specific neighborhoods that would have exceptional Luminaria displays and families would reserve some time, usually after church, to drive through those areas just like families today drive through well decorated neighborhoods.

Christmas Eve was also all about church, relatives and friends. We would go to the 5:00 church service because it was the candle light service and because we had a full evening ahead of us. The first stop after church would be my Paternal Grandparents house. My aunt and cousins would be there and maybe a couple other relatives depending on who decided to stop by. My Grandmother was a great cook and made all the traditional Christmas meal items, turkey, baked ham, candied yams, and always, oyster stew. She was also known for her Cinnamon rolls which were a highly anticipated treat, slathered in a delicious, creamy, sugary frosting. After the meal we would gather in their living room to unwrap presents. Around 8:30 it was on to the next traditional Christmas event – time at my parents best “couples friends”, Mary Evelyn and “Shockey.” I can still smell the piñon pine wood burning in Shockey’s fireplace, I can still hear the voice of Italian tenor Mario Lanza singing classical Christmas songs coming from the record player and I can still remember the aroma of Mary Evelyn’s stewed pork and pinto beans coming from her kitchen. My Dad and Shockey would park themselves in a couple of chairs, near the Christmas tree, with a straw wrapped bottle between them. That bottle contained their Christmas Eve beverage of choice, Bacardi Anejo rum. They would sip their rum, listen to classical Christmas music and then around 10:00 PM we would all gather around the dining room table for a bowl of those wonderful stewed pinto beans. Man, I can still taste them. That wasn’t the end of the evening though. Shockey was the Episcopalian I mentioned and the final Christmas Eve tradition was to get in the car and drive to the Episcopalian cathedral in downtown Albuquerque for midnight mass. So we started the evening with a traditional Lutheran Christmas Eve service and ended the evening with a traditional Episcopalian Christmas Eve mass. Wow, it was a long but fun evening.

Christmas morning came and we were up early to gather around the tree to see what great things were in those wrapped packages that had mysteriously appeared after we climbed into bed after the long Christmas Eve celebration. Sure, we knew what a few of the presents contained because we had each put some of them there, but there were always a few that weren’t there the last time I had checked. My dad played “Santa Claus” and handed out the presents to me and my sister. Traditional Christmas morning music usually involved a Christmas album from someone like Rosemary Clooney or one of my mothers favorite Italian tenors. The gift unwrapping frenzy was followed by a breakfast of leftovers from the night before – grandma’s cinnamon rolls, oyster stew and possibly another bowl of Mary Evelyn’s beans and always there were always scrambled eggs with “Pace Picante” salsa lathered all over them. We were then off to the 11:00 AM Christmas church service followed by a short drive to my other grandparents house. My Mother’s parents were Swedish so there were always a few traditional Swedish foods involved in the Christmas dinner grandma would prepare. Potato sausage was one or those items and I can still taste it. She would also prepare a turkey or a goose along with all the “trimmins.” Desert was something called “mincemeat pie.” Mincemeat pie was actually a traditional English Christmas food but I guess the Swedes must have adopted it too because it was a tradition at Grandma Sellberg’s house. I remember it had a chewy, almost raisin like texture and I don’t think I liked it very much. This was the final meal of Christmas for us and by the time it was over everyone in our family was ready to go home and collapse into bed. What made our Christmas? Following traditions – traditions built on previous traditions, traditions that created memories.

After relocating to Lakewood, Colorado in 1968 it was time to start new Christmas traditions. Those traditions still involved attending a candle light Christmas Eve church service. It also included an annual Christmas party hosted by my father at our house.

The traditional Christmas meal changed a little but still included Dads favorite, oyster stew. Along with the stew we had tamales, green chile, refried beans and pizza. A true international smorgasbord! He had started a new tradition. A tradition that will create memories for Brandon and Tyler, the same type memories I have of our family Christmas celebrations.

I find it interesting that I have trouble remembering the names of the three guys I played golf with yesterday but I can remember small details emanating from family Christmas traditions from 60 years ago. Traditions create memories, memories like the ones I have had fun rediscovering as I write this blog entry, memories that bind us together as a family. Traditions are generational and each generation should put their own spin on family traditions. I am not saying you should completely ignore old family traditions. Old traditions are important pieces or your unique family history. Honoring long held family traditions is important and speaks about your life and the role family played in it. When Terrie and I got married we blended the way her family celebrated Christmas with the traditions of my family and then began to build or own traditions. Our Christmas tree evolved into an artificial one but we continued to put it up around the time of my dads birthday. We still went to the candle light Christmas Eve church service, Brandon insisted on it. Just like my dad did, we went to my parents on Christmas Eve and yes, the meal was oyster stew, tamales, green chile, beans, pizza and thanks to my sister, Posole. On Christmas Day we hosted Terries family but no, the meal was not Goose, potato sausage and if Terrie could help it – Turkey. Actually, I can’t remember a lot of those meals because, hmm, they weren’t traditional. We still gathered around the tree early on Christmas morning to open the beautifully wrapped gifts from the pile that had grown over the previous days. Now Brandon and Tyler are married and have started creating their own family traditions. It is fun for Terrie and I to watch and it is gratifying to see them blend older traditions from each side of their families into their own versions.

I have one final comment on how you handle Christmas traditions. Above all, those traditions must include one common, critical element. That element is what Christmas has always been all about. That element is the birth of the most important man in human history, Jesus. If your past Christmas celebrations have not included Him, I respectfully ask you to consider what you are really celebrating. I also urge you to give him a chance this year, a chance to fill your soul with a joy that is without boundaries. A joy that overrides all of the other “joys” of the season. He will be the addition to your tradition that will never leave you feeling empty. He is the gift you will never want to return. In James 1:17 the Bible says, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” You have the opportunity to experience first hand that perfect gift and to use that perfect gift as the centerpiece of your own family traditions and memories.

Thank you for indulging me in my little walk down memory lane. I hope you enjoyed hearing about some of my family’s Christmas traditions and I wish you great memories of your family traditions. I also wish you joy in creating new family traditions, traditions that will in turn create memories for your children and grandchildren, all anchored in the comfort and knowledge that those memories and traditions spring from our greatest gift of all, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Merry Christmas!

At some point in our youth we have all heard that command. We might have got a tongue lashing with it because we had disrespected an elder through “back talk” but most likely because we had the nerve or at the time, what we believed was the moxie, to utter some profanity or to swear. When I finally grew up enough to realize I wasn’t the big shot I thought I was I came to the realization that the language I used was a direct reflection of my character. The word “character” is one of those unique English language words that can be a noun, a verb or an adjective. For today’s discussion we are going to work with it as a noun and I like the Merriam Webster definition of character which is “one of the attributes or features that make up and distinguish an individual.” Your character makes you different and unique from every other person.

My first real recollection of using foul language was when I was probably 5 or 6 years old. My Dad had an uncle who constantly used the phrase, “son of a ***”. Maybe not profanity but it was, at least at the time, considered foul language. It didn’t make any difference who or what this man was talking about, it was a son of ***.” Like a lot of people who swear non-stop I think this phrase just became part of his language – he didn’t even realize how many times he said it. Well, I happened to like my dad’s uncle and figured if it was good enough for him then I should be able to use that phrase whenever I wanted so I tried it out privately a few times and then decided to have a public revealing of my newly acquired expletive. Oh boy was that a huge miscalculation. Most of you are too young to remember the days when it was OK to wash out a foul mouthed, or back talking kids’ mouth with soap. I happened to be at my grandparents house when this all happened, specifically my grandfather who was the diesel mechanic. Because he was always trying to get the grease and oil off his hands he used a particularly strong bar soap called “Lava.” It was so strong you could smell it when you walked into Grandpas bathroom and on top of everything else it contained little bits of pumice, thus the name “Lava.” I can still taste it and feel the pumice grit grinding between my teeth. As my dad scrubbed my teeth and made sure I got a mouth full of soap I quickly came to the realization that maybe my dads uncle wasn’t such a cool guy and I wasn’t grown up enough to use bad language. Please remember I said “grown up enough” because it is a hint that I didn’t learn my lesson very well.

Looking back on my adolescent, teen and early adult years I did remember the Lava soap lesson but I still let my self-importance and what is now called a “fear of missing out” get in the way of what I knew was “good behavior.” The timely deployment of an “f bomb” or the calculated placement of the Lord’s name used in vain, throwing a little caution to the wind by stringing together a few choice profane adjectives or an under the breath utterance of the “s” word – now that showed machismo, maturity and power. I didn’t want to be viewed as a “prude.” Hey, I was one of the boys. Wrong again! All it really showed was a lack of respect for whoever I was interacting with, a total disregard for God and a huge gash in my character. On top of all those negatives, believe it or not, girls payed attention to those sorts of things and our indiscriminate cussing was viewed as crude, rude and boorish. Besides, had my dad ever heard me disrespect a woman through my use of foul language I am quite sure he would have found a bar of Lava somewhere and regardless of the time, location or my age he would have shoved that thing in my mouth.

So where am I going with all of this? The general widespread use of profane or vulgar language and swearing in todays culture is just one of the new dynamics that give me pause to be concerned about where we are headed. There seem to be few if any barriers anymore. The demise of those barriers parallel the loss of moral and ethical behavior we see in today’s society. Not many years ago dropping an f bomb on TV would have been a national calamity – not so much any more. Oh sure, it will get some notice by the media but will mostly be laughed off as a little slip – no big deal. If a politician used profanity as a tool during a campaign he or she was frowned on as uncivilized and unelectable – again not so much any more. I have had a twitter account for several years but very rarely tweet because quite frankly I think it is a waste of time and due to a lack of “followers” (for good reason) my tweeting would be nothing more than a few words that would disappear into thin air, never to be recalled again. You know, the old thing about if a tree falls in the forest with no one around to hear, did it make a sound? None-the-less, a couple of weeks ago a Twitter notice popped up in my email about a comment made by a member of the Colorado legislature. Commenting to her “followers” her tweet was, “if you were on the fence about voting this year I am going to need you to get the “f***” off.” It lit a flame in me and I decided to reply. All I said was, “Representative X”, language is a true reflection of character and your use of profanity in your tweet has exposed yours. Thank you for revealing who you truly are.” Ya I know, maybe a little harsh and judgmental but it was how I was feeling at the time. Well, to my great surprise there were other people listening in on the conversation because I was suddenly lambasted with criticism. I was labeled as an “old white man” (which I am), a misogynist, which I certainly am not, and a bunch of other things that don’t deserve mention. Wow, I didn’t know I was so important! All in defense of an elected officials right to use an “F bomb” and cancelling my right to comment about it. Again – please see the definition of character.

I told you from the beginning of this blog I would attempt to scrub my thoughts with Biblical truths. The truth is, in the research I have done, nowhere in The Bible is the use of profanity explicitly banned. There are several places in The Bible that do talk about the importance of the words you use. In Ephesians 4:29 (NLT) it says, “Don’t use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them.” Focus on the Family asks us to consider several questions about the use of profanity. They were speaking specifically about the use of the f-word but three of the questions really apply to vulgarity or profanity in general. 1. How does it feel when someone says it to you? 2. Is there any way the f-word can build others up? 3. Does it ever benefit those who hear it? In Colossians 4:6 (ESV) the apostle Paul says, “Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person.” Finally, the most well known instruction regarding what we would call swearing comes from the fourth of God’s commandments, “You shall not take the name of the Lord, your God, in vain.”

So circling back to that bar of Lava, why can I still taste it? Well, probably because I still haven’t learned my lesson. A bad golf shot might be followed by an under the breath s***. Disagreement with a politician might cause the proclamation the he or she is just a dumb a**. And yes, I will admit to dropping the f word from time to time. It is usually followed by a rush of guilt and a “sorry Lord, I failed again, please forgive me.”

Guys, it’s not OK. We need to be men of integrity, men of faith, men of conviction, men of character. We are called to be leaders of men, leaders of our family, leaders in whatever work we do, leaders in our community. No matter what we might think, accepting the role of a leader means people are watching us and listening to us. I will guarantee you the absence of profanity, vulgarity and swearing in your language will draw much more attention than the use of it ever will.

One final suggestion, go out and buy yourself a bar of Lava. Sit it on your bathroom counter or your desk. You can also simply clip a photo of it off the Internet and keep it on your phone. Every time you catch yourself slipping and using questionable language, take a good look at the soap and remember old Doug E Fresh’s description of what it was like to get a mouth full of it. More importantly may it be a reminder that your tongue is the strongest organ in your body and how you use it will always give others a lasting impression of your character.

As I have said many times, this blog is supposed to be about “God, Love, Life and Lessons.” Today’s post is really about all 4 of those things.

July 29th came again this year – it is a date I would prefer to forget. My father went to be with the Lord on July 29, 2010. Despite the celebration of knowing he is saved, the memory of the day still brings sadness. It happens to all of us. For some of you that day has already come and gone. If that is you, it is good to spend time reflecting on your father and what he did for you. Mourning his loss is part of that process and you should never be afraid of showing emotion when you think of him. Yes, part of what I am doing with today’s post involves mourning my father and yes, it is ok to do that even though it has now been ten years. There are some of you who are still enjoying your father, watching him, listening to his stories, learning from him, modeling your life after his. There are others who might not have known your father, he was gone before you were old enough to understand what happened. If that is you, no matter how old you are, I encourage you find a mentor, someone you trust and admire, someone who can use their experience to help you navigate through life’s challenges.

Thinking back on it, I knew the day I would lose my dad was getting closer. He had been experiencing bouts with congestive heart failure and his cardiologist had told him that short of a miracle in the near future his heart would stop beating – it was worn out. My father was the ultimate role model for those of you who are husbands and fathers or aspire to be a husband and father. He loved my mother unconditionally and was a true servant husband. Please understand, my mother didn’t demand anything of him, he simply lived to love and take care of her. On the morning of July 29, 2010 he was doing exactly that. As he did every day he had risen before my mom, gone into their tiny kitchen to make coffee and prepare their breakfast. After she joined him and was seated at the table he served her breakfast, sat down in his chair, leaned over against the wall and was gone.

My Dad grew up in Iowa, the son of a tough German farmer. I never really got to know his father very well because my grandfather died when I was in fifth grade, after a lengthy battle with prostate cancer. I wish I could have known him better because judging by the man my father became, my grandfather must have been a really great man.

There are so many stories I could tell you about the kind of man my dad was. Stories about his perseverance, about his natural leadership abilities, about the way he cared for his family, about his sense of responsibility to his employer, about his love for good scotch whiskey, Nat King Cole and the game of golf. He was tough on my sister and me, but always very measured and very fair in the way he disciplined us. He was the same in the way he always encouraged us, using our screw ups to teach us invaluable life lessons. As he grew older he displayed a zeal for life that was infectious and impacted everyone who came into contact with him. He had his share of health issues but never made that a focus of conversation with anyone. Every once in a while he would comment about the fact that he was blind in his right eye, the result of a childhood accident with a small toy. The loss of vision kept him out of World War II, indirectly had to do with him meeting my mom, created a depth perception problem that frustrated him when he played golf and gave him one of the best ever tag lines.

Periodically I like to listen to podcasts while I am working out or out for a walk. One of the podcasts I really enjoy is produced by John Eldridge and “Ransomed Heart Ministries.” Some of you might have read one of his books entitled, “Wild at Heart.” If you haven’t read it I encourage you to get a copy and spend some time with it. On one recent show Eldridge and guest Morgan Snyder pointed out, “the heartache of the world is unfinished men.” In July of 1994 my father became a “finished man” when sitting next to me at a Promise Keepers conference held at Folsom Field in Boulder, Colorado he got on his knees and gave his life to Jesus.

Not all of us men are blessed to have a father like I had. I am not sure why God chooses some of us to have that experience while others have a less secure and more challenging experience. On the other hand I don’t know why some of us get to have a father like the one in the parable about the Prodigal Son. Much like my father loved me and my sister, the father in Luke 15:11-32 loved his son(s) unconditionally. If you haven’t read the story, it takes all of about 2 minutes and has many lessons about how we should act as men and fathers.

It really doesn’t matter if you are a father now, maybe you are a grandfather, or you are planning to be a father, the same truths apply to all of us. God wants us to be men of integrity. Men of faith and love. Men who accept responsibility and care for our loved ones. Men who are good custodians of the physical, mental and financial assets He in-trusts us with. Men who will not run away from challenges. Men who will put on His full armor when the enemy confronts us. Men who will do everything we can to bring up our children like my father did. Men who will love and nurture their wives. Men who when the time comes to go home to Jesus can look back on our lives and believe we did our best to use the unique gifts God instilled in us. Men who model our roles as fathers after the father of the universe.

My Dad was all of those men and more. Earlier I hinted that my Dad had one of the best tag lines ever. It was a tag line he earned and enjoyed and I think God probably gets a kick out of. You see, every time he would do or accomplish something he thought might be a little out of the ordinary or beyond his normal capacity he would wink with his good eye and pull out the tag line. And yes Dad, the life you lived, the example you set, the man of God you became was “not bad for a one eyed Dutchman from Iowa.” What will your tag line be? You still have time to create it.

I love you Pop and can’t wait to see you again.

Last week, Terrie and I decided to take a driving trip. It was really at her encouragement and she planned most of the trip. It had been many years since I had been to the southwest part of Colorado. Terrie had been there a couple of years ago with her hiking group (The Kept Women’s Hiking Society) and while there she discovered what might be her all-time favorite hike. She really wanted to me see “Ice Lake”, the destination of the hike so our four day adventure revolved around doing the hike.

The final destination of our trip was Durango, Colorado so we took off the morning of July 6th after deciding our drive would be a loop, taking the more central route to Durango on the way down and circling back north and east across the western slope on the way home. Keep in mind that Terrie is a native Coloradan and I have lived here 52 years. Neither of us had ever been to the town of Salida so we took the time to get off the main highway and drive into the town. We discovered a beautiful, well kept, historic place filled with ginger bread houses with manicured lawns and cozy porches. The downtown area was a small but well kept area containing mountaineering stores, coffee shops, restaurants and of course micro breweries. The locals we talked to were so pleasant and accommodating, obviously happy to have us there. On our way out of town we looked at each other with a clear understanding that we were sorry that we had missed out by not visiting Salida sooner.

Our next stops were in equally interesting and beautiful places. Lunch in Del Norte then over the beautiful Wolf Creek Pass and on to Pagosa Springs for a walk around the hot springs. From there it was a short 50 minute drive to Durango, our final destination for the day.

The next morning we were up early to have a quick breakfast and hit the road toward Silverton and the trailhead to Ice Lake, the real reason for the trip to begin with. Terrie knew the area would get crowded and parking might be an issue so she wanted to get there as early as possible. The drive to Silverton is spectacular, winding over the San Juan mountains. The vistas from some of the overlooks revealed vast, extraordinarily beautiful valleys and jagged, rugged mountain peaks and crests. At a few points the road skirts extreme fall offs, causing a little angst about getting too close to the edge (there are very few areas with guard rails). When we finally reached the parking lot for the trailhead we saw Terrie’s suspicions were right, the lot was almost full and there were hikers everywhere preparing to head up the trail to Ice Lake. The hike itself was one of the more difficult ones I have done with her. It is a 8.7 mile round trip and from the start climbs 3200 feet to a scene that cannot be described, it must be viewed first hand. Along the way we saw too many waterfalls to count, fields of amazing color created by blooms of early summer wildflowers including bundles of delicate Columbines. Knowing I might balk, Terrie never revealed the difficulty of the hike but she kept encouraging me as we climbed higher and higher toward the lake. She kept telling me I was about to have an “ah ha moment.” Boy was she right. Making the final push to the cirque holding the lake was fueled by her passion for what I was about to see.

When we left the parking lot the sky was clear and the temperature was climbing. When we reached the lake clouds were moving in, there was a steady breeze and it was at least 20 degrees cooler than down below. By the time we completed our climb to Island Lake, the next lake above Ice Lake, it was sleeting. We started our decent more out of concern for the weather than anything else. Total round trip, 5 1/2 hours but worth every step (I think my phone said there were about 22,000 of them.)

So this blog isn’t supposed to be a travel log and while I would love to tell you about the rest of what was a great trip I will resist boring you. This blog is supposed to be about my experiences, my journey, about God, Love, Life and Lessons. This blog is intended to share some of my journey in hopes it will help the readers avoid some of my mistakes or at the very least take some of the lessons I have learned along the way and build on them to make your own personal journey the best it can be. I don’t want you to “miss it” because for many years I did and the events of the past week made me realize how much I had missed. The best part is, the events of the past week also helped me celebrate the fact that I haven’t missed everything. I still have a chance to finish well and experience the life God intended for me. About right now you are probably thinking, oh boy, here comes the old stale lecture about stopping to smell the roses. Sorry, I am going to disappoint you again because I am not going to tell you to do that.

The past several weeks of living in a pandemic has taught me a lot and one of the most important lessons has come through watching Terrie. You see, she is not going to “miss it” because she is living within her God given talents and giftings. She is so good at being who God created her to be that it is recognized and embraced by her friends and certainly by me. Her life and relationship with her friends is her ministry and her firm belief is that no one should “miss it” – the opportunity to experience the joy she knows. The way Terrie lives her life is a great testimony to her faith and even her non-believing friends look to her when they run into a wall and decide it might be time find a little spiritual guidance.

I believe living a truly satisfying, rich life is a blending of many things. God creates each of us differently and instills us with gifts/talents and passions that are unique and amazing. The goal of our journey is to discover what our unique gifts and passions are and then blend them into an exuberant life experience that honors God and satisfies our soul. What I would like for you to learn from my experience is that for far too long I did “miss it” because I was looking the other way. I didn’t know, or maybe I should say I didn’t want to listen to what God was trying to tell me about the abundant life He planned for me. I was missing the Ice Lake hikes because I was determined to plan my own course and follow it. The result of my self-reliant stubbornness was I became moody, dissatisfied, and abusive. I wasn’t a good husband, father, son or friend because I was not working within the very specific, personal talents God gave me. I can also tell you, from my experience, discovering and working in your gifting is like making that final push to that cirque and seeing Ice Lake. It will be an exhilarating, satisfying, and comforting moment, filled with the realization that you now really have something to look forward to and that you are not going to “miss it.”

My encouragement to you? Don’t take the self-reliant, safe route thinking that is the best way to avoid “missing it.” Take the exciting, risky, exploratory route as you discover all the amazing things God has in store for you. It’s not easy and just like Terrie did with me, you might need someone to help guide you. Someone who will not scare you to death about the challenge but someone who has been there before and knows the difficulty of the climb. Someone who will continue to encourage you to not give up and turn away from the climb. Someone who does not want you to “miss it.” It is never too late to find your Ice Lake.

Most of you know my love for fast cars. I am not a “gear-head.” I know very little about how cars work. I can add windshield wiper fluid and maybe top off the oil but that is about the extent of my usefulness around a mechanics’ garage. All I really want to know about a car is that when I put my foot down on the accelerator there is going to be a furious burst of power. I want my head to snap back to the headrest. I want to feel a little careless – a little uncertain about my ability to control the power. My ego causes me to believe I can pass anyone else on the road and if pressed I won’t hesitate to put the hammer down and show you who is who.

Looking back on my life I might be able to guess where this “need for speed” comes from; it must be a reflection of the way I have done things since I was very young. In some ways I have lived a conundrum that started in first grade. My parents made the decision that I should skip kindergarten and go straight to first grade, even though I was only 5 years old. I didn’t really understand, until much later in life, the advantage I had because of their decision and in fact thought it was a disadvantage. Please understand, I am not playing the victim card here. I don’t blame my parents for anything, in fact all I have is appreciation for the way they raised me and influenced me. But, because of their decision to accelerate my schooling, I faced some challenges. I was smaller physically than most of my friends which of course impacted my participation in sports. When I reached high school my age caused issues with my peers because I was less mature, physically and mentally. When I started my college career at the ripe old age of 17 I was at a distinct disadvantage because legally I couldn’t go into a 3.2 bar and order a beer. Most of my buddies were 18 and had been legally going to 3.2 bars during their senior year in high school. Plus, do you think an 18 year old college girl wanted to date a 17 year old guy? Not a chance. Then when I graduated college at the age of 21 I was thrown into a job market where I was competing against other college graduates who were 22 or 23 years old. That might not sound like a big deal but for many of the companies I interviewed with it was a deal killer. They figured that because I was “only” 21 there was no way I could contribute to their success the way a 22 or 23 year old candidate would be able to. I can’t tell you how many times I heard, “well, we really like you but we just wish you were a little older and more mature.”

So how did I overcome this perceived disadvantage? Everything I did had to be done faster because I needed to accomplish more than my competition in the same amount of time. I convinced myself that would be the way to catch up and pass those in my way. I had my right foot all the way to the floorboard and couldn’t afford to let up. The result? It wasn’t good. I careened through life at breakneck speed, rarely looking back to see what I missed or who I ran over on the way. Most of the time the people I ran over were Terrie and my sons. Heck, the reality was, even though I wanted to believe I was running over the competition, we were all doing the same thing! Going as fast as we could; out of control, little regard for others, not much regard for ourselves, windows up, radio on full blast, right foot to the floor.

So you might be thinking I am going to say I finally figured out I needed to put the brakes on. Sorry, I am going to disappoint you because I never found that to be a real solution. In fact, every time I tried to do that all that happened was I became a bigger jerk to Terrie and my sons than I was when I was going flat out. I moved from self-indulgence to self-pity and blamed my circumstances on them. I had to put the brakes on because of them. I had to reset my agenda aside because of them. I fell behind the competition because of them. Wow, what a bunch of hogwash!

God never intended for us to be pansies. He wants us to be drivers on the pole position. He wants us to be guys who are willing to take the risk to pound on the accelerator but also look to him to know when to lift our foot. And when the back end breaks away and we head for the wall, God wants guys who can admit they hit the accelerator at the wrong time and then lien on him to help them do better the next time.

I don’t think God gave men a nature that allows us to completely decelerate. What we can and do need to do is learn how to feather our pressure on the accelerator pedal. Each of us has a “pace” that fits us because He created each of us to be wonderful and unique. It took me far too long to understand that. I actually had two great examples of what I am talking about, I was just too self-absorbed to realize it until it was almost too late. My father was the first example I should have looked at. Not only did he understand pace in his job, he was a master of pace in his marriage. The priority he placed on my sister and me but most importantly his relationship with my mother was extraordinary. He didn’t sit around thinking about how he would learn the nuances of acceleration and pace. He knew there had to be a balance between his pace on the job and his pace at home. He knew how to feather the throttle. Terrie has always known what her pace is and has trusted the ideal pace God instilled her with. That is one of the factors that has made her such a great mother to our sons, wife to me and friend to so many people. She paces herself and doesn’t get out in front of God. Had I understood my God given pace at a younger age things would have been much easier and certainly more joyful. In Jeremiah 29:11 God lays this all out when he says, “For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” God knows exactly where our foot should be on that right pedal. He also knows when to turn on the check engine light; the problem is we usually ignore it. It has taken me a long time to get to a place where I have a pretty good idea when He is telling me to take my foot off the gas and pull over to the side of the road, there are problems ahead. Without all that engine and road noise I have a much better chance of hearing what He is trying to tell me.

One final thought. Finding God’s pace for your life isn’t like Nascar putting a restricter plate on an engine. It isn’t intended to make you like everyone else. Neither will it put you at a disadvantage. In fact it will do just the opposite. It will give you freedom to be who you were created to be. It will give you the courage to pound on the accelerator when the time is right.

OK guys, I hope this all makes sense. I’m going out for a drive now. I just figured out how to turn on the sport exhaust in my car. I can’t wait to hammer the accelerator and hear that sound!