I saw my new granddaughter Evelyn tonight for the first time. She looks like her sister. I held her for about half an hour, gently bouncing her when she cried, just like I did with her mother thirty years ago. And like her mother, Evelyn was easily comforted. Later, I watched mother and baby together. I glanced over to Grandma Joyce, then back to our first born, with her baby girl, and couldn’t help pondering the miracle that occured in all our lives thirty years ago. There was just Joyce and me, and we could not have children, yet there our child was, with her child. I thought of our second and third daughters, and all three wonderful sons-in-law, all created out of nothing.
Thank you Lord Jesus for your loving healing mercy, for being Who You Are, the Father of mercies, the blessed Creator of heaven and earth, the Author and Finisher of our faith, the Guardian of our souls, for knowing us before the foundation of the world.
You … are … Lord.
Today is Joyce and my 38th wedding anniversary. Our wedding was late in the evening. We got into our little ’67′ red Volkswagen ‘Bug’ and drove away to our new home in San Luis Obispo, 500 miles away. We never looked back. I was an engineering student at Cal Poly. Joyce worked long late hours as a gas station attendant. We had each other, a couple hundred dollars, and an uncompromising love for the Lord Jesus. I nearly died that year from an undiagnosed heart condition. Continue reading
Originally posted February 10th, 2009
Last night I received some distressing news. My 80-year old Dad was riding his trick bike with the teenagers in the bike-skateboard “pit”, something I have been scolding him about for years now. He apparently made a bad turn on his “third” run – he says he can’t remember what happened after that, but vaguely remembers the kind woman who drove (raced) his bleeding body (and his busted bike) to the ER.
He also remembers the surgeons laughing when they found out what had happened. He broke several bones in his face, including his right cheek and orbital (socket) – my dad says helmets are for sissy’s. His broken trifocals had to be “removed” from his face. One eye swollen shut, contusions and road rash everywhere, broken and bruised ribs, busted hand, toe, chin, and basically everything that should have had pads, but didn’t, is pretty bruised. He was such an uncooperative patient, they sent him home after seven hours in the ER. Apparently everyone but my mom, sister Annette, and brother-in-law Kip ,were laughing. I spoke with my dad last night, and prayed for him over the telephone, which he actually sat down for – what a shock. I spoke with him again late this morning. He is doing well. My youngest sister Janet, our irresponsible-yet-lovable United flight attendant (who reminds me of a certain unnamed person in my marketing department) is helping him shop for a new BMX bike. I tried to get him to add a helmet to his shopping list, but apparently his hearing has been affected as well. Oh well.