Writer’s note: I have waited 10 years to tell this story. Thus far, I have shared it with two people in it’s entirely; my wife and my best friend.
His name was Reed but we called him Wildman. I’d met Wildman one summer laboring as a member of a grounds crew for the local school board, trying my best to pocket some money over college break. My best friend’s mother had scored us the gig which roughly entailed driving from school to school, cutting trees, mulching playgrounds, trimming bushes, etc. We earned our pay those summers but the memories now matter much more than the $7.15 per hour did back then. Isn’t it funny how precious memories linger?
I can still smell the musty aroma of earth and gas inside the back of O24, the dilapidated green van we drove from school to school, rattling at every turn, contents banging at the sides, as black smoke trailed behind. Arriving in style or lack thereof, ours was a motley crew of grounds workers; some in college, some full time, some were teachers on sabbatical, and some wielding nicknames like Papaw, Craw Daddy, Cock-Eye, Wildman, the Egyptian Magician, and others better left unsaid.
Everyone had a story but Wildman’s seemed to be the most interesting to me because he was the most aloof. He operated on his own and even though he had over 20 year’s tenure with the board, he hardly spoke and mostly hummed. Wildman wore overalls and looked more like a farmer than a laborer, his slightly graying hair cut into a military crew with his black, horned-rimmed glasses framing his fat, cheeky grin. He was always at work on time, however, and worked harder than most, hummed hymns constantly, and read his Bible during breaks. Although some poked fun at Wildman, it never seemed to bother him. He would simply hum a little louder. When I saw Wildman, I saw the image of a man a little unstable with a slight hint of crazy. It was hard not to.
Having an insatiable curiosity, I asked another one of the long-timers one day about Wildman, the fact that his nickname and demeanor were in conflict and the reason why he didn’t talk yet hummed incessantly. It seemed Wildman was indeed the Wildman of yore, burning the candle at both ends, raising a ruckus, carousing, and basically living the life of a long-haul trucker with a one track mind. What track you ask? Does it matter? That is…until he found Jesus. When he was saved by Jesus, he changed, and he changed all at once. Wildman went from being the Wild Man to being Wildman, a nickname identifying the loner of the group, the one who didn’t talk, yet the one who hummed. He was no longer lauded as a party animal and everyone’s idol; he was labeled an outcast who was simply cast out of the group. Wildman had hung up his antics for service to the Lord explained Craw Daddy, who had certainly answered my questions that day, in a working man’s vernacular, peppered with expletives and truth.
………………………………………………………………………………………………..........................................
The summer trailed on like most summers do, the heat of the day sapping any moisture from the dirt-cracked ground while the grass struggled to maintain its color and texture. As the hustle and bustle of fall started to focus on the horizon, we were assigned our final job with the board for the summer; replacing a homeowner’s flowers that were destroyed in a previous fence building project. The assignment was preferred, yet unusual, as we’d never worked on a private residence during our tenure with the board. It seemed the homeowner was well connected in our small town and the flowers that were destroyed constituted a major expense. Nonetheless, it was our job to replant the flowers while maintaining a positive public relations effort with the well-to-do and hard-to-please land owner.
Since it was near the end of the season, many of the temporary workers had hung up their boots, opting instead for a nice break before the last call of the summer. With the decreased roster of grounds crew workers, the foreman had no choice but to assign all hands to the flower patch restoration project. This is where our paths crossed; Wildman’s and mine.
The sounds from five rows over grew increasing louder until I could pick out the tune Wildman was humming. I remembered the song from church, a hymn, but couldn’t quite put my finger on the title. This went on all morning and even amidst the scolding words and sneers from the others that day, Wildman kept true to his tune. It was Amazing Grace and How Great Thou Art followed by The Old Rugged Cross and It is Well with My Soul and myriad others, some I knew and others I’d never heard, but they were all hymns, every last one of them. Wildman hummed until break and as we rested under a shade tree on the owner’s property, he surprisingly told us his story. He talked, we listened.
Wildman man had indeed earned his nickname all though he never once elaborated on his escapades as a younger man (much to our chagrin). What he talked about was the small church he pastured, the children he’d reared, and the rest he was looking forward to upon retirement. He explained his humming calmed him, especially during moments of ridicule. He was fascinating to us and we hung on every word as he spoke his mind, quite normally, and without hesitation or uncertainty. We became friends that day, Wildman and I, a friendship that would foreshadow what was yet to come.
………………………………………………………………………………………………...........................................
Making our way to the car on the last day of our summer employment, I heard my name called out with the emphasis of a man on a megaphone. I turned to see Wildman approaching with what looked like presents in tow, smiling broadly with that same fat-faced, cheeky grin. He handed similar looking packages to each of us, wrapped neatly in Christmas paper. The fact that it was August mattered not and as I tore into the wrapping paper, I quickly noticed the bright red book I was unwrapping was a Bible, a New International Version of the Holy Bible. Sticking out of the top was an index card with a bible verse hand written in red ink. Mine was from Ephesians, more specifically, Ephesians 4:26-27:
26"In your anger do not sin"[a]: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, 27and do not give the devil a foothold.
Not overly excited about the gift, we bid Wildman adieu, thanked him for the thought, and headed home.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..............................................
There is an email that circulates describing the nature of friendships. It describes various friendships as happening for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime. (http://www.steeldog.com/reasonseasonlifetime.htm) I believe Wildman’s friendship was for a reason, a profound reason, yet one I would not realize for five years.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..............................................
It was summer, college was a memory, and the job front loomed in daunting fashion. Working two part time jobs while seeking full time employment when possible, my days were filled with runner responsibilities for a local law firm and ad agency. For the most part, I was happy all though a little lonely as a previous relationship had ended and another had yet to take root. And while I was comfortable being alone, I secretly longed for the security of a long term relationship that may just, one day, turn into marriage material. Did I have a plan? Not really…but I had an image in mind of what I wanted, and in the image, two people stood united, ready to take on the world. It was at this time that I prayed to God. I prayed because I wanted something. It was all about me, my prayer, as I repeatedly asked God to provide me with a woman in which to share my life. I was ready to settle down; I just needed a little help.
Isn’t it funny how many of us go to God in times of need, asking for things to serve our own desires. Just this thing or that we ask, hoping our prayers will be answered ala Aladdin and his magic lamp. But what began as self-serving prayers developed into a daily conversation with God, a conversation I perused countless times all through the day, while driving, eyes wide open and alert, and during the quite lull just before sleep. We discussed life and love, tragedy and loss, hopes and dreams, but inevitably, we would dwell on the love part of the equation and why I felt I was ready to start a family. It was during these moments that I began to feel a peace with my place in the world and as I stared at the sky above, cumulus clouds draped across the horizon like pallid blankets on a rolling sea, I sensed the Almighty God and His power. It was welcoming.
………………………………………………………………………………………………...........................................
There is a certain stretch of road between Lexington and Frankfort that parts some of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. The hills are slightly rolling, horses at play, white fences framing the verdant fields, while the sky meets the ground in a full spectrum of colors depending upon the season. It is a backdrop that harkens God at every turn; all you have to do it open your eyes to His creation. My mood this particular day, however, was a little different, a little askew, and as I prayed, I grew impatient with God. A year had passed, maybe more, and I still felt like I had not progressed in matters of love. This time, I prayed with a sense of urgency as if to impress upon God the nature of my impatience. I asked God for selfish things of little significance but remembered feeling as if it didn’t matter anyway. God was not listening. God was not listening to me. So I drove, looking past the scenic beauty of my travels, and grating at the life I would live alone.
Returning to Lexington, I had one stop to make prior to the day’s end. I needed stamps for work and I knew of a Post Office that had just opened in downtown Lexington; close to the ad agency. Finding a parking spot, I entered the new building, paint fumes still evident, the line for the two tellers snaking toward the entryway. “It never fails,” I grumbled to myself but got in line with the rest of the patrons anyway. I needed stamps and conversely was prepared to wait, albeit impatiently. Lost in thought, I wondered about the evening’s activities, the days ahead, the impending summer, anything and everything, as I cast my glance towards the front of the line. There waiting to be helped was a young lady wearing a white t-shirt with bright red words screen printed on the back. They read simply:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud.” 1 Corinthians 13:4.
The only thing that was lacking was a large beam of light streaming down from overhead.
I thought for a moment and read the verse again. White t-shirt, bight read Bible verse, words printed on back large enough to read. “What are the odds,” I thought to myself? I had never read this Bible verse before nor had I ever heard it regardless of its popularity at weddings. I struggled to commit the verse to memory, repeating it again and again until the woman turned and left the building. 1 Corinthians 13:4 I repeated to myself knowing I would get out my Bible when I got home to explore the verse further. I would remember it, certainly I would, and as I continued to commit it to memory, the clerk handed me my purchase. I paid, and left the building thinking, 1 Corinthians 13:4, Love is patient, love is kind…I got it God; I hear you loud and clear.
At home that evening I did not forget about my experience in line at the post office all though I was not prepared to tell anyone about my encounter. I did, however, retire to my bedroom looking for the Bible I knew I had…somewhere.
I looked through boxes, on shelves, under the bed, anywhere I thought my Bible might be. Unsuccessful, I looked in the top of my closet once more and there behind a few notebooks and shoeboxes were the two Bibles I owned; one from my childhood (a King James Version in a light tan, fake leather cover) and the bright red Bible given to me years before by Wildman. I grabbed the KJV of my youth and sat down to explore 1 Corinthians 13:4 further. Flipping to the table of contents, I quickly found the page number for Corinthians and made my way to the chapter in mind. “Let’s see, 1 Corinthians 13:4” pages flipping until I found the passage and read aloud:
Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up.
“Hmmm…well that doesn’t sound right,” I thought to myself quickly questioning my mental acuity and memorization prowess. So I checked 1 Thessalonians 13:4…nope, 2 Corinthians 13:4…nope, 2 Thessalonians 13:4…nope. At this point I was getting frustrated. I thought I had memorized the verse but could not find it anywhere so I decided to put the Bible away and forget about the whole experience. Blowing the dust off the cover, I placed the Bible back on the shelf next the Wildman’s edition when I felt the urge to take a look inside another Bible, this one maybe opened once in its lifetime.
Wildman’s Bible looked more like one found in a hotel bedside table or a church pew than a Bible used for personal use. “Maybe the difference in versions would mean a difference in verbiage,” I remember thinking. Again, retiring to my bedroom chair, I opened the bright red book, it’s bindings cracking, and perused the pages, starting with 1 Thessalonians…still no luck in finding the love verse I sought. Flipping pages at random and loosing grip on the mission at hand, I came across Wildman’s note card with the hand written Bible verse from Ephesians in red ink. Reading this verse, I remembered Wildman and his flare for solidarity. I remembered our two summer’s together years before and his example to my best friend and I. He had placed the note card in the Bible for a reason, and there on page 813, it had rested for over five years.
Coming back to reality, and just before I closed the book, I noticed what seemed to be a mere coincidence. The note card Wildman had left for me was placed in 1 Corinthians. More specifically, page 813 was 1 Corinthians 12:13 including 1 Corinthians 13:4, the verse I sought. I drew my pointer finger down the page stopping at 1 Corinthians 13:4 and read aloud:
4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
His name was Reed but we called him Wildman. I’d met Wildman one summer laboring as a member of a grounds crew for the local school board, trying my best to pocket some money over college break. My best friend’s mother had scored us the gig which roughly entailed driving from school to school, cutting trees, mulching playgrounds, trimming bushes, etc. We earned our pay those summers but the memories now matter much more than the $7.15 per hour did back then. Isn’t it funny how precious memories linger?
I can still smell the musty aroma of earth and gas inside the back of O24, the dilapidated green van we drove from school to school, rattling at every turn, contents banging at the sides, as black smoke trailed behind. Arriving in style or lack thereof, ours was a motley crew of grounds workers; some in college, some full time, some were teachers on sabbatical, and some wielding nicknames like Papaw, Craw Daddy, Cock-Eye, Wildman, the Egyptian Magician, and others better left unsaid.
Everyone had a story but Wildman’s seemed to be the most interesting to me because he was the most aloof. He operated on his own and even though he had over 20 year’s tenure with the board, he hardly spoke and mostly hummed. Wildman wore overalls and looked more like a farmer than a laborer, his slightly graying hair cut into a military crew with his black, horned-rimmed glasses framing his fat, cheeky grin. He was always at work on time, however, and worked harder than most, hummed hymns constantly, and read his Bible during breaks. Although some poked fun at Wildman, it never seemed to bother him. He would simply hum a little louder. When I saw Wildman, I saw the image of a man a little unstable with a slight hint of crazy. It was hard not to.
Having an insatiable curiosity, I asked another one of the long-timers one day about Wildman, the fact that his nickname and demeanor were in conflict and the reason why he didn’t talk yet hummed incessantly. It seemed Wildman was indeed the Wildman of yore, burning the candle at both ends, raising a ruckus, carousing, and basically living the life of a long-haul trucker with a one track mind. What track you ask? Does it matter? That is…until he found Jesus. When he was saved by Jesus, he changed, and he changed all at once. Wildman went from being the Wild Man to being Wildman, a nickname identifying the loner of the group, the one who didn’t talk, yet the one who hummed. He was no longer lauded as a party animal and everyone’s idol; he was labeled an outcast who was simply cast out of the group. Wildman had hung up his antics for service to the Lord explained Craw Daddy, who had certainly answered my questions that day, in a working man’s vernacular, peppered with expletives and truth.
………………………………………………………………………………………………..........................................
The summer trailed on like most summers do, the heat of the day sapping any moisture from the dirt-cracked ground while the grass struggled to maintain its color and texture. As the hustle and bustle of fall started to focus on the horizon, we were assigned our final job with the board for the summer; replacing a homeowner’s flowers that were destroyed in a previous fence building project. The assignment was preferred, yet unusual, as we’d never worked on a private residence during our tenure with the board. It seemed the homeowner was well connected in our small town and the flowers that were destroyed constituted a major expense. Nonetheless, it was our job to replant the flowers while maintaining a positive public relations effort with the well-to-do and hard-to-please land owner.
Since it was near the end of the season, many of the temporary workers had hung up their boots, opting instead for a nice break before the last call of the summer. With the decreased roster of grounds crew workers, the foreman had no choice but to assign all hands to the flower patch restoration project. This is where our paths crossed; Wildman’s and mine.
The sounds from five rows over grew increasing louder until I could pick out the tune Wildman was humming. I remembered the song from church, a hymn, but couldn’t quite put my finger on the title. This went on all morning and even amidst the scolding words and sneers from the others that day, Wildman kept true to his tune. It was Amazing Grace and How Great Thou Art followed by The Old Rugged Cross and It is Well with My Soul and myriad others, some I knew and others I’d never heard, but they were all hymns, every last one of them. Wildman hummed until break and as we rested under a shade tree on the owner’s property, he surprisingly told us his story. He talked, we listened.
Wildman man had indeed earned his nickname all though he never once elaborated on his escapades as a younger man (much to our chagrin). What he talked about was the small church he pastured, the children he’d reared, and the rest he was looking forward to upon retirement. He explained his humming calmed him, especially during moments of ridicule. He was fascinating to us and we hung on every word as he spoke his mind, quite normally, and without hesitation or uncertainty. We became friends that day, Wildman and I, a friendship that would foreshadow what was yet to come.
………………………………………………………………………………………………...........................................
Making our way to the car on the last day of our summer employment, I heard my name called out with the emphasis of a man on a megaphone. I turned to see Wildman approaching with what looked like presents in tow, smiling broadly with that same fat-faced, cheeky grin. He handed similar looking packages to each of us, wrapped neatly in Christmas paper. The fact that it was August mattered not and as I tore into the wrapping paper, I quickly noticed the bright red book I was unwrapping was a Bible, a New International Version of the Holy Bible. Sticking out of the top was an index card with a bible verse hand written in red ink. Mine was from Ephesians, more specifically, Ephesians 4:26-27:
26"In your anger do not sin"[a]: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, 27and do not give the devil a foothold.
Not overly excited about the gift, we bid Wildman adieu, thanked him for the thought, and headed home.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..............................................
There is an email that circulates describing the nature of friendships. It describes various friendships as happening for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime. (http://www.steeldog.com/reasonseasonlifetime.htm) I believe Wildman’s friendship was for a reason, a profound reason, yet one I would not realize for five years.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..............................................
It was summer, college was a memory, and the job front loomed in daunting fashion. Working two part time jobs while seeking full time employment when possible, my days were filled with runner responsibilities for a local law firm and ad agency. For the most part, I was happy all though a little lonely as a previous relationship had ended and another had yet to take root. And while I was comfortable being alone, I secretly longed for the security of a long term relationship that may just, one day, turn into marriage material. Did I have a plan? Not really…but I had an image in mind of what I wanted, and in the image, two people stood united, ready to take on the world. It was at this time that I prayed to God. I prayed because I wanted something. It was all about me, my prayer, as I repeatedly asked God to provide me with a woman in which to share my life. I was ready to settle down; I just needed a little help.
Isn’t it funny how many of us go to God in times of need, asking for things to serve our own desires. Just this thing or that we ask, hoping our prayers will be answered ala Aladdin and his magic lamp. But what began as self-serving prayers developed into a daily conversation with God, a conversation I perused countless times all through the day, while driving, eyes wide open and alert, and during the quite lull just before sleep. We discussed life and love, tragedy and loss, hopes and dreams, but inevitably, we would dwell on the love part of the equation and why I felt I was ready to start a family. It was during these moments that I began to feel a peace with my place in the world and as I stared at the sky above, cumulus clouds draped across the horizon like pallid blankets on a rolling sea, I sensed the Almighty God and His power. It was welcoming.
………………………………………………………………………………………………...........................................
There is a certain stretch of road between Lexington and Frankfort that parts some of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. The hills are slightly rolling, horses at play, white fences framing the verdant fields, while the sky meets the ground in a full spectrum of colors depending upon the season. It is a backdrop that harkens God at every turn; all you have to do it open your eyes to His creation. My mood this particular day, however, was a little different, a little askew, and as I prayed, I grew impatient with God. A year had passed, maybe more, and I still felt like I had not progressed in matters of love. This time, I prayed with a sense of urgency as if to impress upon God the nature of my impatience. I asked God for selfish things of little significance but remembered feeling as if it didn’t matter anyway. God was not listening. God was not listening to me. So I drove, looking past the scenic beauty of my travels, and grating at the life I would live alone.
Returning to Lexington, I had one stop to make prior to the day’s end. I needed stamps for work and I knew of a Post Office that had just opened in downtown Lexington; close to the ad agency. Finding a parking spot, I entered the new building, paint fumes still evident, the line for the two tellers snaking toward the entryway. “It never fails,” I grumbled to myself but got in line with the rest of the patrons anyway. I needed stamps and conversely was prepared to wait, albeit impatiently. Lost in thought, I wondered about the evening’s activities, the days ahead, the impending summer, anything and everything, as I cast my glance towards the front of the line. There waiting to be helped was a young lady wearing a white t-shirt with bright red words screen printed on the back. They read simply:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud.” 1 Corinthians 13:4.
The only thing that was lacking was a large beam of light streaming down from overhead.
I thought for a moment and read the verse again. White t-shirt, bight read Bible verse, words printed on back large enough to read. “What are the odds,” I thought to myself? I had never read this Bible verse before nor had I ever heard it regardless of its popularity at weddings. I struggled to commit the verse to memory, repeating it again and again until the woman turned and left the building. 1 Corinthians 13:4 I repeated to myself knowing I would get out my Bible when I got home to explore the verse further. I would remember it, certainly I would, and as I continued to commit it to memory, the clerk handed me my purchase. I paid, and left the building thinking, 1 Corinthians 13:4, Love is patient, love is kind…I got it God; I hear you loud and clear.
At home that evening I did not forget about my experience in line at the post office all though I was not prepared to tell anyone about my encounter. I did, however, retire to my bedroom looking for the Bible I knew I had…somewhere.
I looked through boxes, on shelves, under the bed, anywhere I thought my Bible might be. Unsuccessful, I looked in the top of my closet once more and there behind a few notebooks and shoeboxes were the two Bibles I owned; one from my childhood (a King James Version in a light tan, fake leather cover) and the bright red Bible given to me years before by Wildman. I grabbed the KJV of my youth and sat down to explore 1 Corinthians 13:4 further. Flipping to the table of contents, I quickly found the page number for Corinthians and made my way to the chapter in mind. “Let’s see, 1 Corinthians 13:4” pages flipping until I found the passage and read aloud:
Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up.
“Hmmm…well that doesn’t sound right,” I thought to myself quickly questioning my mental acuity and memorization prowess. So I checked 1 Thessalonians 13:4…nope, 2 Corinthians 13:4…nope, 2 Thessalonians 13:4…nope. At this point I was getting frustrated. I thought I had memorized the verse but could not find it anywhere so I decided to put the Bible away and forget about the whole experience. Blowing the dust off the cover, I placed the Bible back on the shelf next the Wildman’s edition when I felt the urge to take a look inside another Bible, this one maybe opened once in its lifetime.
Wildman’s Bible looked more like one found in a hotel bedside table or a church pew than a Bible used for personal use. “Maybe the difference in versions would mean a difference in verbiage,” I remember thinking. Again, retiring to my bedroom chair, I opened the bright red book, it’s bindings cracking, and perused the pages, starting with 1 Thessalonians…still no luck in finding the love verse I sought. Flipping pages at random and loosing grip on the mission at hand, I came across Wildman’s note card with the hand written Bible verse from Ephesians in red ink. Reading this verse, I remembered Wildman and his flare for solidarity. I remembered our two summer’s together years before and his example to my best friend and I. He had placed the note card in the Bible for a reason, and there on page 813, it had rested for over five years.
Coming back to reality, and just before I closed the book, I noticed what seemed to be a mere coincidence. The note card Wildman had left for me was placed in 1 Corinthians. More specifically, page 813 was 1 Corinthians 12:13 including 1 Corinthians 13:4, the verse I sought. I drew my pointer finger down the page stopping at 1 Corinthians 13:4 and read aloud:
4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. 11When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. 12Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
13And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
I closed the Bible, dwelling on the verse I’d longed to read. The other verse Wildman left for me.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..............................................
I do not know why I have the compulsion to tell this story as it has laid dormant for 10 years or more. All I know is Wildman has been on my heart lately, whether or not I have been on his. I am, however, indeed thankful for the outcast who took the time to share the gospel with an impatient college kid though incessant humming, cheeky grins, and an unexpected gift unwrapped years later.
Relishing the providence of God reminds me of one of my wife’s favorite quotations by Albert Einstein, who once quipped, “Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.” It most certainly is…but don’t take my word for it…take His.
I closed the Bible, dwelling on the verse I’d longed to read. The other verse Wildman left for me.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..............................................
I do not know why I have the compulsion to tell this story as it has laid dormant for 10 years or more. All I know is Wildman has been on my heart lately, whether or not I have been on his. I am, however, indeed thankful for the outcast who took the time to share the gospel with an impatient college kid though incessant humming, cheeky grins, and an unexpected gift unwrapped years later.
Relishing the providence of God reminds me of one of my wife’s favorite quotations by Albert Einstein, who once quipped, “Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.” It most certainly is…but don’t take my word for it…take His.
1 comment:
Very nice story Grant. Your quite a writer. I too am a Christian who has recognized in hindsight where the Lord leaves His marks. These realizations multiply as the years go by. Hope to talk to you soon.
Greg Dungan
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