One word that I would never use to describe myself is “athletic.” I played baseball in a municipal league in my youth, but I hung up my cleats and became a musician.
So, it was strange that, some 20 years later, I would be standing on a basketball half-court, about to go three-on-three against teenagers half my age. I have no recollection of how that absurdity came to be.
I met Rev. Williams through his son, who served on a church staff with me. It was early in my ministry. He was near the end of life, his mind ravaged by dementia, living in a care facility. Sometimes when I visited him, he was lucid; often he was not.
Every Wednesday, his son would bring him to the church to have lunch with the staff. The staff’s lunch conversations were lively affairs, sometimes humorous, sometimes serious.
When this column is printed, my wife and I will have just celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary and I can say after these many years, marriage is great!
We were married three months before I entered full-time ministry. The timing was fortuitous because it quickly became apparent that I wouldn’t be worth spit as a pastor without my wife.
As I write this, my wife and I are preparing to leave for Indiana for a two-week vacation visiting family.
Our goal is to eat lots of vine-ripened tomatoes and sweet corn, and at least one pork tenderloin sandwich.
The condominium collapse in Surfside was profoundly tragic. Daily news updates only confirmed our worst fears. Hope seemed so very elusive, yet stories of hope did emerge.
The Associated Press ran a story about a 12-year-old girl, who had come to the collapse site because her father and her uncle were residents of that building and had yet to be found.
