"34"

I just used a highly scientific method to determine the topic for my blog post today, my birthday, my 34th year. I took the book of the Bible that is the same as my name and looked up the chapter by the tens place and the verse by the ones place. This verse (Mark 3:4) happens to read, "Then Jesus asked them, 'Which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?' But they remained silent." Oddly enough, it worked out to be an appropriate starter to this post. It fits my state of mind. "[T]hey remained silent."

My pastor and best friend said to his congregation last week that the number two problem in America, behind renegade males who renege on their responsibilities, is people who know what is right and don't do it. Willful disobedience is different from disobedience out of ignorance. Willful disobedience comes from the the self-centered nature of people. "[T]hey remained silent." "They" knew what was right. They knew that the Sabbath was created for man, not man for the Sabbath. They chose to ignore what God said was right and went along polluting and corrupting the worship of God.

The Wizard of Oz had everyone wear green glasses when in the "Emerald City." These glasses filtered everything the people there saw. Things that aren't green appear green when you are wearing green glasses. Things that are right appear to be wrong when you are wearing the wrong metaphorical glasses. Our paradigm of the world can be really messed up and we don't even realize it.

Since I've broached the matter of self-absorption, I'll continue down that path. The self-absorbed don't see the wrong they commit to other people. "What? Why is she so upset? What is her problem?" It never occurs to this person that they are the cause of this person's offense. I'm certain that we are all, to some extent, plagued by self-absorption to one degree or another. I certainly cannot claim immunity to this scourge. But, like anyone else, my heart breaks when the self-absorption of others has an effect on me. My pastor said in that same sermon that the miracle of salvation is not being saved. It is becoming others-centered. Self-less. Your soul is the easy part.

He Was Made That Way

Shlomo Weisel cautioned his young son Eliezer that he should not study the mystics until he was thirty, He survived the Holocaust and went on to be one of the great minds of our age.

Pablo Picasso's close friend committed suicide and he entered into his "Blue" period which was succeeded by his "cubism" period and he changed the landscape (pun intended) of art to this day.

Then, there is me.

I.

This year, the 34th one of my life, has been one of great upheaval. This tumult has been good and bad. As my birthday approaches it will put one calender year of time between the beginning of my journey to recover what was lost and now. How have I done? Like I said above, there has been good and bad. It's not an easy question to answer.

To save you some time by short-cutting to the end I'll say that I have discovered why I became the man I was. I realized the peril that I, my children, and my marriage were in as a result of this state. I took steps to remedy this area. I found out that the world is not receptive to a man being a man and that there are no short-cuts.

The Industrial Revolution really did a number on Western Civilization. In making great conquests in technology and comfort we gave up culture and pleasure. For the convenience of quantitative production we became specialists in skills that are, for the most part, incapable of sustaining life. The result of 200 years of moving away from a culture whose main attributes were tradition and subsistance is that we now have no tradition and self-indulgence as a collective goal of life.

Nearly everything has became industrialized in our modern lives. As I write this I am sipping on a Dr. Pepper. My workplace? In a "factory" school. The clothes on my back were made in Southeast Asia and my car in Japan. Our culture is based on things and absent of meaningful traditions.

The one corporate activity I am involved in that is scriptural, and, in my opinion, is as close to what the church was intended to be as any church I know of is still plagued on occasion with institutional thinking. How could it be otherwise? Our parents, their parents, and their parents before them have been increasingly lulled into mass institutionalization.

It is who we are now.

So I am sitting here in the middle of the most civilized nation on Earth, a civilized man.

Robert Bly in his book Iron John proposes that in the fairy tales, specifically the little known tale of "Iron John," we see archetypal (universal truths that transcend language and borders. Example: A doorway represents a transition to the unknown) truths about mankind. These archetypal truths are still evident in the "heathen" societies. We have forgotten them.

Paraphrasing Bly, he says that women have something inside of them that is innately feminine. Girls become women by simple maturation and being around other women. Boys, however, do not become men in the company of women or even other males within their age range. They must leave the woman- the mother- and enter into the active presence of older men. He goes to the father. He goes to uncles, grandfathers, tribal elders. Bly writes about societies where the boy goes to work with his father. He learns a trade and those things that, were we mountain lions or armadillos, we would know instinctively, and we have found to exist in the collective knowledge of human experience. The time the boy spends with men builds up to a crescendo of initiation. The boy ceremoniously becomes a man.

In most cultures this happens around the age of thirteen. What happens to our young men at thirteen? No, we can't ask that question yet. We have to look at how our society is working from the cradle onward. Dads-daughters.com cites 36.3% of children live without their biological father in the home. Derek Prince in his study on the issue concluded that the worst problem facing our nation is "renegade males." Not the deficit. Not any war we are engaged in or the economy but, as he put it, "renegade males."

By thirteen years of age a young man is likely to have a poor male role model or maybe not one at all. Even if he has a good father, he most likely doesn't have a father who takes him to work with him each day. Our life's work is often a mystery to our sons. We can't even explain it to them. So what does he do for initiation into manhood? John Eldredge says he turns to women for sex, brute strength for manliness, or checks out altogether into passivity. None of these offers any sort of validation or initiation into manhood. Oh it might feel manly to make love to a woman but she cannot initiate you into manhood. Remember, she can make a young lady into a woman and can identify manly characteristics in males, but her formative abilities stop there. Likewise a brute of a young man my learn to love the taste of blood and the feel of bone against bone, but the ability to fight well is possessed by all manner of beasts. That a man loves violence for the sake of violence is an indictment on the degraded state of manliness.

Bly says these males lack "the ability to shudder means feeling how frail human beings are, and how awful it is to be a Titan [Cronos, who castrated his own father and later ate his own children except for Zeus.]" To shudder is to be able to feel grief associated with the human condition.

The last group of males, those who check out of life and into a prison of multi-faceted atrophy, spend their lives with a growing numbness possessing them. The can't feel, love, or fight. They experience the world through other people's terms. Bly writes:

During the last thirty years men have been asked to learn how to go with the flow, how to follow rather than lead, how to live in a nonheirarchal way, how to be vulnerable, how to adopt consenus decision-making. Some women want a passive man if they want a man at all; the church wants a tamed man-they are called priests; the university wants a domesticated man-they are called tenure-track people; the corporation wants a team- worker, and so on. (Iron John, 61)

Males go to the woman to seek validation, males kill each other sans any emotion, males totally checked out of life. As my mentor said to me the other day, "[t]he man is the Christ figure [in the family] and he is the one who is attacked by the enemy." As military leaders the world over know, a wounded soldier requires more money, time, and manpower to deal with than a dead one. So our demonic adversary knows this as well. Wounded men require a tremendous amount of resources to deal with, heal, or put away.

My goal in writing this is not to come off as a misogynistic neanderthal- quite the opposite rather. Our society has been bent from its archetypal intent by a great scheme and a great number of us have been influenced by this scheme unawares. The extent of the damage is, to borrow Elie Weisel's statement, "on the level of creation." There is a reason that God made us distinguished by our sex and those differences are our strengths. A man is the leader of the house not by his will or that he is physically stronger than the woman, but because it is God's plan that he be the leader. He was designed that way.

John Eldredge proposes that he was designed to first be the Beloved Son, a cherished boy in whom his father takes great delight . He next grows into the Cowboy-an adventurer learning how the world works. As he enters manhood he becomes the Warrior. Literally he is the age of the soldier, all spit and vinegar and ready to take off on a grand adventure at a moments notice. At some point around thirty, he begins to settle down, to focus on the woman-winning the woman-the Lover it is called. As children come and his influence increases he becomes the King of his domain. As the kids grow up and leave and he approaches retirement he enters the stage of his greatest influence, the stage of the Sage.

The man is designed to be complete. He is designed to take risk, to lead men, to teach children, to fight for his family. He is not designed to be a servant to his base desires, nor to be a career pugilist, nor a doormat for the world to wipe its feet on. As I wrote in another post, he is a figure, who like God and state troopers, doesn't have to earn your respect. It is due him.

A Flexible Reading List

If you have noticed a common thread in the stack of books in the above illustration, you have got my drift. About five years and one month ago I picked up a copy of Edmond Morris's The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt in the lobby of a Houston, Texas Hotel. I knew virtually nothing of the 26th president. Morris opened my eyes. Roosevelt was a sickly rich kid who grew up to be a man of the world, a man's man, a man that was truly exceptional. I read the first book, hanging on every word, followed in short succession to Theodore Rex, chronicling Roosevelt's Presidential years. By this point I was enamored with Roosevelt and anxiously awaiting the release of third volume which I now have in my possession, Colonel Roosevelt.

Also in this stack is John Eldredge's The Way of the Wild Heart. I've read and been greatly influenced by his book Wild at Heart. This particular volume deals with the six stages of the masculine journey. It is fascinating to see these stages of men's lives carved out and explained. A boy needs to be the Beloved Son. He grows into the Cowboy and from there into the Warrior. As an adult, he becomes the Lover and progresses from there to the King. The last stage in the masculine journey is the Sage. Why is it important to know these things? Because as a father it is good to recognize where your son is at a given time. Becoming a man is not something that one can buy, not something that one can pass time and receive. Manhood is earned and it is bestowed by the company of other men. As an adult it is good to see where you may have been wounded on this journey. And best of all, it provides a way to restore what was lost, no matter what stage you are "supposed" to be in.

One of the books Eldredge cites with high frequency is Iron John, by Robert Bly. Bly is a scholar who is well versed in the genres of fairy tales and poetry. He analyzes the tale of "Iron John", a story where a "wild man" is found at the bottom of a pond, is captured, imprisoned, and released with the aid of a young man. He has researched the traditions of cultures throughout the world in the raising of boys into men. Western society has razed young men while the "primitive" cultures have young men who earn their manhood. It is a riveting account from a secular point of view that faults Western society and the Christian Church in the destruction of manliness as a virtue.

Also on the topic of gender roles are the two books on the bottom of the pile, The Daring Book for Girls and The Dangerous Book for Boys. These two books are full of history, activities, experiments, and advice- all geared for young men and women in the vein of cultural literacy and adventure. My impression of them so far is that they are a survival guide, in both a social and natural sense and a reference manual of great import for the elementary and middle school age child. I am anxious to see my kids explore these books.

I have made a pledge to read daily this year from Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest. This work is a daily devotional compiled from the devotionals Mr. Chambers delivered at the University where he worked. The devotionals are laden with meaning and well seasoned, if sometimes hard to swallow, bits of Biblical counsel. It is teaching me much in its daily application.

The only works of literature in the stack is the Elie Weisel Trilogy of Night, Dawn, and Day.

Night, the autobiographical account of Weisel, is his sickening tale his family being marched from the ghetto in Sighet, Romania, the separation of the men from the women (and the implied nearly immediate deaths of his mother and baby sister), the work and experiences of life in the camps, and his long road to liberation. I read this account to my sophomores to satisfy their non-fiction requirement. I hope they are as moved by it as I am. The two other works, Dawn and Day are works of fiction. Weisel says that to write about the philosophical and ethical issues brought up by the Holocaust lead one to write about the camps and he has already written Night... In Dawn he examines the role of the executioner. The executioner, who is a Holocaust survivor, is a part of a resistance movement in Israel who must execute a British soldier. It is a tale told in an abstract fashion and uses name allegory to make certain points. Clever, thought provoking, and sincere. Day takes the Holocaust survivor to post-war America and pits him once again in a struggle between life and death and uncertain future without the ability to trust people.

Not in the picture, but it should be is Abraham Joshua Heschel's The Sabbath. I've read the introduction (by Susannah Heshal) and the preface so far and can only describe the book in the terms that Heschel uses to describe the Sabbath, a sanctuary in time. Each sentence is pregnant with meaning and the hand of God. I've decided to read this book when I'm free of distraction so that it's counsel can be better absorbed.

I've got a lot of reading ahead of me. I feel sort of like I've enrolled in a 4000 level non-fiction course at the University- sans the pressure, plus the excitement of growth. Check out your local bookstore or Amazon if any of these intrigue you!

Metaphorically Speaking...

It is easy to talk about something in terms of a metaphor. It is sometimes difficult to give that metaphor real feet.

We often hear of the relationship with Christ and the church spoken of as a marriage. The Bible uses that very term to describe "supper-time in heaven." We are the bride of Christ, His reward when the Father says go get your bride.

Back to the metaphor part of this. If we are a "bride" how, pray tell, are we supposed to conduct our business? And, if this is the case, does this really apply to husband/wife relationships, too?

Paul, I agree, this is a profound mystery. When I look around to see people putting "feet to the Word," I see people who feel led to go to the (growing/trendy/spirit-filled/fill-in-the-blank) church across town. I see people who vote their pastor out on a whim. I see people who, when the preacher says something that offends them, they stop paying their tithes.

I see people who are treat their marriages the same way.

Is it any wonder that people attend the same church for about the same amount of time their marriage lasts? Some would say that the latter has a good deal to do with the former. I say that we (myself included) have a great deal of distance to go before we get to the point where we realize the full import of what Paul wrote in his letter to the Ephesians.

God is not going anywhere. We have to learn to deal with that. We have to learn to feel the weight of that statement. God doesn't divorce his bride. He doesn't contort and mangle Himself to draw his rebellious bride back to Him. He stands. We learn from him. We humble ourselves to admit our fault. We seek reconciliation and accept His terms.

Men are fallible. Your preacher is not perfect. Your husband is not perfect. But this no one can change: the responsibility for the congregation, and by extension, his family lies solely upon his shoulders. If he is in error, it is his fault and not yours. The church has methods in place to correct preachers who are in error and those methods apply to husbands as well. In other words, if what he is doing is not in line with The Book, there is an action plan to take.

"[A]nd his sheep follow [their shepherd] because they know his voice." (John 10:4)

The sheep don't select their shepherd. They don't rove about looking for a better shepherd, trying this one and that. They listen for his voice. They follow him to water, to food, to rest.

In doing so the shepherd is made happy. And he is even more delighted when one who was lost is found.

Like God, a man is a force to reckon with. He needs to stand. His weight needs to be felt by those around him. He doesn't need to be a bully. He needs to know what direction he is leading his family. He needs to make sure his family is safe and protected along the way so those who would hurt them will feel his weight in the most appropriate manner.

We have to learn to deal with this.

Too bad it wasn't God's idea.

My pastor tells the story of a famous minister

who had a great idea. The idea was revolutionary, highly effective, and not God's idea. Talk about taking the wind from your sails. God told him, "That is a great idea, too bad I didn't give it to you." Permission to proceed denied. Start over. Go back to the drawing board. Or, he might avoid the drawing board altogether and check with God as to what he should be doing. Now there's a novel idea.

Jesus said, "Seek me first." Gulp. What we humans typically do, as my pastor's wife pointed out, is dot all the "i's" and cross all of the "t's". Our inner narrative goes something like this:

"Ok, I want to make 6 figures so I need an MBA- preferably from a good school. Once I work my way into a good company, I'll need a trophy wife, to live in the right neighborhood, join the right church/country club/civic organization...."

And we will not once ask God where he wants us. We implore His intervention when the house of cards we have built comes crashing down. We are in the emergency room needing marriage counseling, financial help, and a real relationship with God. No doubt He will be there to help you, but His best is not the "miracle". His best for us is to listen to what he has been saying all along.

Yes, we should seek God when we have a choice to make. Think of all the marriages you know of that have failed. Might it be said that those couples entered into that contract ill-advised?

To quote Dr. Phil, "How's that working for you?"

God began to speak with me concerning a decision I had made (to be clear, He was speaking the whole time). I had taken action on what I thought I should be doing. As it turns out those actions were going over like the proverbial lead balloon. "Too bad it wasn't my idea," God said to me.

It never feels good to admit that you were wrong and this was no different. I had to admit to myself that I had not sought first the Kingdom, I had to admit that I had lost valuable ground and time in not going the direction God wanted me to go. Like a lost hiker, I had to retrace my steps and unearth the trail. I'm seeking what God wants as opposed to what I want.

To put the verse that I'm alluding to in context I quote Matt 6:25-34

^"25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? ²⁶ Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? ²⁷ Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life^{a]" style="font-size: 0.75em; line-height: 0.5em; ">[a]}?

²⁸ “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. ²⁹ Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. ³⁰ If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? ³¹ So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ ³² For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. ³³ But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

Jesus tells us that so long as our intent is to seek and do His will, our needs will be taken care of. I'll have what I need (more than enough, I'm sure) and I'll have nothing to worry about. If I have the faith that He's given me salvation, is it too much of a stretch to believe that He wants to guide me and in that guiding He will take care of me?

Not Safe

This video has been floating around on the internet for a while. If you've not seen it, well, now's your chance.

What was your first thought when you watched it? Mine was, "Damn, I wish that I was one of those guys!" I know. Stupid, huh. But then again, maybe not.

There is a lot to say about good shot placement when dealing with dangerous game. They are, afterall, dangerous. And that they are dangerous is reason enough for man to persue them. What is a deer going to do to you? I know that people have been killed by the docile Whitetail before, but I don't think that risk of being gored comes to the top of most deer hunter's list of reasons why they hunt.

Dangerous game must be hunted by a sufficiently powerful rifle and cartridge. It is usually hunted in fairly close quarters by hunters on foot. The margin of error for hunting dangerous game is fairly slim. You want to hit your mark. You want a guide or professional hunter with you to back you up if you miss. You don't want to be too close.

So, this crazy blogger says, "I wish that was me." Not shooting a lethal 1st shot? Not even a lethal 2nd shot? Yep. I have some crazy idea that having a wounded (i.e. extremely pissed off) lion charging me from less than 50 yards is fun. You might think suicidal. I think primal.

The truth of the matter is that I may never get to hunt dangerous African game. But also true is the fact that so many men are walking around as mere shadows of what they are meant to be. We are so much more than what we've become. This lion hunt is a metaphor for life. There are a few men out there taking on challenges, risking it all for the hope of a return, but the vast majority of men are shirking away from this. We wake by the alarm clock, report to the job and have someone tell us what to do for that day and return home. Day after day. Year after year.

What is my desire for this year? It is to come alive, to have some sort of lion come charging after me. As President Roosevelt said,

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

"When a Man is Needed"

And now for something completely different...

the Short Story now makes it's debut on the pages of my blog. Forgive any sophomoric tendencies of the author.

It was raining and a sad, dejected little boy sat down at the table to a breakfast he did not want to eat. He had been waiting for his father to return home from yet another business trip and the news from Mother this damp morning was that his father would not be home until Monday. A weekend wasted. All he wanted was to feel the stubble of his father's unshaven face scrape across his cheek as he embraced him and for he and Father to spend the day roughhousing together.

His father was not an exceptionally strong man, not exceptionally anything to speak of, but the boy indeed cherished every moment spent with his father. Father, equally disappointed, longed to be home with his family. He needed rest. He needed the beauty and comfort of his wife and the life that his son inspired in him. Too often he was away while his family arrived at new milestones. Last year, he missed his son's birthday so that his company might increase their bottom line. He was growing weary.

The morning dragged by and the child pondered Mother's offer: a jaunt into town for a matinee with dinner at his favorite youth centered restaurant. This prospect was not too desirable in the boy's eye, but better, he supposed, than watching the rain beat down upon a yard too sodden to play in. He conceded to Mother's offer and the two went off into the garage, keys jingling in Mother's hand.

As the pair drove down the country lane toward the town the boy thought of his hopes for this weekend. Of course he fancied it sunny and warm and in his dream he and Mother were in the back yard enjoying the Father's regal return to his throne. How appropriate the rain was. It was as if all heaven was weeping at the boy's misfortune.

The boy was now began to fight a feeling of anger, not towards his father, but at his absence. "Surely there were other boys whose father's were away sometimes," he thought. "Perhaps he likes to be away." The boy winced at that thought for he knew it to be a lie. Every time Father was away he came back hungry for time with his son and Mother. Bedtime was always extended with ample grace on those blessed evenings when his father returned home.

As the boy pondered this his mind wandered to Father's display of delight with Mother. He would lift her in his arms and spin her around the kitchen floor. There was, of course, the obligatory kiss and the lengthy embrace that accompanied it. He would then sit down at the table and patiently let her fill him in on all the preceding days' notables. The boy would lose his patience and crawl up in Father's lap just to be close to him. The scent of his father mingling with that morning's dose of cologne, the feel of the rough chin occasionally scraping across his youthful, tender forehead, and the firmness of Father's shoulders and chest are all things that the boy sensed. In addition to this his perception of time would go completely haywire. It would be as if he had only just crawled up into Father's lap when drowsiness would overtake him and he would fall asleep there supported gently by the man who loved him most.

He saw that Mother was as sad as he. She spent the better part of the morning in the same gloom that he was in. Mother dabbed at her eye with a handkerchief and on several occasions and looked into the mirror to regain her composure. She pulled her shoulders back, smiled, and, on at least two occasions, said, "Only two more days," to the reflection looking back at her in the mirror. In a moment of forced elation, she made her proposal to the boy in the hope that the trip into town would elevate their spirits, even if just a bit.

Mother's sad face belied her smile on a particular stretch of their journey and, as he noticed her sorrowful expression, it took the boy rather by surprise at his accompanying thought. He had always been sensitive to other people's emotions, but this time he felt compelled to act. Before he even realized the depth of his thought, he spoke to his mother.

"Mother," he boldly stated, "I don't want to go to the matinee." Before she could protest he continued, "Can we go to the University," he hesitated, "to the library?" He had often heard Mother and Father mention this place when they talked to each other in hushed tones.

Mother, a bit shocked at her son's question, paused for a slim moment before returning an answer. "What do we need to do at the University library?" she asked instead of the more obvious questions that passed into her mind.

The boy, not quite sure what to say, once again referred to those hushed words Father spoke to Mother. "To get to know each other?" he asked more than stated. He was now in new territory. His mother, sensing something out of the ordinary, did not seek to retire the boy's subject. "I just want to be somewhere that makes you think of Father," he said finally.

Her eyes moistened once again, though this time for an altogether different reason. She guided the car onto the street that led them to the University. There was no difficulty in finding a parking space this drizzly Saturday afternoon. Before the car had stopped completely the boy had unfastened his seat belt and was racing around the car to open Mother's door. He had seen his father do this all of his life. The smile on his mother's face told him why. Mother was quickly in sync with her son. Delight spread across her face, washing away all of the disappointment and gloom in an instant.

They folded their hands together and directed themselves to the path that led to the library. By the time they arrived at the grand doors they were practically skipping! Mother smiled as she took her son to the fiction study nooks- the very place she and Father met not all that long ago. She explained a few details of her attraction to the boy's father and the boy, who was bursting with excitement reached up to Mother's hands. He knew no dance steps, but did his best to improvise Father's routine there on the carpet of the University's library.

These two went on to enjoy a splendid afternoon together. The boy, aware that something inside of him had changed, was enjoying the charm he had on his mother, yet he missed his father all the more. The smile on his face never revealed it, though. He took Mother on a date. They danced in the library, they went to eat at a grownups' restaurant, and had hot tea (with lots of honey and milk) together afterward. The sun was very low in the sky when they made their way back home. Both were beginning to feel that familiar loneliness of Father's absence.

It was nearly dark by the time their car settled in their drive. Mother noticed that several lights were on in the house. "Son," she said, "why are all of those lights on? Didn't we turn everything off when we left?" The boy was sure they had and bravely suggested that they call on the neighbor to open the house with them. But before Mother could get the car into reverse the front door opened. The cause of the door's action stepped into the faint light. Excitement burst through the air as Mother and child exited the car each racing to Father.

By: Moshe E. Weisman