Loud Loft

Once a month

So I'm at the orthopedic hand surgeon getting the stitches out. I was diagnosed with Dupuytren's Contracture (Click HERE to find out what that is) and had surgery a little over a week ago. When we took the wrapping and bandage off I was really surprised at out dry and flakey the skin was around the incision. Dr. Driggs said that was because the skin cells hadn't really had a good chance to be sloughed off doing all the normal (and sometimes not so normal) things we do with our hands.

It seems that our entire inventory of skin cells are replaced each month. Skin cells form, live their life and then are rubbed off on contact with the things we come into uh, intimate closeness. That happens pretty much without our knowledge or with any other specific effort on our part.

That means each month there is an entire other me floating around out there - nice.

I guess the alternative would be something like what a snake goes thru twice a year. When a snake molts it sheds its entire skin all at once. Wouldn't that be interesting :)

"Hi - could I see Mr Smith? No I'm sorry, he's molting right now and he's just a bit sensitive. Would you mind coming back next week?"

I think I'm going to go with the why God designed us - I just don't need that much drama in my life.

BTW - if you want to see the pics of hand, click HERE

If you woke up tomorrow . . .

So I’m flying home from Las Vegas on a Boeing 777. The flight was delayed about ninety minutes due to an equipment malfunction somewhere down the line. This meant we would be arriving in Dallas on the heels of a nasty line of storms that was blowing thru.

Now, I’ve flown enough to have experienced some pretty rough flights. I mean really, I’ve flown in tiny and not so tiny planes in and out of muddy dirt airstrips in Africa. I’ve crossed the Nile River at 10,000 feet and had to dodge huge storm clouds to make our way.

But this one was different - very different.

All was well except for the last twenty minutes or so of the flight, when the pilot came on and said for everybody to sit down and buckle up . . . even the flight attendants. The Economy section of a 777 is set up in three sets of seats across. The two outside sections consist of two seats - a window and an aisle. The center section is five seats across. I’m sitting two seats in from the aisle in the center section so I can’t see a thing except the back of the seat in front of me.

The plane hits a little rough air . . . and then it starts to get bumpy, real bumpy. It’s not just up and down but sideways too. This goes on for a while and I start to get sick to my stomach and my head starts to pound. I’m usually not too bad with things like this but for some reason it’s really knocking me for a loop.

Here’s the kicker.

I did something that I don’t think I’ve ever done before. I said to God. “If I die please take care of Lisa . . .”

That certainly ratchets the seriousness of the moment up a few notches doesn’t it?

I was very calm while all this was going on and after quite a few more minutes of this shaking and rocking - we landed. The Captain came on to make his usual announcements but pretty much all he said was “well that was interesting”

A couple of weeks ago at church Barry Jones was talking about the classic fear inducing question used by well intentioned Christians of “If you died tonight, where would you spend eternity?” This question is designed to cause someone to follow Jesus Christ out of fear of being eternally separated from our Lord.

While that’s a valid question to ask - it’s really a very unsuitable question for many reasons - the first being the fact that most people “aren’t” going to die tonight. In fact, most people are going to not die tonight about 29,000 nights in a row. Statistically, it’s just the wrong question to ask.

A much better question to ask, as Barry pointed out is “what if you don’t die tonight?”

The implication is what are you doing with your life, in your life, in the lives of others that honor God during all of those 29,000 days that come after the 29,000 nights that you didn’t die?

As I bounced around with my seat belt snugged up tight around my waist I did think of Lisa and prayed for her to be safe and provided for. Of course with all of the insurance money and her beauty/attractiveness/sweet personality and whatnot she won't have any trouble getting “help”.

So my thoughts were less about if I died (I’m covered both ways there) but more about if I lived . . .

We are not promised tomorrow even though most of us still consider it a sure thing So I challenge you, dear reader, to consider what you are doing with the days you do have. Don’t worry about the days you won’t have - you can’t do anything about those.

It’s the days we do have . . . and what we fill them with that should worry us.

Close Your Pie Hole zones

From a post on Wired Magazines RSS feed . . .

Taking a cue from France's national railway, which offers phone-free "zen zones" on high-speed trains, Graz, Austria's second-largest city this week began ordering public transit commuters to keep their phones on silent mode.

The crackdown in the southern city of Graz has triggered a noisy debate between advocates of free speech and people who say they're simply fed up with having to listen to annoying ring tones and intrusive cell phone chatter.

Josef Kalina, a senior official with Austria's governing Social Democratic Party, dismissed the Graz ring tone ban as "a completely anachronistic idea."

"You really have to wonder what the politicians will think of next," he said. "How about a total ban on freedom of speech in the public transit system? Using the law to regulate communication between human beings should be rejected as absurd."

Josef, I have to ask why the hell not? I would be delighted if there were huge SHUT YOUR #$%&* PIE HOLE zones in public places.

Your freedom of speech ends at my ears. Just like your right to keep your emotionally damaged dog who barks at it’s shadow, ends when I go to bed and I can’t sleep thru the yapping.

I’ve gotten up in the middle of the night and walked across the park behind our house to identify the source of the neurotic animal . . . and then called the police to come and bang on their door to tell the residents (I won’t honor them by calling them homeowners or even neighbors) to bring their animal inside.

That these people are some how blissfully unaware of the noise pollution outside their window tells me that they are either passed out from the drugs and booze or dead (I’m actually leaning toward hoping for dead at that point).

Your right to pollute the environment with your Kenny Chesney ring tones, your complaints to your spouse and your self important blathering about whatever stupid little thought that your few remaining brain cells can collectively muster does not overrule my right to not hear your inane pontifications. It's not that I don't care that your last deal with your customer tanked. Well, actually it is that I don't care that your last deal went in the crapper and you're outraged.

I'm outraged that I have to listen and even more outraged that I have to restrain myself from walking over and slapping that #$%^*& bluetooth earpiece off your head.

This is more evidence of the decay of civilized interaction between humans. Of course my less than gracious attitude towards these morons might play into the decay as well - but hey, they started it :)

But seriously folks - all this just serves to validate that our culture is focused on the deification of self. Who would have thought it would be the Austrians to take the lead on kicking that movement in the head. More power to them . . .

Well as long as they don't get out of hand like last time.

Just checking in . . .

It's been far too long since my last post - but hey, I've been busy. The new job at Irving Bible Church, the old job at TWL redefined and there's still the need to keep up with Lisa's business, FIT by Design - and then there's trying to find some time for Lisa and I to have this thing we call "marriage"

All that to say that I could never have imagined that being 50 years old would be so freakin' much fun. Really, who knew? I sure as hell didn't. I've never really thought about growing old - or the past that much either. I've always had enough to handle with the present - and the present is a fine place to be.

The present is also where God wants us to be. Seriously, what can we do about the future? We can plan and we can prepare but when it comes right down to it - tomorrow is not promised. It's what we do today that matters.

It may seem strange then for me to confess that I love to plan but what all that planning does is give me something to build on when the present comes and I have to make a choice about what to do RIGHT NOW.

It's taken a while but I've come to trust my gut, my instincts and my sense of what seems right. It may not always be the absolute best thing - but rarely is it the absolute worst thing either. More often than not it's actually not too bad and every know and then it's bloody brilliant.

It gives me the confidence to go into a situation and now that what ever I do is going to be ok - and the humility to know that even when I do make a less than stellar decision (and that still happens far more often than I wish) I can learn from that and make a better choice the next time.

One of the key traits of test pilots is that now matter how much smoke is in the cockpit, no matter how much hydraulic fluid they are loosing or how fast the earth is spinning beneath them . . . they keep flying the plane.

I'm no test pilot but it's important to remember that no matter how many "jobs" you have or how hectic life is or how hard it is to find time to be alone with your bride - it's important to keep the flying the plane and know that part of having the "right stuff" is staying in the "right now".

Happy landings . . .

Guilty as charged . . .

There’s this thing I do that drives Lisa to want to commit a violent crime. If I ever end up missing under mysterious circumstances check for any recently poured concrete pads in the back yard - that’s were I will be.

See, I have a compulsion that I try to keep under control. Medication can’t help it. Therapy can’t fix it. Self-help books do no good. I didn’t even know what to call it till just a few days ago. I knew that I did it and that it drove Lisa crazy and that I can recognize when I do it in front of others by the glazed look in their eyes.

So, I’m listening to a This American Life podcast (click HERE to go to the site) and for the first time ever I hear my malady explained. Here’s what happened.

There is an annual competition at MIT called the MIT Mystery Hunt and as part of the podcast the host, Ira Glass, interviews one of the competitors. But it wasn't’ the guy talking about the competition that solved my own personal puzzle, it was him talking about how he discovered his own malady and in the process he solved my mystery.

It seems that this guy’s day job is writing greeting cards for Hallmark. He had recently been transferred from the humor department to the serious department (how would you like that on your business card) and his supervisor called him in one day to reprimand him. There had been multiple complaints made that he used too many obscure references in his conversations with his co-workers and it made them uncomfortable.

Yes, that’s a bit weird and the Supervisor acknowledged that it was odd but he had to follow thru on the complaint. So the guy started keeping a record of things he said so that he could try and solve this puzzle . . . since that was his hobby.

But, a few days later, the guy was having lunch with some of his former coworkers from the humor group and the point was made that “all though we write a lot of jokes about monkeys the drawings on the cards are always of chimps”. The guy went off on a long explanation of the differences between monkeys and chimps and how they are often confused and listed all the ways that you can tell the difference and also gave a list of the animals that are not thought of as chimps but are really part of the chimp family.

When he finished - one of his buddies said “here - let me draw you a picture of the rat’s ass that I don’t give”.

Immediately the guy had an epiphany. He now knew what his co-workers over in serious had complained about. He also finally knew what it was that he did that annoyed some (but not any of his friends on the puzzle solving team) of his other friends.

He said “now I get it. I educate people against their will”.

When I told Lisa about this you would have thought she had won the lottery and discovered a cure for cancer all at the same time.

“Yes! Yes! That’s it! That’s what you do that drives me crazy!” This went on for awhile until she was able to gain her composure. I sat quietly at the kitchen table with my pie hole firmly shut. I learned quite a few years ago of my habit of educating someone against their will (especially Lisa) and when I do recognize it I really do try to change the subject and shut up. I’m not always successful but I’m more so now than I’ve ever been.

Seriously, this is one of the things that really contributed to our problems and is one of the things that I really did struggle with. It’s not that I’m overly egotistical (well, yeah a little) it’s more that I want you to know this cool thing that I’ve found out.

So - there it is. My name is Bill and I struggle with educating people against their will - and the crowd said “Hi Bill . . . keep it to yourself”

Been busy . . .

Wow - I was just looking at the sidebars to the site and it certainly looks like I didn't listen to much music in 2007 or even read any interesting books in 2007 at all.

That's about right it seems. Life, work and whatnot pretty much got in the way of disposable time. Not that listening to music or reading is disposable or anything like that. It's just that with Lisa's business, my business, my side business and my changing business - I was too busy for any other business.

That's a freakin' shame too.

Lisa and I watched "Across The Universe" on Valentine's day (actually we started it - then got too sleepy and finished it on Friday). It was startling to revisit the lyrics and words of that era's Beatle tunes. I was pretty hard core back then for the Beatles and the Who. There for awhile I listened to the second side of Abbey Road each night when I lay down to go to sleep. In those days I would clamp on a big pair of Koss headphones and slip thru sleep's dark and silent gate to all kinds of music.

I think there must of been something about the imprint it made on my subconscious as I attained the state of slumberdom. I'm not an especially musically gifted person in any way - but those songs seem like part of my DNA.

I found myself moved to tears on more than one occasion as I watched and listened to music and words of the Beatles folded into the drama of the film . . .

These few days later I find myself running the tune or the words of different songs thru my head as I go about my business.

On one of the extra features on the DVD, the musical director spoke about systematically eliminating portions of the mix of different songs because there are so many instances of "ghost memories" that our brain automatically fills in the missing parts because they are so ingrained in our memory.

One of the examples was the song Blackbird from the White Album. Fully two thirds of the accompaniment was simply not there - yet it seemed that nothing was missing. In fact it seemed even more poignant somehow.

There's probably a grand theological/psychological/cultural/ statement to make here - but what does it matter when the music is that good? Just let it be . . .

A Baptist, a Presbyterian and a [fill in the blank] go into a bar . . .

So, I'm visiting my mother-in-law with my wife. She's turning 80 years old this week (my mother-in-law, not my wife) and all four of her children have come to town the weekend before the big event to celebrate the 80th anniversary of her arrival to this world.

It's a good time with lots of food, cake and whatnot.

Our flight back to Dallas doesn't leave till Sunday afternoon and it's customary when visiting my mother-in-law to go to church on Sunday morning. Now, the church she goes to is the same Southern Baptist church that we attended when Lisa and I still lived in Chattanooga. It's a big one with huge columns out front and a grand steeple with a carillon that rings on the hour. It's a beautiful church with a wonderful congregation and lots of very devoted followers of Christ . . . but it's not really our cup of tea. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it all - it's just a matter of style really.

The church that Craig, (my brother-in-law and Lisa's brother) attends is a Presbyterian church that is equally not our cup of tea stylistically - but, since we've never visited with him, Lisa and I decide that this will be the time. The sanctuary is new but it's classic in style. The layout is the traditional cathedral style in the form of a cross . . . with very high ceilings and wooden beams replacing the ancient stone flying buttress supporting the roof from the inside.

The ministers wear robes and the service is quite formal in nature - even more so than the traditional Southern Baptist at the other place and both are way different on so many levels than the place we worship, Irving Bible Church.

Never the less, we dress up a bit (for IBC - it would be very dressed up) and head over to the Presbyterian Church. We find Craig and take our place in the pew. Let me be very clear, I do not attend Church to be entertained. I do not attend Church to make me feel better about my life. I do not attend Church because I think that God will not love me (or love me less) if I don't.

I attend Church to worship the risen Savior (in as many ways as possible), honor God, be challenged and to learn something I didn't know before.

When I find myself in a church that isn't my cup of tea because of the format, the songs, the setting or the style, I always consider how God sees that church. How does He hear their voice? How does He see their worship?

When the congregation at this Presbyterian Church responds in unison to a preprinted prayer that is read from the handout - what He hears is not a dry, by the numbers utterance of a dead congregation, He hears 500 voices in unison offering praise and worship. To Him it probably looks like a tiny flash of light amongst the millions points of light under His dominion.

I have this vision of God hearing each congregation, each voice amongst the cacophony of voices. As the sunrise moves around the world each Sunday He hears the wave of voices rolling across the face of the earth as believers gather to sing praises and worship.

How arrogant to think less of a group of believers because they sing different, have a different order of worship or have a different format than I? How disrespectful of God's creativity to think that "my" way is best? How narrow minded to dismiss a body of believers who have gathered to honor God with their time, their resources and their talent?

Dear reader - if you do attend a church regularly, do yourself a favor. Find a church that you would probably never give a thought to . . . and give it a whirl - especially if it's a denomination different than they one you are currently attending.

Go and listen to what's said. Go and listen to what is sung. Go and listen to how praise is offered. Try and listen as you would imagine God listening. Set aside what you've become accustomed too. There is a vast world out their beyond the walls and hedges you've built around your little enclave.

God is the author of diversity and creativity - don't deny yourself the joy of experiencing all of His creation. If it was good enough for Him to create it - it's good enough for you to embrace it.

The Purpose Driven . . .

It is customary at the IBC All Staff meeting that any new hires have to either perform a stupid human trick or tell an embarrassing story about themselves. All of my stupid human tricks involve taking off my pants . . . and I anything that would normally be considered embarrassing I hold dear as some of my most proudest moments.

So - I told the following story on myself. No names have been changed to protect the innocent - as no one could be called innocent in this little tale. However it all happened exactly as described . . . except for the parts that didn't :)

December 1975. It was the end of the first semester of my Freshman year at college. Unlike most Freshmen I had declared that my major was to be Mass Communication, Radio and TV/Film Production. Still, even at the tender age of 18 I knew that there was a difference between being "sure" and being "right".

As I mentioned, it was the end of the semester and it was that time called Final Exam week. It's a time of stress, anxiety, late nights at the Library, studying, binge drinking, studying, stress, more binge drinking and so on . . .

When we heard of a party at a friends apartment off campus, my buds and hopped into my 1975 VW Rabbit and made our way there. The friend lived on the third floor of an apartment complex of several small buildings, connected by breezeways with stair cases. We made our way up the three flights of stairs and joined the party.

After a few short hours of . . . de-stressing, I began to feel a little bit queasy in my stomach. Being the good guest, I informed my host that I was going to take it outside. Being the good host, he announced to the crowd my intentions . . . and they all decided to join me.

I took my spot at the rail . . . and after a few short minutes I experienced what is known as a "complete and total evacuation of the contents of my stomach" . . . from three floors up.

When we looked down we saw a work of art comparable to a Jackson Pollack painting. The colors. The texture. The patterns. It was a sight to behold. After a few moments of beholding - I felt better so we all went back inside and picked up were we left off.

Not surprisingly - after a little while, I began to feel the artistic inspiration bubbling up inside me. I informed the host. He informed the other guests. We made our way back outside and I took my spot at the rail. As we waited for my muse to make her visit once again, we looked down to find that I had attracted yet another patron of my art.

A very large, very white German Shepherd dog had come to inspect this new addition to the complex.

We felt the need to alert the dog so we called out "dog, dog . . . dog, dog" and as the dog heard our call and turned his gaze upward . . . well, At this point timing becomes everything, and once the launch sequence had begun - the missiles could not be called back and my most recent inspired work hit him square in the face.

The dog yelped loudly and ran off.

Now - at this point the collective cognitive processing capability of the masses gathered there on the third floor breezeway was comparable to that of a slower than average four or five year old boy. But, as we put two and two together and connected the dots, we recalled that Dan, the surly, belligerent, prone to violence, former member of the Aryan Nation, Apartment Manager . . . owned a white German Shepherd.

Like cockroaches in a filthy kitchen in the middle of the night when the lights are switched on . . . we scattered.

From that point on in my college career I was known as "Bill the guy who threw up on Dan's dog" and eventually the story took on the mythic proportions of an urban legend. We even began to mark time as BV or AV . . . in fact if you go to snopes.com and enter "vomit" and "white german shepherd" . . . this story comes up.

But here's the rest of the story.

As I mentioned, it was final exam week and I had one more exam to take . . . the next morning at 8:00 AM and it was for "Introduction to Mass Communications". A class taught by the Chairman of the department to hundreds of students in a large auditorium. This was the prerequisite class for all my future studies. The linchpin, the foundation, the cornerstone if you will. Failing it would not be an option.

I woke up at 9:00 AM shocked to find that I was not hung over at all . . . the reason I was not hung over is because I was still drunk and had not yet passed over into the stage of hung overness-dum-ness. The exam was scheduled for 8:00 to 10:00 so I still had a chance. I made my way to the auditorium, arriving around 9:30 to find the chairman and only about a dozen of the slower students still in the room.

I took the 100 question, multiple choice "question sheet" and the scantron card with 50 lines on one side and 50 lines on the other sides, I found a seat and began.

1 - A, 2 - C, 3 - E, I was going thru this thing like a hot knife thru butter. I was experiencing total recall of every question. I. Was. On. Fire.

As I finished question 50, I stopped to take a breather. As I started to turn the answer card over and begin the last 50 questions, I noticed to my dismay that there where no entries below line 12 and that practically all the answer blocks on the first 12 lines were filled in . . . some more than once.

"This will end poorly" I thought to myself as I grabbed the eraser and scrubbed off all my answers . . . . under the gaze of the chairman as it was now 9:45 and we were the only ones left in the huge theatre.

I mustered all my powers of concentration and began again. 1 - 1A, 2 - 2C, 3 - 3E, and so on. I finished just as the chairman called time and snatched the paperwork from my hand.

Sometime later the exam grades and the semester grades were posted. I don't recall how much later as I refer to the next period of time as the first lost 12 hours of my college term. I eventually made my way to the hallway where they were posted, I found my social security number, followed the line across . . . exam grade, 98 . . . semester grade A+.

God had validated my choice of major and I heard his voice then as clearly as you can see the letters on this screen . . . "if you're this good at it drunk . . . just think how good you'll be sober".

I was now more than "sure" about my chosen field. I was certain.

Epilogue: I graduated four years later with honors and have been successfully involved in the field of Mass Communication my entire adult life. About ten years later I self published a book that I thought would revolutionize the process of identifying the pathway for your life's work, but for some reason it never took off. Even more years later the concept was stolen from me. The plagiarist tweaked it just enough so that I couldn't sue for copyright infringement and I won't do him the service of mentioning the title of his book.

The title of my book? "The Purpose Driven Drunk". . . .

All right! Two fell!

There’s a Gary Larson cartoon that Lisa and I often quote.It’s a single panel cartoon of two snakes standing in front of a vending machine. The snakes are “standing” in the sense that they are raised up the way you see cobra’s just before they strike. The vending machine is one  of those with a glass front showing all the candy bars and chips in little cubicles arranged on shelves

After you drop your money in the slot and enter the “address” of the specific treat that you want (something like E3 for instance) - I spiral coil turns one revolution and the item falls to the bottom. You then reach thru a little panel and get your candy bar.

It’s an efficient way to sell candy bars and whatnot . . . and provide a little floor show as you watch the coil spin, the item slips forward and then drops into the tray at the bottom. Not only is the snack satisfying -  the whole process is entertaining with a touch of trepidation in that you hope that your chosen snack will not get hung up on the edge of the shelf and your sugar jones will go unrequited . . . or best case the machine screws up and you get a double drop of your chosen snack

So the snakes are standing in front of a vending machine that dispenses dead rats and they are looking at each other with glee in the eyes and the caption is . . .

“All right! Two fell!”

Lisa and I have been using that phrase for years whenever we get a double blessing or an unexpected blessing.

Starting today, January first of 2008, I now have two jobs. One is my old job redefined. I’ve worked at TWL for a little over eighteen years in various roles and my title now is VP of Operations. It’s a very good job with a great boss and some wonderful people working for me - and some wonderful peers that I work with too.

The other job is my new one at IBC (Irving Bible Church). The official title is Communications Director (or maybe Director of Communications - I don’t really know) but the real title is Storyteller . . .

Ever since I was in High School I’ve wanted to tell stories. I started out telling stories with photographs. When I got to college I added sound and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since. I’ve always enjoyed writing and when I discovered blogs I’ve used it to continue the process. When folks ask why I got into this business I tell them that "I wanted to tell stories with pictures and sound." Maybe it's not the most eloquent way to say it - but it's accurate and concise - and I'm not always know for being concise :)

For the last three or four years I’ve been working with IBC to help tell their story and it seems that it’s now become a full time job. I will still continue with TWL but with a few changes. In a lot of ways it’s just a flip flop of time spent. Instead of the major consumer of my time being TWL and the minor consumer being IBC - those roles are reversed now.

There’s been a bit of skepticism of how this will work out. I’ve reorganized the groups that report to me at TWL and reassigned a couple of groups to other folks. I’ve also taken a substantial pay cut at TWL to reflect the fact that I will spend far less time in the office. I’ve been very clear at every step along the way with IBC that I plan on continuing a work relationship (with less obligation and fewer commitments) with TWL . . . if they would have me.

In this age of instant communication via smart-phones, text messaging, call forwarding and whatnot - I’m not real concerned about loosing touch with either group.

I’m also not real clear on this concept of a 40 hour work week. It’s my upbringing I suppose. My Dad worked in the pipeline construction business his entire adult life and 80+ hour work weeks were the norm until the job was done.

I see Lisa, a small business owner, working before she goes in, after she comes home and on the weekends. The “allure” of having your own business fades quickly when you realize that you “are” the business and it will not get done unless you do it - or ask your loving, patient spouse to do it :)

We do have our R&R and without it . . . well, it’s not a pretty sight. There is a balance to our work lives, emotional lives and spiritual lives. It’s not the most common way of balancing those three but we actually do a pretty decent job. Not having kids (or grandkids) comes into play too. I hear they really take up a lot of your time :)

So I get to continue my work at TWL as it moves forward into it’s new year AND explore what my new job holds for me at IBC. It will be a challenge to make it all work out but I’m confident it will. There’s lots of unkowns . . . but when isn’t there? I do know that God will be with me however it goes and I’m looking forward to this next chapter in my life.

BTW, the “short” job description of what I will be doing at IBC goes something like this. "I don’t have to change the world - just tell the story of those who are."

The caption on the carton says it best about how I feel  . . .“All right! Two fell!”

Do the math

Lisa and I will be celebrating the sixth anniversary of our second wedding ceremony next month on December 29th. I always get a kick out of introducing Lisa as my first wife, my ex-wife and my second wife

I was just thinking of numbers and decided to jot them down.

We’ve known each other since either August 12th or 19th of 1974. We started dating on December 15th of 1975 and we married four years later on December 15th of 1979.

We separated in February of 1997 and we were divorced on April 15th of 1998.

So that comes to about one year and four months of just being friends, four years of dating, seventeen years of marriage, one year and two months of separation, three years, eight months and fourteen days of divorce . . . and coming up on six years of marriage the second time around in just a little over a month

Add all that up and it makes thirty three years and four months that we’ve known each other.

She still amazes me with her beauty, her charm and her laugh. Each day she becomes even more precious to me. I’m constantly learning new things about this woman that I’ve known for over thirty three years.

Mostly that’s because she’s allowing God to change her life every day.

I’m a very lucky man . . .