Dale's Car

There was once a man named Dale who lived up Rist Canyon and drove down the canyon into town every now and then. He had a beautiful wife and he truly knew what it meant to love. He collected train sets and she collected Hummel dolls. Their home was not only up the canyon, it was up a steep and rocky hill that was treacherous in the winter. For this reason Dale owned two Scouts and a plow, making it possible for him to clear his way down the hill after snow storms. Dale's wife was a quilter and enjoyed her home in the trees, quilting her days away and loving her husband. This couple knew their home and surrounding so well that even the birds would rest on their hands for a cracker or piece of bread.

Every time Dale drove into town he'd pass the little white "Church of Christ, Welcome" sign in the town of Bellvue. He was always interested, but never stopped.

After Dale's wife died, he was lonely. One day he did stop at the Church of Christ welcome sign and the rest is history. My mom likes to say that God sent us an angel.

Dale was a worker and an encourager. The more we learned about him, the more there was to learn. He grew up in Amish country and preferred a rather plain lifestyle. We were invited to his home where we saw his train tracks and trains that decorated his attic. He showed us his wife's Hummel dolls and the quilts she had lovingly sewn, all with her initials and a date in the corner. He never once spoke of her without a tender love and respect in his voice.

Dale showed us how the birds up Rist Canyon had come to trust him, and how they'd perch on his hand for a snack. He had rigged his house with all kinds of interesting contraptions to open doors and such, you just never knew what you were going to find.

When I needed case study clients for my herbal course, Dale gladly volunteered. He was interested in everything I had to say about natural health. He admitted his love for chocolate, rather shame-faced. Much to his surprise, I returned his case study with information about the health benefits of dark chocolate for older men. He was happy.

Dale provided us with so many books and so much information and supported us completely in our home schooling vision. He became a source of great knowledge and always had something wise to say about everything. When he found out my sister was in the "jewel business", he gave her his wife's collection of gem and rock books.

I remember one of the first times Dale came to worship with us I noticed his cute little red car. It had a personality all its own and I loved it! Whenever I saw that car, I immediately thought of Dale and his simple- and yet rich- lifestyle. The little car was a 1985 Ford Tempo that he had bought new. Perhaps one of the most interesting characteristics about this car was the passenger side mirror, which was fastened to the hood. That was just one of several "upgrades" Dale had installed on the car, as I would soon find out. Because little did I know, that little car was soon to be mine.

It was a sad day when Dale told us he'd be moving out of state to live with his kids. We knew Dale was old, but we didn't see him that way. We had a hard time picturing him anywhere but up that rocky hill in Rist Canyon. We had a hard time picturing our congregation without him. But he knew it would be safer for him to live with someone who could help care for him as he aged.

God really did send us an angel. All Dale ever did was give and love. Even when he joined my family for holiday meals, he showed up with gifts in hand. He was always at least half an hour early, and we were honored that he so enjoyed our company. I know that he blessed my family and I know that he anonymously blessed others who will probably never know, until heaven, who it was that gave them such needed gifts. I also know that I am a better person because I have been able to know him, and I hope I can be like him.

When Dale said his car was for sale, it was a given. There was no way I WASN'T buying that car. I bought it knowing I'd have the memory of him driving it every time I looked in the mirror that was fastened to the hood. And wow, did that mirror get attention. I think I got more questions and interest in that car than anyone driving the newest, shiniest vehicle.

"Is that a...mirror on your hood?"

"What's that there on your hood?"

I would always answer, explaining that my sweet friend Dale made it easy for me. All I had to do was glance at the hood instead of actually turning my head. Saved my neck some work.

We also found that Dale had welded pieces of metal to the screws in the license plate for un-screwing ease. Saved my fingers some work.

That car came loaded with a mini air compressor, snow scraper, jumper cables, tools, a spotlight, chains, tow ropes, and every 1985 Ford Tempo book ever written... I was always prepared for whatever might come, thanks to Dale's preparation.

Even through selling his car to me, Dale found a way to bless me even more. He sold me the car at very little cost, saying that I had helped him several times with herb consultations at no cost. The truth is that he had helped ME by allowing me to gain experience and credit in my herbal studies, as someone very new to consulting as an Herbalist. But there was no convincing him to take more than the price he had decided on, and I was very blessed. That car was an answer to prayers, and I know that Dale allowed himself to be an answer to prayer by blessing me the way he did. God DOES answer prayers, even those that may seem insignificant. And I have learned, Dale being one of my main examples, that God chooses to use those who serve Him to bless others. I experienced this in a big way.

That little car never broke down. In three years I never had to put any major money into a car that is 6 years older than me. The paint and interior were as close to perfect as most people have seen in a car that old. It was fun to drive- I felt powerful driving my stick in a world of automatics. It definitely had personality and I was recognizable, driving my little red classic with the bumper stickers and funny mirror.

I sold it today and looking back, I know why I shed a few tears. Not only was it my hard earned first car. It had personality and a history. And I will always be thankful to my friend Dale who set me up with such a fantastic vehicle for 3 years. Ultimately setting me up to save the money I did (can you say almost 40 mpg?) to be able to buy the new car to help me prepare for the next big step in my life

Family Heritage

On July 4th I was given my soon-to-be-husband's great grandmother's ring along with a marriage proposal. After saying "yes", I had time to admire my beautiful ring. As a family heirloom, it represents the history of a family I will soon be a part of. I could not be more honored. The more I think about it, the more precious it becomes to me because it is a piece of their heritage, given to me as I prepare to join their family. This beautiful ring was taken care of and treasured and is now mine to treasure for future generations.

As I thought about an heirloom ring and its significance to a family, I began thinking about the heritage I want my family to have. I believe God always meant for His people to think about generations to come. Human beings can become so "me" focused and live so much for the moment with little thought about the future of their family. We can also become so zealous for evangelism that we forget to think about the spiritual heritage of our own families. What heritage do I want to leave for my children and their children's children? There is no greater treasure than that which God's people will receive as their reward in Heaven. And as I think about my family and the family I will soon be part of, I want nothing more than to insure that treasure for my children and generations to come. I seek multi-generational faithfulness.

Ps 71:17-18 O God, You have taught me from my youth and I still declare Your wondrous deeds. And even when I am old and gray, O God, do not forsake me until I declare Your strength to this generation, Your power to all who are to come.

This passage of Psalm 17 really sums up what I'm trying to say. Here is someone who was taught from his youth and still faithfully praises God. The declaration that even when he is old and gray he will declare God's strength and power to "this generation" and "to all who are to come" truly encourages me. This is a picture of multi-generational faithfulness to the glory of God.

In Paul's letters to Timothy we also see a picture of generational faithfulness. Timothy's grandmother and mother taught him to love God, and we see very clearly that they were successful in their desire to raise a faithful follower of Christ.

Ps 78:1-7 Listen, O my people, to my instruction; incline your ears to the words of my mouth. I will open my mouth in a parable; I will utter dark sayings of old, which we have heard and known and our fathers have told us. We will not conceal them from their children, but tell to the generation to come the praises of the LORD, and His strength and His wondrous works that He has done. For He established a testimony in Jacob And appointed a law in Israel, which He commanded our fathers that they should teach them to their children, that the generation to come might know, even the children yet to be born, that they may arise and tell them to their children, that they should put their confidence in God and not forget the works of God, but keep His commandments.

Deut 4:9-10 "Only give heed to yourself and keep your soul diligently, so that you do not forget the things which your eyes have seen and they do not depart from your heart all the days of your life; but make them known to your sons and your grandsons. Remember the day you stood before the LORD your God at Horeb, when the LORD said to me, 'Assemble the people to Me, that I may let them hear My words so they may learn to fear Me all the days they live on the earth, and that they may teach their children.'"

God has always had a heart for the future generations of his people. His desire is for His people to love Him enough that they actively seek ways of insuring the faithfulness of their families until Christ returns. Salvation is a treasure above any other treasure. We have it. It is our responsibility to do everything in our power to safe guard it for future generations, just as my fiance's family took great care with his great grandmother's ring. It is our job to shift our focus from the treasures of this world to the treasures found in obedience to God and His Word. May we, as His people, seek what He seeks for our families- faithfulness for generations to come.

A Plentiful Harvest

Gal 6:9 Let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we will reap if we do not grow weary.

It is a time of great harvest in Bellvue, Colorado right now. The garden behind my house and the Pleasant Valley church building is full of yellow squash, cucumbers, yellow squash, zucchini, okra, yellow squash, green beans, pumpkins, and tomatoes. But especially yellow squash. Every morning we walk out to the garden and pick from the bounty, and by the time we return to the garden in the afternoon there is even more to pick. We make stir fry and salad and zucchini bread and squash casserole and more squash casserole. We share with the church and friends in the community. And what's left gets placed on the picnic table at the church building with a sign practically begging passers-by to help themselves. The garden is a fun and practical way to build up our community, and to bless ourselves and others with the fruit of the earth.

As we collect basket after basket of garden goods, we're thankful. When we taste the first fried okra of the summer, or pull the first loaf of chocolate chip zucchini bread out of the oven, we barely remember the work that went into it. When the community garden share coordinator is amazed at the amount of yellow squash we bring in, we're proud.

However, when I think back to the plowing and the digging and the watering and the weeding, I realize the great effort that went into the garden. When we feel the need to pray that it will rain enough to relieve our watering duties for a day or two, the garden can seem like a great burden. When we''re sweating in full sun with dirt under our finger nails and sore backs but can STILL see endless weeds, we start to wonder why we bother. The challenge is to not grow weary, but to think of the great harvest later in the year. The challenge is to remember all the people who will be blessed by the bounty that will result from the hard work of planting and caring for a garden.

Spiritually, we become weary. Day in and day out we work. We teach and preach and study, praying that someone will hear and believe and act on their faith. We toil in God's Kingdom and we are often met with trials, suffering, and heart ache. We watch people fall away, often for trivial reasons. We listen as the world, and sometimes those who call themselves Christians, mock the Church- Christ's own bride. Sometimes it would be easy to give up. At one time or another, I'm sure that each Christian has asked themselves, "Why?" Why bother with the hard labor of daily bearing a cross? Why even try to live differently from the world, when it attacks our lifestyle at every angle? Why teach people who laugh, ignore, or walk away? Why bother challenging wrong doctrine when it seems never ending? Sometimes we can look up from our work and see that there is so much more to do, as we can look up from our weeding in a garden and see that there are so many more weeds to pull.

While a garden can fail, we still put much work into it and have faith that it will supply us with much fruit to enjoy and share. The good news for us as Christians is that if we continue with the work of God, we cannot fail. As Jesus was being beaten and mocked and spat on and hated, He could have given up. But he didn't. Why? Because Jesus knew the end result. He knew that through his anguish, a great harvest would be collected. He knew that through His pain He would enable people to return to their God. He knew that through His suffering, the Church would begin.

Gal 6:7-8a Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, this he will also reap. For the one who sows to his own flesh will from the flesh reap corruption.

Whether we are sowing fleshly things or spiritual things, we are sowing something. With sowing comes work and with work comes weariness. When we're in the midst of hard spiritual labor, it may seem easier to just give it up. But when we do, we automatically begin fleshly labor which may seem easy for a time, but ends in a weariness full of corruption.

The hopeful end result of sowing a garden is a plentiful harvest of vegetables to share with friends and to enjoy as a family. As Christians, we KNOW the end result of our work:

Gal 6:8b But the one who sows to the Spirit will from the Spirit reap eternal life.

Eternal life through the Spirit is our goal and the result of our sowing here upon this earth. Do not grow weary of doing good. Know that the harvest is plentiful and the end result is eternity with your God.

The Big 21 Celebration

Just an FYI, I won't publish anonymous comments unless they are signed.

I'm turning 21 next week. Yesterday, my mom happened to run across this article on the website for our local newspaper:

http://www.coloradoan.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2011306120005

In case you don't take the time to read it, it basically sums up "another night in Old Town" Fort Collins. This night seems to include plenty of people hitting the bars and drinking it up. Some of them cause fights which can lead to death, others get so drunk they can't remember that they were hit by cars, and still others collapse in the street.The article is accompanied by pictures of people being carried away on stretchers, friends trying to pull their drunken friends off the road, and a bride-to-be so drunk that she won't remember her bachelorette party. This is truly the picture of total human depravity. It is hard to look at. It is disgusting.

The article states:

Most had a few drinks, or talked with friends, or danced a bit. Mostly, they went home safely. Mostly.Some went home with scrapes and twisted ankles, from falls suffered as they tottered on tall heels, too drunk to walk.And two went to the hospital, too drunk to comprehend they had nearly been killed by a car that crashed into the bench they had been dumped on.

"Mostly, they went home safely. Mostly."

I wonder how many of those who "went home safely" couldn't wake up the next morning to work and provide for their families. I wonder how many of them lost their license in a DUI check. I wonder how many got home "safely" and angrily beat their families. I wonder how many barely 21 year old girls put themselves in a vulnerable situation and couldn't even remember what had happened to them. I wonder how many caused car wrecks or even "fender benders".

And that is what I have to look forward to on the night of my 21st birthday? I think not.

I know, I know, some people drink "responsibly". Some people can "handle" their alcohol without becoming vulnerable or harming others. But I have seen alcohol cause even those who can "handle" it to put themselves in dangerous and foolish situations. Growing up in a foster family, I've seen the pain of children who can't be with their drunken parents. I've watched those children pray that their mommy would be sober in time for their next potential visit with her. I have seen good families fall apart because of a hidden alcohol addiction leading to divorce, abuse, death, and suicide. I have seen TOO MANY children, including my own dad, lose their fathers to alcohol abuse. I have seen too many children, thankfully not my own dad, who have grown up to follow the pattern.

I hear a lot of "But Jesus turned water to wine!" given as a reason that drinking is okay. I have always failed to see why that is even a discussion or something worth bringing up. Based on everything we know about Jesus, our Lord, are we really silly enough to think that He provided the wedding guests with a substance that would cause them to wreck their donkeys on the way home? Did he give them something to help them commit adultery and fornication and not even remember who they committed it with? Would He provide his mother, who was present at the party, a drink that would cause her to be vulnerable to the abuses of drunken men? Would Jesus Christ give his followers a drink that would rip apart their families, cause them emotional and physical harm, leave their children abused and/or fatherless? Would He give His people something that would make them act like fools and become vulnerable to Satan's temptations? Think about it.

The Bible commands me not to get drunk. I see no better way to prevent myself from getting drunk then by not drinking alcohol at all. Besides the fact that I want to obey and remain sober, I refuse to support an industry that leads to abuse, carousing, foolishness, rape, and suicide. I won't participate in the pastime that leads to hang overs, car wrecks, and embarrassing behavior. We are supposed to be the picture of sobriety, grace, and dignity. I fail to see how alcohol can ever help to achieve that picture.

Let me also say that just because YOU can handle your alcohol does not mean the people around you can. Can your weaker brother in Christ? Can your spouse? Can your children? Can the non-Christians around you, who you are supposed to be setting an example for? Far be it from me to be the example that causes even one person to fall into a lifestyle of drunkenness and alcoholism.

Unfortunately I believe the Christian community has become somewhat comfortable toying with alcoholism. We might preach against it on Sundays, but is it shocking to us if people get a little tipsy at weddings or on special occasions? Would we be surprised if a 21 year old had a little too much to drink in celebration? Are we okay with joking about getting drunk or having hang overs? Please, let us not make light of a sin that has caused so much pain and hurt in the world and also in Christian families.

So for those who might ask what I'm doing for my 21st, with that expectant look in their eyes, I won't be joining the Old Town crowd to try my first alcoholic beverage. My society tells me it's time to jump in with the rest of the "grown ups" and participate in the pastime of drinking, to whatever extent I might enjoy. My God tells me to be sober at all times and to remain on the alert because my adversary, Satan, is prowling about like a lion seeking someone to devour.

Next week I'll probably blow out some candles and eat cake, which sounds like an excellent way to celebrate to me. :-)

How Rats Changed My Life (yes, seriously.)

I just watched Trujillo Rat # 15, more commonly known as Leland (named after the news caster of our dreams, Leland Vittert), cross the bridge. I have become more numb to watching the little fellas die, but I can't say it ever gets easy. It's an odd thing to say that rats changed my life, but it's a very true statement and I'd be lying not to acknowledge it.

Just to give you an example, I would not be a Master Herbalist without having loved rats. My first rat, Nosi, died after only six months with me from a respiratory infection. Having very little "rat experience" at the time, I didn't do a whole lot to help her. I actually didn't even realize she was sick at all until one day I noticed she wasn't breathing well. I pulled her out of the cage and held her close to me, quickly coming to the understanding that she was dying in my arms. My 14 year old heart broke that day. After Nostalgia's death, I scoured the internet for information on what happened to my sweet friend.

The next time I had a sick rat I took her, Jumper (can you guess why we chose her name?), to the vet. I quickly found that vets know very little about rats. For some reason there's not really a high demand for rat health care. So I studied home remedies and became quite successful at putting together little "potions" to ward off respiratory infections, shrink tumors, and give over all good health to rats who were bred as nothing more than "snake food". As I got older, I wondered why the same types of remedies could not be applied to humans to give a better quality of life at a lower cost using natural remedies. Thus the MH and FH certifications. All for the love of a rat named Nosi, who died too soon.

For six years now I have been proud of my eccentric little pets. How many people actually have pet rats? As with many things in my life, I seemed to have a difficult time not becoming obsessed with my interest in rats. My little pets became a huge part of my identity. I studied rat health, rat training, rat nutrition, rat fashion, rat breeding, rat standards, and so on. My senior project was on rat health, care, and nutrition. I marketed my very own base rat diet. I designed my own rat hammock pattern and modified it for the more sophisticated rats who enjoy pockets. My persuasive speech in high school was about rats as pets. Notti, my first hooded lady, sat politely on my shoulder the entire speech- further proving my point.

I distinctly remember going through a stage of being enthralled by the thought of rescuing rats, to the point of driving my family crazy. I had dreams of opening "Nostalgia Rat Sanctuary" and adopting rats out to good homes. Every empty building I saw was the PERFECT rat shelter, if only my parents would buy it for me. Several of my rats came from "feeder" tanks anyway, but I was looking for actual rescues. I saw an ad in the thrifty nickel for a free rat and I begged my dad to take me to get him. Dad drove me across town on a dark rainy night to pick up the scariest, most gigantic, dare I say it... ugliest rat in the world. This was the kind of rat you expect to see beating up an alley cat in a New York City sewer. His name was Bartholomew Bogey, and I fell in love with him. He was from a tiny, dirty apartment where he was constantly harassed by cats and dogs. His diet was mediocre and he had very little human interaction. I quickly discovered that Bart needed very little to begin bruxing as if he was in Heaven. He needed Classical music, a corn cob, and a yogurt drop. He lived out his life in his mega black cage listening to Bach and chewing on corn.

Fifteen rats and I remember each distinctly because there is something very special about rats: they have personality. I quickly saw that each rat was very different. They had unique likes and dislikes. Some were quiet, some were loud. Nosi loved to cuddle. Margie didn't like being held, but she loved hanging out in her little pirate ship for hours and hours. Francie never stopped moving. Jumper... jumped. Mysty was in love with my brother (She would spend all day in her pocket hammock ignoring us. But if Karl walked by, her little head would pop out immediately.) Bart loved his Bach.

We spent hours watching pairs of rats run on their wheel, doing flips and all kinds of tricks. We watched rats run up and down the levels of their cage with mouths full of paper towels to add to their bed. We watched healthy rats take care of sick rats. We saw rats bruxing and eye boggling- signs of contentment. Our nails and hair have been groomed by rats. We cheered as our boy rats presented us with boxing matches.

I sought every opportunity to convert people to "rattism". Even the local newspaper took notice. I was immediately successful with my dad, who would watch TV at night while Nosi sat on his shoulder wrapped in a blanket. It took a little longer with my sister, since Notti saw fit to stick her tail in Sarah's mouth the first time they met. Notti was one of the rats that I will remember the most because of her constant antics. She strove to live up to her name. Daily. Disappearing into the couch, screaming during baths, jumping several feet onto my mother, chewing holes in computer cords, sticking her tail in unsuspecting mouths... After Nosi died, Notti showed a definite decline in her naughty habits and became quite the calm cuddly girl.

Through owning rats (truly being owned BY rats) I learned many things. I saw how excited baby rats get when they are introduced to new foods, given a cage of their own, and covered with a fleece blanket. I experienced bonding with tiny little beings who depended on me entirely, loved me unconditionally, and worshiped me willingly. I gained great debating skills through defending animals who are so misunderstood thanks to their wild relatives. I learned about providing for those I was responsible for by spending over half of my fast food pay checks on bigger cages, better bedding, hammock materials, natural remedies, healthy food, and lots of yogurt drops. I saw the connection rats make with each other, and how sad they became when a friend died. I helped them fight for their lives when needed. I had the difficult responsibility of deciding when we should stop fighting even though my rats couldn't tell me when they were through with the fight. And I learned to help my best friends cross over to Rainbow Bridge with as much love as I could. I saw the value of life even in these tiny animals.

Now that I'm a little older, I understand that I can't actually save the rats of the world by opening a shelter. But I can help everyone understand what amazing little creatures they are. Everyone, that is, except for the mail lady.

It's the end of the rattie era for me. So goodbye Nosi, Notti, Jumper, Mysty, Francie, Margie, Nilla, Wafer, Donovan, Bart, Scout, Opal, Zebedee, Forney, and Leland.

Why is a balanced view so difficult?

Osama Bin Laden is dead. A great evil has been removed from this earth. Praise God.

Christians have a right to celebrate today. Americans have a right to celebrate today. The world has a right to celebrate today.

Does celebrate mean get drunk and dance in the streets, cheering? No. An appropriate celebration would be to remain solemn, thank our military for a job very well done, and thank God for this victory. Let us also remember the many innocent people murdered by the efforts of a man who, thanks to our country, will never harm another innocent person. Let's be happy for the families of these innocent people, as they have been given a reason to celebrate.

I have not seen inappropriate rejoicing from Christians, so I'm not sure where people are getting that idea. The inappropriate celebrating I've seen has been on the news, a bunch of college aged partiers who will use any excuse to get drunk and "celebrate", mob-style, in the streets. These people do not understand what they are celebrating. They just like their beer.

For those who would condemn any form of joy over the death of a mass murderer, saying that it's wrong to celebrate a soul in hell- how do you know? I thought it was God's place to judge. Yes, Bin Laden lived a terrible life and did many wrongs, obviously. But ultimately it is not our job to judge if someone is in hell, so I don't understand why Christians feel the need to act like those of us who are proud of America today are celebrating a soul in hell. We are celebrating an evil man who has finally been taken from this earth, because of the efforts and victory of our military. There will be some who take it too far, but that does not make this occasion any less of a victory.

I am thankful for people willing to dedicate their lives to keeping me safe. I am thankful I serve a God who brings evil to justice. I am celebrating a victory over evil.

How to Describe Dean

Life is an interesting thing. Death is a strange thing. It was brought to my attention that four years ago today, my friend Dean Teter died. He has been enjoying his Lord for four years now. Not that four years means anything to him- he has eternity. But to me, and to the rest who are still here and loved him, years mean something.

Four years ago yesterday I got in the little green Subaru with my dad and drove up to Dean and Nancy's house to say a prayer and to say goodbye, as I realize now. Truthfully we didn't know how long Dean had left in his house on this earth with his Nancy, but we knew it wasn't long. Dean was always a picture of strength to me. That didn't change even as I saw him in his last hours and gave his forehead a goodbye kiss.

I was just talking to my mom about the significance of this day- the day we lost Dean four years ago- when something hit me. New people have come into my life in four years, some of them on a very close level. New people have come into the church in four years. These people do not know Dean. I can't describe how that makes me feel, other than to say that Dean was such a huge part of my life that it hurts to not be able to share memories of him with people I love. It is so much better for him to be with God, but he has left a void here that can't be filled. I look forward to sharing time with him again, when I have joined him where years have no meaning.

Even with the realization that we will someday join Dean, the feeling that he cannot be described is haunting. That's why death is so strange. Dean has left this life but he left many who love him here, so bits of him remain. Even as I begin to describe him, please know that I can never do his life justice.

Dean:

Prayers. Long, sincere, beautiful prayers filled with respect, awe, and wisdom. I sat through many prayer meetings with Dean. His deep, strong voice would carry through any room- praising, thanking, and making requests of His God. The steadfast prayer of a righteous man can accomplish much. Maybe that's why my parents would call Dean when they felt in need of prayer. Whether it was a personal request or a church issue, often times the first thing my parents would do during a difficult time was to give Dean a call so that he would pray with them. What a testimony to him- a true person of prayer, sought after by others for His sincerity when approaching God.

Laughs. Where Dean was, laughter was. "Dean-isms" were well known at Pleasant Valley. "The J.A. Pan Company". "Them Hanyaks." and the list goes on. His huge smile and loud chuckle would make anyone happy. Joking with the young people in the church seemed to be one of the things that brought him the most joy. Kids of all ages loved Dean. My family commented after his funeral that we couldn't believe how many kids had been there. He took time to appreciate young people and to encourage them through jokes and kind comments. He genuinely cared about their lives and many of us had our own special nick-names from Dean. My sister was "The Blue-eyed Brat." I think that my generation may, in some ways, be difficult for older people to connect with. We are often caught up in our own lives. Somehow Dean broke down that barrier and was loved by the youth around him. Even as Dean aged, he did what he could to encourage the young. He hosted events and targeted specific groups of kids to encourage- such as the Bible Bowl participants.

Strength. Dean was probably the strongest man I've ever known. He was a strong leader in the church. There are so many times I can think back on that would have turned out so differently without his leadership. Dean was never an Elder in the church, but I have to say that I saw him as one. He was the person to go to for loving guidance based on the truth. He cared to check up on people and to truly be involved in their lives. Dean was a man who was not afraid to make a stand based on what he knew was right. He was also a strong man physically, and I never stopped seeing him that way. In his last years, Dean walked hunched over with a cane. But he never lost his strong appearance. Just recently I saw a picture of him standing upright and it shocked me at how much can change in a few short years. But really nothing at all changed. Dean was strong, no matter what his body was telling him.

Work. Dean worked hard. I remember him crawling all over my kitchen floor only a few days before his knee surgery, because he wanted to get the floor laid while he could! He spent endless hours doing those thankless tasks throughout the church building and on the grounds. I could go on here, but it wouldn't end. Dean spent his life working hard.

The sting of death might fade with time, but somehow it doesn't with Dean. Thinking about him today has as much joy and hurt as it did four years ago. And so I sit here typing, looking at what I've written, and realizing that I've failed. Such a significant part of my childhood and teen years can't be described in an article or facebook note. I can say all the good things about him and all my memories of him, but his life was lived in such a fashion that can't be summed up. Experiencing his friendship and learning from observing him were gifts that I was somehow fortunate enough to receive.

I am thankful that I have memories. I am also thankful for my church and Dean's family, because they know what I mean! Pleasant Valley has experienced his leadership and his family has experienced his love. I am thankful for his wife Nancy, who is a vital part of our congregation and a great friend. And I'm thankful for the beautiful roses in the church yard, planted in Dean's memory, that will be blooming soon.