Think Before You Leap

In case you are wondering, this is where we left off in Progressing through the Fog.
Another excerpt from my book "Nice Guys Finish Last - and that's okay".

While I was living in Oregon, I lived rather cheaply and made decent money. A good job, the great outdoors, and most of my family was nearby. I courted a young lady in New Mexico, via letters and long distance phone calls. My phone bill was outrageous. But I didn’t mind, I was “in love”. My head was stuck in the clouds and nothing else mattered. I was tired of being alone, ready to get married and that’s all I could think of. Other things, like dating and getting to know someone and her family first didn’t seem to matter. Honestly, I didn’t even think about it. I had spent the last couple of years reading books and studying about what the Bible had to say about being a good husband, and I was ready to try it all out. So when that young lady came to Oregon for a visit, I popped the question and she said “okay”. (She didn’t get excited, she didn’t yell, or jump up and down, she didn’t even say “yes”, she just said “Okay”).

There were plenty of red flags after that day warning me not to marry this girl, but I ignored them. My mind was made up. Now, please don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, pointing fingers or making excuses, I’m just telling it like it is (or was).

The wedding was somewhat disappointing. During the planning stages for the wedding, we discussed exactly how everything would be, we made planning decisions together. However, when the day arrived, not one thing we had agreed upon was done. She had changed her mind and had done things the way she wanted and didn’t give a thought what anyone else desired. I guess that should be okay, since, after all, it was her day. The rest of the marriage went pretty much the same way though. She did what she wanted and never considered my feelings or needs. None of that mattered to her, she was going to have her way and that’s all there was to it. This isn’t merely the way I saw it, she actually told me this herself. Why I never saw any of that before, I just don’t know. She either didn’t behave that way, or I was simply too blind to see it. I was still a little bit foggy.

It didn’t take her long to locate my “hot” buttons. You know, those things you can say or do to someone that really gets under their skin and gets them all riled up. Well, she found them and kept on pushing them. She actually seemed to enjoy doing that. One day got really bad and I finally turned to her and, loudly, asked her why she continued to do this? She calmly replied, with a slight sneer in her eyes, that she wanted to see what it would take for me to hit her.

“Are you kidding me?”
That sort of thinking has never made much sense to me.

After our son was born the following year, things got even worse. All of a sudden I couldn’t do anything to please her. According to her, everything I did was wrong, or stupid, or both. She said she no longer had time to be a wife, she was a mother now. My first thought was “Gee, when were you ever a wife?”
I tried everything I could think of: counseling, books, bible studies, men’s retreats, Promise Keepers, etc., to learn how to be a better husband and father - nothing helped. Oh, it helped me alright, but it did little to help her view of me. One of the things I learned was that you cannot make someone love you, no matter how hard you try. I realized that I couldn’t change her, but I could change ME! So I did.

Nothing I did made any difference to her. She did notice the change in me though, but it only made her suspicious as to why I had become so much nicer to her. The answer was simple – I was growing and learning to become the man God wanted me to be. But she refused to see that. Now, I’m not saying I was perfect, or that I did everything right. On the contrary, I made more than my fair share of mistakes along the way and, at times, allowed my temper to get the better of me. But she refused to forgive me for any of those shortcomings, she just would not give me a chance. I stayed with her and loved her and did all that I could for her, because that’s what the Bible said I should do. I did everything the Bible said that a husband is supposed to do for his wife. Nothing was appreciated and I received no affirmation from her - ever. Not even once. I gave her all that I had within me to give and she gave nothing in return, perhaps because she had nothing to give, or maybe she just didn’t know how. It is difficult to tell since she refused to talk about it.

She used to call my parents to complain about me on a regular basis. My parents visited us once (flew clear across the country) with the agenda of “straightening me out”. But after spending one day with us, they realized that the problem was not with me, it was her. My Dad even told me he believed me to be a better man than he was, because he would have thrown her out long ago. If you’ve been following my story, you know how huge an impact that statement had on me.

I had returned to school to get my degree in order to build a better life for her. But instead of appreciating my efforts, she made it the most difficult four years of my life. Sometimes it seemed she would go out of her way to torment me. I did everything she ever asked me to do. I gave her everything. Yet she still seemed to delight in finding something else to gripe about. I just couldn’t win for losing. She even confessed once that she only married me to get away from her father.

I met with my pastor on a regular basis, to hold me accountable and give me the encouragement I needed to stick it out and keep trying to make the marriage work. One important thing I learned from him was that, according to the Bible, whether or not you believe she was the one God had intended for you, once you married her, she is now! So I hung in there and kept on trying.

While enrolled in the Top Gun Ministries men’s Bible Study course, I finally found a book by Gary Smalley (If He Only Knew) that I thought would finally unlock the door that would make this marriage work. I didn’t just do things I read about or learned in order to get a desired result, I actually became that man that those studies and counselors and books suggested I be. I didn’t just practice that stuff, I lived it! But it still didn’t work. After about the third time through Smalley’s book (well after the marriage ended), I finally discovered why it hadn’t worked for me. He said that all these efforts, as admirable as they may be, will be to no avail if the wife refuses to recognize her husband’s efforts. If either spouse refuses to be a willing participant in the relationship, then it won’t work. Basically, if she won’t give him a chance, he’s just wasting his energy.
Ephesians, chapter 5 tells the husband all the things he is to do for his wife. It also only asks the wife to do one thing: Respect her husband. My wife refused – adamantly! When she read that, she actually said the words, “Hell No!”

We tried counseling. Three times. Each time, she saw the counselors first before I was invited to join in. Each time, I sat there and listened while she spun some amazing stories that were total and complete fabrications. Anytime I heard her lying to the counselor and spoke up about it, I was attacked. Those counselors actually believed everything she told them. Each one, I believe, was a Christian Counselor. Each one told me that I needed to be more loving, more nurturing and more understanding of her needs. As far as I could tell, the only way marriage counseling will work for you is if you are both totally honest with your counselor. I was, she wasn’t, but they chose to believe her. It just didn’t make any sense to me. Sometimes I think that if the counselor can keep you fighting, they can keep making money off you. I figured it was cheaper to fight at home, since the results seemed to be about the same anyway, so I stopped going.

Several years after moving to California, she started seeing a Christian counselor to deal with issues pertaining to her relationship with her father. When I finally found out about it, I was relieved. The counselor she was seeing this time often worked side by side with her husband, who is a retired pastor from a prophetic church. Apparently these people are so in tune with the Holy Spirit that you just cannot lie to them.
The day finally came when they asked that I attend a counseling session with them. They had come to realize that her issues with her father were the cause of her failing marriage and we need to continue this journey together. Given our past experience with “so-called” Christian Counselors, I wasn’t holding my breath. We’d been down this road before.

Only this time was different. These people never charged for the sessions. They did this all for free. Their goal was to help people save their marriage, get their life back on track and resolve their differences. I went with an open mind but my faith was still lacking. And sure enough, sitting there in their living room, she began spinning yards and yards of crapola all over the place. How she is the “victim”, how she is so mistreated and myriads of other nonsense. This time I just sat there and kept my mouth shut. For fear of being attacked again, I just let it go and did not say a word. And then the most amazing thing happened. About halfway through, the woman counselor stopped her and ask her to tell those stories again, “Only this time honey, please, tell me the truth. You’re lying to me and I don’t like that.”

I could not believe what I was hearing! My soon-to-be ex-wife changed her story and for the first time I can remember, started telling the truth. Her eyes welled up and her face turned red, not because of the truth, but because she had been caught lying. She was rather furious about that.
During this session I finally learned that her father’s brother had sexually abused her as a child (between the ages of 9 to 11). When she told her father about it, he blamed her and told her it was her fault and that this was God’s way of punishing her for not being a good girl (the rest of the family said she was always a good little girl). Her father still made her return to that house even after she begged him not to make her go. Now, what kind of father would do that to his daughter? The counselors told her the only way to be free from this is to confront it, deal with it and move on. She adamantly refused.

She also admitted to running up over $93,000 in debt (so far) without me knowing about it. We’d already been through the Crown Ministries course, but she said she just couldn’t help herself. And she still refused to get a job to help pay it off, saying it was my responsibility to pay for everything.
After much discussion, the husband turned to me to get my side of the story and also stated that he could not believe I had put up with so much for so long. He said he would not have done that and his wife agreed. She said that you just don’t treat people like that. Especially your spouse! That type of behavior is disrespectful to your husband. For the first time, the counselors were actually on the side of the truth. Their words of comfort and affirmation towards me were so overwhelming that I almost wet myself.

They gave us each a scripture verse to read, and asked us to do only one thing (none of the other counselors gave us anything to do). They asked us to read that verse and take 5 minutes each night before going to bed to just talk. Nothing more than “Hi. How was your day?” “Oh fine, thanks.” That’s it. That’s all they asked us to do.

Every night after that, once the kids were in bed, I told her it was time for our 5 minutes. The first night she said she had too much to do and couldn’t do it. So every night, once the kids were in bed, I did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, helped with laundry and housework and whatever else need to be done so she’d have no excuses. (I had been helping out all along anyway, but now even more so). Then I‘d sit on the couch and tell her I was ready for our 5 minutes. She was still too busy. She did not work outside the home (she refused to help with the debt she had created) so there really was no excuse. But she always found a reason why she did not have the time to talk to me. I kept up this routine every night for over three months. She still refused. She also refused to ever meet with those counselors ever again. You just can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.

After more than 17 years of marriage, I finally quit. No, I didn’t leave. I just stopped trying. I stopped going out of my way to please her. I stopped bending over backwards for her. I just plain stopped. I had thrown my hands in the air and stepped back. If this marriage was going to continue, then it was her turn to do something. I had nothing left to give. I was empty. I was hurting. I was literally dying inside. I didn’t turn mean or hateful or treat her badly, I just stopped placing her needs ahead my own. I stopped putting her first. She was no longer at the top of my list of priorities. The kids still were though. I continued to do all I could for them, but not for her. I finally found some time to go play golf, and work out at the gym.

Well, she certainly noticed that! That really burned her up. She no longer had that hold over me and it really seemed to bother her. Close friends told me much later that she had been trying to figure out a way to divorce me for over a year, but needed to find a way to make it look like it was my fault. I had focused all my energy on pleasing God, not her. My self-esteem improved, I felt better and I was getting my body back in shape – losing weight and firming up. I had lost 40 pounds in four months. She never said a word. She never even noticed, at least she never said anything to me about it. I found out later that she had been telling everyone we knew that I had lost all that weight because I was doing drugs. Actually, I simply stopped drinking sodas, stopped having that big bowl of ice-cream every night, cut down on the carbs, and got off my butt and started moving my body. I wasn’t obese, just heavier than I would have liked and I wanted to get rid of my S.E.M.B.’s*. Mind, Body, Spirit. Mine were all lining up and getting in tune with my creator.

But, true to form, just as I began feeling better about myself and re-building my self confidence (she spent years trying to tear it down), she’d turn up the heat. It amazes me how such a petite little gal can totally emasculate a guy just by the way she treats him and how she speaks to him, and about him. She became more mean-spirited and vindictive than ever.
On the Fourth of July weekend that year, she had arranged for my entire family to come to our house for a bar-b-que and fun. We had plenty of room on our ranch. We had a pool, a horseshoe pit, 4 horses, 23 chickens, 2 dogs, 1 rabbit and a goat. What more could anyone ask for? There was plenty for everyone to do. She decided to go horseback riding out of town with her friends, but promised she’d be back before anyone showed up. She completely blew us off for the entire day! When I finally reached her on her cell phone late in the afternoon, after the food had been eaten, kitchen cleaned up and everyone was ready to leave to go see the fireworks, she said, “So? They’re your family – YOU deal with them!”

I guess, deep down, I still cared because I allowed her actions to really get to me. The marriage was ending and I knew it. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t make the decision that the marriage was over, I could just see it coming. What I didn’t know was “when”. She had dropped the “D” word and said if I wanted a divorce, then I would have to be the one to file because SHE refused to do that! Well, I figured I was serving a life sentence because for me, divorce was not an option. I was just trying to hold on for another 10 years, until my daughter turned 18. I didn’t know if I could last that long, with things as they were. I was actually hoping that things would take a turn for the better by then. (Remember what I said earlier about being wrong when it came to her?)

So, what was I to do now?

My self-esteem and self-worth were on an emotional roller-coaster ride, and depression was setting in fast!






* = Sagging European Man Breasts

My "Real" Dad....

Carl came from a modest family. Really nice people, hard-working, honest – good down-to-earth type folks. Carl is a civil engineer and his dad (Papa Art) is a civil engineer, as is his two younger brothers. I guess the old fart had more of an influence on me than I realized.

When I was younger, I was involved in Scouts. I earned every badge and award you could possibly get in Cub Scouts and Webelos. After Carl’s job moved us to Colorado, I tried Boy Scouts for a while, I was doing well, but the Scoutmaster moved away and the new guy seemed boring and I lost interest. Carl took it upon himself to teach me the things I normally would have learned in the Boy Scouts. He earned his Eagle Scout rank at the age of 14, so he knew what he was doing. Carl would take me hiking and camping and tried to teach me about nature and plants and all he knew about surviving in the great outdoors. We’d go backpacking in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, camp out under the stars (or in the snow) and climb mountains. He tried to get me interested in climbing mountains, but I’d usually wimp out or get sick (that altitude really got to me). Sometimes I felt like I was letting him down, after all, once my brother left, I was the only “son” he had. That first year or two that I went along to climb mountains with him, I never did make it all the way to the top of one. I felt I was just slowing him down and ruining the trip for him. He didn’t seem to mind too much, and you’d think he would give up on me after a while, but he never did. He kept right on trying. It wasn’t all wasted time for him I suppose. Now that I look back on it, I think it meant more to him that someone was willing to go with him and spend the time with him, than actually make it to the top of the mountain.

(There’s a huge message there. Read that last part again in case you missed it).

I did learn to clean a fish, cook breakfast over a campfire, pitch a tent and tie a variety of knots. He taught me how build a good campfire too. He also taught me how make fire using only two sticks of wood. Of course, at least one of those two sticks was a match!

By this time I was calling Carl “Dad”. It just seemed natural. I didn’t forget my father, I just didn’t think about him as much as I used to. Sometimes I would wonder how he was doing or what he was up to, or if I ever crossed his mind, but for the most part, I didn’t give it much thought. Alaska is a long way from Colorado.

By the time I was 15, I actually made it to the top of a mountain. We climbed Chimney Rock in Colorado along with my friend Johnny and a guy Carl worked with named Taylor. Taylor was an electrical engineer, kind of weird but fun. Taylor liked to fish and believed that grass-hoppers make the best bait. One year Taylor said he’d give me 10 cents for every grass-hopper I could catch for him. Well, we had a vegetable garden in our back yard and I filled a large trash bag with big, fat grass-hoppers. There had to be more than a hundred of them in there. Taylor paid up but that was the last time he paid 10 cents a piece for grass-hoppers. Johnny was my age and just about my size. We were best buddies through junior high and most of high school. We were on the wrestling team together, went to church together and got into trouble together. Johnny’s family was ranchers and farmers. Good, clean, honest, hard-working people with strong Christian values. Sometimes I thought they looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. We were quite a pair, Johnny and me. He was a real Colorado Cowboy, and I was a “hippie” from southern California. (I had long hair and wore bell-bottom jeans and Johnny looked like the all American cowboy).

Carl also taught me how to drive. The car was a 1969 Datsun 510 station wagon, the ugliest green color you could imagine. Not the coolest car around, but it’s all we had at the time. I learned to drive a stick shift, in the Colorado mountains, in the snow! That was a lot of fun. Okay, so it wasn’t all that much fun in the beginning. Driving a car for the first time on a one lane mountain road through the mud and snow and muck while dad is asking you to describe the scenery to him can really wear on your nerves.
“How many sheep are in that field?”
“What color are the cows in this field?”
“What’s on that sign over there?”
“How much gas do you have?”
“What’s your speed?”
“What do you see in the rear-view mirror?”
He wasn’t trying to freak me out, he was teaching me to be aware of my surroundings.

“Always know where you are and what’s around you. Keep an eye out for the other guy”. See Dad? I remembered! When it was my turn, my son thought I was a nag, too!

Carl even tried to teach me how to play golf. That was a really fun day. Carl is a pretty decent golfer (he should be, he played every Sunday while the rest of us went to church). However, on this particular day, he didn’t play so well. Maybe it was the pressure of trying to look good in front of your kid. He had previously paid for golf lessons, so I had learned how to hold the club and swing properly and hit the ball, but this was our first outing to actually “play”.
On one particular shot, he was going to “show me how it’s done”. The ball was in the fairway and there was a tree in front of us off to the right, and a water hazard (pond) off to our left. He hit that ball hard and it zipped along the top of the grass, ricocheted off the tree and flew through the air into the pond.
“Nice splash”.
“Oh shut up”.

One thing worth noting – Carl never referred to me as his step-son. He always introduced me as his son. Period.
Looking back, I believe that was a rather decent thing for him to do.

Carl taught me a lot about life. How to be kind to animals, treat others with respect, and how to admit it when you make a mistake (take responsibility for your actions).
“The smart guy learns by watching others”.
“Clean up after yourself”.
“Don’t eat yellow snow”.
“Get a hair-cut”. (I heard this one a lot!)
“Work hard. There is no task above you or beneath you. Do what it takes to get the job done”.
“Always do your best”.

Yep, this is the man who took the time to teach me about life. He tried his best and I think, for the most part, that everything turned out okay. He worked long, hard hours to climb the ladder of success and advance himself throughout the industry. It would have been nice to have him around more, and not have had to work so much, but he did what he had to do, and what he felt was the proper thing to do at the time. He was advancing in his career and building a better quality of life for his family (us). I didn’t understand it at the time, so I did not appreciate what he was doing, but I understand now and greatly appreciate all that he did for us, and for me. Thanks, Dad.

Tough GuyYeah, that old fart was always there for me. Even though he worked too much, he was always there for the times that meant the most. Carl (my Dad) was at every wrestling match to watch me, win or lose, he was still proud. Every cross-country meet I ran in, Dad was there. He was at every check-point, every turn. Each time I looked up, he was there, cheering me on and encouraging me, and provided information regarding where I was and who was behind me or in front of me. The cross-country course was three miles, but there were times I thought that old man worked harder than I did around those courses. My Dad taught me how to properly spit and clear your nose while running (it’s gross so I won’t describe it to you).

Dad even found the time to help me with my homework. Math and science and physics homework usually. (After reading and spelling and cross-word puzzles, Mom gave up and sent me to Dad). Dad was really patient with me, even though I could see him getting frustrated and angry at the times I just wouldn’t “get it”. It was easy for him, he’s an engineer who made it through four years at the University of Washington on an academic scholarship, and then got his Master’s degree from Stanford, on academic scholarship! Me? I sometimes had trouble remembering my own name!

(Once, when I was a little kid, I came home from school and told my mother “Gee mom, it sure is a good thing you named me Alpha Dude.” “Oh really? And why is that?” “Because that’s what everyone calls me!”)

One of the things I admired most about my Dad was that he did not try to teach me to think like him. He just encouraged me to think! Not HOW to think, or WHAT to think, but to just THINK! “Think for yourself”. “Figure it out”. “Use your head for something other than a hat rack”. And here’s the big one – “You can do it, you just don’t know it yet”.

Dad is one tough guy. I had never seen him cry or get emotional about anything. Even at my wedding, he offered congratulations and encouraging words, but he was steadfast and solid. When I finished college, the only one of the kids to get a college degree, and the only one to actually try it, Dad was proud, but remained strong. But I did get to see him shed a tear, and get choked up with pride for the first time – the day my son, his grandson (the first grandchild in the family), was born. That little boy turned that hard old man into mush. Dad loved playing with his grandson, and showing him things and talking to him. You see, Dad didn’t get this time with me, so he was living this time through his grandson. Those two had a great time together. He got to teach my son how to climb trees, pet bumble bees without getting stung, which plants to stay away from and how to pee in the woods (or at least outside, behind a tree).

My Dad, hard, sturdy, concrete, no emotions – had a soft spot and it took his first grandchild to find it. That old man has never been the same since. Now, I’m not saying that Dad wasn’t loving and kind and nurturing, but now he began to show it more than he ever used to.

I found out my Dad is human, and our relationship continued to grow.

Something worth noting: Often times you'll see me write about the Power of Dad. Every Dad has it, whether he realizes it or not. Some dads are aware of it but most are not. This Power of Dad has an amazing effect on your children, and it does not matter if you're a good dad or a bad dad. The Power of Dad can be used in a good way or a bad way. It is up to the Dad.

Carl didn't come by this power naturally. He had to earn it. The one thing so awesome and so overwhelming and amazing that most father's take for granted, Carl took great care to make sure he did it right in case it ever became his.
I could go on all day about the awesome Power of Dad, so I'll stop now and write more on that at another time.

I Believe

It took me about four hours to get home from work tonight. No, it wasn’t snowing and there was no traffic. I left my office tonight and made the block long walk to our parking lot so I could get in my pick-up truck and go home. I got in my truck, put the key in, turned it, and the truck wouldn’t start. This didn’t make any sense. In all of 8 years I've had this truck (original owner) it has never given me any problems. I take good care of my truck, so much in fact, that it still looks and runs like new. Except right now.

I tried it again. The battery has power, the engine turned over, but it would not catch. The engine just wouldn’t start. I tried a couple more times to make sure it isn’t the battery, it isn’t the starter, the spark plugs and wires are fairly new. Why won’t my truck start? I got out to check under the hood. A fellow who said he was a mechanic offered to help and he couldn’t find anything wrong. After a while we determined it had to be the fuel pump. It just wasn’t powering on. If gas won’t pump to the engine, the engine just won’t run. Great. Now what do I do? It is after 7PM and it’s a good guess most all the repair shops are closed by now.

First, I called my wife to ask her to come pick me up. She didn’t answer her phone. It turns out that something was going on with the cell signal and she never got the call. I kept getting her voice mail. Where is she?, I thought. Just when I need her, she doesn’t answer. I was starting to get annoyed, to say the least. I tried the house phone and got no answer there either. While I was talking to the answering machine, my wife picked up. Okay, now she’s on the way to come get me. She seemed somewhat calm about everything, thinking of this as a chance to have dinner downtown. I also wasn’t very nice to her. I was allowing myself to become annoyed by my situation and I did not speak to my wife in a loving or kind manner. (Shame on me)

I called some friends to see if they would know who I could call to get my truck fixed. I’ve lived here only 2 ½ years and hadn’t had any problems like this before, so I was totally unprepared. The only thing helpful I found out was where NOT to take it, which, by the way, is the same place that Clueless (see below) suggested I take it. The minister friend who married my wife and me has a son who is a mechanic. A good one. I called him and made arrangements to take my truck to him. Now I just had to get it there. So I called AAA.

“Hello, this is Clueless. How may I help you?”

“My truck won’t start. I need some help”

“Okay, may I have your AAA membership number?”

“Sure, it’s……..” and I gave it to her. It turned out that the membership had expired. Boy, this day just keeps getting better all the time. So I renewed my membership over the phone. She had trouble spelling my name, even after I told her how to spell it. She did the same thing with my wife’s name when I added her to the account. “…and how do you spell her last name? Oh wait, I have that…”

Why is it that they get these people that feel the need to put you on hold every couple of minutes for no apparent reason?

“Now what seems to be wrong with your vehicle?”

“It won’t start”

“Have you tried to start it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Why do you think I’m calling you?”

“Oh. Would you please hold? I’ll be right back.”

I don’t understand why she went away. Maybe she just wanted to help me use up my cell phone minutes. At this point I was still being nice and trying my best to maintain a pleasant tone of voice.

“Okay now. So the cost for your new membership is $XX, and to upgrade to Plus Membership is $YY, and to add your wife to the account is another $ZZ. And also, since you need assistance tonight, there is an additional highway robbery fee of $XY. “

“Could you please just give me the grand total? The bottom line of what this whole thing will cost?”

“Well, it’s $XX for the membership, $YY for the upgrade. So the total is $Z-X”

“Wait, that is less than what you told me before. You mean by adding stuff, the cost went down?”

“Oh no, that’s in addition to the basic membership cost”

“So, the bottom line is a total of all that added up which is $XYZ.”

“Well, yes. I suppose you could say that”

"That is what I asked you for”

“Oh. And when will you be needing service?”

“Right now would be good”

“Oh, yeah, right. Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?”

“Yes, you can tell me when the tow truck will get here”

“He should be there in under two hours”

“Two hours? Are you telling me I need to wait out here for another two hours?”

“Sir, they’re busy and under two hours is all I can tell you. Would you hold please?”

“Why? You have my card number. You have all my information. You have the location where I am. You have all that you need. Why do you need to put me on hold again?”

“Oh, you’re right. I do have all I need. I guess we’re done then”

“I certainly hope so”

“Well, my name is Clueless. Thank you for calling AAA”

Not long after that, my wife showed up with the two oldest kids. We went and found a place to eat. It was after 8:30 and were all rather hungry. We decided on a place about two blocks from the truck so we’d be close by when the tow truck driver called to say he was getting close. A guy named John called a few times to update me on the location of the driver, so we figured we had time to actually sit down and eat. The driver was about 35 minutes away, but once we ordered dinner, it took a good 30 minutes to get the food. And no, I am NOT exaggerating! It really took that long! There was maybe two other people in the entire place! They were not busy! The service was amazingly slow, and the food was most definitely NOT worth the wait, or the price. I was getting annoyed. Normally, I am a generous tipper. Not today.

Note to self: If you find an eatery that is almost empty while all the other places nearby are packed – keep walking!

Luckily, we had just finished eating when John called to say the driver was just a few minutes away. I paid the check and hurried off to meet the driver.

I got to the parking lot to find a shiny new AAA tow truck waiting for me. The driver was a clean cut, smiling young man named Josh (same name as my son). Once we spoke and made sure I was the guy he was there to help, Josh asked me to sign the work order stating that he had found the right person. I pointed out which vehicle was mine. We discussed where we were going to tow the truck and he said he knew the place. As Josh set his clipboard back onto the seat of his truck, he looked at me, in the eyes, and asked “Would you rather just drive your truck home?”

“Why, yes, of course I would”

“Well, let’s go see what we can do”

Josh picked up a three pound hammer, got out of his truck and we headed for my pick-up. I was thinking to myself “What is he going to do with that hammer?” I couldn’t imagine.
We got to the truck and Josh asked what the problem was. “It won’t start. I think it may be the fuel pump”
He said we should check and asked me to try to start it. Geeze, I’d tried this before. I already knew it would turn, but it won’t catch. I turned the key halfway and asked if he could hear the fuel pump kick on. He said “No”, and asked me to turn the key all the way. I turned the key all the way. I knew what would happen. Just like before it just........

My truck started right up.

Josh just stood there smiling. He said this was the third time tonight that this had happened. He just shows up, and the people’s vehicle would just start working normally.
I shook his hand (hoping some of that would rub off on me) and thanked him. I even asked him if he would lay hands on my truck and bless it. Josh just laughed a little and told me to have a safe drive home.

As Josh walked back to his tow truck, I walked over to where my wife was now parked. Through the open car window I asked her and the kids to take a good look at the tow truck driver. I told them what had just happened and that “His name is Josh, and that is what an Angel looks like”

I apologized to my wife for the way I spoke to her earlier. Her response? “Hey, I got to come downtown and have dinner with you. We’ll follow you home”

I was given a test tonight. I tried my best to keep my cool, deal with difficult people without getting annoyed, and to make the best of a difficult situation. I think I could have done a lot better than I did. But God showed up and showed He loved me anyway. Thank You God for a praying wife.

Was Josh really an Angel? Well, I don’t know about you, but

I Believe.

You Are Never Alone

No man is an island. Or some crap like that. (I must have been reading “That Chick Over There” to be writing like that!)

A very dear friend phoned me up the other night. It was one of those times where a guy just needed someone to talk to, someone who would just listen and not try to solve the problem. Just Listen. We were on the phone for about an hour and a half, and he told me lots of things in confidence, so I won’t go into any details (sorry, but I don’t do gossip). The questions he kept asking over and over were, “Why am I here?” “What is God’s plan for me?” “What am I supposed to be doing?” “Why has God abandoned me?” “Why do I feel so alone?”

He already knew the answer to each question and I knew that, so I stayed silent and just listened. He didn’t need someone to tell him anything really insightful, quote scripture to him, say something spiritual or clever. He just needed a friend. God certainly does work in mysterious ways. The most recurring questions, “Why has God abandoned me?” “Why do I feel so alone?” made me think of a dream I once had. For some reason, this dream has been coming to mind quite a bit these last couple of weeks. Maybe this is why.

Have you ever had one of those dreams where you can remember everything in vivid detail? One of those dreams that really speaks to you and you remember it for years to come? Yeah, I had one of those dreams. I shared it with my friend before we hung up, and I’d like to share it with you. I experienced this dream during a very trying period in my life where I too, felt alone and abandoned by God. I had just about lost all hope.

The Dream
It was dark. I mean really dark. There was no sky, no landscape, no ground, nothing. I was standing there in the middle of complete “nothingness”. As I was standing there, I saw some images beginning to form and move towards me. As they came into view, I observed the most horrible looking pointy-eared creatures I’ve ever seen, before or since. These beings were quite large and had black leathery skin, all sinewy and greasy and slimy. Their eyes were shaped like that of a snake and were bright yellow with dark pupils. Their nostrils were round and snorted puffs of yellowish sulfur-like smoke. Their teeth were long and pointed and their brows were furrowed, showing just how angry and menacing these creatures were and are. They had bat-like wings, partially unfurled as they steadily moved towards me. Their hands and feet were claw-like and their fingers were long with long, pointed nails making those hands and feet appear more like talons you may find on a vulture. These things were demons from the pits of hell and they were coming after me.

I was standing in the middle of nothing. I wanted to run but had no direction in which to turn. All I could think of to do was to pray. I asked God what I should do. Just then I realized I was holding my wooden practice sword, called a boken. A boken is a Japanese practice sword. It is made from hard wood and is the same size, shape and weight of an actual samurai sword. Standing there, holding that boken, I heard a voice. This wasn’t that booming, thunderous voice of God you read about in the Bible. It was a reassuring sounding male voice, full of compassion and love, yet at the same time, it spoke with authority.

“You have all that you need.”

Now, I have had extensive martial arts training and even a wooden practice sword in the hands of someone like me can prove quite deadly. But about this time I noticed those demons draw their own swords. Shhhhinnnggggg! The mere sound of those swords being pulled from their belts was frightening! Their swords looked like blackened steel and appeared to be on fire! As they drew closer, they seemed to grow in number. I can’t begin to say how many there were. They seemed to be everywhere! Snorting yellow sulfurous smoke and spewing venomous foul language at me and cursing the name of my Savior. These guys were really angry, to say the least!

“Uh, excuse me, God? Those guys have real steel swords and I’m standing here…

....all alone..........................….with a stick!”

“My Son conquered Death and the Grave…..with a stick.”

I muttered “okay” under my breath and I raised my sword as I took my most defensive stance. As the demons approached my “stick” became alive with a brilliant light like you’d see from a white hot fire. As the enemy attacked, I defended myself. I blocked, parried, twirled my sword, jabbed, spun, sliced……the fight was on. Sparks flew as our swords collided. Each time my sword struck one of those demons, that ugly creature vanished in a “poof” of smoke. It didn’t take long before I realized – I was holding my own for now, but I was overwhelmingly outnumbered. I used every ounce of strength, training and skill I had. The battle was spectacular. But how long could I hold out? There were so many of them!

I cried out, “God, please help me!”

Soon, I noticed that the number of demons was dwindling. There just wasn’t as many as there had been before. I looked around me and I was absolutely amazed at what I saw. I was surrounded by the biggest, most beautiful heavenly warriors you could imagine. These guys were GQ handsome with large muscles, bronzed skin, golden hair, fiery eyes and were wearing white robes with gold sashes around their waists. Their strong sturdy hands held swords that shone as bright as the sun. They had joined in the fight and the demons were clearly no match for the angel’s strength and skill and power. As the battle neared it’s end, the voice spoke to me again.

“You are Never Alone. I Am with you…….always.”

The battle has already been won.
All we have left to do is call on the name of Jesus.

You are Never Alone.

Walk in Love.



(That “stick” is leaning against the wall next to my bed. Just in case)

Progressing through the Fog.....

In December of 1982, I took a bullet to the face just outside Washington DC. You can read how it happened in my previous post. For some strange reason, I never felt any pain until the doctor shoved that needle down between the bone to knumb me up before wiring my jaw shut for two months. By the way, Liquid Codine is Awesome!

And now, the saga continues......
Something happened as a result of that incident. I began to forget things. I had been accepted to attend the University of Maryland in College Park, Maryland. I lived in the dorm there. It was an interesting experience and I met some decent folks, but I had a lot of trouble with my classes. I had to take a pre-calculus class since the credit from the junior college did not transfer. It was the same class though, and I looked forward to getting an “A” since I had gotten an “A” in this class less than a year ago, easily. However, I had the most difficult time in that class – I tried as hard as I could to do the work, but I just couldn’t do it. It was as if I’d forgotten how to do the math. The same thing happened in my Chemistry class. I finished the semester with a “D” average. I was really getting frustrated. I even got lost driving home a few times. I used to enjoy taking the back roads through Potomac, Maryland. A rather scenic and beautiful drive, but I could no longer find my way and had to resort to the main roads in order to find my way home. And even then I had a tough time finding my way.

Parts of my life were missing. That bullet must have hit me harder than I thought, because some of my life from my time growing up in Colorado was gone. I had no more memory of certain events and some close friends. Portions of my senior year of high school in Maryland were gone too. That bowling championship? Gone. I still have the trophies and awards and some photos, but the memory of that time and those friends are gone.
I spent the next six years or so in a fog. I had trouble focusing and it was difficult to concentrate on anything for very long.
I worked that next summer in Virginia, inside a mountain, pulling electric cables through the powerhouse for a massive hydro-electric project. In the fall of that year I went to Albuquerque, New Mexico to attend the University of New Mexico. I spent about two and a half years there. I took math and science classes, but didn’t even get close to finishing. While at UNM, I served on the staff of the Baptist Student Union as the Fellowship Chairman. This means I organized parties and fun events for the students. I also worked some odd jobs, sold kitchen cutlery, sold tires at Pep Boys, and delivered materials for a local jewelry supply company. Although I didn’t get much learning from being at UNM, I certainly had a good time.

Time to Go to Work
I had dated a young lady for quite some time and everyone we knew thought we’d get married. Then one year, right after Christmas, she broke it off. She never did tell me why. All I can figure is that she often talked about being a pastor’s wife someday. I felt God calling me either into the ministry or into engineering. Since I am now a licensed Civil Engineer, you can see which direction I felt led to go. (I didn’t want to push it.)
Around that same time, my Dad offered me the chance to move to Oregon and work on the same project as he in the mountains. A roller-compacted-concrete (RCC) dam. I wouldn’t be working for him, just for the same company. I had put off making a decision about the job until then. Now, with no reason to stay in Albuquerque, I accepted the job. I was tired of school and I was out of money, so it seemed like the right thing to do. Just before I left, another young lady, a friend, came to me to express her love for me. She said she’d felt this way for a long time, but had been afraid to tell me. We had a long-distance relationship, and later that same year, I returned to Albuquerque, married her, and moved her to Oregon to be with me. My head was still foggy and I had trouble thinking straight. There was still some swelling in the side of my face from the accident, but over time the swelling would continue to get smaller. Now, almost 25 years later, you can barely see the scar. The mountain air in Oregon must have done me some good, because I moved up in that construction company rather quickly. I had started out as a laborer and soon became an instrument man on a survey crew. I was on my way to becoming a Civil Engineer and I was starting at the ground level, literally.
I began working my way up through the construction industry, and moving across the country (following the work). I went from laborer to surveyor to Field Engineer to Senior Field Construction Engineer to Assistant Project Engineer to General Superintendent, all within a three year time frame. By this time we were living in Virginia, just south of Washington, D.C. (coast to coast, and back again). The construction industry was slowing down and finding more work became difficult. I was working but I felt as though I had reached a ceiling.

Back to School - Again
I couldn’t go any higher or progress any further without a college degree, despite my years of experience. So, with a little prompting from family, I decided to give school another try and moved my family to Texas. I attended the University of Texas in San Antonio and entered the Civil Engineering program. My son was born in Oregon so I was a husband and a father when I went back to school. The big difference this time was that now I finally knew what I wanted to do and the “fog” was lifting. I went to school full time and worked 2 or 3 part time jobs, which was somewhat frustrating since my wife and I had agreed, prior to me returning to school, that she would go to work so I could focus full-time on school. Her insatiable appetite for spending (keeping up with Joneses) made that particular arrangement impossible. What made it even more stressful was finding out just how much she was spending. Something I used to enjoy with my son while he was growing up was to empty all the spare change from my pockets and leave it on the edge of the dresser so my son could come by, scoop it all up, and deposit it into his little piggy bank. Once his piggy bank was full, he and I would go to the bank together and make his deposit into his savings account. The tellers at the bank would let him go into the vault and watch the huge sorting machine count all the coins. One day after the coins were counted and his deposit was made, the teller handed my four year old son his statement showing how much money he had. What was supposed to add up to over four hundred dollars was now only a few bucks. I had the teller check where the money had gone and she verified that the boy’s mother had all but wiped out his account. Now, what kind of mother would do that to her child? Did she really think no one would find out? When I confronted her that evening, her attitude was “So?” She said she would pay it back later, but she never did. She never even tried. That was the first time I took a part time job while in school so I could put all that money back in my son’s savings account. I paid it all back, with interest. I also set it up so I was the only one who could access that account to make sure this could not happen again. We continued our practice of depositing those coins and watching the machine. My son is almost 19 now, and to the best of my knowledge he still doesn’t know about what his mother had done. My son’s mother showed no remorse for any of it. In the twenty some odd years I’ve known her, I have not once heard her say “I’m sorry”.
On top of a full time course load, I took classes at night and during the summer, and was able to finish in four years. It had been a long time since I had been in school and most of my credits didn’t transfer, so there were a lot of classes I had to re-take. It wasn’t easy, but this time I was determined and I stayed with it. My son was always a blessing during those times. While studying at the kitchen table, he would join me, sometimes with a coloring book or paper and crayons, and we would do “homework” together.

I treated school this time like a full time job. Once classes were over for the day, I would go to the library or to the engineering lab and study until dinner time. Then I’d go home to spend time with the wife and kid. Well, at least I got spend time with my son. His mother was steadily becoming more and more hateful and mean-spirited as time went on. Even with school and working part-time, I still tried my best to do things for her and give her as much time as I could. But she didn’t want any of my time at all. In fact, she rarely wanted anything to do with me. I wasn’t sure why. (I found out later she a had another guy on the side, but that's another story for another time). I remember one day in our Sunday school class, the teacher (who was also the pastor of the church) asked each of us to say one good positive thing about our spouses. I had the hardest time with that. After only being married for five years, I could think of one good thing to say about her. Baseboards! That’s it, baseboards! She’s the only person I know who will get on her hands and knees with a bucket and a sponge and clean the baseboards. Apparently, this was very important to her. Thank God for clean baseboards!
I know I am not perfect and certainly not the easiest person to live with, but I did all I could to be the kind of husband that she and God desired for me to be. She almost seemed to delight in making my life a living hell for those four years I was in school. Regardless, I was determined to finish school this time no matter what.
All that hard work and perseverance paid off. I graduated with a Bachelor of Science Degree in Civil Engineering in May of 1995. It wasn’t easy. It was most likely the most difficult four years of my life.

One More Child
As graduation approached, I had decided to find a job as far away from that hateful woman as I could. I landed a nice job with large construction firm on a big tunnel project in California. I planned to take my son and start over. Just the two of us. However, God must have had other plans. On graduation day, while celebrating with friends and family, my wife presented me with a slip of paper. It was a lab report from her doctor. It was then that I found out that our wonderful little girl was on the way. I know what you must be thinking: “If things were so bad, then how did she get pregnant?” I was surprised too, but, it only takes once. And once is all there had been in the last four years. While studying for mid-terms one night, she walked in and behaved like we were an actual married couple. I really thought things were changing for the better that night. But the next morning proved just how wrong I was. She acted as though nothing had happened and went right back to treating me as she always had – poorly. But that one night was all it took. My son’s little sister was on the way.

Well, so much for MY plans. I couldn’t leave that new little one without a father, so we made our plans and moved to the L.A. area to start our new life. I had really hoped this new baby would make a big difference in our lives and bring us closer together. It seems as though I have a habit of being wrong about things pertaining to her.

Our little girl was born in late December. She was, and still is, the most adorable and precious thing I have ever laid eyes on. She's my little "Squeaker". I call her that because when she was born, and for years after that, while she sleeps, her breathing sounds like a little squeaky toy. She’s still tiny, but there exists a sweetness in her unmatched by any other child I know of. She is what God’s unconditional love is all about. She’s never been taught that, she just lives it. I thank God that she is nothing at all like her mother.

Faster than a Speeding Bullet.....NOT!

Rockville, Maryland is a little town just outside Washington, D.C.
I had taken a semester off from school to go to work in an effort to try to determine what I wanted to do with my life. I worked for a small electronics company in Rockville.

On the morning of December 9, 1982, around 6:50 AM, I was just getting to work and pulled into the parking lot just across the street from the office. About halfway across the parking lot, I heard an explosion and before I could turn to see where it came from, some unseen force slammed my head into the driver’s side window.
For some reason, I had stepped on the clutch and the brake and stopped the car. There were no seat belt laws at this time and I certainly wasn’t wearing mine. I pulled myself off of the door and looked out the passenger side window. Most of it was gone. A huge hole had been blown out of it and I was covered in glass particles from that window. I was also covered in blood. Mine!

I had just been shot! In the face!

It was about that time I noticed I could not feel my lower jaw. With all the blood and debris inside the car, my first thought was that my jaw had been blown off. I slowly reached my hand up to my face, not sure of what I would find, and felt my jaw. It was still there. There was, however, a good sized hole in the right side of my face. I was still bleeding pretty badly so I put pressure on the wound with my right hand. Thoughts were spinning through my head. I had just been shot – in the face. I was still in one piece, as far as I could tell, so I got out of the car to see if I could find who had done this.
About as quickly as I got out of the car, I jumped back in because it began rolling backwards. I had forgotten to put it in gear or set the brake. I went ahead and parked the car and headed across the street to where I worked. I figured I needed to get to a hospital and I couldn’t drive a stick (the same car in which my Dad taught me how to drive) and keep my hand on my face, so I went looking for someone to drive me there.

Prior to being shot, the street was busy with activity, lots of cars whizzing by, but now, the area was dark and deserted. I recognized a Vietnamese woman from one of the assembly lines from work and I asked her if she could help me. As I stepped under the street light, where she could see me, a look of terror came over her face and she ran off muttering something I didn’t understand. Wow, I knew I probably looked bad, but I didn’t think I looked THAT bad! Even the secretary freaked out and ran off when she saw me enter the building. It turned out she ran to get help and find a towel for my face. The pressure from just my hand wasn’t doing much to stop the bleeding. One of the guys from work volunteered to drive me to the only hospital he knew in the area – clear on the opposite side of the beltway on the other side of Washington D.C. – instead of the one just a few miles down the road (nearby).

When we arrived at the hospital, I walked into the ER and the admitting nurse, upon seeing me, got up from behind the counter, and left! Boy, this really wasn't my day! It turned out that she had just gone to get some help. After filling out the forms and before the doctor arrived, I got a chance to go into the men's room and try to clean up a little bit. I finally got a look at myself in the large mirror in there. I looked like I had been through a war. I was soaked to the skin in my own blood, through my down vest, flannel shirt and t-shirt. Even my white tennis-shoes were now bright red. I was a sight. No wonder that lady ran off!
While waiting for the doctor, a male nurse came in and started taking my blood pressure and all that stuff they do when you go to the ER. We sat at a small table with him directly across from me. He pulled out a thermometer and tried to take my temperature. I told him I wasn't sick, that I had just been shot and needed to see the doctor. He said it was standard procedure and that I couldn't see the doctor until we finished up here. I stood up and informed him, in no uncertain terms, that I had just been shot in the head and that I was still kicking and to get me a doctor...NOW! (I was getting a little impatient by this time). He got up and left and the doctor came in almost right away.
The secretary from work, bless her heart, called my mother to tell her what happened, but had no idea which hospital I went to. I didn’t know either. After several phone calls, she finally tracked me down and drove out there. By the time she arrived, the doctor was stitching up the hole in my face, while a police officer stood on the other side of me asking questions. It was then that I learned that at least three other people were shot at in the same area around that same time that morning. I was the only one that got hit. (Lucky me). The doctor had also told me the bullet had come really close to the nerve in my face, which explained why I couldn’t feel my jaw right away. I had also lost a lot of blood. They took some x-rays of my jaw, told me I was fine and sent me home. My mother drove me back to work where I got in my car and drove it home.

The embarrassing part? After going through all that, after having a bullet blow a hole in my face, all I got were three stitches covered with a single, normal sized band-aid. I guess I expected a large bandage with lots of tape or something. Instead, I looked as though I had merely cut myself shaving! I know that sounds silly, but I had lost a lot of blood by this time.

A few days later, I went to see my oral surgeon to get the x-rays taken in preparation for getting my wisdom teeth out in a couple of weeks. After looking at the x-rays, he walked in and asked me if I knew that my jaw was broken. I had no idea! I knew it hurt like crazy whenever I tried to eat, but I didn’t know it was broken! The people at the hospital said I was okay!
I ended up having my jaw wired shut for the next two months! Needless to say I was on a liquid diet for a while. So much for Friday night pizza with the guys.

My mother put just about everything you could imagine in the blender. I know she loves me and she meant well, but pizza through a straw is just plain gross!

I got the wires off and had my wisdom teeth pulled on my 21st birthday. Not necessarily the way I had originally intended to spend the day upon turning 21.

Through it all, I never once found myself angry with whoever did this to me. I only wanted them found so I could ask them why they did it. The person(s) responsible were never found. Nevertheless, I forgave them, and tried my best to put that day behind me. I forgave them. I didn’t even know who it was I forgave, but the Bible said to do that, so I did.

Even though I spent the six to eight years in a fog, I never once felt any anger towards whoever did that to me. (I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t remember things, old friends now seemed like strangers to me. Part of my life was missing).

But I'll save that part of the story for later.

So, how did you spend your 21st birthday?

Snake, Rattles, and.....Whoa.

Remember that Brad Paisley song that says "....I hope I'm at least half the Dad, that he didn't have to be...." ?
Well, here's another reason why........

My step-dad, Carl liked to go hiking, or mountain climbing, or fishing, or….anything to do with being outdoors. One summer day, when I was around 10, mom and Carl decided it would be fun to drive up into the Southern California mountains and go hiking and spend some time in the great outdoors.

Okay, so mom and little sister stayed near the car and Carl and I went hiking.

We found ourselves hiking up an old dried up creek bed. It was interesting to see how the bottom of the creek was lined with smooth stones, while the steep sides were mostly dirt with tree roots and other vegetation sticking out of the embankments. Carl took much delight in explaining things like the earth’s “strata” (he liked teaching me new words) and how the flow of the water, during the rainy season, carves shapes into the dirt and rock as it makes it way down the mountain. One thing I recall that seemed quite interesting was the way the creek bottom would step down in certain places. It appeared that a tree branch, or log, would get stuck, small stones would build up around it and create a small waterfall. I was actually fascinated by how these things would occur naturally in nature. I might not have admitted it back then, after all, I was still trying to get used to this guy, but I was really enjoying this adventure.

Now, the next part of the story is told a little differently depending on who tells it and who they are telling it too. To avoid any confusion, and to confirm certain suspicions for some, I’ll give it to you exactly how it happened, at least from the perspective of a 10 year old boy.

After hiking up this creek bed for quite some time, a certain “call” of nature tends to present itself, especially if you’ve been careful to keep your body hydrated while hiking in the Southern California sun. (Yep, Carl was an Eagle Scout). When Carl tells this story, especially around people from church or when ladies are present, he says that we had stopped to admire some real pretty rocks. The truth of the matter is that we had to pee. So we decided to carve out our own little shapes into the embankment of this creek bed. It was a real father-son bonding moment.

Carl finished first and had turned away from our new “artwork”. Then, with a low and serious tone I’d never heard him use before, Carl told me to move very slowly while I zipped up, and to turn around very slowly and to make no sudden movements. Something in his tone of voice told me I should do exactly as he said. As I turned around, Carl said to look at the embankment behind us. It is a really good thing I was already empty because coiling up on that embankment was the biggest Diamond-Back Rattlesnake I had ever seen. Okay, so it was the first rattlesnake I had ever seen. I didn’t like snakes. I didn’t like snakes so much I wouldn’t visit the reptile exhibit at the zoo. I had never seen a snake in real life before that day and this bad boy was huge! Remember, I was only 10 and very small for my age, but even Carl agreed that this was a really big snake. It was still moving and was coiling up on a small ledge on that embankment, preparing to strike, but was not yet in a position to do so.

Although time seemed to move very slowly for me, Carl decisively and quickly, albeit rather smoothly, lifted me up and set me down in the bottom of one of those waterfall things I mentioned earlier. With the same low voice as before, he told me to keep my head down, and to not look up or move until he told me it was okay.

I now could not see what was going on, but I can still hear everything vividly. The smash and crack of the rock Carl threw at the snake. The frightening sound of that snake’s rattles as it hissed and rattled as it prepared to strike. It never got the chance.

I can still hear the Smack! Smack! Smack! of the rock as Carl repeatedly beat that snake with a rock the size of my head. I was told not to move, so I stayed where I was. I couldn’t see what was happening. I was afraid. I was afraid for Carl.
Would the snake get him, or would he get the snake?

I heard the snake’s rattles get stronger and more fierce sounding with each smashing blow. I wasn’t about to move or try to look. Then, the snake’s rattles began to slow down, slower, slower, less menacing, then shake….shake….shake…..thud.

I heard some movement across the rock on the ledge above me, and I heard Carl say it was alright to come up. As I climbed back up to where the fight took place, I saw Carl turn around from where that snake lay dead. He had cut of the snake’s rattles and handed them to me to keep as a souvenir. He then jammed that big rock on top of the snake’s head to make sure no one could come in contact with its fangs.

We counted the number of rattles Carl had cut off the snake’s tail. There were 15 rattles! Carl told me that a rattlesnakes shed its skin once a year, and when it sheds that layer of skin, a new rattle is formed. That meant that snake was 15 years old. Yep, that was one really big DiamondBack! I guess we'd both had enough excitment for one day, and decided to head back to the car for some lunch. Carl offered to bring the snake meat back with us, saying that they make good eating, but I was looking forward to the PBJ mom was making. I think he was just kidding anyway. At least I'd hoped he was.

I learned something that day. Even though I’d only known this guy for two years, and I didn’t (yet) call him “dad”, he cared about me. His first concern in that moment was for my safety. The first thing he did was protect me, shield me, get me out of harm’s way. Then he eliminated the threat. My appreciation and respect for him grew a lot that day. I was only ten years old, but the way I saw it , that man saved my life that day.

Thanks Dad.