A Love Story.

The first time he saw her was in the cafeteria at high school. She was young — just a freshman — and he thought she was cute. What he noticed immediately was her huge smile. It spread from ear-to-ear, and lit up the whole room. It was clear she was reserved, but it would be some time before he found out just how shy she really was.

He was rebounding from a breakup with his first love. That’s tough, and if you’ve ever been through it, you know how much it hurts, and what a confusing time it can be. He was currently dating a crush he’d had since junior high school, but it was on and off, because of his own immaturity, and it was now cooling off.

He was outgoing, and fairly popular, and president of his Junior class. But mostly he just loved being a musician, and playing music for Jesus. As fate would have it, the younger sister of the crush he was dating, was herself dating another musician — a young keyboard player. They met one evening and formed an instant friendship.

The keyboard player’s cousin was the shy girl from the cafeteria.

They were introduced for the first time at a school music program. And as the musician friends began to hang out together, so did the shy girl hang around as well. And so the friendship began.

She was beyond shy. Not popular — not because she couldn’t be, but because she didn’t want to be. She was nearly an introvert. But for some reason, not with him. Oh, she was always quiet — still is, to this day — but she could talk to him. And she would listen as he would unload all the hurt from his recent breakups. She was a good listener. They would secretly talk on the phone until the wee hours of the morning, whispering into the phones to each other as they hid in their beds. And the friendship blossomed.

They were accused of secretly dating long before they actually were. In fact, as the accusations flew among their friends and family, he took her aside to assure her his intentions were only to be friends, and that he wasn’t interested in dating her romantically. She nodded in agreement, but he knew later she was hurt to find the friendship would go no further.

But he was stupid. And it only took him a few weeks to figure it out. She was a great girl. Quiet, and shy, and cute, and supportive, and loyal, and loving. And they had developed into great friends. And he loved being with her — near her. Two days after Christmas, 1986, he asked her for a date, and kissed her for the first time. Oh boy…

Dating for them was an uphill battle in many respects. Most of their family and friends didn’t believe the two completely diverse personalities could succeed. But what the others couldn’t see or possibly understand was how the two complemented each other. He providing spontaneity, and excitement, and a silliness in her life that she might not have had on her own, and she providing quietness, serenity, and unconditional love that wouldn’t be there otherwise for him. Opposites attracted a perfect match.

Four years of dating gave way to marriage in 1991. She worked in the healthcare field, while he pursued his music and self-employment endeavors. She supported him completely, and always encouraged him. And he loved her all the more for it. Like most young couples, they had little money. They dreamed of living at the beach someday. But all they really wanted to do was hang out with each other. And they did that a lot. They still do.

But things weren’t simple, and they certainly weren’t easy. Her health has always been precarious at best, and life-threatening at worst. Non-working sinuses sent her back and forth to the doctors and the operating tables, and continue to cause problems to this day. The really rough stuff was still to come.

Five years of marriage saw their first child arrive. The second two years later. The former, a beautiful baby boy, put her in pre-term labor and 10 weeks of bed rest, and arrived a full month early. The latter, another beautiful baby boy, put her in the hospital mid-term as he arrived 11 weeks premature. And it was here that he began to see just how strong and courageous she really was.

And she was a world class mother. A real pro! Quite frankly, the best he’s ever seen. She has the pure, ingrained skills that most mothers envy, but not all have. Watching her with his boys melted his heart. She gave up working to stay home with the boys. And she joyfully handled the bulk of the day-to-day work of raising two boys, while he worked to provide for the family. And when she’d fall ill, he’d take care of her. But she was always better at taking care of him and the children.

Five years of marriage turned into 10. Through each chapter, and every hardship, he fell further in love with her. They still dreamed of living at the beach someday. Money stayed tight, but they managed to earn enough to pay the bills (mostly!) and create memories with the family. Going to Reds games was the favorite past time, and they went to a game every time they could save up the few extra bucks to do so. They’re so glad they did. And so are the boys. With every game, every new adventure, and every new memory, he fell in love even more.

It was the year between their 10th and 11th anniversary that changed their lives forever. In the previous few years, she’d had some serious health setbacks. More sinus surgeries, a battle with a nasty little fungus that attacked as a result of some of the meds she’d taken for her sinuses, and a hysterectomy brought on by complications (and negligence) from the second pregnancy.

But 2002 was the year of the brain tumor.

Fifteen hours of surgery, and six weeks later, 11 more. Massive complications resulted in 3 spinal fluid leaks, and 3 more surgeries. The whole ordeal left her with deafness in one ear, and half a smile. But he thinks its the biggest, most glorious half smile on earth. And still brighter than most others.

He loved her ever more. But he learned as he never had before that she was the strongest, toughest person he’d likely ever know. She powered through things that would have broken normal people. She stood up to pain that would have leveled most anyone else. And through it all, she made sure the children were covered, made every practice and activity, and got all their homework done. Amazing.

She survived, and they celebrated with a trip to Disney World, thanks to her parents. Vacationing near an ocean, in the warmer climates, would become more regular. She felt better near the ocean. And they dreamed of living there even more.

Ten years became 15. Self-employment had given way to an everyday job. He still played music, and she still supported it. They made a little headway in the world, and still spent all their time together as a family. As 15 years turned into 20, their love continued to grow even more. He became his own boss once again, and with her continued support and encouragement, he was able to grow the business into the most prosperous years of their marriage.

The boys were growing up. And he was becoming more and more clingy. The older he got, the more he just wanted to be with her. He didn’t realize it all those years ago, but from the moment he first saw the shy girl, the rest of his life would be consumed with being with her. They began spending twice a year at the ocean. The salt air helped her headaches and cleared her sinuses. And he loved when he could see her feel good.

The boys graduated high school and left town to pursue their own lives and dreams. But there was sadness too. They lost two good friends, and another family member. Very suddenly, and very sadly, and far too young. And as God blessed his business and their marriage, the dream of living at the ocean became much more. It became a quest.

As 20 years came and went, they put the wheels in motion. But the wheels got stuck one night when a flood visited their home and took away well over half their possessions. But it couldn’t take away their dream, and couldn’t slow down their love as it grew for each other through every hardship. They’d long since learned that nothing could stop them. Certainly not three feet of water.

Twenty-five years arrived. Their children threw them a party, and their friends and family gathered to celebrate with them. Many who’d never thought it would work over 25 years earlier. And they were happy to be there, and happy to share it with the people they love.

And now the dream is coming true. In a couple weeks, they’re moving to the beach. In a brand new home they never could have imagined when they were kids just learning what love was really all about. They’re older now, and their bodies a little more wrinkled and broken down. But not so old and broken down that they can’t enjoy holding hands on the beach. He’ll still work, and she’ll still take care of him and their home, and still encourage his endeavors. And she’ll still love him in that innocent, quiet, unconditional way she always has.

And she’ll still take his breath away every time she’s near him.

And for maybe the first time in her whole life, she’ll get to wake up every morning in a place where she doesn’t feel sick all the time. A place where her head doesn’t hurt every day. In a home she’s always dreamed of, with the man she’s loved for 30 years.

For him, he’ll be happy to see her feel better, to be sure. But mostly, he’ll just be glad to wake up next to her every day. Doesn’t matter where it is.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Thankful for Friends and Family!

I've been around the block long enough to have learned you should never say never.

That being said, today is our last Thanksgiving as Indiana residents. And so today, we're especially retrospective. As cliche' as this is going to sound, today we are thankful for good friends.

For the past several weeks, we have been scheduling get-togethers with as many friends and family as possible before we scoot out of town. And what a joy it has been. No matter the breakfast, lunch, or dinner, we have had an absolute blast catching up with loved ones, and it is an endeavor I'm so glad we've undertaken.

And after each, I've left thinking, "Why haven't we done this more often?"

Wonder why that is, ya think?

Why did we wait to make this effort now, right before we're leaving town?

I get it. I fully understand how busy everyone is, because our own lives can get really busy, really often. Especially when we were raising our boys, our time could be filled up quickly with little else than dealing with all their activities. The reality is we're all busy. And it's probably been that way for most generations.

But then, we all set our own priorities, don't we? Don't get me wrong, our immediate families should always be our first priority. I know mine was to me, and I make no apologies for the fact that often, other friends and family in my life got pushed aside for anything I wanted to do with my wife and kids. I would expect the same treatment in return.

But sometimes I do think we lose focus. Outside of immediate family, how many other things -- and I do mean "things" -- do we put in front of spending time with loved ones? As I look back at my own life, and especially as I get older, I can reflect on numerous times when I chose to occupy my time with something that now seems completely meaningless, over spending time with a good friend or family member.

How many times have I been invited to do something with someone, only to tell them no, I'm simply covered up right now? I regret a lot of that now.

To be fair, and completely honest, the Mrs. and I have always been really good hanging out with just each other. In fact, there's nothing I enjoy more than just being with her. And so while we have many friends and family to whom we feel very close, we've never been that couple who always goes out with that other couple, or always vacations with those particular friends. And that's OK. We know others who virtually always go out or vacation with another particular couple or group. And that's OK too.

In either case, in the larger scheme of things, how many times have we put off spending time with loved ones for something far less important?

A good friend of mine recently told me that they have a rule in their family: If another friend or family member asks them to do something together, the answer is an automatic yes. Life is too short, he says, to pass up those opportunities. So they always say yes.

I like that. I like that very much. I wish I'd adopted that mantra a long time ago.

And so here we are, just over a week away from our big move. And we will be leaving everything -- and most everybody -- we've ever known. Don't misunderstand... we're VERY excited for this new chapter in our lives. And moving across the country isn't the same today as it used to be. With social media, friends can sometimes now stay in touch better than ever before.

But it isn't, of course, the same as being able to sit down over dinner and just fellowship with each other. Or just hang out in each other's living room and catch up, face to face.

Yes, today, we are especially thankful for all our friends.

Which is why it was so important to us in this move to find a home that had space for people to come visit. We've never lived in a home that was really big enough to house visitors. And it was a priority of ours to make sure we got one in this move.

And we have. Plenty of space, in fact, at the risk of sounding boastful. We're moving to a vacation spot, and we'd love nothing more than for our friends and family to come and enjoy it as much as we do. To everyone we've invited to come visit... yes, we're serious. To each of you who may be reading this... yes, we're serious. It would be our absolute pleasure for you to come visit us.

There may be times, to be sure, as we'll have to handle the responsibilities of our everyday lives, that you may have to come and entertain yourselves a bit while in town. But to the best of our ability, we'll strive to be good and gracious hosts. We'll make time over dinner a priority, and perhaps we can play a round of golf, or explore Savannah for a day, or just relax on the beach.

We'd like that very much.

And so, on this Thanksgiving Day, please know beyond a doubt that we are are deeply thankful for all the friends and family in our lives. And we hope to see you all again very, very soon.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. May your lives be as blessed as ours.

The Late Night Coon Kill

It was late at night. Actually, it was early morning, ‘round about 1:00 am or so. I remember that much, although on a normal ride home, I probably would have remembered very little other than walking in the door and going to bed.

My buddy and I, Kenny Fulk, had spent most of the evening at another friend’s house in Paragon, IN, playing music. We’d made this trek a few times before, but we always had a good time playing guitar at Dan’s house. And so, this Friday night we’d decided to head down again for the jam session.

If you know anything about Paragon, IN, then you know it doesn’t matter where in Paragon you find yourself — either out in the ‘burbs, or in the beautiful, downtown Metropolis — you are out in the sticks. Paragon is one of those small southern Indiana towns that is rural no matter where you go. Even though IN State Road 67 runs right through the middle of town, there’s nothing uptown about it. Paragon is in the woods.

The home we visited when playing guitar together is not in the downtown Metropolis. It is off the beaten path, to say the least. So the drive home, at one in the morning, involves a lot of backwoods roads that, save the headlights of the van, and maybe the moon, are bathed in darkness. “Pitch” black is the term we like to use.

After a night of singing and playing guitar, as the passenger in the van and not old enough to have my license anyway, I was nodding off to sleep, and quick. Kenny was driving.

Just as I was almost out completely, I felt the van swerve suddenly, and vaguely heard Kenny exclaim, “Oh man, that’s a $20 bill!”

The van came to a screeching halt as I was instantly snapped awake. By the time I realized what was going on, Kenny was exiting the van — in a hurry. “Come on!” he yelled at me.

It’s here where I should digress a bit and tell you that Ken Fulk is a hunter. And while he’s good at hunting many things, he is, beyond measure, a raccoon hunter of the highest order. I mean, this guy’s a pro! Raccoon hunting, as you may or may not know, involves hunting with dogs. Coon hounds, to be more precise. Really, one doesn’t necessarily hunt raccoons in and of itself. One actually releases Coon Dogs into the wild, and THEY hunt the raccoons. The hunter, in turn, just chases the dogs around in the woods until they “tree” a raccoon, which means they’ve chased the raccoon up a tree. And now, as the coon tries to hide up in the tree, the hunter then tries to shoot the raccoon out of the tree. It’s big fun.

And Kenny is a master. He’s also a maniac — when it comes to coon hunting, I mean. When he’s hunting raccoons, he’s absolutely ruthless. Yelling and cussing and kicking and screaming, mushing the hounds like an Iditarod racer, rambling head on through briars and bushes and thickets in search of the kill. Kenny is a great man of God, and one of my dearest friends and mentors, and I can say this without any reservation whatsoever: When he’s huntin’ coons, he’s an absolute madman!

Now, you can’t really eat raccoons. Or so I’m told. But raccoon hunting is popular, A) because it’s big fun, and B) there’s money in the pelts. Skin a raccoon, and good coon fur is worth some money.

And that brings us back to our story. It was the aforementioned “…that’s a $20 bill” exclamation that caught my attention. Apparently, as I slipped off into dreamland, an unlucky raccoon had rambled across that Paragon backroad right into the path of Kenny’s van. Recognizing the financial opportunity, Kenny had swerved the van and ran him down!

To secure his bounty, Kenny stopped the van and jumped out to retrieve the dead coon from which he could extract the $20 pelt.

Except he wasn’t dead.

Apparently, the run-in with the van — literally — hadn’t killed the raccoon, but rather had merely wounded him. And now, though injured, the little critter was making a break for it down the dark road. Kenny opened up the back of the van, shoved a big, black flashlight into my hands, and, not having a hunting rifle in the van, grabbed a hatchet. Once again yelling, “come on!” he gave chase.

Now get this: the van — running, with the lights on and the doors open — is sitting cockeyed in the middle of this dark road. Here I am, still barely awake and not really sure what’s going on, following a hatchet-wielding wild man as we’re running right down the middle of the road chasing a limping and retreating raccoon.

At 1:00 am.

In my memory, it looks like a chase from the TV show, Cops. Just as we reach the raccoon, in a last ditch effort to escape, the little critter darts off the road to the right, down a ditch and up the other side, and get’s stopped by a fence. Kenny, of course, heads into the ditch in full chase. Realizing the only option is to turn and fight, the raccoon spins and snarls. Before the little guy can launch the attack, Kenny pounces.

Remember, I’m holding the flashlight.

Kenny leaps upon this spitting and snarling and scratching and biting and screaming and injured critter and starts pounding away at his head with the butt end of the hatchet. Through it’s squeals and Kenny’s grunts, I can hear it’s little skull cracking. And I stood there and watched Kenny beat this thing to death.

When the carnage was over, Kenny turned around, all sweaty and out of breath, and said, “I can get $20 for this guy.” Or something of that nature.

And so, he picks up his prey, and we trudge back to the van. Not surprisingly, not one car had driven by to witness the battle, not that they could have gotten by anyway, what with the van blocking the road as it was.

Lest you forget, we’d been playing guitar together earlier in the evening, singing songs that were loving and touching and meaningful. Now, Kenny dumps this dead, bloody carcass in the back of the van, right alongside our guitars and amps. It was a touching tribute, I thought, to the valiant fight the little guy had waged.

We got back in the van and drove off. We didn’t say much to each other, and I didn’t fall back asleep. I was never really the same after that.

That was over 30 years ago, and in case you’re wondering, Kenny and I are still best friends. He and his family mean the world to me and my family. We still play a lot of music together, and yes, he’s still a maniacal raccoon hunter. This is just one of probably a hundred hilarious stories I can tell involving experiences with Kenny.

Most of my friends, and virtually all of our mutual friends have heard the story about the time Kenny beat a raccoon to death with the butt end of a hatchet in the middle of the night. As it is seared into my memory, I’ve told it many times, often in the presence of Kenny himself just so people know I didn’t make it up. There are other raccoon stories as well. Funny ones. But none as fascinating as this one.

Tonight, Ginger and I had the pleasure of having dinner with him and his wife, along with other great friends of ours. We sat and ate Japanese food together, and laughed as we told old stories. And yes, the infamous raccoon story was mentioned. As we’d all heard it before — and Kenny and I lived it in all it’s glory — I didn’t have to retell it. I just had to mention it. And we laughed.

It occurred to me that I had never written the story down, to save it, you know, for posterity sake. So here it is. And it was all true. I promise.

We look forward to our good friends coming to visit us in our new home. There’s no raccoons where we’re going to live in South Carolina. Well, actually, I don’t know if that’s true or not. What IS true is that where we’re gonna live, its not uncommon for alligators to ramble around, even out in the middle of the road.

And what a story that will be when Kenny tries to get money for some alligator boots!

Biff's!

The title should tell you all you need to know. Perhaps my all-time favorite part of Mooresville, Indiana, is Biff's Bakery. Equally for the food, the sweets, the experience, and the memories. The official name was Biff's Pioneer House. The staff answered the phone by simply saying, "Bakery!"

My Mom and Dad were taking me and my brother and sister to Biffs as early in my life as I can possibly remember. Opened on Main St. in 1956 by Al "Biff" Hornaday, ol' Biff ran things until he passed in the late 80's. By that time, most of the day-to-day operations were run by his son Larry, and Larry's wife Alice. Larry passed away in 2007, and ownership was subsequently transferred to his children, but Alice ran things -- mostly by herself in the past few years -- until her death last year. Sadly, despite multiple offers and options to keep it open, the children chose to close the doors upon Alice's death.

My Dad worked there as a teenager in the 50's, alongside Alice, who met Larry at the diner as she waitressed there as a teen. And my family remained friends with the Hornaday family until it closed. So my connection to Biffs goes all the way back to practically when it opened.

My first memories of Biffs came sometime in the 70's when my Dad, by then a trucker, would stop at Biffs before coming home from a run, and bring home a bag of chocolate chip cookies. I loved those cookies! Eventually, my memories morph into actually going to the diner and having breakfast. After my parents divorced, we continued to go to Biffs regularly.

By the time I was a teenager, but still years away from driving, I would ride my bike there on summer mornings and buy donuts. Often, friends and I would walk up there in the evenings to eat. And when my buddy and I, Ken Fulk, (refer to my last Fond Memory) started playing music together every Friday night, we would end our jam sessions every week with a trip to Biffs, often well after midnight.

And let me tell you, you haven't lived unless you've been to Biffs after midnight.

Until the last decade or so, Biff's was open 24 hours, and in addition to the normal late-night clientele, if you hung around long enough, Pat's Tavern would close up just down the street, and a good deal of their inebriated crowd would ramble down to Biff's for a late night (early morning!) meal. And that's when the real fun would begin!

My friends and I, and subsequently, my family and I, continued to patronize Biffs up until it closed. And I miss it tremendously.

I could write a book full of memories from Biffs alone. But there are some highlights:

First, of course, is the food. Oh, the food. From a breakfast standpoint, there has never been, and likely never will be, anything better than Biff's biscuits and gravy. Many loved the sausage gravy, indeed some of the best. But for me, it was their chipped-beef gravy.

OMG! The best ever. It's bad enough that one can hardly even find chipped-beef gravy these days, but to this day, I've never had any, anywhere, as good as Biff's, and I doubt I'll ever find any. There was magic in their gravy, I'm convinced of it, and it is to our detriment that we'll never get to experience it again.

After breakfast, they made a killer Beef Manhattan that may not have been the best ever, but it was pretty darned good! A full lineup of great, down-home, small-town, Indiana country cooking.

But what made Biff's famous was it's bakery, and what put Biff's on the map, was the Bismark. There are many who believe Biff's may very well have invented the entire concept of the Bismark, the standard by which all the other imitators today are measured. The Bismark, simply put, is a cinnamon roll, topped with white icing and sprinkled with nuts. And it was world famous, as they literally fielded requests for Bismarks from all over the world, as far away as Russia! They would cook 'em up, box 'em up, and ship 'em out. And they were in demand from all corners of the States and beyond.

As for me -- and I realize this is almost sacrilegious -- I wasn't a big fan of the Bismark, primarily because I like chocolate, and I don't like nuts. For me, it was the Long John! The Long John was a creme-filled (not gross custard!) pastry, topped with chocolate icing. And it was pure Heaven and Hell all in one donut! I miss them tremendously, as, again, no one has been able to quite duplicate it. I'm sure many of you miss the Bismark just as much.

As for the people, well, who doesn't remember Ruby?! Ruby Gregory was old when I was a baby, and old when I became an adult. And all the while, waitressed at Biff's like a boss! For those who may not remember, Ruby was about 3 feet tall, with white hair, and if you complained about the food she brought you, she'd smack you in the back of the head. You never really had to tell her your order, because she already knew it anyway, and it was fun to watch the drunks from Pat's come in and hit on her, only to receive their own smack in the head!

And I never walked out without giving her a hug. Ruby was an absolute angel, and I miss her to this day.

Alice, of course, was the constant for the entire 50+ years Biff's was open. She was the owner, the waitress, the bus boy, the cook, the dishwasher, the bill payer, and register girl. For the final few years, as her children were content to let it die, Alice did most of it all by herself just to keep it going. Many was the time I'd go in the diner and Alice would be the only one working in the whole place. And the food would still be as good.

She knew most everyone's name, and knew everyone's order. And for a place that was founded by, and named for, her father-in-law, she was the face of the business for the last decade it was open.

And my other memories are endless. The countless after-midnight meals. My buddy writing my name on the bathroom wall. The bible-studies with friends. That chats with friends. The booth that belonged to Theo Hastings, who would enter the diner through the back kitchen door. Arkie Vaughn. Ruby smacking me on the back of the head. The passed-out drunks with their faces buried in their biscuits and gravy. Donnie. The night a preppie couple chastised my friends and me for being too boisterous. Dirty. The night my very large best friend climbed up on a chair like a baby because he saw a mouse. Biscuits and chipped beef gravy chased by a Long John. Alice's smile. And on, and on, and on...

I went into Biff's hundreds of times over the years, with just as many memories. You probably did too.

But here's today's memory: One night, just a year or two before Larry Hornaday died, my wife and I bumped into him and Alice at the Golden Corral Buffet in Plainfield... of all places. It is the only time I can ever recall encountering either of them outside the diner. Larry's health was failing him, as was his eyesight.

As I approached to say hello, of course Alice gave me a hug, but Larry couldn't see me well enough to recognize me. Alice told him, "It's Paul Uhls." "Paul Uhls?" Larry replied. "That's a fatter Paul Uhls than I remember!"

I laughed. I said, "Of course I'm fatter. It's your fault from me eating at Biff's all those years!"

Indeed... from all the food at Biff's, all those years. And I'd do it all again.

There's a little diner just down the street from our new home in South Carolina. It's called the Squat N Gobble. It's little. Homey, and kitschy, and inviting. We've visited a couple times. It's pretty good. Nice, down home cookin'. We'll probably eat there with some regularity. I might even become good friends with the owners and people who work there.

But they don't have chipped-beef gravy. And they don't have Long Johns. And they don't have Alice and Ruby.

It's not Biff's. It could never hope to be.

Time to Make the Right Choice!

This is my final political post for this election. No debate on this one. Comment if you want, but there is nothing left to debate. You’re either voting for our future, or against it.

Tomorrow is the day. If you’ve already voted, I pray you’ve made the right decision. If you have not, then it’s time to face the reality of what you’re about to do.

There are only two candidates with any chance of winning tomorrow. ONLY two. And it’s time to stop playing around and understand exactly what is at stake. A vote for anybody other than Donald Trump tomorrow is a vote for Hillary Clinton. Plain and simple. And before you “vote your conscience” you need to fully understand what you’re doing.

Donald Trump is a flawed man, there is no question about that. He’s done and said things in his life that he himself says he regrets. He has not been a man of extremely high moral character over his life. As a Christian, I understand the apprehension, I really do. It would be far easier if we had a man with the character of a Ronald Reagan or George W. Bush. Unfortunately, we do not.

But let me be clear about this: I believe Hillary Clinton is an absolute snake. She is evil to the core. She is the serpent in the Garden, and don’t you forget it! Since the beginning of her political career (which has been her whole adult life, by the way) she has done nothing that hasn’t been self-serving, to advance her own position, and make herself wealthy beyond measure. The same could be said about Donald Trump, but the difference is that she’s done it at the expense of the taxpayer, not in the private sector. She’s used her positions in public service to advance her own agendas, that benefitted no one outside her own personal circle. She changes her political position as often as the wind changes, to whatever side is most politically prudent at the time to keep her positions. (Think: the Iraqi War and Gay Marriage.) She’s hell bent, as are most Liberals of her ilk, on destroying America as we know it and turning it into a state that serves her own, selfish needs, while creating a permanent lower class of people that keep her in power. She’s a bad, bad person.

So, if you do not vote for Donald Trump tomorrow, here’s what you’re voting for:

1) A party that specifically and on purpose — and by a vote — removed any reference to God from their official platform. (Look it up.)
2) Per her own campaign promises, an all-out assault on the Bill of Rights, including but not limited to the Freedom of Speech, the Freedom of Religion, and the Right to Bear Arms. (Which will eliminate your right to decide how to protect your family)
3) The willingness to murder up to 1 million babies per year.
4) The end of traditional family values as we know them.
5) The continuation of 8 full years of Liberal agenda, with a specific intent to put an end to America’s superiority in the world.
6) The continuation of a path towards the government controlling all costs and decisions about your healthcare. You’re own thoughts, needs, and desires about your own healthcare will become irrelevant.
7) A promise to raise taxes on anyone who becomes successful in business.
8) A promise to allow unfettered immigration, with no attempts to vet radical extremists whose sole goals are to destroy the United States and kill Americans. (See how that’s working out for places like France and Germany.)
9) The possibility that the Supreme Court could be stocked with Liberals for at least the next generation or two. Your children, and perhaps your grandchildren, will be forced to live under a Court system whose entire belief system revolves around the idea that the government should control every aspect of their lives, and that the rights our forefathers envisioned for us are no longer valid.
10) A promise to continue the completely out-of-control government spending that has plunged this country into a deficit that is now virtually un-fixable, with no plan whatsoever to curb frivolous spending.
11) A promise to take the decisions about how to educate your children away from you and the people in your community, and place it in the hands of a few people in the federal government 1000 miles away from your home.
12) A blatant and conceited disregard for the laws of this land. The only presidential candidate in history to be under an active FBI investigation at the time of the election.
13) A history of corruption and scandal, that has left a lot of dead bodies in her wake, and created ridiculous wealth for her and her family.

Remember, everything you think is wrong with our federal government today is the fault of Hillary Clinton and all the other career politicians like her. Donald Trump has never raised a tax, never voted to take away your right to anything, never voted to spend away taxpayer money, and never created any policy or law that furthered our deficit. Everything you believe Hillary Clinton will fix by voting her into office was caused by her to begin with!

That’s what you’re voting for if you vote for anyone other than Donald Trump tomorrow. You can vote your conscience if it makes you feel good about yourself when you’re all done, and yet, all that above will be the only result. You can say that at the end of the day, God will remain in control, and that will be true. But remember this, God routinely let nations wallow in their stupidity, and suffer the consequences of their selfish desires, ambitions, and decisions. God will remain in control to be sure, but it doesn’t mean he will miraculously reach down and fix all the problems we ourselves created. Your children and grandchildren could suffer for years for the decisions you make tomorrow.

Donald Trump might be a creep. He might be off-the-cuff. He might be hot-headed. He might be insensitive. He might not be the best we could have nominated. But in this election, he is the man who represents our platform. He is the man who looked into the camera and admitted that even though he might not always hold the same standards we do, he would fight for our right to hold those standards, believe the way we want to believe, worship the way we want to worship, and not have to bow to the will of the government. Yes, he said that, and promised that. Hillary doesn’t even pretend.

Feel good about yourself if you want. I can’t stop you. But just know the future is in your hands, and regardless of how you cast your ballot tomorrow, your vote will result in either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton as our next president.

I pray our children can live with the results.

Mentoring a Young Man

My mother and father divorced when I was 10 years old. My older brother did a great job of stepping in as the man of the house, and played a huge hand in helping to raise me. I will be forever thankful to him because he never treated me as a younger brother, but rather treated me pretty much as an equal, and spent a lot of time with me. The countless hours we've spent over the years playing baseball and softball together will mean more to me than he will ever know.

But there were other men who stepped up and mentored me in my younger years as well. As I grew into my early teen years, the paths -- both good and bad -- I could have taken in my life were wide open in all directions. I wanted to be a rock-n-roll star, that was for sure, and there were several men in my church who recognized my talents and my desires and helped foster me in the right directions.

These men took me to my first Christian rock concerts when I was yet still a young lad, and when they finally took me to my first Petra concert, it was over, and I was hooked. My career, such as it is, as a musician for Jesus has continued ever since.

The men of God who shaped me into the man I am today are probably too numerous to mention, but I would like to single out a few. Scott Johnson, Bill VanHuss Steve Gregory, Randy Weece, Jerry Shrake, Tom Reedy and Terry Crist were all men who played a major role in helping raise me, whether they realize it or not. And with some, we've forged friendships that are as strong today in my adult years as they ever were when I was a kid.

But here's today's fond memory: When I was a youngin', our church, Mt. Gilead, would hold a New Year's Eve party each year at Neil Armstrong elementary school. On New Year's Eve 1982, as I was playing games with friends in the gymnasium, a jam session broke out in the corner. Several men from the church had toted their guitars along with them to the party, and they started playing music together. I was enthralled. As I stood there gawking, Terry Crist asked me where my guitar was. I instantly insisted my Mom drive me home so I could get it.

She did.

I returned and was instantly invited to sit in -- me, a boy of 12, among men, all seasoned musicians. They all treated me as one of the guys! And I was in absolute Heaven! It was the first time I'd every gotten to "jam" with anyone else, and they let me play the songs I knew and play along with theirs.

One gentleman in particular had a 12-string guitar. I'd never seen one -- actually didn't even know such a thing existed. He played it like a champ, and I was in awe. We played well past the midnight New Year, and I went home with my Mom a very happy young man.

Flash forward about 8 months: As the new school year started, our new Sunday School classes changed over, and I stepped into my first Jr. High Sunday School class. The teacher for the class was the man with the 12-string guitar. It was the first time I'd encountered him since New Year's, but I instantly recognized him and reminded him who I was. He remembered and asked if I was still playing guitar. When I assured him I was, he suggested that perhaps we get together and play some more music together.

A few weeks later, he picked me up from my house on a Friday night, and took me to his home. We sat in his (sparsely furnished) living room and played guitar together into the wee hours of the night. That began a regular Friday night get together that would last for years, and dominate almost my every Friday night clear thru high school.

More importantly, we formed an instant and strong friendship that has lasted to this very day. He was 13 years older than me (still is, actually!) At 27 years of age, he treated me, a 13 year old boy, as an equal. He mentored me, and taught me about life, and how to be a man, and a gentleman, and how to be a better person. And mostly, how to love Jesus.

The ensuing years saw countless nights at Biffs, trips to Paragon, the senseless murder of an unfortunate raccoon, endless laughs, forming a band, gigs, gigs and more gigs, he as my employer, and a thousand other memories I don't have space for here.

Oh yeah... and gas -- methane, I think -- lethal, toxic, tear-inducing, breath-taking (gagging?) gas. 'Nuff said.

Today, his family is my family, and mine his, and our friendship might as well be a brotherhood, as strong today as it was when I was 13.

Thank you, Kenny Fulk, for taking a young kid under your wing, for seeing something in him, and not only encouraging it, but fostering it. For teaching him about Jesus, and for playing a vital role in forging him into the husband and father he is today. You've been as good a Mentor, Father, Brother, and Friend as I could ever ask for.

I might be moving a little farther away, but I think there's still plenty of music to be played. Perhaps a jam session on the beach is in our future, with our girls swooning off to the side, yeah?

And I would ask you to stop stinking things up, but what fun would that be, huh?

P.S. I considered publishing a list of things I've learned from Kenny. The list would read like lines from a movie. A lot of great stuff, but, alas, they're not all family-friendly enough to make public. Shame, that. But they're funny!

The Real Reason We're Moving.

Many people have asked us why we are moving away from Mooresville.

There are multiple correct answers to that question, with varying weights of importance to each answer.

But to reiterate once again, aside from the fact that as we grow older, we become less and less enamored with Indiana weather, our decision to move has absolutely nothing to do with Mooresville.

But there are definitive reasons, and the elements that have factored into our decision to relocate have come into focus, and have been pondered, prayed over, and considered over the course of many years. The ultimate decision was not made lightly or flippantly, and certainly didn't come without some trepidation and some sleepless nights.

At the top of this list is the benefit to my wife's overall health the change in climate is going to provide. As many know, the Mrs. has suffered from multiple health issues for most of her life. It started with a brutal case of Histoplasmosis (look it up, kids) when she was in 2nd grade as a little girl. The belief is that that bout damaged her overall immune system, and she has struggled with numerous sicknesses and illnesses ever since, not the least of which was a brain tumor in 2002.

The underlying issue she has dealt with her whole life is sinus problems. Not the normal sniffles and allergies so many of us deal with, but rather, wholesale sinus failure, wherein her sinuses simply don't work, and her's don't function the way our's do for most the rest of us. Back in the early 1990's, her ENT doctor told her if ever a sinus transplant was invented, my wife would be first in line for the procedure. He told her then she would eventually need to move to some low humidity clime to eventually find some relief. "You'll need to move to Arizona, or to an ocean somewhere before you'll ever really feel better," was how he explained it to her. That was nearly 25 years ago.

Since then, that bit of wisdom has proven true every time we've vacationed near an ocean. In the week or maybe two we might have near the ocean, her sinuses clear up, her headaches clear up, and she's quite frankly a different person, only to have it all plug up again the moment we cross the state line back into Indiana.

With the residual complications and headaches she now suffers as a result of her brain tumor, the almost daily weather and pressure changes Indiana is so famous for are absolutely brutal on the Mrs. And without boring you with all the other details, let's just say that that seed of wisdom that was planted by her doctor all those years ago has been slowly growing in us ever since.

In the summer of 2014, most of the other factors simply began to fall into place pretty quickly. Our children were growing up and moving away on their own. The housing industry was such that the time was right to sell our home here and buy something there. And various other factors lined up which finally made the whole puzzle just sort of solve itself.

But the reality is that something far bigger was at play. And there was essentially one much larger factor that drove us to finally pull the trigger on all of this. And to explain it, I have to take you back to the Spring of 2002.

That was when Ginger's brain tumor was diagnosed. And while I've marginally explained the damage it did to her health, and the permanent physical damage with which she was left, the whole episode had a much bigger impact on our overall psyche.

As you might imagine, the whole thing scared the daylights out of us. There was a very real fear of (and a very real chance of) her dying from this. After she came through it all, it left us with a very different outlook on life in general. It put many things into perspective for us. In short, we were left with a much bigger appreciation for life than we'd had before.

After her brain tumor, certain things that had been important to us before just weren't anymore. We began to play a lot more. And I don't mean just spending money frivolously or ridiculously, but rather making sure we spent our time more on living life, and less on worrying about things. Mowing the grass could wait. That project we'd been meaning to tackle just didn't seem to matter that much anymore. Certainly not at the expense of spending time enjoying each other's company, and spending time with our kids.

We made sure we didn't miss vacations. Often, when chores needed to be done around the house, we'd instead all pack up and head to a Reds game. Rather than asking the Mrs. to slave over dinner, we'd just go out and have some pizza or Japanese food. (Kabuto Steakhouse in Greenwood is one of our favorite places, not because the food is great or it's priced well, but rather because we just have so much fun every time we go there!)

We just spent a lot more time playing, relishing every moment we could to be with each other.

A few years went by, and one day, a dear friend of mine from my childhood died suddenly playing softball. Literally dropped dead running between 1st and 2nd base. From a heart attack. She was 42.

Flash forward to 2013. On my way to Cincinnati with my brother one evening to enjoy a Reds game, we got a call that my Brother-In-Law had just suddenly died from a pulmonary embolism that afternoon. He was just over 50 years old.

A few weeks later, my best musical buddy -- the best musician I ever played with -- died in his living room from a heart attack. He was in great health. Died so suddenly they never even transported him to the hospital. Took him straight to the morgue. He was 47.

Six months later, my dearest friend in the whole world contracted the flu and died three days later. With the exception of my wife, he was my very best friend. A brother, spiritually and emotionally, virtually bound at the hip since we were in high school together. He was 42.

I miss them all tremendously. And through it all, the idea that time is precious and life is short was reinforced in both my wife and me stronger than ever before. Our dream was to move to an ocean, and all of the sudden, we realized if we didn't do it soon, at any time, we could lose the opportunity to do so.

Even after the decision was made, our home here was sold, and we were whiling away the time to move south in a simple, innocent little home we were renting from my mother, we were hit with a flood and lost half our possessions. There's an old adage that says all our best laid plans are good, "If the Good Lord's willin' and the creek don't rise." That night, just over a year ago, quite literally and unexpectedly, the creek behind our house rose, in a way it hadn't in over 85 years.

And there was something else. In all the times we've spent vacationing at the ocean, my wife and I noticed something: There weren't a lot of retirement-aged people walking on the beach. Most of the people we saw were younger, full of life and vibrant. Healthy and active. And I finally decided: I want to walk on the beach and hold hands with my wife while I'm still young and healthy enough to do so. If I'd learned anything over the past several years, it was that tomorrow isn't promised. Now is the time.

So here we are, on the precipice of chasing our dream and making it come true. We're building our dream home, in our dream place. Not because we have an abundance of money, or that we've finally somehow "arrived." (I'm definitely not retiring!) Rather, just because we realized that if we ever want to make our dreams come true, now's as good a time as any, before it's too late. If you don't take the plunge, how can you ever get wet?

In some ways, I guess you could say, in part, this is our way of honoring all those dear friends and family we've lost. I'm sure if any of them had the chance, they'd tell us to go for it, and don't waste a day. I like to believe that, anyway. We're in charge of making our dreams come true. The health benefits are just a bonus!

Let me leave you with this: A few years ago, I read an article that impacted me so much, I printed it out and tacked it to the wall in my office. The only such article I'd ever done that with. It was titled, "The Top 5 Regrets of the Dying." It impacted me profoundly, even as I was already on the journey. #2 in particular got to me: I wish I hadn't worked so hard.

Wow. Doesn't that hit home? Sure, every decision we make carries consequences and requires certain sacrifices. And the reality is that we have to have a job, pay our bills, and provide for our families. But for us, the decision to play more meant we couldn't drive the nicest car, or buy the coolest stuff, or have the trendiest clothes. But we sure do have a lot of great memories. We spent a lot of awesome time together as a family. And I wouldn't trade a moment of any of it.

Now, we're moving on to the next chapter, ready to make brand new memories, and share them all with our expanding family.

And my encouragement to you is this: if you're reading this, chase that dream! Go for it. Don't let words of others talk you out of it. Don't make any excuses and don't have any regrets. Only you can make your dreams come true. And despite what this world might tell you, you can do it if you want to. You'll have to make sacrifices, and there will be consequences. But you can do it.

And you should do it now.

Epilogue: As of this writing, my wife and I are blowing off work tomorrow and heading to Cincy for a Reds game. Because when your son and his new wife call and say, "Hey Dad, you wanna meet us for a Reds game this weekend?" you go. You just go.

The answer is always yes.