The compelling reality of the dwindling horizon line before me only serves to remind me of the blessed road traveled from behind. When I think of those seemingly unrelated, though reoccurring, reminders of God's providential movement in my life, I'm deeply broken by God's long-suffering and His steadfast love toward me. From the worn linoleum floor coverings beneath that dimly-lit kitchen table in the front room to the marvelously clad halls of Pasvar Pavilion at the University of Pittsburgh, I can look back and see the footprints of the Nazarene as He's carried me now for more than seventy-two years.

He has secured me in the midst of life's challenges, cradling me in the stability of a loving, Christ-centered family, establishing me in the communal confines of a time when the whole village was, in fact, raising children, and calling me as a neophyte in ordained ministry while having stabilized my marriage and family to survive its rigors.