I submitted it to "The Journal of Christianity and Social Work" and ... Lo and Behold ... it's published.
On a cold snowy day my 4 year old son Jeremy and I trudge to the Library so I can show him my name in print, now immortalized forever.
"Can we go play football Dad?" he asks after seeing my name on the page.
A couple of years later, instead of preaching a sermon in the church where I'm employed as the "Professional Christian" I read a letter to Jeremy who was celebrating his 7th birthday.
"I'm afraid I won't leave you much of value in terms of material things," I wrote, "a lot of books, hopefully some nice memories and a permanent place in your heart ..."
Since then I've written ten books, fifty or so published articles and almost five hundred blogs.
All the books I promised Jeremy I've given away.
All of the words though ... my words ... are floating in cyber space ... waiting for anyone who may wish to learn a little about me, discover funny stories and sad ones too, learn how Humpty Dumpty can be put back together again.
Pondering my words today, I'm thinking about a baby who's not even here though, word is, it won't be long.
Ancient words come to mind ... "For unto us a child is born ..."
Today you can see the previews of coming attractions that'll hit daylight three or four months after I turn sixty and five months after Jeremy and Terenca give us our first grandchild.
It's all pretty preposterous.
"How long will I have?" I ask myself.
Sarah's forever after me to take better care of myself so I'll be around for the long haul but you can do most everything and it adds an average of 17 minutes to your life.
The worst case scenario is I die way too soon and leave them lots of words to discover the old man.
It makes me thankful I've given away all those words.
The best case is they get to hear them from me.
Either way, I'm pretty damn excited it won't be long before ... as my lights dim, the curtains open on something far more than I'll ever be.
At night, I place my hand on Sarah's sleeping belly with trembling fingers and feel as alive as I've ever been.
