All she ever wanted was a horse. Our young daughter, Bre, rode carousel horses and played with toy horses until she was old enough to ride horses at summer camp each year through high school. She collected horse picture books, watched horse movies, and had horse-themed birthday parties, but she still wanted and frequently asked for a real horse.

I still remember when Ste was about 2 weeks old, and his dad was eager to show him off to the pharmacology lab where he was a graduate research student. He wanted to share his joy and excitement over his infant son with faculty and students. I dressed him in a soft green Onesie. My heart burst with love as they left. Proud, proud Daddy.

Sweat dripped down my back and forehead in the oppressive summer evening heat. I was still able to concentrate on my ten-year old granddaughter Mack playing softball. This was her first year, but she was all in, mentally and physically. When she pitched, she focused on all the game situations. She knew the pitching count and how many outs there were each inning.

Dad worked for the government his entire career. Monday through Friday for over twenty-five years he left home at 7:45 a.m. and returned home at 5:15 p.m. Mom packed him a sack lunch each day for his hour-long break.

Peace. Love. “Jesus freaks.” If you were around in the late 60s and early 70s, you are familiar with these words. The Jesus Movement, considered the fourth great awakening in the United States, ignited in California during this time, and exploded across the country, including Boulder, Colorado, where I lived until my mid-twenties. This movement was characterized by youthful counter-cultural transients. On the opposite side of the spectrum was conservative Billy Graham and his crusades. My family avoided and resisted both. We worshipped the Rocky Mountains.