Monday, September 8, 2014

Shiba's Tailes n' Turds

Back by popular demand, Well, not really, Nate just called me on the phone (yeah, imagine that!) and told me to re-start the Rood Dog Rudi series. I told him, hey dude, the dog died like 20 years ago, wake up and smell the coffee. He said he was referring to our present dog. So we'll see how far this goes... 

here's the new cartoon title; Shiba's Tailes n' Turds. 
Perhaps you got the play on words spelling 'Tailes' in what you figured was old English. In fact, it's a play on turds, so to sPEEak. Anyway, the short cut is St2. 

Cartoon #1:

Cartoon #2:
Shiba has been known to behave in such affectionate ways, begging to cuddle and rub her little ass all over your pillow!

Then again, while she's in close proximity to your Corot arteries, take note as she can instantly turn into a rather nasty, biting dragon from the pits of Sheol.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

My Larvae Lamp
By Frog
One thing I love about moving is that people get rid of good junk. I’m always one that cannot pass up a back yard sale and when Aimee was moving (as in her home, not in the Frickan sense) this past weekend, she was tossing cool stuff left and right. As things were, literally, flying through the air, I noticed a kinda half-full lava lamp in a box. Immediately I queried as to its destiny, to which she replied that it’s mine! Nice score!
So I took this bad boy home, googled how to refill it. It called out for distilled-water, some dish-detergent or oil (not clear, but one article said cooking oil…hey that sounded good), then pickling-salt. I also spent quite a bit of time, with my lovely wife as well, googling the crap out of all sorts of Lava Lamp topics. There’s like a cult of followers…I digress.
Ok, we didn’t have distilled-water, so I figured, what the heck, just use bottled water. Done deal. Also, no pickling-salt, but we have sea-salt, which doesn’t have iodine. Done deal. Now for the oil or detergent. Yep, no prob.
Experiments 1-5 involved various combinations of oil, detergent, more salt, more oil, more salt. There were some floaters, but no dice.
Experiments 5-10 involved me going to Walmart and searching for the fricken Lave Liquid, which they mentioned when I spent another hour googling that topic. I figured if I could just buy the damn stuff, screw the chemistry lesson. They had Lava Lamps for $10 complete but I wanted mine to work. Mistake number 45.
After experiment 10, I put the lamp aside.
Next day, in Fort Collins, I went to Target (recall google note that they had Lava Fluid!). No fluid. Just sold out.
Party Story…nope. Another Target…nope. Another Walmart…nope. Losing hope, I realized that Hobby Lob was coming up…nope. Dollar Store…right…
At one of the many trips trying to find Lava Fluid, I did manage to buy some ice-cream salt. I looked everywhere for pickling-salt, so I figured it was the same and this rock salt sure as heck doesn’t have any iodine in it. The label said it was also good for de-icing the walk, so I figured if it’s a bust for the lamp, at least I can salt my drive and rust out my truck. I did manage to buy some distilled-water and drove very slow on the way home to keep it that way.
Ok, back home I felt like Heisenberg in the meth lab as I tinkered with bottles of water, rock salt that looked like crystal meth and dish soap (well, two out of three aint bad).
Experients 10-15 were significantly much better, especially when adding more salt to do something to the specific gravity of the stuff inside…I read somewhere…anyway, it still looked like a fetus in a jar in the museum, so no dice.
Experients 15-20 kinda went south again, even though I cleaned out the bottle. This time the ‘lava’ didn’t look like an un-born fetus, it looked more like a tumor that docs must look at during their coffee breaks. I shook the bottle a bit to try and mix it, but when it foamed over the top, I realized that the bulb below could easily throw a circuit, if not burn down my house. Anyway, screw it.
Tomorrow I am going to Walmart and purchasing their most expensive $20 Lava Lamp. (hey, I only got $60 worth of gas in this bad boy!)
I give up on this monster. But I must say that I fell in love with her for some magical reason. I met many, many nice people that tried their best throughout my travels up and down the front range. I learned a lot about how not to do this and also how totally confusing the internet is. I’d hate to try and build a nuclear bomb in my garage like they say you can. There are too many options. I clearly chose all of the wrong ones!
Lava and Let Live!

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

You know you’re an A-Freak when,

You know you’re an A-Freak when,

·         You start to prefer cold showers
·         You haven’t worn socks in over a month
·         You actually like the smell of BO
·         Deodorant is an optional thing to adorn
·         Instead of buying new golf clubs you spend your money on Artemisinin
·         You know how to spell Artemisinin (spell-checker saved me on that last line)
·         You enjoy making phone calls to Africa, cell to cell, only understanding 3% of the conversation
·         You spend your free time doing things like what I’m doing right now
·         You have at least one tattoo of something African
·         You believe that black people in Africa are better than black people in the States (that’ll raise some eyebrows)
·         You try to hang around black people in the States, just because they’re black
·         You actually become racist toward white people (another eyebrow raiser)
·         Your car CD player has a “learn to speak Swahili” disc in it
·         You know how to spell Mizuri, Habari and Kumbya
·         You actually enjoy living off of cliff bars for part of your summer
·         You develop the habit of carrying wet-ones everywhere you go
·         Filth becomes a relative term
·         You think that Nogales Mexico is pretty darned civilized
·         256K baud rate is ok
·         You start to consider buying property in Africa
·         You actually look for foods containing high amounts of fat and sodium
·         Goat meat tastes like chicken
·         Chicken meat tastes like steaks
·         You learn how to live on eating only potatoes for each meal
·         Being clean becomes optional
·         You’ve actually eaten some sugar cane
·         You wear at least 5 pieces of African jewelry
·         You shave your head so lice can’t make permanent homes on your scalp
·         People criticize you for ‘not helping the poor people here in the good ole US of A’
·         Some of your family members view you as ‘over the top with this Africa thing’
·         You stop wearing a watch
·         When you speak in a group meeting, you stand up
·         You understand how a malaria net can catch fish
·         You realize that the word ‘malaria’ should not be in upper case
·         You say the word “yes,” very slowly as people are speaking to you
·         Someone in Africa gives you a sweet potato as a gift
·         You make people sick because of your passion about Africa (like I’m doing right now)
·         People avoid being around you because all that you talk about is Africa
·         You have some Swahili in your signature line on your emails


You know you’re not an A-Freak when,
·         You think that African Bags is  a cover up front for a pimping operation
·         You still believe that the word Negro is an appropriate way of addressing black people
·         You acknowledge that “there will be Negros in heaven”
·         You believe that Mzee (pronounced Moe Zay) is something that you eat for dessert
·         You mention that some of your best friends are Negroes
·         You think Mizuri is a state in America
·         You think Habari is a type of portable grill
·         You hate the song Kumbya
·         You think that Africa has wild animals roaming around everywhere
·         You think Entebbe is a type of dope like Sesimia
·         You think ONE “is the loneliest number”
·         You think Bono is pronounced BOE NO or Boner
·         You think social injustice is about cutting in line at the checkout lane
·         You call The States, ‘America’
·         You have never heard the term A-Freak
·         You think the HIV Aids pandemic will ‘fix itself’ through the process  of natural selection and survival of the fittest
·         You think the HIV Aids pandemic is God’s way of punishing gay people
·         You think a 501c3 is a type of Levi jeans
·         You think the word Bhati is a term for a hot chick
·         You have a bumper sticker that says, “Live in Wyoming, Fish in Wyoming”
·         You think Kiswahili is the Swahili that is indigenous to some Florida Island chain
·         You take personal offense of this email
·         You think Dr. Martin Luther King was a historical figure in the Protestant Reformation
·         You think that Nelson Mandela is a type of head lock in wrestling
·         You think that Barack Obama is somehow related to Osama Ben Laden
·         You haven’t gotten this far in this email and have deleted by now
·         You somehow think that Rwanda and Uganda are the same

Sunday, May 20, 2012

My Backyard Brag Blog

By the name of this blog, you can already smell how much I’m going to brag about my yard, how totally organic it is, utilizing the most effective natural occurring fertilization and feeding, termed the Forest Floor Model (Heckel, 1993). Perhaps it is this methodology that has won me the honored and distinguished Certified Wildlife Habitat, by The National Wildlife Federation, certificate # 105,706. It is my belief that this certification number is the only certified on the planet, which now clearly sets my yard up for this blog.
BTW, the process to get this baby took at least 25 minutes answering some very tough questions at the National Wildlife Federation website. And you can print them right out, just make sure you have enough ink. Mine came in the mail, personally signed, as you can see. Don’t know David, but he’s reviewed my survey answers and made the call! Thanks, Davey! Feels great to be #105,706!!

Ok, so back to my bragging. Actually, this is also going to include bragging about my lovely grand-daughter, Bettie. So now that you have already established the solid fact that I fricken  KNOW this gig called gardening, allow me to introduce you to one of my back yard’s most famous, and now BEST improvements.
                One day Bettie and  I were walking around the yard, just taking in the day and, of course, checking out her tree, her mom and dad’s , you know, we all have our own tree in yard. Well, Bettie was picking up pine cones, which I was delighted as they are a nuisance. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Confiner trees so much that I literally pray for them often. But the cones got to be so many that I was rolling my ankles over them, which especially isn’t good my ankle with the rod in it. Kinda hurts. Also, running over the cones with the lawn mower was akin to messing with a ground-level-meteor-launcher! Danger notwithstanding, it also wreaked havoc on the mower blades (like I care, really).
                So, Bettie starts to pick up the cones and we put them in a bucket. She then walks over to what then looked like a pathetic, messed up wanna-be-but-ended-up-looking-like-crap flower garden where two clematis (we’re talking plants mr. spell check!) plants grow each year. She thinks a bit, and then starts putting the pine cones into the messy looking flower garden floor.  At first we were just playing around throwing them in but then the more that got thrown in, the better it continued to look! The once dingy looking clamtis garden was looking more like a real garden than a dirt patch with some faded wood chips littered around.
Amazingly, Bettie had the fore-sight that this bad-looking garden needed a touch—her special touch! Her idea. Her brilliance.
As the weeks went by I continued the Bettie Cone Project (aka ‘be cone one to another ‘) making daily rounds of collecting cones until I realized that this cone discovery also yielded a more beautiful, longer lasting and FREE solution to simply dumping in more wood chips that blow away and then turn to dirt. Cones can last much longer than the bark solution. A good pine cone runs around $20/pound, which is about 1200). Mulch runs like $5/20lb bag and I needed at least 5 bags. Guess I owe my little grand-daughter some money!
At any rate, enough of the words, here are the facts:
This is still work in progress as you can still see some junk in the garden.

But the final product looks something like this. . . 

The fundamentals of FFM  are quite simple, you do pretty much nothing and let nature take its course.
However, I did manage to cobble together a few key pieces of organic advice for those of you that desire to learn more about FFM:

1    1) If you bag your grass, create a nice compost pile, else grind it with your mower into an area that needs attention.

2) Never pollute the land-fills with branches, leaves, clippings, etc. Yard wastes comprises a large percentage of all land-fills and, while biodegradable, still waste energy of moving them from one place to another; especially when the materials moved can be used where they originated. So have a ‘beader mower’ and grind up as much as you can with your mower directly over the ‘forest floor.’ Essentially, the concept behind this is the same found in the forest; branches and trees die, creating natural compost for more plant growth. By grinding the waste up, composting, we simply accelerate the decomposition process.
2      3)  Now if you don’t like #2 because maybe you don’t like the grinding idea (there are safety hazards associated with such, so always wear protective equipment!), then the next best solution is to use as much yard waste as you can around areas to control weed growth. This is especially effective in gardens and along driveways, which can make a fine looking border, done properly.

Bottom line is “live and let live.” I’m not one big on fancy spray on lawns or zero-scaping.  At least I’ve found some sort of a balance between the over-killing work by using simple and lazier methods to accomplish not just getting rid of yard wastes, but also putting them into good organic use. And with newer minds on the scene, such as Bettie’s Pine-Cone Project, I keep learning even more tricks of the trade. And if you don’t believe me, drive by, stop and I’ll show you what a Certified National Wildlife preserve/yard looks like.  Number 105,706, to be exact!

And don’t even get me started with the scores of cool birds, eagles, squirrels, foxes, elks, coons, coyotes, hares and other such amazing creations that frequent this habitat for a respite! It’s all good—no, it’s all GREAT! Thanks, Bettie! 

Friday, March 16, 2012

Rocky Mountain Breakdown

For those of you old enough to remember Poco and their song, Rocky Mountain Breakdown, know that this song has nothing to do with what happened to my son, his wife, their dog and myself when we went camping last weekend in the mountains. The song, Rocky Mountain Breakdown, is a more positive an up-beat song, praising the mountains and the solace that it brings when one is ‘at one with nature.’

Gearing up for our camping trip a few days prior, I was thinking about how early in the season it was to camp. After all, it was only March and we knew we’d be encountering snow, cold weather, wind and potentially anything could happen this time of year. I recalled how my still-to-day toes burn from being frost-bitten one year that we went camping the day after Christmas. I felt it was almost an unpleasant yet fleeting moment of sadness, knowing that my Tempurpedic would be replaced by a 2 inch piece of foam atop either mud or snow in a tent that might be 10 degrees warmer than the soon to be frigid eve. My fears and reservations were given the acid test question, however; “Have I ever camped, then regretted it?”

The answer resounding and unequivocally ‘NEVER!’ resounded in my mind, so off we went.

This time of the season, few people camp in Rocky Mountain National Park. I phoned my friend at the back-country office to see about camping conditions and was assured that there were few people and plenty of camping spots. So off we sailed into the low-hanging, southwestern and soon-to-be-gone sun toward what we truly hoped and knew would be a fine evening of eating, sitting around the fire and simply enjoying God’s creation.

When we arrived at the camps, we had our pick. Few people were around and many spots were to be found. We cherry picked what we thought was the best, set up camp and began to assemble around the fire-pit. After an hour or so, we settled into our positions around the soon-to-be-lit fire, chatting and discussing how many of the Mickey D hamburgers that we picked up in town would be used versus freeze-dried camping mush. Mickey D won, hands down.

As we were laughing, cajoling and simply having a grand time visiting and telling stories, we noticed a white car (with Alaska plates) slowly drive by our site. The white car stopped and out popped a man. We assumed he was in need of help and planned on helping in any way that we could. After all, he is a visitor to our beautiful state and he may need some help.

Let’s call this man the AlASSkan, with a special emphasis on the ASS part of the name.

Upon his casual walking up to our camp site, he then proceeded to verbally assault each one of us with a lexicon only known to the most vile and wretched carbon-based units. He was human, but only by definition. Otherwise, this dude could have been mistaken for an angry baboon on crack.

Apparently, we had taken HIS camping spot. When I paid for our camp site, I failed to notice a 1inch square piece of paper clipped to a half-buried-in-snow sign-post that showed he paid his $6 camping fee for the spot we now occupied. We had the tent up, chairs were situated around the fire and food was being consumed. There was several other camping sites within the camping area and suggested for him to consider just taking another. "NO! This is MY (expletives deleted) guys are (more expletives) and can ( keeps going...) and I think you are (like I said, he was nuts...many more bad words)...."

So our simple 'try another spot' suggestion went over like a cement balloon. It should be noted that we then happily agreed to break camp and move on. No worries, Mr. AlASSkan. “We’ll be glad to go. We are truly sorry and apologize for our mistake. Just allow us 15 minutes and we’ll be gone,” were the exact words spoken with tact, diplomacy and still trying to salvage the evening of fun.

Mr. AlASSka may have been high, drunk or perhaps even a bit ‘touched in the head,’ as he continued to verbally attack each of us personally and criticizing Colorado’s people. The AlASSkan continued badgering, belittling my son and his wife, he even criticized Charlie the dog! My son was fuming. My daughter in law was the smart one as she just ignored him. But being smart is harder for us men.

MORE BADGERING! What is going on?

Ok, that was the tipping point for the old Frog. . .

The AlASSkan commenced to redress our characters, yet this time pushing closer physically to my son, who by this time was almost to the point of punching this guy out (although he would never do such). It also should be noted that my son seldom gets angry. He’s a noble man of character, respect and honor. Just the fact that my son really got angry, was interpreted by his dad to 'get more involved!'

Now the ‘mother-bear’ in me instinctively came out as I quickly inserted myself in between my son and this technically ‘bad example’ of a quality human being. I proceeded to dress him down with my own version of sarcasm, insults and personal affronts of his character, his actions and the fact that he was ugly. Now the situation turned from “oh crap,” to “we have a war.” I essentially lowered my character to that of his, reduced my intellect and demonstrated the exact way NOT to behave. I was wrong. But it sure felt good!

We hurriedly threw our stuff in the back of my truck and began to head off. I snapped a picture of the man as his wife was trying to control his insanity. He immediately got out his camera and began snapping pictures of us, my truck my license plate (I got his also). I was now beyond anger, to the point that I started to laugh at him. His night was ruined but he got his way.

We retreated to several other camp sites after that experience wondering, “…did that really just happen?” As the winter sun dipped quickly behind the continental divide, it was too late to camp so we went to Ed’s Cantina and continued our consumption of hamburgers and wonderful food. We had a great visit and now have an amazingly stupid story to tell to others, which was the genesis of this blog. We piled back into the truck and headed down the canyon laughing, joking and having a great time. Things were fine now. We did go camping and we camped. But we only camped for a bit over an hour. So what? We had a grand evening and a funny experience together!

Bottom line is that this camping trip still met the acid. I’m totally glad that we went and I do not regret going. We had time together (which, after all, is what the activity of ‘camping’ is primarily about), we laughed, we talked and now we reflect back and laugh even more.

One last note. . .

If perchance the AlASSkan somehow happens across this blog. I wish you the best of luck, happy trails, enjoy our State, then please leave and never come back.

Jim Heckel,

Rocky Mountain National Park Expert Guide (but not so good diplomat)

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Corporal Earl J. Heckel, W W I I DAV Hero

Earl James Heckel, one of 10 children of the second generation of Heckel German immigrants that moved to Northern Wisconsin, had grown up on the family’s dairy farm, which was still operational until just a few years ago. At the age of 20 and six months prior to the Pearl Harbor invasion, Jim’s desire to serve his country took precedent over everything. He enlisted in the Army.

While the chores of running a large dairy farm were continually never ending and constant, the family also had to contend with some of the strong winters dished out in such northern climes. Despite the wicked winter weather and tough chores required to help his family run a successful dairy, nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to experience during the next decade, and for that matter, his entire life.

Many war hero stories begin this way. Corporate Earl James Heckel is my hero, my best friend and also the best dad—ever.

After training and basic boot camp, dad furthered his training post boot-camp specializing in heavy munitions, specifically manning a 30 caliber machine gun. He also trained new recruits. At the time of his training, plans were being created to strike with one of history’s largest recorded invasion; The Normandy Invasion coded “Operation Overlord.” Being trained as a 30 caliber machine gunner, he knew he would be the enemy’s first target to take out. He trained knowing this. In fact, prior to his deployment to Normandy, he recalls his Sergeant stating to the entire platoon, “Men, you will either return home wounded or dead. There is nothing in between.”

His division was one of the first to be deployed in the Normandy Invasion, Utah Beach. History records the massive carnage of this pivotal battle. Dad was one of the few ‘lucky ones’ (albeit that word still is hard to use with the balance of what is to be said) and did not lose his life in the volumes of skirmishes, battles and chaotic mayhem of carnage on that dreadful day of June 6, 1944. On the second day invasion, however, his right leg was hit by a German “potato masher” hand grenade that rendered him helpless on the battle field. Adding to the complications, he was then taken prisoner. Within the chaotic melee, the Geneva Convention was being ignored as the enemy raised their riffles to kill some of their prisoners, of which dad was summarily lined up. A German Chaplin halted the firing squad and later dad and another Wisconsin soldier helped to escape back to safe lines.

After over a month in the hospital he was re-assigned back to fight in the Battle of the Bulge. The US was on the attack with dad manning the 30 caliber machine gun, which was a prime enemy target. Dad manned the machine gun until being hit by a heavy artillery shell, rendering him almost dead. This hit drove deep into his left leg and also created more damage to his already wounded right leg. He incurred many broken bones, shrapnel and significant flesh wounds. He was then jeeped back to a field hospital where he would spend at least a few weeks until he eventually ended up in a hospitals in France and then England. Finally he was returned to the States for more surgeries and intensive care, ultimately ending up at the Mayo General Hospital in Galesburg, Illinois. He would undergo more surgeries resulting in having to spend over a month in a full body cast, twice.

Dad recovered over a period of many months of surgeries, rehab and specialized care but there was only so much that could be done with his broken and nerve mangled legs. During his stay at the Mayo Hospital in Galesburg, he met his life-mate, Shirley Ann Dudgeon. Aftermath...

To this day over hundreds of pieces of small of small shrapnel still can be found in his legs, arms and upper torso. My hero was awarded the following decorations:

Bronze Star Medal: Department of the Army Orders; 26-Feb-1952,

Two Purple Hearts: General Orders 8; 15-Jul-1944/26-Feb-1952,

First Oak-Leaf Cluster to the Purple Hearts: General Orders 53, 7-Nov-1944,

Good Conduct Medal Clasp with Two Loops,

American Defense Service Medal,

American Campaign Medal,

European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal with Bronze Arrowhead for the invasion of Normandy, 6-Jun-1944 and three Bronze Star Service Stars for the Normandy, Northern France and Rhineland Campaigns,

World War II Victory Medal,

Distinguished Unit Emblem Medal and

The Infantry Badge Medal.

While growing up with my hero, I cannot recall ever hearing him complain as he hid the pain and dreadful memories of his dedication, service and honor for our country. Truly there can be no argument about his patriotism, valor and personal sacrifice that he gave such that we can live in a free country.

I love you, dad.

You are my hero…for eternity.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

The Sick People of Uganda

Just this past month, we returned from Uganda. On each of the trips we’ve made to Uganda (UG), we have always seen sick people, people that are dying and deplorable poverty. Just like Bono challenges us (para-phrased), “…a person’s ability to live should not be dependent on where they were born.” And the converse, for 1st world people is also true, “…it not our ‘fault’ that we were born in a much more civilized, wealthy and organized society.” It’s not our ‘fault’ that we do not have to fetch impure water for half of our waking hours, only to become deathly sick as a result of drinking impure (even boiled) water. What we *do* with *how* we've been blessed is the real challenge or us all.

I took ill halfway through our 3 week trip. I had sever vomiting and lower intestinal issues like I’ve never experienced before. At the peak of my sickness, I probably vomited / had severe diarrhea for over 3 days, not being able to eat or keep anything in my belly. The fortuitous God-orchestrated situation was that we had just moved from ‘the bush’ to Hoima, where our motel had indoor plumbing, which was a huge deal. We were only hours out of the bush. Had I acquired this viral sicknesss whilst in the bush, it would have been extremely more complex.

As it turns out, staying at the Crown Hotel located less than 6 blocks from our newly opened Think Humanity Community Clinic (THCHC), I was promptly greeted early in the morning with both one of our doctors along with one of our Registered Nurse. The hotel room was quickly transformed into a make-shift in-patient sick-room, equipped even with IV drip stands hanging from the wall light fixtures.

Dr. Gift and Nurse Jane were at my side for one full day administering the needed IV to replace my energy as well as helping to relieve and eliminate this awful virus. Blood tests were also ran and the diagnosis was that I had some sort of ‘contamination’ virus. How it was obtained is still a mystery to us all as we are/were extremely consistent keeping our hands sanitized and doing the needful.

As I slowly returned to good health, I was astonished at some of the learnings from this dreadful experience and how extremely positive I view it now. Allow me to share with you some of the learnings that I experienced over these few days…

1) A true team is not dependant on simply one person. Share leadership keeps centered on what it needs to do and carries on despite the potential to make reactive decisions (in this case, just leaving back for the States). The TH Team carried on its needed duties whilst I was being cared for. Share leadership works in TH.

2) During the time laying on my back and recovering, I was blessed to have the time to listen to Jane and Dr. Gift. I was able to have a long and intimate discussion with them regarding what we need to be doing to make the THCHC THE model clinic in UG.

3) Most importantly, this illness taught me a glimpse of how many of the Africans live—being sick—on a daily basis, and in most cases with zero medical attention. They simply cannot afford expensively managed health clinic. The THCHC targets that over 50% of all patients simply cannot afford to pay. And they get the same exact treatment as those that pay their entire invoice. Rather than have my resources, many sick people simply live with their pain and in many cases, simply die. By the way, my total bill came up to less than $75!

4) And finally, I learned that the evil one does not want to make our trips easy, painless and simple to run. As TH grows, we will continue to have huge problems, but trusting God to be ‘in the details,’ is much the challenge!

In retrospect, I’d not recommend the process of ‘getting sick’ to personally witness how the THCHC is something that God is all over, and it is now my firm conviction that He wants us there even more than ever. This was not clear even less than 8 weeks ago. Now the puzzle pieces are starting to take shape, our mission is becoming clearer by the day and our patience, trust and ‘relaxing in His arms,’ takes courage and tons of un-conditional Trust.

I am challenged, now more than ever, to dig deeper, to not just be a survivor, but to be a conqueror and to live with my Godfidence coming directly from God—not TH, not CR and clearly not my day job.

“Character is what it takes to stop you!”

Thanks for listening…