I made the following two "decisions" during my senior year in high school.  The first was near the beginning, and the other near the end.   I'm sorry that they happened, but the affects of both have had a lifetime of influence.  They have haunted and niggled at my conscience as reminders to be safe and do the right thing.

It was a Friday evening in October, and I was about to learn a valuable lesson – the hard way.  

​I had recently turned 17 and was driving the family car.  I was on my way to pick up a date for a local high school football game.  I had two options to get where I was going.  The interstate was a bit longer.  The city streets were shorter and more direct, but they had stoplights and more traffic.

I chose the city streets.

Lots of things shape us as children.  In relaying my story so far, I've focused on situations or people that influenced my life early on.  But, there were three decisions that I made growing up that greatly influenced me long-term.   They helped shape me into who I am today. 

For ease, I am calling them Exhibits A, B, & C.   This time we'll explore Exhibit A, and the next time it will be Exhibits B & C.

"Music lessons as a child".  Does this ring any bells?  I am guessing that some of you can really relate.

​My foray into the world of music began in the 4th grade.   I was nine years old, and can still remember playing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” on these black plastic Tonettes.  We practiced and practiced in class.  Then, we had a “concert” for our parents.  Of course, the whole idea behind the Tonettes was to teach music, and introduce the idea of band, which started in 5th grade.   
 
I remember the day that they introduced the different band instruments to us.  After showing us the instruments and demonstrating them, they ended the class period with THE QUESTION.  “Do you want to play in the band?  If the answer was yes, and our parents agreed, then the next question was, “Which instrument did you want to play?” 
 
At the time, I certainly didn't realize that I was encountering a life decision.  I didn't realize that there could be long-term life-shaping ramifications from this decision.  I treated the decision using the same "decision-making grid" that I used for choosing a position to play in little league.  You see, in little league baseball I always wanted to be the catcher.  Desperately!  But, not because I could play the position.  It was because I got to wear all the stuff.   So, my draw towards band was probably a variation of that.  When the question was asked, I just knew that I wanted to join the band.  The decision was made "in the moment".  Totally right brain.  In reality, I was mostly dazzled by the shiny instruments.   

My favorite major league baseball team, as a boy, was the Detroit Tigers.  Growing up in Michigan in the 1960s and 70s, I spent many summer evenings listening to the static-filled sounds of the ballgame emanating through the lone earplug of my tiny battery-operated transistor radio.  The Tigers long-time announcer, Ernie Harwell, brought the game to life through the airwaves.  I loved drifting off to sleep while listening to the crack of the bat and the sounds of the game.  I was intrigued by the play-by-play drama unfolding on the ball field.  This, in turn, fueled my imagination - well beyond the game.

Major league radio announcers do what they do best.  They paint a picture.  They tap our imagination.  Throughout a game, they heighten interest by providing “facts, figures, and back stories”. They toss in tidbits between each pitch.  Statistics abound on every aspect of the game of baseball.  For hitters, there are batting averages, on-base averages, and slugging percentages.  For pitchers, there are earned-run averages, and pitch counts.  Much like “par” in golf, these averages and percentages provide benchmarks for assessment.  They help us measure performance, and know what to “normally expect” from a professional baseball player.  They also provide us with a way to distinguish between athletes who are struggling, those who are average, and those who are exceptional.  

In listening to the baseball games, the idea of something being “average” resonated within me.  ​

Art Linkletter was a popular television host in the 1950s and 1960s.  He was especially known for his interviews of young children on a segment called, “Kids Say the Darndest Things”.   In this segment, he would ask questions in an attempt to get candid and unfiltered responses from children.   Frank and well-meaning answers were the draw of the program.  More often than not, the answers were quite hilarious.  They were even shocking.  But, quite often, their perspective was also profoundly true. 

Periodically, Mr. Linkletter would ask, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” It was a classic conversation starter designed to tap into the imagination of a young child.  It stirred hope, and it inspired creativity, and even fantasy. 

​I do not recall how many times I was asked, “What do you want to do when you grow up?  But!  There was definitely one time that I know my response.  

For the first 18 years of my life, I lived in the same house and had the same neighbors.   A few people moved in and out, but for the most part, there were not a lot of changes.  Our street was the last street on the edge of the suburbs, and I spent hours crisscrossing yards to get to the woods that lay just north of us.  The neighbors all knew each other.  A couple of them were even distant relatives.  The neighborhood was safe, and it was fairly predictable.
​
It was also quirky and more than a little testy.  

​We all have roots that connect us to previous generations – that give shape to our family tree.  Our spiritual journey has roots as well.  Since Jesus and his disciples walked on this earth, others have shared the Gospel in some way to each generation until the Good News reached us and we responded. 
 
I can only trace my spiritual roots back two generations. 
 
It begins with one man.  I don’t know much about him, and I have never met him.  I only know four things about him.  This is what I know.  His name was Roy. He worked in a factory.  He was persistent, and he is now in heaven.  That’s it. 

Yet, I do know that without Roy, I may not have heard the Gospel message.  And, that the spiritual trajectory of my journey would have likely been very different without him.