Into the Fire

I took ballet lessons from pre-school age through the sixth grade. I quit because I didn’t think I could keep up the heavy schedule in junior high school. My teacher tried to convince me to stay, and it made my mother sad when I quit.

When I was in grade school, I used to direct “recitals” in my back yard.

I still remember my best friend Debbie’s dogs: a black Lab named Sarge and a little Beagle named Brownie. Following them were her Dad’s two German Shorthair bird hunting dogs, Maggie and her daughter Kate. My first dog’s name was Tag.

I used to get to go with Debbie and her parents on weekend camping trips to eastern Washington. They had a trailer her dad pulled with a Lincoln Continental. Her mom baked wonderful pies in the oven of that trailer. In the summer heat we used to get our beach towels wet with cold water, wring them out and use them for blankets at night. One of the major treats we enjoyed at the café at Park Lake was a huge fountain coke for 30 cents.

I remember crying all through Kindergarten and sneaking home during recess in the first grade. My mom marched me right back to school. Shortly after that I met Debbie and school became bearable.

Father, thank you for best friends throughout my life. And, Jesus, you’re the best friend who’s been there all along, even when I didn’t know it. I love you, Lord.