No words

Yesterday morning, a man that was a big part of my growing up years passed away.

This man owned a farm. We were neighbors. He was a quiet, hard worker who loved his family, loved his wife and taught me a lot about hard work.

At 12 years old, I drove my first tractor on his farm. I helped plant out in the fields. I drove forklift in the barn and loaded green pepper after green pepper into boxes to be shipped out. I shoveled mounds of dirt with him. I spent a lot of time in their home and he snuck me ice cream bars from their freezer. He had a quiet laugh, smiled a lot and worked a lot harder.

His oldest son was one of my best friends.

We were able to visit him on our trip up to Michigan before this last trip. He met Emma and I was able to see him one last time and for that I am grateful.

These are the times when our faith is made real.

These are the times where questioning produces no good thing. Only faith remains.

"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." 2 Cor. 4:8-9