Fuel For The Race

December 27, 2025December 27, 2025

Unforeseen

“On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair,

Warm smell of colitis rising up in the air.

Up ahead in the distance I saw a shimmering light…” (1976). “Hotel California”. Recorded By: Eagles. Composers: Don Henley, Don Felder, & Glenn Frey.

When I chose a title for my blog page, “Fuel For The Race”, I also included the subtitle, “Whatever Road You’re On”. The title, and subtitle, indicate a forward motion, of sorts. Combined, the phrases give a vision of “the road ahead”. It offers the idea that there is a path beyond where you are now, and what might be ahead in your journey. With a new year facing us, it rings truth concerning our position.

Recently, I was driving to Graham, Tx to celebrate my dad’s 90th birthday. My wife had made a brisket and a pumpkin spice cake for the celebration feast. My youngest daughter and her husband joined us as her birthday lands on the same day as her grandpa’s special day.

The weather was to be pleasant with partly sunny skies without a hint of precipitation. From our house in the north Dallas area, the drive is roughly 2 hours and 30 minutes to Graham in west Texas. The drive is scenic with classic rustic west central Texas terrain of hills along with brush country where the Mesquite rules the landscape.

We were about 40 minutes into our trek when we were slammed with unexpected fog. If I had been unfamiliar with the journey from here to there, it might have caused a major issue. However, I have made that trip numerous times in my life and could almost make the drive blindfolded. Still, fog, especially thick fog, can seduce a driver into a lull, or a sense of disorientation.

Almost at the halfway mark of the trip sits a charming little town called, Runway Bay, Tx. It is nestled in a valley, as if it were settled in bowl. Lake Bridgeport is a big draw to boaters and fishermen from all over Texas. The lake greets you just as you drive into the city limits on a low bridge crossing about half a mile over the water.

Photo: (City Of Runaway Bay)

It is a pleasant drive through Runaway Bay, but being a low-line area, the fog LOVES it. The thickening of the fog was remarkable as it rolled up from the surface of the lake.

Photo: (Texas Almanac)

There was no scenic views that morning, not even the lake was visible. We were amazed and somewhat dazzled by it all.

One thing I have never liked about Runway Bay is the speed limit. Hwy 380 allows up to 75mph in various locations along the stretch, certainly 65mph is a norm for most of the journey. Yet, when you enter Runaway Bay, the powers that be made a decision to shock drivers with a 55mph limit. Because I am well versed with this trip, I really have memorized the speed zones as you cross the rugged ranch land. Somehow, someway, in the mist of the thick foggy conditions, I didn’t see a speed limit sign which would’ve reminded me of the bay’s drop in speed expectations. (Trust me, this is not an excuse on my part, it’s just the truth of it.)

As we crossed the fog bank over the lake on the low bridge, I never lowered my speed. As the town’s sheriff would have it, on the other side of the lake sat one of Runaway Bay’s finest parked on the shoulder with his radar gun hanging out. Only then did I realize I hadn’t slowed down for the fine folks of Runaway Bay. If not for the land cloud obscuring my view, I know the hidden speed limit sign would have aided my muscle memory to lighten my foot. Apparently he clocked me at 74mph in a 55mph zone. YIKES! I didn’t argue or complain, but I did mention the fog obscuring the speed limit sign. He actually agreed and stated, “All the more reason to be careful driving.” He was right, of course. The pleasant officer was in a bit of a hurry as he printed off my citation because other drivers missed the speed limit sign as I did. My first speeding citation in 17 years. Arg! (Ching-ching)

The fog didn’t let up much at all until we arrived in Graham. Go figure. When I told my dad about the fogginess of the trip he said he hadn’t seen any fog in Graham that morning at all.

You and I are on a journey. The road ahead will have its curves, rain, and fog, but it also will offer its divine scenery to comfort us. At times the traffic will be heavy and slow you down, but it probably will reduce your speed due to the unforeseen which stands in your path. Other times will be a piece of cake to traverse. Looking ahead is a very good thing, but there will be the unforeseen.

For me, 2025 was a year of heartbreak. I lost a few friends to physical death, as well as, a dear family member. It felt like a funeral each week there for a time.

My kidney function took a serious dive in 2025, placing me in the end stage phase with dialysis looming. As I write this, I am being scheduled for a surgery to implant a port in my arm for the coming unavoidable machine that will keep me living for an “unforeseen” amount of time. God has all the calendar dates for me. That’s just the way I like it.

2026 is indeed a new slate. Some will see it as an opportunity for a “clean slate” in their lives. If that’s you, I wish you the very best at achieving such a feat. With that said, keep in mind the unforeseen. For us, it IS exactly that…unforeseen.

We don’t know our future, or the world’s journey in the coming new year, but I do know Someone Who holds the future. He not only holds it, He creates it. Yet, it is our nature to want to see our future.

“It is not for us to know the times and dates the Father has set by His own authority.” – Jesus (Acts 1:7)

If 2026 becomes a bit foggy for you, and those you love, there is a thought of resting in the fact that He not only has seen what’s ahead, but He awaits your arrival. Scripture states, “He is the Beginning and the Ending”.

So, whatever road you are on, fuel for the race will launch you forward in the right direction.

“Therefore write the things which you have seen, and the things which are, and the things which will take place after these things.” – Jesus. Rev 1:19 (NAS)

December 15, 2025

Negative Nativity

https://www.musiccreator.ai?shareid=MM4gaR5gqv

“I’ve closed my eyes to what reflects You.

The tinsel, with the colors so bright.

I’ve closed my mind to the deeper view.

Seeing is believing, they say, for a soul to take flight.

I wasn’t there when you slept in a manger.

I wasn’t there when Magi crossed the sands.

I wasn’t there when angels kept you from danger.

No, I wasn’t there, but today, here I am.”

Excerpt from “I Wasn’t There” (2025) Lyrics Written By: Alan Brown Song co-produced By: Alan Brown.

(I hope the link at the top escorted you to the audio of my new song.)

Some say the war on Christmas is only imagined. Some say it doesn’t matter. Other’s are screaming in anger at the obvious assault on the Christian holiday. What is your opinion?

You don’t have to look far to see the outward evidence.

Satanists invented the decorated, darkened Satanic tree, forcing the public display in courthouses, or on courthouse lawns. Lovely, just lovely. You might as well replace Santa Claus with, Santa Claws.

Last week there was a city public tree lighting ceremony in a town square, only to be the victim of vandals the very same night with saws and paint.

Some nativity scenes are torched.

Some nativity figures have been arranged to imply sexual positions.

Here’s one where the baby Jesus, Savior of the world, has been stolen from the manger. If Jesus is missing, how can He save the world from the ultimate paycheck of sin?

Photo: (CNA) Stolen Christ with faceless Joseph and Mary.

Others happily zip-tie the hands, or arms and legs, of the infant Jesus, The Ancient Of Days. (As if that would help.)

Some, in asinine attempts to make political protests out of a holy, sacred moment in history, not only tie-up the virgin-born Messiah child, but wrap him in foil, as well. The same also placed a gas mask on the figure of Mary, God’s chosen vessel to carry the Christ-child.

Photo: (Associated Press)

Others replaced the baby in the manger with signage protesting U.S Immigration officers.

Photo: (Boston.com) Obviously performed by brilliant, high IQ people.

Imaginative haters, in all of their wisdom, thought it best to hang the Holy One in the manger upside down by His ankles. Others made the damnable choice of burning the child in the manger. (No, I refuse to show photos of such filth.)

Well, Merry Christmas!

Why are these things so surprising at all? Hundreds of thousands of Christians have been slaughtered in various places across the globe. Most recently, butchers in Sudan and Nigeria. China, South Africa, Syria, Iran, Iraq, etc. The list is long.

Our Jewish family, from where the roots of the Christian faith sprouted, continues to be slaughtered in our modern times. Jesus Himself taught out of the Old Testament. He spoke praise often concerning Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses. Jesus was very, very Jewish.

I asked for your opinion earlier. Let me exercise risk by throwing this question your way.

How does the assault on the nativity and the Christmas tree move you? Or, maybe you’re not affected.

As you know, the war on Christian teaching, Christian-Judeo values, and Christian symbols reflecting it all, are manifested in a plethora of ways. Just consider the reasons why there are so many church shootings attacking parishioners. Why there? Why THAT place? Why are churches and synagogues beefing up security. Why are greeters and ushers packing pistols under their coats? I have an old friend who is a longtime pastor of a Baptist church in Iowa. During a blunt conversation surrounding the security of his local congregation, he said to me,

“Alan, I’m not just resting my Bible under that pulpit.” (wink-wink)

In times like these, especially in December, we need to refresh our minds and hearts on the targeted items at the courthouse, your front lawn, and the nativity in a town square. These items, trashed by darkened hearts, are made of plastic, paint, hay, wood, branches, and light bulbs. So, someone walking in darkness targets a plastic figure of a baby, hoping and trusting it discourages YOU and your faith. All of these efforts are painless to the risen, living Jesus, King Of The Universe. In fact, I dare say He is not offended one bit. He knows the hearts of humanity. He expects such outrage. He loves the religious vandal, the wayward one swinging a red-bladed machete. When a nativity plastic figure is re-positioned in a sexual manner, keep in mind, He has reached out to that hateful, perverted heart, and will continue to do so.

We see these things in the news as our spirit deflates within us. Some, including myself, feel our blood boil under the skin with righteous anger. Yet, we forget King Harod The Great was guilty of attempting to execute the Christ-Child. So much rage was involved that the King slaughtered all male children under two years old in Bethlehem just to be sure he destroyed the one baby he could not identify among the villagers. Even his grandson, Harod the Tetrarch, was wanting to rid himself of the adult Jesus, and had a hand in His crucifixion. Pontius Pilate couldn’t find Jesus guilty of anything, but condemned Him anyway in a political chess move as he felt the pressure from the Jewish Sanhedrin who wanted Him in a tomb. In a twisted act of irony, he put The Prince Of Peace to death in order to obtain peace in the region. Today, for those who trust Jesus and His words, peace indwells through darkened times.

Yes, Jesus has been a target from day one of His 33 years. He told us, we too, would face our own crosses for following Him. He stated that people would hate us for following Him, even in our own households. He was spot-on.

So when you observe an act of hatred for the nativity, the Christmas tree, the Hanukkah menorah, a synagogue or church, keep in mind where THAT spirit comes from. We know just where it comes from.

Photo by Jessica Lewis ud83eudd8b thepaintedsquare on Pexels.com

A Christian’s faith is not in a plastic figurine, a lit tree, or a current political hot button.

Inside fuel for the race you can find the true Christmas.

“The people who walk in darkness Will see a great light; Those who live in a dark land, The light will shine on them.” – Isaiah 9:2 (NAS)

November 26, 2025

A Wing And A Prayer

“Take this message to my brother.
You will find him everywhere.
Wherever people live together,
Tied in poverty’s despair.” (1976) “Takin’ It To The Streets” Recorded By: The Doobie Brothers Composed By: Michael McDonald

Keep reading after Thanksgiving. It’s an evergreen.

Throughout my life I was never fond of turkey wings. My granddad knew this about me and would tease me as a child by placing a wing on my plate at Thanksgiving as he carved.

Photo by Monstera Production on Pexels.com

It was accompanied by, “Here ya go. This one’s for you, Alan.” Then he would chuckle while replacing it with a drumstick. After plates were filled, the whole family would old hands while he prayed aloud. He was a simple, John Wayne-type. I absorbed every word he spoke, even though he prayed in the Old King James English inserting the “Thee & Thou”. It made me grateful for that turkey leg that much more, even if it had been a wing.

Tommy is a life-long friend from high school days. We are truly like brothers. In the 1970’s classmates called us, “Starsky and Hutch” due to our bond, characters, and clothing. (He was Hutch and I was Starsky.) It seemed to match.

Photo: ABC Network “Starsky and Hutch” promo.

Interesting to note, the TV show lasted four years as did high school.

Before and after photos: Wow! Did we age, or what? Tommy on the far right next to me in 2023. Top right is Tommy and I with two other friends in 1978. Same guys, minus one who is deceased.

Throughout our adult life Tommy and I did all we could to stay close. During times of geographical distances it was much harder to do so before the internet and Facebook. He was one of my groomsmen when I first got married, and I was proud to do the same for him when he tied the knot. We both went through divorces and other difficult times in life. Recently, Tommy went through another heartbreaking devastation.

Jeanette, another high school friend, re-entered Tommy’s life. Before you know it, they were a couple. The years passed by so quickly. Tommy’s mom, like mine, was struck with severe dementia. He took it upon himself to move her in with her so he could be her 24/7 caregiver. This selfless act on his part was difficult on his relationship with Jeanette. They lived about three hours apart with Tommy visiting Jeanette on most weekends, if he could secure someone to stay with his mom in his absence. Tommy fought the idea of marriage the second time around, but Jeanette endured while holding out to hope.

Photo: (1978) We thought we were tough enough to withstand anything, especially together. If we only knew our troubled futures.

2025 dealt them both a destructive blow. Jeanette’s health took a heart wrenching dive. Unexpectedly, without going through all of the details, most of the months of this year Jeanette was forced into hospital beds for treatment and surgeries. Her healing journey allowed discharges from the hospital, but each time she had to return to the ER. Tommy became more and more torn concerning taking care of his mom (three hours away) while taking care of Jeanette. He needed to clone himself.

Jeanette returned to the hospital in mid August due to massive spreading infections from past health struggles. The doctors did all they could for her. Throughout, she kept her quirky humor and sarcasm.

After slipping into a coma, Jeanette was released from her body after a family decision to remove life support. Her exit occurred on September 25th.

Photo: Tommy and I at the memorial service Nov 2025.

My brother, Tommy went into deep depression much like a swirl of a whirlpool. Jesus called it, “Poor in spirit.” He truly was hit with a personal poverty, although his bank account sum was above average.

Recently at her memorial service, Tommy, wo is a tough nut to crack, found it within himself to speak to the mourners gathered. Uncharacteristically, he was very open concerning his bout with depression. He publicly acknowledged his regret of not marrying Jeanette. As he began to breakdown, he found he no longer could utter any words. He bowed his head and walked slowly to his seat.

Photo: Tommy and I embrace at memorial.

At her graveside ceremony, as loved ones began to throw dirt in her open grave, Tommy could no longer handle it and walked away. Due to my current health condition, I stayed in the car while my wife attended the brief graveside service. As Tommy slowly walked alone down the path back toward the chapel at the cemetery, weeping, he cried out in pain and desperation looking toward heaven with hands raised. Twice he did so as I watched from my car. My immediate urge was to jump out of the car and rush to his side. Yet, seeing his solitary moment, I felt the Spirit within me to allow Tommy’s private communication with God.

Through the last few days since, I have checked up on my old friend a few times, offering whatever comfort I could. I have prayed for him each day. He feels like an empty shell where the echoes show themselves to be loud and accusing.

Today, I felt the push to connect with Tommy. I wished him a happy and thoughtful Thanksgiving, knowing what his response would be. In his mind, (In his words) it is hard to be thankful for a dead girlfriend and a mother who is slowly dying.

Sometimes all you get for Thanksgiving is an unwanted dried out, tough turkey wing and a prayer.

If you find yourself sharing Tommy’s outlook, let me give you some selective biblical salve.

There was a young church which was carrying lots of burdens, persecutions, and heartbreak. St Paul wrote a letter to them with great wisdom during their present reality.

The onslaught of punches coming right and left to injure the heart and mind isn’t something you and I can be grateful for. BUT, we are urged to redirect those incoming punches by focusing on the graciousness given in life while absorbing such assaults on the spirit.

“BE THANKFUL IN ALL CIRCUMSTANCES; FOR THIS IS GOD’S WILL FOR YOU WHO BELONG TO CHRIST JESUS.” – I Thessalonians 5:18 (NLT)

Alan’s translation would read,

“Be grateful for the blessings received in life while going through the turkey wings being thrown at you.” With God’s Spirit it can be done.

Train for turkey wing defense in fuel for the race.

After listing many items of blessings on the nation during wartime, a wise man follows such a reminder with the following:

“No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.” (1863) Abraham Lincoln’s Proclamation of Thanksgiving.

November 9, 2025

To Serve

“The old church bells will peal with joy,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
To welcome home that daring boy,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
The village lads and lassies, they
Will scatter roses by the way,
And we’ll all be there,
When Johnny comes marching home!” (1863) “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” Composer: Louis Lambert, A.K.A.: Patrick Gilmore

“SERVICE, PLEASE!” is the common call for a waiter, or bartender to respond to a patron who is not responsible for putting in an order for food, or beverage. The customer is not an employee of the establishment. The customer will not be expected to place a chef’s hat on his/her head and cook the meal in the kitchen. In short, the one calling for “service”, the one to be served by a trained employee, is the professional server.

Meet one of my mom’s cousins who once served.

Photo: Richard Woodson serving in Vietnam.

Richard looks as if he could walk right out of the sets of “Apocalypse Now”, “Platoon”, or “Forrest Gump”. There he is, about 26-27 years old, in the grit of the war in Vietnam, not always wearing the official complete uniform. He saw many hard things as he served, although he never discussed them.

Richard served his country. In saying that familiar phrase, let me specify just WHO is “His Country”. Richard’s country was you and me, “We, The People”. WE the people of these United States are of one nation, under God. In essence, Richard was God’s servant as he accepted the call to defend the people Richard represented. Our cousin went out front in the war so you, and all that you love, didn’t have to strap on a helmet before running into the line of enemy fire.

Photo: Richard Woodson guarding ammo and supplies in Vietnam.

Unfortunately, many served by giving the “full measure” of themselves, their lives. Whether drafted, or applying to join the service, when each one shed his/her civilian clothes to put on the uniform of a soldier, they essentially surrendered their own wills, their own careers, their own educational agendas to stand between a fierce enemy and you and your loved ones. Volunteerism is more than just a word, it is an unselfish act of giving up one’s pursuit as a free American citizen. The act of joining up to dive into boot camp is the servant’s humble verb of laying down one’s life, whether alive or dead.

Photo: My granddad’s Navy pin from his WWII service in the Philippines.

Our nation is rich with Richards throughout history. We stand on enormous shoulders of those who came before us, the few, the proud, the living offerings, those who stood firm in the face of the enemy.

It is with terrible regret that I have to close with a fact of a shameful part of American history.

Like so many, in fact the majority of Vietnam vets who returned home after a bitter war, came home to an unappreciative society. I was just a teen, but I do recall the newscasts showing protesters at the train stations and airports lined up to spit, to scream at, to shame the brave ones like Richard, as they came marching home again, to take up their personal lives once more. Truly shameful. It is damning for one to hate the common individual soldier because one hates war. Loving another should rise above political rhetoric and narratives.

These are the squeaky ones, the noisy wheels believing disgraceful actions and dishonor solves their own inward turmoil concerning a government they disagree with, or an administration these spoiled prigs hate. The loathing, the hateful, and violent ones often do not understand the humble, selfless act of service. In fact, these squeaky ones spew venom and rage against the very ones who are serving to make life better for them. They are the extreme agitated, lovers of the vile, the cowards often arrayed in black pretending to be patriots, refusing to stay still and listen to the reasonable voice of history.

Photo: USPS Forever stamp. Scene at Bunker Hill battle.

As free speech is afforded to the American citizen, it also comes with responsibility and consequence. Teaching the wet clay of youth to disrespect the vet, the servant, the defenders, fertilizes a future decay from within, a cancer to invade freedom itself. Once that cake is baked, it cannot be reversed. What follows is a generation who sees little value in service on any level. The honorable act of putting on a uniform to serve the nation is seen as evil. In the end, a people of such disillusion are nothing short of prey for another country who sees societal weakness as an opportunity to destroy such a union of liberty-loving people. There are examples of that from recent years among the geopolitical world. Once that cake is served, it’s eaten, too.

Photo: My Great-Uncle, Alexander Ambrose Timmons who served in the Civil War.

As for my cousin Richard, he chose to keep serving in another layer of care. He became a well-respected pharmacist in Amarillo, Texas. He retired there, and now in his 80’s, lives with his wife and two dogs.

Growing up I knew very little about Richard. In fact, until about a year ago I was unaware he once served in Vietnam. To this day, I don’t understand just why my family didn’t talk about it. If so, I would’ve known.

Our vets are precious in my eyes. They were, and are, men/women of grit and servanthood. They are to be honored every day. They were, and are, willing to lay down their futures, their livelihoods, their very lives to stand between us and those who would destroy us.

To learn more of what the greatest act of love does, find it in fuel for the race.

“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” – Jesus (John 15:13 ESV)

October 27, 2025

Goodbye Gibraltar

“She’ll change her name today.
She’ll make a promise,
And I’ll give her away.” (1996) “Butterfly Kisses” Recorded By: Bob Carlisle Composers: Randy Thomas & Bob Carlisle

In ancient times, from what is written, seafaring merchants and military ships originating in the Mediterranean countries, defined the Rock of Gibraltar at the mouth of the Straight Of Gibraltar, as leaving the known world. When the massive natural Rock of Gibraltar was sighted it was there where all that was known ended as ships faced the mysterious Atlantic. All that was familiar was in the rearview, the past, the previous, the gone-by. For a captain of a ship, Gibraltar was the final landmark. Beyond here, nothingness.

In my life, I can admit to you that I have faced Gibraltar several times. Maybe more than the average person. Once again, I have recently found myself in the Straight Of Gibraltar between two continents.

Somehow, someway, when your baby gets married it feels like a rite of passage.

Photo: (L-R) Megan, Alyssa (friend), D’Anna, Nik, Tabitha.

If you have visited my blog in the past, you may already be aware that I have three daughters. Tabitha at 37, Megan at 35, and D’Anna, my youngest at 25 years old.

Photo: (Oct 1999) Tabitha, Megan, and D’Anna.

I never got that boy I always wanted, but God had His plan. Tabitha and Megan are both married. I wore my Sunday best twice walking them down the aisle in separate years. Both were benchmarks, huge benchmarks. I surprised Tabitha by singing, “You Are So Beautiful (to me)” after the pastor asked who gives this bride away. Many years later, I surprised Megan in her wedding reception by singing, “Wildflower”. This past Thursday night, after the wedding dinner was served, I didn’t surprise D’Anna as much by singing, “Isn’t She Lovely”. I think due to my wedding record, she assumed I would sing to her.

Photo: Megan and husband, Kevin, performed a mini concert during the reception dinner. (Notice Megan’s fancy cowboy boots.)

My Megan, and her husband Kevin, live in Buffalo, NY. Last Tuesday when they flew in we all gathered at D’Anna’s house for a homecooked, top-notch, Mexican family dinner. It was a terrific time of fellowship and a profound sense of comfort to this old dad. About once a year we have the opportunity to have my girls and family all in one place at the same time. The last time was a year ago for their mother’s memorial service.

Photo: Here I am looking very old and tired with my girls at D’Anna’s house.

My Gibraltar on this voyage happens to be the fact that I just gave away my last child to a terrific groom. Nik Baker is a true knight on a white horse. D’Anna made a very good choice. They’ve been together for ten years now.

Photo: Nik and groomsmen waiting to walk down the aisle with the pastor.

As I walked her down the aisle, I saw there a white rose, along with an 8×10 photo of her mom, in an empty chair next to my wife where she would’ve been sitting had she not passed.

Photo: My point of view before the wedding party walked the aisle.

My mind swirled as we made those steps toward the waiting groom and pastor. Thoughts of her birth, her kindergarten graduation, her choir concerts, her high school graduation, and a thousand other adventures we have logged.

Photo: (2000) D’Anna

One very painful memory was letting D’Anna go with her mom when our divorce was being arranged. The older girls stayed with me, and eight year old D’Anna moved with her mom from Buffalo, NY to the Dallas, Tx area. My heart was wrenched. I emptied all my tears. Her life was very hard afterwards. I wish I had made a different choice. My grief continues to this day for that decision. I moved back to Texas as quickly as I could to be as close as I could to D’Anna. We’ve had a wonderful relationship, regardless of our physical separation. Still, as I see my Gibraltar I must find the might to keep the past in the past.

Photo: (2007) A joyful reunion with D’Anna.

Gibraltar indicates that I have no more children to walk down the aisle. The landmark is truly that. My Mediterranean has been long, and stormy at times. Still, it’s in the “gone-by”, the forever rearview.

My mysterious Atlantic waters might deliver some joys to come. After all, I can see where another grandbaby may be viewed in my telescope. It would be a wonderful adventure to come.

I embraced my baby girl during the “daddy/daughter” dance. As I have done before, we danced to “Butterfly Kisses”. Tears did come, but not mine. I was able to control myself. Wiping her tears away, as she danced with me, was an honor, and a promise to her that no matter what, I would still be her dad, and here for her…for as long as I live.

Photo: Nik and D’Anna during the couple’s first dance.

As I say goodbye to Gibraltar, I also must recall the truth of the matter. Although I have given her away, and my role as dad alters just a bit, I have faith that our Heavenly Father, our Abba shelters and shields without me there. He created marriage. He initiated the institution of the melding of husband and wife. God is truly The Great Welder.

Parenting is not for the weak. Marriage is not for the fainthearted. Take a course in both. THE textbook adds fuel for the race.

“Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” Genesis 2:24 (ESV)

October 7, 2025

The Question Remains

“I stretched back and I hiccuped,
And looked back on my busy day.
Eleven hours in the Tin Pan.
God, there’s got to be another way. Well, who are you?
(who are you? Who, who, who, who?)” (1978) “Who Are You?” Recorded By: The Who Composer: Pete Townsend

It’s truly hard to believe. Music history will document the ending of an era occurred on October 1st of 2025. That night, the legendary rock band, The Who called it quits to their 61 year adventure.

The stage was at the Acrisure Arena in Thousand Palms, California to a packed house of a wide demographic that would make Sinatra jealous. This final tour was aptly entitled, “The Song Is Over Tour”. For a band of this caliber and age, their song, “My Generation” fell short of its meaning. The Who has dazzled generation(s) since 1964 with their memorable tracks, on and off stage antics, destroying their instruments on stage for shock values, along with an outstanding, highly honored rock opera, “Tommy”. Unlike the iconic bands from their British beginnings like, The Rolling Stones, and The Beatles, The Who also gained fame by giving the loudest performances of their time. Later, Led Zeppelin would rival The Who’s audio gain.

“The Song is Over” title is deceiving in itself. For Roger Daltrey and Pete Townsend, the song truly is NOT over. The Who has filled our music treasure chest with 12 studio albums, 18 live albums, 4 soundtrack albums, 36 compilation albums, 4 extended play (EP) recordings, 58 singles, and 25 video albums. Indeed, the song will never be over.

Photo: From their 50th anniversary tour.

As the wrap of the concert performance played out, The guitar smashing Pete Townsend and Roger Daltrey, both in their 80’s, shared the stage alone as the other instrumentalists exited. In a rare transparent conversation between the two veteran rockers, they openly discussed their origins and the bittersweet reflections of this band’s fade to black moment, Pete revealed to the live audience that he always hated the road. He mentioned tours wore him out and he never looked forward to them. The two were honest about their age, aging bodies, the highly publicized addictions over the decades, and their various health issues and loss of hearing. One of the topics could have been their charity work, specifically in the effort to bring awareness and funds toward the fight against teenage cancer.

Photo: (LA Times) The last stage of the last tour, Oct 1st, 2025.

It seems a bit ironic that Pete is famous for the phrase, “Hope I die before I get old”. For half of the band, it was somewhat prophetic.

The rock scene has been notorious for drugs, sex, and rehabs. Unfortunately for The Who, two of the original members suffered a great deal from alcohol and drug abuse. The highly talented and comedic drummer, Keith Moon not only lost consciousness during live performances, but his life was sadly ended by his vices at only 32 years old in 1978.

Photo: (FOX13 Memphis) Keith Moon never seemed to be serious about anything.

Some call him the best bass rocker in history, The Who’s John Entwistle lived to be 57 years old when a cocaine overdose snatched him away in 2002.

Photo: (Facebook) A master bassist, John Entwistle. Quiet, but Loud.

In the summer of 1975, Roger Daltrey released his second solo project, “Ride A Rock Horse”. In the same year, The Who’s rock opera, “Tommy” was produced into a full-blown movie, with Roger in the leading roll of Tommy. It was a first of its kind on the big screen, with box office numbers kicking down the established parameters.

Roger was on a promotional tour for the new solo album that summer. He was to appear at a popular record store in a north Dallas indoor mall for meet and greet with autograph signing. A 15 year old (me) begged his mom to drive him to Valley View Mall to get a glimpse of the iconic rock star. She sheepishly agreed.

When we arrived, the mob was enormous. Hundreds of fans were waiting outside the record store which had wisely closed its large glass security walls. The wall was made up of sectional glass partitions on a sliding track, both top and bottom. Daltrey had yet to arrive, but the staff was ready and worried as the raucous crowd began to press up against the glass partitions, some even banging on them with their hands and fists. The crowd was too large for me to get in-line to at least shake his hand, because my single mom and I were too poor to spend the cash for a new album. So I was basically an onlooker as the mass of fans grew outside the store.

At some point, the staff was told by mall security that it would be best to open the store before the glass wall breaks. A friend of mine, who was on staff there, was one of the workers who began to unlock and slide the glass sectionals to the side. The mob did not wait. In a single rush the throng surged as the wall was being removed, causing one of the sections to jump the track as the staff frantically did all they could to keep the heavy partitions from falling. It was a madhouse. Prior to the opening, the store workers had organized a roped off path through the aisles of records and tapes leading to the front counter where Roger was to be. Only then did things begin to settle into civility. My friend from the staff motioned to me to go outside to the loading dock ramp just outside the back of the store. I did with my impatient mom saying, “Oh, Alan. Must you?” Indeed, I must.

I was there in the loading dock area with about 8 other people when someone pointed out toward the parking lot and said, “Look! There he is!” As I gazed out over the sun-beaten parking lot, a shinny gold stretch limo was approaching the dock. The limo slowly pulled into the dock just about 4 feet in front of me. An attendant opened one of the doors and right there, out stepped Roger Daltrey. I was standing right in front of him. He looked at me, greeted me with a simple hello. The photo below is from that day.

Photo: (1975) Roger Daltrey Valley View Mall/Dallas,

Although I was too poor to get a new autographed album, or even shake his hand, it was a close encounter this lad will always fondly remember. Of course, in the end, it is all so trivial.

Generation, after generation, The Who’s question remains. Who are you? From what has been written about Roger and Pete’s last gig, it seems they both have learned who they are as they experience their golden years. Through the loss of hair, arthritis, wrinkles carved out into our faces, seeing generations behind us grow into adults, we can look back and realize the school of hard knocks built this person of age. Trials and struggles, heartbreaks and rocky roads craft us into who we are in this present reality. It is also a biblical concept.

Spiritually, we can only know who we are, and what our purpose is by diving deep into our soul. For me, I found myself to be flawed, detached from the One who made me, and weakened by the long rocky road. For me, I needed to be rescued, retrieved, and renewed. I found redemption in Jesus through his love for me. Sacrificial love is the greatest level of the verb of love. He chose to do that for me on the cross.

The Who’s, “Behind Blue Eyes” rings true only when we are honest with ourselves,

“And if I swallow anything evil,
Put your finger down my throat.
And if I shiver, please give me a blanket.
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat.

No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes”

Knowing God is the education of knowing self. Comparing His righteousness next to our best is humbling. Then, and only then, can we discover who we are.

Searching for identity doesn’t have to be surgical, dramatic or difficult inside fuel for the race.

“Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 139:16 (NIV)

July 27, 2025

Guadalupe Flood Tragedy

“Lay me down roll me out to sea.
Callin’ on a mighty wave to cover me.
Lay me down roll me out to sea.
Heaven if you’re ready shine your light on me.” (1975) “Lay Me Down (Roll Me Out To Sea)” Recorded By: Barry Manilow Composers: Barry Manilow & Ron Dante

Where do I begin? How shall my fingers type the words strong and clear enough?

Frankly, I have been procrastinating on writing this entry due to my broken heart. It’s coming up on a month now, so I need to grit my teeth and do what I can under the devastating circumstances.

No doubt you have already been aware of the tragic central Texas hill country flash flooding which rip away so many lives on the 4th of July.

Photo: Spectrum

A record breaking downpour showered the central Texas county of Kerr, and other counties in the wake. The area is about a five hour drive southwest of Dallas.

The flash flood quickly wrecked the normally peaceful Guadalupe River. The river is shallow, and dry in many locations. It’s a lengthy river sprawling out of many country miles. The deepest depth averages around five feet. Many areas of the Guadalupe measures only a foot in depth. The monsoon ravaged the river overnight. In the Kerrville, Tx area alone, the river rose from 1 foot to 36 feet in just a few hours. Within the first 45 minutes of the flash flooding, the river rose to over 20+ feet. Downstream, the levels reached 39.8 feet in Gonzales County. In Hunt, tx, the river rose to 20 feet in just three hours.

There are tons of horrifying video clips out there of the onslaught of the disaster as it occurred. Houses, barns, vehicles, businesses, cattle, and horses, carried away in the speeding currents. I lived in Buffalo, NY for five years, visiting Niagara Falls often, and the power of what I saw on the Guadalupe resembled the raging rapids of the Niagara as it races toward the brink of the falls. The power of millions of gallons for water is a terrifying thing to behold. It rips up everything in its path, trees, bridges, overpasses, concrete highways, even dams. Most devastating, it rips away precious lives.

It’s unnecessary to list the statistics of the dead and missing here. There are hundreds of dead or missing, many of them children. As I write this, the numbers continue to fluctuate. Recovery efforts comb the waters and vast debris to this date.

Photo: Rescue worker breaking down.

Camp Mystic is a 725-acre Christian-based girl’s camp serving ages 8-17. It snuggles up to the shores of the Guadalupe close to a bend in the river. Camp Mystic has been a Kerr County, Texas landmark since 1926. For generations, it has welcomed the girls from all walks of life, various faiths, and their counselors. Camp Mystic also has secondary locations in other counties.

As the 8-10 year old girls were sleeping in their bunks not far from the river bank, the raging currents flooded them out. Dick Eastland, co-owner and camp director, raced to evacuate the girls. He was partially successful as he worked against the clock and the currents. However, he and many camping girls, along with a teen counselor, were swept away by the poundage of the surge. His body was found several days later. He was 74.

At another bunkhouse, on higher ground, teen girls woke up to rising floodwaters. There was a second story where they quickly retreated to escape the torrent. As the flooding began overtaking the first floor, to rise to the second floor, they all began to pray and sing Christian songs. The encroaching waters reached the second floor and then suddenly stopped. They survived.

The stories of heroic rescues are too numerous to list.

One man saw a woman perched on a limb in a tree which was about to be uprooted. She was able to grab the tree as the flood carried her downstream at a remarkable rate of speed. Several hours passed as she held on for dear life as the surge continued to rise around her. The man yelled at her to stay there as the current beneath her was swirling with a hunger for victims. He tied a long garden hose around his torso, in an attempt to anchor himself, and bravely entered the sandy floodwaters. Somehow, he was able to reach her. She is among the survivors.

One of the most remarkable stories surrounds three of the young girls swept away. By a sheer miracle, as they were being carried for miles downstream, they were able to find refuge inside a hollow tree. They crammed themselves inside the trunk and stayed there for 10 hours. Usually, a hollow tree is a dead, or dying tree. The swift rapids of the flood tore away multitudes of trees from their roots, some broken in half under the water pressure. This racing current carried blocks of concrete downstream. How on earth did a rotten hollow tree survive such an ordeal? Still, it was a shelter for the three girls facing death. They were eventually rescued with only minor injuries.

Many remains have been found under strata of gravel, sand, rocks, and timber, including entire vehicles. Cadaver dogs have been a great tool to locating the bodies.

After recovery, the dead must be identified. A few of the girls have been identified due to the stuffed animals they were clutching. Some by their clothing. One girl, from the Hunt family, was identified by the necklace still clasped around her neck. In May, she was in a school play. Her grandmother gave her a beaded necklace which spelled out her name as a congratulations gift. Little Janie Hunt never took it off. Janie is one of the 37+ girls who have been taken from us.

You might be able to look up a sweet piece of artwork I found online. It shows Jesus welcoming three young girls running toward Him wearing Camp Mystic T-shirts. It’s just so precious…and true.

“Suffer the little children to come unto me, for such is the kingdom of heaven.” – Jesus

Photo: This photo was released of Lila Bonner and Eloise Peck while recovery efforts continued. The number of the dead, including aduts, continued to rise daily.

Still, we are left with heartbreak. But in the wake of it all, I am reminded of a phrase written from the prayer Jesus prayed on the night he was arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane.

“While I was with them in the world, I kept them in thy name: those that thou gavest me I have kept, and none of them is lost…” (John 17:12 KJV)

There is fountain with springs of living water. It is flowing in fuel for the race.

June 24, 2025

Seek And Ye Shall….

“Let there be peace on earth,
And let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth,
The peace that was meant to be.” (1955) “Let There Be Peace On Earth” Composers: Jill Jackson-Miller & Sy Miller.

After the missiles began to fly from Israel to Iran recently, an extraordinary thing occurred.

In a previous post, I had written about our recent launch of The Light DFW digital, on-line radio station. Unique in that we are a contemporary Christian music format with a few twists. Most of us involved are former KLTY air personalities, a now legendary CCM station based in Dallas/Ft Worth, sold in January of this year. The Light is based in the Dallas Metroplex, but being on-line only, we reach listeners around the globe 24/7.

Photo: The Light DFW air-staff. (I am on the far right.)

(Our free app is The Light DFW. Our website is TurnOnTheLight.com)

Unlike our former analog local radio station, we are unable to track our listener base through the Arbitron rating system. (Thus far, Arbitron does not track digital streaming radio.) So, there are specific services which do track the amounts of downloads of our app, as well as, time spent listening, and from the locations of listeners.

After the first 38 hours from the beginning of the war between Israel and Iran, a most unanticipated event was reported. Looking at the mentioned 38 hour timeframe, our app received a few downloads from across the globe. This is not uncommon until you consider the #1 foreign nation with the most downloads of our app during that timespan. Zoom in and take a look.

Photo: Zooming in, you can see 17 new listeners from Iran at the outbreak of the war.

I was stunned. 17 downloads of The Light DFW coming from those in a nation you might not consider. 17 “seekers” reaching out for truth. Actually, for many years now, there have been reports of a growing Christian community in Iran with unground churches. Like in the early days of Christianity, holding to the Christian faith in Rome was a death sentence, so too, is the danger in Iran.

Through the years I have known a few Iranian-Americans. One of them even helped to save my life in an ICU unit in 2013. They are a beautiful people, with a heart which can be indoctrinated into hate, or redemption. People are people everywhere. The only difference is the ideology, or religion deemed appropriate.

Scripture contains much concerning Persia (Iran). Persia is even mentioned in Old Testament prophecies concerning future events not yet occurred. Currently, God is very active in Iran, and NOT the Islamic Allah.

Often in my life I wondered how to reason through the command of Jesus to love our enemies. One of the examples, which caused me pause was during the Gulf War, was when video came back showing our Marines sharing water with subdued Iraqi soldiers who were just defeated in the desert. One minute they are shooting at our lads, the next minute, we were hydrating them. We also can love them as we help restore the defeated. Loving the enemy can also manifest itself while praying for them to render their hearts to the Prince Of Peace. He is willing to hold the hand which nailed His Son to the cross.

However, it takes the Spirit of God to overcome the human urge to destroy the enemy beyond necessity in war when they are attempting to kill you, your children, and your country. Humility, deeply seeded inside, is priority. That is the first ingredient.

In my case, I have a platform where I can speak an play culturally current music of mercy, love, and grace for the Iranian ear.

Hard sayings to wrestle with are found in fuel for the race.

” And he said, “’Now behold, I have ventured to speak to the Lord; suppose twenty are found there?’” And He said, “’I will not destroy it on account of the twenty.’” Then he said, “’Oh may the Lord not be angry, and I shall speak only this once: suppose ten are found there?’” And He said, “’I will not destroy it on account of the ten.”’ Gen 18:31-32 (NAS)

June 15, 2025

It’s Raining Cats & Rabbits

“Pussycat, Pussycat, you’re so thrilling.
And I’m so willing
To care for you.” (1965) “What’s Up, Pussy Cat?” Recorded By: Tom Jones Composers: Burt Bacharach & Hal David

Recently, my friend, Ann from her blog, Muddling Through My Middle Age, wrote about discovering a nest of Bunnies in her yard. It was ironic in that we had just experienced the same issue at our house. However, our story is a bit on the bittersweet side.

Our cat, Brie, has a huge predatory talent. This is not a new developed talent as she was constantly practicing her craft when she was just a baby. I am certain I didn’t help matters when often playing with her and a laser.

Photo: Baby Brie, the huntress.

Brie is an indoor cat, with the exception of when my wife goes to the backyard for landscaping and gardening. Brie follows her through our back sunroom, out the back door and into the great outdoors. While outside, she loves to prowl, sneak under the bushes covertly, and even climbs the Ash and Pecan Trees. (Brie, not my wife.) I call it, “Her Kingdom”. No doubt Brie thinks of it that way.

A couple of weeks ago, after coming into the sunroom after a couple of hours working in the yard, my wife saw Brie in the corner of our sunroom focused heavily on something small while pawing at the subject of interest with both paws. My wife pulled her away to reveal a tiny hairless newborn creature no more than three inches in length. She picked up the injured critter, brought it to me asking my opinion on what kind of animal it was. It hadn’t opened its eyes yet, and the ears were short with a slight tapering shape. The tail appeared to resemble a short rat tail. Immediately I christened it a baby rat. A motherly instinct kicked in as my wife treated its bloody wound. To make matters worse, the baby was crying out in pain. We asked Brie where she found the infant, but she refused to reveal her source.

Photo: Brie under intense interrogation. “Talk to the paw.”

Unfortunately, I had to relieve the little guy’s suffering as humanely as I could. The next day, it was a replay. There she was, trying to play with something small, but this time she brought the tiny one into the house. Brie protested severely when my wife bravely rescued the baby from its destined miniature rainbow bridge. It too was injured but only mildly by sight. Again, my wife nursed the wound and decided we would shelter it overnight in a box in the house.

The following morning, we forced ourselves to look into the injured infant. We really expected it to have passed to that great head of lettuce in the sky. On the contrary, it not only survived, but it was more active than its sibling from the day before. Following an extensive internet search, we discovered it was a baby bunny. We educated ourselves on how old it must be, what and what not, to feed him. After a few hours, the poor little thing went south on us. Apparently there was internal bleeding we couldn’t detect. So, once again, I had to do the duty of sending him to the great St. Peter Rabbit at the carroted-lined gates.

Frustrated with our Brie, we made the choice of condemning her to temporary house arrest.

Photo: Brie under house arrest.

Meanwhile, my wife conducted a step-by-step search for the nest covertly hiding somewhere in our backyard. It didn’t take her long after seeing a mother rabbit busying herself at a spot near the middle of our lawn.

Sure ’nuff, my wife discovered a very well built nest complete with twigs, grass, and pieces of rabbit fur. There were four babies underneath in a hole fashioned by the mom. She also found yet another infant a couple of feet from the nest. It was slightly injured, but nothing serious. She cleaned the wound and placed him back in the den with his sibs. After covering the hole with the nesting materials, she used a couple of lawn chairs to lay upside-down over the nest, only leaving room for the mother to squeeze through an area where she could tend to her nursery.

Phot: Dreamstime.com Infant bunnies in nest.

According to what we researched, it appeared the babes were only a week or two old. Whether wise or not, we made the decision to leave them alone, keeping Brie in shackles, and praying the mom won’t abandon the tiny crew. With that said, we were constantly watching for her, but still leaving well enough alone.

A couple of nights later we were hit with a wild and wicked storm, complete with 3-4 inches of rain, devastating winds with possible hail and tornado. I couldn’t sleep that night just thinking about that pre-school clan in the hole outside. I imagined the babies drowning in their den. Hopelessness came over me, questioning myself if we should go out there, in what resembled a minor land hurricane, and fish those young ones out of what might be their predicament. I bit my lip and drank some melatonin tea. Zzz-zzz.

With a great deal of anxiety, we waited another day until the storm system left us. I couldn’t bring myself to overcome my sensitivity, so my wife went out to the nest to check on the carnage awaiting her. To our surprise, the nest was empty, with the nesting materials moved over to the side. It seemed as if mama did her job in evacuating the underground apartment for another locale which might be better shelter than what she started with. Sad news for one of the sibs. About three feet from the nest, a fresh bunny body was located. Uncertain of why, what, or how he was released to that perfect cabbage patch in the unknown, but we knew he simply could have drowned in the wash of the storm. We gently placed him back in the empty den, and covered it over with a large stone.

As fast as they grow, the survivors are probably in middle school by now. At the same time, my faith comforts me knowing that God cares for His creation, even the smallest of life. He neither sleeps, nor slumbers. He is aware. The episode also reminds me of how much I am sheltered by a caring mighty unseen hand. Jesus made it clear, that I am far more valuable to God than a bunny. So, I say, bring on the next storm.

By the way, Brie is not happy with us right now. (MEOW!) She’ll get over it.

Photo: Brie having to pretend.

If you feel like the rains pound on your life, find shelter in fuel for the race.

“Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O LORD of hosts, my King and my God.” Psalm 84:3 (ESV)

May 18, 2025

Worn Treads

“Take it easy, take it easy.
Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.
Lighten up while you still can,
Don’t even try to understand.
Just find a place to make your stand.
And take it easy.” (1972) “Take It Easy” Recorded By: The Eagles Composers: Jackson Browne & Glenn Frey.

While steadily approaching the enormous benchmark of my 65th birthday, I received an unanticipated phone call. It was a voice and a name I knew so very well.

“Hi, Alan. This is Marcos Rodriguez.”

In July of 1987, he launched a Contemporary Christian Music radio station. That was my first radio job. He was the owner, and though he was only a couple of years older than I, he had inherited the frequency from his father. In 1989 we changed call letters to KLTY. It quickly grew to be the most listened to CCM station in the world with a huge audience here in the north Texas area. Audience records were broken. Ad sales records were toppled. Paradigms were shifted. Our shelves were lined with multiple awards, including the coveted Marconi Award. Many years later Marcos sold the station to a radio group, who maintained the format, call letters and staff, for a total of $63.3 million.

Earlier this year, KLTY, owned by Salem Broadcasting Corp, was once again sold to the company which owns the ever-growing K-LOVE Network out of California for $80 million.

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com

It seems Salem no longer wanted to own their Christian music stations across the nation. Thus, the surprising end of KLTY, a four decade radio legend. The true flagship of what was once called, The FISH stations under the Salem umbrella.

Marcos was shocked, as we all were, followed by a light switching on in his forward-thinking radio pioneering mind. His idea was to hire a team of ex-KLTY staffers from all the years of its rich history. Since the sudden death of KLTY, 800k+ listeners have been grieving the loss of their station, he wanted to find a way to fill the giant KLTY vacancy. Internet, free streaming of what we now call, The Light, was launched a few weeks ago. Voices and names from KLTY past would be well-known and welcomed by displaced listeners like a warm jacket on a nippy day. When Marcos called me up to ask if I wanted to be on the team, I almost didn’t let him finish his sentence. My answer was short and loud.

“ABSOLUTELY!”

Photo: Marcos and some young guy there trying to look healthy.

He arranged a wonderful dinner outing for us all earlier this month. Most of us hadn’t worked together for some 30 years+/-, some less, some more. It was a casual reunion filled with love and a thick sense of family on a mission.

Photo: Our humble on-air crew from The Light. I’m the one wearing an oversized sportscoat.

Interesting enough, most of us are old radio dogs. We haven’t figured out the average age of our long-in-the-tooth crew, but the majority of us are in our 60’s. For many of my compadres, retirement isn’t in the dictionary. Because of my ongoing health issues, I have been disabled for the past 12 years, knocking me off the air. All that to say, for many of us at The Light, our treads are fairly worn. After all, I know what my life has been through. I have shared the choppy waters with the sharks. I have been propelled along in the wake of the whales. I have run with the bulls. My life has had death moments followed by resurrection moments. My scars are many. It would not be a stretch to say my life has experienced three or four lifetimes of sorrows, blunders, joys, and weeping.

When I got in the car to head out to our reunion dinner, this is what my odometer read.

Photo: My actual odometer reading on dinner party day.

I suddenly felt a personal fork in the road. When I was younger, most American vehicles were getting close to being toast at mileage totals of 70K. However, due to technology, and quality assurance with much of today’s auto makers, 70K is at least a mid-life amount. I drive a Toyota Rav4. To dream of 200K+ miles on this baby would be reality. So, no. It’s not going to be put out to pasture any time soon. As God would have it, neither will I. My traction remains.

Still, on my way to the dinner party, I couldn’t shake the thought of my current weakened state, along with my benchmark of 65 years. Could I do it? Will my health struggles get in the way of my work? Most of all, will it show in my voice?

A “light” turned on during our gathering. As it turned out, others have health issues. I wasn’t alone. It seemed providential when one of my old co-workers spoke the truth out loud, a truth we all were silently thinking.

He said, “Ya know, we all have been through so much in life.”

So true. Early in my radio career I hadn’t been through the major stuff of life just yet. At least not the severity and depth of some overwhelming currents I would be taken by later in my years. Suddenly, the old adage of being seasoned, like an old vintage wine, became more clear in retrospect. We all agreed with the feeling that in this stage of our lives, with all of the worn treads, we can better understand what listeners are going through, or WILL go through. Compassion is now easier to apply due to our personal journeys.

So, with wise words, an odometer, and lots of prayer, I agreed to do some part-time work alongside my healthier friends. Having home studios where we can broadcast on air without leaving our driveways certainly helps.

Photo: My new home studio in our guest room.

The Light can be captured via your cell phone, smart speakers, our website, or even a Bluetooth armed radio in your car. No fees, or annual fund raisers.

See our free app: The Light DFW. Or, stream us on your laptop, desktop computer, or a smart tablet. Just click on our website to listen at: http://www.TurnOnTheLight.com. If you should hear the radio name, Alan Scott, that would be me.

If you wonder what God thinks about retirement, dive into fuel for the race.

“Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, Before the difficult days come, And the years draw near when you say, ‘“I have no pleasure in them”’. Ecclesiastes 12:1 (KJV)

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