November 28, 2015- Getting ready to camp out at York Gulch this week

Leaving tomorrow morning for York Gulch to camp out for the week or until at least most of my winter forest shelter is finished. I'm bringing my 7' tall tarp tipi to set up for temporary shelter.

I will be able now to put in a full day's work many days in a row which I need to do before the ground freezes. Looking forward to getting this project done so I can spend 2-3 days/nights each week for the winter camping out in the piney woods.

Mike Ellington may be able to come up Sunday to help. He's very handy building tables, fences, chairs etc. Mike's an avid camper as well.

The roof is going to be the most difficult portion to build. I'm making the roof out of wood poles from spruce then weaving spruce and pine boughs in a lattice type manner. I'm going to secure tarps underneath like underlayment to shed melted snow.

Pastor Bill Robertson offered to drive me up in his 4 wheel drive Pathfinder because of all the tipi equipment, gear, food and water. He should be arriving at around 8 am tomorrow to pick me up. Pastor Bill and his wife Mary Beth always find ways to help.

Christopher Watson, Glenda and Randy's son has offered to come up tomorrow and help me lift the dead trees/limbs to fashion the walls. He will be a huge help for sure. Glenda and Randy own the Frothy Cup Coffee Shop in downtown Idaho Springs where I keep my office.

It's 11pm and still sorting out my tarpaulins and amassing all of my paracords and stakes for my tipi tent. I need a lot of tarps to cover the ground area and the sides of my tipi. It's fairly large about 8' x 8' x 7'.

Will need to run down tomorrow morning to the Kum n Go to get some new batteries for my flashlights and a few gallons of water. Other than that I'll be finished and will set about securing my tipi and collecting firewood before starting work on the cabin.

Well, goodnight and blessings to you all! It's about bedtime now for me.

BR Schoenbein
November 28, 2015- Monday

Staying at the Ellington's home in Empire, CO

I am house and dog sitting for Michael and Christina Ellington. They live in Empire, CO formerly known as Empire City.

I have a connection to this little town of 280 people situated in the northwest corner of Clear Creek County. Vachel Lindsay, a poet from Springfield, Illinois who wrote in the early 20th century used to walk here on foot from IL to visit his vacationing family. The Lindsays used to stay in the Peck House, a once luxuriant hotel here in Empire City.

Lindsay was a prairie troubadour who sold his poems and sang for his meals in order to finance his way to Colorado. He was good friends with my favorite poet, Edgar Lee Masters, as well as Carl Sandburg all from my home area of central Illinois.

While sitting in the Ellingtons very comfortable family room today I wrote a poem about Empire. It is as follows:

               Empire City

Empire City, hides in a dark corner of Clear Creek County Colorado, small and humbled over the years with only 280 souls,

But, still large in spirit though now burdened with the weight of a grandiose name conjuring up visions of Persia, Pax Romano, far flung Britain and powerful America.

With vain visions of riches you lured men from the East with tall tales of creeks and rivers awash in giant nuggets of silver and mountains under which lurked thick veins of gold galore and plumes of silver.

With the brilliance of a thousand golden suns, silvery frosted peaks, emerald green forests and greedy miners, Empire City chiseled out of gray granite became the gateway to the Rockies.

With outstretched arms you welcomed a poor barefoot poet who trudged here from the tall prairie in Illinois selling his poems and singing for his meals, a wiry troubadour, a tramp, a vagabond who long ago wrote of Lincoln's ghost lumbering about the streets of Springfield mourning with head bowed for lives lost at Antietam and Gettysburg.

The poet himself, it is said, now hobbles alone at midnight in the dirt streets of Empire lit only by moonlight with his shoulders hunched over by grief, anguished by the blood spilt in long fought wars from Siam to Mesopotamia.

Empire City, you're an iridescent pearl strung on a necklace of now long forgotten hamlets stretching along Clear Creek Canyon, once mighty, rich and luxuriant now steaming up from the valley floor like a chimera, a mirage seen only by the lonely spirits who pilgrimage westward across the Divide.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, the lonely persistent sound of the clock on the fireplace mantle reminds me of my own fragility and of the graves of the hopes and dreams dug in my heart which have long ago taken wing,

I too, like Empire was once strong, rich and mighty but now weak and humble, a shadow hidden in a dark corner anxiously awaiting renewal as a rising Phoenix.

Cities and towns like people must first die in order to truly live. The Prairie Troubadour knew it and Empire City knows it.

Thanksgiving November 26, 2015

Yet another Thanksgiving has arrived sudden like without much fanfare or warning making this one my 56th.

I'm celebrating this annual holiday alone for the first time in my life. I am house and dog sitting for some good friends, the Ellingtons, who worship with me at Clear Creek Neighborhood Church in Idaho Springs, Colorado.

Sitting on a rocking chair facing the south window of the Ellington home in Empire, Colorado some 42 miles west of Denver, I am enjoying the peaceful solitude of the wintry Central Mountains near the Continental Divide.

My only companions are Eli and Maggie the Ellingtons two tiny dogs. Their race or breed is unknown to me.

The pyramid shaped mountain peaks off to the southwest spread across the horizon rising pointedly 11,000 feet high up into foggy skies. It's a cold, blustery morning only 22 degrees with a wind chill factor of some 12 degrees.

There's a wispy, flaky snow blowing around looking like millions of little white gnats, possibly portending a greater snow coming in over the Divide to the west. This tiny town of less than 300 lays very hushed in this high mountain valley.

I can see the West Fork of Clear Creek winding off to the south below a ridge of dark green piney mountain peaks.

The ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle and the clicking on of the furnace are the only sounds emanating from this quiescent and subdued house.

It's the perfect setting for reviewing past Thanksgiving Days. In my youth the Schoenbeins which included my mother (my father, Bruce Sr died in 1967) one brother and three sisters would pile into our Plymouth an apt name for a vehicle on Thanksgiving, and head to Danvers an ancient hamlet originally named Concord situated over on the high prairie in McClean County. As the saying goes, over the river( Mackinaw) and through the woods over to grandmothers house we go.

My maternal grandmother Helene Wittmeier Weigelmann along with her husband, Rudolf, my grandfather were war refugees from the Ukraine in the old Soviet Union. They immigrated, legally, I might add to the United States in 1952 seven years after the end of the Second World War.

After they arrived in New York Harbor they boarded a west bound train for central Illinois where a job and housing was prearranged via the sponsorship of the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod.

My grandparents and their children my mother, uncles and aunts all knew first hand the loving provision of God's mercy. They escaped war torn Russia with only what little belongings they could carry and walked or rode in horse drawn wagons. Almost all vehicles had either been confiscated or destroyed during the war and fuel was non existent.

My people were German nationals living in a nondescript village near Kiev and Chernobyl in the Ukraine. My grandfather was the manager of a communist state farm at the time.

After the Wehrmacht lost what would become the Battle of Stalingrad in 1943 the Germans advised their civilians to retreat back into Germany with them or suffer the consequences of the great and terrible wrath of the Red Army which was sure to follow.

Total casualties on both the Axis and Soviet sides during this insane bloody five month long battle were a reported 1-2 million killed, wounded and taken captive. 91,000 German soldiers were captured. Only 5,000 of that figure survived to be repatriated years after cessation of hostilities. This battle is regarded by  most historians as the largest and bloodiest single battle in the history of warfare.

Had the tables been turned my family probably would have remained in the Ukraine and my mother would not have met my father and thus my siblings and I would never have been born. To say that this historical battle affected my life is a complete understatement.

So, as I sit here alone feeling a bit sorry for myself missing family and friends on this Thanksgiving day I look out to the Rocky Mountains to the south through Union Pass and I can't help but be thankful to God Almighty for his love for me, for my parents, grandparents, family and friends and most of all for this wonderful gift of the mystery that is life. Amen.

BR Schoenbein
November 26, 2015- Thursday

Its Getting More Difficult To Discuss Politics Than Ever Before

The current debate going on regarding whether we as a nation should allow an influx of Syrian refugees into our country is becoming almost too hot to handle.

I was compelled to write this article after reading Facebook posts from my friends and others sometimes resorting to name calling and denigrating of those who disagreed with them.

The majority opinion seems to be that the dangers of allowing these so called refugees into the US outweigh our customary humanitarian tradition.

The other side usually but not exclusively put forward by progressives believe that we should err on the side of mercy and love for our fellow man. They cite previous waves of immigrants from the late 19th century and early 20th century. Yet, those immigrants were Europeans with similar cultural backgrounds with America and most were at least cultural Christians. And, generally, they were not associated with terrorism. So the analogy and comparisons between them and the Syrians I believe are disingenuous.

Both sides have merit. It now appears increasingly likely that one or more of the terrorists involved in the Parisian massacre gained entrance into France by pretending to be a Syrian refugee complete with a Syrian issued passport.

Our own FBI Director admitted that it is impossible to vett each and every refugee to determine whether that person is or was connected to ISIS or Al Qaeda or one of their affiliates.

First, just the sheer numbers of refugees the Administration wants to allow entry is overwhelming. Second, our intelligence experts need access to Syrian government documents related to each refugee in order to properly vett them. And, that is impossible to obtain due to the destructive civil war going on in Syria.

So, if we allow Syrian, Iraqi and other middle eastern refugees entrance into the US we must recognize that ISIS probably will be able to slip in a few of their militants. Are the progressives willing to suffer a certain acceptable number of American deaths and injuries in the likely event of a Parisian type massacre?

On the other hand, the majority of Syrian refugees are not nor have they ever been terrorists. They are simply innocent bystanders caught as innocents always are in the middle.

The US has a long tradition of accepting refugees from war torn areas around the world. My own mother's family were refugees from the Soviet Union during World War II who after many years of trying finally made it to America. And, they are forever grateful for our liberal immigration policies.

And, as a Christian my ultimate allegiance is not to any human government but to God. And, God, through Christ admonishes us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. In fact, we are to love each other as Christ loves us. Our true Constitution is the Sermon On The Mount. Even the Hebrew Scriptures admonished Israel to accept the alien and to treat him as a fellow brother. We are to love even at great risk to ourselves.

As I said before this is a unique issue for me because I agree wholeheartedly with both sides.

In my own experience living in Idaho Springs, Colorado I was presented with a conundrum when one winter night last year a homeless man became desperate because he had been kicked out of a temporary living arrangement and was now living outside in the woods with no tent or blankets. The temperature was in the teens that night when he approached me on the street on my way home asking for shelter.

As the Lucas House where I have been staying is not my house I hesitated because I was quite certain the landlord wouldn't want a disheveled, dirty homeless man living in their rental house.

But, I made the decision to take him in that bitterly cold night anyway. Well, eventually the landlords found out and I received a lecture and a warning.

I had two competing interests to consider here. The owners had a property right in the house and the homeless man had a God given right to mercy. I decided that a human's need for warmth and shelter outweighed the landlord's property rights.

Later, I found to my horror that this homeless man suffered mental illness and proclivities towards violence. And, there were rumors that he had assaulted people in the past.

I did not properly vett this man before I allowed him to share my living space. He eventually threatened me late one night as I was sleeping. Later, after putting up with this scary behavior I was forced to remove him from the house.

The ugly thing about the refugee issue is the complete and utter polarization between our citizens. We can no longer discuss these types of issues without resorting to name calling and questioning of motives.

I've noticed some of my Facebook friends who are in favor of unrestricted immigration accusing those who disagree of hypocrisy and lack of love.

I know many people who are loving and caring individuals but who are worried about another 911 type of attack. Some of those people would give you the shirt off their back.

The ones who are most shrill about letting the refugees in more than likely wouldn't even consider taking a refugee into their own homes. When was the last time they invited a homeless person to live in their home or share a meal?

Oh, but progressives are very vocal that the government should allow them entry. But where would they be housed? Where's the money coming from? We are already $18 or more trillion in debt. And, that's not counting state and local indebtedness. Who's backyard are they going to be located. Who decides that? Will they be housed in concentration camp like barracks until they are housed somewhere permanently? Will their names be tracked on a government database?

But, having said that, Christian conservatives can indeed be hypocrites too. They attend church everytime the church doors are open and can talk a good talk but when the rubber meets the road so to speak when do they show Christ's love for the marginalized?

I saw this hypocrisy up front and center on my journey from Illinois to Colorado. I asked many church pastors for shelter at night and only 2 of them obliged and one of those 2 only did so because the man who recommended me was a good friend of his. He told me he wouldn't ordinarily allow an unknown person in his home. That's Christian hospitality for you!

Hospitality is what made the first century Christians stand out from the crowd. Cicero once said about those of the Way; look how they love each other!

So, we have Christian conservatives accusing progressives of being traitors or un-American. And, we need to be reminded that many progressives are veterans and many have made the ultimate sacrifice for our country.

You wouldn't know it by observing this debate that there is some middle ground here that we as Americans must find. We must be diligent and search for the middle ground. Otherwise, we will continue to become more and more polarized and suspicious of each other.

We could allow a smaller more manageable number of refugees in and see how that works out before we allow more. We need to find those who are willing to sponsor an individual or family before they are allowed in the general population. Prior to that we could house them temporarily on abandoned military bases.

Eventually, if we do nothing to find middle ground in the midst of our political and cultural discourse we will revert to violence and even civil war.

So, let's stop the name calling and questioning of our opponent's motives. Let's roll up our sleeves and work together for our common good.

BR Schoenbein
November 21, 2015- Saturday

November 16, 2015- 56 years Old Today

Since embarking on this journey a year and half ago I have had requests from friends and various other people for some biographical background. So, for what it is worth here it is.

I was born 56 years ago today November 16, 1959 on what I presume was a cold Monday morning at 6:33am, or so my birth certificate alleges. Like most non-Catholics in the Peoria area I was delivered at the Methodist Hospital in downtown Peoria, Illinois.

My parents were Bruce and Lydia  Weigelmann Schoenbein who called 116 N First St Morton, Illinois home.

Dad was a Morton police officer born on the family farm south of Morton, Illinois in 1929 the year of the stock market crash. His grandfather, Ernest Schoenbein, settled in Morton soon after arriving at Ellis Island in 1882 from southern Germany.

Dad was later diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia and was fired from his job as a police officer. My family never informed us children of this. I had to learn about when reading one of my law cases at John Marshall Law School in Chicago. The case considered the issue of whether a mental illness was considered a disability or not. My father's disability settlement was denied by Morton Village officials. The resultant litigation went all the way to the Illinois Supreme Court where dad lost. That case was later reversed.

Dad later worked for Otto Baum and other contractors as a mason laborer. In June of 1967 he was killed in an automobile accident. I was 7 years old at the time. Mother was left to raise us 5 children alone.

Mother was born to German nationals living in the old Soviet Union around Kiev in the Ukraine at the beginning of World War II or what the Soviets called The Great Patriotic War. After the German Army suffered a catastrophic defeat at Stalingrad in 1943 the now retreating Germans advised all local Germans to flee back to Germany with them. So, my mother's family and friends packed up what belongings they could and instantly became refugees arriving in Germany after a harrowing escape. Because my grandfather, Rudolf Weigelmann, spoke fluent Russian he was attached to the Luftwaffe as a translator.

Soon after the war in 1952 my mother's family emigrated to the United States arriving in Congerville, Illinois. Mother and father married in 1958 and purchased the circa1908 bungalow located on the southeastern corner of First Street and Madison in Morton, Illinois.

What can be said of my childhood in small-town America in the 1960s and 70s?

Like most children back then I fled the house on hot, humid summer days riding my banana seat bicycle all over town playing with my pals.

In the 70s I hung out with the likes of Scott Witzig and Robert Henderson. Scott went on to college and worked in the family business at Witzig's Clothing Store until they went out of business. Later he became the Executive Director of the Morton Chamber of Commerce. Now he runs the Morton Community Foundation.

Bob Henderson graduated from West Point Military Academy and became a Major. Nowadays, Bob works in the IT business in Bend, Oregon.

I graduated from Illinois State University with a BS in Political Science and then attended The John Marshall Law School. While at John Marshall I interned for the US Department of Justice US Attorney for the Northern District in Chicago.

In that capacity, I performed paralegal work on Operation Greylord and for Strike Force, a committee composed of FBI Special Agents, Postal Inspectors, Treasury Agents and others who investigated and prosecuted organized crime figures and organizations under the RICCO Act.

One of my supervisors was Asst. US Attorney, Scott Turow, who later became the best-selling author of the crime thriller, Presumed Innocent, which was later converted to the big screen starring Harrison Ford.

I left law school after 2 years and went to work for State Farm Insurance handling non-auto property and liability claims.

Along the way I married and had three children. We bought homes in Delavan and Morton. In 1988 I ran for and won the position of Tazewell County Commissioner from District 2 at the age of 29 years.

I divorced in 1998. In 2002 I married a second time to a school teacher from Denver. In 2003 I moved to Denver my wife's home. In 2010 I divorced my second wife and moved back to Illinois.

Later, I worked a number of years handling national catastrophe claims from Hurricane Hugo to Hurricane Ike including Katrina in 2005.

For several years I was an insurance fraud investigator in Los Angeles, CA responsible for investigating workers compensation and property fraud cases. I would then package up my cases and present it to the applicable District Attorneys office for prosecution.

I entered the insurance industry in late 1983 as a worker's compensation examiner and now here in late 2013 I worked my last catastrophe, a half billion dollar hail storm in the Texas Panhandle.

I arrived back in Morton in December of 2013 and agonized over what life had in store for me. A once assured job as an executive for an insurance restoration company in Indianapolis didn't pan out. And, my attempts at restoring my failed second marriage were unsuccessful.

So, without a job and prospects for reconciliation with my former wife very dim, I sat down in the home in which I grew up and opened the Bible hoping to find some comfort in that great collection of poems, exhortation, history and illustrations of God's love. But, instead when I fortuitously turned to the Book of Luke I found conviction which after reading led to more angst and consternation.

I began to compare my life with that of the 12 disciples in Luke and found no similarities between their lives and mine. They gave up everything to follow Christ. I gave up nothing. They gave up their occupations, their families their very way of life to follow this poor itinerant would be rabbi on the road to self denial and death.

In February of 2014 I made the decision to become a modern day disciple. I began to hike the River Trail between Morton and the Illinois River in Peoria walking 20 miles daily gearing up for my departure date into a lonely and unknown life of complete and utter faith.

On April 28, 2014 I left the house and my family with $150 in my pocket. This vagabond life on the road has been both harsh and rewarding.

In early 2015 I helped found a church in Englewood, Colorado where I was ordained a minister. My job was to proclaim the Kingdom of God throughout the United States starting in the mountains of Colorado.

On January 21, 2015 I came to Idaho Springs, Colorado the site of the great gold rush of 1859. Thinking I might stay for a month or so it has now been 10 months since I arrived here knowing no one.

Since that time I have been commissioned by Clear Creek Neighborhood Church as a missionary to the US. I have preached and proclaimed God's Word in the Baptist Church, United Church and Clear Creek Neighborhood Church.

Lord willing, I plan on leaving Idaho Springs in April or May of 2016 and head west to the Pacific.

After that who knows? Only God knows where I am headed in this great journey across our country.

BR Schoenbein
November 16, 2015- Monday

Trekked Up To York Gulch Today

Spent the day up on York Gulch cutting aspen and spruce poles for my winter camping hut. I'm making them 12 feet long using both dead and live trees.

As the window for decent weather steadily closes and each day brings us closer to winter I've decided to make a wood tipi structure instead of a cabin. I can construct a tipi in half the time. And, it will still provide me with a 10x 10 living area. From the center of the tipi to the hole at the top will be 10 foot tall. My poles will all be 12 foot but when you place them at a 70 degree angle you lose 2 feet off the top.

I will then cover the interior wall and floor space with my tarpaulins. For the outer covering I will use spruce boughs. Native American Plains tribes used buffalo hides then later Army issue canvas.

If I have the time I plan on constructing a 5ft tall corral in front of the entrance to the tipi and dig a fire pit there. The corral or fence made of poles will serve to reflect the heat in the fire pit right inside the tipi. It will also serve as a deterrent to varmints to keep them out of the tipi.

My friend, Joe, who owns this old mining claim I'm squatting on gave me his 4 wheel truck today so I could haul up tools and whatnot up to the camp site. He then  drove me back to town.

In other developments: I cooked the second of three Church spaghetti dinners last Thursday and it was a success. We had I think 5 new visitors including Neil and Jonas 20 somethings who are homeless essentially but who are brilliant thinkers and doers. Neil calls me pops which I like very much because I do watch over these young men and befriend them helping with anything and everything.

Joined a book club made up of Idaho Springs ladies who wanted to hear my story about walking here from Illinois. One of the ladies sits on a county committee which decide how money for the homeless is disbursed. She announced that she will discuss with the Sheriff of Clear Creek County the idea of placing me on same committee due to my alleged expertise in this area.

On Wednesday Donna and I attended the Chamber of Commerce mixer held at the Frothy Cup. There I was introduced to the President of the Chamber who also sits on the City Council and owns one of three pot dispensaries in town. Name of Jason Siegal. He also plays the bass in an Old Timey band here in town. They played some great tunes at the mixer.

Thanks again to my sister Marty Zimmerman and her husband Marten for a greatly needed contribution! They are the greatest!

I'm scheduled to volunteer at the Community Thanksgiving Day Dinner being held at the Elks Club. One of my jobs in regard to this dinner is to advertise the event around town.

Attended a meeting with Pastor Robertson and Susan of Clear Creek Neighborhood Church. The issue at hand: What should be the vision of this church and what should be our relationship to the United Church which is a joining together of the Methodist and Presbyterian Churches. Pastor Robertson is the pastor of United Church as well.

Well, the discussion was at times intense as we talked about what the "Gospel" is or rather how it is defined scripturally. I believe our message to the community must be concise and clear. I believe that the Gospel is not limited to the life, death and resurrection of Christ...as central as those are... but that those were means to an end...the end being that God comes down to the newly restored Earth and abides with a newly saved/ restored humankind and that He returns us to a wholly new re-creation of the entire cosmos. That coming back from exile back to the new Garden of Eden completes the Gospel and is well taught in both the Old and New Testaments.

Why I run into opposition to this idea that our destiny is not Heaven but a new Earth is beyond me. Read Isaiah 65 and the last 2 chapters of Revelation.

On Monday November 16 I turn 56 years of age. Donna turned 51 on the 12th. We are going to celebrate both our birthdays on Monday. I bought her a bracelet made of copper and silver which Jonas made. He's a talented jewelry craftsman. I then presented it to her this morning when I arrived at opening time at the Frothy Cup. She loved it! I helped make the house coffees. Her back was hurting badly this morning so I performed some chores for her.

Donna has been such a great help to me. She was the first person I met in Idaho Springs when I arrived January 21, 2014 almost a year ago.

First pic shows York Gulch where I'm building my wood tipi. The next pic is Donna at the Chamber Mixer.

Well...gotta go. Grace and peace to you all!

BR Schoenbein
November 14, 2015- Saturday

Community Activities

Here's what's happening:

Heading over to The Frothy Cup to get my morning java fix and flirt with the cutest barista around, Donna.

I'm cooking the community spaghetti dinner for Clear Creek Neighborhood Church tomorrow. The Horner's are taking care of the salad and June Horner's famous brownies.

I am responsible for handing out flyers today and tomorrow advertising the community dinner.

Going with Pastor Bill Robertson to the store to buy the food/fixings for the dinner.

I was appointed the church librarian for First Baptist-Idaho Springs. Pastor Dawit and I will be going down the hill to Denver Seminary to pick up donated books.

May be going up to York Gulch this morning with Joe to look over his claim to find a winter camp site. But heavy snow coming sometime today.

Glenda Watson owner of The Frothy Cup and I are considering putting on short skits over the weekends to entertain the customers.

It's our weekly Wednesday supper day at the Blackwells then Church afterwards at First Baptist.

This Sunday helping out Adult Sunday School at United Church with Mike Horner the leader. We're in the Gospel of John.

Well...that's about it for the next few days. Peace and grace to you all.

BR Schoenbein
November 4, 2015- Wednesday

Christmas In The Rockies 2002

The turn of this century proved to be a very difficult time for me. I had gotten married in May and by November my wife and two of her children moved out back to Denver where they had lived the preceding years.

She moved away from our home in Illinois so she could be nearer to her 13 year old son who lived with his father. Previous to that we had decided to remain in Illinois so I could be near my three young children from my first marriage.

My wife was also newly pregnant. And, if that wasn't bad enough with our marriage now in shreds, she suffered a miscarriage while we were packing up the house for her move back to Colorado

In an attempt at an rapprochement I called my wife and suggested we spend Christmas together in Colorado. We decided to rent a cabin at the YMCA camp in the mountains outside Estes Park.

My 13 year old son, Andrew, was able to come with me. And so it was we arrived in that quaint little mountain town decked out in a huge splash of Christmas lights on Christmas Eve eager to have a great time celebrating Christ's birth. This was the first occasion where Andrew and my step children would spend significant time together so I was a bit nervous about the whole thing.

My wife and step daughters decorated our cabin with spruce and pine boughs and whipped up a huge delicious Christmas dinner. Afterwards, we opened gifts.

Later, in the cold and windswept iron-dark December night we went ice skating down at the frozen pond shimmering in the moonlight.

That was a blessed time of healing with a rebirth of our marriage. And, although my marriage ended a few years later the Christmas of 2002 will be one I will never forget.