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Author Dale Minor, Rutland, OH (2025)

10/16/2024

Coming soon, Copies should be available in December. Sequel to Ted Hatcher, Trader, Trapper, Preacher. A historical fiction set in southeast Ohio 1804 -1810

06/06/2024

For those who haven't gotten their copy of my book, Ted Hatcher, Trader, Trapper, Preacher, or want to send one as a gift to a friend, I have just received a new shipment; let me know and I will get one to you. ($20.00 including shipping)

News: A new book, Ted Hatcher: "Pioneer Pastor" a sequel to the current book has just been sent to the publisher. It should be ready about the end of the year.

05/03/2024

That Crazy Human Animal by Dale R. Minor
I am sitting here in my recliner, laptop before me, just thinking about unimportant things. (Us old folks do that.) Through the window in front of me is a large white pine. It provides some good distractions for me. For instance, there is a nest of bluebirds in a box nearby, and one of them will often fly up to rest on a branch of that tree. A couple afternoons ago, I noticed a cardinal sitting on the same branch, but closer to the trunk of the tree. The bluebird was there too, and they appeared to be arguing.
Since, I was inside and they were out, I couldn’t hear their chirping, but their body language seemed to indicate some sort of communication. That bright red cardinal and the smaller blue-feathered bird each stood its ground and faced each other. By the movement of their beaks and tails I could imagine that there was considerable conversation going on.
It is common for us, as we observe animals at work or play, to put human thoughts and words to their antics. So, I imagined they were arguing over which of them had the rights to that particular branch, and which should leave. Or, perhaps they were complimenting one another on their dress, while each privately considered the other as being gaudy. Whatever was their debate, the cardinal eventually got tired of it, and left.
Today, on that same tree, is a squirrel. He is hanging upside down on the trunk of that tree, with his head extended as if looking at me. He has been there several minutes and hasn’t moved. I can only imagine that he is focused on something and I am the only thing in his line of sight that is movable. And I haven’t moved much. It’s possible that he is seeing his own reflection in the window, but that is doubtful since I have a light on which would diminish any mirror-like characteristic of that pane of glass.
So, I wonder, “if that squirrel is watching me watch him, what is he thinking?” For that matter what do animals think of this species we call human who share their world? Obviously, many are wary of us, and run away; at least the smaller of them do. Even some of the larger ones give us a wide berth. But some can be aggressive, perhaps seeing us as competitors for their space. And some may even see us as food.
But at the same time, there are those which have a certain curiosity about us and want to check us out. A bull in a field may follow us, instilling a sense of fear and a desire to run in us. I’ve had sheep butt me to remove me from his or her space. A bison in Yellowstone Park made a deliberate walk past us, close enough that we could see our reflection in his eye. Even as that caused me to search out the nearest place of refuge, his action seemed more to check us out, and perhaps to let us know who owned that land, -- and it wasn’t us.
Then a few days ago, as I made my daily walk to the mailbox and back, a roundtrip of about two-hundred yards, there was a deer, a young doe standing in the meadow which I was crossing. At first, she took a couple steps away from me to position herself near the edge of the adjacent forest. But, then she stopped and just watched as I made my way to get the mail and returned. She didn’t seem to be afraid, even as she didn’t take her eyes off me. She just stood there wagging her tail and twitching her ears.
“What is she thinking?” I wondered. Is she thinking, “What a strange animal he is. He appears to have four legs, but is only using two. I’ve seen him before and he always does the same thing, walks to that box on a post and goes back to his den. And many days he has on different colored fur.”
If an animal studies us, l like we study them. What do they see? A strange animal which is able to walk about, but often uses noisy conveyances to go places. They plant large fields of grass, good edible food, but never eat it. Instead, they manicure it. Almost every week, they are out there on some small machine cutting their grass. Often, they seem to be complaining about the amount of time they spend keeping that grass to a certain size, but will put stuff on it to make it grow faster.
And these humans are constantly working to improve their domiciles. They work on them continually and never seem to be satisfied. When they are younger, they raise families, and most of these eventually leave their nests and build new ones. That, in itself, is not strange. Most species do that. But, many older humans just keep on working to make bigger and brighter homes for themselves, even as they already have more space than they need.
Each animal species seems to have its own idea of what a home should look like. Most seem to be controlled by whatever it takes to raise a family. Many are temporary, never intended to last more than a season. Some, like a beaver, will not only build a home, but create a totally new habitat for himself, and those of his clan. Others are more solitary, and go to great lengths to build “off-the-grid” so to say.
Humans to that too. Some establish homes in different parts of the country, migrating like many birds and some mammals do. Others will procure smaller homes on wheels and move them from place to place for short periods of times. They say this enables them to “get away from it all,” but then they gather in places where there are dozens, even hundreds, of the same kind of homes, and they aren’t away from anything.
Some even hibernate. Mostly older humans, like that guy watching a squirrel in a pine tree. He just sits there like a sack of potatoes, punching away at his computer and pretending that he is being useful. All in all, it seems that among all of creation, the human species possesses more faults and wastes more time and resources than all of the rest of the animal kingdom put together. But they do provide entertainment for the more intelligent species on this earth, like that squirrel, who just watch and marvel had why in the world did the Creator ever think them necessary to begin with.
That wise old owl, has suggested it was because the human was the last of all creation, and the Creator was tired. Apparently, He didn’t have a plan, he just piled up all his leftover parts and called it man.

___________________

01/09/2024

This new book is now available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. It is also available in Kindle editions. Find it by title or by author's name. ( there is more than one Dale Minor) I have yet to receive my order, but I should have a few copies for those who can't get them otherwise.

01/09/2024

The Unconquered

“For it is God who commanded light to shine out of darkness, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” (2 Cor. 4:6)

Read this again, slowly, letting the words of Paul sink in. Paul is speaking from experience. He has been under attack as he travels from place to place, speaking the words the Spirit places in his heart. His is a dark world desperately in need of the light of Christ. Our world is not different. Darkness exists all around is, in the world, in our nation and our states, in our local communities and our homes. It even exists within our churches. It exists because we, who should know better have allowed the light to be veiled and the darkness to descend upon us.

But the Light has not been extinguished. It has not been diminished except by the interference thrown up by Satan and those of us who wittingly or unwittingly perpetuate his lies by feeding on them and speaking them; by loss of focus and weakness of faith. Yet, this darkness can be dispelled, the light can again shine brightly for us as we cease our inward focus and turn our hearts to Him who saves us.

St. Paul continued his comments concerning the Light which dispels the darkness: “But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us. We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair, persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed – always carrying about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life of Jesus also be manifested in our body. For we who live are always delivered to death for Jesus’ sake, that the life of Jesus also be manifested in our mortal flesh,” (2 Cor. 4:7-11)

We are people of the Light. We are the beneficiaries of Christ’s death, resurrection, and ascension, and we live with the presence and assurance of His Holy Spirit, and of the promise our Lord made to His servant Peter upon Peter’s confession that “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon bar-Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My Father who is in heaven. And I also say to you that you are Peter, and on this rock, I will build My church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it.” (Matthew 16: 16-18)

Key words here are that Peter confessed that Christ is Lord and Jesus promised that there is no power on earth, not even the full power of Satan, who can destroy His Church. The Church is us, the body of Christ. It exists and continues in those who are faithful in belief, unrelenting in prayer, always trusting in His word, and joyfully proclaiming His name at all times and in all situations.

This assurance is comforting but at the same time, we know that even as Christ defeated Satan at the cross and demonstrated it by exiting the tomb, this wounded enemy of God and his legions continue to strike at us, sometimes inflicting pain. 1 Peter 5:8-11; “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devils walks about like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world. But may the God of all grace who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while, perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you. To Him be the glory and the dominion forever and ever, Amen.”

Even if it seems as if the enemy is pounding on your door, we remain unconquered. Go in peace in full knowledge of faith, then this present darkness has its end, it is being overcome by the light of Christ.

(from Dale's E-Musings, January 9, 2024)

11/28/2023

Excerpt from a new book, "Ted Hatcher, Trader, Trapper Preacher" soon to be released. Ted is remembering the beginnings of his life as a newly orphaned fourteen year old:
"I know now, there were incidents in my young life when the Holy Spirit guided me and directed my path. But it was only after I was forced to make it by myself that the Spirit came alive in me. I remember lying awake in the cave I called my first home one night, rather lonely and afraid. I was talking to the Lord, I guess. What I mean, is I was just talking and there was no one there but me. I spoke aloud, just pouring my heart out, asking how I am to live, where am I to go. I think I said, ‘God, I trust in you, but right now, I don’t know where you are. I don’t really know where I am.’
Now, remember, it was night and I was in a cave. It was pitch black in there. Suddenly there was this light. Not a bright, piercing light, but just a soft glow entering the cave. My heart gave a start and I started to jump up when there was this peace that came all over me. And I heard a voice, not a sound like entering into my ears, but it felt as if it entered directly into my heart. The voice said, “Don’t be afraid, I am with you always. Remember all that I have taught you through My word.” Then the light faded away, but the peace remained and it still remains within me. Perhaps, I don’t always feel His presence as powerfully as I did then, but He lets me know when He is near, especially when I need Him most.”
“What did you do then?” Sophie asked. She had been sitting quietly, listening to the conversation.
“I remember not only the sense of peace, but the warmth as if I just been wrapped in a wool blanket. I got up and stepped outside. I looked up at the sky and I had never before seen so many stars, and they had never been brighter. Then the Lord spoke to me again, saying. “Do you see all those stars, Ted? There are a thousand times that many more which you cannot see, for they are too far away. Yet, I made all of them, I made them all and put them in their places even before I made the first man, even before the first animal on the earth. If I can do that, surely, I can take care of one young man.”

04/06/2023

Twenty-Five Cents Per Acre
By Dale R. Minor April 2023
I am convinced that lawn mowers were invented by Satan. They are retribution for the curse the Lord placed upon the earth the moment He cast Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden. The Lord said to Adam, “Cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life. Both thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you.” (Genesis 3:17) To combat this, Satan planted in man’s mind the need to have well-manicured lawns around his abode and then designed lawnmowers for him to use.
Actually, the first of these were simple, not what you would call a machine at all. Just a sharpened curved blade with a handle; harmless enough, unless you had sipped on some fermented apple juice and were a little tipsy. (Satan has an affinity for using the apple to tempt man. Just look at what he has done through modern-day electronics, but that is a subject for a different time.) And a half tipsy man could get really dangerous when swinging a sickle, especially if he was startled by a snake in the grass, or had forgotten he had the blade in his hand when he decided to swat a mosquito which had landed on the back of his neck.
To reduce the maiming caused by such satanic tools as a hand wielded sickle, some enterprising man came up with the idea of a machine on wheels which could be pushed along while your hands were kept well away from the blade. Also, it was soon discovered that owners of these diabolical contraptions could foist responsibility for the mowing off on their young sons. These mowers consisted of a reel formed by three or four curved blades suspended between a pair of wheels and attached to a long handle with a Tee shaped grip at its outward end. The wheels of this contraption included a set of gears which rotated the blades and cut the grass. It worked fairly well so long as the blades were sharp, the gears were oiled, and the grass was never higher than four or five inches. But in my world, most of the time at least two of these conditions were not being met.
My own first encounter with such a mower came when I was perhaps nine or ten years old and short enough that I had to reach above my head to touch the handles. This greatly reduced my leverage when trying to push the mower contributing to a chronic back ache from which I still suffer. Now, this mower was old and its blades were never sharp; instead, they were rusty and tended to crush gobs of grass in the mechanism rather than to snip it into small pieces.
Never-the-less, my efforts must have come to some notice as soon an elderly neighbor had stopped to ask if I would mow his grass. Now this man was known to be somewhat grumpy and a bit tight with his money. But he did have a mower in slightly better condition than the one at our home. Soon I was cutting his lawn which took me a couple hours and for which he paid me twenty-five cents. I was happy to get this money as it was the first I had ever earned. Also, I knew he appreciated my work as evidenced by the fact he tended to get emotional as he paid me. He would wipe the tears from his eyes with his old red bandana as he dragged that quarter out of his tattered change purse and held tightly to it even after I had it in my grasp.
Despite the drama of each mowing, I continued to mow this man’s yard for the next couple of years. It did seem that each year the grassy areas of his yard got bigger even as the pay never did. But being a timid lad, I kept my thoughts to myself and mowed on. After all, I had few other opportunities to earn a quarter every week or two during the summer.
Then the summer I turned twelve, my dad acquired a gasoline powered Lawnboy rotary mower. Someone had owed him some money and talked him into taking the mower in lieu of payment. This mower, a true tool of Satan, had a two-cycle gasoline engine and it was efficient even as it was often difficult to start. With some care I found I could cut through tall grass, cause a few of my mother’s flowers to disappear, and shred more than a couple baseballs as well as the occasional tennis shoe which had been left in the yard. It could also throw a rock through a window, terrorize the dog, and severely reduce the length of a garden hose.
Starting the machine required wrapping a rope around a pulley at the top of the motor, then giving it a sharp yank which caused the motor to spin with the intent that it would fire and keep going. This seldom happened apart from numerous back-straining pulls. It seemed this problem was most prevalent when Dad would be in the house reading the newspaper or something and close enough to hear the difficulty I was having. Apparently, he was able to discern when this mower was about to start; for after I had pulled this rope maybe twenty-five or thirty times, he would come out and say, “What is wrong with you, give me that.” Then He would give the rope one quick pull, it would start up and run smoothly as he went back to the house grumbling over the fact that I didn’t have “enough lead in my pants” to start the mower.
Soon after that, my tight-fisted neighbor noted that we had this mower and he asked if I could bring it to his house to mow. By now, I had learned how to reduce the starting procedure down to around ten pulls on the rope and didn’t exhaust all my energy in the process.
Now, this man was no fool, for by the second mowing he asked if I could mow a strip of grass just outside his fence along the side of his lot. I did that even as the grass was at least a foot high. The next mowing, he had discovered yet another w**d patch he thought I should mow and I did that as well. Same twenty-five cent wage.
Well, eventually I became bold enough to suggest that he should pay me more, using the excuse that ”I was supplying the gas.” (Actually, my dad was still buying the gas which I think cost all of about 17 cents per gallon.) “How much more?” was my neighbors’ sharp response. “I was thinking maybe another quarter.” I timidly stated. Well, this man blustered and spit, and walked in circles saying something about that being man’s wages. He muttered the words, “fifty cents” over and over again as if he was considering if he would have to take out a mortgage on his farm or go completely bankrupt; while occasionally throwing in the phrase, “Those are man’s wages, just a kid expecting man’s wages!”
Sure, I was just a kid, but I figured a job done by a twelve-year old shouldn’t cost less than if it was done by a man. Even if might take me a little longer, he wasn’t paying me by the hour. Eventually he paid me the fifty cents, but then required me to cut another acre or so of grass in the empty lot next to his house.
Today, I rather enjoy mowing. Of course, I mostly ride on a lawn tractor. It starts up with the turn of a key, and except for the occasional slipped belt, or loose bolt to fix, its easy work. And now nearly 70 years later, I still am quite content with my twenty-five cents per acre.

08/08/2022

Grandpa, Tell Me a Story. By Dale Minor, The Reclaim Ministry

“Grandpa, tell me a story about when you were a kid,” might be a request some of us
more elderly citizens have heard from our grandchildren, at least from the younger
ones amongst us. Once they get to be preteens, just the hint of a story rising from the
lips of the older generation produces a rolling of the eyes preliminary to a quick exit to escape the boredom of hearing for the umpteenth time some exaggerated adventure involving the “good old days.”

Yet, there will come a time in their lives when these young folks will long to hear these stories. Tthey will search their memories for details of family lore and ask their relatives to fill in the blanks and their longing isn’t so much for the entertainment value of the story, but for the wisdom contained within it.

We live in an information age; so much information can be found at our fingertips. We carry it around in our iPhones and other electronic devices. It is before us to the point that printed maps, operation and repair manuals, personal letters, even printed books are fast becoming obsolete. Instead, if we desire information on
anything, we grab our device, click on an icon or two and, within seconds, we have more information than we want or need. But the problem is this information comes in short sound bites, in abbreviated texts. It’s as if the sum of our knowledge and wisdom has been reduced to an index of topics which tend to be ignored more than
absorbed.

When we consider the accumulated knowledge in our world, we come to realize that so much of what we know came from stories handed down generation to generation. Prior to the mid fifteenth century, little was written down and only a very few could read what was written. Oral tradition had been and would continue to be the primary means for the spread of wisdom and knowledge. This was particular true in matters of faith and religion.

“For He (God) established a testimony in Jacob, and appointed a law in Israel, which He commanded our fathers, that they should make them known to their children; that the generation to come might know them, the children who would be born, that they may arise and declare them to their children, that they may set their hope in God, and not forget the works of God; but keep the commandments.” (Ps. 78:5-7)

This is just one of hundreds of verses in the Bible which instruct us to teach the word of God and His precepts from generation to generation. What is to be taught is more than tales of old but truths to be believed and concepts to be lived. As we study scripture, we hear over and over again how this process of knowledge
worked, that not only the accumulated wisdom was passed along, but the finer details of times past. The Bible contains hundreds of genealogies, listings of people, places and occurrences important to the development of each generation. It was done because God deemed it important. He instructed the fathers to tell their sons, and the sons to tell their children to the present age. In giving these instructions, he was asking that they do more than transfer information, but they must interact with those who will carry on God’s work, that they share the character of God: His wisdom, His love, kindness, generosity, and mercy.

Anyone who has studied the Bible knows that just reading it doesn’t reveal the fullness of the message. It has to be discussed, torn apart, examined, re-read, and experienced. This is a task which will take a lifetime and, in the process, we learn that having read and heard the word of God doesn’t satisfy. It has to be shared and the most effective means of sharing it is in living it and in its demonstration.

“Grandpa, tell me a story about Jesus.”

09/19/2021

Written by Fr. Dale Minor - Reclaim Ministry - Rutland, OH

09/05/2021

Written by Fr. Dale Minor - Reclaim Ministry - Rutland, OH

05/11/2021

The Search for Normalcy
By Dale R. Minor
May, 2021

“I am more than ready for things to get back to normal.” “I miss my normal routine.” These, and similar statements, are often voiced as we struggle to deal with the effects of a long pandemic and the resultant interruptions to our routines. But each such statement also begs the question; “what do we mean by normal?”

For sure, one person’s normal isn’t the same as the next. In fact, my normal for today is far different than it was just a few weeks ago. Events in my life have caused changes, permanent changes, such that what was normal no longer fits my current circumstance. Therefore, I have to establish a new normal, -- or I think I do.

The word normal just means that which is usual or common; that which can be expected for most of us. But then, who determines what is expected for most? As I write this, I am mentally trying to list those I would consider normal, and they are few. Except, of course, me! I think I am about as normal as they come. However, in an effort to be fair, wouldn’t most everyone else also be considering themselves to be normal?

Now, I have run into a few people who like to boast of their abnormality. That is, they like to consider themselves as being “individual” to the extreme, and seek means by which they can express what they often define as being “a little bit weird.” Mostly, these are easily recognized: they have blue, or green or pink hair, or maybe a rainbow of several colors. Their clothes state they are different, underwear showing, blue genes artificially stressed to appear tattered, shoes that elevate, re-gait, or flash in the dark; they wear sunglasses at night, sport obscene comment on their shirts and jackets, and dance more than walk. The problem is that there is a whole culture who are doing the same things to the point that their individuality has become their normal. The result is, when out in public, there is such a preponderance of such “individuals” that the only person who appears out of place is the guy in a business suit, sporting a white shirt and tie.

Since writing involves thinking, and thoughts do not always stay the course, I now find my thoughts going to men named Norman. This seems logical. Surely there is some connection between the name Norman and that which is normal. But, just as quickly I realize I have only personally known one person named Norman, and he died very young. That certainly wasn’t normal. There was that character named Norm on the old TV series, “Cheers.” But the only thing normal about Norm was that in every episode he normally showed up late at the “Cheers” bar.

Finding this exercise futile, I decided to look up the name Norman to find its meaning. My logical choice was to google it. (Isn’t that a strange verb to have entered into our lexicon? Surely, we could have come up with a better term; it just doesn’t sound normal.) Anyway, Google tells me that the name has nothing at all to do with normalcy but refers to those of Scandinavian origin; those from the northern regions. It is also the root of the name Normandy which defines the northwest coastal regions of Europe.

Obviously, such thoughts are pulling me away from the subject; and our search for normalcy. However, my effort has not been futile; because, I have come to the conclusion that I have been searching in all the wrong places. I have been searching for normalcy among the present, when it can only be found among the past. Since the determination of normalcy requires an evaluation of the whole, it can only exist in what has been, therefore it cannot be found among that which is. To say it another way, what we see and believe to be reality can’t really be, because reality has to be measured against what is normal, which as I have just stated, exists in the past. And please, do not even consider what is called virtual reality. Virtual reality only appears to be real; it isn’t and we know it, yet we accept the results as if it were. And there is nothing about this that is normal.

Sorry, I keep drifting from my subject, the search for normalcy. As I have been writing, it occurs to me that what we really are searching for is that which is comfortable. And what is most comfortable are the pleasant moments of our lives. Finding the comfortable also causes us to reflect upon our past. It is true, that some of us have enjoyed many comfortable moments, many pleasant periods, in our lives to which we might retreat. Others, not so much. Yet even pasts that were less than ideal possess a level of comfort simply because they are known. Many people fear stepping into the future, choosing instead to reside in an unpleasant past, rather than to risk the unknown. Their normal then becomes stunted by the negatives of their past, and they miss opportunities to establish new and exciting norms.

The bottom line, I believe, is that normalcy will always be somewhat elusive. We can never go back to fully relive the past. Those years, no matter how good and pleasant, have passed. If there is any normalcy, it has to exist in our attitude about today. It is within our power to shape each day and in the process establish a new normal simply by maintaining a positive attitude. This doesn’t mean that we won’t have negative moments, that there won’t be terrible days. But it does mean that we don’t have to let such days shape our normal.

What is normal? It is for you to decide; and it begins with what is in your heart and what you allow to rest in your mind. Normal is often thought in terms of that which is common. But your normal can be fresh and exciting, making it uncommon indeed.

_________________________________________

03/03/2021

Letting God Handle It
By Rev. Dale R. Minor

Valarie wanted to go to Israel. A group from our church diocese had announced a study tour of Israel which sounded interesting. But, even as a lady from a sister church had pledged to underwrite part of the cost for each priest who would go on this tour, I was reluctant. I did not want to spend the money or the time. Plus, I held onto a dream I had of visiting Rome. I am enamored by the architecture of that city and intrigued by the history of the Church, and I used this as an excuse not to go to Israel. Valarie did not say anything, but she prayed for the Lord to open up a way for us to go.

While the enrollment period was underway, we would occasionally receive a reminder that a deadline was approaching after which the enrollment would be closed. Several friends of ours had signed up and urged us to join them, but I continued to resist. Finally, the deadline to sign up for the trip passed and the issue was behind us.

At this time, our church diocese was holding an annual meeting and retreat at a resort in northeast Indiana. We did attend this meeting and were excited to meet and greet friends from our sister congregations. On the second day of the retreat, we had a couple hours of free time and we invited another couple, Chuck and Freddie (Freddie is a lady), to take a boat ride on the lake. It was just the four of us, and we were having a relaxing time in casual conversation while enjoying the sun and the water.

Finally, Freddie asked if we were going to Israel with the group. They were surprised when I said that we were not, adding my stock answer. “I am holding out in hopes of making a trip to Rome,” even as I had not made the slightest inquiry about such a trip.

“I think there are still a couple seats available,” Chuck replied, “Would you like me to check on that for you?”

Being sure there was no way they would let us in even if we wanted to, I replied, “Sure, I guess it might be interesting, and I know Valarie would like to go.”

I glanced at her and there was this knowing smile on her face. What she hadn’t told me was that from the time she had started praying about making this trip, the Lord had told her to be patient, be quiet, and let Him handle it. Even as it had been difficult for her, she had not pressed the issue with me, but just kept on praying and waiting.

As the afternoon session of our retreat was about to begin, Chuck caught up with us to report that he had confirmed there was still time for us to sign up, and he had reserved the last two spots for the tour in our names. From then on, I was committed. I had no doubts about going, my desire to visit Rome faded away and we had perhaps the greatest adventure of our life as a couple.

But not only that, the insight I gained by seeing The Holy Land first-hand, and the things I learned as I listened to our guide as he demonstrated the context of scripture at each site, and its importance to our understanding of the Gospel, now, some twenty years later, continues to influence my teaching and preaching of the word of God.

While it wasn’t in Valarie’s nature to sit passively and say nothing while I dug in my heels of resistance, this time, she was able to do it, and the Lord honored her patience and granted her desire as she was obedient to His word, to “Let Him Handle It.” And we both were eternally blessed.

Author Dale Minor

10/16/2024

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