1965

I am filling up some gas cans at the Conoco station last night and my mind flashes back to 1965.

I am 8 years old. I notice a sign at the gas station that says that gas can only be put in approved containers. I ask my mom what this means. Well, it seems that there are some riots in a place called Watts and some trouble in Kansas City. Some people might use the gas to make a fire or a bomb so you can only get gas in metal cans designed for it. No plastic jugs.

We forgot my jacket at baseball practice at Minor Park on Red Bridge Road. When we went back to get it later than night, there were Army men at the entrance. National Guard. Mom explains. These men have been called up to help the people in case there was bad rioting. We get my jacket. I see lots of Army guys. It was cool.

The next day we are driving through downtown. There are some sirens. My mom makes us get on the floor of the 1964 Ford Falcon. She is worried that there might be a sniper. What is that?, I ask. She says, "it doesn't matter, just stay down."

One summer, one year, in an otherwise uneventful childhood. My children wake up and watch worse every single day. Homicide bombers. Subway bombs. Shootings at Ft. Hood. Times square. It kind of makes a guy wonder what is becoming of this world.

I am glad that I have a friend in Jesus. Someone to trust. Everything is ok. It just is. You can't explain the feeling of peace, but I am so glad that God gives it. All is well.

It's a beautiful day in God's world, be sure to see the good.