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MAY 2005 ISSUE HOMEPAGE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
A Breath of Fresh Air
A Merry Heart
A Woman's World
A Word in Season
Acting Up
As I Imitate Christ
Cyber Walk
Faith Seekers
Golden Apples
Heaven Bound
Just Between Men
Take it to Heart
Teen Truth
The Joy of Family
The Parents'
Survival Guide

The Rhythm of Life
The Treehouse
Through Their Eyes
'Tis the Season
We Are the Church
Well Read


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Just Between Men
Featured Article
Just Between Men
Featured Article
TimeBig Men Do Cry
By William Bateman

I thought to myself, "He sure is a big guy!" as we dropped our backpacks alongside one of the several dirt roads that criss-crossed the famed interior of the "100 Mile Wilderness" portion of the Appalachian Trail. Slumping down on our packs, we took deep breaths and just sat there for a moment.

Everyone needs a trail name if they're going to hike the Appalachian Trail. I chose "Spanky" for several reasons; my dad said that I reminded him of that mischievous rugrat from the kid's show "way back in the day." I thought it was better than being called by my nickname, "Willy Wump Wump."

I met "Win" at the foot of Mt. Kitahdin in Baxter State Park, Maine. That is where the northern terminus of the A.T. is. For Win and I, as south bounders, the beginning of sorrows. For north bounders, the completion of their personal "hike of a lifetime."

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Live a Legacy
By Dennis Tooley

My thirty-fifth birthday was a somewhat difficult milestone in my life. I began to realize that if the average age of a man is 70, then I was at half time and I needed to evaluate the first half of this game of life and develop a plan for the second half. I know, some of you think I watch too much football.

The reality is that I began to think hard about the "dash" of my life. You know that dash on the tombstone that goes between the year you were born and the year you die. I wanted to know if my "dash" had meant anything. I guess I found myself asking the question, "Has my life had any impact?"

In order to answer that question I had to stop thinking about what I did for a living and start thinking about what I was going to live for. I had to lock onto my purpose in life.

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Football

TimeOld Pete Farley
By William Bateman

He was a sprightly old guy. He was loud and he was funny. And the few times he was not actually voicing his opinion about something; he would be juggling a sunflower seed somewhere between his semi-toothless smile and flapping tongue.

He called himself Pete. Oh, I am sure that is what his parents named him seventy years before, but for some reason it just makes more sense to me thinking it was he who named himself. Pete was that bold about things.

At the beginning of my hike along the Appalachian Trail; I religiously signed each and every journal that came across my path; the ones stuck in boxes nailed to trees; the ones left behind in shelters (called "Lean-tos" by "real hikers") by researchers, students and fellow hikers and the such. I signed each and every one of 'em the same way:

"Spanky was here... (Date) Psalm 139"


Not much to look at I suppose; but, Pete noticed.

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