She thinks I'm special

I stoped and talked with my friend Dale today. She's a she. Don't know if Dale is short for something. "Dalene"? Maybe her dad didn't get that son he wanted. She's a wonderful woman. In her 60's I think. I'm happy to know her. We almost lost her a couple of years ago. She had some kind of "routine" surgery on her brain that went wrong and she almost died. She was in the hospital for months. I'm glad she's better.

We were talking about some work I'm going to do in her house and before we finished up the conversation she asked me to pray for a friend who was just told they have brain cancer. It doesn't look good.She asked because she said I was good at it.(at which God did a double take and said "Say what"). Maybe she thinks that because I went and prayed for her when she was in the hospital. I'm always hesitant 'cause I don't think I'm good at it. of course, she's still with us.....

I'm afraid to die. Maybe afraid is the wrong word. I just don't want to. Not yet anyway. I want to be really old, like 105 or something. I want it to happen in a field on a sunny spring afternoon under the shade of an old oak tree. Terri and I will have just finished a picnic lunch of bacon wrapped brats, chips and cokes. When you're 105 you don't worry about fat, cholesterol or sugar. We lay back on our blanket and listen to the birds sing and fall peacefully asleep and just never wake up. sigh.( you don't know how much I wanted to spin a yarn about being run over by an 12 ton articulated John Deere tractor....)

I care about what people think of me. Maybe too much. My mom is this way. Sometimes it's crippling. I want people to think I'm worth something. Something special. Donald Miller in his new book said something that clicked into place like another piece of the puzzle. It was a throw away line really. "No one wants to die average". As in "average Joe". I think that's what I'm afraid of. I hope that's not prideful. I just want to have made a difference. To someone.

I think we all on some level want to be remembered as really special. Like Mother Teresa. Or Billy Graham. I know he's not dead yet but when he goes there'll be no shortage of people who tell how special he was. A lot of teenage boys who grow up playing football or basketball dream of "going pro" some day. Very few are that special, maybe 1 in 10,000. The rest of us will just be average. But they have a chance to be special. If just to a few.

I am average. Not so special. Not Billy Graham special. Most days, to tell the truth I don't feel special at all.Special? heck. I don't feel even average. Just a face in the crowd. But despite how I feel I know I am special. Special to a Guy who spends his off time counting hairs on heads.

Each day I get to BE special to a small number of people in my small world if I'll take the opportunity. My wife. My kids. My neighbors. The Dales of my world. I get to get up each day and connect with my DAD and walk together. Maybe we'll bump into each other along the way and I'll get to help make you feel more than average. To make you feel valued. To help you feel like I feel when I talk to Dale. Special.