Called Out

"Life is quickly slipping from my earthly body. I'm not strong enough to even sit at my computer; I'm using a pencil, eraser, and tablet. There may not be time for revision or proofreading, yet my mind is clear and fertile with stories which need telling, perhaps only for my sake. On the other hand, perhaps there are a few out there who would find comfort in the knowledge that a living God will take an active role in one's life, that the American Dream is within the grasp of all of us-even a mailman's son Someone might even find amusement at exploring the patchwork of human frailties and emotions which constitute a medical doctor-perhaps much like their own.

My format is one of a series of open letters to those who have meant the most to me during my forty-six-year journey along the road of life. Few of these dear people need a letter to know how I feel about them-and that's as it should be. Perhaps I should admit the obvious-these are really letters to me, about them. It is for my benefit that these memory boxes are reopened. I am comforting myself with old gifts from fellow travelers."