My past visits me. Yours likely does as well. In some ways, the past never really is the past. Our lives are measured in terms of yesterday, now and tomorrow. Language is built around past, present, and future tenses. We often lament that we cannot change the past. Even so, like an out of control meteor, yesterday always finds a way to streak across our minds. Since my past is unfettered in my present, it only seems right I be granted equal access. Of course, we cannot go back . . .. But what if . . .? Imagine what you might write, if allowed to send letters back through time. For me it has been an extraordinary life. Only, not in the terms of what you may think, when you hear the word, extraordinary. Two decades ago, I chose extraordinary rebellion the day I walked out on Jesus to live life on my terms. Great success visited me for a while, but then came the extraordinary cost. I have known the extraordinary pain of burying a child, brother, mother, niece, and nephew. They died in separate tragedies over an eighteen-month period. After the death of our oldest child, Caleb, extraordinary grace, mercy, and love found my family. I have been bitten by the extraordinary loneliness of prison, while awaiting a judge to discover the truth and set me free. Along my journey, I have caught an occasional glimpse of an extraordinary Jesus. Yes, I have plenty to say to that younger version of me. I pray one day these letters reach back in time and land on my doorstep. For now, they are entrusted to you. Do me a favor and keep an eye out for me in my youth. I hope against hope, you find him.