The year was 1978. I was almost 26. At the Trumbull County, Ohio Fair that year, one of the featured entertainers was Dolly Parton. Dolly was 32. Though young, it was 20 years after the release of her record Puppy Love.
I knew a person who worked closely with a man named Lyle Williams. I didn’t know Lyle well. He was a county commissioner and had decided to run for Congress as a Republican in an area where Democrats won easily. He would go on to win and remain in Congress for four years before losing to James Traficant, a well‑known name then, though not in a good way.
I was on Dolly’s tour bus, hanging around with some campaign people, when Dolly walked in. I had met quite a few entertainers from previous employment. Of course, I recognized her immediately.
Dolly was larger than I thought she would be, my exposure primarily limited to television appearances. She made her way around the small group inside the bus to warmly greet each person, maybe ask a question or two. She was so warm and gracious.
Given the circumstances, I thought she was there to say a few words on behalf of Williams and maybe mention his name, but I’ve learned she never really got involved in politics. Almost as soon as she finished saying hello, someone from her entourage called to her that it was time for her to take the stage. She made a quick round to say goodbye to us and made her way off the bus. She went off to perform country songs, not my favorite genre, but I enjoyed her songs.
What I remember is her smile, from her entrance to her departure. It seemed real to me, not fake or forced. Dolly would be known as the Queen of Country. Today, at age 80, the Queen departed this realm. Today, and for the next week, the American flag will fly at half‑mast. [The photos I chose are from 1978]
Scripture shows moments when God is grieved, disappointed, or displeased with His folks. Not because He stops loving them, but because their choices pull them away from the life He intends for them. God is pleased when His people walk in trust, humility, and obedience. He is not pleased when they wander into pride, bitterness, anger, or give in to temptation. But it’s never the same as rejection. It’s the sorrow of a Father who still holds His children close. In other words, what we as parents may experience with our own children. Even when believers fail, even when faith thins, even when choices are poor or hearts grow cold, God’s presence does not withdraw. His love does not loosen. His commitment does not change. He stays near, working patiently to draw His people back into the light where grace restores what weakness has undone. I started stating Scripture demonstrates this. We can find it throughout the Bible. These three, to me, demonstrate all of this well in my opinion. Ephesians 4:30 says Believers can grieve the Holy Spirit. This shows God is not always pleased with His people. 2 Timothy 2:13 says even when we are faithless, He remains faithful. This means God’s displeasure never becomes abandonment.
My personal favorite is Hebrews 13:5 which says in part, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” This is a theme in both the Old and New Testaments; God’s presence does not withdraw, even when His people falter.
On August 21, 1858, Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A. Douglas held their opening debate in Ottawa, Illinois. An estimated 10,000–12,000 people attended in the small town, creating a large outdoor crowd under what are described as hot, dusty conditions. It was the first of seven debates between the two. Compared to today, these were brutal.
Each debate followed a fixed structure lasting about three hours:
Opening: 60 minutes
Response: 90 minutes
Rebuttal: 30 minutes
Large crowds attended, and the full texts were widely published in newspapers, giving the exchanges a national audience. Lincoln was fairly unknown; Douglas was the incumbent. At the point of the debates, the Republican Party had been formed just four years before, breaking away from the Whig Party.
The debates focused overwhelmingly on slavery, especially whether it should be allowed to expand into the western territories acquired through the Louisiana Purchase and the Mexican Cession. Lincoln did not gain the Senate seat, which at the time was determined by state legislatures, predominantly democrat in Illinois then. But the debates elevated Lincoln to national prominence and helped set the stage for his 1860 presidential victory against Douglas.
One of Lincoln’s most famous quotes comes from the debates, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” I suspect we could learn more about candidates with this type of debate format, but I’m pretty certain people seeking a message in a thirty second sound bite would be able to handle it.
The 1860 field was more than the two of them. In the popular vote, Lincoln received about 39.8% and Douglas about 29.5%. In the Electoral College, it wasn’t close at all. Lincoln won the Electoral College decisively with 180 electoral votes; Douglas received only 12 electoral votes.
In the quiet light ahead, God meets us where the rough places begin to calm.
Many people wonder why God allows hardship, why healing seems delayed, or why prayers feel unanswered or answered in ways we did not expect. These questions rise most sharply when suffering touches someone close to us. Illness, loss, and sudden tragedy can shake even a steady believer. They make us ask why God does not intervene sooner, why relief does not come, or why the path ahead feels so heavy. Scripture does not give simple explanations. Instead, it shows us that God walks with His people through suffering, not around it. It teaches that faith is often shaped in places where clarity is missing, and trust is all we have. Hardship does not mean God is absent. Delayed healing does not mean He is indifferent. Unanswered prayers do not mean He is silent. In ways we cannot always see, God carries His people through deep waters, strengthens them in weakness, and meets them with grace that holds even when life does not make sense.
It’s a time not to lose faith, but a time when we can, and a time when God’s unwavering presence wraps us tightly in His never‑failing love even then. And in those moments when we feel certain He has stepped away, His quiet nearness is holding us more faithfully than our hearts can see.
People talk about chance as if it is a single moment, a sudden turn that changes everything. But sometimes it works slowly. Sometimes it takes a lifetime, moving quietly in the background while two people go their separate ways.
We met in ninth grade, just kids in the halls of Crestwood High, with no reason to imagine anything beyond the next class or the next weekend. We were somewhat surface-friendly; I say this to be kind to me. She didn’t care for me, partly with good reason, in part by mistaken belief. For me, it would be fair to say it mattered little. In retrospect, it adds to the theme, though.
Life was still wide open then. Graduation came four years later in 1971 and sent us in different directions. She became an RN, steady and sure in her calling. I drifted from job to job until I finally found my footing as a domestic relations trial lawyer. We both moved. She went west to Colorado. I went to southern Ohio. Neither of us knew the other was gone. We were living our separate stories, unaware that we would someday cross paths again and our stories would intertwine.
Then came the twentieth-class reunion in 1991. We sat together and talked for a time, the kind of conversation that feels familiar even when you cannot explain why. She later said she felt uncomfortable, not in a bad way, but in the strange way you feel when someone seems to know what you are thinking. I felt a quiet pull, as I often did toward an attractive woman in those days. But I drove home to southern Ohio and life kept moving.
Five more years passed. Another class reunion. Another conversation, this one longer. I listened more than spoke, something I learned to do in my office. But this wasn’t work. Something more was there, but neither of us was in a place to follow it. Still, it was as though the years kept circling us back, as if time itself was nudging us toward something we couldn’t yet name.
After that, the phone calls began. Long ones. Easy ones. The kind that makes distance feel smaller. We were separated by 180 miles, but the night moon became our link. It was the one thing we could both see at the same time, a quiet reminder that we were under the same sky even when we were not in the same place.
In 2000, we began to see each other. I remember our first date, recalling it fondly, with a bit of a chuckle, when I think back on it. It’s one of those forever things that stays with you; it makes one smile. I’m not into public displays of affection, but when leaving for home, I did publicly display it in a way which should have been embarrassing, but I felt like a high school boy again, that all a sudden, dizzying lust of a first kiss or a drive-in make-out session that you never want to end, trapped in a 47-year-old body.
She must have felt the same. It was the beginning of a long-distance relationship that included adventures known only to us.
We planned a wedding for 2003. Life said not yet. We tried again in 2004. Still not yet. But in 2005, the timing finally was right. The date was August 13th when Dawn joined me in southern Ohio, and the long road between us became a shared one. All the small things that had to fall into place finally did.
Years later, in 2022, we moved back to Mantua, the town where it all began. And just a week ago, we sat at our fifty‑fifth year class reunion, surrounded by classmates remembering the kids we once were. One of the nicest comments on a picture of us came from a friend a few days ago reading, “Lee, it’s so refreshing hearing you brag on your beautiful wife all the time. You never hesitate to flatter her in public, and most men don’t do that! It’s sweet, especially after all the years together. And the subtle way you two play around is funny and sweet. I love it. You two sure complement each other.”
I was touched by the comment. I often profess my love for my wife, Dawn, on Meta-Facebook, maybe to her embarrassment. And I guess people see it. What they do not see is the long story behind it. The decades of separate paths. The quiet pull across reunion tables. The slow, patient way life kept bringing us back to each other.
It amazes me how a lifetime can send two people in different directions, only to bring them together when the time is finally right. Our story was never rushed. It was steady. It was shaped by small moments that lined up just so. And it was worth every mile.
Happy Anniversary, Dawn. I love you more every single day.
[Photo selection is Dawn’s graduation photo and one from our class reunion last week. Both are important to where we are now]
