In 2009, I wrote a post about wearing black, in the hope that Goodness might prevail and the World might find Peace. Yet here we are, and nothing has truly changed. If anything, the forces of opposition have grown stronger, louder, and more entrenched. The dream of a more Peaceful World feels even further away.…
In the Northern parts of the United States, the roads are quiet. No cities to slow you down, no travelers to share the miles. Cruising at a hundred in a Thunderbird feels effortless when you’re the only one on the highway. Everything was smooth until I reached the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where the sky…
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind with Melinda and Kate visiting. Their presence brought us closer to many Wat Opot children and families, reminding me how much I cherish stepping into a grandparent’s role, supporting without leading, watching parents guide their little ones with love. While Dr. Kate was here, a former Watopotian…
As a boy, my father played semiprofessional baseball in Grandville, Michigan. He earned a few dollars each game, but money was tight, and our family often couldn’t afford tickets. Mom, ever resourceful, usually found a way to get us in, until one night a new gatekeeper refused. Dad went inside to sign in, while Mom…
This image was the first orb photograph I ever captured. Up to that point, I wasn’t aware of orbs, so spotting one was quite a shock. A patient had just passed away, and since the family wanted to proceed with the cremation immediately, I didn’t have time to wrap the body in a shroud. I…
I can still remember that first time I bowed to the Buddha… such a simple act, and yet perhaps the most defiant and difficult thing I have ever done. I have not lived the life of a saint. I’ve been a rebel from as far back as I can remember—fired from every job, court-martialed in…
Memorial Day 2026 Remembering the Eleven In 1984, Congressman Henry B. Gonzales awarded me the Purple Heart in San Antonio, Texas. I had not received it in 1968, when I was wounded during Operation Mallard Duck—a mission that was never meant to be survived. I was the last to leave the field alive. The medevac…
How does one begin to write the final chapter of their Life, knowing that the last two words, THE END, will be added by someone other than themselves? I have escaped the scythe of the Grim Reaper on so many occasions, in previous chapters of my Life, and it would be nice to think I…
We are born into stories—some whispered by parents, some sung in churches, some carried by nations. They shape us, but they do not define us. With time, we learn that truth is not fixed in the words of others, but discovered in the choices we make, in the compassion we extend, and in the responsibility…
In 1966, I was training at the Great Lakes Naval Base outside Chicago. I had enlisted in the Navy with the conviction that destiny was pulling me toward Vietnam, where I imagined myself serving as a Marine Corps medic. That belief came from a recurring dream—one that felt less like fantasy and more like prophecy.…