I have shared with you before about my spot. A little pull off from the road at a cliff overlooking Lake Erie. From 1995 through the beginning of 2016, most early mornings would find me there, sitting in my car, pouring my heart out to the Lord. I would get there around 4:30 in the morning, some days just a little later, and pray for a couple of hours. Needs, joys, concerns, strength. Whatever it might be. When it was below zero I usually kept my window up, but sometimes even then the window would come down so I could hear the wind race across the vast ice field that the Lake had become. I sat there during storms that rocked my car and send massive waves crashing against the rocks below. And, on occasion, soft and gentle breezes wafting in to bring calm to my spirit. I went there when I was dealing with accepting a possible call to a church in Indiana, where there were no special places to pray, and I was given peace about the decision.

          While I was in Ohio this past weekend for my son’s 40^th birthday, I heard that my friend Keith Marty was struggling for life. He was being transported to the Cleveland Clinic. Friday night I called the hospital for permission to visit. COVID would not allow for it. I even employed my best Reverend Doctor Larry Wade voice, which had never failed me before, but didn’t work this time. I would have to leave Ohio without ever seeing him or even talking to him again.

          I have explained our friendship here before. Hopefully, you all have had that enduring friendship at least once in your life. But I had also been his protector. To mess with Keith was to mess with me, so small and fragile Keith did OK. Now, of course, I cannot help him. I can’t run interference for Keith, and I feel despair.

          So, on Sunday morning I loaded my car with the intention to head down to my spot before heading to Indiana. I needed to talk with God.

          My spot is gone. The hillside has fallen into the Lake. The steady waves below weakened the hillside and it just fell away. Happens all the time, but it was my spot.

          We know nothing is there forever, whether it is a tree or a prayer spot or a church building or a loved one…time and weather and age takes everything over. I still had my time with the Lord, but I had so wanted to have it right there.

          The ride home seemed long. It was, of course, no longer than usual. In fact, because I didn’t stop, the six and a half hour trip took less than six hours. But I knew that each mile that passed under my wheels took me that much further from the Cleveland Clinic. I couldn’t even say goodbye.

          Keith’s sister, Karen, has been keeping me informed. This morning I got a note. “Call Keith! He is improved!” I have been around death and illness a lot over the years. I know that family often grasp at straws when someone is dying. OK, I thought. I will call and maybe Gloria (Keith’s wife) will hold the phone to his ear.

          Keith answered the phone. His voice sounded normal. He couldn’t put too many words together because it sent him into a coughing spasm, but he could talk. They had taken him off the vent to see how he would do. He told me they were going to come in later to give him the choice of continuing with the vent or not. Not doing the vent means death. I took from that bit of news that he really isn’t improving. He is inclined to not take the vent again and just pass away. Some would take that to mean that Keith isn’t giving the Lord credit for being able to heal, but Keith is simply ready to go. If one has true faith, they know that heaven awaits along with complete and forever healing. Is staying here worth it?

          I talked a lot. Read him some Scripture, prayed with him. He promised me we would play catch again. We would run together again. He sounded upbeat. I think for the first time ever (and we have known each other for 62 years) he heard me cry. He got choked up at the knowledge that folks he has never met in this life have been praying for him and it really got him that our special music on Sunday, Phil Weck, dedicated his song to Keith. Finally, I prayed with him and we hung up. He was really tired, and actually, so was I.

          So many times, way more than I can count, I felt the hand of God rest upon me in my special spot by the Lake. A place on earth where my God and I could commune. A place that is gone, washed away by the march of time. But I have found that it was just me that needed a place. The Lord is anywhere and everywhere, just when we need Him most. We do not need to sit in a special building, surrounded with special things. We don’t need to sit under a special tree or hear the pounding of the surf. We don’t need to fix our eyes upon a star at night or hear the peaceful chirping of a bird. God is in that, but in everything else, too.

          Today, in a hospital room in Cleveland, Ohio and in a small room in Indiana, God was present. Two people, separated by hundreds of miles, yet united in one God, made plans for a game of catch. It won’t require one to drive to the other. It will just be a couple of guys with tattered old ball gloves trying to one-up each other.

          As the Bible says, fear not.