Julie Pennington-Russell talks about a friend of hers. She says, he's a man in his late 60's. Rugged, burly, brilliant guy. He's always reminded me a little of the MarlboroughMan. He studied at a prestigious university in the East some years ago, and then he moved to Texas to work on his doctorate. But somewhere along the way he became addicted to cocaine just tumbled into that dark hole. Lost his family, lost his place in graduate school, lost big pieces of himself. But somehow he washed up on the shores of a good church. And when he did, he was so fragile he looked like he'd been "rode hard and put up wet" as they say in Texas. But the folks in that church put their arms around that man and slowly he started to heal, and eventually, miraculously, even reunited with his wife and children.

We had this couple in our home for dinner and the man began to talk with Tim and me about where his life was going. "I want to believe," he said, "that my best days aren't behind me, and that my life can still count, can still make a difference for God." He sat at our table with his head in his hands. "I just can't help but feel like I've blown all of my best chances," he said. That's when his wife, who's just this wonderful, middle-aged bohemian Texas flower child kind of woman, reached over and took his hand and said and I'll never forget this she said, "Baby, you've got to take your sticky fingers off that steering wheel. If God could yank Jesus out of a grave, I figure he can make something beautiful out of busted parts." And I tell you what if I live to be a hundred and ten, I don't expect to hear the gospel better articulated than that.