I had a letter that I couldn't resist bringing to read to you tonight this morning.

I get all kinds of interesting mail.

This lady says, first let me start by saying I didn't always agree with you.

In fact, I thought you were a leftover from an era long gone.

I also referred to you as old prudy face

when I heard friends talk about you.

Now a much softer me has emerged

and I find myself appreciating and even repeating your words.

I'm glad you persisted even though I felt someone ought to shush you. I'm glad they didn't.

Isn't that sweet?

She goes on to say some other very nice things which modesty forbids me to repeat.

And then at the end she signs her name and says

from a generation of baby busters who enjoys Gateway to Joy. Gateway to Joy, for those of you who

don't know, is the name of my radio program. And if any of you are interested in knowing what stations

were on, I have a copy of the station log here that I'll be glad to let you look at.

I want to talk this morning about fractured relationships. Years ago, I was sitting in a

hammock in a jungle house. You might call it a house. They did, but it wasn't exactly

my idea of a house. It was six poles with a thatched roof. No walls, no floors, no furniture.

My hammock was strung between two of the six poles.

I had an open fire on the mud floor beside me, and my daughter was sleeping on split

bamboo underneath my hammock.

And I had many hours to ponder and think and pray and marvel over the fact that God

...