Well, hello, my friends, and welcome to the Live Inspired podcast, Monday morning moments with John O'Leary.

As you know, I record these each and every week to begin these weeks

and our days in awe and on fire with a burst of inspiration. Let's begin with a little

inspiration you weren't expecting today. You ready for it? The voicemail you have reached is currently

full. Yeah, if you try leaving me a message on my cell phone, this is a

recording. You will oftentimes hear the voicemail you have reached is currently full. The reason

it's full is that I don't always delete the messages of friends and family. It turns out O'Leary's a little old school. I love the tone

of mom as she practically sings out my name to begin her messages. I savor the softened, muted,

sweet voice of my dad checking in on me from time to time. I've kept several messages from my

wife, just letting me know she's thinking about me that she loves me. And I've kept one from

each of my kids so that I can hear their little voices when I'm traveling, when I'm missing,

actually hearing those voices. But sometimes it's in permanently losing a voice that we are reminded

through the voices of others how special our loved one was. Let me explain. 15. 15. That is how many

messages were left on the answering machine of Ron Goldman when his grieving family began sifting through his belongings after he was murdered.

Before, there was any speculation of who may have killed either he or Nicole Brown Simpson,

before the infamous white Bronco was filmed racing along a California highway,

before the trial of the century began,

and before the names Marcia Clark and Johnny Cochran,

and Cato Caelin were made famous.

Ron Goldman's family listened to the voices of friends.

The messages sound a lot like what you might expect on the

entry machine of a man in his mid-20s. We're just ordinary friends calling, checking in,

...