Determined not to miss it—even if I had to go alone—I bought a ticket from the shadiest scalper of all time. We did the transaction in the back aisle of a 7-Eleven. He was so paranoid about anyone seeing us that I was pretty sure I should be worried too. I figured I was moments away from getting arrested.

After entering the building, I looked all over but had no idea where I was supposed to sit. Eventually, the FleetCenter staff lady kindly told me I needed to find my seat. I kindly told her back that I didn’t know where to find it. She asked for my ticket, took a look, scratched her head, and told me to wait right there. Now I knew for sure that I was in the deepest of doo-doo.

When she came back, she told me they weren’t supposed to sell tickets for that section because it was where the spotlight guy was supposed to stand. Then she told me to keep waiting and left again. I knew that when she came back she’d have the police with her, and they’d promptly take me to prison.

Instead, when she returned, she had a folding chair. She put it right next to the spotlight guy, and together we watched WrestleMania.

The post WrestleMania XIV first appeared on Leaving a Mark.

This is one of the last photos I have of my father with his dear friend Bill Henry. It was taken three months before my dad passed away. The other photo is Bill speaking at my father’s service.

Bill showed up for my father in every way imaginable. They met at church decades ago and became golfing buddies, but their friendship went far beyond golf. When my father got sick, Bill started taking my dad out for breakfast every Friday — even when my father could barely get in and out of the car. Bill would often say, “I love Paul,” and my father could feel that love. I could feel it too.

Two nights before my father died, Bill and his wife Jen brought dinner to the house. The last words my father spoke came as he accepted their offer of dessert. Bill was still showing up, still loving my father, right to the very end.

Bill was highly successful in business, but what stood out most was his character, his faith, and the way he cared for people.

Despite Bill’s own health beginning to fade in recent years, he was a tremendous support to me as well. While my dad was sick, Bill gave me a list of movie suggestions, and we ended up watching every single one of them. Later on, he often wanted to take me to the same breakfast spot where he used to take my dad. He also frequently told me he wanted to play tennis together once he was feeling better. Whenever I saw Bill, he would ask me how things were going at work. When I opened up about ongoing challenges, his response was always, “Can I pray with you?” And he did. He prayed with me and for me. He prayed for my co-workers too.

Bill was always seeing needs and looking for ways to meet them. Even when he was clearly having more trouble getting around, I would still see him get out of his seat at church and gingerly walk over to someone in need of prayer.

I heard Bill’s testimony, and it was clear that Bill knew he was deeply in need of a Savior. Bill also knew he was deeply forgiven. As Jesus said, “He who has been forgiven much loves much.” Bill lived that out. When you experience something that changes your life, you can’t help but tell others. Bill couldn’t help but declare what God had done for him. He was always looking for opportunities to share the love of God and was famously known for telling everyone he encountered, “Jesus loves you.”

Even as he was dying, stories came out about Bill sharing Christ with members of the medical staff. Of anyone I’ve ever known, Bill lived out Romans 1:16: “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes.”

I am, in many ways, very different from Bill. I can be shy about my faith — or just plain shy in general. I’ve seen plenty of painfully awkward moments where telling someone Jesus loves them wasn’t exactly well received. I know many people have complicated feelings about Christians and Christianity. But Bill was not especially concerned about that. He believed it was his job to tell people that Jesus loves them, and how they responded was up to them.

Bill passed away on May 16. I feel like the best way I can honor him is by telling whoever reads this what Bill would want you to know:

Jesus loves you.

How deep the Father’s love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the Chosen One
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon the cross
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
No, but I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection

William Henry’s obituary

The post Remembering Bill Henry first appeared on Leaving a Mark.

Until then, every time I saw her, she gave me the most quizzical look—as though I were visiting from another planet. Even before she was speaking, her expression said it all: “Who is this guy, and why is he here?”

But that day, at her new house, we went fishing together in the backyard. She had a rod. There was no bait on it.

Later we headed to the driveway, where I helped her with her scooter.

We went up the hill. We went down the hill. She said, “Again!”

We went up the hill. We went down the hill. “Again!”

We went up the hill. We went down the hill.

I lost track of how many times we did this.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, I realized she wasn’t looking at me like a stranger anymore.

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, ‘Do it again’; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, ‘Do it again’ to the sun; and every evening, ‘Do it again’ to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”

—G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

The post The Day We Became Friends first appeared on Leaving a Mark.

Four days later, Józefa died. She was 36 years old.

Six weeks later, the surviving twin, Ewa, died too.

Years before, when Józefa’s son Anthony was born, his uncle by marriage, Jan Ziółkowski, appeared in the record as a witness.

When Józefa died, Jan’s name appeared again on the record of her death.

And six weeks later, when baby Ewa died, Jan was there again.

Anthony grew up and eventually left Poland for America.

Years later, he had a daughter named Genevieve, born in Salem, Massachusetts.

On September 10, 1924, Genevieve died of acute encephalitis. She was five years old.

Anthony had been only five when he lost his mother and infant twin sisters. Now he had lost his own five-year-old daughter, Genevieve.

Exactly 22 years later, on September 10, 1946, Genevieve’s older sister Mary gave birth to a son.

Jan’s granddaughter Sophie — known as Zosia — became one of Mary’s close friends.

Today, September 10, 2026, marks 102 years since Genevieve died — and the 80th birthday of the baby born on that same date 22 years later.

Happy birthday, Uncle Charlie.

The post September 10 first appeared on Leaving a Mark.

I collected all the things people wrote about my father after he passed. Then, I put them into one of those word counters. The word most used to describe my father was “kind”. Next, was “wonderful”. After that came “gentle”, “sweet”, and “loving”. Then, “amazing”, “great”, and “special”. Then “caring”, “thoughtful” and “Godly”.

People wrote about his radiant smile. One person said he was one of the best persons they’d ever met. Another said he was one of the nicest persons they’d encountered. One person commented there weren’t enough superlatives to describe him. Someone else wrote “I love that man. I feel like your dad touched everyone he met.” Someone else similarly said in reference to my father, “Some people touch your life in a way you can’t describe.”

There are so many qualities that defined him. Humble, kind, genuine. As my mother put it, “He was the best. He was the best of the best.” The one that I always came back to was good. He was a good man. I used to tell him that all the time. I would say, “you are a good guy, Dad.” He used to respond to me with the words of Jesus from Mark 10:18: “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone.”

After awhile I realized he would never accept me calling him good. So, to save all that trouble, I just started calling him “OK”. I would say to him, “You’re an OK guy, Dad.” And he was much more comfortable with that.

And I had to really think – what can I say to my father that he will accept? I knew he wouldn’t accept it if I called him the best father in the world. So, instead I would tell him, “You’re the best father I’ve ever had.” He was OK with that too.

I used to ask him too, “Are you my buddy?” After answering “yes” to this about a thousand times a week, he finally said one time: “Of course I’m your buddy. You don’t even have to ask.” So, from then on I started saying to him, “You’re my buddy dad.” And he was my buddy. My father, mother and I did everything together. One day toward the end, I saw a quote from Morrie Schwartz that said, “Death ends a life, not a relationship. All the love you created is still there.” So then, I changed it to, “You will always be my buddy, Dad.” I had no idea he would pass away so shortly afterward.

Despite all his wonderful qualities, I’m not sure he had even the faintest clue how much he meant to those he came in contact with. The scripture that comes to my mind when I think about him is Isaiah 66:2 which says, “This is the one I esteem: he who is humble and contrite in spirit, who trembles at My word.” As Jesus put it, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Despite his abundance of wonderful qualities, he knew that he was a sinner in need of a savior. And he was so thankful for God’s mercy and grace.

There is a book by Eugene Peterson titled “A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.” I’d give you some quotes from the book, but I can’t because I haven’t read it. But the title was the very definition of my father. From the time I was a baby to the time my father passed away, he was a model of faithful devotion. When I was a toddler, I used to come downstairs early and find him and sit on his lap as he read the Bible. When I was old and somehow managed to get up early I’d find him reading his Bible. He was always hungry for God.

Something I wrote about my father fifteen years ago had this paragraph: “You taught me so many things, but the best thing you did for me is model what it means to love God, how to seek Him, what it means to be desperate for Him, and how to persevere when nothing goes right. Simple, pure, and genuine faith and desire for your King. I picture you like Jacob, worshiping God in his old age as he leaned on the top of his staff (Genesis 47:31). Loving God with all your strength, right to the very end.

The last couple years it was one thing after another in terms of his mind and body breaking down. He did everything in his power to get well. Despite all the suffering he went through, he never changed. Through it all he was same kind, gentle, loving person. He was faithful and he was grateful. He worshipped God while using his cane. He worshiped God while using his walker. He worshipped God when he could hardly move in his hospital bed. He praised the Lord even though he no longer knew what day, month or year it was or the steps to putting on a T-shirt. He listened to the worship song we put in the slideshow and would weep because he was so thankful for what God had done for him.

There is a quote by German theologian Meister Eckhart that says, “God is at home. We are in the far country.” And the Apostle Paul said, “I would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” My father was good, he was humble and he was faithful. He had my deepest love, admiration and affection. He meant the world to me and was the best man I’ve ever known. I am going to miss him more than I could ever express. But now he is home.

The post Tribute to my Father first appeared on Leaving a Mark.

I will now give you some diet advice free of charge. But first, a quick story.

It used to be that I got a Butter Crunch ice cream on the way to the gym every other week or so. Then, it became once or twice a week. Then, three or four times a week. Then, pretty much every day.

Spending so much time at the ice cream stand gave me the opportunity to study the menu closely each time as I waited for my ice cream. After many days, I realized that they sell other things besides Butter Crunch ice cream. I know what you’re thinking right now: “What could be better than Butter Crunch ice cream?” Well, after examining the menu I came to see that they also sell Butter Crunch ice cream sundaes!

The next day, rather than getting my usual Butter Crunch ice cream, I leveled up to the new pinnacle of ice cream existence – the Butter Crunch ice cream sundae. On top of the butter candy ice cream, there was whipped cream, butterscotch, and butterfingers. Butter heaven!

I once again know what you’re thinking right now: “This story is a lot longer than you promised and I’m leaving posthaste for my buttery treat.” Not so fast. It was simply…not good. There was so much butterscotch, I wanted to puke. It was even more sugary tasting than that Coldstone Creamery place. In short, I hated it and haven’t had Butter Crunch ice cream since.

As Nolan Ryan once remarked, “”Every hitter likes fastballs just like everybody likes ice cream. But you don’t like it when someone’s stuffing it into you by the gallon.” What is it you really like? Pizza? Have 10 pizzas tonight! I promise you won’t want pizza for awhile! You like Chinese food? Order a dozen Pu-Pu Platters and go to town! You want some chocolate malt balls? Buy all the boxes of malt balls in the store and eat them in one sitting. You’ll want to spend some time away from those Whoppers afterward – I promise! And, if your problem is Butter Crunch ice cream – just go to the Butter Crunch ice cream sundae. Why? Because too much of a good thing can be absolutely disgusting. 

The post Butter Crunch Ice Cream first appeared on Leaving a Mark.

His major contribution to the world was not a set of aphorisms. He was born in a turdy barn, grew up in a dirty world, got baptized in a muddy river. He put his hands on the oozing wounds of lepers, he let whores brush his hair and soldiers pull it out. He went to dinner with dirtbags, both religious and irreligious. His closest friends were a collection of crude fishermen and cultural traitors. He felt the spittle of the Pharisees on his face and the metal hooks of the jailer’s whip in the flesh of his back. He got sweaty and dirty and bloody – and he took all of the sin and mess of the world onto himself, onto the cross to which he was nailed naked.

In his work and in his words, Jesus is making promises to the beaten, the torn, the broken, the depressed, the desperate, the poor, the orphan, the abandoned, the cheated, the betrayed, the accused, the left-behind.

The post Fixing the World first appeared on Leaving a Mark.

This kid buried his head on my shoulder.
He was fast asleep. On the jet airplane.
I wanted to say, “Hey brother, your father is on the other side.”
But little Mexican boy was much too young to be my brother.
Still, I wanted to say “brother”, as if I were Hulk Hogan
Exclaiming to Mean Gene, “Let me tell you something brother”
As if I were a 10 year old.
Remembering when the Hulkster used to do away with the bad guys
An old person, but kid at the same time
Maybe “brother” wasn’t far off
One young in age. Another young in spirit
Both seeking rest
Dreaming of pile drivers
On this incredibly uncomfortable airplane

The post To the Kid in Seat 39B first appeared on Leaving a Mark.

The last time somebody stared at me was about a week ago. It was an African American girl sitting with her mother. We were on the train. I think she was about a year and a half old. Possibly younger. Somehow, I caught her attention. Whatever her age, she was young enough to not feel the least bit self-conscious about fixing her gaze on me the entire trip. Since she was so obviously staring at me, I plainly stared right back at her. She gave me a searching look. As she tried to figure me out, I tried to figure her out. What was she curious about? What caught her attention? What was it about me that so entertaining?

I wonder what will happen to that little girl. Perhaps she will become a famous author or athlete or musician. Maybe she will own a restaurant like Princess Tiana. Maybe she will one day become the President of the United States. Yes, maybe the future President engaged me in a stare-down on a train in Boston.

* * *

I remember being a little boy in the first grade. At the time I attended a private school, which offered education up to the sixth grade.

I remember staring at the older kids. They were so big. I wondered if I would become big like that one day. The idea of getting big seemed a million years away – like it would never happen.

Another thing I found curious was the older girls. One in particular caught my eye. I was fascinated. I hadn’t seen anything so pretty.

One day, I was excused from class in order to use the bathroom. As I walked the halls, I noticed a classroom full of older kids. I put my face against the transparent square glass panel and peered in. It just so happened to be the classroom that the pretty girl was sitting in.

Needless to say, I was awestruck. I must’ve been staring at the pretty girl for some time, because I clearly caught her attention. This took me by complete surprise, as I was certain that I was invisible to the upperclassmen and especially the pretty girl. What did they care about a little kid?

The reason I know with certainty that I caught this girl’s attention is that she looked me right in the eye. Then, she scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue right at me.

I was elated. I was not invisible after all. The pretty girl knew that I existed.

* * *

Perhaps I should have referred to that pretty girl by her name. I can’t do that because I don’t remember what it was. I do, however, have one other memory of her, a few years later.

We had just got out of church on a Sunday afternoon. Rather than the usual ham salad sandwiches in the parking lot of Alexander’s Supermarket, we were treated to D’Anegelos. I can’t express how much I loved D’Angelos. The diced pickles. The turkey smothered in mayo. The bread. The oil on top. I was in heaven.

It just so happened that the pretty girl was working at the store. My parents recognized her. They said hello. She spoke with them for a little bit. Unlike our previous encounter with the face and tongue, she was shy. It was likely the first job she had ever held. I think she was nervous.

I don’t recall ever saying a word to this girl. I just listened as she spoke with my parents. The conversation wasn’t long, but long enough for her to once again recognize my presence on earth.

I couldn’t help but stare at her again. This time, I also gave her a hint of a smile.

The post Pardon the Way that I Stare first appeared on Leaving a Mark.

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.”

One of my co-workers had a baby today. A beautiful baby of course – aren’t they all? A few hours later, a different co-worker received a call that his father had died. His dad was thought to be healthy. The death was a complete surprise.

Then, there is me. An outside observer in all of this. Happy for one. Sad for the other. Unsure how to be both at the same time.

I remember reading about stages of grief. We are shocked. We get angry at others. The anger turns on ourselves. We become confused. We question. What just happened? Why? What could I have done differently? How do I make sense of this tragedy? How do I move forward in life with this giant hole in my heart?

I think about the death more than the birth. I can’t imagine facing what is ahead for my co-worker. Mostly, I am afraid for myself. Scared to death of losing those I love.

I listen to the radio. Songs about new love and all the hope that goes along with it. Songs about being tossed aside like an old shoe. Songs that reflect and ask questions. Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life? I don’t know.

I’m told to rejoice with those who rejoice and suffer with those who suffer. I offer my words of congratulations. I offer my words of regret. I go back to my business of getting the day’s work done, wondering what difference any of those empty words of mine really made anyway.

I think about Elton John singing about the circle of life and the spooky quote from Superman Returns about the son becoming the father and the father becoming the son. I recall Emily from the play Our Town desperately wanting to go back in time to relive her 12th birthday until finding it much too painful and concluding that life should be valued “every, every minute”. With all the death and regret and pain involved, I’m not sure I like this circle of life stuff very much.

I think about times when I’ve messed up by not telling people how much I cared about them before it was too late and how much I never want that to happen again. I think about others who were kind to me and how much that meant to me and how much I want to be kind to them in return. I think about the gift of life and how easy it is to take it for granted.

I think about the baby. Like her, I wonder what in the world is going on. The world which manages to be so beautiful and terrifying and wonderful and broken at the same time. I think about the oft repeated statement in the Bible to “not be afraid” and how I’m never alone – even though it often seems that way. I remember that those who mourn are blessed because they will be comforted. I think about Easter and Jesus defeating death and promising to make all things new. Even me.

The post The Circle of Life first appeared on Leaving a Mark.