Nine Thirteen

Pilot Bob Bear (L) and my father, his co-pilot

Robert E. Bear ~ July 13, 1920 - September 13, 1968

Blanchard Guy McManus ~ October 16, 1930 - September 13, 1968

Mary Renick ~ February 26, 1908 - September 13, 1968

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Have you had enough gut-wrenchingly graphic rememberings, at least for the present moment, of carnage originating in the sky on flawless early September mornings?

Yeah. Me too.

But we can't let this day pass without paying our respects to these.

Three souls were lost in horrific wreckage and fire in North Hollywood, California, forty-three years ago today. It was a Friday.

One of them was my father, whom I never knew. He spent the last minutes of his life with his friend, fellow pilot Bob Bear.

The third life to end in the calamitous event was that of Mary Renick, a lady who was in her garage when parts of the crashed plane rained fiery destruction upon her head.

Although I was eleven years old when my father died, I had not been in his presence since 1959, when I was a wee tot of two. But I was thirteen before I learned of my father's death.

It's complicated. You'll have to read the book.

So enough of elevens and thirteens! There is no luck, good or bad; there is only God our Creator, who loves us and wants us to trust Him with everything, up to and including our never-dying souls.

And there is the Son of God, Jesus Christ our Savior, and the blessed Holy Spirit, our Comforter. Together and as One these three entreat you to repent and be saved today.

Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. (James 4:14)

As for me, I trusted Christ at the age of fourteen. And because I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day (2 Timothy 1:12), I'm determined to enjoy my life on this beautiful September Tuesday.

Even though, like last Sunday, I'll do it through some stubborn tears.

Who am I kidding? That's the way I roll most days: I laugh then I cry. Rinse, repeat. C'est la vie.

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Not in a silver casket cool with pearls

Or rich with red corundum or with blue,

Locked, and the key withheld, as other girls

Have given their loves, I give my love to you;

Not in a lovers'-knot, not in a ring

Worked in such fashion, and the legend plain --

Semper fidelis, where a secret spring

Kennels a drop of mischief for the brain:

Love in the open hand, no thing but that,

Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt,

As one should bring you cowslips in a hat

Swung from the hand, or apples in her skirt,

I bring you, calling out as children do:

"Look what I have! --And these are all for you."

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by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)