Paul

Posted by Timothy Krause on

Something happens to me when I travel – especially when I travel for business. I am in a hurry. I am in a hurry to get there, and in a hurry to get home. Anything that detracts from this mission, such as the person in front of me who can’t grasp the simple rules at the TSA pre-check, the person with four large suitcases who is delaying the departure of the rental car bus, the person in front of me at the hotel check-in who is asking the front desk agent for a comprehensive review of all nearby restaurants and their menus – I could go on. And God save your soul if you are the unlucky one delivering the news that, “We are out of cars right now,” or “You’ve been randomly selected…”

Two days ago, after I mindlessly left my roller bag on the rental car bus because I was on a phone call and had to wait for the bus to come back around, I was walking from the parking lot into the hotel at what some of my in-laws refer to as the “Krause pace.” I barely noticed the man sitting in a wheelchair on the front drive sidewalk as I blew through the revolving door into the lobby. I always notice someone in a wheelchair, but it is more like the way a wild animal notices a person in a car and considers the two together to be just one big thing. I notice someone in a wheelchair, but I don’t notice the someone who is in the wheelchair. I don’t notice this especially if I am in a rush.

Well, because I had been in a rush, I had an extra forty-five minutes before I needed to meet my colleagues for dinner. That was too much time to sit around and not enough time to go to the gym. So, naturally, I went to the bar. Just as I was squeezing the lime into my “club soda,” the wheelchair bundle rolled up next to me and said, “Do you mind if I squeeze in here?”

Now, I am an introvert. If I could complete an entire business trip without talking to a single person I don’t already know, I would consider the trip to be a success. Give me an app, a few kiosks, and my “don’t talk to me on the plane” AirPods and I am all set. I already know everyone I like.

“Sure, no problem,” I said. We shook hands.
“Paul,” he said.
“Tim,” I replied. “Nice to meet you, Paul.”
His grip was weak, and I noted that he handled his drink with his left hand.

This is usually the last moment I remember someone’s name. Anyway, I thought I struck the right tone. I sounded convincing enough to avoid seeming rude, but not so convincing that he thought I was inviting an actual conversation. “So, what brings you to town?” he asked. And thusly it began.

Paul was in town to receive stem cell injections to his spinal column. This piqued my interest, because I try to keep up with progress in stem cell research especially as it applies to healing potential in spinal cord injury. I pressed, explaining my personal interest in the topic, at the highest possible level. I had a son and he was injured – that’s it. Paul had had two treatments so far with no results.

“So, did you break your neck?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Three years ago.”
“What happened?” I asked. “Did you fall off a roof or hit a tree skiing?”

“No.” He conceded. He paused briefly to purse his lips and shove them into his right cheek. He went on. “Nothing that interesting. I was walking through my living room, tripped, and hit the coffee table with my chin. My neck snapped back. It broke my C2 vertebra.” (C2 is the second one down from where your head hooks to your body, so damaging your spine there pretty much screws up everything.)
He returned with, “How about your son?”
“Mountain biking. C4 to C6”
Every conversation between two people impacted by SCI starts this way. It’s instead of showing a passport.

“Can you walk?” I asked.
“Yes, a little, but I don’t have much stamina,” he answered.
I launched into Theo’s story, careful to point out that learning to walk again turned out to be just the beginning of his battle. I have developed a reasonably concise pitch by now, and occasionally Paul interrupted with a “Wow,” or “That’s inspiring,” especially when I mentioned Theo was able to snowboard again.

Paul seemed particularly focused as I went on to explain how Theo had battled depression and thoughts of suicide. “And where is he today?” Almost apologetically, I explained how well Theo functioned independently and that he was living in DC, although there was plenty he couldn’t do. Paul pushed. Paul, forty-eight years old, requires constant care. His wife is the sole care-giver.

Paul’s eyes widened, and he sat straighter in his chair as I described some of Theo’s lingering limitations, and Paul shared his own. Just then he froze, his shoulders hunched and drew sharply in to his neck, and his eyes glazed. The searing shot of nerve pain, a common by-product of spinal cord injury called neuropathy, took his breath away as it enveloped his entire body. Five or ten seconds went by before he was able to recompose himself.

“Wow,” I finally said. “Do you take something for that?”
“I used to, up until about a year ago. Percocet – Lyrica – everything. Now it’s just Tylenol.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I decided it was better to feel everything than to feel nothing.”
“Ironic,” I thought to myself as I glanced down at my almost empty glass.

Realizing I was now late to meet my colleagues for dinner, I began to excuse myself. I slurped the last watery sip, and I was just pushing back the stool when Paul said, “Mr. Krause, I have been having some of the same thoughts as your son. My walking is actually getting worse, not better, and it’s very frustrating. I used to be the operations director for Outback Steakhouse and was always active. Until I met you tonight, I’ve been seriously considering whether I want to continue to work at it, or just let it all go. But your story has inspired me. I want you to know that you have changed my life today.” Now I was the one doing the recomposing for the next five or ten seconds.

At this moment, you may think I told you this story so that you could be impressed that I had changed someone’s life – that I had done something special and you would click the “Wow” face instead of only the “Like” button on this post. I’ve thought about that for two days before finally deciding to post this.

Paul continued: “Yesterday a pastor was sitting here.” (I smiled at that one.) “Today, it was you. Between the two of you, I feel like God is trying to tell me something. I believe He brought us together for a reason.”

“God may not be finished with you,” is about all I could come up with. After all, I was just there to waste forty-five minutes. But, unable to leave it completely alone, I continued: “Maybe you need to see this through. If you do, you might end up somewhere you never expected, doing something more fulfilling than you ever dreamed. Imagine the story you would have. Someone might need to hear that story.”

Here is the thing. I didn’t do anything special. In fact, I did everything possible to avoid doing anything special. Ultimately, I just told my story to another person. Everybody has a story, and someone needs to hear it. If you tell someone your story, they might tell you their story and that might be just what you need to hear at that moment. I think that’s the stuff of miracles. When Paul rolled up to my side, he didn’t know I had spent two hours that afternoon walking around Craig Hospital in Denver, a place that stores some difficult memories for my family. I know I will never forget Paul’s name.

The Goodness of People: Rob Weisbaum and Erik Forsythe

Posted by Timothy Krause on

Rob Weisbaum has never forgotten how lucky he is to be alive, and that thought galvanizes his sense of duty. In his early twenties, he was making his second skydiving jump out of a plane near his hometown of Detroit, Michigan. During the jump he miscalculated a turn, starting it too low, and slammed into the ground at sixty miles per hour, shattering both legs. His feet were literally turned backwards by the impact, splintered bones protruding through his skin.

His dad, Jerry, was initially unfazed when he received news of Rob’s accident. Rob had been an adrenalin junkie all his life, played hockey, and was an extreme skier. His dad had seen nearly every kind of injury that could happen to his son. It wasn’t until the trauma doctor at the University of Michigan hospital said bluntly, “Jerry, it’s really bad,” that he realized this one was serious. Rob was fortunate to be alive.

When the same doctor explained to Rob he would never walk again the news changed the course of Rob’s life. The experience of his first ever ride on a CareFlight­–this one as a patient–had captivated him. He was so enthralled by the way the flight medics had worked with him, the ominous prognosis only flamed his motivation to prove the doctor wrong. More than anything, Rob knew he wanted to become a CareFlight medic.

The idea of being involved in emergency rescue services was not new to Rob. As a young boy growing up in suburban Detroit, he wanted to be a firefighter, similar to many other boys his age. But unlike most of the other boys, the idea did not fade as he grew older. When he was eighteen, he bravely strolled into a fire station situated just down the street from his house to ask them what he needed to do to become a fireman. “Get an Emergency Medical Technician’s license first,” they said–which he did. By the time he earned his license he had completely fallen in love with the field, and he continued his training to become a full paramedic. Ultimately, though, he thought, “I want to be a leader somehow–not a follower.”

After the sky diving accident, Rob endured a frustrating year of surgeries and grueling physical therapy. Remaining determined throughout, not only did he learn to walk again, he also met his goal to become a licensed flight medic. He was working for a flight rescue operation in Arizona when he saw a posting for a new job with CareFlight. He applied and was hired in 2009 to become the leader, not the follower, of a brand new CareFlight operation in Montrose, Colorado. Only a week after starting the job, he already had secured a helicopter, hired a nurse and a pilot, and was looking for additional support personnel.

Almost three years later, Rob’s good friend Erik Forsythe was newly appointed as Emergency Medical Services Chief at Gunnison Hospital, a role he had taken after retiring from a 19-year career as a ski patroller in Crested Butte.  Coincidentally, like Rob, Erik was also from Michigan, but the two had never met before working together in Colorado.

Erik Forsythe and the Colorado mountains had met each other, though, when he was twelve years old, on a family vacation. And, it was love at first sight. Back in Ann Arbor, Michigan, his heart was never again far from the wilderness and the mountains. Describing himself as a late bloomer in sports, he says he “took an unsuccessful shot at playing football” in the ninth grade, finally turning to track and specializing in the pole vault through high school. While he was good at pole vaulting, he still remained heavily involved in the Boy Scouts and spent most weekends camping or skiing.

Erik could easily have followed his father, who was a successful second-generation attorney, into the family business. Instead, as soon as high school was finished, Erik followed his heart to the Colorado mountains without any clear notion of what he wanted to do once he got there. He eventually landed at Colorado University in Boulder where he says he “hacked” his education, spending two painful years as an economics major. He dropped out of CU to concentrate on becoming a ski patroller.

Then a new degree program at CU in environmental conservation caught his eye. The structure of the program would afford him the flexibility to go to school in the summer and take the winters off to follow his passion for skiing. He returned to CU to complete his degree while still working toward his license as an Emergency Medical Technician, a requirement for ski patrollers. After college, armed with a degree in environmental conservation and his EMT license, he began to expand his expertise in wilderness rescue.

Today, Erik is recognized worldwide for his expertise in wilderness rescue as a member the Wilderness Medical Collateral Associates, an international group dedicated to specialized wilderness medical training. He continues to travel across the US and around the world teaching the specialized techniques involved in wilderness rescue.

A particular piece of that teaching curriculum guided him on the afternoon of September 17, 2017 when he fielded a 9-1-1 call about an injured mountain biker on Doctor Park Trail. “Most EMT training is designed around metropolitan ambulance services, where you are always a relatively short distance from a hospital,” he explained. “No matter how bad it is, you get them into an ambulance and take them to the nearest hospital. But in wilderness rescue you have to make some big decisions based on the complexity of the situation which can make life and death differences.”

His immediate decision to bring Rob Weisbaum into the rescue operation may have made that kind of difference. Having made the call to Rob, Erik raced to spearhead the mission and join the rescue party on Doctor Park Trail. After reaching Theo and triaging his injury, he began exchanging text messages with Rob, who was already in range in the helicopter but was desperately trying to identify a suitable landing spot.

It became clear that Erik, at the bottom of a ravine in the forest, was in no position to direct the pilot to an appropriate landing site, which would have been their normal protocol. Erik and Rob agreed, finally, that the pilot would break convention and find his own landing space. The rescue team, then, carried Theo down the trail to start, then followed the sound of the rotors up the side of the ravine to the landing site to deliver him into Rob’s care.

When Erik looks back on Theo’s rescue, what makes him most proud is the way the multiple agencies worked as a team. “We just worked together, and we problem solved,” Erik told me. “By doing that, I think we saved Theo four or five hours in the time it took to get him to a surgeon.”

As the helicopter lifted off and headed towards Grand Junction, Rob looked down at Theo lying on the deck beneath him, and his memory flashed briefly back to that very first CareFlight. He understood exactly how Theo felt. Rob encouraged him to hope for the best, telling him that often things turn out to be completely different than what was presenting, and proclaimed, “Theo, let’s just do it.” Rob knew what he was talking about.

To learn more about Theo’s extraordinary rescue and recovery, buy the book, FINDING THEO: A Father’s True Story of Loss, Courage, and Discovery

The Goodness of People: Farid Tabaian

Posted by Timothy Krause on

Tuesday, September 17, 2013 was shaping up to be special. After all, it was Farid Tabaian’s thirty-third birthday. He was living in the mountains, and he intended to honor his mother’s advice. A native son of Colorado, born and raised in Boulder, Farid was particularly close to his mother.

She met Farid’s father at Northwestern University, after he immigrated from Iran, escaping the country’s 1979 Revolution, to attend college. The two later moved to Boulder, where Farid’s father earned a PhD in linguistics at the University of Colorado and then spent a long career in manufacturing. Farid’s mother, a teacher, became a Montessori school director.

Farid’s voice softens, though, when he speaks about his mother. “Any time we talked about what I should do in life,” he said, “her advice was always simply: ‘Follow your passion and do what you like.’” Never sure what that meant for him, Farid cruised through high school without any particular focus. He decided to attend the University of Colorado mostly because it was near home and the mountains he loved.

Growing up, he was always that kid in the car navigating and holding a map on family vacations. He had first been introduced to cartography through a high school geography teacher who piqued Farid’s interest in maps. But Farid didn’t fully connect with making maps as a vocation until he registered for a couple of geography courses at the University of Colorado–just because it sounded kind of interesting. “I stumbled upon a world there,” he recalled, “that I never knew existed.”

Jim Robb, who became Farid’s mentor, was the director of the cartography lab, and he encouraged Farid to consider the field as a profession. “I got to college,” Farid said, “and discovered you could learn to make maps and make a living from it. And I fell in love with it.” He took a corporate job for a few years after graduating with a degree in Cartography in 2003 making maps of the U.S. power line grid.

The job helped develop his skill, but Farid grew tired of the big company environment. He preferred being outdoors and craved having more time to ride. He just wasn’t sure how to do that and still make a living. When his mother became ill, finally succumbing to cancer at the young age of sixty-four, he began to understand what she truly meant with her advice: “You have to work, but you have to enjoy life too.”

By the time Farid lost his mother in 2010, he had left the safety net of corporate life and had found his way to Salida, Colorado to start his own business making maps for mountain bikers. He specialized in small sized water proof, tear proof, fold proof and what he likes to call “fool proof” Colorado mountain biking trail maps that he sells only through locally owned stores or his website, where he also dispenses advice, news and facilitates discussion forums. Farid is meticulous in his work, usually taking four to six months to finish a map project. Rarely satisfied, he considers his first map, the one of Durango, to be his best.

His mother’s words of advice echoing in his memory, Farid planned to take the day off on his birthday to ride the Monarch Crest trail, near his home in Salida.  A shuttle bus would drop him off for a 6,000-foot descent through some of Colorado’s best scenery.  Undeterred by news his brother couldn’t make the trip with him, Farid called anyway to reserve his seat on the shuttle bus for the next morning. But he ran into a generally uncooperative reservation agent. The call ended unceremoniously and without a reservation for Farid.

Unwilling to let the experience sour the mood, he decided to scuttle the Monarch Crest ride in favor of another trip down Doctor Park Trail.  He had ridden Doctor Park dozens of times before, but it was still his favorite, and he wasn’t going to waste what promised to be a “chamber of commerce” fall day.

Farid packed his gear and bike into his van, followed the familiar hour-long highway west to Gunnison, turned north on the Gunnison National Forest road winding along the Taylor River, and made camp. He slept in the van at the North Bank Campground, just at the end of Doctor Park Trail where he would finish the next day.

The next morning, he set off on the road to the trail-head on his mountain bike as he had done so many times before. But on this day, he came upon a group of four women who had spent the night at Taylor Canyon campground, just a half mile down the road. They were attractive, looked interesting, and he was single. “Happy birthday to me,” he thought to himself, and he stopped to say hello. Farid was easy to look at himself, so the ladies took notice as he slowed to a stop next to their campsite. He stands a little over six feet, is mountain bike fit, and sports a black, perennial three-day beard. His dark, Persian eyes add a shadow of mystery to his laid-back demeanor behind an easy smile.

The women told him they were from Switzerland, vacationing together for a couple of weeks. The women had never been to the Crested Butte area but heard it was a required destination for avid mountain bikers. Farid mentioned he was in the trail map business, and when they quizzed him on recommendations for their trip, he gave them one of his popular water proof pocket maps of Crested Butte mountain biking trails.

Intent on riding alone at his own pace since it was his birthday, Farid was anxious to get on the trail. He parted ways with the group, but not before exchanging contact information and agreeing to meet up for dinner later that night.  But they did encounter each other at least one more time, at a resting point about half way up the trail, at the end of a very steep and technical section. As they chatted and absorbed the scenery, four young men came blasting up the hill one by one and paused at the same spot to catch their breath and exchange a few pleasantries before moving on.

Farid soon followed, and he was cruising through the same cool forest air shaded by an aspen grove and the steep embankments of a deep gulch, when he came upon a figure lying motionless on his side near two aspen trees just where the trail takes an awkward turn. He intuitively knew something was very, very wrong and jumped off his bike to ask the fallen rider, “Hey man, are you ok?”

And then, Farid decided to help. “I just knew we needed to get people in there as quickly as possible,” he explained. “I am a map maker, and I know that area very well. It’s a narrow gulch where he was–very hard to reach, twenty miles from the nearest town, and there was no cell phone service.  But I knew I had service at the top of the trail.  So, I knew the best was to hoof up the hillside as far as I could go. I Called 9-1-1 probably ten times until I could connect.  I was running on pure adrenaline, breathing so hard, because that hill was extremely steep.”

***

Find out more by visiting www.findingtheo.comor buy the book Finding Theo: A Father’s True Story of Loss, Courage, and Discoveryanywhere books are sold, and check out Farid Tabaian’s website at www.singltrackmaps.com.

Over 10K Watch Moving FINDING THEO Interview

Posted by Timothy Krause on

Watch “Good God” as host Dr. George Mason interviews Timothy Krause, author of Finding Theo, in a two part series

Timothy Krause was recently interviewed about his new book, Finding Theo: A Father’s True Story of Loss, Courage, and Discovery on “Good God”, hosted by Dr. George Mason. If you’ve ever been through a time of doubt and darkness, or been the parent to someone in crisis, you will want to hear this honest, raw conversation, which aired in two parts.

Timothy, the former chief marketing officer of one of the worlds largest telecommunications suppliers,  went through a crisis of faith after his young adult son suffered extensive injuries from a mountain bike accident and beat the odds to recovery. Interview topics range from miracles, science, and faith to career, purpose, and legacy. Timothy’s conversation with Dr. Mason contains moving moments you will want to share with family members and friends.

“Good God”, conversations that matter for people who care about the positive contribution of faith to public life, is the creation of Dr. Mason, who is also one of the most influential and progressive Christian theologians in the U.S. today. His weekly episodes touch on subjects such as religion, politics, education, science, law, the arts, philosophy and philanthropy. “Good God” episodes can be seen at www.goodgodproject.com or on Facebook at @goodgodproject. Audio podcasts are also available on iTunes.

Replay the interviews with Timothy Krause here:

Part 1 (Episode 11) – miracles and the goodness of people:

Part 2 (Episode 12) – when you realize you can’t fix your kids:

Buy your copy of Finding Theo at your favorite local bookstore, online retailer, or by clicking this link to Buy The Book.

 

 

 

 

Emotional Book Signing Event

Posted by Timothy Krause on

 

Emotion charged luncheon raises nearly $4,000 for Wilshire’s Pathways Endowment

Wilshire Baptist Church in Dallas hosted a book signing, luncheon and Q&A session for us on May 6. All of our book sales for that event benefited Wilshire’s Pathways to Ministry program. At last count we sold almost 200 copies of Finding Theo and raised nearly $4,000. More than 125 people attended the luncheon.  Theo spoke for the  first publicly about his own perspective on the accident and his extraordinary recovery. Watch the emotional highlights video of the event, and hear the inside story of the cover design, our thoughts about miracles, Theo’s perspective on the women who came to his aid on the mountain, and how the experience has changed his outlook. We’ve inserted a few before now unseen photos and video clips to help set the context of some of the topics. Watch the video here:

 

 

Pathway to Legacy

Posted by Timothy Krause on

I was only four years old, but I have distinct memories of my mother and father sitting around a dining room table that is adorned with a manual typewriter and an arrangement of tidy stacks of paper. Organizing, categorizing, typing, scribbling changes, and retyping, they labored over something important. I didn’t care much about what they were working on, but I knew it was important and not to interrupt.

Only lately have I come to a more complete understanding of what they were up to. The work was published in a book called Scattered Abroad: The Story of English-language Baptist work in Europe in 1966. Mom and Dad were serving as missionaries in West Germany at the time, and this book was Dad’s first–and only book ever published. I do not know how many copies were sold or more likely given away but I still have one of them.

On balance, the book is fairly technical, pre-occupied with the who, what, when, where, how, and why of Baptist mission work in Europe at a time when America’s military presence was at a peak following the end of World War II and the Korean War, and with the conflict in Vietnam just heating up. It is full of detail about which church was started where and by whom. The interest much of this content generates for me as I read it today rivals the interest it generated for me as a four year old watching my parents work.

But the prologue and epilogue are different. They are snapshots of my father’s theology and serve as sign posts of the legacy he and Mom left to my three siblings and me. My book,  Finding Theo, begins with a quote from Dad’s epilogue in Scattered Abroad: “The farmer stands at the fountain head–he is closest to the source. He knows for sure ‘God sendeth the rain.'” This, in a phrase, captures just about all you need to know about my dad, who was raised on a farm in southwestern Oklahoma. I will write more about that another time.

Dad often commented, especially later in his career, how he would enjoy the opportunity to teach or mentor young preachers as they exited seminary about the practical aspects of being a pastor. Running a business meeting, preaching, officiating weddings and funerals, counseling, and the myriad of other tasks a pastor faces can be daunting, especially early in a career and can make the difference in success or failure.

When I learned about the Pathways to Ministry program at Wilshire Baptist Church, I knew it was exactly the sort of thing Dad envisioned. So, here I am with a book of my own fifty years after Dad published Scattered Abroad. I don’t know how many copies will be sold or given away. Whatever happens, I know the very first fruits of Finding Theo belong to the legacy my parents left as they helped people find their way, their calling, their great gift to a world in need. Learn more about Pathways to Ministry at http://www.wilshirebc.org/learn/pathways-to-ministry/. All the proceeds for sales of Finding Theo in hardback between now and May 6 benefit the Pathways Endowment fund.

In the prologue of Scattered Abroad, Dad refers to Romans 8:28 and says, “God will put the shattered pieces together–but this time in a new and more beautiful way.” Essentially, we wrote the same book.

 

“Mostly Dead” Miracle

Posted by Timothy Krause on

Mostly Dead

(Since I have been writing a lot about the meaning of “miracle” these days, I decided to repost this piece I posted on Facebook April 12, 2017)

My next door neighbor has been reading the book “Princess Bride” to his two elementary school aged daughters over the past few weeks. The other night, as he does from time to time, he set up a projector and sound system in his back yard to show the film version of the story on the wall of his garage. Jorja and I were invited over to watch it with them.

The story’s hero, Wesley, has been tortured in the castle dungeon by a contraption that literally sucks the life out of him. When his friends find him they presume he is dead and rush him to the deep forest hovel of Miracle Max. The friends believe Miracle Max, played by Billy Crystal, is the one person who can bring their friend back to life.

Max looks Wesley over and pronounces matter-of-factly, “Your friend is only MOSTLY dead. See, there’s a big difference between MOSTLY dead, and ALL dead.” Max’s mysterious, chocolate coated “miracle pill” ultimately revives Wesley, who goes on to rescue his true love from the nearby castle.

Supposed miracles, like the one Max performed on Wesley, are a common fixture of fairy tales. And the idea of Wesley being mostly dead, instead of all dead, makes it easier to accept as possible. An advanced diagnosis like that would make a lot of miracles we read about in the Bible much more plausible too. If, in the Bible, Lazarus had just been MOSTLY dead, not ALL dead, like some rationalize, the miracle of Jesus raising him to life would be believable, or at least plausible. After all, they had limited medical knowledge in those days, and Lazarus could have been in a coma. With a heartbeat so faint and breath so light, both might have been difficult to detect. Depending on how you interpret his comments, Jesus himself made a Max style diagnosis, telling his disciples that Lazarus was only asleep.

But the crucifixion of Christ, and his resurrection on the third day – well that’s an ALL dead story. He was not just MOSTLY dead. No. Nailed up on a piece of wood for all the world to see, all day. Stuck with a spear in his side just to make sure. In a sealed tomb – for three days. He was not MOSTLY dead, he was ALL dead. This is not one that can be rationalized, or made more plausible.

My strong preference this time of year is to fast forward to Easter. I can barely wait for the shutters of the church windows to be thrown open to a flood of sunlight as we sing “Christ the Lord is Risen Today,” the words catapulted through the rafters on the wind of every straining pipe in the church organ.

Alas, that will not do. First, I must stop at the grave and decide, “Do I believe it, or don’t I?” No in between, no mostly. Once and for all, all or nothing.

Easter egg hunts, a once a year trip to church in new clothes, a family photo by the flowering cross, and even the open shutters in the church house are nothing more than a way to mark time as spring looks to summer in a never-ending spiral towards fall and winter. To get to Easter, you have to believe in the grave. And the only way through a grave, is with an ALL dead kind of miracle.

 

Order your book now!

Posted by Timothy Krause on

 

FINALLY – four ways get your very own copy of Finding Theo! The cover is finished, the layout is complete, and the ink is mostly dry. Whether you prefer to mark your place with the flap of a dust cover while you stoke the fire, fold a page down and stuff a paperback in a duffel before you take another cool dip in the pool, or slip a tablet into a briefcase to board a flight, there is a version for you. My new website, www.timothykrausebooks.com has everything you need to know…

Continue reading “Order your book now!” →

The Beginning Taking Shape

Posted by tdkrause on

The launch of Finding Theo is really beginning to take shape. We have finalized the exterior cover design for both the hardback and paperback versions, and I have seen the first version of the interior layout. One more round of proofreading and the book will be ready to print. I have learned a ton about the process. But, after two years of writing, worrying, rewriting, worrying some more, editing, letting go, and publishing, I am excited about seeing the results. Continue reading “The Beginning Taking Shape” →

What can I do today?

Posted by tdkrause on

Some look at those who can’t walk and say, “At least you can breathe on your own.” Some look at those who can’t feel and say, “At least you can walk.” Some look at those who can’t use their left hand and say, “Thank goodness you’re right handed.” Many, who seem to have everything, complain about what they cannot do.

We all know this: the human body is limited. It cannot fly and it cannot breath without air. It cannot withstand the force of a violent collision or a piercing blow. And, ultimately, it wears out. We cannot change that. Continue reading “What can I do today?” →