By Ron Hutchcraft

I've always been fascinated with lighthouses. One time, I saw a feature about a photographer who loves the seagull perspective on lighthouses. He's got this little customized aircraft that he flies over Maine's many picturesque lighthouses, shooting unusual aerial photos of them. They're beautiful; and even inspiring. He's seen them and photographed them in all kinds of settings: sunshine, clouds, storms, high tide, and low tide. And here's how he summarized what he's seen: "The lighthouse is always there, but everything else is changing."

Living in New Jersey, one of the nice things about our yard was the trees. Also, one of the frustrating things about that yard was the trees. See, every fall we would fill about a hundred or more bags stuffed with the leaves that came from those trees. We appreciated those leaves most of the year, but there was a month where they weren’t much fun at all.

In the old Westerns, they said the hero was the guy in the white hat.

In the life-or-death moments of September 11, 2001, it was the man with the red bandana.

A red bandana had been Welles Crowther's trademark since he was a boy. He still carried one even as a 24-year-old equities trader in the South Tower of the World Trade Center. And he had it on that fateful September day when the tower was in flames.

By Ron Hutchcraft

Over the years, when traveling for speaking, my wife and I would often travel together. Depending on the meeting, weather, and temperature where we were heading, we sometimes would have to bring a few pieces of luggage along. My wife was well-organized, and would pack everything we would need for overnight and the next morning in one smaller bag. We didn't need to carry everything in to each hotel, because we weren't planning to stay.

I'm not sure who's got more back-to-school butterflies - the child who's going or the parent who's sending him or her. When it was our children, it was like everybody took a crazy pill that morning. Tons of stuff to remember, tons of questions. Thankfully, my wife was a super organizer - she was the glue on those mornings of new beginnings.

Our then-18-month-old grandson rapidly became a bulldozer on two legs. He didn't actually walk anywhere; he ran everywhere. Of course, he didn't always get around like that. First, he only went where one of us carried him. Then the crawling started. He didn't do that for long. He graduated to walking real fast. And, like every baby who ever learned to walk, he began by taking a step or two and then he fell down. I guess he could have said to himself after a couple of falls, "Oh well, I guess I wasn't cut out to walk. It's just too hard. I keep falling down. I think I'll just lie here from now on." Oh, great! Fast forward to when he's 18 years old, and his mother has to vacuum around him. His friends come over and he says, "Hey, you want to roll into my room with me?" No, it didn't work that way. After he went "step-boom," he got back up and went "step-step-boom." And then "step-step-step-step-boom." Then you couldn’t stop him!

When she was in college, my daughter went on a trip to a part of the world that she brought home in her heart and brought into the hearts of our family. It was back when the Soviet Union was beginning to collapse. She was on a Christian music team on a tour to the Baltic states, formerly Soviet areas. They were actually pursuing some historic opportunities to present Christ in public settings. But what really impressed them were the local believers. And that impressed them even more than the meetings that they were able to hold. And they saw in those people a hope of freedom.

By Ron Hutchcraft

There's a mountain in northern New Jersey that has an intriguing view. It's called Garrett Mountain, over the city of Paterson, New Jersey. In the 1980s, Paterson happened to be the fourth poorest, middle-sized city in America. Now, if you had driven around that city then and that's all you saw, you would think the whole area of north Jersey was poor. But just beyond Paterson on the horizon, you can see some of the wealthiest communities in America.

He's a real American hero! He received America's highest military honor, the Congressional Medal of Honor. It was November 14, 1965, Major Bruce Crandall flew a Huey helicopter assigned to lift troops into La Drang, which was to become known, in Vietnam, as the "Valley of Death." His mission to deliver the troops was done. But pretty soon he realized the plight of those troops. There were 450 American soldiers hugely outnumbered by 2,000 enemy troops. Major Crandall began flying into that Valley of Death to bring out the wounded and to bring in ammunition. Before that day was over, he had flown for 14 hours straight - 22 flights barraged with enemy fire. It took three different choppers to do it all; two were too damaged to continue. One officer said, "Without Major Crandall, our battalion would almost surely have been overrun." Crandall simply said, "They knew we would come if they needed it no matter what." That's heroism.

Over the years, one of my areas of giftedness has been in the area of sleeping. So, when my children were teenagers and came home at night, they could ring the doorbell, could stomp upstairs or even over our bed, and I would probably barely stir. Oh, but not my wife. I think there's something about the way many mothers are wired. They sleep real light - if at all - until everyone's home safe. It's a mother thing. They just can't rest until all their children are in.