Just ahead I spotted a dock with hoisted boat I had arbitrarily chosen as the southern turning point of my daily run. I wasn’t wearing my wrist watch so I couldn’t check my pace, but my heaving chest told me I’d made good time -- perhaps a personal best.

It could have been the tranquil river or maybe I’d finally sweated out the venom, but I decided to slow my pace on the homeward leg and enjoy the morning. “Enjoy the morning,” I repeated to myself, “enjoy the day.” Carpe diem. Seize the day. Had I been doing too much seizing and not enough enjoying? Hey, that could be a sermon! I needed something for Sunday. I pictured myself in that boat with the old couple, laughing and freelining shrimp. It would be nice. But before I could convince myself it was real, Robert Frost’s line popped into my head: “And miles to go before I sleep.” I made myself a promise to enjoy some day, but now was a time for seizing. I picked up the pace again, pushing myself beyond my comfort zone. By the time I reached the house I was on the verge of vomiting.

I stood for several minutes on the front lawn, bent over, hands on my knees, sucking air. My breathing slowed toward normal and the need to vomit disappeared. I stood, drew a deep cleansing breath and retrieved my tee and Sagan’s note from the car. Realistically right now, there was no way I could preach on how enjoying the day trumped seizing the day. I wanted to believe it, but too much and too many were drifting with the currents, not knowing where the water might take them. I would do everything possible to save them all from being washed out to sea.

The front door was locked so I looped around back and entered through the screen door. I had Becky’s number somewhere. I finally found it in my Sagan file. Her phone rang five times and went to voice mail. As I listened to her message I was thinking I’ll wait a few hours and go down to the bar to see her there. I left a quick message and no sooner hung up my phone when it rang. It was Sagan.

He was using that whipped puppy voice I hated. “Hi Pastor Dietrich. Mom has caller I.D. and I saw it was you.”

“You O.K. buddy?”

“Yea, sure,” he said, trying a more confident tone. But he slipped back. “Did you see my note?”

“I saw it,” I said. “I thought it was nonsense, but I saw it.”

“I have this feeling I really screwed things up for you.”

“Nonsense.”

“Pastor Dietrich,” he said.

I thought he was going to continue but when he didn’t, I said, “yes Sagan?”

“You always told me I could tell you the truth about anything and good or bad we’d work it out. Right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Does that only go for me or does that go for you too?”

Uh, oh, I thought. “For me too.”

“Well then I gotta ask you. Were you lying when you said Carolyn, Mrs. Waymire I mean, and the kids went over to grandma’s house just to spend a few days and do some summer stuff and, you know, like you said?”

“Well … I mean … maybe a little.”

“So my note wasn’t nonsense after all. I did screw things up for you.”

“No, still nonsense. Things may be a little screwed up, but believe me, it’s not your doing.”

“I think I helped and alls I know is I gotta try an’ fix it.”

“Sagan,” I said. “Let me tell you what I think. I think if you were standing here right now I’d put my arms around you and give you a big hug.”

He said nothing and I thought I heard a small sob.

“Sagan?”

“Yes, Pastor Dietrich?”

“I love you Sagan.”