Another Fun-lovin’ Dale

The story of the men’s retreat that my boys and I attended last weekend needs to start prior to the time that we arrived at Covenant Pines Bible Camp. I received a call about noon last Friday from a friend (the original F’in’ Dale) telling me how communication broke down and they were already on the road to camp without this guy who was supposed to ride with them. Could I help?


Well I explained how busy I was at work, running late as always. I told him to have this other Dale give me a call. Nobody could find a way to reach him, and I sure didn’t have time to search for him. Long story short, only dead-ends for most of the afternoon. I awaited a call from Dale T., but none came. As I worked on the last job of the day I began to think: this Dale guy is rooming with a 70-something gentleman from church named Carl. Carl and I like to talk after church and almost a month ago we exchanged phone numbers in hopes that we would be able to have lunch together some time. I wonder if I have that phone number in my wallet and I wonder if I could reach Dale there. Sure enough, I found the number, made the call and Dale answered.

“Need a ride,” I asked. “Boy do I ever. I was just beginning to think that maybe God did not want me to go on the retreat this weekend.”

We made quick arrangements. I was working only a mile from their apartment. I swung by in my work van, he was waiting in the front yard--sleeping bag, leather jacket, and guitar in hand. Then it was off to my house where the Warden had a freshly baked apple pie in the oven. Was I at the right house? Apparently I was, for Mark was packed and ready to go. The pie was delicious by the way.

In due course the four of us headed north in my Tundra: Dale riding shotgun, the boys in the back seat and myself navigating. We didn’t need the radio on the way up. Dale could give Christina a run for her money. He’s quite the talker and very interesting. His life story is quite opposite of mine, yet as he spoke we realized that our paths have crossed numerous times throughout the years even though we didn’t recognize each other.

Dale’s highs and lows have been much more extreme than mine and I tend to be skeptical of those with stories such as his, but as he spoke I was able to verify so much of what he had to say because I knew the characters and the places. He appears to be a truthful straight-shooter. We graduated the same year from high school and even attended the same schools, although he jumped back and forth between many schools whereas I stayed put in each school for the allotted number of years. And we had friends in common during those school years.

But then more amazing, even as he graduated and moved to the opposite end of the Metro, we found out that we spent the next decade or so working on the same building projects, he as a carpenter, me slinging mud. But then a back injury forced him out of that line of work into driving truck and managing delivery services. Things went well for many years until his son ended up in the hospital, which started a snowball effect of tragedy upon tragedy, leaving him divorced, addicted to crack and living on the streets for most of 2004. A couple from church found him about seven weeks ago at a shelter and arranged for Carl to give him shelter until he could get back on his feet.

I could go into much greater detail, but I better let this summary suffice lest I never get to writing about the actual retreat. And even that will have to wait for another day. But let it be known that our ride to camp was accomplished with no radio and no Christina, and the boys did not even wear headphones hooked into their MP3 or CD players. God had brought Dale out of a dizzying experience and it was good for us to hear about it.