Many people look at our second-born, Lars, and see Nate. Of all our children, Lars most closely resembles him, and interestingly, they’re much alike in personality, skills and temperament, too. All of this pleases me greatly.

Lars is our numbers man. He’s on top of sports stats, check books and my bank records. Since Nate was my original numbers man and I knew I’d flounder badly without him, I was relieved when Lars said “yes” to stepping into his father’s record-keeping shoes for me. His patience with my inept skills is an enormous credit to his character as he’s welcomed my questions and helped me sort through some of the paper trail every widow must face.

Lars astounds me (and everyone else) with his boundless energy and unbridled enthusiasm for life. He’s been high-wired since childhood and has the gusto of four people. Watching a ball game with him is to be entertained as much by his “calling” of the game as by the game itself. When he’s around, the pace quickens; when he’s missing, his absence is palpable.

After his college years in Azusa, California, Lars stayed our west to sell insurance and fell in love with San Diego. But when Nate got sick, he quickly transferred to an office in the Chicago area, making himself available to help and remaining close to his father throughout last year’s ordeal. All of us have been thrilled he’s back in the area after basing so far from the Midwest for 15 years.

One of his perks in returning home was to be close to his favorite sports team, the Cubs. He’s been locked on hope for them since he was old enough to toss a ball, but then Lars has always been a guy who rooted for the underdog. And speaking of dogs, when other kids got puppies and kittens as pets, Lars opted for turtles, snakes, fish and lizards. I remember his awe when he discovered a lizard had the ability to grow a new tail if he lost his original. I also remember the day Lars came running into the kitchen carrying a yard-long snake shouting, “Mom! Can I keep him? Here… pet him! He’s so smooth!”

But the day his favorite pet died (a ten-inch long, red-ear slider turtle), I thought the world would come to an end. Ten year old Lars wept as he knelt and buried his pet in my flower garden. He and I talked recently about digging it up, since by now it would be just a beautiful shell, a reminder of his valued companion.

Lars’ middle name, spelled in the Swedish way, is Kristian. On the day he was born, his grandpa, my father, penned a note which I’ve kept in Lars’ baby book these 36 years. Part of it reads: “May Lars Krisitan grow up to be an influence for good in a troubled world and be worthy of his name.” At the tender age of four, Lars invited Jesus into his life and today still stands by that experience as genuine. He is well-named, and we know beyond doubt that God was good to us on October 25, 1974.

“From the fullness of his grace we have all received one blessing after another.” (John 1:16)