Like HD Thoreau, Bill Weale had faith in a seed. As a preacher, faith was kind of Grandpa’s thing. He also believed in being open to messages and signs. So it was strangely comforting yesterday, 15 years after his death, to be able to hear his 
voice again — singing, “In the Garden,” the same day I gave up on my pumpkin seeds. Suzy and the kids gave me a Crosley turntable for my birthday, so I was able to dig Grandpa’s 45rpm record out of my sock drawer and release his Welsh coal-miner voice from the crackly vinyl grooves.
I often invoke Grandpa’s memory as I travel and speak about One Change. It’s no secret that he was hoping I would follow in his footsteps in the church. Times change, but I’m proud to be a fellow evangelist of sorts for hope and light … even if my trajectory has been more about light bulbs.
