ince mine was taken tragically in a plane crash when I was thirteen years old. Boldness ignited.

Katie has likewise crept into my heart. A mere nineteen months old, I knew I’d love this child the minute I laid eyes on her. Diagnosed with the same type of leukemia as Nick, this spunky toddler took one look at me and I haven’t been the same since. While I can’t claim looking forward to going to the chemo clinic with Nick, I do recognize its inevitability; as such, on any given day that we’re required to be there, I always look forward to the possibility that Katie might be there, too. One day, just before Christmas, with Katie’s mom home with a stomach bug, and Nick, Katie, her dad and I trapped inside the chemo clinic for the day, I was able to ignite boldness. Flying solo with hours of chasing her, calming her, feeding her, and changing her,

It never fails. I cannot seem to attend a meeting, visit the chemo clinic, or make a quick trip without collecting a person—or two—along the way. As if by magnetic force, someone will look at me a certain way, say one word with special force, or laugh infectiously, and I know that fate has been sealed: he or she will become my new friend.

I noticed this tendency of mine as a young child. But over the last decade or so, this pattern has intensified. Moving across the country three times in four years, eventually settling into what is now our eighth house, I’ve been forced out of my comfort zone on more occasions than I can count. Fresh situations, fresh groups of strangers, fresh experiences, and even fresh shopping have all had their collective influence on the necessity of forming new friendships. New babies? Rounded toddlers? The quintessential heart-sealers. Jake and Rachel, the brand new baby and older-brother-toddler-duo of new friend Heather, entered my life after a relocation; years later, they’re still an integral part of my “collection.”

Boldness must be one of the most liberating delights of being fortysomething. For even though I have always been magnetized towards new faces and new friends, it wasn’t until several years ago that I officially allowed boldness to enter the mix. And it’s not like I woke up on my fortieth birthday and proclaimed: “I think I’ll be bold now. I’ve earned it.” No. Something happened between childhood and adulthood which allowed me to claim the freedom to recognize that when good chemistry already existed, I could be bold about the ignition. Somewhere along the way I crept out of myself and started walking into other people’s lives without fear of rejection.

Alyse wears eyeglasses that cover most of her perpetually sun-tanned face. Now eighty years old, she was in her early seventies when I first saw her. Across a crowded convention floor, packed with several hundred fellow attendees, I couldn’t help but notice the smartly-dressed, petite woman with pure white hair, cut in an adorable bob with bangs, highlighted by oversized Carol Channing-esque black eyeglasses. During a coffee break on the last full day of the conference, I walked up to this complete and utter stranger and said: “I have got to know you.” Pretty bold going there. After talking just a few minutes, I knew we were destined to be more than friends. We were destined to be like family. We “adopted” each other. I call her “mom #2” and she calls me “daughter #3.” Good chemistry drew me to her, but boldness propelled me. It ignited an already brewing alchemy of admiration and respect.

Don presented a talk about his trips to North Korea at a conference Ernie and I attended in Marco Island a few years ago. Tears flooded my face as we all listened-—spellbound-—to stories of his incredible journey in ministry. When we were invited to attend a smaller discussion group over lunch, we felt compelled to go. More talk on North Korea. More tears. When the conference ended the next day, Don came over to where Ernie and I were seated as we were packing up our things before heading home to Miami. Boldly, yet tenderly, he said that he couldn’t help notice how moved we had become by his talks. More tears. Don’s words had pierced us, and he recognized that he and his wife needed to know Ernie and me. He and Molly eventually “adopted” me, too; I hadn’t had an earthly father since mine was taken tragically in a plane crash when I was thirteen years old. Boldness ignited.

Katie has likewise crept into my heart. A mere nineteen months old, I knew I’d love this child the minute I laid eyes on her. Diagnosed with the same type of leukemia as Nick, this spunky toddler took one look at me and I haven’t been the same since. While I can’t claim looking forward to going to the chemo clinic with Nick, I do recognize its inevitability; as such, on any given day that we’re required to be there, I always look forward to the possibility that Katie might be there, too. One day, just before Christmas, with Katie’s mom home with a stomach bug, and Nick, Katie, her dad and I trapped inside the chemo clinic for the day, I was able to ignite boldness. Flying solo with hours of chasing her, calming her, feeding her, and changing her, i

ial heart-sealers. Jake and Rachel, the brand new baby and older-brother-toddler-duo of new friend Heather, entered my life after a relocation; years later, they’re still an integral part of my “collection.”

Boldness must be one of the most liberating delights of being fortysomething. For even though I have always been magnetized towards new faces and new friends, it wasn’t until several years ago that I officially allowed boldness to enter the mix. And it’s not like I woke up on my fortieth birthday and proclaimed: “I think I’ll be bold now. I’ve earned it.” No. Something happened between childhood and adulthood which allowed me to claim the freedom to recognize that when good chemistry already existed, I could be bold about the ignition. Somewhere along the way I crept out of myself and started walking into other people’s lives without fear of rejection.

Alyse wears eyeglasses that cover most of her perpetually sun-tanned face. Now eighty years old, she was in her early seventies when I first saw her. Across a crowded convention floor, packed with several hundred fellow attendees, I couldn’t help but notice the smartly-dressed, petite woman with pure white hair, cut in an adorable bob with bangs, highlighted by oversized Carol Channing-esque black eyeglasses. During a coffee break on the last full day of the conference, I walked up to this complete and utter stranger and said: “I have got to know you.” Pretty bold going there. After talking just a few minutes, I knew we were destined to be more than friends. We were destined to be like family. We “adopted” each other. I call her “mom #2” and she calls me “daughter #3.” Good chemistry drew me to her, but boldness propelled me. It ignited an already brewing alchemy of admiration and respect.

Don presented a talk about his trips to North Korea at a conference Ernie and I attended in Marco Island a few years ago. Tears flooded my face as we all listened-—spellbound-—to stories of his incredible journey in ministry. When we were invited to attend a smaller discussion group over lunch, we felt compelled to go. More talk on North Korea. More tears. When the conference ended the next day, Don came over to where Ernie and I were seated as we were packing up our things before heading home to Miami. Boldly, yet tenderly, he said that he couldn’t help notice how moved we had become by his talks. More tears. Don’s words had pierced us, and he recognized that he and his wife needed to know Ernie and me. He and Molly eventually “adopted” me, too; I hadn’t had an earthly father since mine was taken tragically in a plane crash when I was thirteen years old. Boldness ignited.

Katie has likewise crept into my heart. A mere nineteen months old, I knew I’d love this child the minute I laid eyes on her. Diagnosed with the same type of leukemia as Nick, this spunky toddler took one look at me and I haven’t been the same since. While I can’t claim looking forward to going to the chemo clinic with Nick, I do recognize its inevitability; as such, on any given day that we’re required to be there, I always look forward to the possibility that Katie might be there, too. One day, just before Christmas, with Katie’s mom home with a stomach bug, and Nick, Katie, her dad and I trapped inside the chemo clinic for the day, I was able to ignite boldness. Flying solo with hours of chasing her, calming her, feeding her, and changing her,

r of rejection.

Alyse wears eyeglasses that cover most of her perpetually sun-tanned face. Now eighty years old, she was in her early seventies when I first saw her. Across a crowded convention floor, packed with several hundred fellow attendees, I couldn’t help but notice the smartly-dressed, petite woman with pure white hair, cut in an adorable bob with bangs, highlighted by oversized Carol Channing-esque black eyeglasses. During a coffee break on the last full day of the conference, I walked up to this complete and utter stranger and said: “I have got to know you.” Pretty bold going there. After talking just a few minutes, I knew we were destined to be more than friends. We were destined to be like family. We “adopted” each other. I call her “mom #2” and she calls me “daughter #3.” Good chemistry drew me to her, but boldness propelled me. It ignited an already brewing alchemy of admiration and respect.

Don presented a talk about his trips to North Korea at a conference Ernie and I attended in Marco Island a few years ago. Tears flooded my face as we all listened-—spellbound-—to stories of his incredible journey in ministry. When we were invited to attend a smaller discussion group over lunch, we felt compelled to go. More talk on North Korea. More tears. When the conference ended the next day, Don came over to where Ernie and I were seated as we were packing up our things before heading home to Miami. Boldly, yet tenderly, he said that he couldn’t help notice how moved we had become by his talks. More tears. Don’s words had pierced us, and he recognized that he and his wife needed to know Ernie and me. He and Molly eventually “adopted” me, too; I hadn’t had an earthly father since mine was taken tragically in a plane crash when I was thirteen years old. Boldness ignited.

Katie has likewise crept into my heart. A mere nineteen months old, I knew I’d love this child the minute I laid eyes on her. Diagnosed with the same type of leukemia as Nick, this spunky toddler took one look at me and I haven’t been the same since. While I can’t claim looking forward to going to the chemo clinic with Nick, I do recognize its inevitability; as such, on any given day that we’re required to be there, I always look forward to the possibility that Katie might be there, too. One day, just before Christmas, with Katie’s mom home with a stomach bug, and Nick, Katie, her dad and I trapped inside the chemo clinic for the day, I was able to ignite boldness. Flying solo with hours of chasing her, calming her, feeding her, and changing her,

t ignited an already brewing alchemy of admiration and respect.

Don presented a talk about his trips to North Korea at a conference Ernie and I attended in Marco Island a few years ago. Tears flooded my face as we all listened-—spellbound-—to stories of his incredible journey in ministry. When we were invited to attend a smaller discussion group over lunch, we felt compelled to go. More talk on North Korea. More tears. When the conference ended the next day, Don came over to where Ernie and I were seated as we were packing up our things before heading home to Miami. Boldly, yet tenderly, he said that he couldn’t help notice how moved we had become by his talks. More tears. Don’s words had pierced us, and he recognized that he and his wife needed to know Ernie and me. He and Molly eventually “adopted” me, too; I hadn’t had an earthly father since mine was taken tragically in a plane crash when I was thirteen years old. Boldness ignited.

Katie has likewise crept into my heart. A mere nineteen months old, I knew I’d love this child the minute I laid eyes on her. Diagnosed with the same type of leukemia as Nick, this spunky toddler took one look at me and I haven’t been the same since. While I can’t claim looking forward to going to the chemo clinic with Nick, I do recognize its inevitability; as such, on any given day that we’re required to be there, I always look forward to the possibility that Katie might be there, too. One day, just before Christmas, with Katie’s mom home with a stomach bug, and Nick, Katie, her dad and I trapped inside the chemo clinic for the day, I was able to ignite boldness. Flying solo with hours of chasing her, calming her, feeding her, and changing her,

ince mine was taken tragically in a plane crash when I was thirteen years old. Boldness ignited.

Katie has likewise crept into my heart. A mere nineteen months old, I knew I’d love this child the minute I laid eyes on her. Diagnosed with the same type of leukemia as Nick, this spunky toddler took one look at me and I haven’t been the same since. While I can’t claim looking forward to going to the chemo clinic with Nick, I do recognize its inevitability; as such, on any given day that we’re required to be there, I always look forward to the possibility that Katie might be there, too. One day, just before Christmas, with Katie’s mom home with a stomach bug, and Nick, Katie, her dad and I trapped inside the chemo clinic for the day, I was able to ignite boldness. Flying solo with hours of chasing her, calming her, feeding her, and changing her, it was obvious that her dad needed a break. So Katie and I played “dollhouse” for an hour or so. Boldness was ignited and I was able to snatch this babe up in my arms and just love on her that afternoon.

Some people collect things. I collect people. Oh sure: I have a small collection of Staffordshire figurines. Majolica, blue-and-white china, and pewter, too. (Oh yeah...I can’t forget my roosters.) But I could add a rooster to my collection every year of my life and it would never matter for eternity. It would never make a real difference in my life or in the life of another human being. But recognizing that chemistry draws you to certain people—-and not to others-—is one of those mysteries of life. Certain faces, looks, stares, laughs, movements...they all come into play in this woven fabric of our lives. I cannot explain why we are drawn to one person and not another. Chemistry? God’s plan for our lives?

Of course, we need to be careful with chemistry. It goes without saying that certain people are “off limits.” Married men, no matter how great the chemistry, are off limits to other women. Be extremely careful in igniting boldness for any reason there; this is a highly flammable situation. And it goes almost without saying that we need to make sure that our antennae are pointed skyward before igniting boldness with anyone. But if the little red flag-—generally flying high during times of impending danger or contemplated sin-—fails to rear its windy head when someone “has you on hello”: ignite boldness. Hug the white-haired saint, weep with the broken-hearted, and sweep up the sick babe into your warm, strong arms.

Start collecting people. Not as objects to be used. Not as tokens of achievement or as status symbols of success. But as thinking, feeling, hurting, loving children of God. Each and every one of them. Chances are: they were brought into your life for a reason.