“Is there any sense in this chaos?”

            “How do I become a father to my dad?”

            “My parents hate me because of these changes. How can I please them?”

            “I’ve given up my hobbies. My friends. My life.  Maybe I’m the one dying.”

            “Does God care?”

Cec believes that only when we realize we aren’t sufficient and need help can we begin to grasp God’s strength.

With down-to-earth transparency Cec leads mentoring writing clinics. He nurtures writers as he tends to his yard — the old fashioned way. He creates beauty through hard work. Cec grows no grass, only flowers. He’s earned double masters in theology and education, and jerks out dangling participles and misplaced modifiers like weeds. He edits writing with the same vengeance he uses for pruning azaleas but never forgets to add the fertilizer of encouragement. Excellence is his trademark.

Whether speaking, teaching, or ordering vegetarian food and black coffee, Cec appears incredibly self-assured, but those who know him best sense a trace of unresolved ache. A lingering tender spot in his heart — the spot from where he writes.

Cec flew a thousand miles to be with his father before he died. This is their final conversation taken from My Parents—My Children (pg201):

“I’ve only wanted one thing from you. I wanted your love. I’ve never felt I had it.”