Everyone is held captive by the presentation of Abba Father's creative signature.

Forty only comes along once in a lifetime; I don't care if it is the "new twenty." My lovely wife wanted to celebrate her birthday away from it all, so we stopped the treadmill and walked off to rest a spell. 

Residents of Northern California have many options for recreation. The snow of Tahoe, some wine in Napa, or the enticing draw of the "big city" of San Francisco. But we decided we had been there, done that; how about a weekend stay along the coast? So, it was off to a beautiful bed and breakfast in Point Arena.

We drove to the coast, arriving at Bodega Bay near noon to join the most historic and beautiful shoreline commute in the world, "Highway 1." It was a brilliantly sunny, 75-degree day, and being a Friday people were ready to start the weekend early. Cars were pulled over at every turn with the passengers standing and "just looking" at the beauty called the Pacific North Coast.

Resting along the highway's turnout was a 20-something male leaning against his Jeep staring off into the sea mist distance. He's the poster male for the post-modern, post-Christian emerging generation. Shirt off, tattoos tanning in the sunlight, refreshing himself with a cold beer. He's just staring as his eyes grasp the ocean's waves slamming against the rocks. He's in the hold of contentment, a calm and peaceful trance that starts at the eye and ends in the heart. What is it that keeps an emerging young man's attention?  

As we journeyed further, turning around another bend we found another male. A mid-forties weekend warrior resting on a blanket beside his fully "bling-ed" bicycle. He's attempting to read a book in the midst of the sound of the sea and the mist of the tide, but each time his eyes start to fall, something - someone - reaches out to lift his chin to witness a current story of creativity unfolding in front of him. What captivates a weekend warrior's thriller heart?

The twisting and turning trek continues. My beautiful bride decides a break from the vertigo voyage is deserved, so we pull off at a local watering hole for a drink. In the bar walks an older Iranian man. He's loud, obnoxious and very well received by the room's community. He orders a beer, strikes up a voluble conversation that entertains the entire patronage. He's recovering from the damage caused by a divorce and losing his job over the grief. A drink near noon with a few good friends will help pass the pain for now. What informs an elderly Iranian man that the pain he's feeling is not natural?

My wife and I take our last swig and I decide to pay for the tab near the bar - right beside "The Loud Iranian." I make a point to greet him; he returns the salutation by sticking out his hand to shake and pull me into his circle of friends. I started with, "Sure does seem like a tough time, considering all that you're going through." He says, "Hey, I'm called 'the neighborhood terrorist,' it's par for the course for me... I have to hold it together, this life is all I get - I love you man."  He kept saying that..."I love you man," as if he was trying to convince himself that this is the best that love has to offer.