Roger Rose tells this story: When he was a boy more than 60 years ago, his young brother was fatally injured in a tragic accident. A dirt road ran alongside their house, and only on rare occasions would there be a car on it. But one day as his brother was crossing on his bike, a car came roaring over the hill, and he was run over and killed. Mr. Rose said, “Later, when my dad picked up the mangled, twisted bike, I heard him sob out loud for the first time in my life! He carried it to the barn and placed it in a spot we seldom used. Father’s terrible sorrow eased with the passing of time, but for many years whenever he saw that bike, tears began streaming down his face. Since then I have often prayed, ‘Lord, keep the
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