I was the youngest of five children with two parents who walked with the Lord in very different ways. My mother was a deep thinker, an avid studier, and one who would scuba dive into the Scriptures and get lost in their unending depth. My father was a happy-go-lucky, life-of-the-party, lover of God, who embraced the simplicity and clarity of the Bible, and skipped on his tiptoes in delight around the shallow shores of its banks. We did not have family worship often, but they really tried. If I wanted, I could write some great comedy sketches of what took place when these two tried to impress spiritual truth together to us kids. Daddy would attempt to keep it simple and short, but invariably, mother would begin to wax on in the depths. I can even remember my father trying to stay awake—his eyes drifting in sleepiness, his jumping back…