Here's One for the Record Books!

One more baseball story, if you please. It’s the last one…I promise…at least for a while.

Sandy and I just got back in town, our recent vacation jaunt having taken us through Virginia, the District of Columbia, Maryland and Pennsylvania. Along the way, we took in three major league baseball games. We saw the Washington Nationals play one of their last games at old RFK Stadium. (Next year the Nats will be playing at an all new ballpark, presently under construction.) We also saw the Baltimore Orioles at Oriole Park at Camden Yards, the first of the now-popular, old-style “retro” parks built in the early 1990s. (Sandy and I had been to a game there before, about 10 years ago. We really love that ballpark’s authentic old-time atmosphere.) Another stop on our sports journey was Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia. Built in 2004, the Phillies’ new home has taken the oft-imitated Camden Yard formula to a whole new level. It’s quite a showplace. Sandy and I thoroughly enjoyed Citizens Bank Park but, honestly, we weren't too impressed with the city itself. We'll take D.C and Baltimore over Philly any day.

During our visits, we saw some exciting games. Everywhere we went, we rooted for the hometown team. Unfortunately, in each instance, the home team lost. But the most exciting baseball action we saw during our vacation wasn’t at any of the major league games we attended. It was on television last Sunday afternoon: The finals of the Little League World Series from Williamsport, Pennsylvania. A team from Warner-Robins, Georgia was taking on a team from Tokyo, Japan for the world title. The championship game was a real nail-bitter. It went into extra innings, the score knotted at 2-2. Then, in the bottom of the 8th—(they only play 6 innings in a regulation Little League game)—a player for the Georgia team led off the inning with a homerun over the right field fence to win the game. Jubilation set forth. The crowd roared its approval as the young hero circled the bases with his arms aloft. His teammates gleefully mobbed him as he crossed home plate with the winning run. Then, amidst the pandemonium, the television camera slowly panned back across the field. There were the dejected Japanese players—heads in hands, bent over or kneeling, tears streaming down their faces—visibly decimated by what had just happened.

In the popular 1992 film “A League of Their Own”, Tom Hanks’ character Jimmy Dugan uttered to one of his boo-hooing female players that unforgettable line, “There’s no crying in baseball!” But fictional Jimmy Dugan never had the weight of a world championship loss come crashing down on his young 11-year-old shoulders.

The Japanese team was emotionally crushed. But all of a sudden…amidst all the cheers and tears…a most remarkable thing happened. It was even more surprising than the home run blast that had occurred just minutes earlier. The Georgia coach and his players suddenly stopped celebrating and started making their way back out on the field to embrace their vanquished foes. The Georgians all began to hug and offer words of encouragement and consolation to the defeated Japanese team. This went on for what seemed like several minutes. It was one of the most moving displays I have ever seen on an athletic field. Such grace and dignity! To me, this was where the real victory was won. Not by the final score on the scoreboard, but through the exceptional sportsmanship, character and maturity shown by those fine young men from Georgia. Truly, they’re a class act deserving of the title “champions”.

Clearly, there are some things in life bigger than baseball. The coach of the Georgia team knew that. And he helped instill that in his players. (I'd really like to meet that guy and shake his hand.)

Likewise, there are some things in life bigger than careers and mortgages and bank accounts and dozens of other things that so often seem to consume us day after day.

Jesus said we should love one another. He said the most important thing of all in life is to love God with every fiber of our being. Then, coupled with that, we're to love our neighbor as we would love ourselves. And just who is our neighbor? Anybody and everybody. Whoever is standing in front of you at any given moment. That's your neighbor.

The Bible goes on to tell us that God is “the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” (2 Corinthians1:3-4) Our mission in life is to live out the love of Christ and actively demonstrate it to others, reaching out to them in Christlike compassion, just as Christ Himself reached out to us.

I have no way of knowing, but I suspect that the Georgia coach and many of his players are Christians. They certainly responded to the situation at hand in a Christlike, God-honoring manner. I can just imagine Jesus out on that field hugging all those kids in the very same way.

As you go about your life today, take a look around. Who around you is hurting, lonely, in need of encouragement? God has put you in proximity to them for a reason. Step out and take the initiative to show them the love and compassion of Christ. In so doing, you'll be a real champion.

Pastor Danny

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

Danville is a baseball town. It always has been.

Mount Hermon, interestingly, is a baseball church. Without question, there are more baseball fans per capita in Mount Hermon Baptist Church than in any other church I’ve ever been associated with…which is kind of nice, since I’m a big baseball fan myself.

Why do I like baseball? Baseball is a metaphor for life. You win some, you lose some. You have ups and downs. You go through hot streaks and slumps. But the season is long, and there's always the hope for redemption. So, through it all, you hang in there and keep swinging for the fences because—as that great prophet Yogi Berra once said—“it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.” And every spring, when a new season begins (around Easter time, interestingly), hope springs eternal, regardless of the failures of the past.

Baseball is poetry in motion. It’s a beautiful ballet sequence choreographed across a diamond-shaped stage. It’s a picturesque, pastoral game played in a park on fields of green under skies of blue. It’s an intense chess game involving intricate moves and counter moves. Baseball combines elements of drama and artistry, suspense and strategy, comedy and tragedy. It’s storytelling at its best, the human drama portrayed in its most picturesque form.

OK, enough flowery platitudes. Baseball is simply fun. It’s fun to play, even more fun to watch, and mostly fun to discuss.

Sandy and I had not been to a baseball game all year, until this past week. But, suddenly, in a five-day span, we attended 3 minor league baseball games—two in Danville and one in Greensboro. Then, in the coming days—while we’re away on vacation—we’ll be taking in 3 major league games in an 8-day span…in 3 different cities—Washington, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. So, we’re really getting caught up on our baseball.

Last Tuesday night we were out at Dan Daniel Park to watch the hometown Braves play. We’d been hoping to see the Atlanta rookie league affiliate all season. What motivated us to finally get to the park to see the D-Braves was the fact that Mount Hermon’s own Gentle Spirit was singing the National Anthem that night. Their harmonies were great, but the Braves’ sound system sure could use some help. The other motivation for attending the game was free tickets courtesy of Mount Hermon member & State Farm Insurance agent David Satterfield.

It was State Farm Insurance Night. My son—formerly a State Farm employee in Florida—would have loved it. Entertaining the crowd—in addition to the D-Braves regular mascot, Blooper—was the State Farm Good Neigh Bear. The fuzzy fellow gave out State Farm T-shirts and water bottles as a promo.

Before the game began, I told Gentle Spirit that I really only came to hear them sing. In fact, I threatened to leave right after The Star-Spangled Banner…even before the game’s first pitch. But E. B. Cassada warned me that if I dared walk out of that 7:00 PM game at 7:05 PM then he most certainly would walk out of our 8:30 AM service the following Sunday at 8:35 AM. Not wanted to test him on this, I decided to stay put and watch the whole game until the last out of the 9th inning. The D-Braves won 4-3 over the Princeton Devil Rays.

On Friday night, Steve and Ann Cassada took us down to Greensboro to see the Class-A Grasshoppers play against the Columbus Catfish. What a game! The final score was 15-9. Greensboro lost. There were 6 home-runs—3 by each team! There also were 6 errors by the Grasshoppers (ouch!) Not to mention several exciting plays. On top of everything else, there was an inside-the-park homer by the first Grasshoppers hitter to come up to bat that night. It was a wild, wild game from start to finish.

Then, back in Danville on Saturday night, the Braves hosted “Faith Night.” Bobby Jones, our new church Brotherhood Director, had the idea for a churchwide outing to the ballgame. Nearly 90 Mount Hermon members wound up buying tickets! What great fun and fellowship we enjoyed. It was a wonderful time for Mount Hermonites of all ages. The Braves even marked off a special section just for us. We definitely made our presence known. (Especially when my wife Sandy led us in the "Charge" cheer.) The Braves also graciously let one of our Mount Hermon members throw out the ceremonial first pitch. Little Eli Ashworth was chosen for the important task. At first, he was a little unsure of whether to throw a fastball or a slider. I think he opted for a change-up, however, so he wouldn’t run the risk of burning a hole in the catcher’s glove and injuring his hand.

Prior to the game, Bobby Jones also reserved a picnic shelter adjacent to the ballpark for a pre-game cookout. It was great. We had hotdogs galore! Mmm. Mmm. There’s nothing better than a good ol’ Mount Hermon hotdog! And the combination of hotdogs and baseball—you just can’t get much more American than that. (Bobby would have provided fresh-baked apple pie, too, but the weather was just too hot and humid.)

While we’re on the subject, I have to confess that I wound up having 7 hotdogs in one week. (Shhhhh! Please don’t tell Sandy!) I had 3 dogs on Sunday night at the church reception following the youth Greece report; another one on Tuesday night at the D-Braves game; one more on Friday night at the Grasshoppers game; and two more just before Saturday night’s game! That’s 7 in 7 days! (Not to mention the big bratwurst that J. Landrum and I had in the Munich airport the week prior to that.) That’s a bunch of dogs! I think I’m going to turn into one. OK, go ahead. You can call me “Frank” for short.

7 dogs in 7 days—that’s an average of one per day! I’m so glad I wasn’t having a cholesterol test that week. Anyway, at Saturday night's pregame picnic, I told funeral director Mack Stewart that there’s an old saying that “a hot dog a day keeps the undertaker away.” He just smiled as he gave me that sly look like he was sizing me up for a coffin.

Now, in addition to the game itself—which was a 9-2 Braves romp over the Burlington Royals—the ballpark offered the traditional “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the 7th inning stretch, as well as a couple of popular and physically-engaging musical numbers—the polka-like “Chicken Dance” and The Village People’s irrepressible and seemingly inescapable “YMCA”.

But the D-Braves have another musical tradition I’d never heard of before. During the 6th inning—on both Tuesday & Saturday nights—they played Neil Diamond’s old 1960s pop hit “Sweet Caroline”. It was quite obvious that this was a regular nightly occurrence at the park. In fact, during the song, a bunch of guys that can’t sing all stood up, raised their arms and—acting as if spent a lot of time around Karaoke clubs—they chanted or shouted all the words to the tune, adding unique vocalizations that were certainly not part of the original recording. The crowd really got into it. I was curious as to how this unusual D-Braves tradition began, but nobody could really tell me.

Ironically, Neil Diamond has to be absolutely my wife’s all-time least favorite singer in the whole history of the human race. So, I’m sure she was really enjoying herself. Truth be known, if she had to choose between a root canal and listening to Neil Diamond, it would be root canal hands down!

Well, enough of that for now. It’s time for me to take a hiatus from blogging for a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I think I’ll take in a few ballgames, enjoy a few more hotdogs, and see if I can find Neil Diamond on the radio somewhere. See you soon!

Pastor Danny

Trouble in Tanzania: 20 Years Later

I opened the old file folder and out fell the yellowed newspaper clippings from either The Danville Register or The Bee (It was back before the two papers merged.) Staring back at me was this boyish, beardless guy I used to know. (Hmmm. I wonder whatever happened to him?)

Looking again at the intriguing headline, it's hard to believe that it was exactly 20 years ago this month that I was on my very first mission trip...to Africa of all places! I was all of 30 years old, the Pastor of Melville Avenue Baptist Church here in Danville, and I had never been out of the country before. In fact, the biggest adventure I'd ever been on up to that point in my life was a road trip from Kentucky to Texas. Now, here I was on another continent, halfway around the world, thousands of miles from home, being questioned in Swahili by an agitated government official who suspected our mission team of possibly being foreign spies! (Sounds like an Alfred Hitchcock thriller, doesn't it?)

This whole story had its beginnings back in late 1986. Virginia Baptists had just launched into a new mission partnership with Baptists in the East African country of Tanzania. At a meeting of the Pittsylvania Baptist Assocation, I heard a speaker from the Baptist General Association of Virginia sharing about the Tanzania partnership. Going overseas on a mission trip had never really interested me and it certainly was the last thing on my mind. But at that particular associational meeting, I suddenly felt convicted by God to go to Africa. I shared that conviction with my church family. They graciously granted me the time off to go, and I signed up for a 3-week evangelistic preaching mission scheduled for August 1987 in the Kyela District of Tanzania.

Although I strongly felt led of God to pursue this, I honestly didn't have the money to go. The trip cost over $2000...and this was back in 1987! That was a whole lot a lot of money for a poor preacher only a couple of years out of seminary. But I believed that somehow, someway the Lord would provide. When it came time to pay for my trip, however, the money still had not materialized. So I went to Virginia Bank & Trust and talked to loan officer Kenneth Merricks. Ken, a fellow Christian--still at Virginia Bank and Trust, by the way--had taken a special liking to this young pastor from the moment I first came to town. And on that day, he went out on a limb and made me an unsecured loan so I could pay for my trip. I honestly didn't know how I would pay back the loan, but I trusted that God would work everything out in His time. Later on, before my actual departure to Tanzania, my little church rallied together to raise a good portion of the money for me. Then, Alden Hicks, the local Director of Missions at the time, presented me with a generous $1,000 stipend from the Association to assist me financially. So, thanks to God's faithful provision, I was able to pay off my loan before I ever left the country.

My trip to Tanzania turned out to be far different from what I had anticipated. A team of about ten preachers from the United States were supposed to spread out all across the Kyela region (Southeast Tanzania) in various venues, preaching multiple times per day, over a three week period. No sooner had we arrived in Kyela, however, than we were surprised by some newly-mandated government restrictions. All open-air meetings had suddenly been banned. Why? An internationally known German Pentecostal evangelist--yes, you read that right--had been holding large-scale open-air crusades all across Africa. Shortly before our arrival, he had been in Tanzania and said some derogatory things about Islam, angering the country's growing Muslim population, and inciting public protests in the capital city of Dar es Salaam. As a result of the government's reactionary decision, our preaching opportunities would now be severely restricted, limited only to indoor venues, such as church and school buildings.

In addition to this problem, there at the time was also an air of suspicion in Tanzania regarding the country's perceived political enemies. There was quite a bit of paranoia regarding South Africa in particular. Tanzania, it seems, had been quite outspoken against South African apartheid and were fearful that South Africa might attempt to retalitate by attacking them or seeking to overthrow their government.

This was the political climate when we entered the country. When we arrived at the farm in Kyela where our Southern Baptist missionaries lived, we soon were paid a visit by the District Commissioner. He demanded to see our passports, questioned us, and subsequently told us that we had failed to properly report to the district office in Mbeya upon our arrival. He was quite perturbed, and placed us under house arrest, telling us that we could not set foot off the farm where we were staying. Later, we learned that because many of us had new American passports he suspected that we were really South African spies trying to infiltrate the country under false identities! Adding to the air of suspicion, just a couple of weeks before our arrival in Tanzania, some real South African spies had actually been arrested in the region!

The next day was Sunday, the big kickoff of our crusade. Because we were restricted from leaving the farm, we were unable to preach. Thus, those nationals that would have been our interpreters had to press on without us and preach in our place. For the next couple of days, we sat at the farm, praying and hoping for the best, all the while wondering what our fate would be. I have to tell you that there were some tense moments.

Then, all of a sudden, we received a directive from the District Commissioner, ordering us out of the area immediately. We had to abruptly leave and travel two days by land rover, back across the country's rugged terrain--we had flown in by small plane--to Dar es Salaam, our point of entry into Tanzania. All along the way, we got a little nervous whenever we had to pass through military checkpoints with armed guards, but fortunately we did so without incident, ultimately arriving safely in the capital city. For the remainder of our time in Tanzania, we were stuck in Dar, a place where we hadn't planned to be, and where nothing had been prepared for us.

So what happened after we left Kyela? The crusades went on as originally scheduled without the American preachers. The translators preached instead, which was a first. In the previous years of the fertile spiritual harvest in Kyela, the missionaries had always brought in preachers from the USA to draw a crowd. But now, out of necessity, the nationals had to do it themselves, with "only" God's help. As a result, thousands came to Christ! And our Tanzanian friends realized they didn't really need outside help. They could depend on the Lord and He could work through them just as well.

What happened with us in Dar? To bide our time, and to assist the local missionaries, we did all kinds of menial, servant-oriented tasks--anything we could do to be of assistance. For example, I spent days inventorying automotive parts for all the Baptist mission vehicles (even though I don't know a thing about working on cars!)

But, another interesting thing occurred. While were in Dar, we each took turns preaching in daily chapel services at the Baptist Centre, which was along the lines of a high school. During that week, a revival broke out in the chapel services, and by week's end approximately 100 students had accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior--all because we were somewhere that we hadn't planned to be, but were faithful to what God had put before us.

Meanwhile, the news media and wire services back in the States had a field day with the story about our arrest and ouster from Kyela. Stories about us appeared in The Religious Herald, the Baptist Press, and several secular newspapers around the country. The same Danville paper that put my picture on the front page when the story broke, did a subsequent interview with me when I returned home. For about 15 minutes, I was a mini-celebrity of sorts. I spoke at churches throughout the Association--Moffett Memorial, North Main, and many others. (I never made it to Mount Hermon, however.) At Melville Avenue's annual church picnic--which was held within days of my return--I wore a zebra-like, striped prisoner's uniform that Arvis Carswell had lovingly made for me. She compared me to the Apostle Paul, another jailbird preacher.

The truth be known, we were never in any real danger in Tanzania (although admittedly we didn't know that at the time.) The news reports actually made it all sound much worse than it was. (I learned a lot about the news media as a result of that whole episode). Interestingly, when I finally got out of Kyela and called Sandy from Dar, she was convinced that I was being forced to tell her that I was alright and that somebody really had a gun to my head! My dad was already trying to figure out how they were going to get the State Department to help recover my body!!!

All of this was my first up-close-and-personal introduction to international missions. (Can you believe I ever wanted to leave the good old USA after that?) By the way, I didn't want to tell anybody at Mount Hermon about my "overseas criminal record" until after we got our 46 youth & adults back from Greece.

As far as I know, no other teams from the States ever had any problems in Tanzania. The very next year, I surprised a lot of people when I returned to Tanzania, at the invitation of Virginia Baptists. You know the old saying, "You fall off a horse, you immediately get back up on it again." Such was the beginning of a passion that God gave me for world missions, a passion that has continued to grow stronger over these past 20 years.

"Prisoner" Danny

Greece Trip, Part 2

When all the church youth groups arrived in Thessaloniki, one of the first things World Changers did was organize us all into work crews, moving us out of our comfort zones by putting us in crews with people from other churches, rather than just with our familiar church friends.

Surprisingly, I was put in charge of a crew that consisted of all girls! In fact, it was the only all-female crew. (God—or somebody at World Changers—certainly has a sense of humor.) Furthermore, mine was the only crew with just one adult on it—me! So this guy that never had a daughter (or a sister for that matter) suddenly had 9 teenage girls—ages 15 to 19—for which he was singularly responsible for the whole week! The girls and I traveled together, we ate all our meals together (except for breakfast), and we did ministry projects together. Except for the occasional challenge of trying to get everyone to leave at the same time and move in the same direction all at once—which could sometimes be akin to herding a group of cats—the girls were a real joy. We worked well together and we all had a great time getting to know one another. All in all, I felt that I had the best crew of all.

On that first night, when the crews were being organized, each had to decide on a name for itself. For some reason—known only to God—my crew collectively came up with the moniker “Pink Ladies”. At first I thought it was because they all someday aspired to be hospital volunteers in pink smocks. Or that maybe they just liked the color pink. Or perhaps they thought it was more feminine sounding. (Eventually, I realized it was because there was an all-girl gang called the "Pink Ladies" in the 1978 movie musical Grease. Get it...Greece!) Well, the dye had been cast (pun intended) and I had to live with it. As an afterthought, realizing that for obvious reasons I could not be a pink lady, the name was expanded to “Danny and the Pink Ladies." (Interestingly, the lead male character in Grease was named Danny.) But to me our new crew's name sort of conjured up images of some long forgotten 1950s doo-wop group, or a very bad Vegas lounge act. Eventually, one of the girls dubbed me “Pink Daddy” which kind of made me sound like a hip-hop gangsta rapper or worse.

As the week progressed, however, I chose to embrace this pink thing wholeheartedly and have fun with it. (Hey, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.) I decided to surprise the girls by buying them all something pink to wear, to build on our team identity and to have as a keepsake of their trip. One afternoon, when I had a few minutes to spare, I went out in search of some pink article of clothing—a scarf, a ribbon, whatever I could find in multiples of nine. Finally, I discovered a women’s accessories shop near our hotel that had some “DKNY” designer baseball-style caps in pink. Miraculously, they had enough to outfit my whole team. When I bought the caps, I also got myself a pink bandana to wear around my neck. (By the way, this whole pink conversion of mine worried J. Landrum. The night before we boarded our flight home, he told me he would refuse to sit by me on the plane if I continued to wear that bandana once we left Greece. I informed him that real men are secure enough in their manhood to wear pink.)

In the mornings, my crew was involved in the beach cleanup at Pilea, picking up all kinds of disgusting things out in the hot sun with 100-plus degree heat. I had to remind the girls to drink plenty of water and to take periodic breaks in the shade. You know, there’s an old saying that “horses sweat, men perspire, and ladies glisten.” Well, I obviously must be horse, because I was sweating buckets. But I have to say that my nine Pink Ladies were all glistening pretty good.

Every night, as part of a sports outreach effort, my girls went to a city park and played volleyball with different groups of local girls—Greeks, Albanians, Russians, Afghanis. Rumor had it that I was the coach of the team. (Tunstall High School coach Jackie Hardy must be laughing somewhere right now.) Actually, I had no time to coach. I was too busy being the official team photographer, cheerleader and purse carrier! (Hey, what all does Hannah carry in that big bag, anyway?)

From that first night in the park, everything just clicked. There was a great rapport among all the volleyball players. Less competitive than the boys, who were playing soccer nearby, the girls mixed up their teams from the outset. In other words, we never had an all-American team; every team was multinational. And it was a real joy watching girls of different ethnic backgrounds playing together side by side—laughing together, high-fiving one another, celebrating shared victories. It was a great example of how athletics can be an ice-breaker, bridge-builder and unifier.

Following the volleyball games each night, some of our girls gave testimonies. Then they fielded questions from those interested in learning more about a personal relationship with Christ. The final night, we had a tournament with an awards ceremony at the conclusion. Afterward, there were tears and hugs as these newfound friends parted company. The great thing is that Glad Tidings church will now continue to follow up on all the contacts made by our girls.

All week long, I was especially proud of how seriously my girls took the relationship-building aspect of their ministry assignment. Without prompting, they took it to the next level, meeting with a group of Albanian girls for lunch at McDonalds one day, inviting some of their new friends to drop by our hotel for an afternoon visit, and so forth. It was great! I was so impressed with them, as was the local World Changers leadership team.

During the course of the week, the Pink Ladies and I shared a lot of meals together. One eating establishment we visited had a cook that reminded me of the infamous Soup Nazi on the old TV sitcom “Seinfeld”. You know, the angry guy who yelled “No soup for you!” whenever customers failed to follow his instructions.

During our first visit to the Thessaloniki Soup Nazi, one of my girls ordered a gyro with no tomatoes. “No!” he responded curtly, “There are too many people in your group! I cannot make changes for you! You eat it the way I make it! And you like it!” (So much for the customer always being right!)

The next night, at my urging, we went back to see the Soup Nazi again. (Even though the guy was rude, the food was good, quick and cheap.) This time I came in and greeted the old storm trooper as if he were an old friend. “Ahhhh, my friend!,” I shouted as I grabbed him by the hand. “It’s so good to see you again!” His hardness began to melt. Then one of the girls showed him the article about us (regarding our beach cleanup efforts) that had appeared in the morning paper. After he read the story, he became a completely different person, eagerly waiting on us with a smile. He also offered to come to the United States and personally clean our beaches! (Does this guy have any idea how many miles of coastline we have?)

As we were leaving, I asked the ex-Gestapo agent (he's the one in the white shirt) if I could take a photo of him and his co-worker. He beckoned me to join them behind the counter for a photo op. Then, one by one, he and his colleague paused for photos with each of our girls. They even gave away their little orange cook’s hats as souvenirs to a couple of our girls. Everyone was having fun and loving it. Our Soup Nazi had suddenly become a warm and cuddly Soup Angel, kind of like when Dr. Suess’ Grinch grew a heart.

All it all, it was a great week of ministry in Thessaloniki—one that I’ll never forget. The Pink Ladies were an inspiration to everyone. Thanks, Rachel, Laura, Hannah, Whitney, Angela, Jazmine, Rachelle, Brittany, and Tay Gabbi for letting me be just one of the girls! You gals are the greatest! In the years to come, whenever I look back on this trip to Greece, I’ll always think pink.

Pastor “Pink Daddy”