Jack's search for meaning.

My son Jack and his girlfriend Melinda are modern-day hippies. Vagabonds. Living day to day. Trusting in faith and in themselves. Maybe they are the true believers in the spirit of the holy life. They don’t need the usual luxuries. Apparently, they can settle for each other. Some would call ‘em homeless. But Jack begs to differ. For him, home happens to be wherever he’s at. At the moment. Could be in his beat-up car, a street in Olympia in Washington or the yard at his step-father’s domicile. Doesn’t matter. It could be anywhere on god’s green and all-too-often cold and heartless Earth. Jack and Melinda will make do. Adequately. The best they can. Jack and Melinda met a year ago. In the state of Washington. In a campgrounds. They were camping alone. But soon they were camping together. And they’ve stayed together. Jack was born and raised in Minnesota. Melinda, in Kentucky. And some how, their paths crossed. They probably think it was fate. They have some things in common. For instance, they’re both alcoholics. Recovering alcoholics. Melinda more so than Jack. In that she’s more dedicated to the recovering option than Jack. Though Jack is, too. But together, they help each other. Genuinely help. That makes a difference. Many couples don’t help each other. Instead, they inflict harm. But not in this case. I’ve spent much of life not fully understanding Jack. And maybe I still don’t. But I think I’m coming closer to grasping the concept of what Jack is all about. He’s been searching for meaning. And that ain’t such a bad pursuit. –Jim Broede