There was another success in the effort to reconnect as I found old neighbors, the Larsons. The shock on finding old neighbors is that the image you have of them in your head doesn't match the reality of the years. That may not be true of me, I still live in the same house I've owned for 17 years, and only recently I've begun to move away from the field that I worked in for these two decades.

The children of the Larsons are in and out of college and in once case, have married. These are the same children who created a special hole in the fence in my backyard so that they and my daughter could more easily move from yard to yard. It is an Oh! My! God! Moment. It is at least comparable to the moment at Great America when you round the short bend and see the masses of people who are in line for the 50 second roller coaster ride you've been waiting for.

But this is life and it demonstrates with great power that I'm older, that the world too is older, even if it is imperceptibly changing to me. The growing up with the Larsons story most people will know from me is that annual urban tale of taking Luke and Anna to the South Side Chicago St. Patrick's Day Parade.

I don't want to go through the entire story now. Frankly the story has been told too many times. But in essence, I was the only adult and each of the children, starting with Luke, then Ceili and finally Anna, became separated from me. When I finally found them they were about ten feet from me, but in that crowd I couldn't see that far.

It is a great urban story: fathers aren't as careful as mothers, don't let your children go, etc. And, it is all true, though it ends well. It would have been a better cautionary tale if I'd never found them again. God smiles on fools.

I was thinking that it may have been 1995 when we last saw the Larson family. Jane corrected me, telling me that they visited in the last ten years. In any case, it's been a long time.

Jim, the dad, and Judy, the mom, are in Thailand doing missionary work among the prostitutes. I never met a person like Jim before we were neighbors, and would still be at a loss to point to a person who had the passion for service to others. I think a link to Jim's blog is needed here; my description of Jim's work wouldn't be adequate.

The reason I found them was that there was an old box in the garage. This was put there last summer as we cleaned out the attic. On the theory that you don't own stuff, it owns you, I've been trying to organize my life to erase the clutter that has accumulated. My nephews Dan and Michael brought down three skids of material from the attic to the garage. We are down to about ten boxes as of today, the rest have been sorted and disposed or organized.

Two papers jumped out from the box. The first was a letter from Jim Larson. As I look around the “man cave” I can't find it. It may have served its purpose and now it is lost forever.

I knew that Jim had worked in a church in the ex-urban area of Chicago. I'd thought it was near LaSalle/ Peru, instead it was about 30 miles closer, between LaSalle and Yorkville in Sheridan. With the address in hand I had enough information to start a new search. About 72 hours later and I'm writing my old neighbors again.

It is wonderful that Jim's service to others continues. It is wonderful to hear of it, wonderful and challenging to a person who has lived in the same house for 17 years.