The Incredible Uniqueness of the Mundane

Table of Contents
The Incredible Uniqueness of the Mundane ....................................................... 3 INTRODUCTION ......................................................................................... 3 On the Farm ................................................................................................. 5 Cotton Picking Time .................................................................................... 17 Christmas Morning ...................................................................................... 23 My Baptism ................................................................................................ 28 Snow Days .................................................................................................. 33 Motorcycles and Evergreen Bushes ................................................................ 38 Leachvilles Gym ......................................................................................... 46 Grandma and Grandpa Down The Hills ........................................................... 53 Grandma and Grandpa Up The Hills ............................................................... 58 My Wife ..................................................................................................... 67 Good Times / Tough Times .......................................................................... 78 Birmingham ................................................................................................ 82 Were Goin to Jackson (Tennessee that is) .................................................... 94 God Spoke ................................................................................................ 110 Homecoming ............................................................................................ 116 9/11/01 ..................................................................................................... 121 Building Our House .................................................................................... 125 Cheeze-its and Orange Soda ........................................................................ 128 Campfires, and Hide and Go Seek ................................................................ 133 Im Fat - What Happened? ........................................................................ 137 Where We Are Now .................................................................................. 143

The Incredible Uniqueness of the Mundane

INTRODUCTION
Routines: We all have them. Many determined souls try not to Im not saying that routines are bad;

have them, but in trying to avoid them, they wind up developing the routine of avoiding routines.

having routines offer stability, the capability to plan, and something that is steadfast in this world where change is, well routine. Life becomes a machine and we are thrown into the hopper, spit out on the assembly line, and carried through the stages of our day. Hours turn into days, days to months; and months to years.

Although routine is not all together bad, sneaky dangers lay waiting in routine. These dangers are silent and, over time, can

desensitize the human spirit to the point where we miss opportunities to allow our eyes to be opened in ways that permit our soul to breathe. In those times, we are truly human and experience life as it should be. Other times, we fail to see the miracle of the moment. Those fleeting times whisk by and are so often missed. After theyre gone, we wish we would have taken the time to experience that moment more intensely. Routine seem to be the grey paint that we allow to mask the vivid colors of our lives.

There is hope. Within the routine of our lives are those moments that provide opportunity to pierce the grey. If we choose, these

moments can revive our soul with a flood of emotion that will imprint these experiences in our memory forever. It is up to us to consciously and purposefully take those times and refuse to allow complacency to paint them grey; we must push back against the lure of routine that desires to rob us of our miracle moment. I want to share some of my lifes moments with you.

Some

stories are short; some are a bit longer, but all have tremendous meaning. These seasons and events span my life; from growing up in

and around the small country town of Leachville, Arkansas to my current residence of Jonesboro, Arkansas. These are times when my conscious seemed to be more aware. When I realized that I am alive.

During these times, my senses are sharp and I am acutely aware of all that is around me. I believe that it is in these times when we come to know who we are. We identify with the essence of humanity and the awesomeness of the life- giving breath of God in our soul. It is in these times that we know what God intended when He made us uniquely human.

On the Farm
When I was a child, we lived on Earl Wildys farm a couple of miles off Highway 18 between Manila and Monette, Arkansas. At this time, Mom and Dad both worked at the Wildys greenhouses just down the dirt road from our house. Our home wasnt that big, but it was big enough for Mom, Dad, my brother, and me. It was situated with fields in front and back, my aunt and uncles house was south of the house and a fenced pasture across a dirt road was on the north side of our yard. A big diesel powered water pump fed the rice fields in front of our house. It was situated beside the pasture and ran all night long. I was so used to falling asleep with the pump running that on the few times when it was not, I found it hard to go to sleep.

I remember my dad buying me a Daisy BB gun when I was very young; probably no more than 5 or younger. I wasnt old enough to hunt so the BB gun was the only other option. I remember being out in the front yard one afternoon hunting field birds with my gun. I saw this black bird sitting high up in the tree. My gun was not too accurate. I could see the shot come out of the barrel and make an arch. BBs are not supposed to make arches! They are supposed to fly straight toward the prey!

I thought, Ill just sneak up on the bird; get right under it then shoot straight up. It took me what seemed like hours to make my way under the bird, but finally, I was there and ready to shoot. POP! I shot The bird just flinched. I thought I had missed when several seconds later the bird just falls out of the tree! I had hit my first bird! However, I had not killed it. It was just lying on the ground looking around.

Instead of shooting the bird again, I ran into the house and got some gloves. I picked the bird up and was looking to see where I had shot it. After a while of looking at it (and it looking at me) I found that I had grazed the top of its head. When I brushed my finger over the top of its skull, the skin pulled back and I could see directly under the feathers. I thought that was just the coolest thing! Then, I felt sort of sorry for the bird and thought, Im going to make him better! I went into the house and got an old shoe box, some tape, peroxide, and some Band-Aids. I immediately set up a MASH triage unit on our picnic table in the back yard. I realized that I had damaged the birds ability to fly. I pulled some cotton off the stalks from the field behind my house and put in a box. Then I sat the bird safely on the cotton. I took peroxide and put a few drops on the birds head then bandaged him up. The bandage went all the way around his head sort of like a bonnet.
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After he was safe and all doctored up, I found our shovel and dug up some worms for the bird to eat and got some water for the injured bird to drink. I know this sounds weird but I would cut the worms up and poke them down its throat with a small twig then take a dropper and give it something to drink.

I managed to keep that bird alive for 3 days. The wound was healing and it had started trying to squawk. Then, one day, I came

outside and found feathers all over the place. I guess a cat had found it and made supper (or breakfast) out of the bird. I was so mad that a cat (or something) had eaten the bird I had tried to kill and then nurse back to health. I know it sounds a bit ironic but I was only five or so. I can still see the images of that bird with his head wrapped up in those bandages and his black eyes staring at me. I dont think I ever shot another bird with that gun. Not because I didnt try; the gun wa s just not that powerful and I was not that good of a shot.

The Wildy family had a St. Bernard dog named Benchmark. He met us every day after school ready to play. Gosh that dog was big! To a young boy, he was huge! I remember my brother and I riding that dog like it was a horse. He would tirelessly carry us around the house over and over again. Sometimes we would wrestle around with Benchmark and he would drool all over the place because, well thats what St. Bernards do.. We didnt care though. He was our favorite buddy.
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One particular evening, our family was settling down for the night. It was dark outside. Mom was in the kitchen as I remember, and Dad was sitting in his chair cracking pecans in his tee shirt. I remember a young man coming to the door and Dad talking to him through the screen door. He said, Sir, I think I might have hit one of your cows. Dad went out to look but it wasnt a cow; he had hit Benchmark. It was terrible. Benchmark had walked out in front of that car and there was nothing the guy could do. We called David Wildy who was Benchmarks owner, and the next day; just like that; Benchmark was gone. Even today, when I close my eyes, I can still see that huge white and brown face and those kind droopy eyes of his. Man! That dog was ugly; but he had such a gentle nature. I spent hours walking down dirt roads, sitting under the trees in our yard or beside the house by the gas meter just talking to that dog. He was an amazing friend and would

never judge... just listen, then lick.

The farm was a great place to be a kid. My pre-teen years were mid- to- late 70s. Buffalo ditch was just north down the road in front of our home with nothing but farm land and treed fence rows lining its banks. I could see someone coming a mile away because of the dust their car would blow up as they drove down those dry dirt roads. My uncles family lived in the house beside the wooden bridge that crossed Buffalo ditch just south of the bridge. Once on the bridge, I could look down the road another mile and see my other Aunt and Uncles house.

When I was a kid, the water flowed in Buffalo ditch and I would spend hours fishing off the one lane rickety old wood bridge talking to people as they crossed. Many times, it was no more than, Catchin anything? Or Havin any luck? I would show them what I had caught or just say, Naw not much.. They would go on and I would get back to fishing.

Those were good times; especially about the time the sun went down just before the mosquitoes came out. The water would get calm with the occasional splash of a jumping fish or bull frog hopping in the water. About dusk, the calm air would be filled with the sounds of a distant lone Killdeer somewhere in the fields around me and the horde of cicadas in the trees that lined the waters edge.

If the fish were not biting, I would find myself making my way down the steep reed packed bank via the narrow path that we made. There, I would look for crawdads off the small sandy bank or try to knock the turtles off logs with rocks that I would bring with me. Then, as always, just about dark, I would make my way past my Aunt Diane and Uncle Boyces house on my way home. Mom knew where I was; I would always tell her before I walked out of the house. Goin fishin.. In return, I would hear, Be careful be back before dark!

Of course there were things that could bite or sting. There was always the risk of falling off the bridge or cutting a hand or foot, but --- I really didnt think of those things that much. I didnt worry about being alone on the bridge or strangers showing up. Growing up there, I

learned what to look for and where not to go due to the countless times I was instructed by my Dad. I guess subconsciously he taught me to always be looking and watching.

At the time, it was just another day on the bridge thinking about whatever came to mind; not really having an agenda or anything to do other than watch the schools of shad swim by or throw rocks at the occasional snake that would dare to cross from one side to the other. I would watch as the sun set over the trees and observe in wonder as a school of gnats would move in unison through the air.

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As I look back, I can see the importance of sitting. I can see value of the blank agenda of a seven year old boy. Of course, I had chores to do around the house and things for which I was responsible. At the same time, there was always time to day dream and let the country day have its fun with my imagination. The ditch doesnt flow anymore and the old wood bridge has been replaced by a concrete one. The old paths that led to the rivers edge have long disappeared. There are very few trees that line the ditch anymore; at least not like I remember as a kid. I guess this is one of the reasons that memories like these are so precious. I remember them like they were yesterday as I find myself wrapping up in them like a warm blanket on a cold day.

When I think back to times on that bridge, I see the flowing water as it seemed to disappear into the banks just where the ditch turned a corner. The bridge ran north and south so I would always sit facing east until the sun dropped into the tree line. Then, I would turn and sit facing west and watch the sun slowly disappear through the trees. I can almost feel the cool breeze coming up from the water as a welcome change to the heat of the day. Sometimes I think God put that bridge there just so I could watch the sunsets.

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The Bird Hunt I Remember the Most

Fall brought a whole new set of things to do. I remember waking up Labor Day weekend to the sound of shot guns blasting and gun smoke hovering close to the ground in front of the tree line as the sun came up. It was dove season and the country was the place to be. I remember the first time I went hunting with my dad. I took my 410 single shot and we nestled down in the reeds between a Milo field and the ditch. It was awesome!

As the morning sun gave its light and the sky was turning from black to blue, I would see those dove appear in the distance flying over the fields on their way to water. I watched as my dad would pop up out of the reeds and shoot that huge 12 gauge shot gun and down came the birds.

It was on the cool side that morning. I remember several other hunters out that day; many of them I knew and some I didnt but we were all there for one reason birds! It seemed like that whole field road was a puff of gun powder smoke from all the shells being fired.

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That smell will always stay with me as will the memories of that day. My heart was pounding out of my chest as I would run out there to get the birds and put them in our sack. I cant remember if I shot a bird that day or not. I just knew I was with my Dad and that was all that mattered. As time went on, I out grew the 410 and started taking my dads 12 gauge hunting by myself. Dad and I still go hunting together to this day. However, now I get to take my boys with us giving them the memories to someday put down on paper as I am doing now. Its hard to express the satisfaction and pride I feel as I see my kids walking and talking with my Dad as we make our way toward an old pecan grove or along side a fence row just waiting for a rabbit or a bird to take off. Sometimes I

purposefully lag behind just so I can watch them walk together and know that sometimes the BEST things never change. Even though my dad is getting older and cant get around as well as he once could, he still loads up whenever he can (sometimes he goes even when he shouldnt) and takes off with us. Now that Im a dad I realize that its not really about what we shoot or what we dont shoot. It just about being together; walking and talking about whatever comes to our mind. Its about unplugging from everything and stepping outside

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to breathe. Its about finding myself wanting to be the dad my father is to me; and about my boys wanting to someday be the dad I am to them.

The good thing about living in the country is that a kid could step out his front door and find a good place to hunt in a few minutes walk. I remember one winter day. It was a weekend and there were a couple of inches of snow on the ground and more falling. I got on my insulated coveralls, gloves, boots, and mask then headed outside. As always, I would tell mom that I was going hunting and she would tell me to be careful and be back before it got dark.

This particular day, there was a slight cold wind blowing and the sky was battleship grey. As I walked along the ditch bank and started to look for rabbit tracks, I remember a huge sense of awareness. I stopped and looked through the falling snow, across the field where I saw my house in the distance. My nose was running and I was breathing a little hard. I remember my face getting warm as I would breathe out my mouth into the full face toboggan. The warm breath would warm the knit over my mouth and cheeks then turn to fog as it hit the cold air.

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It was a lot harder to walk in the snow with all those clothes on and carrying a heavy gun. I put my gun down and just stood there. It was so calm and quiet I could hear the snow hitting the bare cotton stalks. I looked down at the water in the ditch and it had started to freeze up on the edges. The only movement came from sparrows darting from limb to limb. I realized that not only was the sky grey, but the whole

landscape was grey as well.

Then, all of a sudden, I felt this overwhelming sense of being alone, but not in a bad way. I was somehow a part of everything around me. That nature had somehow let me in and I belonged there just as much as those trees that grew along the narrow ditch bank, the water that was trying so hard to find its way around the ice and down stream, or the hard dirt I was standing on.

I was not even 13 years old, but I knew who, and what I was. Not in the sense that I just realized I knew my name or that I was a boy, but I knew that I was the son of good, hard working, and loving parents. I knew that I had a multitude of people that loved me and cared for me. I knew that I was an older brother, a country boy that could hunt and fish, and at that moment, I believed I could be anything I wanted. I also knew that I was expected to be honest and hard working, just like my parents; and I was ok with that.

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It was standing in the snow on an old field row beside a half frozen ditch that I caught my first glimpse of the character my parents had been forming in me and I was proud to be who I was. I walked on after a while; not really hunting but just shooting at whatever would fly up or run by. I really dont think I killed anything that day, but it seemed like I walked until my legs were about to fall off. When I got home, mom was there like she always was; the house was warm like it always was; and things were good.

I guess there are times when God puts you in places where you can think. Places where you can hear the snow hitting the brush along the ditch and the wind howling in the trees. I didnt go out that day with the notion of having a life changing moment. It just happened. These moments always just happen. The trick is to be ready when they do. I cant remember a lot about the day before or the day after. I just know that at that particular time and at that particular place I was at peace with myself. There was no other person within 2 miles of me, but I was not alone. Even in the dead of winter, as I stood there on that ditch bank, those things that looked dead somehow came alive and I knew it I could feel it.

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Cotton Picking Time

The whole growing season was coming to an end. The farmers were working way into the night getting the cotton and beans out of the fields. Huge cotton pickers would rumble through the rows with

headlights on, slowly and methodically making there way from end to end. The turbine on the front of the picker would strip the stalks clean of the cotton and blow it into the huge back cage. As the cage filled up, the huge machines would have to dump the picked cotton into the trailers that were lined up at the end of each row.

When the trailers were full, they where hauled off to the cotton gin where the cotton would be sucked out of the trailer, weighed, cleaned, and processed. This was a busy time! Everybody was busy. The sides of the gravel roads were lined with loose cotton that had blown out of the trailers. Pickers were humming by on their way to the fields and trucks were pulling loaded and empty trailers back and forth; it was a fun time.

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I remember the first time my dad took me to the cotton fields where my uncles were driving the pickers. It was after supper and getting a little dark outside, but the pickers were still going. I had the windows of our car down and could hear the familiar sound of the killdeer. The air was filled with a combination of dust, cotton, and machinery.

We pulled off the gravel road and onto the dirt field road where we made our way to the trailers. Before we would stop, Dad would always say, ok boys, roll your windows up. When we stopped, I remember the dirt drifting by the front of the car. We always waited a little bit before opening the car door so the dirt would have a chance to blow past the car.

Some trailers were filled with cotton, some were full and others were empty. I remember my dad asking if I wanted to jump around in the cotton. I was a bit nervous because I had never done that before. I had seen the farmers pull the pickers close to the trailers then that huge bulging cage on the back would all of a sudden just lift up off the back of the picker. As it tilted toward the trailer, the cage would open up until the cotton would go tumbling out of the cage into the trailer.

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As most children do, I had a vivid imagination.

I had never

tromped cotton before. My mind wondered how in the world I was ever going to survive in the back of that cage with all that cotton being blown on top of me as the picker went through the field. I had visions of me standing there with cotton-boll husk being blown into my eyes and no one being able to hear me screaming over the sound of the picker.

Was I going to be pinned to the side of the cage as the hopper filled up? Then dad said, go climb that ladder on the side of the trailer and hop in! Then it all made sense! I was not going in the cage; I was going in the trailer!

The trailers were made of mesh metal that stood about 10 feet tall with a flat bed. The farmers loved for kids to come out and hop around in the cotton. This would pack the cotton down for the farmers so they could get more in the trailer which cut down on the number of trips they had to make to the gin, and it was fun for the kids. When the pickers were ready to dump the load of cotton, the kids would all move to the front or the back of the trailer until the pickers had dumped their load. Let me tell you, when that cotton dropped out into those trailers, the whole thing would shake. It was great!!

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I remember my cousins coming out there and jumping in the cotton with me. Oh, it was fun! Before long, I was standing on the edge doing back flips in the cotton just like the older kids. We would have the occasional cotton hull get logged in our pants or stalk in our shirt, but it was worth it.

Yes, we could have fallen off the side of trailer and yes, there was the danger of hitting one of the support poles of the trailer, but hey it was fun and you knew to be careful. The older, more experienced cotton trompers would make sure we didnt do any back flips close to the support poles. After a while, you just knew the poles were in the middle of the trailer and to do the flips off the ends toward the middle of the trailer.

As it got later, my dad would load us back up in the car and we would make the short drive home. Once there, we would have to strip down and take a bath in order to get all the dust and grit out of our hair before jumping into bed. It was good; life was simple and

uncomplicated; at least for a kid.

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I understand now that mom and dad had struggles and worries just like all families do. Im sure there was always something going on. But, when I was a kid, I never worried with those issues nor did mom or dad make those issues known to me or my brother.

Sure, as we got older, we were more aware of those times that test families, but as we were growing up, mom and dad made sure that kind of stuff stayed between them. Our job was to be a kid; and we were good at it. Mom and Dad never seemed to miss an opportunity to let us experience those things that made being a kid in the country so enjoyable.

There are those memories, like the cotton trailers, where I can look back in my mind and pull out certain sites and smell and get flashes and scenes from those days. Still today, while standing in my garden after a rain, I can smell the dust and the memories of those dirt roads come rushing back.

As I drive down those roads from time to time, some things have changed and others have not. Like I said earlier, theres not as many trees along the ditch bank as there once were. Buffalo Ditch doesnt flow like it once did and the wood bridge has been replace with a concrete one.

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However, the killdeer still cry and the gravel roads still sound the same under my car. The summertime locusts still get so loud you cant hear yourself think and the pickers still pick late into the night during harvest time. Some things, I hope, never change.

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Christmas Morning
There were some events as a kid that made for sleepless nights. One of those times was Christmas Eve. I know that it was hard on mom and dad, but it seemed like every Christmas was better than the one before. My dad would always have to give instructions on the correct way to lay the silver tinsel on the tree. No Clumps Now! or Get two or three strands and just lay it on the tree. There were some things that just had to be done right and the tinsel on the tree was one of them.

Our living room was a rectangle with the front door at one end. The TV was to the right and along the wall to the left was mom and dads room. At the end of the same wall was the door to mine and my brothers room. We had an awesome gas stove that sat on the wall in

the back of the living room before entering the kitchen. There were the Throwers and the Layers. The throwers

were those that liked to get a hand full of tinsel and just fling it into the air and let it fall on the tree like snow. The layers were those like my dad; three strands and no more laid properly and evenly on each branch. Each could not stand the others method. This became the talk in our car ride after coming from a home that had tinsel improperly positioned on the tree.

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I remember on cold days before I would put my pants on, I would lay them across the top of the big metal stove and warm them up a little. At night that stove gave off a warm comforting glow that shimmered in our room when we left the door open.

In the opposite corner of the stove was our Christmas tree. Between the stove and the tree was the entrance to our kitchen and our bookcase with our brown covered gold embossed full set of Encyclopedia Britannica which were enshrined behind a glass door case.

We would always turn the Christmas tree lights off before going to bed EXCEPT for one night a year; Christmas Eve. That night, we left them on so Santa wouldnt trip on anything. To a couple of little boys, that tree was packed with presents. Little rips in the corners of wrapped presents were examined to the Nth degree for some sort of clue as to the contents. Boxes were shook and imaginations went wild.

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I remember one Christmas Eve, my brother and I wrote Santa a thank you note and left milk and cookies out on the corner of the book case just as we always did. We went to bed early that night and I remember dozing off to the glow of the Christmas lights and the flickering radiance of that gas stove. The only sound in the house was a faint hissing sound made by the gas stove.

We never went to sleep soundly and on that particular night, I was unusually thirsty went to the kitchen for water. I walked out my

bedroom door and into the living room. No Santa yet. I got my water and went back to bed. A couple of hours later, I had to go the bathroom (thats my story and Im sticking to it!). I did as I had always done

before. I got up, made my way out into the living room, and WOW!!! There were presents laid all over the couch and a brand new air hockey table sitting right where our coffee table used to be.

I looked over at the milk and cookies my brother and I left out before we went to bed and believe it or not -- The milk was almost gone and the cookies were just crumbs on the plate just as they always were. Our note was gone but another was left in its place. It said, Thank you so much for the milk and cookies. I loved them, Santa.

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It was 3:00 a.m. and I couldnt control myself. There was no way I was going back to sleep now. I quietly went back to the bedroom and woke my brother telling him that Santa had come. He sprang out of bed and was just as amazed as I was. We ran into mom and dads room and shook them until they woke. They acted as if they had not been asleep very long. I wonder why? Mom and dad never told us that it was too early to get up. They never told us to go back to bed and wait for morning. SHOOT! IT WAS MORNING!!

Mom would act surprised and immediately get up and start making hot cocoa. They wouldnt let us open presents until everyone was in the room and mom had declared, Ok! We can start Christmas. At that point, paper and bows would start flying. We would grab a present and see who it was for then call out their name. Mom would be in her robe and dad would be in his chair with his tee shirt on. The house was filled with laughter, hugs, kisses, and surprises. Mom would always kiss me on the cheek and do that little giggle she does and say Youre welcome and give me that little mmmmm as she kissed me on the cheek.

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We have twin boys and even today, when they run up to my mom and dad for hugs and kisses I can see the smile on their faces, see mom squint her eyes, and hear that little giggle. I am reminded that what I tell my kids was true for me as well. No matter where they go or how old they are no matter what they do or say They will always and forever be --- my little boys. Mom and dad never put it to me like that, but I was assured of it with every hug and every kiss; with every word of encouragement; and with every moment of discipline. Thats the way it should be; and thats the way it was.

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My Baptism
New Harmony Missionary Baptist Church was a small country church a couple of miles from where we lived on the Wildys farm. It had about seven or so pews on each side with an aisle down the middle. The membership was mostly relatives of the Longs (my family) and the Chipmans. We had about 30 or so that would come regular and fewer than that on Sunday night.

Brother Harvey was our pastor. He was a good man and grew up in the country just like we all did so he knew the hardship and struggles that would come up from time to time. He was a bigger man and would always wear a suit and jacket. Instead of saying, Uh in between words and phrases like some people do, he would say, Aer-ah. Actually he said that a lot! But we didnt mind that was just him. I cant remember the actual night I walked the aisle at New Harmony Baptist Church and told Brother Harvey that I wanted to be saved. I was so little my feet dangled off the pew. I wasnt old eno ugh to sit away from mom and dad yet so I sat between them most of the time.

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When the message was over, as always, Brother Harvey would stand in front of the altar with his Bible in one hand and his other arm held out, asking people to come. I look up at mom and dad and pulled them down to me and whispered to them that I wanted to go. I dont think they believed me at first or maybe thought I wanted to go to the bathroom or something. I tugged on their shirt and said I want to go down there and be saved. I remember tears in moms eye as we walked down that aisle. New Harmony wasnt big enough to have a baptistry of its own so from time to time we would use Browns Chapels baptistry. I

remember the Sunday afternoon I was baptized. It was a fall day. I know that because when I got out of the car the wind was blowing the fallen leaves from the big leaf barren oak tree in front of the church.

It was afternoon because we had to get in and out before Sunday night service started. It was the first time I had been in a church that

big. It could have held 200 or so people. That was pretty big for a small town like Manila. I remember Doris Bandy was there. She was my best friend Miles mother. There were a lot of people from our church and other members of my family there as well.

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I can still remember Brother Harvey standing in that water with me, putting that white handkerchief over my mouth and nose, and then taking me under. When I came up, I looked out across that room and saw smiling faces and they were all clapping.

I was only about eight or so and thought that was really cool. I cant remember a lot about who all was there or the actual day. I can remember the warm glow of sanctuary and how my life would change after this event. Its times like these that are markers along our way. They give us points of reference in our lives. Did this or that happen before I was saved or after? Or that was about the time that so and so was born. These are the events that change our lives and help define it. All of us have them even if we dont realize it. Some of these events are good

and some are marked with tragedy such as the death of a loved one or the loss of a job. Good or bad; these times are branded in our mind and memories. They influence how we do the things we do. They can motivate us, inspire us, and be the catalyst for change in our attitudes and actions.

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Sometimes all it takes is a familiar sight, sound, or smell, and all the emotions and memories come flooding through our mind like a tsunami. This tidal wave of feelings often gives no sign of its coming. There is not a flashing sign that says, Warning Familiar Smell Ahead. It is no respecter of reaction; it doesnt really care whether or

not these feelings bring back happy memories or feelings that will cause great emotional distress.

The question is not if these events will occur or if they will motivate or change us, but how will they affect us. That s where

character comes in. My belief in Christ and the change He has made in my life has produced, and is still producing, a character marked by love and peace. Sure tragic events occur and they hurt. Events happen that I wish would not.

At the same time, the lens with which I view these circumstances and endure those tragic events allows me to let go and not internalize them. My faith tells me that God is in control and His plans for me are yes and amen. This lens projects the words, This world is not my home. I can rest in the knowledge that some day, I will leave this

place and will find myself in my real home.

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So what are we to do? I believe we need to purposefully, and with great resolve, make sure that we take every opportunity to breathe in lifes moments that give us the most joy and contentment. It is true that traumatic events will erect these monuments in our mind and there is little we can do about those.

At the same time, we cannot allow monuments of tragedy to be built on our toes, preventing us from moving forward! Their purpose is not to promote bitterness or kindle hatred toward another. Their

purpose, as I see it, is to help us realize that with every tragedy, with ever painful event, God is there and working all things for good; even if we dont understand how.

We can also take charge of making sure the proportion of good memories to bad is one that is skewed to the good. When we purpose within our self to look within the mundane and make those moments that were once overlooked, moments of sentimental memory, we skew the good monument construction to our favor. We then begin to erect

multitudes of peaceful, joyous monuments to every bad one that we might have.

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Snow Days
Snow days were the best. It hasnt changed much from when I was a child. My twins, to this day, look to see if their school has decided to cancel due to snow. The forecast can only contain the slightest chance of snow and they start getting excited. THEN, if it actually does begin to snow, this is when they really kick it into gear. They become investigators extraordinaire. Websites are scoured as are weather reports; the boys go to their schools webpage and look for any indication that school will be out. All of a sudden, a report of snowfall becomes a chance for a blizzard.

Now, when I was a child, my ability to track reports and get Intel was limited to the local TV station, KAIT 8, as they would scroll the school closings along the bottom of the screen. As the names of the

schools would slowly roll like a ticker tape across the bottom of our TV screen, anticipation would cause my heart to pound as the names would quickly start to appear in alphabetical order. Leachville was in the middle of the pack so if the weather was bad, it took a while for our name to appear. As the Ls would come and go, I was either jumping up and down with joy or disappointed that other schools were out and we were not.

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There was a time that is etched in my memory of a December snow that started just about sundown and lasted through the night. At that time, we had moved from the country into the sprawling metropolis which is Leachville, Arkansas. Leachville is a small town in North East Arkansas with a population at that time of 1,500 (I think that included the cats and dogs). I used to say the town was so small that Welcome To and Come Back Soon was on the same sign. Leachville was so small it didnt have one single traffic light in the entire town. We DID however, have a single screen movie theater, and a couple of places to eat. Just like a lot of small towns in Arkansas, the primary fall sport was basketball and the summers were filled with baseball and softball on the two ball fields kept up by the city. Everyone knew everyone as well as their business so news, good and bad, traveled fast.

Our house was situated one block from the gym and in front of the towns cemetery. We had a nice house. It wasnt that big but it was big enough and bigger than the one we had in the country. AND - we had a real street light located across the narrow paved road that lit up our chat driveway and front yard.

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Our backyard had a homemade basketball goal that my dad had put up for us, an old storage building, a couple of fruit trees, storm cellar, and a porch swing. The inside of the house was normal. The living

room was rectangular and had a front door on one end and a big draped picture window situated over our brown plaid couch. From the couch, we could look right into the dining area and into the den through the dining room.

On this particular night, there was no basketball game to go to or no other activity on the agenda. Mom was cooking supper like she always did and I cant remember if dad had made it home from work or not nor can I recollect where my younger brother was. I do remember that my attention was fixated on what was going on outside.

As I walked into the living room, I noticed that it was snowing outside. I jumped on the couch and pulled the sheer drapes back and oh it was cool. The snow flakes were as big as quarters and they were I remember putting my face so close to the glass

coming down hard.

that I would fog up the window. (Of course, after that came all the funny faces and other drawings kids do on fogged up windows).

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I remember the glow of our brown gas heater and the faint hissing sound it made as it heated up our living room. The TV was on, but I had all but blocked it out. I was almost in a trance watching the snow fall in the light of the street lamp. Our yard quickly became blanketed with new fallen snow. It was so peaceful.

I quickly got on my boots and jacket and stood in our carport with the light off. You could taste the cold air blowing. The night was so quiet that I could hear the wind in the barren trees as the snow attached itself to the branches. You see, in Leachville, when the sun goes down and its around supper time, theres not much going on down on Ada street.

I stood there and just looked at the quietness of the night. There were no video games to distract me or anything else demanding my attention. It was just me, the security of my home and family, the darkness, and the night snow. Thats all thats all there needed to be. I dont really know why that memory causes a tear to come to my eye. Its not joy or pain. I guess I would have to s ay that I remember the innocence and wonder of the simple things. I look back into my memories and even after close to 40 years, that night is just as vivid to me as if it happened yesterday.

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There was not much to it. I was standing outside in our carport watching it snow. The whole event probably lasted no more than 15 minutes. But, within those few minutes, lies a moment in time that has, for some reason, been etched in my memory. It is a monument that I enjoy returning to and contemplating. When I look at it now, I dont

feel an overwhelming sense of joy or sorrow; pain or sadness. I just feel --- as ease. And that is good.

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Motorcycles and Evergreen Bushes

It was a toss-up; a motorcycle or basketball camp. I really wanted to go to basketball camp but I really wanted a motorcycle as well. It was my birthday and mom and dad wanted to do something special that year. I wanted a Honda XR-80. Yes, a motorcycle. When mom and dad brought it home, I was truly beside myself. It was the most awesome thing I was ever given as a kid. It was a dirt bike with knobby tires and man, could it run!

I would ride that thing everywhere! One day, I was going to my little league baseball game at the ball fields just one block from my house. As a matter of fact, I could stand in my front yard in the summer and hear the crowd in the stands when there were tournaments going on. I had one obstacle between my house and my destination; the bulldogs at the neighbors house on the corner of my street. It was right before I had to turn left into the parking lot of the gym that led to the ball field entrances. I knew they were there. I just didnt know from where in the yard they would jump me. I had a plan. When they came out after me, and if I had to, I would cut beside the gym then cross the road into the elementary school play yard. From there, I could out run the dogs!

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I started on my way. Just as I turned the corner, here they came. Their ugly pug faces just gnarled up barking and nipping at my legs. I started kicking at the dogs to get them away from me. I cut beside the gym on my way to the safety of the playground. As I crossed the road in front of the gym, BAM!!!

The next thing I knew I was lying in the huge evergreen bushes on the corner of the elementary school play yard. I had been hit by a truck and knocked off my motorcycle. It was summer time and there was normally no one around the gym at that time of the day. I was struck by one of my best friends dad. I felt so bad for him. Luckily he was not going very fast or it could have been worse.

The girls coach was at the gym and came running out to help me. They pulled me out of the bushes and on to the road. Yes on to the hot asphalt. I dont know why they didnt put me on the grass. Anyway, they took my helmet off and found several deep gashes in it. Had I not been wearing my helmet, I wouldve had injuries far worse. I dont know who it was that went to get mom, but when sh e got there she just laid over me and cried. I remember coming in and out of consciousness saying, mom, please get off me, I cant breathe. She didnt of course and I would just go back out of consciousness.

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The nearest hospital was Jonesboro and with it, the nearest ambulance service. So my buddys mother, Frankie, loaded me up in the back of her Ford Escort wagon and off we went to Jonesboro Methodist Hospital. As they were loading me up, another of my friends told me he had taken my motorcycle and walked it home for me. They had put the back seats down in the Escort wagon and loaded me up. I remember waking to the sound of that little horn just honking. I kept asking, Am I in heaven? Then, I would pass out again.

The next thing I remember, I woke up in the hospital room later that night. Tim Bassing was my baseball coach and the preacher at the local Church of Christ. He brought me the game ball with everyones signature on it and a big GET WELL SOON poster with signatures. It was great. They showed me my motorcycle helmet, my pants, and my shoes. It was worse than I thought, but not as bad as it could have been.

Luckily, I only had a concussion, some bruised ribs, and a broken leg. Other than that, all was well. I went home the next day and couldnt move much. I would spend the rest of my summer break healing. As time went on, I was able to get around pretty good using my crutches. I could still move faster using my crutches than most of the smaller kids could run. I would race them every chance I could get!

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I remember the first time I got chiggers in my cast. Even though I had broken my left leg, I could still ride the motorcycle. It was sort of bent in the middle but still ran well. I had to peel a bit of the cast off my toes to change gears but a boy had to do what a boy had to do. I found my way to Buffalo ditch to fish one afternoon when all of a sudden it started pouring down rain. I had to get under the bridge until the rain stopped. While under the bridge, I had backed up into the weeds under the bridge. It was there that I got all the chiggers. Those little things that bury up under your skin and itch like crazy. I did everything to stop the itching. I used a ruler or a clothes hanger; anything that I could shove into my cast to scratch with.

All was going good until I went back to the orthopedic that set my leg. He took X-Rays to see how I was healing and said he was going to take the cast off and put on a new one. The old one was put on when my leg was still swollen so, as the swelling went down, the cast got looser on my leg to the point that I could almost pull the thing off.

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It was a mixed blessing. I got the cast off and was able to look at my leg for the first time since the accident. The cuts were healing but still looked really bad and my leg was eaten up with chiggers. While I had the cast off, he medicated my chiggers and said he was going to put on a new kind of cast. This one would be fiberglass! I could actually go swimming in this cast then I would dry it out with a hair dryer after I got out of the water. It was going to be awesome except for one thing.

The X-Rays showed that when the doctor set my leg, it was not set properly and the bones were offset. The doctor said that it might be alright but I would probably be bow-legged or the bone might not be as strong. So, they decided to reset my leg. What did that mean?

They first gave me the anesthesia originally given to me at the hospital to knock me out. However, when the time came to re-break my leg, I did not have the same reaction to the medication as I did at the hospital. I was still conscious, a bit groggy, but still conscious. I remember it like it was yesterday.

The walls were brown paneling and the table sat just to the left of the door. The doctor came in and put a triangle piece of foam under my leg and told me to hold on to the table. He turned his hands back and forth over my leg like someone giving an Indian sunburn (if you dont know just look it up). Then, without notice, he snapped my leg. I yelled
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as loud as I could. Mom was in the waiting room and I knew she could hear me. The pain was to the point it almost made me pass out. The last thing I remember before going to sleep was the doctor telling my mother that she didnt have to worry about me cursing or using bad language because if I did, I would have been cursing then.

The only good thing about the whole event at the time was that they replaced my plaster cast with a new fiberglass one. This would

allow me to go swimming and have a bit more activity during the summer. Yes, they set my leg the way it should have been in the beginning, but to me, the best thing about the ordeal was my new cast.

I remember after a couple of weeks, I found myself wanting to get back on my motorcycle. I had to walk on crutches down to the softball fields and virtually everywhere I went. That was getting old. So, after some persuasion, I talked my parents into allowing me back on my motorcycle. That Honda was tough as nails. We didnt get the frame straightened so it looked like it was constantly turning as I was going down the road. The impact hit square in the middle of the bike so it sort of turned it into a slight V shape. I didnt care. The thing still ran good and it got me where I needed to go. There was one problem though. I couldnt get my toes under the shifter to change gears with the new cast.

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So, I went to the kitchen and got one of moms steak knives and chiseled away the fiberglass cast so my toes could get under the shifter. This worked like a charm! back on the motorcycle. I was mobile again and it felt good to get

Toward the time when the cast was to come off, I was allowed to walk without crutches. Soon after, I remember one of friends asked if I could go swimming at their house. They had an in-ground pool and boy, was it hot outside! Many of my friends from school were going to be there and I really wanted to go. Mom said I could go so off I went on my bike. When I got there, everyone was wondering how I was going to stay afloat with that cast. I really didnt know either, but there was nothing on the planet that could keep me out of the water.

I eased into the pool and the bubbles started. After a few seconds, the cast was waterlogged and it felt so good. About 30 minutes went by and I was feeling pretty comfortable with getting around with the soaked cast I thought, I bet I could really spring high off the diving board with all that water in my cast. I made my way to the board and carefully walked to the end making sure I wouldnt slip. Then, I pushed down on the board and it shot me up in the air. When I came down on the board I knew I was going to go high. I could feel the weight of the drenched cast doing what I thought it would do. The board bent under the weight of my body and the water soaked cast; then it sprang me up and off the
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board and up in the air. I didnt do any tricks that first time because it sort of scared me at first because I had never been catapulted up that high before. I was a ball player and rather lean for my age, but that cast helped to get me higher than I had ever been before.

Other times come to mind about that summer.

I remember

frequent visits from friends, my Aunt Peggy coming over and rubbing my toes, and those people who bought pieces of my cast! I didnt get rich, but I did make 25 cents per piece. The steak knife worked well. I started cutting off hunks of cast from the top for people that wanted it. Of course all my friends signed it, drew pictures on it, and made it into a piece of art. It was fun and I didnt care.

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Leachvilles Gym
As I said before, Leachville was a small town but our gym was the best in the area. It was a large brick gym with solid polyurethaned pine bleachers on both sides. The gym had a great concession area, and nice dressing rooms. On Tuesday and Friday nights that place would be hoppin! There was not much else to do in Leachville so the basketball games were huge events.

I got my first chance to play basketball when I was still living in the country and in the 4th grade. The bus driver, Mr. Adams, would pick me up for school every day. One morning, as I got on the bus, he called out to me. Long! I made my way up to the front of the bus from my seat that I normally sat in and said, Yes, sir?he said, Do you want to play basketball? I answered, yes but I have to ask my mom. He then told me to be at the gym on Saturday morning. From that point on, I never missed a game.

My dad put up a goal in our backyard and I shot until I wore the grass out from around the goal. I was a starter my 5th grade year and 6th. When I entered into Jr. High I started every year from the 8 th grade on. Basketball was my sport and I practiced at it as much as I could.
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My dad coached the 4th and 5th grade girls teams my 5th and 6th grade school years. Their games were on Saturday mornings so I would go down to the gym and either help referee, keep books, or something like that; anything to be in the gym. My dad had a key so I would go down there and shoot for hours at a time. In the summer, the coach wasnt allowed to have organized practices but he could open the gym up for those who wanted to just play around. I would be down there every time the doors were open.

As I got older, there were adults who would open up the gym from time to time and play on Sunday afternoons. I was fortunate enough to get called on to play in these games from time to time. Most were adults or senior high players. I felt really big and sometimes intimidated

getting out on the floor with those guys. But, I think it actually made me a better player, and in Leachville, if you played ball, everyone knew you.

Even when I went to college at ASU, I still found my way back to the gym on Friday nights to watch the games. But as time went on, my visits were less frequent. I remember one time in the late summer, I was coming home to see mom and dad and the gym was open. It was right before school started and they were stripping the court and putting on new sealant. I loved that smell. I had smelled it several times in the past
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and it would actually make me upset when they did it because they wouldnt let us on the floor for several days until it dried. But this time; it was different.

I walked in and the fans were blowing on the floor, the two big gym doors were open, and the wood just shone like glass. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. It was awesome. I looked up at the goals and just spent some time walking around looking at the place and how it had changed. Of course, the gym wasnt as big as I had remembered and the bleachers sure werent as tall as they were when we were running them in practice. At the same time, all that didnt seem to matter. I picked up a ball from the ball cage and bounced it once. I can still hear the echo the ball makes in an empty gym and the feel of the slightly worn leather of one that had been used for a season or two. Those were better than the brand new balls. The new ones were slick and a player couldnt grip them as well.

All the games and all the nights that gym was filled with people just came rushing back to my memory. The sound of the clock going

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off, all the squeaks of the shoes, and the sounds of the whistle were all brought back to my mind. I remember one instance that returns to me each and every time I think about my old gym in Leachville. We were playing a local team in the last tournament of the year. We had played hard and the game was drawing to the end and the other team was up by one. The gym was full and the crowd was on their feet. The clock was winding down the last 30 seconds of the last quarter. For one of the teams, it was the last game of the tournament. The winner would advance and the loser would go home. Our coach called the play; the clocked clicked down, I rolled from the wing position to the top of the key; the clock was down to 2 seconds and I shot.

I wish I could say I made the shot and was a local legend from that point on. I wish I could tell you that they heaved me up on their shoulders as I threw my arms up in the air. I wish I could have told you that I heard the crowd chant my name --- But I cant. I missed the shot. A loud, Awwww!! was heard and cheers from the visitors side of the gym roared. Our teammates walked off the floor with heads down and I dropped to the floor with my head between my knees. How could I have missed that shot? I had made a gazillion of those from the same place on that same floor. I had even practiced that very sequence a million times. I would count down in my mind to 10 seconds then
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practice shooting under that pressure; but yet, on that particular Friday night, I missed that particular shot.

As the crowd was coming down out of the stands and the people were standing seemingly all around me; talking and moving from one place to another; I just sat there. When I finally looked up, I saw my dad coming down from the stands as fast as he could.

He hit the floor, hurried over to me and put his arm around me and we just sat there for what seemed like hours but in reality it was only 15 seconds or so. I composed myself and stood up. I cant remember what he said to me or if he said anything at all. All I knew was my dad was there standing beside me like he always did. Even today, as I am

writing this down, I am sniffling a bit and tears are welling up in my eyes; not because I missed the shot, but because of my dad who ran from the stands and stood with me, his son, during a time of failure. Its easy to stand by someone in their time of triumph and victory. But, sometimes, people arent as quick to come to your side in times of failure. Sure, I got plenty of one tappers on the shoulder as people would go by, but none of them mattered as much as when my dad was beside me- especially at that time. It was like he was almost protecting me --- from what? I dont even know. I really didnt care. He was there,

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and that was all that mattered just like he always was and still is to this day.

That moment will forever be ingrained in my memory.

It is a

moment where I had a glimpse of what it meant to be a dad. I know now because I am a dad to two boys. A dad will stand eagerly on the sideline and see his sons compete or participate in an event. In that time, I cannot go out and help, I cant do anything but cheer them on and watch as they succeed or fail. Sometimes, success and failure happen in the same event. The key is to be there cheering them on and be there when its over to either share in their victory or share in their defeat. Ive come to realize that I can handle defeat better when it happens to me rather than when it happens to my boys or my wife. Although I know defeat is a part of playing the game of life in general, and that character grows more in times of failure than in success, it hurts to see my boys or my wife struggle or to lose. Yet, without struggle, success seems empty and worthless.

However, in those times, I do as my dad did; I stand tall beside them and encourage them to lift up their heads and compete again. You see, although my dad was there beside me when I failed, he didnt allow me to stay on the ground. He pulled me up, wiped me off, and expected

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me to play again. He held his head up high and I did the same. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I played hard and played well.

I went on to average double figures in points and multiple rebounds and assist the following seasons. My mom and dad were there in the stands at every ball game and watched every minute. From time to time, my dad could get a bit excited and explain to the officials how they could improve their game (thats putting it mildly) but mom was always there poking him in the side and controlling his commentary.

He still does that even when we go to ASU basketball games, football games, or any sporting event for that matter and I just sit there, listen, and remember. I see my dad in my actions as my boys engage in anything competitive. I catch myself coaching them from the

sidelines, helping during practice, and evaluating everything. One thing is for sure, my boys know Im there and they know that no matter what, when its over, I will be standing there beside them with my head held high ---- just like my dad was for me.

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Grandma and Grandpa Down The Hills

I was fortunate to have known my grandparents well before they passed. My moms mother and step father lived in Jonesboro which was only about 30 minutes from Leachville and where I would eventually go to college. My dads family lived in Harrison, Arkansas. We didnt go see them as much, but the times we did were filled with all kinds of fun and memorable experiences.

There are three distinct memory classifications (as I will call them) of my moms parents: their house and the part of town they lived in, their relationship to me as grandparents, and the day they were quickly and unexpectedly taken from us.

They lived in a small house in an older part of town. But that didnt matter to me. We would all pile up in the car and take off to Jonesboro to see Grandma and Grandpa down the hills. You see,

Harrison is up in the Ozarks of Arkansas so my brother and I distinguished the two sets of grandparents by the terrain they lived in. I know it would have been easier just to have different terms of endearment for each set, but to a child who named every one of his dogs Sally this made more sense. (Thats is a story for another day).

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I remember pulling up in the ten feet or so of chat driveway and seeing their vehicle in the carport. We would jump out of the car and run up to the front door and knock. Sometimes they were in the house, but most times they were outside in the backyard in the swing or in their garden. All I know is that when we walked in their front door, we were walking right into the kitchen and the first thing to our right was the table.

Grandma would always have a white linen cloth covering the table and another covering any left over homemade biscuits or fried pies she had made. They were awesome; make. Raymond was not my moms real dad but he was the only grandpa down the hills my brother and I knew. He was a big man with really big hands. He would always call us over and have us sit by him. He always had a story to tell or some secret to share. We knew what he was up to though. He would get us over there then take those big hands of his and wrap them around our leg right above the knee. Oh that especially with the jelly she would

would tickle and once he got a grip; there was no getting loose. It was great! It would take your breath away --- but great all the same.

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Grandma was a short and spunky woman. I remember one winter day. They came over to our house about the time of my birthday which was in January. She wanted to take a picture with me in my basketball uniform. So I suited up and stood outside in the cold with my grandma while mom took the picture. After that, we went back in the house and she gave me my present. It was a diary. She said no one else could read it but her. I thought it was a bit corny at first, but I still wrote in it from time to time. As a matter of fact, I still have it today and my boy have even read those entries.

As time went on, we would see them every so often when we made it over to Jonesboro or they would come to see us in Leachville. They were retired and spent a lot of time driving up in the hills. I remember one afternoon, I was working at the Hays Grocery store as a stocker and mom and dad came to see me. I think it was a Saturday morning. It was hot that day and Ken (the assistant manager) came into the store and told me my parents wanted to see me.

I walked outside and saw mom and dad there. Ken was a nice guy and walked out there with me. He was standing there smoking his cigarette ready to make small talk with my parents when they told me that a drunk driver had swerved over into my grandparents lane as they topped a hill. They hit head on killing my grandma and grandpa on impact.
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Kens face was one of shock and he grabbed me by the arm as if to console me. Mom wasnt taking it too well and all started crying. I clocked out and went home with my parents.

The rest of the events surrounding that time are a blur. For some reason, the one thing I have wondered about the most is whether or not they were actually killed on impact or if they had survived for a time. I dont know why, but that sticks in my mind. I have played those events over and over in my mind as if I were in that car with them hundreds of times, each time the same, except for the ending.

I want to believe they died on impact, but still, for some reason, other images and scenarios make their way into mind and I have to shake them away like I am waking from a bad dream. I dont talk about that time. No one really does in my family. Still yet, those images and those alternate scenarios still flash back from time to time just like they are at this moment. All I can do is wonder and hope. Its funny though. When I remember Grandma and Grandpa, I remember those Christmas Eve nights when we would receive High Karate cologne or soap on a rope. We were as excited as we could be. I remember Grandpa squeezing mine and my brothers knee (and any of the other grandkids knees he could grab!) I can see his face as he would tell me story after story.
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I remember him showing me his pocket knife and telling us how we should always whittle with the blade pointing down and out. I can still see in my minds eye, looking out into their backyard, my mom and grandma in that old swing under the mimosa trees just swinging and talking.

Many times, Grandma would just be talking away, but she would always be holding moms hand as they talked. Its funny what one

remembers. I can still hear Riceland mill in the distance being just a bit scared of the deep drainage ditch just beyond their yard.

These were the times with my grandma and grandpa down the hill that I remember most. These are the images that are ingrained in my memory. At the same time, these memories come at a cost. I wish I could remove those images that my mind has concocted of those last minutes of their lives. Although I was not there, my psyche has painted these terrible pictures that I have not, to this day, been able to rid myself of. I dont know what happened to the drunken guy that topped that hill on the wrong side of the road. All I know is that he took my grandma and grandpa away from me and my family all too soon; dont care what happened to him.
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think that guy lived. I really dont know. To be honest with you, I really

Grandma and Grandpa Up The Hills

Grandma and Grandpa up the hills were my dads parents . They lived in Harrison, Arkansas. We didnt get to see them as often as we would have like because they lived several hours away. The summer

was the best time to visit due to the fact that the winter weather can hit pretty quickly causing the road to get bad in a hurry. could, we went during the summer. So, when we

Every now and then, I remember

going when it was cold at night, but not too often.

That area of Arkansas is mountainous and really beautiful. Even though the people there dont warm up to strangers very easily, they are the salt of the earth. They were hill people to the core. I remember the excitement when we would finally get off the paved highway and head up the gravel road to their house which sat nestled on that mountain. With every curve I would think, This is it! It seemed like we were

driving back in time to a simpler place; a place where the mountain was just as much a part of your family as your own flesh and blood. I swear when we came around that last steep curve and I saw their house, it was like pulling up to the Waltons.

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The house was white clapboard and had a large front porch with rock supports. The yard was cleared all except a few large trees with a tire swing attached to one of the large branches. When we pulled into the yard, the images made my stomach flip! In the yard was an old truck parked beside a stump of an old tree that had been cut down. From out of nowhere, their big German Sheppard dog would come up to greet us. I remember wanting to get out so bad but at the same time, being a bit scared to get out of car just because, to a 7 or 8 year old, that dog was big.

As we made our way up the steps and onto the grey painted wood porch, there were two chairs beside the front screen door; one for grandma and one for grandpa. Each had Folgers coffee cans sitting beside them. These, of course, were their tobacco spit cans. Grandma and Grandpa both chewed tobacco. It wasnt the kind you would find in the little pouch. This was the twisted kind. It looked sort of like a dead vine you would pull out of tree and twist up into a 6 or 8 inch rope.

The front door on the porch opened up into the living room. To the right was a bedroom and through the living room was the dining room. The kitchen table was big and the room was large. To the right of the table was a fat black pot bellied wood burning stove. Past the

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stove were two other bedrooms; one of which was where my brother and I would sleep.

Grandma would either come to meet us or we would find her in the kitchen past the dining room. She would normally be dressed in a gown of some kind and house shoes or no shoes at all. She was a small round woman with black hair and round glasses and she always had a smile on her face. Grandpa was white haired and didnt get around that well. He was diabetic. He wore overalls and brown shoes and loved to have us kids watch as he gave himself his insulin shot every morning. Oh, the questions he would ask; Have you kids killed any dead snakes lately? This one was his favorite.

We would go outside and chase the chickens around or just explore. The barn was a little ways past the backyard. We wouldnt go back there without someone else with us because a) we were a bit concerned for snakes, and b) we didnt want to get ticks and chiggers all over us.

I do remember making our way to the barn down a dirt path that had been carved out of the tall grass and getting eggs for breakfast; it was truly amazing; I was a little scared, but excited at the same time. My brother and I would hunt around for those eggs and then bring them back up to grandma who cooked them up. Man! Did they taste good!
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I remember afternoons of just sitting on the porch or swinging on the tire swing. Sometimes my brother and I would walk down the side yard to the bottom of the hill where there was a stream running off the mountain. It wasnt a very large stream nor was it deep. The water was cold and clean though and full of crawdads!

We would tie a string onto a little piece of bacon fat and throw it across to the other side of the stream. Then, slowly, we would pull the bacon across the bottom back to us. As the bacon was pulled across the bottom of the stream, the crawdads would latch onto the bacon. My brother and I would just haul them up. Sometimes, we would forget the bacon and just wade out into the water lifting up rocks snatching them as they would try to get away.

Watercress grew around the edges of the shallow water.

My

brother and I would sometimes be sent down to the stream to pick some to eat. I remember the wind blowing in the huge trees as we would make our way down the hill. I also remember that the closer we would get to that stream, the cooler it would get.

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Grandma would fry bacon for breakfast and either save the grease to heat and use later, or she would take some of that watercress and pour the hot bacon grease on it and eat it. I remember the crackling sound that watercress would make as that hot bacon grease would hit it. It smelled so good, but I just couldnt bring myself to try it. I didnt mind eating the watercress, but when it had bacon grease as the dressing, it was just too much for me.

At night, the family would get together and we would sit around and talk. The TV hardly ever came on. My dads sisters, Jenny and Ruby, would come over to visit. Ruby was short, loud, strong, and a bit on the adventurous side. Jenny was quieter, reserved, and looked more like grandma. She was married to a fellow named Doyle. He was even quieter than Jenny but he could play a guitar.

I remember one night he came over and brought his old guitar and amplifier with him. Im not for sure, but for some reason I think he might have built that amp himself. All I can remember is sitting there and listening to him play and thinking, Man, I want to play like that. He and my dad would sit and play for hours and we would just listen and sing.

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When it came time for bed, my brother and I would make our way through the dining room, past the big kettle stove and into our bedroom. The bed was HUGE!! (at least to us) The mattresses were stuffed with some kind of bird down. They were thick and cushy. Depending on how cold it was going to get at night, grandma would always have several homemade quilts ready to put over us.

I tell you the truth, I remember my brother and I standing at the foot of the bed and falling backwards into the mattress and just burying up like we have fallen into snow. Then mom would cover us up with the blankets and there was how we laid. There was no moving once

embedded in the mattress then covered with the weight of several heavy quilts.

It would start off a little warm in the house due to the fact that the only heat was coming from the big wood stove in the dining room. It was centrally located in the house for that particular reason. I was always told never to touch the stove because it was hot. There was no way of telling just how hot it was so we just stayed away from it all together.

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As the night went on and the wood burned down, the house would gradually get a little cooler. The only reason I know is because my face was the only thing out from under the covers. The rest of me was nice and toasty.

When morning came, my brother and I would get up and meet the rest of the family who was already up and sitting around the table drinking coffee and waiting on the biscuits and gravy; not to mention the sausage, bacon and eggs. The smell would fill the house! Before breakfast, I liked to go outside and feel the cool morning air and walk around back and watch the chickens scratch around in the dirt. Then mom would come out on the porch and let us know that grandpa was about ready to take his shot. We would RUN in the house and pull up a chair.

Grandpa would roll up the pant leg of his overalls above his knees, look at us and say, I can give you a shot too if you want? NO! thats alright we would respond Are you sure? If you just roll up your pants Ill give ya one. He would say. After several denials he would say, Well alright then.. He would take the small brown bottle, stick the needle in, and draw out the clear liquid. We were in amazed! He

would then put the syringe down, pick up a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol then rub a tiny place on the inside of his thigh. Taking the needle, he would bury the needle in his leg pushing the insulin into his
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body. It would never fail. My brother and I would look at each other and say, cool! By the time it was over, breakfast was ready and it was so good. I cant really say what we did most of the day other than play outside on the tire swing or sit on the big front porch swing. Life just sort of slowed down and it was ok just to be with family. We didnt have to be doing anything or planning to go anywhere. It was like Ive looking at your day planner and seeing the word, nothing on it.

come to realize that having those nothing times regularly in our life is more productive than filling up our days with no rest between activities. Its amazing how therapeutic sitting outside on a big front porch is, being lulled into a day dream by the constant creaking of the swing chains as they rubbed against the eye hooks in the ceiling can be; or how rejuvenating a slow walk around the yard stopping to look closely at the rose bushes blooming can be; or just thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. As I write about this, I find myself being a bit startled at the proposition that I have lost that ability. Its one of those gifts that are always present and available to partake of at any time, but hardly ever utilized. Its a gift worth exercising.

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I can see this from time to time in my sons. Greyson, for instance, will be sitting in the car being quite then all of a sudden just giggle. I ask him what he was thinking about and he will tell me then just start laughing. At night, before bed, I always make it a point to ask them

what their favorite part of the day was. There have been many times when we will be talking and they will ask questions that seem to be out of the blue. When I ask them where that question came from they would just say, Well, when I was going over what happened today in my mind.. this or that happened. They have learned to take inventory of their moments and recount the days events pondering on them to the point of wonder. That, my friend, is a gift and a habit I hope they continue.

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My Wife
I saved my college years for this particular heading because it was during my time at Arkansas State University that I met my wife. Many wonderful and not so wonderful events took place from the summer of 1985 to the early spring of 1989. However, on March 4th of 1989 I wed the most wonderful woman on the face of the planet and to this day, she is and will forever remain, the love of my life. College was a very weird time in my life. I graduated

Salutatorian of my class from Buffalo Island Central in 1985. During that summer, I moved 35 miles up highway 18 to Jonesboro where I got my first job that didnt require driving a tractor, spraying weeds in 100 degree heat, or pitching watermelons. I worked as a stocker at a local grocery store on Washington Avenue in Jonesboro. I earned enough money to move into an apartment with a buddy of mine from school that was also going to college at ASU.

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I didnt really like the idea of rushing a fraternity mainly for 2 reasons: 1) I didnt have the money, and 2) that somehow people would like me because I belonged to their club and if I didnt belong to that club, I was not as good as them. My time as captain of the basketball

team and the respect that I earned from my teachers and coaches gave me the confidence to really not care about all that stuff. I was perfectly fine with who I was and what I was doing.

A year into college, I became friends with a guy who had a rock band and they asked me to try out to be their lead singer. I thought that was cool and I definitely had the mullet for the job, so I thought, why not. I remember driving over to Jonesboro one morning from my parents house to meet them at the bass players house where they practiced. It was a bit unnerving because I had never sung those songs

nor had I ever been in a group band situation. Even though these guys were seniors in high school and I was a freshman at ASU, they were some of the best musicians I had ever heard. They were all very smart and intelligent and to this day, they are lawyers, business owners, and professionals in their own field.

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After playing with these guys for a while, I met the bass player of another band called Rock-R (Notice the hyphen cool huh!) Anyway, these were just good old country boys from Harrisburg that needed a singer. I remember trying out at the guitar players house and from that time on, I was in the band. This time, it was different; these guys were more like me. I could relate to them more and they allowed me to play guitar on a few songs which was cool.

It was during this time that I met Val, my wife to be.

Her

roommate and I had Philosophy class together and she had told Val about me. Val decided to come to Philosophy class one day to look a t me and see what she thought. Val had just ended a relationship with a psycho boyfriend and was hesitant to date anyone else. There was a

band playing at a place on campus called the pavilion (the pav for short) and I asked if she would like to come. She showed up that night and I was totally blown away by her. I asked if she would like to go to Memphis with me the next day and watch my band compete in a battle of the bands and she said yes but only if her friend could come as well.

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The next day, I remember picking them up and I had a bag of air freshener hanging below a vent in my car. I got out of the car to get some money from the bank and when I came back, they were both very quiet. I asked what was going. They asked what the bag of stuff was by the vent. I told them it was air freshener and they both cracked up laughing. They thought it was pot! The funny thing is that I had never smoked nor drank a day in my life, let alone smoke pot! To my

knowledge, at that time, I had never uttered a curse word either. So to think that the bag of pot-pourri was pot without the pourri was even funnier to me.

The trip to Memphis was also memorable. We were playing at the Omni New Daisy Theater on Beale Street. Wow! I was going to

perform on Beale Street in Memphis. This was going to be awesome. We were competing against some of the best local bands in Memphis. We all piled up in the turtle which is what I called my car at the time and took off. As I listened to the other bands play, I remember thinking, man.. these guys are good. It was our turn to play and, as always, we got up on stage and did our thing the way only country boys playing rock and roll could. When it was all over, we were told that we had won and they gave us our prize. However, they suggested that we leave before the announcement in fear for our safety. So we took off across the bridge and listened to the announcement on the radio.

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On another trip to Memphis, Val spilled her soda in her seat and it got her pants all wet. I knew she was for me when she rolled down the window of the car and stuck her rear end out the window to dry her bottom off. If there is one thing that has remained the same about Val, she is not too proud to do what she needs to do to get the job done!

Over the course of 3-4 years, I recorded about 14 songs in the old Soundplex studios with a good friend named Eric at the controls most of the time. We would go to school during the day, then work, then record at night. On the weekends, we would start recording in the afternoon and go into the night. When all the tracks were laid, Sonny would come in and do the master mix down and make our tape. All that work and we would walk out with a chromium oxide cassette tape of the songs and a reel to reel tape for radio stations.

There is nothing like the first time you hear your song on the radio. Of course, it was local stations but hey, when your nineteen, sitting around the pool and hear the song that your wrote come on the radio; that is priceless. One of our songs, If I Tried won a local song call in contest on Rock 103 and I think my brother got it some airplay in California when he was in the Marines. Anyway, it was fun and I wouldnt trade that time or that experience for anything.

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I remember one time we had taken a trip to play at a high school dance in Camden, Arkansas. We were staying the night at her friend Pennys sisters house. Well, I had the bright idea of roasting marshmallows over the gas stove. I found a fork, turned the gas burner on, and started roasting my marshmallow. When it was done, I put the marshmallow AND the hot fork in my mouth! The prongs were still so hot they scorched lines in my tongue! Val said she heard it sizzle. I guess it was ok though because she laughed and I love to make her laugh.

We had many good times with the band and the friends that came along for the ride. Many of them are still my friends to this day. Mickey and Todd were always a part of the band. I still talk to them from time to time although not as much as I would like. There were some different keyboard players and drummers but Todd and Mickey were always there. At one point, they roomed with me at the Villa Todd was just fun to be

apartments while we were still in college.

around and Mickey could make you laugh at anything. These were my friends yesterday and Im so thankful I can call them my friends even to this day.

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One day, I came home to the apartment and there was a huge cage in the kitchen. It was a large cage with the top held down by a concrete cinder block. Upon closer inspection, I realized that there was a boa constrictor in the cage! I guess this made the apartment complete seeing as how we already had a fish tank with Pacas in it. These fish are cousins of a Piranha and could devour pepperonis like nobodys business. We were known by the local delivery guys as wild kingdom. They use to love to deliver our pizzas during feeding time. We would order pizza and let the delivery guy feed the Pacas pepperoni off the pizza; or ham; or whatever we could throw in there at the time.

It was a Saturday morning. I went to the kitchen, and noticed that the snake was not in the cage. It had gotten out before and found its way to the couch where we had to pull it through head first. I looked around and couldnt find the snake anywhere. I got a little concerned so I went back to my room where Miles was still asleep in his bed. I woke him up and told him that the snake had gotten out and I couldnt find him. It was like someone had catapulted him out of the bed! He got up and the first place he looked was under his bed and in the sheets. We looked all over for that snake and couldnt find him.

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That afternoon I was nuking something in the microwave and when I opened the door, I saw the snake curled up between the wall and the microwave. It liked to have scared me to death! I called out to the others and told them that I found the snake. After some time, we finally got it back in the cage and all was well.

During all this time, Val probably thought I was extremely weird but for some reason, she still kept coming around and going out with me. I remember our first movie we saw together. I dont even know if it

was a funny movie or not, but I laughed and made wise cracks through the whole thing. Im a bit on the extroverted side and very much Type A. Val told me later that she almost decided not to go out with me again because I was so obnoxious! Val is one of those strong and silent types that often doesnt know her own strength. She has overcome tremendous adversity and has made it through situations and events that would have broken most people. She always comes out stronger on the other side. I know it is due to the fact that she is a strong Christian.

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We were married in the church she attended at the time, Rogers Chapel Church of the Nazarene. Oh wedding day was a hoot! Val had worked endlessly on her dress and veil, gluing on sequins and attaching beads. The day of the wedding it was raining and the wind was blowing hard. When she got out of the car the wind blew the veil off the hanger and it went tumbling across the church yard. Her bridesmaids took turns blow drying the veil before the ceremony started. Val is so pretty

though, she could have been wearing a toe sack and still look beautiful.

That day was awesome. We were poor college kids. The only reason we got to go to Memphis for our honeymoon was because my tax refund came in and Vals sister paid for us a room at the Omni Hotel. I remember the drive to Memphis. The rain turned to sleet and the sleet turned to snow, but we didnt care.

After a few years, we moved to Birmingham where we initially lived in an apartment. Val was driving around one day and came upon this nice little craftsman style bungalow that was for sale. She actually bought the house then called me at work and said she wanted to show me the house we bought. She was just like that. I would have never

done anything like that but she did.

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I dont doubt her on stuff like that anymore because, even though it scares me a little, she just has a knack for knowing a good deal when she sees one. For instance, when we got ready to move to Jackson

Tennessee, we sold that house before the sign was up in the yard and made a good bit of money.

Sometimes I think she guides my decisions more than my own wants and desires. Then I realize that for the most part, the things that make me the happiest are those things that make Val content and happy. At the time this is being written, we have been married for over 24 years. Like every relationship, we have had times of struggle but after every struggle, we have come out on the other side closer with our relationship stronger. Some people say that they dont want to lose their own identity when they get married. They want to continue to be who they were before. I would say that I am not the same person I was before I wed. Yes, I still have a strong sense of family and dedication to the commitments that I have made. I still love to hunt, fish, play softball, write music, and play guitar. At the same time, I am a totally different person because my wants and desires have changed from being selfcentered to being outwardly focused.

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When Val and I got married, I was no longer just Bobby Long, but through Christ who reigns in both our lives, we became one flesh. I became a Christian, who is joined to a wonderful woman named Valerie and later, a father to two wonderful boys.

With marriage being such a representation of Christ and the Church, I think that my relationship with Val has allowed me to get a deeper understanding of the love Christ has for His Church. I would do anything for my wife and I would do my best not to allow anything to hurt her or cause her pain. This is a difficult thing to do. I am a fixer. My personality is one that, when confronted with a problem, I will not run from it but confront the problem and fix it to the best of my ability.

In some instances, Val has had a cooler head and prevented me from doing things to embarrass myself. Sometimes, she just gives me advice then lets me do things and just prays for me. Later, when I have to go back and apologize or eat crow, she never smears it in my face, she just quietly goes about her business.

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Good Times / Tough Times

I think most couples, at one point or another, face times in their marriage where things are significantly better and times when things are noticeably harder. Sometimes, they are one and the same. There was a time a couple of years after Val and I were married that such a time impacted our lives.

After graduating college, I started work at a large auto dealership in sales. Within a few months, I was promoted to Finance and Insurance manager. The hours were long and the hour drive to and from work were hard. After a few years of 6 and 7 day work weeks, I began to wear down. It was at this point that I met a man who sold me a bill of goods. It has always been said that sales people are the easiest sell.

Well, given my desire to be closer to home and have more time with my wife, clouded my judgment. I took a job as an insurance sales person with the understanding that I would help open up the new agency and become general manager over certain products sold.

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I spent time opening up my office, taking tests, and getting licensed to sell. The money was running out so I started going out and cold calling on businesses and homes. I would drive to Leachville and walk from home to home pedaling my products. It was so cold that I would stand behind trees until the wind would stop blowing and I could warm up a bit before moving on. Things were not going very well.

With Val still in school and money tight, we moved into a small 800 square foot house on campus. Val knew that it was wearing on me and I was slowly becoming depressed because I had to ask for money from my parents just to make ends meet. If we had 20 dollars after paying the bills for a week, we thought we were doing well.

It was Christmas, and we had no money to buy anything.

remember my uncle Charlie had a family get together the week before Christmas and Val and I went. Mom and dad were there and many of my extended family. I remember the depression was deep and my emotions were frazzled. My family was in the dining room laughing

and being loud like my family always is, but I was sitting on the couch watching TV and I just started crying. I composed myself before anyone could see me.

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What were we going to do for presents? We thought and thought and finally I had the idea of making the little triangle and golf tee game that I had played so many times before at Cracker Barrel. Val had an idea that she would make ginger bread men and women and give them away. So together, we made triangle games and ginger bread people for our family for Christmas.

There we were, in our kitchen making these trinkets, cookies, and ornaments on Christmas Eve. Val was mixing up the dough and I was cutting and drilling out the holes for the tees. I remember it was cold that night and we had the TV on. We were watching the services at

Belleview Baptist Church in Memphis and I remember a singer came on and sang a song that I would always sing at church. I sat and watched as he sang. My heart was hurting because I was not the provider that I wanted to be. I felt like a failure for the first time in my life. I had always succeeded in everything I had put my hands to in the past. Why was this any different? I just couldnt get my mind around it.

It was way after midnight when we finally were done.

When Of

morning came, we wrapped them up and took them to everybody.

course, everyone acted as if they loved them and was overjoyed. That helped.

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When I think about it, making something that actually took more than just a trip to the local Wal-Mart was very fulfilling. It took time and effort to do that. Even though the trinkets were nothing extraordinary and they didnt cost that much to make, still I made them. The same went for the cookies. Val spent hours making those cookies for everyone and she did it the best she could with what we had.

This past Christmas our family went to visit my mom and dad. You have to understand, my parents keep everything. They gave me a scrapbook of mine that mom had been adding to since I was in grade school. Anyway, we were over at their house before Christmas and just talking and visiting. Mom, then said, I want to show you something. She went back in her room and brought out this box. She put it on the table and opened it up. It was those ginger bread people that we had given them for Christmas over twenty years ago! She has kept them all this time, super gluing arms and legs back on when needed.

I never really noticed it, but she puts them on their tree every year. They were broken and some of the frosting had fallen off. I realized

that they knew what hard times were. They understand what it means to having nothing. They also understand that gifts given when you have nothing to give are the greatest gifts of all.

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Birmingham
I was working as an assistant manager at a local retail store in Jonesboro when Val finished up her degree in Radiologic Sciences at ASU. That was a great time for her and we were all very proud of what she had accomplished. Soon after that, she had received a job offer to work at a very prominent sports rehab hospital in Birmingham. We talked it over and she accepted the job.

The time came to move. We had boxed everything up and packed it away in the moving van and in our cars. We didnt have that much so that was good. We had picked out an apartment in a very nice suburb mainly because we didnt know much about the town. We had only been their once so finding the place again was going to be harder than what we thought. Remember, this was before the time of GPS systems and none of us had cell phones at the time.

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My mom and dad were there (as always) helping us.

Dad drove

the big moving van which also pulled Vals car, I drove another smaller van and Val drove my vehicle. The route was fairly simple; we would leave Jonesboro, drive to Memphis where we would get on 78 then it was a straight shot to Birmingham. Since none of us had cell phones,

we could not communicate while driving. Our form of communication was to drive ahead of the others, then turn on the blinker to exit off the road and everyone would follow suit. I remember the first glitch in the trip. Val was leading and she missed the turn to get on 78 in Memphis, mom, dad and I all took the turn and slowed down so she could see us. I saw when she realized

what she had done but it was too late. She had to get off at the next exit, turn around, and get back on 78 and meet up with us down the road where we pulled off to wait. When she finally met up with us, I was so relieved. I knew she would be upset and nervous and she was. But she was alright and everybody was fine.

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As we traveled on down 78, the traffic would get worse as we would approach the towns along the way. Hwy 78 was 4 lanes for a while then 2 then back up to 4. It was exhausting. We were coming up to this one town and the road was 2 lanes with a small gravel shoulder. I was leading, Val was behind me, and my dad was bringing up the rear. Suddenly, the vehicle in front of me decided to put on the breaks. I hit mine hard and saw Val do the same behind me. Then I saw my dad in the U-Haul pulling Vals Olds Cutlass come screaming by me on the shoulder. Gravel was flying and Vals car was bouncing around. It liked to have scared me to death. After all the excitement, we pulled over and made sure everyone was ok and got back on the road.

We ended up getting into Birmingham about dark. It was hard enough navigating in a big city in the daytime much less at night. We exited off the interstate and came to the proverbial fork in the road. Do we turn right or left? Directionally challenged as I was, I decided to turn right. We should have turned left. We drove aimlessly for what seemed liked hours before turning around and going back the other direction. We finally ended up at the apartments. We got just enough belongings carried in (up 3 flights of stairs) to sleep for the night. exhausted and our nerves were shot. We were

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The next morning we started unpacking.

We had met a pastor

friend on one of our visits to Birmingham and he helped us move in. He was a life saver. He was young and athletic and a real help seeing as how we had a large van, a smaller van, and vehicles to unload. Everything looked and felt better in the daylight.

The sun was shining; we could open up the doors and look out into the mountains. It was just beautiful. At the same time, I was thinking, we are almost six hours from home and we could count the people we know here on one hand. At the same time, I had Val and she had me, and with that, everything was going to be fine. We hadnt lived there long until Val was driving around one day and came upon this nice bungalow craftsmen style home that was built in the 1920s. One of the prior owners had worked at the Botanical Gardens of Birmingham and had done some amazing landscaping. The house was situated on a hill so we walked in on ground level and walked out onto the deck attached to the back of house which was two stories.

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At the back of the house was a window lined sun room that spanned the width of the house. Coming into the sunroom from the kitchen to the right was where the stairwell was that led to the basement. Below, there were two bedrooms with closets and the laundry room that I would call unfinished. It was rock floor and unfinished walls. The house was built on hand honed beams of lumber that were at least two feet square. I could still see where they had been squared it up with an axe.

Bamboo grew in the very rear of the small back yard. By the house were stone steps that led up the side of the house. Every 4 to 5 steps, rock planters were staggered up the side of the hill by the house were giant azalea bushes grew under flowering dogwood trees. At the top of the steps was the very small front yard that was about 10 feet from the sidewalk and about five feet from the road which was where we parked our cars. The house had a long front porch supported by four large stone columns. The front porch was completed by a porch swing where we could sit and talk with neighbors as they walked their dogs at night.

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It was very relaxing and very peaceful. The living room had a large fireplace and a galley style kitchen. There were two small

bedrooms on the top floor. Both rooms had wood windows that looked out over the steps running up the side of the house. In the spring when the dogwood trees would bloom, I tell you it was like you were in the clouds. The white blooms of the dogwood trees would fill the windows.

Val and I both loved that house. It was our first home purchase. w I cant take any credit for that. As I stated before, Val actually came upon that house, negotiated the price, signed the offer and acceptance, and then called me at work and said, I need to show you the house we bought. I was a bit taken back. Not at the thought of Val doing what she did because I knew that she had a nose for good deals and I trusted her. It was just a bit scary to me.

This is why Val and I are so good for each other. I am the cautious one and she is more of the risk taker. She sees opportunity and I tend to over evaluate things. Together, we make sound, thoughtful decisions and we have always come out for the better.

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Over time, we made a few good friends from our time living in Alabama and Tennessee who we still remain in contact with today. If we are really honest with ourselves, we all understand that there are those who are our friends and then there are those whom we are at home around. No facades, no masks, we can be who we are and everything is ok. These are those who you may not see for years and then, when you get together with them, things are just as if you never left. Their kids

are like your own. You can watch a football game together and then laugh as your friend jumps out of his chair, pulls his hair back, and paces the floor when his team (Crimson Tide!) makes a stupid mistake.

There are those people who you will drive six hours to be with when they re-new their vows. When you hear the crash of ocean waves at Gulf Shores, you miss the times vacationing together and just playing guitar and singing on their back porch. They are just easy to be with. Yes, these are few and far between, but when you find them, you always have them in your mind and when you think about them, you smile. That is a friend.

Birmingham is a beautiful city.

It sits at the foothills of the

Appalachian mountain range. The city is four hours from Gulf Shores and 30 minutes from Oak Mountain state park which has over 10,000 acres of national forest.

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When people would come to visit us, we would always take them to see the city lights. There is an overlook at the top of Red Mountain in a very elite neighborhood. We would drive past Vulcan Park and wind up these narrow roads until we came to a small side street that went past very old and stately mansions which overlooked the city. It was here that we would pull over to see the view. Birmingham is nestled in sort of like a valley. It is an awesome thing to see at night. All the buildings lit up and the cars on the streets like ribbons that move in and through the city. The houses on top of the mountain are magnificent, but the view is majestic.

This like any other place had its ups and downs. Val was able to leave her position at the sports rehab hospital and find a day shift which was a blessing. She had been working weekends, two 16 hour shifts for a year and a half and was exhausted. I got out of my job which was causing a ton of stress. We were making it but we were not getting ahead either. Yes, we could go to the gulf every now and then, go out to eat, and have a little left over, so all in all, we were doing fine. We were settling in to life in the big city. Then the ice storm came.

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A year or two after we were there, Birmingham was hit with inch of ice and then several inches of snow. Like any southern city, they were not prepared to deal with that type of weather so the city just shut down. I had barely made it home that night before all the ice began to fall. When it started, it didnt stop. My car was parked on th e side of the road and I was afraid to move for fear that it be like a giant bobsled and just shoot down the road and into our neighbors front door, so there it sat.

After a few days of being stuck in the house, the lesbians across the street and some of our other neighbors would meet in the road in front of our house and exchange movies to watch. Finally, it got to

where we could move around a bit. Our car was still stuck in front of our house so we couldnt drive. Our friends walked over from thei r house and we would play games and talk.

One day, we were so stir crazy and ready to get out that we decided to take off walking and go the local Wynne Dixie supermarket and get a few things. So we took off down the street. It was about a mile away, but we didnt care. It was so frigid out side. We all looked like walking Eskimos. When we finally made it to the main road, I was amazed to see that it was actually clearing up. We made it to the store and it was a great site. We just walked around and looked at things.

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When we were ready to go, I decided to get a can coke for the road. As we started walking out the door and through the parking lot, I noticed that it was harder and harder for me to get a drink. We had made it half way through the parking lot and I no longer could get any soda out of the can. When I looked, the soda had frozen solid. Yes; it was cold.

My friends had a bottle of water that they had in their jacket. He took it out and opened it up then shook some of the water up in the air. It immediately turned to ice crystals. The air was so dry that it just sucked the moisture out of the air from anywhere it could be found. It sort of ticked me off that my coke was frozen in my hands and I had only gotten 2 or so drinks out of it before having to toss it in the trash can before even leaving the parking lot.

Winter gave way to summer and things started blooming and greening up. The hills turned from grey to green what seemed like over night. Val was a runner and loved running in Birmingham. She always carried military tear gas with her as a security measure against dogs and guys that would act like dogs.

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One day she was coming home from a run and she had that tear gas in her front pocket. She forgot it was there and bent over to pick something up and the stuff went off on her leg. She knew she was in trouble so she ran home and immediately took off the pants. By that time, it has started burning. Needless to say, it was pretty concerning when it happened but it made for a good laugh after.

All in all Birmingham was a great experience. When we would go back to see friends, we would drive by the old house, go eat at some of our favorite restaurants, and just talk about old times. There were many events that I didnt talk about that caused great concern such as Vals blood pressure bottoming out so badly that she would pass out in the car seat next to me, or the time that Val went to buy miss matched mattresses and didnt want to pay the delivery charges so she strapped them on the hood of our only car and took off.

I bet it was a sight to see my wife puttering in a very old Toyota Corolla driving through the most astute suburb of Birmingham with Barney the Dinosaur mattresses strapped to the hood of our sub compact car. Or the time, I had to get a new muffler for the Corolla and as we watched the technicians from the restaurant across the street look in amazement at the muffler that was tied on by a clothes hanger.

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It was these times that I will never forget. Some are hard to think about and others are easy. Its like I said earlier, trial and joy do not intersect; they run side by side. They are cords of the same rope that you just cant unwind. Thinking back, I dont know that I would want to try and unwind them and take the experiences them separately. Its the good times that make the bad tolerable, and the bad that makes the good that much better.

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Were Goin to Jackson (Tennessee that is)

Val and her older sister were always close and still are today. Jenafer and her family had moved to Jackson Tennessee while we were living in Birmingham. Toward the end of our time there, I had been told by my employer that they were down-sizing due to losing a large account. However, they allowed me to continue working until I found another job. There was one caveat; I was going to work at another location in Jackson Mississippi. There was no other option, so I did. I

would drive to Jackson Mississippi on Sunday night, spend all week there and drive home on the weekend. During my down time, I would send out resumes and put in applications.

Jenafer called Val and said there was a position open at the hospital there in Jackson and I should apply. I sent my resume in and they called. To make a long story short, I got the job and was making more money that I had ever had before. We still had to sell the house so Val stayed in Birmingham and I lived with Vals sister for a while.

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I remember just how God worked everything out.

It was a

weekend and we were going to put the house up for sale that following week. My mom and dad came up and were helping get things ready to show. The agents sign was in the front yard but had not been put up yet because the house wasnt going on the market until the next day. As we were working outside, this couple walked by and asked if they could look at the house. We told them that we were still cleaning and getting things ready. They didnt care so we showed them the house. The next day we had an offer at the full asking price. Val had made an

outstanding decision on the purchase of that home. We were able to make enough to put down a significant amount on another house in Jackson.

Jackson is still one of our favorite cities. I was finally doing something that I loved and Val was there near her sister and didnt have to work as much. She did some part-time work for the hospital and also taught at the local business college and that was fine. The house was

located in a good part of town on a quite cove right around the block from the Church we decided to attend. Things were going good. We

became involved in our church and eventually ended up in leadership and in the worship band.

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Val and I didnt have kids at the time and became very involved with the college kids from Union University. It wasnt anything to walk in from work and see one of them washing dishes and asking so how was your day or go into the living room to find one or more sprawled out on the couch watching TV. That was sort of weird but I got used to it. I didnt mind, they were good kids and helped Val with the dishes and laundry. Many of these kids were far away from home and didnt really have any family they could turn to if things got bad or if they just needed a place to go. We were close to the church and to the University so we didnt care at all.

I remember one night, the weather was terrible. It was sticky most of the day so you just knew the night was going to be bad. It was about dusk when the tornado watches and warnings started showing up and with those, the college kids were not far behind. We all just hung out in the living room until the storms past.

We woke the next morning to unbelievably fresh air and the knowledge that two F-5 tornados had ripped through Jackson cutting a path a mile wide. The devastation was tremendous. I remember going down some of the streets and seeing one house blown from the foundation and the other with no damage at all. amazing. It was absolutely

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In the winter time, if the weather was bad, they would come over and I would crank up the fireplace. We would sit around, talk about what they were learning in school, and watch TV. There were many times when the weather was so bad due to ice or snow that I would wake the next morning and have to step over legs and arms of sprawled out bodies as I went to work especially if the weather caused power outages. Those were good times and we were glad to have them there.

I recollect the Y2K scare. We had meetings at the church about it and what people thought was going to happen. People were buying generators and installing wood burning stoves. The year 2000 was

close and that topic filled the radio waves. At that time, I was in a local community worship band and we were slatted to play at the Oman Arena on New Years Night. There were several other bands going to be there along with many speakers from all over West Tennessee. Val was coming close to the end of the pregnancy and it was sort of bad not knowing what was going to happen. However, I thought we were better off with a bunch of fellow Christians singing and praying if things got crazy. Needless to say, the New Year came without a glitch and

everything worked as it should.

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It was during our time in Jackson Tennessee that our boys were born. Val had become close to an older lady named Shirley. Shirley was a hoot and, in some ways, provided a very special relationship that had been lacking in Vals life. Shirleys daughter Jan was a lot like Val and they all got along great. On or about the time we found out we This

were having twins, Shirley was diagnosed with lung cancer.

devastated Val. As time when on Shirleys condition worsened and she finally ended up in ICU at Jackson General Hospital.

I remember early on, we would visit a specialist every week due to the pregnancy being seen as high risk. They did the testing and

ultrasounds as usual. During one visit the doctor told us that Greyson (baby B) had a very high chance of being blind and deaf. This was not good news for a young couple having their first babies. At this

time, Val and I had been married 10 years and had gone through some times where our faith had been tested, but nothing like this before. We prayed and our church family prayed with us. I dont remember ever doubting that our babies were going to be perfect regardless of what they could or could not do.

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The delivery time was drawing near and during the 2000 Super Bowl Sunday Val was having problems with her legs. She has started swelling pretty bad. We ended up in the ER and finally found out that Val had a deep vein thrombosis (blood clot) in her leg running from her hip to her ankle. Soon after, they admitted her to the hospital for the

duration of the pregnancy which was going to be another week.

We had always known the kids were going to be born C-Section, however, with the onset of the blood clot, this meant that Val would be on blood thinner to control the clot. I was instructed to try and find people that would donate blood just in case Val had to have an emergency C-Section. With the blood thinner in the system, a C-Section could kill her. All this time, just a few floors up, Vals friend was dying of cancer while her own life was in danger from the enormous clot that was lodged in her leg. Not only that, but we still had that conversation pressing in the back of our mind concerning the development of Greyson.

Miracles do happen. As a precaution, the doctors would order periodic ultrasounds to make sure they were containing the clot. One night, our pastor and his wife came to visit. Their names were Don and Jenny LeMasters. They prayed that night prior to the ultrasound that the blood clot would be healed. As time when on, they left and Val went for the ultrasound.
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The next morning, we learned that the ultrasound report dictated by the doctor stated that there was no blood clot to be found. This was truly a miracle and one that the OB doctor didnt believe so they continued to keep her on the blood thinner right up to the time she delivered and for a while after.

This good news was tempered with the fact that as life was to arrive, one was about to leave. Shirley was in bad shape now and Val desperately wanted her to see the kids before she passed. This was a very hard time. With great joy also came great sorrow. It seems thats the way life goes. People always say, If I can just make it through this valley or Things will get better if I can just make it through this trial. However, thats not been my experience. I dont see trials as intersecting the line of good times. I see trials and joyous times running parallel with one another. There will always be sorrow; at the same time, there is always reason for joyous living. The only question then becomes which events will be the focus of our attention and the object of our meditation; the good; or the bad? I choose to dwell on the good and deal with the bad.

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This does not mean that we refuse to acknowledge or deal with the struggle; we just make sure that it is in the right perspective and we never loose site of the good times that run parallel which demand rejoicing. I never forgot about the blood clot in my wifes leg. It never left my mind that giving birth could end up in a tragedy. At the same time, I never allowed those thoughts to rob me of the joy that I felt knowing that I was going to be a father. Val and I learned to deal with the bad possibilities, at the same time we also did not dwell on them. Deal with bad; dwell on the good I think thats pretty sound advice.

After a week of being in the hospital with the clot, they scheduled the C-section. Vals sister worked as a case manager at the hospital and had requested that one of the doctors from Vanderbilt be present during the birth just incase something went wrong with one of the babies. Everything was going light speed now that it was time.

The night before, Val was taking a shower and as the hot water hit her stomach, a tiny blood vessel just popped and started bleeding. Her skin had stretched to the limit. There was no more stretching. Her skin was so thin that the impact of the water caused the capillaries in her stomach to pop. She new it was time.

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The next day, they gave her magnesium to thicken her blood so the C-Section wouldnt cause her to bleed to death. She had been on IV blood thinner the night before to control an inexistent clot the doctors wouldnt acknowledge had been miraculously dissolved. The time was

really going by quickly. Our family was there and ready for the kids. The nursery in our home was complete with hand painted Wind in the Willows murals we painted ourselves. Stacks of diapers, baby socks, wipes, lotion, etc. were all in place and stockpiled; it was a literal arsenal of baby paraphernalia. I was getting ready to go in to the delivery room when Vals sister came to get me. It was time. Val was already there; covered up and talking to me. The room was filled with nurses and doctors and I just sort of found a spot and watched in awe as this controlled chaos unveiled before my eyes.

Then, they were ready. I swear, as soon as the doctor stepped in place and made that first incision; out comes Parker. Immediately, a nurse took him over to this heat light where they started working on him. I followed them and started counting toes and finger. As he started crying, I knew he was alright. I didnt even get the toes on one foot counted when hear comes Greyson. Now there were two under the light.

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As the doctors checked them out, they started to cry in unison Waaaa Waaaa Waaa It all happened so fast. They asked if I

wanted to cut the cord but I was too taken back to make any decision. It was sensory overload and I dont believe I could have told someone my name at that time. Vals skin was so thin the doctors incision nicked Parkers head and Greysons heal with the scalpel.

Soon after the boys were delivered, Val was taken out of the room and the kids were taken to the nursery. Vals sister was the first to hold the babies and show the rest of those who were in the waiting area. After that, the babies were checked out and put in the room with us. Before we went to bed, we let the nurses take the kids so Val could get some sleep.

During the night, they had to take Greyson out of the nursery because he was having trouble breathing while he ate and couldnt keep his body temperature up. He just couldnt get the two synched up, so as he ate, he would hold his breath causing his oxygen levels to plummet. It was at this time that we realized that we would be spending a little more time in the hospital than we realized.

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Greyson was admitted to the neonatal floor where he would stay for the next week. Since Jenafer and I worked at the hospital, they

allowed Val and I to stay there in an empty room. We could only see Greyson for brief periods throughout the day and only a couple of people at a time could go in. Each time, we and whoever else, would have to prep like we were going into surgery just to go in to see him. It was hard to do. The nurses that stay with these babies are extra special people. They were kind and considerate and helped all they could.

Greyson weight about 5 pounds and 11 ounces when he was born but he kept loosing weight due to his feeding problems. It was very

hard to go in there. One day the IV would be in his foot; the next day, it would be in his head. I was somewhat afraid to hold him because I didnt want to pull something loose, but I did. I would stay there and just rock him and talk to him until it was time to go. Parker, on the other hand, was getting baby chubby. The best way for me to describe him was by his hair. It looked like he had the most severe static electricity imaginable. It stood straight out of his head and would not lie down. He had blue eyes, pudgy cheeks, and a pretty good handshake for someone his age.

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This had been the first time in his life that he had been separated from his brother. They had spent the last 8 months together; kicking each other, jockeying for space and the likes. It would not be long before they were together again.

Greyson was finally able to keep his temp up while eating and he gained back the weight he had lost so it was time to take the family home. I remember getting into the car. It was scary leaving the security of the hospital. We were about to be on our own with two tiny babies, however, we were about as prepared as anyone could be. Jenafer knew a formula rep that, over the next several months, would drop stacks of cases of baby formula in our garage. It was like manna from heaven. God knew our needs and feeding two babies formula would have broke us. God did provide.

As Val and I were trying to survive the total shock to our lives of having twins, we could not have done it without the help and support of our church family. They were amazing! They organized meals for us everyday for, I would say, close to 6 months. Yes! Six Months! We had people come over and watch the kids while Val got some coveted sleep or went to run errands. Cornerstone church was amazing.

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There are not enough words to describe the sincere gratitude we felt and still feel today as we think back on those days. A multitude of

people took time out of their own lives to make ours better. They sacrificially gave food and help for months upon months.

After the boys were born, Val became so sleep deprived and drained from feeding and caring for two boys, that she thought she might just go on to Jesus. I remember Val telling me about this and thinking she was joking. Later, I found out the story Im about to tell was true. This concern of dying became so real to her that Val told this young lady from our church it was her desire that she marry me if something were to happen to her. Val had already determined that she was a Godly woman who could cook and take care of us. I was too shocked to realize that she never consulted me in the decision; but then, who could blame her.

One has to remember that it was also during this time that Val was having dreams that it was her responsibility to feed every child in the neighborhood. In her dream, she would answer the front door bell and there would be a line of kids around the block waiting to be fed. THAT must have been a real nightmare!

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Needless to say, we survived and we didnt have to execute Vals backup marriage plan. The kids were growing and everyone wanted to stop and look at the babies in the double stroller. Oh; by the way, remember the doctor that told us that Greyson would probably be deaf and blind; both boys play musical instruments; Greyson plays the guitar (by ear) and drums; Parker plays the violin and piano. Both can sing and harmonize very well together. They are both healthy and are taking advanced placement courses in school.

We had always thought it would be neat to take a trip to Jackson and show up at the doctors office with our very healthy boys and say, remember this conversation. But, we are just happy all turned out like it did.

Jackson General was a great place to work. My director and his wife were from New Orleans. They were a young couple just starting out. As time when on, we became good friends and would hang out, go out to eat, and just cut up. One day, while at work, he said that he had to call an exterminator to come out to his new house because his wife freaked out over a mouse she had seen. He asked if I wanted to take a ride with him while he waited on the guy to get the house sprayed, so I said sure.

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When we got there, the exterminator was walking through the house, putting out traps and spraying. After the exterminator was done, he talked about the different spraying plans offered. After one was agreed upon, he submitted the invoice and left. On the way back to the office, my director looked at the invoice and said, Did that guy look Hispanic to you? I said, no.. Why? He said, He signed the invoice Heysus Sauvaes I took the invoice and looked at it.. His name is not Heysus Sauvaes.. I said, Its JESUS SAVES!

I almost pasted out I was laughing so hard.

He then made me

swear that I would not tell anyone about it. I said ok But I told everyone anyway I couldnt help it! It was just too dog gone funny!

There were many good times while we lived in Jackson; from the hot air balloon races to our memories of our church family and friends. The good memories just seem to override the bad. Like the time my

department at work went to lunch together and David (a Pilipino) noticed the old beat up truck in front of our car and said, You know, if we were to hit that truck, it would not be the impact that killed us it would be the tetanus! Or the time when he got up to go to the

bathroom and coughed on his food before walking away. We asked him why he did that and he said, I dont want you guys eating my food while Im gone.

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We laughed a lot but still had some of the most intense events I have ever had in my life to this day. I don t know if it was due to the fact that I was young and had never been put in those situations before or what. All I know is that I will never forget them and to this day, they influence and shape many of my decisions.

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God Spoke
There were many good times in Jackson and many trying times as well. As a Type-A personality, I was wired to lead. I have been a leader of some sort since I could remember. I think it all stems from my parents. As long as I can remember, some of the earliest memories I

have are of my parents taking the lead at church, at home, or on their job. Dad was (and still is) the one that everyone would come to if something didnt work or if something was not right in the family. To this day, even after retirement, his former employer still calls to get advice on how to fix things or asks how to handle certain situations.

Mom and my aunts would always do whatever needed to be done at church to make sure that vacation bible school was staffed and that the kids were having fun. After the meal, they were the first to make sure everything was clean and ready for the next gathering. They all just did what had to be done and people looked to them to do the job.

Our church in Jackson was comprised of many college kids from Union University. These young adults were the best and boy, did they have questions. They were 18- 22 years old asking questions that I, as a Christian of over 15 years, should have either known the answers to or at least known what they were talking about!

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As their college professors at a Christian University would present certain issues or concepts, the ideas would challenge their faith and how they viewed God causing great stress and anxiety in their life. They would come over and we would talk for hours about various issues. Many times, I would just have to tell them I will study the issue at hand as should they. Then we would come together the next week and talk about what we learned. This helped a lot and I learned as much or more than the kids asking the questions.

At the same time this was going on, we had other issues at the church that I, as well as the others on the leadership team, were dealing with. At our core, we were a non-denominational church. At the same time, many of those who came to our church worked at Union University which was a Baptist school. The church was also a member of the Chester-Madison County Baptist Association. Being more nondenominational that Baptist, we believed and taught what we saw as truth from the Bible which, from time to time, did not exactly line up with the Baptist doctrine.

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At one point, we had an interim preacher who was helping us as we searched for a new senior pastor. During this time, the association appointed a pastor who heard what we taught and what we believed. He became so uneasy with our teaching on the gifts of the spirit that he called a special meeting of the association and our leadership team. During that meeting he tried to give me all this literature to change my mind and our teaching. He finally ended up telling us that if we didnt stop teaching what we were teaching, they were going to remove their fellowship with us. WOW! I didnt see that coming.

When they said that, the others in the leadership team turned and looked to me for an answer. I was at a loss for words at that moment. What if I made the wrong decision and the church folded? I just sat there and prayed and asked God to give me words. I looked up and thanked the men from the association and then told them that we teach what we feel is the whole counsel of God. Our services were not out of order in anyway and are ruled by scriptural guidelines. I found it hard to see how part of the body could disassociate with another seeing as how that would do more harm than good. I then told them that we would rather obey what we felt was the clear teaching of scripture than to bend beneath the threats of men; they need to do what they felt they needed to do. Then they told us they were sorry and left.

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That was a long night but, in the end, I was glad with the outcome; and so was everyone else. I remember driving home that night

wondering if I said the right thing. Later that night, I was standing in my bedroom before going to bed looking out the window and I actually heard the voice of God in my mind. I can hear it just as plainly today as I did so long ago. God said, Do not fear; you said what needed to be said; you did what needed to be done. You did all this with integrity and I am proud of you. Dont worry about what people will say or what they will do. I am with you Now go to sleep. With that; I went to sleep.

The next few weeks were interesting to say the least. The Baptist Association never followed through on their threats. The temporary pastor they provided did try and pull a fast one on our congregation that backfired on him.

It was a Sunday morning and all was going as planned. That morning I had several people come to me and ask if we could sing a song that had sort of a bluesy feel too it. The song was God is Good. I responded by saying that I really didnt know what music had been planned by the worship leader, but I would suggest it.

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Services went on as they usually did and we got to the end of the service. I and the rest of the band were in place to play if needed during the invitation time. When, out of the blue, the temporary pastor said that it was going to be his last Sunday with us.

I looked over at Kim, our piano player, and she asked if I knew anything about this; I said no. I looked back at Jonathan (another

member of the leadership team who was running sound that morning) and he shrugged his shoulders like he knew nothing at all about it either.

After he finished dropping that bomb on us, Kim leaned over and whispered, What are we going to do now? I said, We are going to play God is Good All the Time! I then stepped up to the podium and said that we were thankful for the time they were with us and we hope nothing but the best for them in the future. I then related to the congregation that If God be for us, then who could be against us. I reminded them that His mercies are new every morning and that God has great and wonderful plans for our church and his people I asked them if God was good? They said, All the time! and as the association pastor and his wife were heading toward the back door, through the congregation, assuming this would devastate the church, we were singing God is Good all the time to the top of our voices.

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You see, they meant their actions to be a devastating blow to our church; a blow from which they hoped the church would not recover. What they didnt understand was that the church does not rise or fall due to the actions of a few men. They didnt realize that God still had a plan for that church and those individuals. They thought they would remove themselves from the equation and the blocks would tumble. They didnt understand that with the Chief Cornerstone as Christ, they could huff and puff and blow hot air all they wanted and the house would stand because it wasnt our house; it was Gods.

This holds true for every house; not just a house of worship. My home will not fail because its not my home; its Gods. Because of

love, I saw that the best and most trustworthy thing I could do on their behalf to secure their success was to give them to God. Now their future is in HIS hands and not mine. from God and His Word. Yes, I still have the awesome

responsibility as the spiritual leader of our home, but I get my direction This, in no way means Im perfect or do

everything right. It does mean that I love my wife and family in a way that provides the foundation for them to be all they can be in Christ.

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Homecoming
With the birth of our twins, the necessity of being close to family was pressing. Our time in Jackson was coming to an end. After a very long and tedious interview process, I landed a job with a hospital Physician Hospital Organization that would allow us to move back to Jonesboro.

It truly was bitter sweet. The people of our church had provided meals and took turns watching the twins so Val and I could get sleep and run errands for right at 6 months! It was incredible the love and My friends and co-workers

steadfast attention that they gave to us.

would also be missed. The hospital was a very integral part of the community and if you worked for the hospital, you were almost expected to volunteer in the community.

Aside from that, I was also a founding member of the One Voice Community Choir. It was led by a wonderful woman Debbie Currie who will always be fondly remembered. However, it was time to move home and home we went.

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Our home in Jonesboro was a place in an established neighborhood called Candlewood. The houses were built among wooded hills and rolling landscape. Many of the homes were tri-level including the

bought. It had a huge tri-level deck off the kitchen which led to a pretty good size back yard. The boys had their playroom down stairs next to the living room. Up five stairs and there was the formal living room and the kitchen and dining area. Then up five more stairs was where the three bedrooms were. It was a nice quiet neighborhood with plenty of trees and a great fenced backyard for the kids.

There are three main events that occurred while we lived in Candlewood which will forever be ingrained in my mind. The first was the meadow experience. It was a snowy day and the kids loved to bundle up and head out to the backyard and play in the snow. On this particular Saturday, the kids wanted to play in the snow. So we all

bundled up and headed out. They wanted to know what was beyond the trees on the other side of our backyards fence. I really didnt know. I had never really thought about it or looked. It seemed like just the time for an adventure so we opened the gate at the rear of our backyard and started making our way through the thicket of leafless trees when all of a sudden the trees opened up in to this huge tree lined meadow. It was beautiful. The snow didnt have one single foot print.

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We looked around for a bit then started making a snow man. It was great! We built two that day and went back time and time again until the snow melted away. You really never know whats just beyond your own backyard unless you look. Im glad we looked.. Although we were only there a short time, there were a few times that I think are worth recalling. Our twins were young and they loved to help Val in the kitchen especially when it came to making scrambled eggs. The boys play room was downstairs from the kitchen and was filled with fisher price toys and toy chests full of fun things to play with.

On this particular day, Val had left the kids in the play room for a bit to put laundry away. After a few minutes she noticed that the kids were unusually quiet. She made her way down one set of stairs to the entry and kitchen area, then down another set of five stairs to the den and playroom area. As she walked in the door of the playroom, she gasped in horror!

The kids were standing there with an empty egg carton.

It was

like the carton had just exploded all over the room. There were eggs all over the walls, carpet, and sliding glass doors. What was even worse was egg all in their toy bins. Val was SO mad she just had to leave the room to keep from beating them! Needless to say, after Val composed herself and took care of business, the kids never did that again.
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Another such time is one that I will never forget. It was a summer day and we had a family reunion to go to in Manila. I wanted to get the yard mowed before leaving so I started early that morning. I cranked up the push mower and started mowing. As I started making the third or so pass from the chain linked fence going toward the back of the yard, I felt like I had gotten into some briars. I had shorts on that day and reached down to get the briar vine off my leg and saw that it was not briars. I had run over a huge ground hornets nest and they were pouring out of the ground and all over me.

In a matter of seconds, I was swatting bees off my legs, out of my shirt, and all over my head. I immediately thought of my kids who were playing up on the third level of our wood deck. I called out to them as calmly as I could to get in the house. They started asking me what was wrong and told them to just get in the house! Luckily, we had just built a sunroom on part of the deck which entered into the dining room.

I finally made my way up the deck and into the sunroom away from the rest of the swarm. Now all I had to deal with was the swarm that was on me. I tried to keep as calm as I could because I knew that Val and the kids were watching. I really dont think they knew just how bad it was.

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By the time it was all over, I had close to twenty stings from my neck up and countless more on my legs and back where they had gotten under my shirt. I was also stung on the hand a number of times as I tried to pull them out of hair. It was terrible.

I finally got them all out of my hair and pulled as many of the stingers as I could out of my flesh. It was sort of eerie as I looked at the stingers; they were still pulsating as if trying to find something the sting. I took some Benadryl to counter the reaction. It worked relatively fine so we decided to go on to the family reunion.

By the time we reached Monette, which was about 25 minutes from Jonesboro, I was hurting bad. Luckily the family doctors office was in Monette. As a last ditch effort, we pulled into the parking lot in the back of his office and Val knocked on the door. Believe it or not; someone opened the door on a Saturday. It was the doctor! Val told him what happened and he gave me some medicine and we went on our way.

The medicine, however, made me extremely sleepy and hungry. I didnt know what I wanted to do more; eat or sleep. So, as best as I can remember, I did both!

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9/11/01
There are those times in a persons life that act as life markers. It may be the birth of a child, ones wedding day, or the day a life was given to the Lord. For me, one of those days was the morning of September 11th 2001. I was working for the hospital at that time and was helping with a charity golf tournament. It was a beautiful late summer day. The sky was blue and I was planning on a relaxing day on the course. My morning was good. I was early as usual so I leisurely drove through the golf course community to my way to the club house. I vividly remember driving with my window down listening to the birds singing and thinking how beautiful a day it was going to be. Somehow, the sky was just bluer today than it had ever been.

When I got to the clubhouse, I found my way in and was just walking around talking to people who were just making their way in as well. I walked into the pro-shop and the T.V. coverage of the 9/11 Terrorist attacks had just started. I watched in horror and disbelief as the first plane crashed into the World Trade Center. At that time, it was not yet known that it was a terror attack. Then the second plane crashed into the other tower.

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As more and more news came, we came to realize that it was Muslim literalists that had taken over 4 planes. Two had already crashed into the north and south towers in New York, one was heading for the Pentagon, and the other I thought was heading for the White House but brave Americans forced a crash into a field in Pennsylvania. By 9am, I was heading back to the office. I told Val to go get gas in the vehicles and I would be home as soon as possible.

I knew I had to go to the hospital and help with any emergency situation that came up. I was not medically trained but I could take a group of people and get things done. I was not afraid to do whatever anyone asked. Were there going to be more attacks? What about L.A., or Dallas, Atlanta, etc? The list went on and on.

When it became apparent that the attacks were over, I went home to be with my wife and kids. We sat in front of our TV and just watched in horror as people were jumping out of windows to escape the flames which were engulfing the high rise buildings. We watched as fire

fighters were running into the buildings to save as many people as they could. Over time, I remember the sense of pride I felt as the Flag of the United States of America was raised over the rubble.

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Its been almost 12 years now and I can still see those images in my head. I can still sense the surreal numbness that I felt as I watched from the comfort of the golf pro-shop while other people were losing their lives. My day was hauntingly perfect; lullingly normal; and

tragically sobering.

I can say that the 9/11 event was anything but mundane. At the same time, the day started out that way for many who didnt come home. What if we woke and started the day as if it were our last. That phrase is used quite often; but what if we really did get up and instead of

dreading the day, we determined to breathe it in like life.

What if we made it a point to notice just how beautiful our wife is and tell her?

What if we take time to look at our kids, give them a hug, and tell them we love them and we are proud of them? What if?

What if we could drive to work in the pouring rain and be thinking, today is going to be a great day?

What if we would start the day out with 10 pennies in our right pocket and every time we encouraged someone, we would move one penny to the other pocket.
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What if we did that multiple times during the day?

What if we spent more time praising our kids than putting them down?

What if every time we looked at our spouse, we remembered the first time we held hands?

What if we thanked God for whatever He was protecting us from when we got stopped at that light instead of beating the crap out of the steering wheel?

What if.. (you fill in the blank)

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Building Our House

Val and I decided that the time was right to start building our house. We had never done anything like that before. The good thing about it was that Vals step brother was a builder and he agreed to build it for us. We had purchased the acre lot from Vals dad which was

located right behind his house. Our backyard was on the backside of a hill so our boys grandparents house was literally, up the hills from grandmas house; or in this case, mee-maws and grand-dads. Im not going to go into all the good times and disappointments that went into building that house. All the times I left work, went back to the apartment we rented while we were building the house, changed clothes, and worked at the site until I couldnt see; all the times that I wondered if it was ever going to get completed. I do remember a time one rainy day when the house had been framed and the sub-flooring was down. It was Saturday morning and we had not gotten electricity turned on in the house yet. It was raining cats and dogs and I was afraid to let water sit on the wood sub-floor for very long. Even though I knew that it was engineered to withstand days of standing water, I didnt like it.

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I went down to the house early that morning and just stood in the standing water. I was thinking, do I drill a hole in the subfloor and just let it drain out or what? I was new at this sort of thing. I didnt want the water to damage the floor so I got an old piece of sub-floor and starting pushing the water out by the gallon. I must have pushed water off that floor for an hour or two before I looked out the window opening that didnt have a window. What I saw was awesome.

The rain soaked bark had turned dark brown; almost black; and the leaves of the trees were just as green as they could be. The rain was hitting the top of the leaves in the trees and sounding off every time they dripped from one leave to the next. It was peaceful. There was not a lot going on yet because it was so early. I must have gotten their before sunrise so the neighbors were not out yet and there was very little traffic on the road.

I put down the board I was using the scrape water out the door opening and just walked around the house in that time just before daylight. You know that time when the sun has not made its way up over the horizon but still it somehow gives enough light your way.

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As I walked quietly through the shell of a house, I thought of all the memories that had already been made and all the memories to come. I thought of all the scripture that had been written on the foundation of the house and on the walls and studs. I thought of all the work that had been done to that point, all the work still left to do and all I could say is, thank you God. But then, that was really all that needed to be said.

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Cheez-its and Orange Soda

This is the event in my life that inspired this book. This is the story that prompted the recall of all these other memories. This was the beginning of my purposeful quest to habitually notice the little things which, I have found, makes the big things even more astounding.

It all started one October morning in the new home we built. We actually have video of this day and I have watched it several times in the past months. Each time that I watch it, I catch something new and something beautiful. The day started like any other Saturday morning. The boys got up, had breakfast and got dressed to start the day. We had made plans to let the boys paint pumpkins that morning so, I went out in the garage, pulled out a little folding table, and set it up in front of the garage door.

It was a brisk, sunny morning. Not a cloud in the sky. The leaves had just started turning and you could just smell the day. The boys

darted out the door, full of life and energy, with not a care in the world. They were loved and they knew it. There is a security in that, you know; the fact that youre loved and cared for.

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The boys were about 6 or so years old. Of course, Val made sure they had their painters smocks on so they would not destroy their clothes. She is good about thinking of stuff like that. The kids sat

down and started painting. Their imaginations were running wild as they painted whatever came to mind. Gosh they were cute! Just sitting up there like big boys saying, Look at this Daddy! and after I would complement their work, they were quick to response, Thank you Daddy!

Every few minutes and they would take a break from the pumpkin painting and ride their bikes around the driveway. They had not yet mastered the bike enough to ride without training wheels. It was like watching a little train. Each would follow the other around for a while then they would stop and get back to painting.

Like little boys do, they shifted gears and wanted to paint something else for a while so I found two small boards in the garage and they starting painting faces on them. I asked them what they were painting and they said, This is plank. Then they started talking to the boards as if they were alive.

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When they had finished the faces, Parker asked Greyson if he and his plank wanted to go exploring. So they both got their respective planks and took off down the side walk in front of the house. As they made their way up the steps to the front porch, something caught Greysons eye. It was a bug! Do you know just how interesting a bug is to a young boy? He pulled it off the back of the wicker chair and both hovered over it as to examine every detail of the insect. After several minutes of scrutiny, they put the bug down, picked up their planks, and off they went to finish the pumpkins.

Just as they were getting done, their Meemaw came out the back kitchen door of their house, onto their back deck, and called out to the boys. You see, Vals dads house was literally up the hill from our house. Our backyards actually connected. The boys called back, hey meemaw! Then she said, you boys want some orange sod a and Cheez-Its? Oh they were excited! I told them they could go and no more did I get the words out of my mouth, they were running up the hill.

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Thats when it happened. I stopped and took in the splendor of the day and the beauty of what was happening before my eyes. As I

watched my boys run up the hill, I took sensory inventory of the sound the leaves made as they crumbled beneath their feet. I purposed to burn the image of them running up the hill through the beams of light made visible by the motes of dust in the air. I watched them make their way up the deck steps and then into the arms of their Meemaw for a big hug before disappearing into the house.

I made a promise to myself to remember everything I could about that moment. So, right there standing on my driveway, I stopped and just breathed in the air so I could smell the day. I listened intently so as not to forget the sound of the gentle breeze blowing the leaves around until they finally came to rest on the ground. I took note of the birds singing as the morning silently marched forward toward afternoon. I burned that image of the hill in my memory; the majesty of the morning light breaking through the tall trees like threads of light on a weavers rack. This time was for me.

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As I think back on that day, I could have easily found myself immediately cleaning up the mess of paints and ponchos; pumpkins and planks.. But I didnt. For some reason I didnt. It would have been easy do a thousand other productive things with those moments, but I didnt.. At that moment, I was alive and I made certain to savor every tasteful second of each moment.

I will never have that day back. My kids will never be 6 again. Those moments can only be replayed in my mind and on the DVD. I cant feel the cool October air in my lungs by watching a DVD; I cant smell the dust in the air by staring at a TV. I only have those moments; those smells; those memories in my mind and in my heart and I am so thankful.

I can, though, shut my eyes and reach back into my memories and see the hill and my boys running up to their Meemaws house. I can see the dust in the morning light, and recall the cool air in my lungs. I would not be able to do that today had I not taken the time to archive those memories. To have those sounds and smells etched in my mind is a true treasure and one that I will always cherish.

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Campfires, and Hide and Go Seek

When the kids were little, I used to come home from work and build campfires in the back yard. It was easier to do this in the summer time; days were longer and I had more time. We would have

marshmallow and hotdog roasts by the fire. We would gather up sticks and wood to use for the fire. Val would make sure we had drinks, cups, ketchup and mustard. I would turn the larger cuts of wood up on the ends to use not only as stools but as a ring around the fire. Inside the ring there was no running and only sitting.

It was great. We would roast marshmallows and just sit and talk about all the things two little boys would want to talk about. Sometimes, we would just throw a marshmallow in the blaze just to watch it catch fire and melt. They thought that was awesome.. (shoot I thought it was pretty cool too! )

As it got darker, the kids would want to play hide and go seek. So I would count behind a tree and they would run around and hide behind one of the other trees in our yard. Oh they were good! I would look around and just when I thought I knew where they were, I would see a little rustle out of the corner of my eye of something running from tree to tree. I would call out. Who is that! Not one word was uttered.

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All I heard were giggles and whispers. I would look intently toward the sound and begin to sneak up on the place where I heard the little voices and then, all of a sudden, I would hear another rustle of feet running away to another tree in the yard. We did that for what seemed like hours.

Finally, we had to get cleaned up and ready for bed. Those nights were good. Val would make sure the kids were bathed, teeth were

brushed, and they were in the bed. There were lots of times that I would come in and sit on the edge of their beds. We would just talk about the day. My favorite question was, what was the best part of your day? Oh the answers I would get.

Then on some occasions, the conversation would get a bit more serious. We would talk about what they saw or heard in Kindergarten or what the teacher said. Sometimes the conversation would be about spiritual things or about some Bible story they had heard. I remember the night that the boys wanted to know about hell and heaven. As I recalled the gospel story, they both started crying; Greyson was especially torn up about Jesus dying on the cross.

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Now, some might say, Werent they a little young to hear that? I would say, No. Val and I have always been up front and honest with our kids especially when it came to spiritual things or Biblical events. We tell them the truth in a way that both represented the meaning and significance of the event and how it applies to them.

I remember that night like it was yesterday. I remember them both crying and saying they want to ask Jesus to save them. So, like only little boys can do, they sat up in their bed, closed their eyes, and we prayed to God asking Him to forgive them of all the bad things they had done and please forgive them and save them.

We then read where the Bible says that if we confess with our mouth and believe in heart that that God raised Jesus from the dead, we will be saved (Rom. 10:9). I told them that Jesus started a work in them and He will be faithful to finish it. We talked at length about what they thought their home in heaven would be like. I told them that Jesus had been working on it for over 2000 years. It only took Him 6 days to make the heavens and the earth so just think about what their home is going to be like. Their eyes would get big and then you could just see their wheels turning in their mind.

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I would always say, God has a . And they would say, plan, then I would say, For your and they would finish by saying life. Our prayer over them was, and still is, that God would give them wisdom beyond measure and give them the desires of their heart; That they would find favor with God and with men; that God would bless the work of their hands, and they would walk in the fear and admonition of the Lord all of their days. With that, I kissed them on the cheek, turned out the light, and said good night. They are older now, but the prayer hasnt changed.

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Im Fat - What Happened?

As I had related earlier, I played organized high school ball and was very active all of my teen years and even into college. However, when Val and I married and I settled into a desk job, I started gaining weight. That wasnt a bad thing to begin with because I was really thin. Then healthy turned to a little pudge around the mid-section. You know the one that starts out cute, then turns into where did that come from?

I found myself lethargic and waking up three and four times a night gasping for air. I even bought an old fat man snapper lawn mower like Forrest Gump. I never had any energy. And I kept secret the fact that many times during the night I would wake due not due to insomnia but due to not being able to breath and with a heart pounding out of my chest. While Val slept, I would pace the floor trying to catch my breath and calm my heart.

After one of the more severe episodes, I decided that if I truly loved my wife and wanted to see my kids grown, I had to do something drastic in my life. Up to now, my breakfast consisted of Mt. Dews and King-Dons. My lunches were pizza and whatever else I could find and as much soda as I could drink. I knew I had to change EVERYTHING! I had to start exercising and eating right.

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Val had tried to help before and had done a great job of cooking right. When we did eat at home, we ate pretty well. There was very

little candy, no sodas, and very few unhealthy snacks. She has always exercised and is in great shape. I, on the other hand, was in terrible shape and about to have a heart attack. I was 510 and weighed about 240 pounds. I had a 40 inch waist and cholesterol that was through the roof. My body fat was sitting at about 36%. It was bad. I had never been classified as obese before, but according to the charts I had achieved that status.

On my way home from work one day, I stopped off at a gym that I had noticed as we were going to Vals dads house one afternoon and decided to step in and take a look around. I had joined other gyms before and had quit them as fast as I joined them; but I thought this one might be different. I walked in and it was unlike any gym I had been to. The building was an old storage building that looked like it had been used as a mechanics garage. It had a bay door that opened up and exposed wood beams with spotty wiring and old garage lights. No air conditioning and it was the end of June. Yes; it was hot.

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I peaked in and there was a small group of guys and girls punching heavy bags and just sweating up a storm. I poked my head in the office and there sat this huge tatted up guy. I introduced myself and told him what my goals were and he said he could help. The price was a bit high and I didnt want to pay the sign-up fee. I told him I guaranteed that I would be there for at least 3 months and he waived the fee. That was on a Thursday.

When I got home that night, I told Val what I had done and she was so supportive. I told her that the only time I thought I could go was the 5am class. She said that she would get up and have breakfast

waiting on me when I got home. I had planned to start fresh that following Monday, however, as the night went on, I started getting cold feet. This guy was a beast! He was yelling at these people with a stop watch in his hand; making them do all kinds of jumping, squatting, and all around terrible stuff. I knew, though, that if I didnt go; I would never go. I tol d myself that I had done this before. I had hurt before. I had endured physical strain before and I could do it again. I needed structure and this was the guy to give it. He was a prior strength and conditioning coach for the University of Arkansas, and is currently a heavy weight MMA fighter who has appeared on the Ultimate Fighter TV series. He knew how to get the weight off and that is what I needed.
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When I laid my head on the pillow that Thursday night, I knew that if I didnt start immediately, I would talk myself out of starting by the time Monday came around. So, I set my alarm clock for 4:30am. The time came and up I sprang. Well not really, but I did get up and go. I was there 10 minutes early. He measured me and took my weight and body composition percentages. Then it came time to begin. It was the hardest thing I had ever been through. When I got home, Val said, Are you alright? I couldnt answer her. The drive was only

about 3 minutes from the gym to our house and I was still out of breath.

I got in the shower and had already started locking up. It was hard to raise my elbows above my shoulders to wash my hair so I just sort of bent over so I could reach my head. I was sort of concerned because, at that point, every move I made caused pain. Every step was agony, and every movement was torture. That day at work was horrendous, but I made it. With every 4:30am alarm, I would literally lay there and

almost cry. Then I would think, my family is worth the pain. I would throw the covers back and my feet hit the ground. After that, it was all academic.

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After two weeks, I started to find myself not as sore and actually looking forward to the workout. Mike, the owner, had gotten use to the fact that I was not going to quit and we had started cutting up a bit in class. I would make fun of my fat self and he would push me by asking, Do you want to be fat forever!!!!

I started at the end of June.

By the end of July, It was time to

measure again. I was keeping track of my numbers and starting to get a bit discouraged. I had actually gained weight! I asked him what was going on. I had stopped eating junk and went straight lean meat,

veggies, and water. I was working out 7 days a week with 2 times on Sundays. He said, dont worry, it will come.

Sixty days in I started to notice a difference. I was dropping weight all over; my back, legs, calves, arms, neck, and face. You name it, I was losing weight there. In six months, I had lost fifty pounds and 16% body fat. I was now a size 32 in the waist and was having to drill new holes in my belts for my pants that didnt fit. Val started working out there too. It is great to have a hobby that both of us enjoy doing.

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My original goal was to get below 190 pounds but I was still losing weight. All during this time, I was studying and researching what was going on with my body and what I could do to help it along and maximize what I was doing. I knew that a Division 1 quarterback was about 15% body fat and a wide receiver was about <10%. I thought If I could get somewhere between that I would be alright. At the same time, I didnt want to look like a bean pole either, so my goal was a weight of 170 and a body fat percent of around 14%.

I worked hard and hit the 170 mark and was down to about 12% body fat, but I felt terrible. Although my cholesterol had dropped 70 points, I had no energy, I was exhausted, and hungry all the time. I then realized that I could not maintain that so I cut back on the cardio and started lifting a bit more. I increased my weight to a comfortable 182 185 pounds and my body fat is about 15%. I would still like to stay at about 185 and drop body fat to about 13% but as I get older, that has become increasingly more difficult.

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Where We Are Now

Where are we now? This is a loaded question. We are in the middle of raising twin teenage boys and loving it. My wife is still as beautiful as she was the day I met her. Im not joking! She has not

aged a day; as a matter of fact, I think she has improved with age. We are in better physical shape now, we are definitely wiser, have more resources as our disposal, we have been through good times and bad and have come out on the other side stronger. She is abundantly respected at her job; she has earned a Masters degree while working full-time, and speaks life, confidence, and wisdom into young peoples lives every day. She makes a difference and I am so proud of her.

I am an elder at our church, earned a doctorate in theology, and am a certified personal trainer who teaches weekend classes at the gym where I lost all my weight. Val still works out there in the afternoons and I join her when I can. We love to garden and our kids are fantastic. They both love the Lord and are talented beyond anything I could ever imagine. Parker plays the violin for the ASU youth orchestra and also plays piano a bit, while Greyson can pick out any song by ear on guitar and has excellent rhythm on the drums. Hes even started picking up the piano a bit.

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Parker is excellent on designing video intros for his YouTube videos, and Greyson can draw anything you put in front of him. He has been posting Biblical inspiring messages on his instagram which have been received very well by his subscribers.

God has blessed this family beyond measure. We love much and are loved much. What else matters; what else is there? In the end, there is faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love. You know, the only one of the three that will last through eternity is Love. Faith will be fulfilled when we see Jesus as He is face to face. Hope will be fulfilled at the same time faith becomes reality. However, LOVE will endure and will continue. There is no end to love because God is love and our family is full of Love.

Every day we wake up, go to work or school, and live this life the best we can. I can honestly say that a life lived in the presence of Love is full of reoccurring moments that are teeming with opportunity. Opportunity to grasp and hold close while making the determination to take each moment and squeeze every bit of life out of it we can. At that point, there becomes no more mundane moments for every moment becomes a treasure.

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I want to leave you with the lyrics from a man whose music speaks to my life. His name is Rich Mullins and the song is Home from the album Songs.
"I see the morning moving over the hills I can see the shadows on the western side And all those illusions that I had They just vanish in Your light Though the chill in the night still hangs in the air I can feel the warmth of morning on my face Though the storm had tossed me 'Til I thought I'd nearly lost my way And now the night is fading and the storm is past And everything that could be shaken was shaken And all that remains is all I ever really had What I'd have settled for You've blown so far away What You brought me to I thought I could not reach And I came so close to giving up But You never did give up on me I see the morning moving over the hills I feel the rush of life here where the darkness broke And I am in You and You're in me Here where the winds of Heaven blow And now the night is fading And the storm is through And everything You sent to shake me From my dreams they come to wake me In the love I find in You And now the morning comes And everything that really matters Become the wings You send to gather me To my home To my home I'm going home"

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