GiveMeBoldness

BATTER BATTER BATTER!!

2008-04-11T12:45:00.008-04:00

I love the sound of that droning chant, a chant that doesn't have to be taught. The chant is somehow instantaneously programmed into the mind of a 4 year old the second he scuffles his cleats through the crushed red brick and slips into position on the freshly mowed grass in left field. I love the smell of the popcorn wafting from the concession stand and the unforgettable aroma of grape BubbleYum.

Yesterday was the day!

Carson's first practice. He has been anticipating the day for weeks. We have been having batting practice in the yard and he has been keeping the old man hopping. I had to change the direction of his hitting as he is capable of hitting it just far enough to go down the hill, driveway, across the road and almost dropping 50 feet into the creek. He now drives the ball up the hill toward the woods, where it conveniently dribbles back down the hill toward my feet.

His excitement was not in control. He practically ran from us as soon as he saw the familiar faces of his teammates. The coach placed him in left field with strict instructions to stay put. We all know how that goes. At the crack( or in the case now days..the "ping") of the bat, the ball rolls through several legs and ends up against the right field fence. Who was there first? Yep, all the way from left field. Every batted ball sent him into motion, diving, rolling, bumping.

Then came time to step up to the plate. He picked up his bat, headgear and took his stance staring down the pitcher. He looked exactly like "Chicken Little" trying to balance that over-sized red batting helmet. He connected with his second pitch and I don't know who's smile was the greatest, his or mine or Sharla's. He rounded the bases, leaving a trail of dust!

The most memorable part of the day happened a few minutes before we left the house. He looked up at Sharla and told her " I don't want to sit in that dumpster!" We fought to keep straight faces and it was hard. Sharla kindly corrected him with" no honey, it's not a
dumpster, it's called a dugout".

Swing batter!

FAMILIARITY

2008-04-03T18:25:00.009-04:00

Familiarity.
The word simply means a state of close relationship or a close acquaintance with something.
Sometimes we become so familiar or comfortable with something or someone that we take it for granted.

We find that objects in our surroundings have become so commonplace that we seldom recognize that they are missing or it takes us a long time to do so.

I was familiar with my hair until the age of 18. I have been without it so long now that I forget what it was like; until the Summer sun turns my naked pate an unsightly shade of red and the inevitable peeling begins a week later. When I say that I am bald, Carson quickly corrects me, adding that I have hair, just on the sides.

We can become so familiar with the people around us that we often feel we know what they are thinking and the actions they are about to carry out. We build relationships based on these feelings and it brings us closer in our marriages, jobs and friendships. It is just when we become too familiar that we often overlook the big scheme of things and plod along, doing things in a repetitive motion, falling into a rut.

Can we be guilty of this in our prayer life as well?

How about our worship?

Do we sing praise, or do we just sing a song?

Can 'church' become so familiar that we lose focus?

We need to take a survey introspectively and ask ourselves a few questions and then answer them honestly.( you make up the questions because only you know the answers)

MOVING SLOW..LIKE A TURTLE

2008-04-01T00:01:00.000-04:00

Terrapene Carolina.(Eastern Box Turtle)

Ok…we finally did it! We have had this plan in the back of our heads for about five years and it recently moved to the forefront. After a lot of misgivings about having passed the opportunity by on three occasions, we are jumping feet-first into a new, ardous and hopefully rewarding business/passion venture. Our house sold this week and we cashed in the 401K and the moving van is scheduled for Friday morning. Enough of the schooling, working for the ‘Man’ and living paycheck to paycheck. We are trading in a life of daily toil and strife to return to the land and reap the lifestyle only it can bestow.
Our venture begins with the move to Watauga County Tennessee in the eastern part of the state. We found the ideal opportunity to own our own nature preserve, where we will be actively involved in the breeding, hatching, raising and the eventual release into the wild of the threatened Eastern Box Turtle. The preserve is comprised of 500 acres of prime unspoiled turtle habitat. Second growth forest surrounded by a buffer zone of no development only adds to the beauty of the preserve. We are taking over an existing facility that has fallen into disrepair. No too far gone that it can’t be rebuilt with a little effort. We will have to live in an old mill house on the property until we can build our cabin.
That will be secondary, as we will be there primarily to start the restoration of the breeding facility. The turtle population in the area is still at a level that is stable and not in decline, so we will have a slight head start in that aspect. While the Eastern Box Turtle lives an average of 40 years, some have known to live to 100.
Our goal for the next 20 years is to raise and release 5000 breeding pairs back into the woodlands of surrounding states and to educate the public on how to help the population survive.
The days will be long and hard, but I’m sure the rewards will be great.
We will try to keep in touch frequently, but the 18 mile trip to town to use a computer at the local library will not happen that often.
You can reach us by mail at:
Turtle Back Farm
No. 1 April Fool's Dr.
Watauga, TN. 04-01-2008

1st QUARTER REPORT BANNER YEAR 2008

2008-03-30T19:52:00.008-04:00

Well, well, well.
Hopefully the next three quarters will be better than average and bring the prospectus back into the black.

There has been an extraordinary amount of sickness that just seems to get passed back and forth between the three of us. Many trips to the doctor's office( not me of course!) rounds of antibiotics, cough suppressants, decongestants and chicken soup.

The job situation could be better. Many of us are being sent home early due to lack of work. Hopefully this won't last long.

On the bright side, Sharla is finishing up her Spring semester of student teaching and only has one more class this Fall to graduate, and of course...Catlettsburg Little League opening day is April 12. Carson is gearing up for T-Ball and is looking forward to playing for the Cub's. He said he is going to hit the ball over the fence and hit the CSX train! That is gonna be some kinda homer!

He got to meet Brandon Webb; his baseball idol last month.( yes..we do have some pics of him with his eyes open...just happened to find this one first) He is also ready to play soccer but we haven't been contacted about which team he is going to be on. He has also starred in a couple of YouTube videos demonstrating his athletic and comedic abilities.

The fish are biting, the Trillium and Bloodroot are poking through the leaf litter, grass is greening up and turkey's are strutting and with some warm days and a little rain in April, the morel's will be ripe for the pickin'.....it's definitely Springtime in Kentucky!

BOY SCOUT ROAD CAMP VERITY

2008-03-14T16:37:00.007-04:00

Boy Scout Road.
With a name like that, you can only imagine that it would be running rampant with wild-eyed boys full of vim and vigor.
It was! Once upon a time.
Now the land seems sterile, gone is the big hand hewn cabin, trees, creek. Replaced with millions of dollars of homes and green manicured lawns devoid of the sounds of restless youth. The hills we roamed as kids, now are fenced and protected by silent alarm systems daring you to tread backward to those days gone by.
The two story cabin only sat about fifty feet off the road, but to us kids it was in a wilderness, miles from civilization. We unrolled our sleeping bags on the floor upstairs and then set about gathering firewood to burn throughout the night in the great stone fireplace. We traversed the hills behind the cabin as if they were the Sange de Christo mountains and we were beginning an adventure at Philmont. We practiced our woodsmen skills with knives and axes. We built bridges and towers of saplings, lashing them together with rope and honeysuckle vines. We hunted the very elusive snipe at midnight with the new scouts that joined our troop. All in all, we slept very little when we went camping at Camp Verity. There was just so much to do and so little time to do it in.
We tried to squeeze a week of activities into a weekend.
The big cabin is still alive and well. It has a new home near Yatesville Lake in Lawrence County Kentucky, and it has a new name: Camp Cherokee. While it kind of looks the same, it will never be the same. It just doesn’t get the attention it did 30 years ago, when it was occupied by happy throngs of boisterous scouts.
In September 1999, six of us old guys got together and spent the night in the cabin. We didn’t sleep. We sat on the porch in chairs and reminisced the entire night. The propane lantern softly hissed as it lit up the front of the cabin. We all took turns with a memory and everyone added to it. Before we knew it, the sky was beginning to glow a soft yellow and was soon peeking through the pines. Where had the night gone? Once again we squeezed a lot into a little. This time it was twenty five years into about ten hours. We parted ways that morning, only two of us still live in Catlettsburg and the other four headed back to California, Texas, Florida and Ohio, ensuring each other we would try it again soon.
As for Boy Scout Rd…I think it needs a name change.

Camp Arrowhead...I'll save that for later.

MIDDLE BASS ISLAND CIRCA 1975

2008-03-01T10:03:00.005-05:00

The decade of the 70's was the decade of catching White Bass in Lake Erie. The Walleye weren't the featured fish and we didn't have the means to reach them on the offshore reefs anyway, seeing that we fished around Middle Bass in a small green boat with a 7.5 Sears Ted Williams motor.
Pop Pop and I, sometimes Dad and Herman always stayed at Beer's Cottages right on the shore on the island's east end. We usually stayed in the first cottage beside the road. It was probably 30 feet from the waters edge and 20 from the fish cleaning table. The aroma was something you got used to very quick. The cottages were sparse, concrete floor, drapes for doors on the bedrooms, a table, four chairs, penciled tallies of daily catches on the door frame beside the fridge, a screen door complete with holes and a layer of dead flying bugs at least an inch thick in every window sill. Just perfect for guys that only came there to fish.

The days were spent following the flocks of gulls that fed on the baitfish chased to the surface by the great schools of White Bass. Find the birds find the fish. We would cast white Shyster spinners and double rigged white doll flies on a three-way swivel into the schools. The action was fast and furious, we shook the fish loose and let them flop in the floor of the boat. We often stood ankle deep in fish, waiting to put them into a bucket when the school disappeared.

Evenings were filled with camaraderie around the fish-cleaning table. Rapala fillet knives gleamed beneath the glaring light of the street lamp. We all were coated in a glistening layer of OFF as the swarms of bugs hovered between us and the light. The water streamed constantly across the table cascading onto the granite rocks and back into the lake. My job was to cut out the belly bones and occasionally swipe the knives across the old concave Arkansas oilstone to keep the work going smoothly. The fillet's were bagged and wrapped in paper and deposited into the freezer at the office.

This was the routine. Day in day out, but that was why we were there. Having fun and anticipating the great meals of fried fish to come later in the year.

Sometimes in the late evenings, we would drive to the other end of the island to the abandoned Lonz Winery dock. A massive concrete structure, broken down and kinda spooky. We would set up at the end of the dock and put nightcrawlers on the bottom and catch Channel Catfish. I remember nights of 30 to 40 fish, all around two pounds each.

One particular night at the dock was very memorable...and still haunts me to this day.

I was around twelve years old and I had a brand new EverReady flashlight. It was at least a foot long and shiny. That night the fishing was slow and we sat there listening to the Red's on the radio. The lights of Put-In-Bay were visible several miles across the lake and the towering Perry's Monument was ablaze with white light. My new flashlight had a button that let me flash signals much like 'Morse code.' Probably a mile away I saw the running lights of a boat heading toward South Bass. I pointed my light and began blinking some kind of unknown message. To my surprise which soon turned to outright fear; the boat started turning and headed straight for us. It was running full speed and kept getting larger and larger, and I kept getting smaller and smaller. A giant searchlight came on and blinded us just as the first big wave washed over the dock sending our gear and my tackle box over the other side.(luckily it floated and I retrieved it later) As the boat turned sideways, it was then we saw the markings...Coast Guard! Must have been a fifty footer! The loudspeaker boomed with the voice of the Captain asking if we needed help? Pop Pop yelled back "NO! we're just fishing". The Captain said he saw a flashing light and thought we were in trouble. "We didn't flash any lights" was the reply.

I tried to hide!

The boat left and we gathered our wet belongings. Pop Pop said "someone probably walked in front of the Coleman lantern."

I never fessed-up. Until now.

There were other trips back to Middle Bass, but none ever topped the night I signaled the Coast Guard Cutter.

HIGH ON A MOUNTAINTOP

2008-02-29T11:53:00.006-05:00

Ok...so we go through a lot of valleys.

It is when we have our 'mountaintop' experiences that we feel most alive. It is not necessarily when we feel that God is most with us. Many times when we feel we are at the top of the world, we think we made it all happen and fail to give God the glory. We often say: "look at me! look at what I did! I'm so great!" When all along He allowed us to shine, and the shine should have glorified Him and not us. We need to learn to be humble in these situations.

Why don't most of us feel the presence of God when we are at these extremes? Why do we most feel His presence when we are on level ground and in our safe places. Being on a mountaintop, while it feels great to us is not what it is all about. God wants us to be full of life all the time.

John 10:10.....and He is come that we may have life, and have it more abundantly.

Savor the mountaintop experiences, look around, enjoy the scenery, but remember the One that put you there!

DOWN IN THE VALLEY

2008-02-29T10:11:00.008-05:00

Wikipedia describes a valley a type of landform. A valley is a long "depression" or (low part) in the land, between two higher parts which might be hills or mountains.

When we think of our spiritual life, the second part usually applies. A depression or low part.

Some valleys are deep, some are wide, some are desolate, some are lush, but they all have the same thing in common; when you stand in the midst of a valley, your vision to the horizon and the goings on in the rest of the world or life is very limited. You can't get a complete picture of the landscape as you could while atop a mountain, where you can survey all God has created.

Let's look at some valleys and see where we fit in:

Death Valley, Great Rift Valley.

Nile Valley, Mississippi Valley.

Happy Valley, Shenandoah Valley.

You go from the most desolate, to the sublime, then to an area of complacency as you feel yourself climbing up the sides till you are beginning to finally see your surroundings. It is then when we are able to see all around ourselves that we feel most at home and somewhat at peace. While we are never alone when we walk those valley floors, devoid of what we perceive as joy. We must understand that He is always with us. Just as He is with us when we stand at the rim of a valley and decide which way to go next. Do we take a step backwards or do we trudge onward and upward?

We make the choice.

THERE WILL BE NO TEARS IN HEAVEN

2008-02-28T22:18:00.004-05:00

No tears in heaven. Only rejoicing.

I know I shed my fair share of tears, and if combined with Sharla's we could probably start a small flash flood.

This evening found us in a tearful prayer time, rebuking the devil and seeking guidance in a ongoing matter in which we struggle. As we prayed, Carson prayed along with us, thanking the Lord for his day and to help him be good. Then he said " I'll be your tissue Mommy" as he noticed the tears in her eyes.

Immediately I'm reminded of the passage in Revelation 7:17..and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.

Carson didn't want to see his mommy cry and wanted to wipe away her tears.

Just as the Lord will comfort us in our time of need. We look forward to that day when there will be no more tears, what a day of rejoicing that will be!

WALKING THE WALL

2008-02-24T09:54:00.007-05:00

Sunday afternoon at Nanny and PawPaw's house was always eventful. After the football game was over and before the Lawrence Welk show started, Ellis and Myrtle headed back to Huntington and PawPaw was ready to take a walk.

He always walked the three blocks down Carter Avenue from Ringo Street to the Mussetter Super Value. He counted out his change in anticipation of a new can of Skoal. On days such as these, us kids got to walk with him. However, we wouldn't let him take the straight shot down Carter, we wanted to take a slight detour and 'walk the wall'.

Now, the 'wall', was not some dangerous precipice that could endanger the life of a child if they fell from it's great height; it was only a little over 3 feet high and you could only fall onto the brick paved alley as the wall butted up against a house and your shoulder kept in constant contact as you inched along.

The wall was easily accessible as it inclined up from the curb and descended 40 feet later likewise. PawPaw would hold our hand as we walked, only turning us free about midway where the telephone pole forced us to break our grasp and squeeze between it and the house. At the end of the wall there was a vociferous barking dog behind a wire fence. It would have eaten us alive it if could have reached us. PawPaw always ended our 'wall walk' with a taunt to the barking dog. He would near the fence and with a pointed finger he always said the same line...."I'm gonna tie your tail in a knot!"

The mission continued onward to the store and always ended in a piece of candy or as PawPaw always called it 'blowgum'. On the return trip, we often would come back by the Hobby Shop, where he would usually buy us a Smoking Monkey or Balsa Glider. 10 cents worth of great fun.

Found these on Ebay...around $8 plus shipping

PEANUT PEPPERONI PIZZA PLEASE!

2008-02-23T20:49:00.006-05:00

This morning during breakfast at McDonald's in Catlettsburg, Carson suddenly said," I have an idea! I want to open a pizza store and sell pizza that has pepperoni and peanuts, the customers will love it!

Dad and I looked quizzically at each other and Dad asked him where his store would be? he said "in my house."then he added he would also like to have a pizza 'mascot'...go figure!

OK ....pizza with only pepperoni and peanuts. That is some combination, but I wouldn't be surprised if that has not already been done somewhere. What about a sauerkraut pizza? Yep...I know where you can get one of those, and they are delicious. It's not the kind of sauerkraut you are used to. It is a homemade slightly sweet version at Dick's Pizza, located in a house on the river in Sciotoville, Ohio.
Stranger things have happened in the culinary world!

Any silent partners wanna invest in an oven and some boxes?

INTEGRITY?.. GO ON, NO ONE IS WATCHING YOU.

2008-02-22T08:14:00.000-05:00

Integrity.

I've often heard it defined as: 'the person you are when no one is watching.'

Wikipedia defines it as:Integrity is the basing of one's actions on an internally consistent framework of principles.. Depth of principles and adherence of each level to the next are key determining factors. One is said to have integrity to the extent that everything he does and believes is based on the same core set of values. While those values may change, it is their consistency with each other and with the person's actions that determine his integrity.

This brings about my take on the steroid issue in Major League Baseball.

Last year I picked up a magazine at church; HomeLife. On the cover was a well known player and his wife. The magazine article was all about his family life and most importantly, how his Christian faith guides him in his daily activities and gives him the strength to succeed. After reading this, I held this guy in high esteem. He is standing up for his beliefs and being a witness for Christ and a role model for young men.

Then the Mitchell Report hits the media....naming names of all the known steroid users in the league and his name was near the top of the list! "Say it ain't so!!!!" My 'radar' tuned instinctively to him, waiting and watching to see how he would respond to the allegations, and hoping as a Christian that he would prove to be a man of integrity. Almost 2 months go by without a statement. Roger Clemens is plastered all over the airwaves and emphatically denies using any type of performance enhancing drug although his best friend and trainer claims in an affidavit that he injected him many times. The same trainer (Brian Macnamee) also said he injected Clemens' wife and Clemens' teammate Andy Pettitte.

Andy Pettitte. The man of integrity. Would he deny the allegations as Clemens did?, or would he tell the truth?

My faith was restored last week when Andy Pettitte delivered a 55 minute apology to the sporting world that he did use HGH (human growth hormone): a performance enhancing drug. He claims he used it in rehabilitation to get back into the game faster. He said he never used it to get an edge or to 'bulk up". He only wanted to help his elbow heal faster. He admitted that he was wrong and stood before the world to offer his repentance.

I know that many judge others by their actions. I was guilty of that. I immediately began to watch Mr. Pettitte to see that as a Christian man he would do the right thing.

We as Christians, are watched daily. We seem to be held to a higher example for those living in the world. They watch us from a distance, waiting for us to trip up, say the wrong thing or be in the wrong place. I admit that I was being 'one of those', watching to see what would happen. I was not watching to see 'IF' he would do the right thing, but 'WHEN' he would do the right thing. I knew he was a man of integrity.

While we are not to judge the salvation of another, we can judge the 'fruits' that they bear.

While Andy Pettitte may have fallen slightly ( as we all do), he has shown the world that the fruit he bears is ripe.

Pray for Godly people like Andy Pettitte, and those that surround you in your daily walk with Christ. Pray for them and hold them in high esteem, help them up when they stumble.

SNOW DAY SICK DAY

2008-02-20T15:03:00.009-05:00

Snow Day and a sick day. I am stuck in the house, recovering. This is a progression of what took place in an hour this morn. Only the mailman braved the drive and then he griped because I was home and that he had no place to turn around at the top. He had to back/slide off the hill.

And now it is melting...but gonna be 15 degrees tonight...and don't forget the lunar eclipse.

THE VIENNA SAUSAGE CAN..an artifact of my generation.

2008-02-17T18:13:00.001-05:00

In my backwoods adventures, bushwhacking across streams, valleys and through lush forest. I have often stopped and rested atop a moss-covered rock to take in the beauty of a stretch of green unspoiled wilderness, and thinking to myself that I could quite possibly be the first person ever to step foot in that particular little piece of Appalachia apart from Dan'l Boone himself.

Then as I shift my gaze from the horizon toward my feet, slowly rising to stand. My eyes are drawn just to the side of the rock and I see a dull gray cylindrical object half buried, poking out of the leaves at the base of a giant oak tree. Yep...it's a vienna can!

So..I wasn't the first person here after all.

Just when you begin to think those kind of thoughts, you stumble upon the kind of objects that let you know that the world is still very small. The vienna sausage can, pop/beer can with a pull top and one of those small red plastic sticks that is used to spread that nasty yellow cheese-like substance on some pre-packaged crackers.

According to scientists that study biodegradability,(would you call them biodegradabilityologists?) pop cans will be with us 50-100 years, the aluminum vienna can 80-100 years and the little plastic stick will probably last over 500 years.

I won't even mention how long they say styrofoam will be here.

I can only find in my research that the vienna sausage can only dates back to 1963, when Armour Meats packaged them and single-handedly began the planting of thick aluminum trail markers across our woodlands and pristine ridgetops, I shudder to think of the numbers that coat the bottoms of our lakes, as the company marketed them as an addition to any successful anglers tackle box. Not as bait as some think. While they have been packaged in cans I have heard references to jars. I don't know how long that dates back or what type of jar the sausages were packed in. I have a notion that they were packed similarly to dried beef and pimento cheese spreads in those small jars that many in Kentucky use as 'juice' glasses..you know the ones!

Vienna..pronounced as the city in Austria is the so-called proper pronunciation, pronounced as one word.However, in Kentucky we say it as if it is two words vi enny. Long i Long e.

It has been a staple in my life and has filled my hunting coat and fishing vest along with saltine

crackers for many years.

A coworker of mine told a story of a young lady he worked with in Portsmouth, Ohio who came to work one day showing everyone her new discovery at Kroger. Little hotdogs in a can! They are new. When they proceeded to tell her that they weren't new and probably packaged before she was born, she still didn't believe them. She tasted one, made a face and the guys gobbled up the remaining six.

Viennas now come in a few different flavors, barbecue, smoked, jalepeno, cajun, honey mustard and hot n' spicy. Armour is my favorite brand and I just won't eat Prarie Belt, Hormel, Libby's or Maple Leaf ,eh!

While the lable will biodegrade in a couple of years, the company needs to stamp a date and flavor type on the can. How will our progeny a hundred years from now know what was packaged in those small cylinders that I'm sure will catch the eye of some intrepid soul searching for a piece of the past.

Maybe I'll bury a few in the woods with the meat still inside along with a package of those cheese and crackers complete with the red plastic stick!

JUNGLE FEVER? DOCTOR JOHNNY FEVER? BOOGIE FEVER?

2008-02-16T18:26:00.005-05:00

The little guy has been down and out this week. It all started Monday after school with a low-grade fever that slowly escalated into a full-blown trip to the ER Wednesday evening. Sharla had an appointment scheduled for Thursday, but the fever took over and drove us toward the hospital early. Carson has some kinda immune system. He rarely gets sick, usually fighting off any cold or case of sniffles. However, when his fever spikes he becomes lethargic, clingy and lifeless. He was all three as we took our seats in the KDMC waiting room awaiting our turn with the doctor. In triage, they gave him a dose of Ibuprofen and 30 minutes later as he was in the cubicle, reclining in the bed watching the Disney Channel on a TV on a swing-arm, he was practically back to normal.
A quick check-up by the Doc, a prescription, and out the door we went. Walking
(Yes…he walked out of the hospital, didn’t want to be carried) to the car he said “thank you for taking me to your hospital and letting me watch TV.” From ‘lifeless’ to ‘Superman’ in less than an hour. He talked to PawPaw the other evening on the phone and told him “it was dark when I left the hospital and my surgery didn’t last very long” Funny how a fever affects the body.

The fever is still hanging on after a trip to the pediatrician on Friday and she is just letting it run its course. He is on the mend.

When our fevers rise we often feel out of sorts with our surroundings, not in touch with reality and our judgment is often blurred. When the enemy turns up the heat we feel the ill effects. However, we can counter the attack with prayer and keep the heat down.
The Great Physician offers us a cure for our ills, pain and sorrows, an unlimited supply of grace, and it’s free! Try getting that kind of service at your medical facility of choice.

Pray, Keep the fever at bay!

TAKING UP SERPENTS IN KENTUCKY

2008-02-16T13:57:00.009-05:00

Mark 16: 18 “They shall take up serpents, and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.”
Here in eastern Kentucky and scattered throughout Appalachia, the practice of the literal interpretation of Mark 16: 17-18 is clandestinely performed in small congregations of “Jesus only with signs following” churches.
I’ve never personally witnessed the practice, and don’t have plans to in the future. Not that I have an aversion or fear of snakes, just that I prefer to worship in my own way.

There have been many documentaries, news specials, articles and songs associated with the churches that adhere to this ritual as a small part of their worship experience.
I admit I have had a fascination with it as well. You can’t help but be intrigued as you see those images in living color splashed across the television. The church service seems as normal as any holiness service on any given Sunday. The music, preaching, and testimony are the norm, but then the flames from a bottle of kerosene are passed around, and sips are taken from a jar of strychnine and then the flat boxes are opened and the serpents are draped upon the believers and passed freely around the altar, all amidst the rhythmic drone of guitars and tambourines.
I first read Salvation on Sand Mountain: Snake Handling and Redemption in Southern Appalachia by Dennis Covington over 10 years ago. It is a captivating work that takes the author; (a Southern Baptist deacon) on a journey into his past, discovering that two decades earlier his family practiced the faith. His research lead him throughout Appalachia and into the world of the “serpent handling” church.
Another great read is Faith, Serpents, and Fire Images of Kentucky Holiness Believers by Scott Schwartz. Schwartz documents his research with images that depict the practice as it is actually performed in Kentucky.
I remember my grandparents telling of attending a revival near Wheelwright in the 40’s and hastily retreating out the front door as a side door was opened and a box was carried to the front. They didn’t stick around to see if it was copperheads or rattlesnakes, or both!
While the worship styles vary greatly, even in our churches of the same denomination, we are all expressing our faith and testimony to the same God. Although our music might be loud to some, our prayers different to others, we are here to exalt.

I have to add that several prominent people in the 2 books mentioned are no longer in this world. Victims of the deadly poisons and serpents that they held dear to their faith. These believers never feared the bite of the serpent. A quote from a believer in Sand Mountain.
“Let me tell you, the bite of the serpent is nothing compared to the bite of your fellow man.”
That is so true. I guess in a way we have all been bitten at some time or another in our Christian life. Hopefully as the ‘swelling’ goes down, our forgiveness will go forth and show the true love of Christ.

p.s. no child was harmed in the taking of the photograph and it WAS NOT taken at OABC.

Plastic snake compliments of the Kentucky Highlands Museum 2007.

WEDDING INVITATION

2008-02-15T12:26:00.005-05:00

There is gonna be a wedding and everyone is invited. All we know is that it will be sometime in the summer of 2010 in the morning not too long after sunrise.

Sharla and I are planning on renewing our vows for our 20th year of wedded bliss in a little over 2 more years. Our 18th anniversary is coming up on April 7. We were married by Harold Cathey at Unity Baptist, Ashland, Kentucky 1990.
We have been planning this for a couple of years and with God's will, hopefully it will come to fruition.
I have had the spot picked out for some time and Sharla loves it! It sits on a hill overlooking the town with one fantastic vista.Carson say's he wants to carry the rings. Sharla already has an idea of the rings and the place she wants to buy them, so all I have to do is show up and try to find a baptist minister. ( we don't necessarly want a high Maya priest offering up burnt maize, copal incense, red coral beans and reciting from the Popol Vuh.)
We have the place to hold the reception, even if it will only be the three of us, but all are welcome. Come hungry as there will be blue corn tortillas and pepian`for everyone.

Here is a picture of the wedding site........................

..

Just happens to be in Antigua Guatemala, and yes that is a volcano in the distance. Reception will be at the Hotel Casa Santo Domingo.

We'll let you know a more specific date later so you can book airfare and a room...lol
Hope to see ya there.

THE ROCKS CRY OUT AND TUMBLE DOWN

2008-02-12T16:44:00.004-05:00

In geological terms a 'slump block' is the term used to describe a large boulder or piece of rock that breaks off from a larger piece and descends a slope by the force of gravity. My backyard and surrounding woodland is practically littered by many of these odd creatures. Hence the name of my road..Rockwood.

The rocks in my neck of the woods are sandstone, with the occassional band or fragments of limonite. The weathering of the limonite make for some beautiful and interesting designs. The pock-marked walls teem with ripples that resemble the beach with a ebbing tide.

My favorite place in my woods, lies about 200 yards behind my house, just past the giant boulder that is half the size of our dwelling. A rock shelter, carved by a now tiny seeping spring that runs silently down the western face and disappears into the gully eventually spilling into Hurricane Creek and a hundred feet later empties into Keys Creek and a mile further mixes with the Ohio River

When Sharla and I first moved here 17 years ago, I found the rock shelter. It is 20 feet deep at the greatest and about 80 feet wide. Nice and dry. There was a fire ring built by kids some years ago, and the rocks remained stacked perfectly and the remnants of charred wood filled the bottom.

While this place struck me as 'my kinda place', I noticed something ominous. Right in the middle of the face, jutting out over the fire ring, the rock had a crack about 3 inches wide about 3 feet up and about 20 feet across.. It looked as if it could come crashing down at any time. I guess I pressed my luck everytime I walked beneath it, but I had no idea how long it had been there. Had it been a week?, a year, a hundred years?

Fast forward 17 years.....

It all came tumbling down this winter. I never heard the thump, but i'm sure it made a great one. The whole piece came down in one great block, burying the fire ring and leaving no trace of the tell-tale soot coating the now bottom. The force of gravity that may have been building for 'who knows how long" only took a split-second to transform the image that I had for 17 years.

Rewind 17 years....

17 years ago I noticed the crack in the rock and felt the weight of that rock squarely on my shoulders. I was like that rock spirtually; broken and ready to fall. It was just a few short months later that my life was transformed as I gave it all to Christ. While that rock may have fallen and the landscape will never be the same, I too will never be the same as Christ changed me in that split-second that I believed in Him and confessed Him as Lord.
Look around, 'for old things will become new'.

NIGHTS ON THE GROUND

2008-02-11T23:47:00.002-05:00

I love to camp.

By camping, I mean real camping, not ‘camping in a can’, sleeping in an aluminum box surrounded with the comforts of home and smothered by the hundreds of others ‘roughing it’ just a few scant steps in every direction.
My idea of camping is in a tent or sleeping on the ground under the stars.
My first memory of camping is one of spending a spring weekend on the shores of Lake Cumberland’s Lilly Creek with Dad, PopPop, Uncle Herman and Teddy.
They camped there many years in tents, cooking on open fires and eating their meals while perched atop stumps and red Coleman coolers. I can still hear the looping trill of the whippoorwill and the hooting of the barred owl as if I was still curled up in my sleeping bag in the big musty canvas tent.
Years ago I was a backpacker. I traveled many miles and spent countless nights in my old Eureka tent and cooked many a one-pot gourmet meal on my Svea brass stove.
Some of my most memorable trips were a few that I soloed. My excursions all alone to Dolly Sods, Cranberry Glades and the Red River Gorge allowed me to experience nature without any interruptions from the outside. I could sit for hours and just observe the clouds, rushing streams, squirrels, rocks, wildflowers and the subtle beauty of a laurel thicket.
I can still taste the tartness of the rusty apples I gathered from an ancient homestead on a West Virginia mountain side and feel the frost on the bandana over my mouth and nose as I slumber beneath a Swift Camp Creek rock shelter in mid January when the mercury dipped to 14 degrees.
I loved to be out there, on the ground! I can only recall one time, where I sought refuge from the comfort of my tent. I was at 10, 000 feet in the Bridger Wilderness of the Wyoming Rockies peacefully asleep in base camp on Gypsum Creek. I was camping with my relatives that were hunting elk and anything “what mashes the earth”. I awoke, remembering that I was sleeping about 15’ from the ‘meat pole’ which was adorned with elk and antelope dripping blood onto the dusty ground. One thought shot through my mind…Grizzly!!!

It was then that I gathered up my belongings and crept into the confines of an old Airstream and locked the door.

Sharla and I did the ‘pop-up’ thing years ago, and enjoyed many nights away from home. We often spent nights in empty campgrounds as we traveled off the beaten path and it felt good to get away and enjoy the silence.

My gear still hangs in the utility room. Twenty plus years of hibernation, but it is all readily accessible and able to be called to active duty at a moments notice.
Hopefully it is ready to be called up soon as I have a camping companion now in Carson.
I got to relive that old passion last Friday night as he held me to an earlier promise to ‘camp’ with him. We got out the sleeping bags and mats, stretched a blanket across the back of the wingback chair and secured the other end to an antique travel trunk and stretched out beneath the ‘tent’. We camped in the living room floor with our heads beneath the picture window. We peered at stars through the naked branches of the big poplar just across the driveway and watched the room glow bright as the headlights of the few passing cars snaked around the curve across the creek.
He drifted off to sleep and awoke about 5am with a “Daddy?’ Thank you for taking me camping.
I know…5am. Then he went back to sleep.
He told everyone last weekend that he went camping and slept till the sun came up!
I thoroughly enjoyed that night as much as any night ever spent outside, even if my 45 year old bones creaked and my neck was stiff for 2 days.
I’m looking forward to our first trip this year as a family, curled up in our sleeping bags in the big tent. It can’t come soon enough.

ME? ENVY A PIG?

2008-02-04T21:21:00.000-05:00

Envious of a pig? How much lower can you get?
There are times that we live on the mountaintop and there are times we live in the valley.
That perpetual rollercoaster of life that slowly ascends with the jerky motion only to slide into a free-fall that leaves us breathless and wanting the ride to stop.
Those mountaintop experiences are when we feel the euphoria of life and often consider ourselves bulletproof.
The journey through the valleys, often leave us empty, drained and exposed.
Just as the prodigal son took his inheritance and lived the life of luxury upon his mountaintop. He soon found himself destitute, broken, and alone in a valley.
To survive, he worked feeding pigs and ‘he longed to eat his fill from the carob pods the pigs were eating, but no one would give him any.’
He envied the pigs!
We can easily slip into that same type of situation spiritually. The sin of overindulgence that often leaves us empty. We can become’ spiritually bankrupt’, hitting rock bottom, feeling that the whole world is against us.
When we finally realize where we are we need to immediately stop and assess the situation. Ask God for direction and He most likely will show you that the only way out is to look up, keep your eyes turned toward Him and don’t look down.
I have definitely been down in some deep, dark valleys in my life, and I have stood atop some mountains where the light shines brightly. I long to live on that flat plain of abundance, where the sun never sets and the darkness hides its face.
I am committed to looking up! I want to live for Christ and show His love.
I pray that I will never covet the trappings of a pig.

WOODSTOCK 2008 2 whole days of sex, money and pride.

2008-02-03T21:18:00.001-05:00

Woodstock 2008
WOW! What can I say?
20 + hours of driving time, various pit stops, food and fellowship and they let me ride up front so I wouldn’t get car-sick.( my scopalomine patch didn’t hurt either).
Nine of us guys from Oakland Avenue Baptist Church headed south Friday morning for the Men’s Conference at First Baptist Woodstock just north of Atlanta. Upon arrival, we were eating a great steak dinner within 5 minutes! This church has their stuff together. The organization is unbelievable. 8500 men assembled to be challenged and ministered to. 4 hours Friday night and 4 more on Saturday morning. 3 sessions with the pastor Johnny Hunt and 20+ breakout sessions that left you wanting more and hard pressed to choose which to attend. Luckily all the sessions are recorded so you can study them later at home.
The worship services were extremely moving. Tears flowed, voices lifted up the praise in song and hearts were broken. The ride back to Catlettsburg was filled with thoughts and questions about the event along with a little vicarious entertainment; each guy taking his turn for a friendly joust.
Wish I could have stayed for Sunday services as Mike Huckabee was delivering a message.
We left with many ideas for growing our Men’s Ministry at OABC and can hardly wait to get into the action.
Thanks to Jon Wellman for arranging the trip. I have been blessed.
January 30-31, 2009 Super Bowl weekend….I’ll be there.

SEARCHING FOR SAUGER

2008-01-28T11:45:00.000-05:00

Cold Cold Cold!!! 19 degrees this morning at 8:30 as I threaded my way down the ice-covered rocks toward the swirling waters of the mighty Ohio River below the Greenup locks and dam.

The sun was blazing through the light fog behind the dam, hundreds of seagulls worked the churning current and about a dozen brave souls stood rigid, casting chartreuse twisty-tail grubs into the chilly water.

I have been hearing about the large numbers of sauger being taken in the last month and decided to try my hand. I fished for almost two hours without a strike, but that never stopped me from enjoying the scenery and serenity.

I watched a few guys come down, make a few casts and then hoof it back to the warmth of the truck. One guy not far from me looked like Ralphie's little brother Randy; bundled up so big that he could scarcely move his arms to reel.

So my first fishing trip of 2008 brought no fillets to the table, but I'll be back, This was just an off day for the sauger.

MOUNTAINTOP REMOVAL, AN EASY DOLLAR?

2008-01-26T14:40:00.000-05:00

OK...so now I'm gonna get on my soapbox for a minute.

I come from a long line of coal miners. My mom's family toiled long dark days in the mines of Floyd and Pike counties of eastern Kentucky. Days of hard labor, dusty, cold, dangerous, and again..dark days. They were deep miners. They worked the coal inside the mountain. The only visible sign of a deep mine was the loading tipple and the 'gob pile' of carbonaceous slate that was discarded over the hillside near the mouth of the mine or trucked away and deposited nearby. The gob invariably would catch fire either spontaneously or with the help of a match. The ensuing product of burnt gob resulted in a commodity termed 'red dog' and it is still used today in Kentucky as a substitute for gravel to coat many a muddy holler road.

I sort of followed in the footsteps of my family, earning a degree in Mining Technology from Pikeville College. While I never worked actually extracting coal, I chose the path of quality control and analysis. Out of college I worked for Ashland Coal and then Arch Coal in the lab.

I know who buttered my bread, bought my groceries and gave me electricity when I flipped a switch.

I have spent many hours underground studying roof control, ventilation, machinery and blasting and explosives. I've witnessed first hand the hardships and dangers that miners face every day.

I've studied the strip mining activities and the reclamation requirements that at the time required the site to be returned to the original contour. That practice seemed devastating to the topography of the mountains 25 years ago, but today the strip mining activities and mainly those of mountaintop removal are destroying the beauty of mountains. The 'original contour' laws are thrown out the window, in favor of so-called economical development. The 'flat' featureless plains in the middle of nowhere are supporting landing strips, golf courses and trailer parks. These operations are often out of the view of the public eye and seem to be 'out of sight, out of mind'.

Silas House wrote in the Lexington Herald Leader:"The sites are usually in isolated areas where as few people as possible can see them. Since the coal industry's major defense is that it's providing much-needed flat land for development, I wonder how many people are going to drive the winding, crumbling roads into places like Lower Bad Creek to shop or build homes on subdivided land. Not many, I assume."

While the technology is ever-growing in the mining industry, with the development of robotic remote control continuous miners, longwall systems and the safest coal mines in the world. It seems that we could mine the coal underground with greater safety and efficiency and preserve the natural beauty of our beloved mountains. The stripping of the mountain top, filling the valleys and hollow heads with rock and choking the streams, literally laying waste to the land is not what we deserve. There has to be a better way, not just the cheap, easy way that rapes the land and recovers the smallest seams of coal. Lets save the smaller seams near the summits for our future generations to mine with the unforeseen technology that is certain to come in the future.

Want to see firsthand the atrocious scars? use Google Earth to zoom down on any light colored spot amidst the verdant sea of eastern Kentucky and West Virginia. The proof is there!

Get involved, join the fight!. Visit I Love Mountains!

GRITS AND HAGGIS

2008-01-19T11:00:00.001-05:00

A few years back Sharla and I spent a few days in a B&B in Sevierville, Tennessee. The place was occupied only by us and another couple. The breakfast table was set and the four of sat down. Introductions were at hand and we couldn't help but notice the accent. John and Ann were from Glasgow, Scotland. They flew to Baltimore, rented a car and were driving the length of the Blue Ridge Parkway. They were taking little side trips off the road to experience more of America than just the scenery.

The conversation was intriguing and sparked interest every time a new course was set before us.

Grapefruit with cinnamon sugar; a first for both of us guys, homemade biscuits and strawberry preserves, gravy, salt cured ham, eggs,fresh churned butter, pancakes and then the host sat before us a rather large bowl of southern comfort....Grits!

The Scotsman's eyes turned to his wife and see likewise. Then they both looked at us.

Fear not! I said, that is only a bowl of grits. I went on to say that at least the hostess served them in a bowl and not already on your plate as a lot of restaurants in the south do. With a little trepidation they both spooned a portion onto their plates and our eyes locked on Ann as she cautiously lifted a petite spoonful and deposited it onto the tip of her tongue. "Feels like frog spawn" she said and her husband quipped; "when have you ever eaten frog spawn?"

All in all they chalked it up as a new element of their trip.

Our conversations naturally centered around food and I had to bring up a question about that delectable Scottish dish..haggis. Now the fun began. While grits are kind of benign and somewhat one dimensional a haggis is quite complex.

Grits are just corn.

Haggis is oats, onions, salt, pepper, herbs, a liberal shot of whiskey,the heart, liver and lungs of a sheep all cooked and bound tightly in the stomach of the said sheep.

The haggis is traditionally served at a Robert Burns Dinner in celebration of the favorite son of Scotland.Which is coming up this January 25th.

If anyone has a place open at their table for the celebration....call me!

Otherwise..I'll probably celebrate with a meatloaf and taters instead of haggis, neeps and tatties.

e Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o' fare,

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking wareThat jaups in luggies;

But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer

Gie her a haggis!

BLESSED ASSURANCE

2008-01-18T10:13:00.000-05:00

I know it seems that most of my postings revolve around the comings and goings of my son, but for good reason he is quite often my inspiration.

Last night (here we go again) as we were doing the bedtime routine, Sharla left the room soon after the prayers. It was my turn in the floor beside the bed awaiting the peaceful sound of his slumber. We sang a song and I told a story and all started to settle down.

The room was bathed in a warm red glow compliments of 'Lightning McQueen" and the soft drone of the humidifier beckoned the arrival of the 'sandman'.

I became lost in my own little world. My feeble mind was overrun with a play-by-play of the unpleasant events of the day. Carson had spent the better part of his school day in 'time-out".My finances(or mostly the lack thereof) weighed heavily upon me. My thoughts were consumed with how to provide for and protect my family. I was overwhelmed.

Then I felt a soft touch on my arm and heard the sweet words "Everything is gonna be OK Daddy, I'm right here."

Tears welled up in my eyes immediately. How could he have known what I was feeling? How did he know how much I was hurting? How did he know those words would touch me?

There were no more sounds. Just gentle breathing.

I left the room, still teary eyed, and shared with Sharla those comforting words.

I can only assume that his prayers had been answered and he was sharing with me the faith he has in me to be a father and husband.

It had to be his prayer, because in my selfish attempt to 'take care of it myself' I had neglected to ask for God's help. I know I'm not alone on this as many of us believe that we we can handle the 'small' problems. The problem is; all the 'small' ones add up and eventually become one 'BIG' problem.

I know Carson prays for me every night, and I hope he always will.

THE POWERS THAT BE

2008-01-14T21:59:00.000-05:00

Carson’s bedtime prayer Sunday night was filled with the usual thanks and blessings for all the people in his life, but that night he ended his prayer with “and I thank you Lord for my Super Hero powers”.

Several years back there was a movie called Mystery Men. A futuristic tale of a group of wanna-be super heroes that band together to try and save the real super hero that had been taken captive and held for ransom. The wanna-be’s consisted of The Shoveler, Mr Furious, Blue Raja, The Bowler, the Invisible Kid and my favorite…the ‘Slpeen’. They all had talents, but they had yet to develop into the kind of talents that could be used to benefit society. Especially the talent of the Spleen. His claim to fame was ‘flatulence’ the 'SBD' type and with a flick of his coat tail he could dispose of a foe from across the room.
They formed a band of crime fighters and used the mediocre talent of each member to build the power of the group to super hero strength.
The Mystery Men relied on the talents of many to serve one purpose.
We as Christians often feel that we don’t have what it takes to perform at the Super Hero level but we don’t need to be super heroes to do the work of our Father. We do need to band together and work as one unit, combining the many talents and gifts that dwell within us to reach those that don’t know the power of God’s saving grace.

Don’t think for a second that you don’t have the power in you to be a ‘Super Hero’ for the Lord.
He gave us the talents and expects them to be used!

Don’t keep your talents a ‘mystery’. Expose them, expound upon them, exercise them, but most of all… excite others about what Jesus means to you.

BOLT OUT OF THE BLUE

2008-01-13T15:30:00.000-05:00

Don’t take shelter under a tree, stay away from metal objects, don’t be the most prominent object, stay low, seek shelter in a depression or ditch.
Sound familiar?
These are ways we have all been taught to protect ourselves from being struck by lightning during a storm.
We all have the common sense (hopefully) to follow these rules and get out of the rain, seek shelter and avoid becoming a target of a potentially fatal lightning strike.
We see the storm clouds rising, the skies darkening, we hear the rumble of distant thunder and we take action to protect ourselves and the ones we love from being harmed. I love a good summer thunderstorm. I love to watch the lightning streak and hear the crackle. I love the feel of thunder that sometimes rattles your bones and seems to move the earth. It gives the feeling that you are alive. The smell of ozone that sometimes envelopes the eerie yellow-like landscape preceding the onslaught is a sensation I’ll never forget.
However; I like to experience this when I know I am safe. I like to experience this from the confines of my porch, where if the rain starts to come in sideways, I can retreat inside and continue watching from the picture window in the living room. I am not afraid of a storm. I AM afraid of lightning! I avoid lightning at all costs and will continue to do so.

But what about that rare form of lightning that can strike without warning from a seemingly cloudless blue sky?. That proverbial ‘BOLT OUT OF THE BLUE’ .
A bolt from the blue is a term which refers to a form of lightning that strikes out of an apparently cloudless sky. It carries around ten times the current of an ordinary bolt of lightning.
Ten times more current? That packs a wallop!

The sky Friday was blue and sunny. There were no clouds looming on the horizon. No sounds of thunder rumbling in the distance.
Seems like the conditions were perfect for a “BOLT OUT OF THE BLUE’, and then KABOOM!!!!

I was struck!

At first I felt no pain, just a tingling and then a numbness overtook my entire body. I didn’t know you could be hit while inside the safety of your own home.
While I was not physically harmed, my spirit had been crushed and bruised. I learned of a so-called joke gone awry aimed at my wife that over-stepped the boundaries of decency and was a full-on frontal attack of MY Christian life, My marriage and My integrity.

I felt so violated.

While this has been a long 48 hours, I have found the forgiveness for this man. I have sought the support and prayers of my wife, son, pastor and my ‘band of brothers’ prayer group and my Sunday School class.They always have my back!
I know enough to seek shelter from a storm. I live my life to the utmost and don’t want to walk around in fear; and I won’t!

Continue to remember us in your prayers.
Pray without ceasing!

A BANNER YEAR IS COMIN'

2007-12-31T16:50:00.000-05:00

One last post for 2007.
Looking forward to 2008.
As Woodsy would say..”2008 is the year, its gonna be a banner year!”
I’ve got a lot of plans for the upcoming year. Plans, no resolutions.
January is gonna be filled with a lot of work, and extra on-call time. A weekend trip to Georgetown/Lexington.Then I’m off to a Men’s Conference at First Baptist Woodstock, Georgia on Feb 1&2. Triple Play
Hope to do a little more fishing and catch my first ever Kentucky Brook Trout.
Plan to take in another Mother’s Day with the Columbus Crew, maybe a trip to the beach in the Summer, Camden Park, pontooning on Grayson Lake, hiking and caving with Carson and being a dad and husband.
I’m open for anything that comes my way!
Bring it on 2008!!!!

I LOVE YOU MORE

2007-12-15T23:12:00.000-05:00

Our little running banter around the house is the answer to the " I love you" statement. We all three laugh and return with"I love you more."

Bedtime tonight was a little late due to a full day of music practice/pizza party/rehearsal and live performance of the Christmas musical at church. Only two more to go!, tomorrow morning and evening.

Carson was pretty much worn out today, but performed his first show with the choir like a trooper.

While drifting off to sleep tonight, he was a little restless. Thrashing about, tossing and turning. We had said our prayers, sang a few songs, Mommy read a book and then I laid down beside his bed while he drifted off to sleep.

He had been still about ten minutes and I thought he was sound asleep when he rolled over and said,"I love you Daddy"

"I love you too" I answered.

"I love Mommy too"

"She loves you too, Carson"

"Daddy, I love Jesus"

"Jesus loves you too, Carson"

"Daddy, what would Jesus say?'

"What would Jesus say if you told Him you loved him?

"uh huh"

"He would say, I love you more!"

All I heard was a sleepy drawn out..yeah.

LIVE NATIVITY....KENTUCKY STYLE

2007-12-14T21:34:00.000-05:00

We put on our coats this evening and put a few baby carrots in our pockets and drove over to the live Nativity. The Nazarene church at the corner of 29th and Blackburn set up a live display and has for the past few years.
This was our third annual trip and Carson has anticipated it for months, commenting on it every time we pass.
This year was better than last year. It seemed more peaceful and serene; as a Nativity scene ought to be. There was the usual host of participants, all warm and toasty beneath their oversized robes that did a pretty good job of concealing their choice of insulation. However I did detect some Carrhart overalls peeking from underneath one of the shepherd’s cloaks. The donkey was silent as were the sheep and goats.

Last year was a different story….
They have a donkey that is a very fine specimen; his coat is as soft as cashmere and his ears long and fluffy. Carson loves the donkey. Last year we stepped up to the fence and pulled the carrots from our pockets and offered them to the donkey. Just as he started to nibble it from Carson’s fingers, we hear a voice! “I’ll show ya what he really likes” We turn to see one of Catlettsburg’s more colorful characters, in a dirty denim jacket with a Marlboro dangling from his lip. He tells Carson to "put that carrot away and watch this!"
He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offers one to the donkey, complete with filter. A few in the crowd look on in amazement at this. He proceeds to feed it about three more as we try to politely sneak away. Carson tells Mommy what just happened and we don’t stick around much longer. Kinda hard to explain to a then three year old what just unfolded without having to further explain the word “STUPIDITY”
So we just left it at that.
Carson still remembered throughout the year ‘that man that gave the donkey a cigarette’

This year we did didn’t have to relive that episode. (But we did find out that the donkey belonged to him) Maybe next year the donkey will be sporting a Nicoderm patch on his inner front leg.
Merry Christmas

ICE FISHING IN KENTUCKY

2007-12-07T22:47:00.000-05:00

Bummer!
I had a little extra time on my hands this morning and as I spent yesterday at work daydreaming about doing a little trout fishing, I bundled up and gathered up a couple of rods and my small tackle pack from the shed.
Now, I wasn’t going to get to fish for trout this morning as that trip requires a two hour drive to the Red River Gorge. I was merely going two miles to my hotspot pond and drown some minnows for bass and crappie. My pal ‘Woodsy’ has a great fishin’ hole that is full of pole bendin’ action, and is just close enough that I can drop in for a few minutes to a few hours and not have to spend a lot of time on the road.
I scraped two bucks together from the loose change in my cup holder and headed for the bait shop. When I got there the cupboard was bare!( in reality is was a rusty avocado green Kenmore refrigerator) No minnows, no worms! Oh, well, I’ll just go and throw a few spinners and jigs to at least get the fishin’ fever down a few notches. I parked the Jeep, put on my coat, and started up the hollow. The ground was still covered with a blanket of snow and rabbit tracks crisscrossed the open ground as I trudged onward. I climbed the slippery slope of the dam and stood motionless and dejected as I saw the thin covering of ice. It couldn't’t have been more that 1/8” thick but it might as well have been 8’. I didn’t think it had been that cold the past few nights. It was 32 degrees now and getting warmer but I decided not to sit and wait for the Spring thaw.
I returned home, put everything back in the shed, went in the house and baked some cookies.
The cookies didn’t satisfy the fishing fever. Maybe I should have added a few anchovies!
I guess I’ll have to save some money for gas and drive to Wolfe and Menifee counties to the streams that don’t freeze over in the winter. There is a Class I stream I’ve never fished that requires a 1 ½ to 2 mile hike, that harbors native Brook Trout. The stream is said to only average 9” in depth, 12’ max width and in places is completely canopied with rhododendron.

That is my dream for the coming year.
But I’ll still make a few trips to the pond, after ice-out.

MIRACLE ON 34th STREET...well actually the Town Center Mall

2007-12-05T13:02:00.000-05:00

He did it!

I got home from work last night and the first thing Carson said was "I wanna go see Santa". We kinda blew him off as we have heard all this before. This time he was persistent and was not backing off. he kept up the begging for almost an hour and we finally gave in when he kept saying" I'm so excited".

So....off to the mall. I parked at the closest entrance to Santa so we wouldn't have to walk very far back to to car when he did his 'about face' and said "I wanna get outta here". To our surprise he was all smiles and held our hands as we exited the car and headed into the mall. As he walked, his cowboy boots kept a cadence, shuffling toward Santa. (he wanted to wear them because Daddy wore them when he had his picture made)

But, Santa had moved and was located all the way down the mall. When we got there the jolly fat man was no where to be seen!, Carson seemed so dejected! The lady photographer said he was on a restroom break and would return shortly.

Long story short, he appeared and Carson immediately stepped up to his knee and the words just flowed. He sat on his lap and talked for at least 15 minutes as no one else was in line. He told him what he wanted and asked about the reindeer and what they liked to eat, what Santa wanted to eat, told about Daddy's little accident when he sat on Santa's lap and even reminisced about Easter. The conversation would have gone on all evening but we had to get back home for bedtime.

If you would have asked me yesterday morning about him sitting on Santa's lap, I would have said"never in a million years", but what do I know?

This has made our Holiday!

Now...for his next trick....'getting within 50' of a Mascot!!'

Merry Christmas

THEODORE GRANT STORIE Sr.

2007-12-01T21:32:00.001-05:00

I wrote this about Pop Pop and read it as a euology just over ten years ago.

Your life was so filled with the memories of yesterday that rarely a day went by that you didn’t recall someone or some event in your life that always painted a vivid and colorful picture in my mind. It was as if I was reliving it with you.
From the tales of working the timber and sawmill, from catching a freight train at the age of sixteen; riding it to Kentucky to find work. The stories of toiling long hard days, loading coal deep in the mountainside. To tales of Panama and the Philippines, meeting Granny and the births of Mom, Teddy and Gay, of moving to Catlettsburg to work at the refinery. The story of pulling the turquoise and white ’57 Chevy into the parking lot at work and moments later laughing as the police car with siren screaming disappeared down the road.
The stories of the countless stringers of fish you caught through the years (and they never grew an inch every time you told it). The hunting trips to the places where the rabbits were so plentiful that a Beagle just got in the way. To the woods where the squirrels would make the mistake of riding out the limb of a big white oak, only to hear the roar of your Remington 48 Sportsman.
These were your memories, and I got to relive them and many others with you.
But I also have memories of the days you spent with me, teaching, molding and protecting me.
My memories were filled with the instructions of life. The memories of fishing long hours, of eating a lunch that Granny had packed and then taking a nap in the reclining seats of the Rambler before going back and fishing until dark.
I remember the chilly Spring moonless nights, sitting in the boat behind the hissing Coleman lanterns, waiting for the white bass to take the minnows we offered. (I knew the fish would come as I had seen the pictures of great catches in the past) To walking through the color-splashed woods of Fall, trying to step in your exact footprints so as not to make any sound in the dry leaves.
Memories of cleaning fish into the wee hours of the night on the shores of Lake Erie. (I don’t remember every fish I caught with you but I sure remember every one I cleaned)
To taking you to my secret trout stream in the Red River Gorge where we donned our waders and whipped the fly rods beneath the redbuds and dogwoods, landing the brown trout, which you said weren’t fit to eat, but you never complained about catching.
Every moment spent with you enlightened me in some special way. I came out of every situation a little wiser.
These memories are only mine. I will cherish them always, but I hold only a small piece of the memories of you. Everyone in the family can share what I share, your great grandchildren, grandchildren, children, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews and your countless friends.
While all the memories I have are special, there is one I will place above all others. It is the most recent and will forever be the dearest and most precious memory of all. The memory of sharing a pew with you in church where we sat and listened to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Our bibles open, reading the truth, drinking in His Word.
You are not gone, for by your repentance, faith and surrender, you have that everlasting eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Memories are fond, but memories are also the past. You have, through your faith, set an example for each of us here to follow. I now look forward to the future, to a time of rejoicing with you and Granny and family before you in God’s Heaven.
Thanks for the love….Grant

MASCOT'S, CHICKEN'S AND CLOWN'S..OH MY!

2007-11-22T07:24:00.000-05:00

Tuesday evening we traipsed off to downtown Ashland for the annual Christmas parade.
This had been the topic of conversation for several weeks; I want to go, I don’t want to go, was about as far as Carson went.
He still has a lot of trouble being in close proximity with any mascots, clowns or ‘big headed’ things. Are we bad, mean parents for prodding him along the sidewalk toward the festivities? He didn’t want to stand on the curb, so we secured a spot about 15’ from the street (well out of range of the constant rain of candy!) and he was semi-satisfied with this. It didn’t keep him from the intermittent “I’m ready to go home, let’s get outta here and I wanna NOW!” He spent a lot of time standing behind us, peering through the crowd and occasionally cracking a smile. Other times he actually let me put him on my shoulders so he could see (and he would invariably spot a giant head, clown, wildcat or chicken from a block away) and immediately demand to get down. The object of his fear would approach and as soon as it passed the 90 degree plane and started moving away he was fine, even laughed. Just as long as it was going away and not toward him. We did notice that he showed little fear of a giant teddy bear and Barney; I guess they posed no threat. The worst was a clown with green hair and a KFC chicken (Cris P. Chicken).

He lasted for an hour and we headed home, well before Santa appeared. We praised him for being so brave and going to the parade and he would have something to share with his classmates tomorrow. He was just a little outside his comfort zone but we were right beside him all the way just to support and calm his apprehensions. We all need that when we even as adults step outside our comfort zones.
I guess I had the same fears as a child also. I did sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I wanted for Christmas then left with a noticeable wet spot adorning the front of my jeans. I told that little story to Carson last week and friends pull into the drive while we are raking leaves and what do you think was the first thing he said to them? “Daddy peed on Santa’s lap and saw the Batmobile” (another story)
And I do admit that the ‘flying monkeys’ from the Wizard of Oz still creep me out today just as they did 40 years ago.
Overcoming our fears is a huge part of growing up and I guess some of us will forever be child-like in that aspect, we just gotta realize that the Encourager is forever with us.

THIS LITTLE LIGHT OF MINE

2007-11-19T22:59:00.000-05:00

I have long been an amateur astronomer. I built my first telescope in the early 90’s from plans found in a book at the library written in the 1930’s. It is a Newtonian reflector on a Dobsonian base. I ordered my mirror set and constructed the whole thing from plywood, nuts and bolts and plumbing fixtures. It is not much to look at but does a spectacular job. I used to spend countless hours peering through the eyepiece awaiting the heavens to pass over my tiny window to the sky, as I live in the ‘holler’ and the hills rise steeply and there is no view to any horizon.

I once heard someone say that ‘to look at a star is to look back in time, as the light that falls on your retina left that celestial body many years ago. A light year is defined as ‘the distance that a beam of light travels in one calendar year.’ Light travels at approximately 300,000 km per second ( pretty darn fast!) and to put that distance in perspective, it takes 4.3 years to reach us from the nearest star in our galaxy and the light from the Sun takes 8.3 minutes to reach Earth.
So..now to borrow a phrase from that prior sentence and tweak it ever so slightly to make a point about what we see with our own eyes, let’s say ‘how far away is the ‘Light from the Son’? Is it, as Carl Sagan would have said; “billions and billions of miles away?” or is it omnipresent, forever emanating from us as Christians?
As Christians, we should strive to be Christ-like, flooding the darkness with the light of Jesus, embodying ourselves as to the lampstand and not hiding the light beneath the bushel. Some of us, me especially, have those moments where we tend to keep the wick so trimmed down as if to nearly snuff the flame. At other times we burn so bright that soot visibly rises and the wax flows in rivulets, cascading to collect at our feet.
How do we achieve that ‘light’? How do we appear to those around us? (bright, dim, shadowy, blinding?)
The light of Christ will forever glow within us; it is up to us to let that Light shine outward to others. The Light we exude through Christ shouldn’t take years to reach the eyes of someone else. It should be inconceivably fast in closing that distance.

I love the words to the song by Graham Kendrick:
Shine, Jesus, Shine

Fill this land with the Father's glory

Blaze, Spirit, blaze,

Set our hearts on fire

Flow river flow,

Flood the nations with grace and mercy

Send forth Your Word Lord, and let there be light

But I still like to sing along with Carson:
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine! let shine, let it shine, let it shine!

MUSTARD SEEDS

2007-11-17T22:36:00.000-05:00

It is like a grain of mustard seed, which, when it is sown in the earth is less than all the seeds that be in the earth. But when it is sown. It groweth up and becometh greater than all herbs… Mark 4: 31-32

One little seed can pack so much punch!

I admit..I’m a mustardholic, and have been since I can remember. Mustard has always been my condiment of choice, far surpassing ketchup and mayo. I probably inherited this trait from mom, who said she put mustard on her pizza the first time she ever tried it back in the 50’s.
I love the stuff. I slather it on sandwiches, use for dips, coat chicken and fish for grilling, I add it to a great many dishes I prepare.
I started out with the yellow stuff for years, did'nt know it came any other way. I was a teen before I found brown or Dijon and that only made me crave more. When I traveled I was always in the mustard aisle of the local grocery store looking for strange new tastes. I happened upon a jar that looked like nothing I had ever seen before. It was nothing but little golden seeds packed in vinegar and spices. I still remember the first taste, and that sensation of the ‘popping’ of the seed between my teeth, and the pungent aroma and bite.
My preferences then shifted to the seeded mustards that were so unique and more flavorable. My tastes haven’t changed much over the years except for the fact that I dislike any that is sweetened yet I am still find new exciting forms to try.
I currently have 8 different opened jars in the fridge at the present time thanks in part to my sister giving me a gift pack from the Mustard Museum ( yes it is a real place in Mt.Horeb,(a biblical name)Wisconsin. http://www.mustardmuseum.com/.
My other sister sent me lots of the stuff when she lived in Germany, many of which were contained in squeezable tubes just like toothpaste.
So whether you call it moutarde, senf, or just plain mustard, I promise you I will have the faith to eat it!

November Leaves

2007-11-17T15:31:00.000-05:00

The leaves are still hanging on for their lives, but the majority gave up the ghost and fluttered to the ground. This year it seems as if gravity was kicked up a notch and they all came 'straight' down without following the breeze to the neighbors yard.

So, Carson and I spent a few quality hours together this afternoon, blowing and raking the leaves into piles and then mulching them up.

I was blowing, and Carson was raking. I had to redirect him several times as he began to rake the leaves back UP the hill in the opposite direction the other brown critters were headed.

He is a good little helper none the less.

The most precious moment was when I see him picking up leaves and hanging them back on the tree. It didn't matter that it was a naked dogwood now adorned with sycamore, beech, poplar, maple and oak, he said it needed its leaves back.

Its moments like these we treasure!

GET YOUR 'GAMEFACE' ON

2007-11-17T10:04:00.000-05:00

Not knowing the rules shouldn’t keep us from enjoying certain games and activities.

While we sit in large stadiums, filled with rabid fans yelling till they are hoarse, and how many of them fully understand what is actually unfolding before their very eyes?
This doesn’t keep them from fulfilling a need to belong to a certain faction and join in the revelry.
We can play games without knowing the rules and have a good time doing it. During my short-lived days playing football in junior high, I had a teammate that just moved to Catlettsburg from the far eastern part of the state, He was twelve and probably never witnessed a real game of football. On the first day of practice, he showed up. The coach asked him what position he wanted to play. He responded with an enthusiastic “I wanna be the feller what packs the ball” Thankfully our coach and a few of us knew what that meant. Coach slapped a number 44 jersey on him and put him in the backfield. Did he know the first thing about running the football? Nope, but it didn’t stop him from having fun and he became better as the season went along.
While I enjoy joining a crowd on occasion, I often wonder why we can’t get that excited over Jesus and fill the churches to the brim every Sunday. A person can drive hundreds of miles and spend hours of driving to attend an event and then can’t get up and drive 2 miles to go to church. Or, if the game is not over till late on a Saturday will make the decision to sleep-in on Sunday morn.
Several years ago a co-worker of mine told me she golfed every Sunday morning and that was her “church” she was out in God’s country enjoying what He had created and that was her quiet time. She immediately saw the skepticism on my face and “you’re not buying that are you?’ This opened up an opportunity to share the gospel.
Many people attend church for different reasons; fellowship, commitment, sense of belonging and even guilt but it should only be for one reason and that is ‘to worship’.
We should join together as a group of baptized believers to worship and then go forth willingly to share the love of Christ to a lost and dying world.
Can we share the love of Christ without knowing all the rules? What if say something wrong? What if the person we are witnessing to turns a deaf ear? What if we are just plain scared to speak up?
Should any of the reasons keep us from enjoying the game and being part of the revelry?
Get out there and play! The fields are white already for the harvest!

A CHRISTMAS STORY...2007

2007-11-14T16:45:00.000-05:00

“I think I want Santa Claus to come to my house this year”, quipped Carson yesterday. I said “that is a good idea! he can land his sleigh on the other end of the house and drop off the toys in front of the fireplace and you will never know he was even here.”
Nah! Maybe you can just go meet him again at the Huntington Mall
Carson still is very apprehensive about Santa. He loves the thought, but still wants him to keep his distance. The Huntington Mall thing came about last Christmas Eve after the family departed and he was getting ready for bed. It was just then that he realized a jolly fat man in a red suit was going to enter his house while he was asleep just down the hall, He wasn’t just gonna drop off a few gifts, he was gonna sit in the big wingback chair, eat some cookies and down a glass of milk before hopping in the sleigh and flying off with the reindeer.
As the wheels in his head turned at breakneck speed, he devised a plan. “Daddy, I don’t want Santa to come here, I want you to meet him at the Huntington Mall” I told him the Mall was closed and he then told me just to meet him on the parking lot. I offered to meet him at the Cedar Knoll Mall and he rejected that idea, insisting I go all the way to Huntington. Cedar Knoll was 6 miles away instead of 20 and that was still a little too close for comfort. Sharla and I agreed and she put the cookies in a Ziploc bag for me to give to Santa. My pretend trip satisfied his anxiety and Carson was all smiles as he drifted off the sleep with visions of “sugarplums” dancing in his head. (Well actually knowing Carson it was probably visions of Skittles”.
Maybe I won’t have to venture out in the cold this Christmas to meet Santa, or maybe it can be Sharla’s turn this year.

HOG HEAVEN

2007-11-13T22:56:00.000-05:00

Frosty November morning’s make my memories swirl. I hearken back some 20 plus years ago to my times spent in my mother’s ancestral birthplace of Left Beaver in Floyd Co. Ky. I wiled away a lot of hours there with my second cousin Chris, running the creeks and mountains, huntin’ possums with an old mongrel named “Beardog” and catching chubs and horny heads with worms we dug from behind the hog pen.
However the frosty morn memory that is still vivid is the rousing of the troops to kill a hog at daylight. My uncle Edgel always rose early. He had the fire built and the water boiling in an old Valvoline barrel set near the creek bank. I think he always planned this when he had a lot of family visiting as “many hands make light work”. We would all shuffle sleepy eyed toward the fire. As we passed the pen, the hogs were noticeably restless, maybe because they hadn’t been fed, or they smelled the smoke of the fire only a few scant steps away.
My cousin Pogo arrives with an old J.C. Higgins .22. He drops to one knee and rests the barrel on the middle slat of the fence and waits for the big white hog to turn and look him in the eye. He waits and waits for a perfect shot, just as he did the week before in Wyoming when he brought down a giant elk. Now the elk was bagged with a 7mm Wetherby at 300 yards and this shot was merely 6 feet but we all knew that it had to be precise. The two made eye contact and the crack of the rifle sent the hog to his knees and the other four scattered to the corners.

Pogo stood with his chest puffed out and just smiled. Then he took a drink of liquid breakfast from the Mason jar.
The hog was then dragged out and laid beside the fire. The scalding water was poured onto its side and we all commenced to scraping the hair off. The steam and smell that emanated from this, turned the stomachs of the "furrner's" from Ohio and Michigan but we all stayed and finished. We hung the old hog by the hind legs with a Red Devil from the big locust tree, and with one swift slice the innards spilled forth and were delivered into the rushing water to feed the crawdads. The meat was quartered and we hauled the pieces in a wheelbarrow to the shed where Edgel worked his magic with an Old Hickory knife.
The tenderloin was cut out and went immediately into the house where Aunt Mae fried it up to serve the crew along with biscuits, gravy, potatoes and eggs.

Nothing better than a good country breakfast after a morning of hard work.

UNRESTRAINED

2007-11-13T17:45:00.000-05:00

How did we ever survive to see adulthood?

Many of us older folks bounced around the car as kids, unrestrained, never knowing the inherent dangers we faced. If I recall, our seatbelts were stuffed into the crack of the rear seats and the only time we ever saw them was when we flipped up the seat to search for loose change. We got to ride in the floor, the FRONT seat, and my favorite; over the rear seat on the ledge beneath the window. I would lie there in the big maroon Ford Galaxy on my back pretending I was flying, taking in the sights with my face pressed to the window, watching the scenery whiz by until I became dizzy.
We even got to drive! We sat on Dad’s lap and steered for miles, he would often correct the trajectory by turning the wheel ever-so-slightly with his knees if we started to veer off course.
Kids today will never have those experiences as they are now banished to the backseat to be strapped down in car seats, booster seats and with seatbelts. They will never get to ride beneath the rear glass and stare into space as the car rockets down the highway; they simply sit and watch a DVD!

Whodathunkit?
But, they are safe there in their little restrained world, as they should always be.

Just think how we would feel as Christians if we were able to ride through life unrestrained. We would be bounced, beat and bedraggled. I’m just thankful we have the Holy Spirit to convict us and occasionally “jerk a knot in our tail” as he steers us down life’s highway.

THE DUMPLIN' EATER

2007-11-11T20:23:00.000-05:00

Dumplings, or just plain "dumplin's" as we call 'em in Kentucky, are little more than flour, milk, a pinch of salt and occasionally an egg, cooked in a hot chicken broth.

My dumplin' eatin' days are long gone. A period of my life that was filled with the countless bowls of wholesome goodness.

I had the unique situation as a young boy of being caught in the middle of a "dumplin" Battle Royal. I, along with my sister's and brother had the best of both worlds on Sunday afternoon. we got to eat dinner at both Grandparents houses.

My maternal Granny was of the "big, light, fluffy, pinched-off and dropped into the pot" school of dumplin' making.

My paternal Nanny was of the 'rolled out flat, cut with a knife, kinda-chewy, noodle-like dumplin'.

Both were delicious and I ate them with gusto. (and it shows to this day)

I was thrown into the mix"pun intended", of being an expert judge as to which dumplin' was the best. I was coerced by each to choose sides and say that hers were the best. It was a jovial, yet somewhat prideful competition that we laughed about for many years.

I still can close my eyes and remember the taste and textures of those afternoons, gorging myself on the savory dishes. The dumplins' swimming in the thickened mix as yellow-gold beads of the rendered chicken fat floated above, coating the spoon with every bite.

I haven't tasted anything remotely similar since their passing away over ten years ago and I'm sure I never will.

My forays into the restaurant variety dumplin' has left me empty and wanting. My desire has faded and all I'm left with are the memories but what memories they are.

I'm sure the competition is still raging up in heaven, and I'll just wait till I'm called to that banquet table someday and eat my fill from both pots, as I'm sure they're cooking together.

Nanny & Granny the "dynamic dumplin duo"

IF YOU GO OUT IN THE WOODS TODAY........

2007-11-08T21:19:00.000-05:00

If you go out in the woods today,You’d better not go alone.It’s lovely out in the woods today,But safer to stay at home.

A real shocker today.

I was perusing the Google Earth this afternoon, looking at soccer stadiums across the globe and on a whim, typed in my address as I had done before and zoomed down on my house. This is an amazing site. I can see the house and cars in the driveway. I used the directional pointer and started a journey up Hurricane Rd. Less than 1/2 mile and before the next house there was a blue dot. Now a blue dot on Google Earth allows you click on it for some pertinent information. I clicked and a box appeared with a web address and nothing else.

I clicked again and it directed me to http://www.bfro.net/ The Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization.

Now I have to admit that I was really into Bigfoot, Yeti and other unexplained beasts but got over that phase back in 1974. I read every book, newspaper article and could watch that short, shaky Patterson film over and over again, truly believing it was for real. I wanted to travel to Northern California and Mt Hood in Oregon to chase my own Sasquatch!

I guess I just outgrew my fascination and moved on with other pursuits.

So I click on this dot and read the headline...Mother and her son see a tall, hairy, bipedal creature cross the road in two steps.

The account goes on to explain that it was 2;30-3:00am on a blacktop country road..it was extremely tall..extremely hairy...took lanky steps.

This account was witnessed in 1998 but reported in October 2001.

The area in question is a heavily wooded area,only a mile southeast of Blackburn Ave in Ashland. I have lived here for 17 years. It consists of several hundred acres of uninhabited woodland with a lot of heavy timber. The area directly behind my house and extending toward Skyline Dr is 2 miles long with only 4 houses on that side of the road and the other side is comparable with only a few more houses crowded into a short 800'.I have covered practically every inch of this area over the years and I do believe that is secluded enough to harbor many forms of wildlife and I have witnessed many beasts roaming the woods..squirrels, deer, raccoons, owls, turkey, snakes, tarpins ,( box turtles for you folks that "ain't from around here" and even coyotes....but never a Bigfoot!

Further investigating led me to http://www.kentuckybigfoot.com/ it had pictures of Bigfoot's taken in Carter County and Boyd County.

I printed the report and gave it to Sharla to read without any explanation. She read along, stopping only to say "is this for real"? after she finished, she dropped the paper on the table and said "we're moving!"

Nah, we're staying put. I'm not gonna tell Carson about this one, as he won't want to play outside and I'm not sure Sharla will let him.

If the cat food starts disappearing...or the cat..then I'll think about moving.

TO THE BATCAVE!!

2007-11-05T22:11:00.000-05:00

One of favorite family things to do is to take a short trip to an unknown destination ( well, unknown only to Carson). A recent adventure took us a few short miles away to one of my favorite areas of Kentucky, Carter Caves State Park.
The drive there was filled with questions from the backseat, as to where we were headed., The guesses flowed and varied from Chuck E. Cheese, Central Park, the mall, Lexington, Disney World, Gatlinburg, PawPaw’s, Mcdonald’s, Thomas the Train, Bardstown and way too many to list.
We pulled into the parking lot of the Trading Post and started walking down the path toward the natural bridge. He still didn’t know where we were. All he knew was that he was hiking and there was a creek. We approached the entrance to the natural bridge and his eyes opened as wide as his mouth and out came “a cave!”
We had read one of my childhood books a few nights ago at bedtime. Caves and Their Mysteries, I spent countless hours pouring over those pages as a kid, dreaming of exploring the caves, dangling from ropes, wading through crystal pools of cool water, and shielding my face from the giant hoards of bats buzzing past me to escape to the outside world. This was my dream as a boy and I have always had a fascination with caves and have fulfilled many of those childhood dreams in my countless journeys.

Back to Carson…We strolled through the bridge and walked the dirt path to the entrance of the Bat Cave. There is a small cave at the mouth just about 4 feet high and proportioned perfectly for a four year old. I pulled a Spiderman flashlight from my pocket and handed it to him. Off he went! That little cave only sunk into the side of that cliff about 60’, but he forged headlong into the darkness and disappeared without a second thought or fear.

We went there with the intent to just let him explore at his own pace and not push or entice him to go someplace that he didn’t want to go, and we were sure we weren’t going to pay to take a tour, only to have to leave in the middle if he “freaked out in the darkness.

He emerged from that cave and said “I love caves daddy”, that was a joy to hear.

He never ceases to amaze me with his enthusiasm for adventure, and like me, always asks what is around the next bend or over the next hill.
We had a picnic, played miniature golf and then he wanted to go to another cave.
As we exited the park, we stopped and walked to the entrance of Laurel Cave. Sharla waited on the bridge. Carson now had my headlamp on and was scrambling across the boulders into the darkness, I was trying to keep up and telling him to wait for me. The darkness enveloped us and he I could see a great smile on his face in the glow of his light, he stood motionless as he let large drops of water cascade down onto his head. His pants were muddy, his hands were dirty, he was tired but he was having a memorable day with mom and dad.

He already is planning a trip back and wants to go through the cave and out the other side!
For now, he is simply enjoying the wonders of nature, with not a inkling about karst topography, hydrodynamics and oolitic limestone….but I’m sure he will have questions soon.

COME HERE!!!!!!!

2007-11-04T14:20:00.000-05:00

Come Here!!! Come Here!!!

The word “here” is usually drawn out to a resounding Bill Cosby”ish” “HHHeeeeerrrrrreeeee!”
A phrase uttered countless times throughout a typical day in the ol’ Johnson household.
It is a command directed at our son that often times seems to go in one ear and out the other. Other times the words just seem to hover around the room until they finally dissipate into thin air without ever causing the slightest tympanic vibration. My wife and I agree that life would be so much simpler and less stressful if he would just do as we say on the first command, without the repetitious droning of our will against his.
But that seems to be the way of most four year olds, and we realize as parents that we are not alone in all this. The times he follows the instructions on the first prompt are rewarded with praise and thanks.
During these episodes of disobedience and indifference I often find myself reaching a level of frustration, that causes me to step back and take a deep breath and cool my head.
I had an instance of this yesterday that completely turned my head around to see myself in the mirror and realize that my disobedience grieves the One that cares about me the most, in the exact same way.
When I don’t obey the will of the Father, I know that He must feel the same hurt that I feel when my son rejects the direction I offer him. I know that I have rejected direction from God in the past, to follow my own path and now wonder what I could have done differently and where I would possibly be at this point in my Christian life.
I am so thankful we serve a Savior that loves us for what we are and where grace abounds.
So now, every time I have to repeat the phrase” Come Here” , I’ll stop and look at myself and remember the forgiveness in my heart that is there from the One that forgave me.

There is too much love to be shared and too little time to dwell on the negative words that just want to keep us from His joy.

"A PECK OF DIRT"

2007-11-03T22:25:00.000-04:00

As the old adage goes “you eat a peck of dirt before you die.”
Now that is a lot of dirt!
A peck is a dry measure equal to a quarter of a bushel or 8 quarts, and for our friends elsewhere in the world that comes to roughly 9 litres.
The USDA governs the amount of dirt we consume along with the many microbes, rodent hairs and other unseen yuckies!
We put food into our bodies that we think is clean and never realize it is dirty until we chomp a miniscule piece of grit and spit it out. A piece so small that we cannot see it, yet we feel its presence on our tongue most repulsive. One little speck! That is only a drop in the bucket (or peck) that we theoretically devour in a lifetime.
Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t detest a little dirt in my food and generally expect to find some on a jacket of a baked potato and I almost demand to see an ultra-fine layer of grit in the bottom of a bowl of authentic clam chowder ( that ain’t really dirt! just some sand).

So..What about the people that eat dirt for the fun of it? Affectionately know as “Geophages” (Geo from the Greek meaning “Earth” and phagein meaning “to eat”). These people gain pleasure and sooth a craving by eating dirt on a regular basis. Maybe it’s a vitamin deficiency.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand that one, but to each his own.

The part about being repulsed by a mouthful of dirt brings me to the point of this post.
Last month during the next to final game of our soccer season, my son was on the receiving end of a fist that connected to his cheek while being sat upon by an older teammate before a game. He had never been subjected to any physical violence in his four years and was totally caught off-guard. He has never been around someone that derives sadistic pleasure from bullying and has always seen the good in everyone. (the innocence of a child, and one I wish he will always keep. I told him some people are mean and want to hurt others, his response was simply “why daddy?”
I witnessed the attack and promptly rescued him all the while making a small scene with my quick temper (I need a lot of your prayers with this one).
After drying the tears and telling his mommy what had just unfolded, we told him just to keep his distance from the kid and stay to himself, we only had one game left.
The week proceeded and more talk about the incident brought the same advice. Stay away!
Well, that final game came and went without any confrontation. After the game the coach (which shall remain nameless) came to me and said, “Well, he got him back”. Immediately my heart raced and I replayed the game in my head. I didn’t see him do anything to the other kid. I asked what did he do? The coach said the kid came running to him and complained that my son had put dirt in his water bottle!
Justice served! That was on the sideline during the game. I know he wasn’t thinking about retaliation, he just randomly filled water bottles and probably his own as well, and had fun doing it! A non-physical retaliation to a physical assault.
Then at the end-of season banquet, all was well and forgotten, if only we as adults could forget and forgive as easily.

So…..that kid has a real head start on the 8 pounds he is gonna eat.

Maybe he can ask Santa for a spoon for Christmas!

X-RAY VISION?

2007-11-03T09:18:00.001-04:00

You are being watched!

Every eye seems to turn upon you when you least expect it. We go about our everyday activities, often times seemingly drifting through the day without a care in the world, minding our own business, other times we can be one on one in a witnessing situation sharing Christ with a co-worker or we can be clandestinely observed sharing Christ. (or more importantly NOT).

Our daily walk is constantly being scrutinized even when we don't actually sense the observational powers of those living in the world burning holes through our souls, waiting to find a chink in our armor and being able to thrust a sword into our soft flesh.

Our actions as Christians should be laid out for all to see and judge. We strive daily to live and show the love of Christ that lives inside us so that others can see Him through us.

One of my past Sunday School teaches used to tell the kids that "you may be the only "Bible" that someone ever reads", always be an example of what a Christian should be.

This brings up the title of my post...................

What if a fellow Christian, a stranger, a lost person, sees us in a situation that is not what it appears to be? How do we defend our actions when we have done nothing wrong, only being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Case in point! A few weeks ago, a friend ( I'll call him Joe) in my prayer group shared a story of just this.

He is in his late 70's and care's for his older brother that still tries to live as independently as he can. Joe takes his brother out to pay bills, eat and buy groceries. On this day he was at the store and as his brother tries to be independent, he was giving him space so as not to appear as he was helping him. As the brother was picking out an item from the freezer case, Joe was watching him from about fifty feet away while shopping for himself. Joe kept his brother in his sight without him thinking he was being watched. Joe's eyes were focused solely upon his brother and his concern for him.

Then......as Joe was watching his brother, a young lady stepped in about halfway between them to pick out an item. Joe was still focusing on his brother and peering around the lady to make sure he was OK. The lady quickly picked her item and was gone. Just as quick, a friend of Joe leaned in from behind and said " you might as well follow her to the car and go home with her." and he just as quickly slipped away before Joe had a chance to explain that his brother was fifty feet away. All that friend saw was Joe in a situation that was very unbecoming to a Christian family man.

Joe has of yet to be able to explain his actions and is even wondering if it would help. He was moved to tears, concerned that his motive of love for his brother was misconceived as an image of lust in the eyes of another.

If only Joe had used his X-RAY Specs!

Keeping our eyes focused on the important things in life is what it is all about. There will always be detractors of our motives and witness, and most importantly we need to uplift one another constantly in prayer.

WRITER'S BLOCK

2007-10-26T08:17:00.001-04:00

I'm still here, just haven't been able to post for a while.
I seem to have a slight case of writer's block as everytime I start to post I run out of words or the words don't make sense as they come to me.
I do have a few thoughts running through my feeble mind, and I will eventually get them out and into the cyber-world...........Grant

Turn It Up!

2007-08-25T07:00:00.001-04:00

Turn it up!

Sharla and I hear that outburst from the backseat on nearly every ride in the car.
We don’t even consciously know the radio is on, as we routinely turn it way down instead of off. Carson’s hearing is very acute and recognizes songs from the first few notes. ( I wish “Name That Tune” was still on the air…maybe we could cash in!)

He has an ear for the "oldies" as that is the music Sharla listens to in the car. He also picks up songs from the movies he watches as they use the same songs. He instantly connects the song to the movie such as: "that song is from Shrek or that one is from Napoleon(Dynamite).

He amazed us last winter while in a coffee shop in Lexington. We were sipping a coffee and Carson was having a chocolate milk, when he said "springtime", I said"what"? He replied again"springtime". I was at a loss and Sharla had no idea what it was all about. Then it hit me! I caught the faint strains of music playing softly in the background....Vivaldi's Spring. I said "how do know that song? He answered "Little Einstein's"...a show he watches occasionally in the mornings. They introduce art and classical music to preschoolers. So...not many three year olds can pick out a piece of classical music, and that still boggles my mind.

While I consider myself am musically inept, I enjoy music however I’ve never been one to have to always have a soundtrack playing in the background of my daily life. I have always believed that having an “ear” for music is a gift and something that I’ll never comprehend. . I can recognize some tunes, even sing a few bars, but as far as remembering a whole song, apart from a few hymns and regularly sung worship songs, I definitely don’t have the gift and I stand amazed at anyone that can play an instrument or sing.

Since Carson was about one, he has moved to the beat! He loves the praise band at church and alternates between strumming the “air guitar’ and imaginary "drumset" all the while balancing on the back of the pew with my arm around his waist.

He still sings the songs from last years Vacation Bible School Arctic Edge along with his favorite contemporary worship song"Trading My Sorrows". As the psalmist David said in Psalm 98:4 Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise.

However tonight he was belting out "Evil Woman" and "Straight Up"as they played on the radio, not too much praise there, but he sure can carry a tune!

As for the dancing that goes with the music......he has the moves to go with it too... too bad Disney doesn't have Preschool Musical in the works!!....but I'll save that for a later post!

FROZEN DREAMS

2007-08-22T22:19:00.000-04:00

Frozen Dreams

My ultimate fantasy trip of a life-time is not to lie on the beach on some tropical island while a warm breeze parts the palm fronds above as I sip a cool drink from a coconut.
I wanna go North!
Up where the breezes are cool and the beaches are rocky and ice-strewn. Where the caribou and the musk ox run free, and the mosquitoes swarm so thick that they can dim the everlasting summer sun. I dream to trek across the open expanses of the frozen tundra, living off the land. I want to partake of the hospitality of the Inuit, learning their ways of survival in the harshest of climes. I want to wear a robe and mittens of sealskin and mukluks made of the finest walrus hide. I will watch as clouds of migrating bird’s trouble the waters of a pristine glacial lake. I want to catch the grayling and the char and cook it over a fire of driftwood from a distant unforeseen boreal forest. I long to lie on my back and watch the Aurora Borealis paint the black sky with curtains of pastel brilliance. I want to feel the bite of -45 F on uncovered skin!
I want to watch polar bears (from a distance, of course) as they lumber across the whiteness, ever searching for their next meal. I dream to sail the open waters of the polar sea, up the west coast of Greenland, passing giant headlands and countless glaciers and unnamed mountain peaks. Sailing northward, going as far as the pack ice will allow me. Retracing the route of the ill-fated Franklin expedition and the later voyage of Amundsen through the Northwest Passage. I will trudge onward as a lemming, crossing each new barrier without a thought of turning back.
My infatuation of all things “arctic” began over two decades ago when I discovered the books of Farley Mowat. His stories and sociologic insights into the people that inhabit the vast expanses of the Great White North filled me with intrigue. He traveled extensively throughout the arctic, preserving the ways of life in his reports. He brought to light the hardships and travails facing the Inuit and the Siberians, along with the issues of habitat destruction, over-fishing, oil exploitation and introduced diseases. All of these things have a detrimental effect on the northern societies. His books, Sea of Slaughter, People of the Deer, The Siberians, Never Cry Wolf, The Desperate People and the Boat Who Wouldn’t Float, are must read’s for anyone looking for an insight in the nether reaches on the far north.
While I long to step foot on the frozen soil, I also know that dreams are dreams. Dreams are what you make of them. Some people have an uncanny knack for making their dreams come to fruition and others, me included, dream just to be dreaming. My head sometimes swims with countless thoughts, and I struggle trying to make sense of the mish-mash. Thoughts of a child. 1 Corinthians 13:11 tells us….I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
I guess I will always struggle with this one, and next year I’ll probably be reclining on a beach beneath an umbrella slathered in SPF 45, reading a book about the arctic, drinking frozen lemonade and watching Sharla bake in the sun while Carson splashes and builds sand castles.
Oh, the life of a dreamer…and forever a little boy!

POSTCARD FROM GEORGETOWN KENTUCKY

2007-08-18T21:45:00.001-04:00

What a beautiful day!
70 degrees and sunny with a slight breeze. Such a relief from the heat and humidity of the past week.
The Bengals have deserted town, students are unloading cars and carrying boxes into brick buildings with countless windows, and another semester is beginning.
Carson and I have been kicking around a soccer ball on the campus of Georgetown College while we wait on Sharla to get out of her Town Meeting of Fall orientation.
We have now retired to the car to let Carson watch Open Season( for the umpteenth time) on the DVD player. I am writing in the car as the battery is slowly dying on my computer.
Carson said earlier in the morning that he will be going to school here when he gets bigger and that he will play soccer and go to class with the girls. ( I better start saving my money now!)
Our next visit will be in a couple of months and will coincide with the Homecoming game. As long as the “mascot” stays on the other side of the field, we should be all right. I am nominating Sharla for Homecoming Queen!! I'll post a picture of her with her roses and tiara later this Fall.
By the way…..just where is Shorter College?
We do this little trip on average of four times a year. We spend a “guy’s day” together waiting on Momma. We usually wile away the hours kicking the ball, hitting nerf golf balls, chasing squirrels, watching movies, eating snacks, checking out the Hispanic flea market(they have a great selection of Mexican League soccer gear), and more or less driving around and checking out the sights.
We still have a few hours to get all of this done after we take Sharla to lunch.
We then have to go to Lexington to eat at Johnny Carino’s and to let her shop at the Hamburg Pavillion before we hit the road back to C’burg.
Just a few more trips and she will be all finished up!!!!! To embark on her new mission in life empowered with her MA in Special Ed.
Just a day in the life of the traveling Johnson family.

"AND THEN....DISCOURAGEMENT SET IN"

2007-08-12T14:55:00.001-04:00

To quote a line from one of my favorite movies, "and then... depression set in" it is from the movie Stripes. Bill Murray had just had his car repossessed, lost his job and his girlfriend in less than an hour. As she walked out the door, he slumped to the floor and uttered that memorable line. I think discouragement was not even a part of his vocabulary.

A very interesting lesson this morning in Sunday School The lesson was titled “When You’re Discouraged”.
The lesson in the quarterly was written by Tara Nye and she used the following parable to open the study....
Once upon a time it was announced that the devil was going out of business and would sell all his equipment to those who were willing to pay the price. On the big day of the sale, all his tools were attractively displayed. Amongst the tools were envy, jealousy, hatred, malice, deceit, sensuality, pride, idolatry, and other implements of evil. Each of these tools was marked with its own price tag.
In a corner by itself was a harmless looking, well-worn, wedge-shaped tool, but it bore a higher price than any other tool. Someone asked what it was. The devil answered “That is Discouragement .” the next question came quickly, “and why is it priced so high even though it is plain to see it is worn more than the others?”
“Because,” replied the devil, “it is more useful to me that all these others. I can pry open and get into a man’s heart with that when I cannot get near him with any other tool. Once I get inside, I can use him in whatever way suits me best. It is worn well because I use it on everybody I can, and few people even know it belongs to me.”
The tool was priced so high that no one can buy it, and to this day it is never been sold. It still belongs to the devil, and he still uses it on mankind.

This lesson really hit me hard....I know I sometimes feel that wedge whenever my best laid plans get pushed to the wayside. I know it is a feeling of pride that gets in the way of me doing the Lord’s will. We all feel discouraged in our daily life, discouraged in our jobs, discouraged when our children don’t do what we tell them to do, discouraged when someone else succeeds without paying their dues, or so we think.
We all need to evaluate the cause of our discouragement and ask God for a fresh vision of his purpose for our lives.
I just try to go with the flow, and not let discouragement turn into depression.
It is a hard battle to fight, that the rewards will be great when the battle is over.

Futbol?

2007-08-12T13:28:00.001-04:00

Futbol?
I could put all my knowledge of the game into a few sentences and if it is double spaced it could possibly make an interesting, albeit short paragraph.
My experience of the game is relatively short. We never played it in school and the only name I remember from my school days is Kyle Rote jr. Is he still alive?
I really just got interested in the game about two years ago. I started following the Guatemalan National team in their quest to qualify for the World Cup. I still can’t recall any of the player’s names, but the nicknames are memorable. It seems all Latin players have a nickname..”el Conejo”(the rabbit), “el Pescadito”(little fish), and ‘el Mago”(the magician). I haven’t noticed that in the MSL as of yet, but I’m sure it’s coming.
Why the Guatemalan National team? Well… that is due to my connection with the up and coming “futbol” prodigy from Guatemala, my son Carson.
We became a “forever” family in 2004 and since he started to walk, he has kicked a ball around the house. This past Autumn he watched a game on TV and then saw the goals set up in Central Park. We had to buy a ball and go to the park to let him run. He was only three and could run circles around the old man. We then planned a trip to Columbus on Mother’s Day this Spring to watch the Crew play the Chivas. It was Hispanic heritage night and the stadium was abuzz with activity. After buying the twenty bucks worth of popcorn and cotton candy along with a stadium horn we settled in our seats to enjoy the game. Carson loved the game, the excitement and the sounds of somewhat familiar Spanish language in the background.
When we got home we signed him up to play in the Upward league this Summer. As his first taste of organized sports he is proving to be a good listener. I tried to teach him the two-handed overhead throw-in many times in our practices and he was too stubborn to even try. Then in his first game the coach handed him the ball and he instinctively performed the maneuver like he had done it a million times before. While he still runs around the field quite aimlessly and likes to pick grass and flowers on the field, run to Momma for a drink leaving the goal unattended and kicking toward the wrong goal, he loves the game.
I still have a lot to learn and with the help of “Soccer for Idiots” maybe someday I’ll figure it all out. I even bought myself some cleats. “Why a bald over-weight 44 year old needs cleats?” is kinda laughable, but he said I needed them for the park.
But right now all I care about is the big smile and the “game face” whenever he puts on the uniform and puts that # 3 ball under his arm, and the smiles of his very proud parents as that “soon to be four year old” little head of black hair bounces tirelessly up and down the field.