Our Four-legged Family

Where in the world would we be without them? They make us laugh, they love us when no one else really notices, they help us get our exercise, calm us down, cheer us up, they guide us into better versions of our former selves, they fill our lives with meaning,.. OK, and some poop.



This is Image. He is a twenty-five year old Morgan gelding who belongs to my good friends. He is very fat, and he founders often. For you non horse people, that is a problem with the hooves that happens to fat, spoiled horses with some regularity, but if not taken care of, can be pretty serious. He gave my brother a job when he was a colt because he needed a little training. Come to think of it, he gave me a job a few times when I got to give him his water, oats and hay, when his mom and dad were out of town. The truth is, my family's long love affair with horses probably had more to do with bringing my dear friend's, his owners into my life than just about anything. Thanks Image.



This is Fred. He is a dog of extremes. The most obvious extreme is his size. Medium sized ponies are terrified of him. He can toot the foulest, sling the most slobber, eat the most rotisserie chickens, Vienna sausages, and jumbo dog treats, and snore the loudest of any dog I have ever known -by far.



That's Poo Bear eating a golden delicious. He just showed up one day with his mom and nobody had the heart to make him leave. I think that has a lot to do with his uncharacteristically furry face.



These are my dad's cows. Just looking at them gives me a sense of calm. They have the opposite effect on our dog, Ginny.



This is Ginny's friend, Lucy. She's kind of a tornado of affection and sweet Golden-doodle love.



This is Ginny and Amanda. They let me live with them. I can't begin to describe how much I love this picture and the two hot babes in it. They're my pin-up girls.

Just Imagine

I've had a lot of creative energy lately. I've been working on everything from recording a new CD project, to restoring yard sale furniture to sell online, to writing this blog. I feel like I had about a four year period where creating felt more like a chore than anything else, and it sure feels good to remember what it feels like to be truly exited about a new idea, be it musical, or whatever.

The CD will be released in June, and it is swingin', instrumental, high energy, and full of my personality, if you like that kind of thing. It is the kind of music I want to put on when there's a group of friends over and you feel like dancing or just laughing and having a good time. Even though it is technically the music I play at horse shows, you don't have to be at a horse show to get it. I guess when I think about what I do at the shows, I'm really playing more for the people who don't know a canter from a cantaloupe than I am for the die hard horse crowd who might not know I was there if it weren't for the rare occasion that I have to get up for a bathroom break and they think "Hey why did it get so quiet and boring all of the sudden?"

What has changed? I think somehow I've just been listening better. Inspiration is everywhere if you can get outside of yourself long enough to experience it. (Now here is the part of the blog where I go on about how cool my church is.. you knew it was coming.) Christopher Phillips plays the piano at Christ Church among many other things. I know that God has opened up a new world of inspiration to me because I not only get to hear him play and listen to his awesome arrangements for the smokin' worship band and amazing choir, but he is my friend. So that means I get to ask him stuff like "What was that chord that made that totally hum drum hymn you played this morning sound so out-of-this-world fantastic?" and he just shows me. I love it.

I'll be writing more about this later, but Amanda and I have a new business that we feel really passionate about. It is based on our philosophy that you do not have to be rich to have a beautiful home. We are awakening the potential in pieces that were thought to be past their prime. I will keep you posted with pics and how you can get the cool one-of-a-kind tables, chairs, art, basically -Pottery Barn meets Anthropology but less expensive and all original.

So, that's what I'm up to. All of that with a headache seventy-five percent of the time. Just imagine what I'm gonna be doing when the Lord heals me of these flippin' things!

Headaches

I have a LOT of headaches. One of them is happening right now. I'm not really sure what to do about it. I pray, take drugs, exercise, take naps, don't take naps, they get a little better, they get a lot worse, I don't understand. It sucks. They aren't migraines, they just feel like my skull is too small for everything in it. Sometimes I think how very easy it would be for me to become one of the millions addicted to prescription drugs, or non prescription drugs for that matter, or alcohol, or anything that would make me feel better.

So what do I do? Sometimes I get really mean and cynical. Mostly to my self and to my wife. It's my secret, but I'm telling. That does not help, but for some stupid reason I keep trying it -as if one day that will actually make something better. I avoid the very things that I have always said are the most important things in life, relationships. I don't return calls or emails unless they are absolutely necessary, and sometimes I even avoid those.

I've been to several Doc's, healing services, and gotten massages, but they've never completely gone away. It makes me so depressed. But when I start feeling too sorry for myself, I always think of something my Papaw Harold used to say. "You can always look around and find somebody "worse off" than you." I know I have shared that same quote before, but so far it is one of the best remedies I know for the droopy drawers brain that I am so prone to.

Do I lose my faith? A little every now and then. Somehow, thankfully, the Lord has bestowed enough faith on me to carry me through the times when I'm just thoroughly pissed off at everybody about everything.

Right now Nicole C. Mullen's voice is ringing in my ears singing "I know my redeemer lives." He lives. He is real. He changes my life daily. I do not have the power to do it on my own. Anything that you find encouraging about this blog can be attributed to our risen Savior.

If you have never encountered the one I am speaking of, come to Christ Church on Sunday morning. He is there. I know He's everywhere, but his Kingdom is so evident there. It is UN-deniable! From the music, to the testimonies, to the people you encounter in the parking lot, it's the real thing. And I am so thankful to be a part. Hey, my head feels better. I'm serious!

So right now, I must conclude that those headaches are there for a reason. I sure would like to learn whatever that reason is so I can get on to the next thing, but until then, I'm doing the best I can and trying to have a little grace and patience along the way.

The photos are from a weekend excursion to the Strawberry Festival in Portland, TN. You can see Ginny inspecting the torrential rain at the top, and the happy ending at the bottom, a little girl who decided to make the best of it.

Africa Has Come to Us

John Senior, Thomas, and John Bosco

Last Sunday was a day to remember. Not only was it Mother's Day, but at our church, John Bosco, my African godson, was baptised, then watched his own father be baptised in the next moment. They were some of ten or so people who celebrated their commitment to Christ that day. I led the men from their Sunday School room where Rev. Jackie Stansfield had been expertly opening their minds to the gifts of the Spirit as Swahili and Nepali interpreters stood on either side of her, to the appropriate dressing room behind the huge sanctuary while the great Christ Church Choir belted out thunderous praise songs. I was sobbing as is often the case with me lately on Sunday mornings, but I was also happy, excited, and so thankful that God allowed me to be a part of this momentous day.



Amanda and I were invited to share a meal with this family and some of their friends afterward where we learned more about the struggle that has resulted in their presence in Nashville. It has been a week and it is still a little more than I can get my mind around. That day we found out what it feels like to be surrounded by people speaking a language which you have no knowlege of. We were the only ones of our kind in their warm apartment that was spilling over with people who told stories, thankfully interpreted into English for us, about the unbelievably painful atrocities being committed in Africa to this day, harrowing journeys through the African country, and one man's journey to Christ. We learned more about this culture that fosters story telling, singing, rhythm and dancing from an early age. Boy wouldn't I fit right in?!

Mothers with brightly colored dresses and head wraps explained that when we were told to eat, that refusal was not an option. That made me feel perfectly at home, as my Mammaw Nita Ann started force feeding me before I could walk, and she has never stopped.

We learned about the way a young African man has to prove that he is ready for marriage by building a house beside his father's house with his own hands. Then, once he has decided on the girl he chooses, he sends as many of his brothers or friends as he can persuade to, to wait for her in the bush and collect her, (one grabs legs, and one grabs head and arms and she is often screaming) then they bring her to his bedroom, where, in a violently romantic show of love, they are "married" if she doesn't get away first. I am not making this up.

It is then that man's responsibility to pay a cowry. That's the term I coined for the cows which cover the losses that the young bride's family has suffered if the marriage is agreed upon between families. Now if the marriage is not agreed upon, the strongest men from the bride's family get together with some large sticks and rocks and proceed to collect the bride away from the opposing tribe. Yeah. That's how they do it.



So my friend Lynne tells a story about me that once, while she was teaching us to pray that God would truly have his will in our lives, I said "But Lynne, If I do that, what if God decides to send me to Africa?" Well Africa has come to us. And I am so glad it did.



John Bosco is the one with the huge smile. Beside him is his brother, Claude, their Mother, who is so quiet that I'm not sure I ever got her name, and Father, John. The smallest boy is Mugisha. They are our family.

EC's War Story

I just had a visit with my eighty-something year-old step grandfather, EC Cravens. If I'm really honest, I went because I felt a little guilty that I didn't visit last time I was in Arab, the town I grew up in. My visit with him was like every interaction I've ever had with him, it left me thinking what a cool old dude he is, and that one day I hope I have some stories that are half as good as his.

I will first give a little history about EC. My family first came to know him when my Mammaw, Mrs. Arizona Beam, casually announced that she was leaving in two weeks for a drive to Wyoming with her new "feller," who none of us had met, and, by the way, they were getting married. Now my Papaw, Hoyle Beam, a stern but good hearted man, died of a heart attack in 1980, so I barely remember him. After some time Mammaw found a group of girlfriends and began to emerge from her cocoon of mourning as a youthful, energetic, dancing machine. She went from withdrawn mother of seven to working single hottie in about a five year period. It didn't take long for her to find company with CB, her first boyfriend since Papaw. They had regular Thursday night dancing date night until cancer took CB away. Then came John, who didn't last as long as CB. I think it was a heart attack or a stroke that took him out.

So, with due respect to all involved, about the time the last shovel of dirt covered John, apparently EC was down on one knee, ready to seal the deal. He wisely figured that there was no time to waste. I don't blame him one bit, because they have been together for seven happy years now.

Since I have known him, EC has had a full head of fluffy white hair, a quick smile, and speech that is generously peppered with four letter words, but somehow, he never seems too foul. His southern drawl has an appealing resonance, and his unassuming, plain spoken manner leaves plenty of room for surprises. Every time I sit down with EC, I find out something I didn't know before. For instance, once I found out that he used to run moonshine. Then he was a race truck driver. Yea, that's what I meant to say, a race truck driver. He was actually in the movie, Smokey and the Bandit driving his huge truck.

The interaction with him that changed our financial life exponentially happened when EC convinced his sister, Geneva Jackson, (our dog Ginny Jackson's namesake) to sell Amanda and I our first house for what turned out to be the bargain of a lifetime. Even though we could barely make the payments for the ten or so months that we owned the house, we were so glad that we did, for we were dumbfounded when a big developer from Atlanta offered to buy the house from us at an unbelievable profit at the peak of the real estate market bubble.

Besides learning about his longstanding friendship with Alabama's current Governor, Bob Riley, today, I found out that he fought in World War II. This was one story he was a bit reluctant to tell. I asked him what he remembered about the War, and at first he said "I don't want to remember." But soon he reverently recalled the night he spent in a building that had been bombed by a German tank during the Battle of the Bulge, the single biggest and bloodiest battle in US history according to Wikipedia.

"The first group of men they sent in were all killed," he said. "But they went ahead and sent us on in after that." He and his entire group of infantry men survived after he noticed a German tank repositioning and they followed his suggestion to go down to the basement for cover.

I write this to say, if there is someone in your life from that Greatest Generation, do not overlook them. They have been there. And there is so much to learn by just sitting and listening as they unpack their life's treasure chest of experience.

Do this! Go visit and force yourself to just listen with no agenda other than to hear what they have to say. Be patient, and you are guaranteed to find something worthwhile. You will both be better for it.

Why Do I Write?

Do I write to see if I can say the funniest thing about the swine flu? Partly. Do I write because I like to make people cry? Yes, partly. Is it so people will like me? Maybe a little. So maybe I'll be a famous writer one day? Yea right. OK, maybe that too, a little. I think I write mostly because I believe God gave me a lot to say and my sweet Amanda can only listen to so much without going to sleep eventually.



Well, maybe I've survived the swine flu pandemic this far because I have something important to say or do or be. Some days I think I have an idea as to what those "somethings" are, but most days I'm just doing my thing. Playing music, taking some piece of junk and attempting to work it into something of value, cooking, eating, laughing, cleaning, loving, complaining, and hopefully encouraging.




One big reason I write is because my wife told me to. Come to think of it, that's the reason I do just about everything! She's just as smart as she is pretty.

Maybe the point of this is to encourage you to ask yourself why you do what you do. I want to get on the offensive side of my life instead of just reacting to things going on around me. I want to realize all the choices that are available to me and not just settle for the first thing that comes along, or just fall in line with whatever is popular.




My friend Amanda Phillips' dad, Pastor Phil Goldsberry, spoke at church on Sunday and something he said rang a bell. It was "We should not be so much a part of our culture that we fit in without thinking."

I am afraid I work pretty hard to fit in sometimes, when we were never intended to blend in seamlessly with unbelievers. Now I have naturally stuck out most of my life just because that is the way God made me, but not always because of some defining christian value that set me apart. More likely it was because I was sitting at my desk in school and figured out a way to get my hair to stand straight up and make everybody laugh. Not that there isn't a perfectly good reason to do something like that, but I don't think that is the way we are necessarily supposed to be "set apart."

Why do you do what you do? What sets you apart? How did you get to be who you are? Those are a few of the reasons I write. I'm trying to figure this whole thing out. And I'm trying to find as many people as I can to jump in with me and start living like we are dieing. Thank you Tim McGraw.

I want to leave a mark, and I'd rather do it on purpose. The people who make a difference do not do so accidentally for the most part. I want to remind myself that I can roar if I choose to. I want to use all the colors in my life's painting, and I want to encourage you to do the same.

Believe it or not, the photos aren't Ruby Falls, they are from our trip to New York City. This is actually a spring that flows in the middle of Chelsea Market.

Sunday/My Review of Traveling Mercies

It is raining outside and it is Sunday. I have that familiar melancholy feeling that is particular to Sundays. It has been raining all day. We got up, had breakfast, an almond butter, banana and honey sandwich on Amanda's homemade bread, coffee, went to church, came home, ate lunch, a pan seared chicken breast on arugula with blue cheese, walnuts, and Balsamic vinaigrette, went to sleep for about two hours, got up, ate dinner, chicken on brown rice with bacon and green beans, then turned on 60 Minutes. I left out three Lindt dark chocolate truffles (maybe four but who's counting) for dessert after lunch, and a Stockyard oatmeal stout with supper. Throw in some twitter and Facebook checks, and that's my Sunday so far. I also picked some pink peonies and put them in a vase on the coffee table. They smell like heaven.

Every time I look out the rain is still coming down. Sometimes hard, sometimes soft, but always coming down.

I finished Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies while we were in the northeast over the past week. I recommend it for anybody who can appreciate a real Christian's bone honest struggle through addiction, parents, real life, real problems. It has caused me to take an honest look at what I write and ask myself if I am willing to be that honest. Am I willing to really share my truest self the way she does in this book? I'm telling you, it's raw.

Those of us who grew up in the church learned early the way we speak in church, or to people who we know to be Christians. We know the way we speak around our peers at school and what we can get away with around our Papaw who just doesn't give a damn, our Daddy, our Mamma, and certain cousins. One gets the feeling reading Anne's book that she did not pick up that habit. She just lets it fly.

I'm not saying that I want to develop my foul language skills to her level, but there is something so irresistibly appealing about someone who functions so freely outside the confines other's expectations. I have to admit, in my life there have been so many times when I have failed miserably at this. Maybe that's why her writing appeals to me so much.

Sometimes it feels like our "Christian walk" is nothing more than a weak set of rules that should be adhered to around certain people at certain times. I have no desire to be that kind of Christian. I want to be transformed by the renewing of my mind! Sure, I want to be kind, and aware of others' sensibilities, but I refuse to be a slave to them.

By adjusting my persona to fit my company, really, who am I fooling? I'm not even fooling myself! Much less anybody else, and least of all God. So for a healthy dose of good humor, a heartfelt search for God, and a lot of practical wisdom, read Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies.

Coming Down

We just spent a week up north with what had to be some of the nicest Yankees I've ever met. Whoever said that southerners had the "gracious host" market cornered never went to West Springfield Massachusetts for a Horseshow. After that, we met our good friends James and Stephanie in the big city where we ate and shopped ourselves silly.

We also got to see some of Amanda's family, and a few old friends, but there is never enough time to see everyone I'd like to see.

It is always good to come home, but with two days of clouds and rain, I'm feeling a little like Christmas is over, it's raining, and all I got was a crummy used sled.

Here are some photos of our trip if you are, like me, sitting inside wishing for sun.



We stayed on West 45th between 5th and 6th so we were very close to Bryant Park. It was as beautiful as ever in full bloom; so it made a perfect backdrop for my sweetie!




We visited this church on the lower east side to pray and admire its beauty after we walked by these pretty, pink flowering trees on its front lawn. There was a plaque inside in memory of an older woman who perished on the Titanic when she gave up her place on the last lifeboat for a young lady who had children to care for back home. We all stood in awe as we thought about her amazingly selfless sacrifice.




At the Chelsea Market, we were able to combine two of our favorite activities: shopping and food. The selection of produce and foods from every corner of the world is seemingly endless and gorgeous.



I've always said that travel is the best education. It can open up new avenues of thought that you never saw before, and clean out some of the old cobwebs that happen when you stay in one place for too long. At least it is that way for me. It helps to remind me that we are only a tiny part of a much bigger picture, which is good for someone who can get more self absorbed than Melissa Rivers on her last Apprentice challenge.