Three Lessons to Live Fully

/in /by

Easter’s celebration of Christ’s resurrection renews our call to live fully in His service. As we proclaim, “He is Risen, He is Risen Indeed!” we’re invited to carry His message by embracing a richer, more purposeful life. Jesus offers timeless lessons to guide us: love God and others, forgive freely, and trust in God’s provision. Rooted in scripture and tested in my own journey, these truths can transform our lives. Let’s explore how.

Love God and Others

Jesus taught that the greatest commandments are to love God with all your heart, soul, and mind, and to love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:37-40). This love is the foundation of a full life. What would your days look like if you placed God at the center and loved others with His love?
I’ve struggled with this. I’ve always wanted to keep God first, but at times, I’ve placed myself on a pedestal—chasing my successes, wants, and desires. When I did, my failures hit hardest because I took my eyes off Him. Keeping God at the center isn’t always easy, especially when life feels overwhelming. Start small: dedicate a moment each morning to prayer, inviting God to guide your heart. This practice shifts our focus, deepening our love for Him and those around us.

Forgive Others

Loving others fully often requires letting go of past hurts, which brings us to Jesus’ second lesson: forgiveness. He taught that forgiving others frees us from bitterness and aligns us with God’s grace (Matthew 6:14-15). What grudges are you carrying that Christ could help you release?
For years, I harbored resentment toward childhood bullies, past heartbreaks, and those who wronged me. That anger tainted my interactions, leaving me guarded. But one day, I knelt at the altar and surrendered it all to Christ. In that moment, I felt free. I could stand beside those I once resented, not with anger, but with God’s peace. Forgiveness can feel daunting, especially for deep wounds. Pour out your pain, then pray and release it to God. This act unlocks inner peace and stronger relationships.

Trust in God’s Provision

Finally, Jesus calls us to trust in God’s provision. He encouraged His followers not to worry about material needs but to seek God’s kingdom first, trusting that God will provide (Matthew 6:31-33). This trust reduces anxiety and fosters a life of faith.
Raised by parents shaped by the Great Depression, I grew up mindful of hunger and need. Preparing for lean times felt natural, making trust in God’s provision one of Jesus’ hardest lessons for me. Yet, as I practiced seeking His kingdom first, I found peace in His faithfulness. Trusting God can feel daunting in times of financial strain. Start small: pray over one worry, like a bill or decision, and watch how God provides. Over time, this builds a life rooted in purpose, not fear.

Live Boldly for Him

Refreshed by the truth that He is Risen, let’s carry these lessons into our daily lives. This week, pray for one person you struggle to love, forgive, or trust God about. Step boldly into the highways and byways, living fully in Him, with Him, and for Him. May your life reflect the love, freedom, and faith of the risen Christ.

Violet Hensley’s Whittlin’ and Fiddlin’ My Own Way Debuts on Kindle April 30

/in /by

Randall Franks (left) and Violet Hensley fiddle at Silver Dollar City when they started working on “Whittlin’ and Fiddlin’ My Own Way.” (Randall Franks Media: Jerry Robinson)

YELLVILLE, AR – At 108, Ozarks legend Violet Hensley continues to inspire with her autobiography, Whittlin’ and Fiddlin’ My Own Way: The Violet Hensley Story, co-authored with Randall Franks. This captivating memoir, first published by Peach Picked Publishing in 2014, will be available on Kindle starting April 30, bringing Hensley’s extraordinary journey to a new digital audience.

“Growing up on an Arkansas farm, I never imagined my skills would make me a TV star or bring me worldwide recognition,” Hensley said. “The first nine decades of my life are in these pages, and I’m thrilled to share my story with new readers on Kindle.”

A trailblazing fiddler, who is in the National Fiddler Hall of Fame, and one of the few 20th-century women recognized as a fiddle maker, Hensley’s talents captivated audiences for decades. An early performer at Branson’s Silver Dollar City, where she appeared seasonally for 50 years, she became a national celebrity, gracing shows like The Beverly Hillbillies, Captain Kangaroo, On the Road with Charles Kuralt, Live! with Regis and Kathie Lee, and more. Her charismatic fiddle performances, woodworking expertise, and Ozark traditions endeared her to fans worldwide.

Hensley, an Arkansas Living Treasure Award winner, learned to play the fiddle in 1928 and began crafting fiddles in 1932, inspired by her father, George W. Brumley, in Alamo, Arkansas. Though she no longer performs publicly, the Yellville native remains a beloved figure, enjoying music-filled visits with friends and family and occasional music event outings.

Violet Hensley’s autobiography comes to Kindle April 30. (Courtesy Peach Picked Publishing)

Co-authored with Randall Franks, award-winning journalist, musician, and actor known as “Officer Randy Goode” from In the Heat of the Night, the memoir reflects a three-year collaboration to capture Hensley’s vibrant spirit. A champion fiddler who performed with icons like Bill Monroe and Jim and Jesse, Franks is a longtime Grand Ole Opry guest star.

“Violet’s story is a testament to resilience and artistry,” Franks said. “Her infectious spirit leaps off every page, inspiring readers of all ages.”

Celebrate the legacy of the “Whittlin’ Fiddler” by ordering Whittlin’ and Fiddlin’ My Own Way on Kindle at https://www.amazon.com/Whittlin-Fiddlin-Own-Way-Backwoods-ebook/dp/B0DXCK4RGY/. For a physical copy signed by Violet Hensley, visit https://VioletHensley.com.

Chance Meetings and Nashville Memories

/in /by

I messaged a Heart of Texas Records friend, Tracy Pitcox, on Facebook, hoping we’d cross paths during our uncoordinated Nashville visits. Little did I know God had plans to weave old friends and new moments together in Music Valley Drive—a corner of Music City that still feels like home.

Randall Franks and Kevin Shorey

Nashville’s changed since my youth. High-rises have replaced old landmarks, but Music Valley Drive, tucked near the Opryland Hotel, holds some of its feel. The hum of country music lingers here, even if only in visitors’ memories. This is where I first brought my band, The Peachtree Pickers, in the early 1980s for a bluegrass festival at the KOA Campground. We returned in 1984 to perform at the Grand Ole Opry’s 59th Birthday Celebration nearby. Over time, the Ernest Tubb Record Shop’s stage, and later its Texas

Tracy Pitcox, Justin Trevino, Randall Franks and Jack Phillips.

Troubadour Theater, became my venues for Midnight Jamboree performances. In 2011, I filmed scenes for Lukewarm nearby. Every visit stirs memories. I even brought my youth mentees here to meet Grand Ole Opry star Jesse McReynolds. After eating at Shoney’s, we jammed with the legend in the parking lot—a moment captured in my documentary The Road to Nashville, proof that music flows freely on Music Valley Drive.

This trip, I’d come for a TV appearance on the AM Kevin Club with Kevin Shorey, arranged by long-time friend Ruth Brown, and a major 8 Track Entertainment “Sunday in the South”  event for Shenandoah, Jason Aldean, and Luke Bryan and a debut event for Ira Dean’s “I Got Roads.” 

8 Track Entertainment Executives Jeff Goodwin (left) and Noah Gordon (right) with Randall Franks at 8 Track Entertainment #1 Party. Goodwin and Gordon are long-time friends of Randall with Goodwin being his former manager and Gordon a fellow artist and co-writer.

Arriving early for a lunch meeting, I wondered. At Cooter’s Dukes of Hazzard store, I grinned at General Lee memorabilia, recalling friends like Sonny “Enos” Shroyer, a steadfast supporter in my acting career. Nearby, I paused at cement footprints from stars who left them in the ‘80s and ‘90s—friends like “Doc” Tommy Scott, now gone, their signatures a quiet testament to Nashville’s past.

I headed to Cracker Barrel, a spot steeped in memories. In the ‘90s, I’d lunch there with Opry friends like The Whites or share a moment with Garth Brooks and his then-wife Sandy at nearby tables. Once, fans mobbed me for photos—a humbling blessing—and the manager comped our meal.

On this day, as I reached the Cracker Barrel porch, the stars aligned: Tracy Pitcox, a DJ and country music promoter, stepped out with artist Justin Trevino and young steel guitarist Jack Phillips. I waited for Tracy to finish a call, then called his name. We swapped stories, grinning ear to ear, our shared history in country music sparking laughter.

Joyce Jackson and Randall Franks

My Memories of Jim Reeves

Just then, a country music mainstay arrived—Joyce Jackson, a friend from the ‘90s when she worked with Mae Boren Axton, the songwriter behind “Heartbreak Hotel.” Joyce joined our chat, and we snapped photos before she and I settled inside. Over lunch, she shared her book, My Memories of Jim Reeves and Other Celebrities, and I was touched to find myself mentioned in its pages. It’s a heartfelt glimpse into classic country’s inner world—well worth a read.

That day reminded me: when you set your heart on connection, God often nudges the right people into your path. Music Valley Drive, with its echoes of my past, became the stage for new memories with old friends. It’s a lesson in faith and fellowship I’ll carry forward.

Riding Dollar Back to Common Ground

/in /by
I gripped Dollar’s reins as she spun 180 degrees, testing my rusty riding skills. With effort, I turned it into a full 360, regaining control. It had been 20 years since I’d last swung a leg over a horse, and I’d lost much of my knack. Yet Dollar stayed patient with me as we worked together on the set of The American’s Creed, a historical film set during the American Revolution. Horses, like humans, prefer the company of those they trust—and I was determined to earn hers.

Randall Franks (left) as “Capt. Robert Shields” with Dollar and Butch Culpepper as “Jeremiah Weer” with Charlie on the set of The American’s Creed. (Courtesy: Peach Picked Productions: Ashley Robillard)

I’d spent my childhood glued to westerns, both films and TV shows, dreaming of the open range. My Granddad Bill had lived that life, cowboying out west in his youth at the turn of the 1900s. From what I’ve heard, he was a fine horseman, punching cows and driving steers to market. I never got to learn from him—he passed before I was born—but those old westerns gave me a glimpse of what his adventures might have been like. As an actor, I longed to star in one, though I came up in the era of police dramas like In the Heat of the Night and endless sitcoms.

Filming The American’s Creed gave me a taste of that dream, even if it wasn’t a western. I was nursing a broken leg back to health, and mounting Dollar was a struggle. I climbed up the wrong side, awkwardly lifting my mending leg over the saddle. No doubt she was annoyed—and I couldn’t blame her. In life, we all get irked by folks who rub us the wrong way. But just as Dollar tolerated my fumbling, we often have to push past slights or annoyances to find a way forward.

That day, as I steadied her after her spook, I felt a flicker of the past—those western scenes where a horse bolts and the rider hangs on. Here I was, living it, albeit in a Revolutionary War setting. Over time, Dollar and I found our rhythm, syncing our timing and intuition to nail the scenes. By the end of the shoot, we were old friends. If I ever get to do a western, I’d love to ride with her again.

The greatest lesson came clear: people drift in and out of our lives, some for a moment, others for years. Like Dollar and me, we must seek common ground to avoid facing off like gunslingers in a dusty street. Hopefully, if it comes to that, Dollar would be waiting nearby—not for a getaway, but to carry me off into the sunset. Check out more about the short film, and its documentary at RandallFranks.com/The-Americans-Creed.

The Ripples of Life

/in /by
My father cradled a stone in his palm, its edges smoothed by time. “It takes just the right one to skip,” he murmured, “sending ripples with every touch upon the water.” With a flick of his wrist, he cast it forth, and three perfect bounces danced across the lake’s glassy face. From each fleeting kiss, ripples bloomed outward, a fleeting echo, before the stone slipped beneath the depths. He stooped again, lifting another. “Your turn,” he said, guiding my hand. “Spin your wrist like so.” I let it fly, and though it obeyed his wisdom, my stone skimmed but twice. More practice, I knew, would stretch my ripples farther.
As the last whispers of my throw faded into the stillness, my father beckoned me to our boat. We glided homeward across the lake, pausing only to cast a line into its mysteries. Those stones, with their delicate arcs, became a mirror for our lives—vessels adrift on a vast sea, trailing wakes that touch unseen shores.
Picture the world as an endless expanse of water, each soul a boat carving its path. For nearly eighty years, we sail, mooring at landings woven into the tapestry of time. Our first harbor lies within the arms of youth, cradled by parents who nurture us toward bloom. We drift beside their docks—home’s sturdy planks, work’s steady tides, the laughter of friends, the lessons of school—tethered yet yearning.
Some among us stir the waters early, our deeds rippling beyond the shallows. A triumph in sport, a melody struck true, a bold endeavor—these lift us into the light, catching the eyes of those who paddle near. Yet for most, youth’s ripples are soft, mere whispers lapping at the shore—first loves, first labors, friendships unfurling beyond kin.
Then come those who plunge into college, a cascade of severance as they cut parental lines. They drift anew among kindred spirits, their boats bobbing through four or five summers until degrees crown their voyage. The boldest make waves—masters of the field, scholars of the mind, leaders of the throng—their wakes a testament to ambition’s swell.
Cast off from these shores, we steer toward the open waters of adulthood, paddling to stand alone. Some falter in the swell of first storms—new dwellings, interviews, unfamiliar tides—and briefly seek refuge at the parental dock, steadying their hulls. But soon we find our own moorings: a craft to call ours, a roof to shield us, a haven wherever it may rise. Here, we seek souls whose currents align with ours, companions for the hours beyond labor and lineage.
In this season, our wakes grow vivid, etched upon the waves. We glide past comrades, patrons, strangers who might become friends, each meeting a thread in a tapestry of thousands. Some greet this dance with ease, while others shrink from the tide of voices. With every encounter, we choose: to drift gently alongside, honoring their course, or to crash like a tempest, unsettling their seas.
Life’s ebb and flow offers both. I have known souls who tethered their boats to mine—through work, study, service, or the quiet grace of friendship. Their presence lingers like a calm tide, stirring smiles or a longing to sail once more. Yet others have churned the waters with disdain, leaving only wreckage in their wake—whether by chance or design, it matters little. Their names alone summon a shiver, a dread of crossing paths.
Not long ago, I met a voyager from thirty years past. Our first meeting had been a fleeting ripple—a hello, a smile, a captured moment in a photograph. But in this reunion, we traced the currents of old moorings, unearthing treasures we’d not known we shared. We spoke of Dallas, my fiddle teacher from youth, his stern wisdom and wry quips sparking laughter across the decades. What once seemed a faint touch swelled into a deeper wave, revealing how our separate journeys had brushed the same shores.
In that reflection, I saw my ripples endure beyond thirty winters—unimagined, yet cherished, as they returned to wash over me with grace. So it is with every soul we meet: a touch may ripple for a moment or echo through the years. As you chart your course, let your wake be a gentle gift, reaching far beyond the horizon. Like my father’s stone, skipping true across the lake, may my ripples—however humble—find a distant shore, guided still by his steady hand.

Who deserves our love?

/in /by
Love—who hasn’t wrestled with its mysteries? From ancient ballads to modern movies, we’ve spent countless words and melodies trying to capture its many faces.

Through my life, I’ve experienced familial love from parents, siblings, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. Its depth varies by person, but for me, Mom and Dad shine brightest—their love steady and enduring. People say parental love is unmatched, the kind that would sacrifice anything to save you.

Grandparents often come next, their affection a gentle extension of that instinct. Many note it’s easier to love grandchildren; they’re spared the burden of discipline needed to shape responsible adults. For those of us blessed with these bonds, we return that love naturally, striving to ensure our parents and grandparents feel loved and cared for as they age.

Romantic love, though, has been elusive—a chase where I rarely convinced my heart’s choice to feel the same, even as others tried to win me over. I spent years pursuing those who inspired me to fall. As a teen, I’d craft special gifts to show my feelings—like restoring an old cedar keepsake box, carving her favorite flower into it. The effort fell flat, teaching me over time that such gestures were often futile. I fell for those I couldn’t sway, and though some saw me as their match, I proved hard to convince. The few times I shared a path with a lady, she moved on, leaving “elusive” as the constant refrain of my romantic story.

Yet where romance faltered, friendship flourished. When I broke a bone, friends brought meals and drove me to rehab; when funds dried up, a quiet gift arrived. If something needed fixing, someone stepped in—sometimes for a song, often for free. This Christian brotherly love has sustained me through life’s highs and lows. God sent friends to uplift me daily—best companions in personal moments, public service, ministry, acting, music, and writing. Some have passed, but their love still echoes; others remain, brightening my world with their presence.

Beyond that, I see a love for humanity—acts of kindness with no strings attached. Ever helped a stranger gather spilled groceries or rallied neighbors against a wildfire until firemen arrived? We offer these blessings not for reward, but in hope they’ll spark a chain of good, making our world better.

Above all, God’s love for me, and mine for Him, gives it meaning. “That he who loveth God love his brother also,” says 1 John 4:21. So, to whom do we owe love? Everyone who crosses our path. It’s not about degrees—it’s about doing it fully, every day. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that love—given freely, without measure—can ripple out and change the world. Are you changing the world?