An aisle to the future

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I walked down the aisle between the rows of seats in the Dresden Elementary School cafeteria. On each side were the parents and grandparents of my classmates watching with bright faces as we walked by in our best. Kelly Carter was paired to walk beside me in the procession as we completed seven years of learning before transitioning to high school in the fall.
Within this room, I had eaten five meals a week for seven school years. After I was diagnosed allergic to milk, that was a daily trip into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice, more times than I can count.
In that room, the Cub Scouts held their Pack Meetings and Pinewood Derbys. As I recall, Mr. Donor, our principal doubled as pack leader. My late parents also served – Mom was a den mother.
We held choral and orchestra performances from the stage of that room and a few childhood plays also made their way to the parents’ awaiting eyes.
We held parts of Halloween events, Spring Carnivals and special programs in that room. Some of my favorite moments were the special Christmas chorales that were held with such wonderful music. All of us had clear childhood voices with which to harmonize and make the music blend.
I recall at least one Peachtree Pickers performance by my youth bluegrass band from that stage, but on this day all of that was coming to a close as we were handed our certificates and bid goodbye to the teachers, we had known from ages 6 to 13.
There were many hopes and dreams that were realized for us that day and many new dreams began.
In your hometown, in your elementary and middle schools, many of the youth will gather to share songs or music during this Christmas season. I encourage you to lend your support to these efforts. Make a difference in the lives of youth who wish to share their talents. Some may be presenting special plays at Christian schools or churches that reflect the story of the season. Please attend and encourage the participants. You never know, you may find yourself uplifted by talents who will change the world in a few years.
I am sure those parents sitting out in the audience at my graduation or at one of those early performances, likely never imagined they would one day see me acting on network television or hear me from the stage of the Grand Ole Opry, but that is where those early experiences led me.
You may experience the same, but while doing it be sure to encourage them along the way and support your local charities which make Christmas that much brighter for the young people in your hometown.

Failure rebound

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Have you ever found yourself in life at the bottom looking back up at what was once your life?
You look upon the environment that your hopes, desires and skills under God’s allowances and providence afforded.
What you see however is not the attainment of a goal but a failure to meet the expectations held towards you, by yourself, by others, or even by your perception of what God wants from and for your life.
A business deal didn’t work out; the relationship with your girl or boyfriend crashed and burned; you didn’t get the job for which you applied; you made a promise to God or a fellow human being but failed to deliver; you were overcoming an addiction yet backslid for the first or umpteenth time.
When you look in the mirror, someone else that you do not like is staring back.
Are you a failure?
We all see ourselves in this way at various points in our life. It can be temporary or extend well beyond its usefulness. You might say “usefulness,” how can failure be useful?
Sometimes, we have built a team of support, our family, friends or mentors to uplift us in those downtimes. Knowing those people are there is a reminder of the strengths we build upon, they are there from love or because in your good times, you invested in their lives.
Sometimes, we can learn from our falls – in business we can review why the deal didn’t work and next time make it better; next time we can give a better interview; we can be more mindful of the promises we make and learn what is actually within our power to fulfill; we can also make amends to those we have wronged; we can seek a closer relationship with God through the reading of His Word, attending Bible studies, and prayer; we can cast off whatever afflicts our mind, body, or Spirit, pray for God’s guidance and support and take our journey one hour, one day at a time striving to live a better life.
The most successful people that we see in life can likely spend many hours talking about the failures they endured before they walked boldly into success. No matter the arena that I walk into, I know the potential is there that I might not attain my aim. It’s the process of aiming and coming ever closer to the target, that makes up the small stories in life that push us forward. Am I a failure, yes, I am one, I was one and I will be one. Does it matter what I failed at today. No, because my failures are not what make up who and what I am in the eyes of God, my loved ones and myself. Those downfalls are simply the rickety steps that I must take to reach the greatest moments of my life when all those low points are simply a memory.
Go out and create greatness, it’s within your grasps. Failure is simply a tool that you release from your hands once you know how to use it.

Decorations upon the heart

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I crawled up the ladder into the attic and pulled the string illuminating the surroundings.

Only a small area above the attic pull door was floored, and it was covered in cardboard boxes, as were the rafters, except for a space to move around the door.

I knew where I was going. It was my job as a boy to bring down the Christmas decorations which were all stored near the heat exhaust fan in the hall ceiling.

Generally, there were about six boxes including lights, Christmas ornaments, a faux fireplace, our artificial tree, and the exterior lights.

The first week in December was always a time that I looked forward to, because over a couple of days all these items would go up.

We would put the Bing Crosby or Elvis Presley records on the player and start working. Bill Monroe’s “Christmas Time’s A Comin’” or Jimmy Martin’s Christmas album would always be in the mix too.

Our tree went up in front of the living room windows, so the curtains could be pulled and any drivers by could see its lights. We chose the artificial tree beginning the year that I was diagnosed allergic to the trees. Despite losing the smell of the fresh tree and me eventually helping sell them with my Boy Scout troop. I still enjoyed putting the tree together. That was my job. Then mother would guide me placing the ornaments and icicles. The round ornaments included a mixture of red, green, silver and gold colors. There was a sparse number of off shaped smaller ones used in the upper areas of the tree. Most of these ornaments, my folks accumulated in the 1950s and 60s. On the top of the tree, my dad, when I was small enough would lift me up and we would place an angel with a light.

On one wall, near the front door, we would put together the faux fireplace with the electric lights behind the logs, and upon it would go our stockings and the Christmas cards that would come in.

Each window in the front of the house featured an electric candle. While every table in the house was swapped to seasonal doilies, candles, and decor.

On the exterior, that was dad’s domain with my help. All the bushes along the front of the house would be covered with lights, as was the trellis by our door. On the trellis near the door, we placed a two-foot lighted face of Santa. Plugging in one plug would light up the outside.

Once complete, the look and sounds for me meant Christmas was coming. While nobody’s life is all roses, these Christmas traditions helped me as a boy to have a blessed memory to grow upon each year.

Adulthood for me, unfortunately, didn’t bring the pleasant Christmases that were there in childhood. Instead after a certain point of not successfully finding that, I realized my way to create new traditions was by helping others have an amazing Christmas by helping meet the needs of those less fortunate.

Seeing the smiles on children’s faces when they receive a special unexpected gift. Filling a fridge and cabinets with food when a family doesn’t have money for that purpose. These were traditions that I also saw my parents quietly do when I was a child.

Those actions weren’t to make my Christmas better then. But today as I think fondly upon the decorations of old, it was the quiet service to others that I saw my parents do, that’s what really sunk into my memory and resurfaced as what Christmas is really all about.

For this Christmas, continue your family traditions, but add a new one for your young ones to see. That is, if you don’t already, why not help folks in need and let your children take part, maybe those actions will stay within their hearts for years to come.

Special places can connect the decades

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Have you ever stood in a particular place, scanning the horizon taking in all that is in sight?
For my exercise I stepped upon the front steps of the Ringgold Depot in Ringgold, Ga. looking northwards along the route of the U.S. Highway 41.
As you recognize all within your purview, could you imagine how many have stood exactly where you do seeing the same view through history?
The Ringgold Depot was completed in 1849, two years after the founding of the city. Upon its dedication by the Western & Atlantic Railroad, I can imagine the new city commission standing in front of it looking out upon Ringgold.
My cousins George Anderson and Michael Dickson, who were on that commission, may have stood there imagining what their community would become now.
A decade earlier, Cherokee Assistant Chief Richard Taylor stood looking out upon his former domain as 1,000 people began the long journey to the Indian Territory on the Trail of Tears. Among them were some of my cousins who would marry his daughters.
Twelve years later in January 1861, two more cousins Joseph T. McConnell and Presley Yates would stand there looking out before stepping up on the train to travel to Milledgeville. Their trip in the coming years would change the vista from the Ringgold Depot. They were sent to vote in the succession convention. One would vote for and one against. The majority chose to leave.
A year later, the stationmaster would stand there watching the General, the Texas and the Catoosa speed by as part of the Great Locomotive Chase brought about by Andrews Raiders.
One more year would pass and the future President Ulysses S. Grant would stand looking out at the town of Ringgold as shots fired down upon him from White Oak Mountain behind the station as his army was trying to beat the retreating army.
In the 1898, thousands of soldiers would stand looking upon Ringgold on their way to Camp Thomas in western Catoosa County to train for the Spanish American War. Seven hundred and fifty two of those soldiers would not look out on the view again for their return trip. They perished from camp diseases.
For years to come, the soldiers would stand and look out one last time at their childhood town, as they would leave for WWI, WWII, KOREA and Vietnam. Many would hold on to that view and the partings with their mom, dad, wife or girlfriend throughout their journey hoping to see it and them again.
With the abandonment of passenger service to the area, the Depot only took on occasional cargo shipments but it soon became simply a fading memory of the past until the city businessmen turned it into a concert venue.
For me I stood there and welcomed thousands while hosting monthly gospel concerts for over a decade and as a council member I helped ease the building into its role as a community center.
One place to stand, one ever-changing view with unchanging elements, thousands of eyes, thousands of stories, 18 decades, I have reflected back upon.
Is there a similar place that you are in daily, weekly, monthly in your hometown? Do you know how it touched people’s lives or do you take it for granted. Does it need some attention, some love, some recognition, or some signage? Maybe you could help make that happen.
Even the simplest place can reach across the years and connect us.  

Adversity can drive a life

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While much of my childhood seemed idyllic in a “Leave It to Beaver” kind of way, there were days when I had Eddie Haskells making my life unpleasant.
My Haskells tended to be more than just jerks; in some cases, they were downright difficult.
When I started high school, I dreaded the bus ride to school. Those solid sitting seats were where those with ill intent often began their mischief. And sure enough, for me that is where I often found myself between the cross hairs of their disdain.
I was short and stout and due to my lack of athletic ability; I was the object of those with bullying tendencies. Let’s say, I was an easy mark.
Whether it was a group of jocks using my violin case for a football, a tough guy spitting in my hair or flicking my ears, the daily dread of anticipating those experiences made going and coming from school a less than pleasant experience.
Some days, ridicule was a consistent companion from those who had to tear others down.
I was raised that you didn’t bellyache over one’s plight in life. My dad taught me to stand up to bullies wherever possible, choose the battles, know when to fight and when to walk away to fight another day. My mother was a warrior who always stood up for the underdog.
While bucking up to my experiences, they inspiration became a solid part of my make up. But within my underlying drive, those times planted a mission statement that pushed me forward through my 20s – “I will show you.”
It took me some time to change that mission, but I did. I no longer desired to show anyone. I just wanted to fulfill whatever God’s path for my life was to be.
Adversity in our days, bullies in our lives, no matter the time or place when we face such, we must handle it with grace. My father’s teachings and my mother’s grit forge how I react when I encounter adults who never grew up and chose to bully others. I have always stood up protecting those within their aim. I have taken on slings and arrows thrown to protect others but thanks to all I endured early in life, I have strong shoulders upon which to carry those. God placed below me solid legs upon which to stand my ground in the face of those who wish to bulldoze others.
While I wish that I could have enjoyed a youth free from those experiences, and I would not wish them upon anyone, I would not be the man that I am without them. All those God has allowed me to help, would not have had the champion those created.
If life brings you adversity, chose the battleground, and use it to fight against what may come your way, with the ultimate goal to uplift and encourage others.  

Waiting for judgement

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As I place these words to paper, the outcome of the 2022 mid-term elections is yet to be decided.
I would like to join the throngs of those saying the rhetoric has made this a terrible election season.
I know as a student of history, many before were worse.
When the votes are in and tallied and the winners are declared, it is time for our country to come together and heal from the political turmoil.
Whoever are the victors, whoever are the losers; ultimately what is important is we are Americans. We are all Americans and as that we should rise to a higher standard and treat one another with the respect that our forefathers and mothers would expect.
Generations struggled, fought and died so that we may enjoy the fruits of their labor and sacrifice and build upon their shoulders. We owe them and ourselves the effort of reaching for the stars and walking a path to make our country a place where we see each other through the eyes of understanding.
We should be able no matter where our hometown is, to walk down our streets safely, enjoy the opportunities to pursue our dreams, whether that means, raising a family, working a job, or running a business, possibly providing jobs for others.
We are Americans, in the wake of this election that is what we are first, no political ideology should have precedence over whom we are because that one element is what has provided the strength that has allowed our country to prevail throughout our history.
If we spend our time fighting amongst ourselves, we will never notice the threats aimed at our republic from outside or within. We will miss those individuals on the inside with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar wishing to do harm at home.
Assuming as I write, that there are no post-election revelations that upturn our elections, I encourage you to pray for our country, pray for our new leaders, but most of all pray for the healing of our country and its people.
We are better than what is seen on television, in newspapers and on the internet. So, remember what America is and will be is up to us. Don’t disappoint, start by loving your neighbor as yourself. One person at a time, that will be a legacy, we should build upon.

Lifting the burdens of others

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Have you ever known need? Have you ever been hungry and not known where your next meal is coming from? While I have been blessed not to know this sense of desperation, I have seen the face of despair in many and heard stories of desperation from years past.
I was recently standing at a gasoline pump filling my tank. When a car pulled in next to me. After hearing the engine, I immediately thought, they are lucky to be going anywhere.

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Echoes of a crash

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Bert and Rawel pulled along the seamlessly endless row of furrows as Granddad held the handles of the plow and the reins that guided the mules.
The year’s crops had been a success and had brought a good price and the second turning was to help provide some extra fall greens for Grandma to can, along with pumpkins to sell.
Bert and Rawel would gain a bit should the crop succeed as they always enjoyed grazing upon a few of the greens that their labor helped create. Granddad always planted a few extra rows just for that treat for the family’s constant companions in the daily work.
When the greens and pumpkins were closing in on perfection, Granddad was leaning back upon the fence looking out across the fields, when the world news wound its way through the mountains and valleys, to the farm as one of the neighbor boys Jeb rode up to tell him about the news of the stock market crash.
This financial news did not matter much in the valley but it was the unusual to hear of rich folks jumping out windows in the face of the losses that helped to carry the news wider than it would have normally went.
The last time really big news came through was during World War I, which news took many young men with it and some did not return. This news would have the similar impact but it wouldn’t come for a few years yet before many of the local farmers would find the local banks unable to finance the next crop and without the ability to make a new crop, those who had mortgages were paddling against the current and some would lose in their effort.
Many of the banks closed their doors and the farms were left unplanted. Bert and Rawel managed to keep working on Granddad’s furrows. Granddad worked to hold the valley together and thankfully, he was able to help a few folks get a new start rather than letting their farm go back to the bank, some sharecropped, some loaded up their truck and went west in search for greener grass.
It would be years though before the greener grass would grow again across the land.
Coming through those lean years would build the characters of the youth of the valley. As they came of age, their strength would fuel the call to stand up against tyranny around the world becoming the Greatest Generation.
Perhaps it was the steady strides of Bert and Rawel that kept growing the furrows of the family farm and the strong hands of Granddad that guided many of the valley youth through the upheaval. Plowing a straight furrow day after day prepared so many for what was ahead. As we face each and every day, sometimes I think back upon those walking barefooted behind the plow in hot sun feeling the dirt rise up through their toes.
As we each look towards what may be ahead in our own valley, if we keep our focus upon taking care of our neighbors, walking a straight furrow, and inspiring the youth, maybe we can inspire another great generation. 

A leaf falls in time

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The sun’s rays offered a great warmth to my cheek as I began my walk along frog leg creek. It had been many years since I eased my feet along the path I had run along so swiftly as a boy. The water in the creek churned up a froth as it swirled over the rocks aiming its strength at forcing the water south ward. A large brown leaf fell with a thump upon my head. Perhaps it wasn’t quite a thump, more like quick poke.

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Getting ahead of the snores

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It had been a busy day or roaming for me around my grandparent’s place.
I am sure much of my adventures had not amounted to much but to me they seemed like I was Davey Crockett and Daniel Boone rolled up into one.
As the evening sun went down and the family gathered on the porch, the evening meal of pinto beans, turnip greens with fatback, fried chicken, and cornbread, was being set on the table and soon we would gather around it, bow our heads and hear grace emanate from my grandfather’s booming tones.
As we gathered in the living room, the black and white Zenith was turned on in anticipation of an episode of “The Porter Wagoner Show.” Grandma loved Porter and never missed his show. Plus, an added benefit, he had one of her mountain kin singing on the show too, a blonde named Dolly.
As the designated antenna holder, I would often spend my time hanging with one hand on the rabbit ears, as I hung around to see a bit of the screen being chided to get out of the way should I ever lose my balance.
As the evening progressed, the family would eventually veer from the screen to talking amongst each other. After finishing my acrobatics around the TV, I would excuse myself and head to bed.
The old farmhouse had two bedrooms each with a double bed adorned in a chenille bedspread, one for my grandparents and one for my folks and I.
You might wonder why a youth would wish to get to bed early. Well, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t sleep a wink.
Between my grandfather and my father sawing logs throughout the night, I have no idea how my mother or grandmother rested at all.
If I had not went to bed early in an attempt to beat their snores, I would have spent the night tossing and turning simply hoping to find rest.
On a couple of occasions when I awoke unexpectedly, those were nights of misery.
As I have now years between me and those memories, and they are all gone, I do wish I could go back and endure it once again. I am sure that if anyone is within ear shot of my sleeping, they probably are now finding the same misery, although I have never stayed up to find out myself. Sweet dreams!