What’s Tomorrow?

“Why not think about times to come?
And not about the things that you’ve done?
If your life was bad to you,
Just think what tomorrow will do.” (1977) “Don’t Stop (Thinking About Tomorrow)” Recorded By: Fleetwood Mac Composer: Christine McVie

Looking back, I guess I have always been a newshound. Since I was a kid, I always enjoyed watching the news. I’m not sure what that says about me, but it’s an honest statement.

Here in the Dallas/Ft Worth Metroplex, WFAA has seemingly always been around since the early days of radio. In fact, radio is where WFAA started, only to naturally branch out when television became a new medium. It became an ABC affiliate. Although WFAA kept their radio station buzzing, they eventually opened up a huge three-studio television station in their broadcast building at Record St and Young St in downtown Dallas. The radio station moved to the second floor while the television station, Channel 8, took the first floor. To say it is an historic TV station is to put it lightly. The application for the television station was filed in October of 1944, during WWII. It first signed on the air in September of 1949.

WFAA Ch8, set the bar high when it came to production and talent. If the other three major TV stations in town were to be honest, WFAA Ch8 was/is hard to match. They just always seemed to be a step above the competition. Growing up, we rarely watched any other local TV station.

Photo: WFAA.com

In 1961, radio guy, Bob Gooding was just climbing off the air at WFAA radio. As he tipped his hat goodbye to his coworkers, he made his way down the stairs to the parking lot where his car was waiting for the end of his radio shift. Outside, on the way to the car, Bob saw a line of men stretching around the corner of the building. When he inquired as to what was taking place, he discovered WFAA-TV was in the process of screening open auditions for a news anchor. Right away, he took the script of news copy they were handing out and got in line. Bob auditioned and was hired the same day. I must say, that just hardly ever happens in any competitive talent industry.

Bob Gooding was a natural. He was a no-nonsense newsman, polished, and distinguished. His delivery was a midwestern sound, no Texas accent, with a smooth baritone voice, along with a handsome business-like face. He was super articulate, as well as, authoritative. He was the type that could have accepted a job in New York with one of the big three networks. Walter Cronkite had nothing on Bob Gooding. Bob Gooding could have easily worked alongside people like ABC’s Frank Reynolds, or Peter Jennings.

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As a kid, when Bob Gooding was delivering the 6 o’clock, or 10 o’clock news, it was drawing to me. He was trusted with the facts, the way news anchors used to be in those days. Back in the 1970’s, the WFAA newscast was called, “The Scene Tonight”. With Bob Gooding at the news desk, those words had an element of realism without filter or slant. Indeed, that was the flavor of news in that time.

I never met Mr. Gooding, but I have worked with a few people who did. Everyone who knew him says the same thing about his integrity. In my radio days, my main jobs had to do with hosting music shifts, and voicing/producing commercials. From time to time, I also did fill-in work to help cover when others were sick, or on vacation. Anytime I worked as a news anchor, although I never considered myself a news guy, I would always think of Bob Gooding’s integrity when the mic was on, or in front of the camera. He set a high standard.

Photo: Bob Gooding WFAA CH8

As top-shelf as he was on the air, as trusted as he was to deliver the facts without commentary or bias, as gifted as he was with integrity of true journalism, it was his nightly sign-off which is the most memorable. After each news hour, or half hour, as he was given the floor director’s countdown to end of broadcast, he had a unique sign off for the viewer. With his final ten seconds, he would look sincerely into the camera, smile with authenticity, and say:

“And that’s the Scene Tonight here at WFAA Ch8. From all of us here, goodnight, and better tomorrows.” – Bob Gooding

Of course, today, if a news anchor signed-off with that phrase, it would sound a bit corny. Yet, back in the 1960’s and 1970’s, with a man like Bob Gooding delivering those words with a warm genuine smile, the viewer was left with a sense of, ‘a better day is coming’. One couldn’t help but be left with the idea that even though bad news is hard to digest, there’s always a hope for betterment, a future with a brighter viewpoint, a statement a viewer could lean into as they set the alarm clock, or tuck their children to bed. Looking back, I can see where Mr. Gooding did what he could to leave the TV audience with an uplift in the face of a darkened world each night.

Isn’t that what we all long for as we lay our heads on the pillow? Don’t we all want to look forward to new beginnings, new attitudes, new sunrises? Too often we head off to bed right after turning off the tube, or the internet, which landed a few downers around our hopes and dreams. Isn’t it true, that we turn off our bedside lamp with echoes of searing sarcasm, bad news without a sense of rising from despair, delivered by some news anchor, talk show host, or some talking head opinion broadcast? Far from, “Goodnight, and better tomorrows.”

I am guilty of not allowing God’s voice in my last thoughts just before drifting off. Way too often, I allow the dogma of scary times in our world to dominate in my last waking minutes. How can I expect to rise the following morning with a bounce in my house shoes? When our shirt gets dirty from the elements outside, we take it off and wash it, right? Why not do the same with our thought-life. In the last 5 years, or so, my wife and I read scripture just before nodding off. Sometimes we read a devotional, or a bio of an uplifting life. It’s what makes for better days, better dreams, better outlooks.

I think Bob Gooding’s message to us each night was not to rest on the foulness of what comes over the airwaves, but rather, resist being pushed down by the heavy weight of the vile, the awareness of bad news, or the evil that permeates the world in which we live. In other words, to digest what we have been made aware of, whether good or bad, with the truth that tomorrow holds a hope. For those of faith, it’s about seeing the happenings around us with eyes wide opened concerning Who holds the future.

Bob Gooding was on the air at WFAA CH8 from, 1961-1979. He passed away from a lengthy battle with cancer in 2009.

Thank you, Mr. Gooding.

So, what’s tomorrow? Another day. Another opportunity. Another benchmark. Another chance. Another answer. Another hope. Another blessing unseen today.

Reaching out for tomorrow’s promise can be discovered in fuel for the race.

“‘I the Lord God have called thee in righteousness, and will hold thine hand, and will strengthen thee…'” Isaiah 42:6a (Brenton Septuagint Translation)

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Woke To Great Awakenings

“Won’t you look down upon me Jesus? You’ve got to help me make a stand…” (1970) “Fire And Rain” Written and Recorded By: James Taylor

Christian history is simply fascinating, to put it mildly. In fact, from Jesus, all the way down through the ions, the historical timeline of the Christian faith is like no other. You don’t have to look behind us too far to find extraordinary happenings of Jesus movements that can raise your hair.

Just since the birth of the American Colonies, the amazing milestones of the church, and its outreach, are well documented, but often tinkered with in a Google search or Wikipedia. For the authentic history, it’s best to rise above the “wokeness” of those with large erasers. Instead, do the research by hitting the old history books before the slanted rewrites began to manipulate factual, documented occurrences concerning Christianity in America.

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Trust me, there is way too much of church history to layout on this post. But I would be remise if I didn’t mention, “The Great Awakening”, and the “Second Great Awakening”. The facts of the faithful in the U.S., Canada, and Europe are astonishing. There are a few names that stick out to me who were used greatly to ignite a faith movement during their times.

George Whitefield (Often spelled, “Whitfield”) He lit a spiritual fire for decades all across Great Britain, and the American Colonies from the 1740’s-1770’s. Benjamin Franklin wrote of Whitfield’s magnetism by use of his voice delivery and the pulpit.

Charles G. Finney. From the 1820’s to the 1870’s, he was the match God used to start a flame known as the “Second Great Awakening”. His works and documents are outstanding. He set out to revive a spiritually sluggish nation, earning the title of “Father of Modern Revivalism”. Not unlike Whitfield, Finney travelled mainly by horseback, drawing crowds ready to stay a few days. Many of the throng would travel far and wide to be under his sermons.

Dwight L. Moody was a shoe salesman in Chicago. He was inspired by the evangelical giants before him like, Charles Finney and George Whitefield. He began small by starting a kid’s ministry and a street ministry that would later be called, “Sunday School”. His sermons of note, some printed and published, are still quoted by many pastors today…if they dare. From the 1850’s to the 1890’s, this salesman turned fiery preacher, aided in evangelizing both America and Great Britain. He also founded the highly successful Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, which continues to send out quality trained graduates into the world today.

Billy Sunday was a famous baseball player, turned evangelist. From the 1880’s to 1935, Billy Sunday became widely known as a camp-meeting revivalist, who would spend weeks at a time, preaching in communities all across America. The mother of an old friend of mine came to faith under the preaching of this incredible man.

And of course, Billy Graham who took the torch into our generation until his recent death, reaching more ears across the world than anyone in Christian history.

There are more I could list here, but the trail these evangelists blazed are like wagon train wheel tracks cut into stone. You can follow their tracks, their ripples to this day. If you should look up the Great Awakening movements, you will discover how after a community was lit ablaze by the daily preaching of some of these fire-starters, saloons would close down. Prostitution vanished. Gambling halls were boarded up. Gangsters were converted, or run out of town. Countless people came to realize their need for God’s forgiveness through the saving gift of Jesus. Homeless were fed and housed. Love expanded. Enemies became friends. Churches were built. Schools, orphanages and hospitals were funded and built. Imagine the change in a city like that. Imagine your community altered like that.

Just like in the book of Judges, where the spiritual life among Israel resembled a roller coaster. Up/down, up/down. The anti-God sentiment would rise to the point where everyone’s deeds were always right in their own evaluations. What was once known as “evil” became acceptable, even commonplace. What was once known as righteous was either suppressed, abandoned, or ignored all-together. God’s reply to the spiritually weak nation was to bring calamity, hardships, weather changes, droughts, war, violence, etc. The Israeli’s response was to repent, turn from their ways and acknowledge God, followed by the lifting of the curse with blessings and safety taking its place. Then, the nation would backslide into their wild ways again. This cycle continued for decades. It seemed like they would never learn the consequences of turning their national back to their God.

I am not a prophet. I do not claim to know the future, with the exception of what the scripture tells us. But, I can read the barometer of the nation in which I live. We are spiritually ill, at best. We watch the news and our jaws hit the floor on the outlandish signs of our days. If not for God’s amazing grace toward this culture, we would be finished already. At this point in our history, Sodom and Gomorrah are not too far from here.

Our nation, our world, has endured so much in recent years. So much in the way of manifestations of pure evil are abundant. I know, we don’t like to call it for what it is, but that’s because we belong in the book of Judges. The list is way too long to write here, but nevertheless, the list of our sins grow daily. Our nation is decaying as we play our violin from the balcony.

We call evil things something good and upright. We celebrate wickedness and glamorize it all. We cheer those who attack our children with sexual sins, that is if we don’t slaughter them in the womb first. Forgive me, but we parade and applaud the physical mutilation of our children in the name of choosing gender. We mourn for those who are saddened because certain pronouns are not used to describe an individual due to their gender alterations, gender wishful thinking, and normalizing the ideology. We invite our children to drag queen shows, as well as other drag queen events as tools for indoctrination. Pedophilia, bestiality, and goddess worship are becoming tolerable for many in our country, even in our courts. We have normalized self-worship as we gaze at ourselves on little screens and self-publish our images to the world on social media.

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What are we doing? Where are we going?

We are accepting cultural sewage on our dinner plates everyday because the Woke minority demands we do it, like shepherds prodding sheep. At the same time, we run from the righteousness the Almighty defined for us long ago.

According to Roman and Greek history, not to mention many other geo-political lands, we are way past due for a collapse of our house of cards. God’s nature is HOLY. He has, and will not perpetually endure a rebellious nation which was founded by Him, and held up His banner for well over 200 years.

Yet…there is a modern remnant.

We saw “The Chosen”, a highly successful TV drama series surrounding Jesus and His followers, continue to spike in viewership worldwide. Promos began to run on the movie, “Jesus Revolution” (out now in theaters) depicting the Jesus People movement of the late 60’s and early 70’s, when a conservative pastor, Chuck Smith, (Played by Kelsey Grammer) dared to minister to the hippies of his day. He was trashed by many in the church at that time as sin-on-wheels, and discredited as a nothing burger. Chuck Smith was unjustly ridiculed by his own spiritual sisters and brothers, including some of the churches I grew up in. It was a God-breathed ground zero movement which still rings through our culture today. Coincidence? Take a step back and get the wide-angle lens out.

Suddenly, this nation pulled together a bit in praying for Damar Hamlin, the seriously injured NFL player who died during a tackle on national television. The very public prayers began on the field of play, spreading all across the stadium, and the country. Not long after, rattling of WWIII got louder, mysterious, unexplained UFO’s were shot down, China’s spy balloon allowed to cross our country, signs of the U.S. in sharp decline in so many areas, new COVID resurgence, record breaking drug overdose deaths, etc, Meanwhile, the Grammy Awards highlights Satanic scenes live on stage, vis Sam Smith, to rousing standing ovations and screams of adoration from the audience, all sponsored by Pfizer, your friendly COVID vaccine conglomerate. Again, ask…a coincidence?

Now we see another heavy public movement of faith. It seems spiritual blooms are bursting open.

Asbury University in Kentucky. An average, regularly scheduled service at the campus chapel, ignites into a 24/7 organic praise, prayer, and worship center where individuals came to grips concerning their need for God’s grace, their need for repentance, their need for prayer. The doors had to stay open due to the masses coming to the extraordinary spiritual awakening at ground zero. Before you could keep up, days and nights, nights and days went by. As the word grew, others began to flock to the chapel from outside the campus, the town, the state, and even the nation. Globally, people took flights from other countries to gather at the Asbury University Chapel. So organic, not organized or pre-sold, no event planner involved, the phenomenon lacked famous, well-known preachers or evangelistic experts. No multi-platinum recording artists were invited to boost crowds. Ticketmaster wasn’t needed, or called on. At last count, before the chapel marathon service was ended, over 50,000 people had attended. Just shocking!

Although the chapel location was closed after several non-stop days, the revival continues off-campus. Now many other revival events are popping up all over the nation at various college campuses.

Thousands and thousands from Generation Z are giving their hearts to God, praying, getting on their knees in humility, making decisions for this life and the next. What is more newsworthy, none of this movement is contained inside one denomination. This fresh spiritual breeze blows across denominational lines. That is an occurrence outside of human hands, manmade design. No need to ask who is playing at any of these gatherings. Currently, there is no rock star drawing crowds, no Billy Sunday, no TBN, only The Bright Morning Star, Jesus. The Event Planner is indeed, the Holy Spirit!

Truthfully, this nation is more than ripe for a Great Awakening.

If you are reading this as an unchurched person, one who isn’t into Jesus, or the Bible in general, try not to analyze this moment in history too much. In your position, the word, “Revival” may be foreign to you, or you may know it only as a description concerning a resurgence of retro music, entertainment, fashion, or structural design. Spiritual revival didn’t start at Asbury Chapel, it starts in the single, individual heart. I hope and pray the revival ignites this writer’s heart.

God said it in scripture, so we would know the formula. He promised if we move closer to Him, He would move closer to us. Our land needs to be healed.

Find out the difference between Woke and Awake, in fuel for the race.

“Yet even now,” declares the LORD, “Return to Me with all your heart, And with fasting, weeping, and mourning; And tear your heart and not merely your garments.” Now return to the LORD your God, For He is gracious and compassionate, Slow to anger, abounding in mercy And relenting of catastrophe. ” Joel 2:12-13 (NAS)

Who Has The Key?

“The keys to the vaults of Heaven
May be buried somewhere in a prayer.
The keys to the vaults of Heaven
May be heavy or lighter than air.” (1999) “Vaults Of Heaven”, From the musical, “Whistle Down The Wind” Composers: Andrew Lloyd Webber and Jim Steinman. Also recorded by: Tom Jones

It was June, 2021. I was in Buffalo, NY for my middle daughter’s wedding. Staying with me, for a couple of days in an Airbnb in the city, were four other loved ones. My oldest daughter, Tabitha, her daughter, Skylar, my youngest daughter, D’Anna, along with her fiancé, Nik.

It was in an older neighborhood, laced with quaint frame houses. We were treated to a nice understated two story home. The second floor housed regular leasing tenants, while the first floor was a nice Airbnb layout with a beautiful front sunroom deck in a cedar interior. Built like a rowhouse, it had three bedrooms, but just one bathroom in the hallway. (That was a bit of a squeeze for the five of us.) Nevertheless, it was a very charming place, and so suited to our needs for a wedding weekend. The only complaint I would have registered, if I were going to, would’ve been the fact that the owner gave us only one key. Yes, one key between the five of us. To make matters worse, we only had one rent-a-car at first. After the first few hours, Nik decided he would rent a car to ease the schedule. Smart kid.

As you can imagine, we all didn’t go to the same places, at the same time. Nik and D’Anna wanted to visit Niagara Falls just outside of Buffalo, while Tabitha and Skylar wanted to shop, and I, the old man, just wanted to relax in order to push away the jetlag. Also, I was going to sing at the reception and needed to find a time to rehearse with the band.

And if that wasn’t enough ingredients for a collective headache, the three girls were in the wedding party and needed to pick up their gowns, go to a bachelorette party, get dolled up for a rehearsal dinner, etc… There was a lot to cram into 2.5 days. In other words, we all had our schedules. Of course, this meant some of us were coming back to the house at different times for different reasons. Still, we only had one key. You can see the frustrating issue.

Wedding day had arrived. We were all so very busy with shower schedules, ironing of clothing, breakfast plans. Every inch of the large dinning table was made into a hair and make-up salon. Curling irons, as well as, blow-dryers were all over the place. It’s a wonder we didn’t blow a fuse.

The wedding was at noon, down on the banks of the Niagara, very close to the famous U.S./Canadian Peace Bridge. The drive there is about 15 minutes, or less. As you can expect, it was a very busy morning for us all. My daughter, and bride, Megan, had someone from the wedding party pick the girls up as they needed to be there early to assist in the bride’s prep. Nik took his rental not long after, leaving me with…the ONLY KEY. Yes, I was the last one out the door, as planned, and nervous as all get-out (as we say in Texas). Being the Father of the bride, I assumed the role would come with rattled nerves, and it certainly does.

About an hour before vow-time, I was carrying all that I needed for the event, including…the ONLY KEY. The front door was the type which had to be locked from the outside as you leave. So, after you shut the door, you locked it up tight with…the ONLY KEY. That’s what I did. Juggling a briefcase full of music, while carrying my jacket in the other arm, as well as, the rent-a-car keys in my right pants pocket, I quickly shoved…the ONLY KEY into my left pants pocket.

Over twelve hours later, after a wild music filled reception with dancing, food, toasts, and the greatest rock musicians in western NY, we five left in separately all with dreams of getting out of the wedding clothes and crashing hard at the Airbnb.

I arrived first with a full bladder while dragging my feet. Exhaustion doesn’t come close to the state I was in. It was very dark. I have Glaucoma. For me, darkness has a velvet blackness to it without a good light. Only a dim overhead porch lamp gave some glow on the door. That was just the beginning of trouble.

As I shuffled up to the steps, I reached into my left pants pocket and found nothing. The right pocket only had the rent-a-car keys. I checked my shirt pocket, my jacket pockets, my shoes, my briefcase, and did not find…the ONLY KEY! I literally sat down on the steps of the porch scratching my noggin in the dark. My brain had to work hard to do a rewind to the morning exit out of the house. Firstly, I reassured myself that I was indeed the last one out of the house that morning. I also reassured myself that no one asked me for the key after I arrived at the venue. Methodically, I went through the film in my head where I locked up, stuck the key in my left pants pocket while taking out the car keys from the right pocket and got in the car, which was parked across the street. Nothing made any sense. Why did I not have…the ONLY KEY?

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Nik showed up with Skylar. After telling them of my embarrassing situation, he suggested that we search the walkway, sidewalk, street, the curb, etc. Nik and Skylar began to scan the area after I mentioned how my vision can’t make out objects in darkened places. As we looked like fools on a scavenger hunt after midnight, I called the girls to warn them of the problem. They were on their way as someone was dropping them off. Tabitha asked Nik to go over the interior of my car with a fine tooth comb, with zero results. I don’t think the kids were too happy with me. We were all so tired.

As the girls arrived, I was on the phone with the owner, who lived some 30 miles away. Bless her heart, she was gracious, even at 12:40am on a Sunday morning. About an hour later, she rescued us with another key…the other key we should’ve had to start with, but I’ll move on.

After we were collapsing inside the house, Nik walked up to me holding…the ONLY KEY!

I blurted out in astonishment, “Where on earth did you find it?”

There was a mail slot next to the front door where mail was dropped into a mudroom where you take off your shoes before entering the front room. Just beneath the mail slot, as Nik was taking off his boots, he moved a pair of shoes already placed there and found…the ONLY KEY on the floor under the shoes.

Not only do I have Glaucoma, I also suffer from neuropathy, mainly targeting the shins and feet, but a bit in my fingers. I can only surmise, in my hastiness, my fingers didn’t feel the…ONLY KEY slip out of my grasp as I made the attempt to pocket the…ONLY KEY. Some very good Samaritan tenant, from the second floor, must have spotted it on the walkway, or the porch steps, and tossed it in the mail slot. I cannot tell you how relieved I was. It also saved us from a hefty fee for a lost key.

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Have you ever been there? You thought you had a key to such and such, or so in so, but when the keyhole was there, you lacked what it took to get on the other side of that door. I’m not thinking so much about a car door, a gate, or a storage unit, but rather moments of love, life, or longings. One might feel the lacking of the key of acceptance. Some of those airtight doors can be a frustration. If you’re like me, you can recall a few.

Maybe there have been times when a loved one passed away, and you sat in the memorial service watching the slide presentation of the once lively person enjoying their days from the past, and you wondered. It’s natural to wonder about, “what’s next”. The wisest question surrounds the time spelled out in the dashes on the obit with the dates of birth and death. How short is the dash between, let’s say, 1960 and 2023. “Joe Blow, 1971-2023”. The dash is most important. It’s there where we decide our eternity. There’s a reason why the dash is so short. Scripture states that life is just a vapor, a puff of smoke, a wispy cloud.

Why wonder? Why not “KNOW”? There is only one key, and you do not possess it. In fact, you never possessed it. Be a thinking person, not one who is blown around by the most popular thought of the day in a very darkened culture with severe spiritual Glaucoma.

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There is only One Who holds the key to your eternal door. “Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door” is a start. Look into it. Your dash is very short.

Spoiler alert: Jesus, the One Who holds the ONLY KEY, is also the only doorway. In fact, He has the master key to gain entrance to eternal life.

Know more about hearing the key lift the latch by diving headlong into fuel for the race.

“When I saw Him, I fell at His feet like a dead man. And He placed His right hand on me, saying, “’Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living One; and I was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of death and of Hades.'” – Revelation 1:17-18 (NAS)

Bittersweet

“And when one of us is gone, And one of us is left to carry on, Then remembering will have to do, Our memories alone will get us through. Think about the days of me and you. You and me against the world.” ( 1974) “You And Me Against The World” Recorded By: Helen Reddy Composers: Kenny Ascher and Paul Williams

Happy birthday to my mom, Carolyn Atherton-Brown!

The two of us in 1962.

February 1st turned her page to 79 years of age. I have written about her story in the past, about how she was only 15 when she was date raped. She was barely 16 when she chose to have me. Yes, I interrupted her life, her growth, her education. In spite of me, she forged ahead like a freight train.

Carolyn Atherton (Mom) at 13!!!

That event did so much harm, which for her entire life, continues to exhibit the ripples from that personal ground zero. Even after two suicide attempts, somehow, someway, God pulled her through it all to my day of birth.

The two of us in 1962

In her small town culture in that day and time, she was urged to marry my bio father, which only lasted two years. Two years of vile abuse, violence, and adultery with countless women was simply torture for her. She remarried again when I was five years of age, but that marriage only lasted four years. Beyond those short years, she raised me on her own as a single, hardworking mom during the 60’s and 70’s. Those days were brutal for both of us.

The two of us 1965 (Scratched photo)

The two of us 1975 (I was 15)

In October of 2021, I went into rescue mode. At that time I realized she could no longer take care of herself. Living alone was to be no more. My wife and I made the decision to be her caregivers in our home. It has not been easy, even though my family has a long line of caregiving over the decades. I have seen it up close since I was old enough to understand it.

Yes, February 1st is her birthday, but she was unaware. I had to tell her of her special day. A few months ago, she was diagnosed with Lewy Bodies Disease. It’s under the dementia umbrella. It resembles both a bit of Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Since she has been living with us, her condition has noticeably declined mentally and physically.

Knowing our time is growing short, I wanted to once again treat her to something I promised her when I was just a little kid. I wanted to do a cookout for her on my grill from our backyard patio. Hamburgers have always been her favorite, and so easy to do on the grill over mesquite wood. However, wintry weather kicked in with sleet and ice, freezing my chef’s hat. But, we will just delay the Texas BBQ feast. On that day, I will fire up the grill in tears, knowing it will probably be the last time I grill for her birthday due to the gravity of her condition. We know we will be forced to move her to a care center where she can be more properly cared for.

My memories of her, to be frank, are not always pleasant. The happy days were certainly a part of our story. Multiple times in my life she has had my back. Although strictly legalistic in her faith, she made sure I knew God from a very early age, but a stranger to grace. Many good memories can be, and must be, unearthed as I get older. Yet, there were very difficult times in our lives, including poverty along with hard disruptions in her career. In most of the churches we attended, this 20something divorced girl was called by, “Mrs”, not by her first name. It was always hurtful for her. So much for true fellowship and love.

My grandmother, Opal Atherton and my mom – 1965.

As a kid I was also unaware of her injured mental, emotional condition which can be traced way back to that horrible rape event in August of 1959. The irony of the crime of that night, when I was conceived, reached through the years to injure me as a young boy. Although she loved me, she also was incredibly harsh in various ways. In fact, looking back, I can testify solidly that she abused me at times in violent ways, as well as, psychological renderings. Yet, as a man of Jesus, I had to understand how an injured, hurting person can, and will, inflict their pain on others they love. Choosing to recall the sweet times doesn’t always have to be a struggle.

Many years ago, I had to confront my own deep-seated anger, leading me to ask God to help me rise above the painful memories and forgive my mother. I had forgiven my bio father long ago after we met, but delayed offering forgiveness to my mom out of pure resentment. Often, even today, I find myself revisiting that snare over the past. Still, I must always overcome the trap within, and ask God to repaint my soul of soreness with a coat of His special brand of varnish. This is what I must cling to for the remainder of my days.

She no longer remembers, but the Helen Reddy song, “You And Me Against The World” was a hit on our radio when I was just about to turn 14. During that time I never would have fathomed the bitterness, and the sweetness, of an ironic line in the very last chorus…

“And when one of us is gone, and one of us is left to carry on, then remembering will have to do…

Today, I am the only one who remembers.

Carolyn Atherton-Brown 2023

Choosing a better way has instructions in fuel for the race.

“Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God has commanded you, so that your days may be long and that it may go well with you…” – Deuteronomy 5:16a

Lessons From Damar Hamlin

“There’s a love that’s divine,
And it’s yours and it’s mine,
Like the sun.
And at the end of the day,
We should give thanks and pray,
To the One, to the One.” (1989) “Have I Told You Lately” Recorded and Written By: Van Morrison

On Monday night, January 2nd, several million eyes were on the screen watching Monday Night Football. It was the Buffalo Bills visiting the Cincinnati Bengals for a tough bout. Not far into the game, the Bill’s safety, 24 year old Damar Hamiln, wearing #3, made a picture perfect, clean tackle, stopping a Bengals advance for yardage. After the play, Damar stood to his feet, took a step back and collapsed. At first, most thought he just had the wind knocked out of him. As the medical team tended to him, it became apparent he no long was breathing. His heart had stopped. For nine minutes CPR was performed. As they feverishly worked his lifeless body, they were able to jump start his heart. He was taken to the hospital where he went into cardiac arrest once again. His mom was in the attendance and went with him to the hospital.

Photo by Jean-Daniel Francoeur on Pexels.com

Thousands in the stands were in shock. You could hear a pin drop as the fans were waiting and watching what was being played out before them. As the cameras panned over the crowd, many were in prayer for the young player. On the field, players and coaches knelt and prayed together. Some players humbly got on all fours with their faces to the turf as they cried out to God for their NFL brother. Many held hands, embraced one another, and on both teams many tears were openly shed. Across the nation, as the broadcast continued, prayers began to go up from living rooms, sports bars, and at places of employment. Later, it was reported that globally people stopped to pray during the tragedy over the airwaves.

It was decided, and rightly so, that the game was to be cancelled. Slowly the stands were emptied in a very eerie silence as the fans poured out into the parking lots. Some in shock, some emotionally distraught, some in silent prayer.

As Damar Hamlin was in a coma, while the medical staff urgently fought for his life in the hospital, the NFL, the coaches, along with the Bills and Bengals, urged the public to continue to pray as his life hung in the balance. Indeed, the prayers continued on through the week, even on the fields across the country the following NFL weekend forged by various team members openly praying together for healing for #3, Damar Hamlin. Prayer requests came from players and coaches combined in the press conferences.

As the days rolled forward, so did the prayers across the nation. On the third day, Hamlin opened his eyes. Each day, the doctors gave encouraging news about his recovery. He is expected to make a full recovery…from DEATH! As I write this, on January 10th, Damar has done so well that he was released from the Cincinnati hospital and flown to Buffalo General Hospital in Buffalo, NY for ongoing treatment. He is overwhelmed by the love and support he has received from all over the world. He is especially grateful for the outpouring of prayer, as he shared how he is a person of faith. He honored his mom for raising him to believe in God, and His ways.

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So what have we learned from Damar Hamlin in the aftermath of such a wonderous event in his life, one which was played out before the world?

The lesson didn’t really come from Damar himself. After all, the healthy 24 year old man literally died on the field of play before a global audience. Under the circumstances, he not only shouldn’t be alive today, but he seemingly has not suffered brain damage, significant heart damage, nerve damage, etc. According to the medical professionals tending to him, he is projected to someday soon, run out of the hospital doors. It leaves the thinking person to ask a simple question, which many will ignore.

Millions and millions should be asking, “What just happened here?”

It’s not the first time something miraculous happened. I can think of one very sick man who also had loving friends who cared for him. They cared so much that they tore open a hole in the roof of a house and lowered him down on a stretcher because the house was so full of people. Why go to such trouble? Because the Master of The Universe was just beneath that roof. Jesus had been healing the sick, raising the dead, giving sight to the blind right and left. The ill man’s friends had faith in the One under the roof. So, they went into action out of love for their friend, KNOWING Jesus had the power to heal his infirmities. In scripture it states that not only did Jesus remove the illness, but told him to take up his bed and walk away. In full strength, he did just that.

An executive, a vice president, of the NFL, remarked at the week of prayer for Hamlin in an interview, affirming that there is “power in prayer.” In tears he acknowledged that there is a God who hears our pleas, our cries, our hearts.

There is power in prayer, but moreover, there is power in the One receiving the petitions. If we had prayed to the Buffalo Bill’s medical doctor, he would have lacked the power beyond his medical training. If we had prayed to the sun, the wind, the referees, there would have been a funeral for the Hamlin family. If we had prayed to Hamlin himself, stretched out on the turf without life, the petitions would have bounced off his helmet. Prayer, sincere prayer, is an act of faith toward the One prayed to, the One Who has the power.

Photo by Paulo Mu00e1rcio Dos Santos on Pexels.com

In the earliest manuscripts of scripture, from Genesis onward, God commands us to pray. He even goes so far as to promise He not only will hear faith-filled prayer, but that he also will respond to the prayers offered in humility. Sure, some responses to prayer is the word, “No”. Some responses to prayer comes as, “I will. In My timing.” Sometimes, answers in the affirmative have happened before the prayer is finished. I can testify to that in my own life.

In the scope of God’s purposes, we need to look deeper at what just happened. Ask why this event was so public. Ask why this episode was broadcast around the earth on that designated Monday night. Ask why Hamlin’s miraculous progress has been front page news almost every day since it occurred. Yes, there is a deeper purpose here. I am not one to say what that purpose is, but I do know God promised He would make Himself known throughout the world in the ending of days.

Look around. The mouth of the naysayer was shut. No one is suing the television network, or the NFL, or the Bengals or Bills because prayer was so abundant and public, on a very visual broadcast. The very same people who have sued coaches and school districts over public prayer at sports events were nowhere to be found. I find that very odd.

Another lesson learned over Damar Hamlin’s death-to-life story is the love shown. The general public displayed its humanity. His charity, for impoverished children in his hometown, had only raised $2500.00 at the time of Hamlin’s health event. The last time I checked, it has reach almost 10 million dollars in donations in a matter of a few days. The well wishes continue to stream in. His teammates, as well as other NFL players and coaches, continue to show their love and support while he is in his hospital bed. The general public, whether football fans or not, have poured out concern and love toward this 24 year old who most never heard of before that Monday night game. This personal event for Damar Hamlin has turned many hearts. In fact, it displays a true heart in our culture, a heart we often do not see.

Most of all, we have witnessed something, not only remarkable, but downright awakening for many. There is a multitude of souls who have acknowledged their faith openly during this episode, and many for the first time. In the core of this nation, many are rediscovering their faith in God.

In a down-sliding culture where we are pushing our children to drag queen shows, we must stand up in the field in which we play and acknowledge God. While we see children killing children, and adults as well, we must grip our faith, hold it up and beg for God’s ear. As the love of many cools to a coldness, the people of faith must struggle through what is easy to do and love anyway.

I predict that Damar Hamlin will forever be changed in his spirit. He will grow in life to understand true love and brotherhood even more than what he once understood. I am hoping the rest of us can do the same.

Incorporating prayer in life can be had when being filled with fuel for the race.

“Come close to God and He will come close to you.” James 4:8a (NAS)

What Child Is This?

“I know there’s a place you walked
Where love falls from the trees.
My heart is like a broken cup
I only feel right on my knees.
I spit out like a sewer hole
Yet still receive your kiss
How can I measure up to anyone now
After such a love as this?…Tell me who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
Because I really want to know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)” (1978) “Who Are You?” Recorded By: The Who Composed By: Pete Townsend

If you are new to this blog, you probably don’t know about past posts describing the fact that I never really knew my bio-dad until he walked into my life when I turned eighteen. It’s a really long story for another post.

My story isn’t that unusual at all. Many have the same sad set of affairs in early life concerning mysterious parentage of some sort. For me, he was there for the first couple of years of my life prior to a divorce. From that point on, my mom did all she could to erase him from my young memory.

By the time I was fifteen or so, I begged to find out more about my bio-dad, his name, his looks, his family. She had made some type of inward commitment to withhold all details about him. Little did I know a deal was struck during the divorce proceedings in 1962 where he would not pay child support as long as he stayed away from me. That deal was brokered by my granddad. He told the judge he would take responsibility.

All I had to go on was a vague memory of a tall, dark-curly headed man. For the first eighteen years of my life, I would see a man who fit that description and wondered if that could be him, or not. I must say, I found out his first and last name, but back in the 70’s, there wasn’t the advantages of the internet, or social media to do a search.

Photo: 1978. Jim Alford (my bio-dad) and me.

Little items concerning his flaws, came out over the years, just enough to try to keep my curiosity down to a low rumble. The low rumble could never be ignored due to the evidence that my bio-dad left behind. I vowed to find him after I turned 18.

No doubt, the itch of such unanswered questions concerning where you come from is very difficult to scratch.

The world over, from one end of the globe to the other, the same can be said about the inquiry of knowing God. Religions are based on it. Curriculum is developed in places of higher learning to discover and dissect the “God code”. Agnostics have chosen such a position mainly due to giving up on the attempt to find the Universal Designer. The Creator has left plenty of traces, along with hard cold evidence behind, of Who He is, and what He is about. Atheists just choose to ignore the search. Still, the search goes on for billions.

“Who are You? I really wanna know.”

Then comes Christmas, a holiday which refuses to be ignored. It’s a holiday that screams out the answer of finding God. There are factions in cultures to do what they can to divert the attention away from why there is a Christmas, but it remains, taking weeks at the end of each year to shine out the answer like a star atop the nearest Christmas tree.

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Christmas was a sharp turn in God’s historic timeline. For thousands of years, He left His evidences for the world to take note of. He even showed Himself in various manifestations and a standard to live by. Yet, when the “fulness in time” had arrived, He showed up…in flesh and bone. It would only be for a span of 33 years, but it was a life which shook the planet, and still does to this very day. The Christmas event was truly remarkable (Luke 2), but baby Jesus didn’t stay a baby.

One of His students, in John chapter 14, confronted Jesus about showing God The Father to them.

John 14: 7-9 (Berean Standard Bible)

…7If you had known Me, you would know My Father as well. From now on you do know Him and have seen Him.” 8 Philip said to Him,“Lord,show us the Father, and that will be enoughfor us.”9Jesus replied, “Philip, I have been with you all this time, and still you do not know Me? Anyone who has seen Me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’?…

Wow! How strong is that? MERRY CHRISTMAS!

So, whenever wondering about WHO God is, or what He is about, or what He is like, look no further than Christmas as a beginning.

When Frosty melts away, and Rudolph’s nose fades away for another year, Christmas lives on day after day in fuel for the race.

“You have said that I am a King. For this I was born and for this I have come into the world: to testify of the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.” – John 18:37 (Aramaic Bible Translation)

Life Is…

“In the circle of life,
It’s the wheel of fortune.
It’s the leap of faith.
It’s the band of hope,
‘Til we find our place.
On the path unwinding, yeah.
In the circle, the circle of life.” (1994) “Circle Of Life” From Disney’s, The Lion King. Recorded By: Elton John Written By: Elton John & Tim Rice

Look around. We see the results everywhere. Our culture tends to scream it out. Childhood abuse, in various forms, can cause even the brightest souls to spin off course, or knocked into another orbit than intended. Early trauma in a child’s life can deliver a lens through which the injured views the future by way of a fogged scrim. Often this skewed vision can last until death, or to the doorstep of an intervention of some kind giving opportunity for an adjustment.

A brilliant young man, Reginald Kenneth Dwight was such an injured person. His childhood experiences drove him headlong into a life of debauchery, self-destruction, horrific tantrums, and hopelessness. Reginald became a severe addict. His addictive behavior was manifested in numerous ways. He became addicted to all things material, shopping, sexual addictions, sour relationships, abusive actions toward lovers, alcohol consumption, drug abuse (cocaine being the pet), out-of-control financial spending, gross hording of collectibles, eating disorders, and so much more. When it came to substance abuse, he became so addicted that he was in the all-you-can-consume-buffet-line. If there was more cocaine in the building, his nose found found it until it was all gone. Once he started, he couldn’t stop.

Relationships, good relationships, were seemingly avoided as a young man. Although he found himself engaged to a young lady, a woman who was abusive in word, in deed, and violent at times, he was presented with a solution to his troubled relationship. He listened to a close friend who was gay, and decided that he himself might be gay. Although it went against all he was raised with, he made the decision to try the gay lifestyle as he continued to run away from his past. The next morning they came with a truck to take him home, while she went her own way. His decisive choice threw him into a never ending line of gay lovers, some of which he never knew their names.

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Many years later, he fell in love with…a woman. Nobody close to him believed it could happen, but it did. For reasons a bit unclear, they married. However, his lifestyle, and all that goes with it, had become so amalgamized with his daily life, and the destructive choices he made, ended the marriage some four years later. He, and his wife, both truly loved one another. They both still honor one another to this very day. They vowed to never discuss publicly the intimate details of their marriage, however the fly in the ointment was fairly evident.

As hard as it is to wrap your head around the following, it still must be mentioned here. Always looking for love, and always looking to satisfy his sexual addictions, he would pick up men like some pick up stray dogs. He would use them sexually for a few days, weeks, or possibly up to six months, then drop them by way of a friend slipping the rejected man an airplane ticket home. In the end, he admits to having hundreds of these types of relationships.

He never contracted AIDS, but many of his lovers and friends did. In fact, Reginald lost numerous friends to AIDS, drugs, accidents and suicide. In fact, he attempted to end his life at least three times with intension. Other times, he almost lost his life without any attempts due to cancer and rare infections. Still, his non-stop raving appetite for drugs and alcohol could’ve been his demise at any time throughout the fuzzy decades of abuse.

In 1978, on a rainy, dreary Sunday morning in one of his homes in England, he rose from his bed in deep depression. Actually, he had been in depression for many years as he tried, but failed to self-medicate. But on this day, it seemed much darker to him. Once again, he morbidly felt he was on the edge of death, even visualizing floating away from his body toward space itself, burning up the fuse up there alone. His steps from the bed to the doorway competed heavily with a massive hangover from the night before. As he made his way through the spacious home, he left Reginald Kenneth Dwight behind like a cold bathrobe and , as he did each day, slipped into his Elton John character as he made his stumbling way to the piano bench.

Photo: From – Me: Elton John from, Macmillan Publishing. Photographed By: Terry O’Neill/Iconic Images.

It was a rare occasion when he would write a song without his co-writing partner, Bernie Taupin. Bernie was the lyricist, and Elton was the music composer. However, something often came over him to write a song on his own, without the lyrical assistance of Bernie. This particular, dark morning, was one of them. Still in a cloudy haze from what lingered in his bloodstream, a haunting melody reverberated in his mind. He began to plink it out note by note, chord by chord. As usual, it was beautiful to the ear. At first, he had no thought as to a lyric as he was only playing the instrumental bubbling up from within. The song itself came rather quickly to the keyboard, as was the norm for Elton’s gargantuan talent, but soon a line wormed its way through the notes and the fog of the morning. Like a tape loop, it rotated in his mind over and over again. Being in such a depressive, hungover state, with a sense of great loss, he wasn’t expecting a lyric to make its presence known. Yet, there it was, out of nowhere, loud and clear. Elton began to match it with the chord structure, repeating it verbally like a thick continual scroll. Unlike past lyrical adventures in the composition of songs, this line was the only line that displayed itself to him that morning. It was a short lyric, but a massive, hard-hitting domino of a line not to be lost or forgotten. It read like this…

“Life…isn’t everything.”

Now, say what you will about the validity, or the absurdity of such a line, but there are times when one can be inspired by something in the air? Something outside of one’s self? A spiritual connection? A spirit tested? A spirit not tested? Which ever way you believe it to be, this did happen while the melody was being formed in his music room that day. It’s a sad state of affairs when an individual, who is worth north of $500 million dollars, held such a lack of darkness and hope.

He loved the song so much that he wanted to release it. His intension was to title it, “Life isn’t Everything”. In studio, he simply sings the line very softly, repeating the line several times, toward the end of the instrumental. If you should bring it up on YouTube, you will find it to be a stirring, daunting piece, mixed with an edge of a feeling of floating away without care. Businesswise, the song did well on the UK charts, but poorly in the US. Still, if you heard it you might recognize the recording.

Guy Burchett was a 17 year old who ran messages and errands for Elton’s production company. He was a local lad who was always available, hard working, and dependable. Guy was a year younger than I. Knowing how I loved EJ’s music, I can see how eager he was to work for the musician. Elton was notified the following day of Guy’s unfortunate sudden death due to a motorcycle accident. As the information came down, as it turned out, the young man’s life had been snuffed out at the same time Elton was constructing the song on that Sunday morning. Grieved, he made the choice to honor his young friend by entitling the new song, “Song For Guy”.

I am not here to be Elton’s judge. I am not here to bash Elton’s lifestyle. I am not here to denounce Elton’s decisions in life. Because I view things through a biblical point of view, I know that for the grace of God go I. I know I have a tendency to feed on addictive trappings. God granted us freewill. I cannot blame my DNA heritage, or any particular generation in my bloodline, although it would seem easy to do so. Scripture makes it clear that I am responsible for my own decisions, whether to try for the bait in the traps, or not. In Elton’s autobiography, Me: Elton John, he admits falling hook, line, and sinker for cocaine at the very first snort. It can happen.

Still, the single line whispered into his brain on that drizzly Sunday morning in 1978 is so profound…and yet, so wrong. “Life isn’t everything”.

I will assume here that there was a Mr. and Mrs. Burchett who grieved painstakingly at the news of their son’s tragic death on the road. Although we don’t know them, I will assume they might have said, in their grief, “Oh, no!” Or maybe, “No, not my precious son!” Or possibly, “Our boy meant the world to us.” Grief is indeed the penalty of loving. More than likely, Guy’s life meant everything to his parents, in fact, to anyone who loved Guy.

Allowing for Sir Elton’s possible meaning, as he wrote the lyric which pounded into his head, the expression may have been a statement of eternal hope after this life is over. In that respect, it’s true. Life, in the here and now, isn’t everything. Life here is only temporary. Scripture aligns it like a puff of a vapor in the air, or a blade of grass that comes and goes with the seasons. Of course, in Elton’s state of loss, depression, while reeling from the aftermath of a night of debauchery, he might have been thinking death is more valuable. After all, it must be the relief of all that stains us, all that pains us, all that shakes us.

Here, I am pushed to disagree with one of my favorite musicians.

How valuable and distinctive is life?

Life isn’t just a four letter word on a board game by Hasbro. Life isn’t just a name on a Quaker Oats cereal box. Life is a gift, issued to each living thing. However, life for the human was issued in the most intimate way. Unlike the cow, the tree, the worm, humanity first took a breath when The great I Am, The Creator ordained the inhale by placing His own mouth over the nostrils and blew the breath of life into the first human. In other words, God Himself crouched down to the lifeless body of His creation and performed mouth-to-mouth, and that action caused life to occur in the new man. Life is issued. It is a gift. Just ask anyone who has had a near-death experience and lived to tell about it. Moreover, ask anyone who was lifeless due to an illness, or accident, and was reignited. I am one of those people. Life is a gift. Life is a stone thrown into a motionless pond, activating ripples upon impact. If you are alive, you have an impact on others around you. Yet, the One who gave life, also removes the breath.

Let us resolve to mention another truth concerning Elton’s lyric. As stated before, life isn’t everything, in that it is temporary. Just ask Guy Burchett. Oh, that’s right, you can’t ask him. Guy left his body at the age of 17 in 1978 during a tragic motorcycle crash. Guy, the person of Guy, left his body to enter eternity. Holy scripture is clear, there is more to this life. It may seem like a candle in the wind, but when the wick burns away, our flame carries on. Jesus spoke about the afterlife often, and the place(s) of the afterlife. God controls the final exits, and the doors entered. In scope, this life is only a blink of an eye compared to eternity. There is a second life, and a second death for some. I didn’t make that up, it’s spelled out in the ancient scrolls.

Although Elton is weird and wonderful, his book is brutally honest, so much so, it can be a very difficult read. Trust me, there were times at the end of a chapter I wanted to take a shower.

The man, the soul, Reginald, found himself removing his electric boots and entered a 12 step program. He learned much about his mistakes, his substance abuse, and even his old ruthless ways with those around him. He has gone back to many he has wronged to apologize for past behaviors. Sobriety has been his norm for many years now, and helps others who need to enter treatment. His view toward life softened much through the following years, even to the point of pouring himself into charities, and forming the Elton John AIDS Foundation, which has raised over $450 million in AIDS research and medical treatment around the world. Through his circumstances in life, he has been forced to a more pliable heart. Even at this elder stage of his life, who knows where it might direct him.

As for Elton’s 1978 view of a throw-away life, he has changed his camera angle. In his book, on the very last page, he writes something so vastly opposite of his 1978 lyric. After suffering from cancer, and a devastating infection he contracted while on tour in South America which almost took his life, he writes:

“In the hospital, alone at the dead of night, I’d prayed: ‘please don’t let me die, please let me see my kids again, please give me a little longer.’ In a strange way, it felt like the time I spent recuperating was the answer to my prayers…It was like being shown a different life.” – Elton John, Excerpt taken from, Me: Elton John, Macmillan Publishing

He knows you wouldn’t mind if he put it down into words, how wonderful life is.

The true circle of life, and life’s destination, is in black and white in fuel for the race.

“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to judge the world, but so that the world might be saved through Him.” – Jesus From John 3:16-17 (NAS)

91 Years Of Love

“When you feel cold, I’ll warm you.
And when you feel you can’t go on, I’ll come and hold you.
It’s you and me forever…” (1975) “Sara Smile” Recorded By: Hall & Oates Composers: Daryl Hall & John Oates

He was raised on farmland. Born around 1869ish+/-. His family, and the children which came later, toiled as sharecroppers, working the crops of other landowners. They travelled from county to county, wherever the work was available. The Tapp family were not educated folk, but they were the salt of the earth, a redneck clan, who knew the backbreaking job of picking cotton, corn, potatoes, and okra from dawn to dusk. If he owned a suit, it was strictly for church on Sundays. His hands were rough and weathered, yet his handsome face endured the Texas sun. He would grow up knowing the horse and wagon days of travel, until he was well into his 30’s when he saw his first horseless carriage.

At some point, date unknown as the family didn’t tend to keep records, he married a girl named, Molly. Later they were blessed with at least five boys, and two daughters, a true gift for a farm-working family. He was my Great-Great Granddaddy Tapp.

One of the daughters was my Great Grandmother, Ella Tapp-Swindell. She was born in 1901. As expected, she learned the trade of farming, along with her many siblings. However, while she was 6, 7, or 8 years old, Molly grew ill and became an invalid. Ella had to quit school and help take care of household duties, raising her siblings, along with learning to be a caregiver to her disabled mother. She married a handsome man of all trades, and talented musician named, Cluade Swindell. Ella was a “Get-Up-And-Get-It-Done” gal who passed the same attitude on to her daughter and son. The siblings were a fine duo out in the sharecropping fields from the time they could start walking. That daughter was my grandmother, Opal Swindell-Atherton. If you are a regular reader of my blog, than you have been introduced well to Opal Atherton in past posts.

Opal was born in 1921. While in Jr. High School in Wolfe City, Texas, she met a wild auburn-headed country boy named, Martin “Lucky” Atherton. He was new to the area, having moved from Oklahoma. When their eyes met, it was love, real love. Blinded by love, they never dated others. They were married when she was 17 years old. The life of sharecropping was over for her, as Lucky, her new husband, was a sharp mechanic. They were blessed to add two boys and one girl to their home. Their daughter, the baby of the family, would be my mom, Carolyn Atherton-Brown. She was born in 1944.

Again, if you have read my story from my other posts, you already know the tragic details of how I arrived in 1960.

As soon as my mom and I were able to travel, we made a quick drive from Greenville, Texas to Cash, Texas, a tiny farming community just a few miles away from where I was born. There, we visited my G-G-Granddaddy Tapp, along with my G-Grandmother Swindell on the Tapp family farm. The camera was loaded and ready for the photo below. Five generations in one shot. As you can see I was very casual about the entire event.

Photo: Five Generation Picture – June 1960

Many have told me they have never seen a five generation photo. I guess a four generation shot is more common. To have a five generation shot is just simply a gift from God. So, as you can imagine, when the time arrived in my life to obtain yet another five generation shot, I couldn’t wait to get the camera ready. Below is my grandmother, Opal, my mom, Carolyn, me, my daughter, Tabitha, and my granddaughter, Skylar. I love the way my Grandmother Atherton is looking at Skylar here, with yet another 90 years between them.

Photo: Five year generation picture – June 2016

Beyond the rarity of such a photo, as treasured as it is, might be what it represents. For me, it’s a reminder of the love and care which took place from generation to generation. We choose to love because love is exactly that, a choice. Care is a natural by-product of authentic love. When I review the stories told, going back 91 years, I can see this chain of love, like links from one person to the next, holding them all together, weaving a fabric of common admiration, loyalty, and valor. For those who have such a legacy, it is priceless.

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Scripture tells us that there is One who is closer than a brother. At the same time, the Author of such a passage also has revealed Himself as Father, Brother, even Grandfather, in certain aspects. In fact, and I must be careful here, He is even described as Mother because of His tenderness, intimate care-giver, personal supplier, and nurturer, as in El Shaddai, meaning All Sufficient One, IE: “The God Who is more than enough”. He IS our great Relative from generations past.

There are links of generational love to discover in fuel for the race.

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands…” – Isaiah 49:15-16a (NIV)

An Exit Of Grace

“God save our gracious Queen,

Long live our noble Queen,

God save the Queen.

Send her victorious,

Happy and glorious,

Long to reign over us,

God save the Queen” (1619, via various historic literature.) National Anthem, or Royal Anthem of Great Britain. Some sources report the melody possibly was composed by: John Bull. Otherwise, composer is unknown.

Some have mournfully reacted to the passing of Queen Elizabeth II in a curious way. Multiple times the words from the Queen’s subjects have been stated something like, “I never thought this day would come. After all, she is the Queen. She just goes on and on.” Deep inside such sentiments, although recalling they were said out of shock and grief, is an eternal urging, a longing for an undying righteousness, a Monarch which never ceases to die, defeating the laws of nature and age. It may not be spoken of while sipping a pint around the dartboard of a rustic low-ceiling pub in Sheffield, but apparently the longing is the undercurrent of the soul. In fact, ancient scripture points this out as an everlasting truth.

Queen Elizabeth II knew this all too well. Her Majesty knew her God. She, herself, yearned for the day when she would bow in His throne room where The Unseen Eternal, The Ancient Of Days remains in constant power. This 70 year Monarch never needed to bend the knee here on this temporary placement, but she looked forward to the day when she would fall on her face before the Eternal Ruler of The Universe. At 96 years of age, she finally was ushered into what she had always imagined.

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“Although we are capable of great acts of kindness, history teaches us that we sometimes need saving from ourselves – from our recklessness or our greed. God sent into the world a unique person – neither a philosopher nor a great general (important though they are) – but a Saviour, with the power to forgive.” – Queen Elizabeth II (2011)

Commentators from the BBC to the local small market news outlets in America, have reported the stainless rule of this Monarch. Often the words behind the news desks tell of the Queen’s remarkable record of scandal-free reign. Although every member of the House of Windsor cannot stand under such microscopic scrutiny, the Queen endured to the end with God’s righteousness as her bond. In fact, most Monarchs in the scrolls of history were, and are, flawed in one area or the other, some gravely so. Throughout England’s history, as well as all other nations, Monarchs, wrapped in such power while stewed in elitisms, haunted by ironic jealousies, have proven to be warped, corrupted, and in some cases, evil. That is not to say Her Majesty was sinless, as some may proclaim, but the fact remains, her reign as Queen saw very few flaws. Her reputation as a person was above board in just about every way that has been reported outside the walls of Buckingham Palace. No wonder this long-reigning Monarch has been hailed as one who held to selfless service, self-control, self-restraint, and always reaching for the highest of standards.

There are those in the world who have a disdain for the Queen. Yet, in most every case, the reasons stem from her stance against sin and the appearance of such. She had no room in her house for misbehavior, outlandish hatred, and words and actions against her England.

There is no doubt in my mind, these qualities attributed to this Royal cannot be traced to her jewels, her robes, or her throne. It is my belief this Queen, if raised as a peasant on the back streets of blue-collar Manchester, her qualities would have remained intact. I should add here, it would not have been because she wanted to better than others around her, or to even strive for a life in a monastery, but only because she humbly knew where true righteousness comes from. Her Highness, somewhere in the bowels of her souls and spirit, at some given time in her lengthy days, accepted the forgiveness of sins offered only through Jesus, The King Of Kings.

“For me, the life of Jesus Christ, the Prince Of Peace, whose birth we celebrate today, is an inspiration and an anchor in my life. A role-model of reconciliation and forgiveness, He stretched out His hands of love, acceptance and healing. Christ’s example has taught me to seek to respect and value all people of whatever faith or none.” – Queen Elizabeth II (Christmas Day address 2014)

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Much will be said of this Queen in the coming days. Her name will be garnished with grandeur, pomp and circumstance. Her memory, and the acts of her rule, will be enshrined by the high praises of accolades from the poorest among us, as well as, the wealthiest and most famous, and rightly so. As these events unfold, as the Queen is laid to rest, keep in mind of what she might say as a parting comment. With what I know of this great lady, as we highlight her achievements, and her vast integrity, she would stop us while pointing to the One Who shared His righteousness with her, holding her hand, and holding her up through a jubilee of her reign. It is her faith in Him which we celebrate, even if unknowingly.

In the pages of modern history, those of the faith, and even those searching for eternal truths, have been graced by irrefutable tangible movings of the hand of God for us to witness. There have been remarkable manifestations throughout history which work to enlighten the blindness of humanity. Although these things are a rarity since the days of Jesus, they have been well documented across the globe. In each case, in those very rare moments, there with it comes a divine message reaching from outside the created galaxies to the world God so loves. On Thursday, September 8th, 2022, just before and after the passing of Queen Elizabeth, a double rainbow appeared over Buckingham Palace where a throng of people watched with collective gasps.

Photo: Whitchurch Herold

About the very same time, another rainbow pierced through the cloudy darkness some 29 miles away at Windsor Castle for the mourners to witness, just as the Union jack was being lowered to half-mast.

Photo: Getty Images

In the days of Noah, the first rainbow ever was seen and recorded. It is written that it was a “sign”, a monument, of God’s promise never to destroy the earth by flood again. Upon the plucking-up of Queen Elizabeth’s soul on September 8th, it’s as if The Rock of Ages visually made it known she was now over the rainbow, under the arch of His everlasting arms. Truly, an exit of grace.

See what is in store for those who mourn, and for those looking for an eternal righteousness which never dies in fuel for the race.

“In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple.” – Isaiah 6:1 (ESV)

Sprinkles of Joy

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens.
Brown paper packages tied up with strings.
These are a few of my favorite things.” (1965) “My Favorite Things” from, “The Sound Of Music” Recorded By: Julie Andrews Composers: Oscar Hammerstein II & Richard Rodgers

Sitting at my desktop computer, where I write, I truly had no clue of what what I would jot. Does this ever happen to you? Usually, something is already on my mind, burning through the noise and the sights of the day. More often than not, a theme is just itching to slide out of my noggin and onto my keyboard. But not today.

A decent psychoanalysis performed by a solid, experienced professional in the field could most likely open me up and explain why this occurred. Then again, maybe not. I can be complicated.

In my frustration, I sat at my desk looking at a blank screen, which mirrored my hollow brain, when suddenly a light came on. A phenomenon which warms me so often that I take it for granted. Well, not taken for granted today.

Just before I pull back my desk chair from the desk, I face a study closet door, which stands about a foot from the chair to the right of the desk. On the doorknob of the closet, hangs two precious items of note. Let me show you.

Draping over the doorknob is a Christmas ornament of hand painted hues displaying blue, purple, yellow, amber, green and black. The small piece of art is encased in glass with a silver alloy frame and backing. If you look closely, you can read the words, “by Skylar 2017”. Skylar is my granddaughter. When she was 6 years old, she won an art competition that year for this little treasure. It is a small print of a much larger piece she painted that year. Hanging behind the ornament, is the collar and tags of my childhood dog, Tickey. (I have written about him before.) We grew up together. He died at 16 years old, I was 23 at the time. The jingle-jangle of his tags was heard anytime he jumped, ran, scratched. I can reach over and shake them right now, always leaving me with a smile.

Tickey, and a 9 year old me – 1969

Once I sit down to face my desktop screen, this is what graces my vision before I boot up the computer.

16″ across the bottom of my computer screen is a plethora, a sprinkling of little keepsakes. Let me explain.

On the left is a 5.5″ tall cross section of a piece of wood with its original thick, rough bark on the backside.

A few years ago, the oldest, largest tree on our short street was damaged heavily in a fierce windstorm. So much so, it had to be cut down. It was a grandfather of a mammoth tree, no doubt 200 years old, or so. As a memorial, the property owners left a 6′ stump. I am so glad they did. It helps to remind us all that at one time, when my neighborhood was once a thriving cattle ranch from the late1800’s, there stood a tree of testimonial. When they sliced down the massive tree piece by piece, leaving tall piles of lumber along the curb of a full city block, I found a small chunk from this old friend. It had a flat bottom, so it stood up vertically, with its beautiful two-toned colors of its outside ring layers. When I first brought it home, I thought of staining it. But no, I couldn’t. I feel its natural look is stunning as it is.

To the right of the wooden memorial, sits a replica of a Ford Mustang Mach 1 made by Hot Wheels. A girlfriend of mine, from my high school days, drove a royal blue one with black leather interior. It was a beauty, and a beast. I keep it on my desk because I was from the 1960’s-1970’s Hot Wheels generation. Growing up, every cool boy in school had a Hot Wheel set. You were even more so if you were able to collect a herd of Hot Wheel cars and trucks. Well, I was raised by a single mom who worked a graveyard shift. We were poor. So, Hot Wheels was not in my shoe box of treasures. There were the Johnny Lightning 500 cars, a cheaper competitor, which I was able to receive one Christmas, but alas…you guessed it…they were not of the coveted Hot Wheels brand. So, I guess you could say I guard this one with my life.

Just to the right of the Mach 1, lays a genuine, honest, true blue fossil. I sincerely don’t recall where I found it, but I believe I discovered it on the sandy dry floor of the Brazos River in west Texas when I was a kid. Looking closely, it looks to be a part of a neck, or backbone. I’ve never had it analyzed, but as a kid my imagination ran away with ideas. Could it belong to a baby Tyrannosaurus Rex??? More than likely, a duck, or a prairie chicken. My wife poured cold water on a boy’s dream by saying it looked like an intestinal track of a dog. “Gee, thanks, honey.” Either way, it’s a full blown fossil. And that’s what counts. Right?

Just behind said fossil, sits a small stapler I had retrieved from my mom’s storage unit, buried under tons of junk. Nothing fancy, or worthy of writing your mom about. It is rust color, about 5″ in length. It looked very familiar when I unearthed it from the stacks of storage boxes. One day, as it sat on my desk, it hit my memory like a a mob at a New York jewelry store. It was the stapler I used during my high school years. It not only is in decent shape, but it also still has staples in it. Suddenly, it felt like an old friend. And it works!

To the right of the stapler, proudly sits a model replica of the Galileo, the space shuttle from the Star Trek TV series. The old, U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701/7 Space Shuttle. It’s more than just a plastic model of the beloved shuttle, but a container. The top hatch opens to a compartment where a library of Star Trek trivia cards can be found. One of my stepsons gave it to me for a few years back. I was a Trek fan ever since the 1960’s series aired. When my three girls came along, they too became fans. That’s one reason why an old picture of my middle daughter, Megan, sits on the back of the shuttle. At that age, she used to say she wanted to ride in a space ship someday.

What the song said is true. Maybe to you raindrops on roses, or whiskers on kittens may not be your bag, but no doubt you have some favorite things. They don’t have to be large, or expensive. The value is in what the item does for you, to you. Because when that dog bites in life, or the bee stings when unanticipated, a few of your favorite things can trip off a few thousands memories which are reserved in a very blessed place inside. It’s God’s gift.

Poundings of threats of war, rising crime, along with thin wallets can melt away our smiles rather quickly. Losing friends over selected desired pronouns, or ideology which goes against your values, can cause bitterness if not guarded. At the same time, I can vouch for what a small desktop item can bring in your day. The sweet thoughts can point you in an alternative direction where we all were meant to be.

In scripture, there are literally dozens of times where we find where God uses the word, “REMEMBER…” Often, it is the first word in a sentence. Still, we are admonished to use our memories to combat negative, or dangerous desires, thoughts, or depression and disobedience. When we do remember what God has done in our lives, and the lives of others, we can begin to turn the tides of our seat of affections, or a darker path we weren’t chosen to walk. Yes, there’s something to turning the heart toward what we have been blessed with. Just little sprinklings of joy do this. Even if it is a petrified intestine.

Sometimes under “R” in your phone index, a simple line of sweet remembrance, refreshes when taken from fuel for the race.

“But remember the former days, when, after being enlightened, you endured a great conflict of sufferings.” Hebrews 10:32 (NAS)