Many of my best memories from the last twenty-five years are of Grandma’s house. Over the years it has been the one home that while it changed, has never moved. My life has been one of constant movement and change, but I have always known that the old farm in Alma called “Five Oaks” would be a place that I go to rest, be fed and loved. There would always be the little things that made it familiar, the old hide-away bed, the ticking of the clock, paintings of sad clowns as well as some she painted and of course, grandpa snoozing in his chair.
Grandma was a classy lady; unlike any other I have known. Many of my loves she nurtured and exuded. She taught me to fish, one of my great loves, some of my earliest memories are of her taking me down to the “Big Pond” to fish, fishing has become a retreat and is one of comforts and pursuits that I have done from Arkansas to Kyrgyzstan, but all started with her. My love for adventure and exploring the outdoors began from a very young age, tromping through the woods, creek, and fields at Grandma’s House, my ear was always tuned to hearing grandpa’s whistle marking the time that grandma’s cooking was nearly done. Meals have always been gourmet at her house. I remember her once getting onto grandpa for not being able to tell the difference between salmon and tuna salad sandwiches, ranting about how she could have married such an unsophisticated man, but I always knew there was deep love in that house, Grandpa still kissed her goodbye when he left the house.
Holidays always felt like walking into a five star hotel, perfect tasteful decorations filled the house and the smell of home cooked delicacies like goose and pheasant drifted through the house. She had a love for the finer things life from art, to travel and most definitely good food. Finer things, that I too now have an appreciation for due greatly to her influence. Also, she drank good coffee before it was cool to do so. She tried her best to make sure her kids and grandkids were well mannered, from how to set a table, to knowing the difference between salmon and tuna salad sandwiches. With her training of me and through my mother, I have been comfortable and complimented on my manners in the fine restaurants and homes of Europe and America.
Hospitality and a graceful demeanor permeated her personality and home. I have always been comfortable bringing friends by, for either a bed to sleep in or a quick lunch. She was also never afraid to pry into them, making sure I was running with a good crowd. Grandma was also tough, being one of the 3 grandsons that always looked for adventure and mischief at grandmas house, I remember once being chased away from the road by grandma with a very scary slipper in hand. She was always sure to let me know what she thought, from her dislike of my long hair and tattoos, to her support of me in the work I now do.
I have so many incredible memories of her; moving a snake off the path on the way to the pond, teaching me to fish, traveling with her and Grandpa, being introduced to her friends at Sunday lunch, chef like cooking (except for toast), and most of all, her hugs every time I walked through the door.
Just as she continually made a small piece of Arkansas more and more beautiful with her class and taste, she will now make Heaven more beautiful with the faith and love perfectly fulfilled as she meets our eternal creator…. and pesters him for the safety of her Grand Kids around the world and at home.

Nearly 25...

In a few days I will reach the birthday that officially marks I am an adult. If I had a car to have insurance on, the rate would go down. I will be able to rent cars and I will be firmly planted in my Mid-20’s.
Last night watching the full moon move across the sky as the city began to sleep, I started to think back and wonder at the events that have the shaped the man that I am and the one I am becoming.

Here are some of the Highlights….
I have traveled in 14 countries, on 5 continents, seen the worlds 3 largest mountain chains and three largest rivers. I have built houses in Mexico, furniture in Chile, wheel chair ramps in Arkansas, and dug the foundations for a meeting place of fellow believers in Nepal. I have used music to speak truth and bring smiles to orphans of HIV/AIDS in South Africa, I have introduced men in prison in New Mexico to my Eternal Creator, had deep conversations with new friends in the “Coffee shops” of the red light district in Amsterdam, and I have worshiped my Creator on the holiest of all Hindu Sights. I have discipled students through intense life transitions, taught kids to hammer their first nail, heard incredible stories from grey haired wise men all over the world, caught fish in countries most of my friends don’t know exist, watched the sunrise over mountains reaching past 27,000ft, I have been affected by the actions of bombers and gunmen, I have held abandoned babies, taught at retreats and summer camps, I’ve been made a Godfather, walked with friends as they entered life as married men, Listened to hundreds of my fathers Sermons, hit a homerun, hunted a trophy buck, lived in a tent for a couple of months, had hair to my shoulders and a Mohawk, learned life and chess lessons from homeless, played rock and roll concerts in foreign countries, led hundreds in time of praise, reenacted battles of the Civil War to remind people of the past so we may never fight that way again, walked the streets of Afg*anistan, I have pursued truth, relationship and adventure anywhere, and everywhere possible. I have a love of finding beauty in the world around. I have a passion for seeing what is true, and a desire to communicate that to whoever will engage in conversation with me. Normal is a word that has vastly different meaning to me now than it did a few years ago. My friends are spread out across the planet. Anywhere I haven’t visited, I want to. Any one that doesn’t know the truth, that can’t see beauty, I want to help them do so.
What’s next…? More of the same. I am just getting started, my dreams are continually growing and my realization of how big God is with them. The intricacies of his character are always being revealed in new ways as I see him in the eyes of the broken and suffering. Life Goals? Seek truth, speak truth, Live Unashamed, confront fear, and walk with my ear tuned to the gentle whisper of my eternal creator, willing to do whatever he asks.
It’s been a good quarter century, here is to the rest of it…

Singin' in the Dust

In the last couple of days I have had a couple of reminders of the things in this culture that make this the beautiful and special place that it is.
Walking on the street yesterday evening, in the throws of a teeth grinding dust shower, I passed a man singing. He was not singing under his breath or loudly, he was just singing, walking down the street, in the dust. He managed to fit a Salaam right in with the rest of as we passed. There was no shame, no embarresment, absolutely nothing odd in the fact that he was walking down the street singing. It is quite common to hear this in this city, but I have not been on the street much lately so this was a reminder. Poetry and song are such a part of these people here. It was a wonderful reminder of the pieces of Gods personality that have been placed in the hearts of these people and their culture.
The second reminder came today. I was visiting a friend, who is a local carpet seller, about selling some of his things in the café. We sat and drank tea and talked for about an hour discussing business and life, as I left I made sure that he had the things he needed to get a free gift as a part of the promotion he have going right now. He said he did, but that he would not bring them, it would shame him. He was afraid I would think he was coming only for the free gift, not because we are friends. With most people here, I would think this only a nice gesture, or flattery, with this friend however, it was that, but genuine. Which is a beautiful thing. As with most aspects of a culture that are annoying or bad, there is a root to them that is wonderful. At this moment, I was seeing the root. Honor in relationships is supposed to important here, often though, it is only used as a front to deceive, the root has been greatly distorted. He wanted me to know that we are friends, because we are friends, not only because it is of mutual benefit, which is normally the case. Looking for mutual benefit, flattery, using relationships in business, are all a part of this culture, and at times a very dangerous part, very much for appearances only, filled with deception and lies, but with this friend, I get a rare glimpse into the heart of this culture, not seeing only the twisted outcome. This is a wonderful and beautiful thing.
As the dust settles I get to see through the haze and past the tarnished front that often hides the heart of God already resting in this place. God is not trying to get into this culture, I am not trying to find a hole to slide him into. He is already at the heart of it, a heart that has been torn, broken, trampled, suppressed, desecrated and rejected, but still beats.

Two Wagging Tales

The evening ended as the day had began, with two very excited dogs, my dog Joan and the Pratt’s dog Valor, each wagging their tails at near the speed of sound. As they disposed of scraps of meat and hid their bones safely around the garden, I cleaned up.
I started the day with a quick trip to the butchers, for ten pounds of choice goat. Dropping it off back at the house, the dogs were my immediate best friends, their noses glued to the side of the plastic bag, dreaming that they could have just a taste of this delicious treat. They would have to wait. I went off to work, leaving them with their dreams of muscle and bone.
I arrived back at the house after a short workday and doing some shopping around town about four hours before the vultures, Guest I mean, arrived. So, I set to work. Trimming and cutting the meat out of its recognizable animal shape, to get it ready for a short marinade then the grill. Joan sat perfectly still for sometimes ten, fifteen minutes at a time waiting for one little scrap, then would swallow it before it ever touched her teeth. I have never seen her so well behaved.
After the meat was prepared I set to work on the other Fixin’s, as we would say down south. The locals have one love when it comes to food, meat and lots of it. There were six of them set to arrive that evening and all of them had forgone lunch, already salivating over dinner, they have had my cooking before. The menu was BBQ and chili a.k.a. meat and meat soup, with a side of tandoori flat bread. Almost everything here is made from scratch so I began the process of cleaning vegetables, chopping garlic, onions and peppers, browning the meat, making Spicy Honey BBQ sauce, pulling out dishes, taking everything that could possibly be needed, outside to the garden. These hungry guys could be dangerous inside. Joan followed me around constantly during this time, hoping for one more scrap. After a short time the chili was on to simmer, the table was set, salt was out, the only really important spice for these guys, and it was time to start the grill. Sixteen pounds of charcoal fits about perfectly in the grill I had made from an old barrel, just big enough to cook half a goat. About this time the first of my friends arrived.
One thing the men here are always ready and willing to give is advice. In this relational, tribal culture it is their duty to give any and all possible advice. I have learned, it is similar to having a radio on in the background while trying to work. So, while I continued to prepare, they were prepared to offer advice.
As more of them began to arrive and the food neared the point of being done the excitement was building for this “American Kabob” and chili. However, there was one hitch, these guys are terrified and disgusted of meat with even a tinge of red, unbeknownst to them BBQ sauce will turn the meat a little red, so almost all of them with out fail, returned their meat to the grill to “finish” cooking. It was painful to watch them crisp perfectly well done meat, but they ate up and raved on the flavor. I pulled my carefully prepared tenderloin from the grill and enjoyed a delicious, honey BBQ, goat tenderloin and decided most anything can be a tasty treat with the right treatment.
When they settled down to eat, I knew it was a success, it was absolute silence… everyone was stuffing their face with bread and meat, forgoing the “comfort” of chairs for the preferred asian squat. Sitting on a bench, my dog at my feet, surrounded by friends, good food and bathed in the flickering light of lanterns, I noticed once again that beauty is a moment, and this was one of those moments. This is why I am here. Sometimes His hands and feet use grills and pots.