100th International Assembly /COGOP

Congratulations on this milestone. Assembly Zeal!!!!

Assembly Zeal!!!! Wow, what words those have always been! It is that time to come together from all over the globe for the bi-annual conclave of believers who are members and friends of The Church of God of Prophecy. This year it is to be held in Chattanooga Tennessee. I can guarantee a large crowd of excited people.

I attended my first IA in 1947 as a nine month old. My mother and her entire family were members of that organization when I was born. They always went to that meeting. It happened annually at that time. So, she packed me and my sister up in an old Chevy with her mother, Ruth Mays, and her Aunt, Lois Guire. The old car had suicide doors on it. Some will understand that terminology quickly.

In those days the road over Monteagle Mountain was just two lanes of switch -back road. It was slow going especially if you got behind a log truck. According to my mother, I got quite upset on that stretch of road. She says I began to move around and accidentally hit the door handle. Out I went rolling down the road. My grandmother stopped the old Chevy, and my mom was chasing me down the road. She says I was bouncing like a rubber ball.

My Aunt Lois, took me from my mother’s arms and began to pray for me. That was back when people actually believed in prayer. According to my mother, my aunt Lois began to pray to the Lord. I was knocked out from the fall. She prayed. “Lord, we are on business for you. This child is your child. If you have work for him to do in his life, then heal him NOW”. My mother said I woke up and looked around and started laughing. I don’t remember a thing, of course, but I know that the hand of God was on my life from that day to this.

My mother never told my dad about that since he was a “sinner” and she knew he would be upset and would beat her. He had told her he didn’t approve of her bringing me. She finally told him when he found the Lord. He still was not too happy about it.

From that day forward, I was present at the IA every year for the next 50 years. And Oh my the places we had to stay. We all (my family) stayed with an old lady named Sally. She had several bedrooms and a shower /bath on the back porch. She allowed us to cook there. It was hot and maybe not so clean, but it worked.

I learned to play the drum cadence from the Bahama Brass Band. They let me come to the band section as a boy after I started traveling with Harrison Price. I loved and still love that band. I brought them to New Orleans in 1993 and we had a parade down Bourbon St. It was glorious!

I have untold memories that time and space will not allow me to share. Much of it is being written now in my life story. It was a huge part of my life. It was a place to meet people from around the world; to share culture; to forge friendships that have lasted a lifetime.

I am going to attend a day of the IA this year. It has been 20 years since I have been. I am excited to hear the Bahama Brass Band again. I think the members of that band are now in the third generation. I know that a tear will roll down my cheek as they bring me back to my childhood and my young adulthood. I will enjoy seeing people from all over the world whom I have not seen in over two decades.

I congratulate you and I look forward to sharing a day with you all on this momentous occasion. See you at the Assembly! Assembly Zeal!!!!!

Death Ain’t No Big Deal

"The mortality rate is still 100%.

Last year. on this very date, at this very hour, my mother took her last breath and left this life for her eternal home. I had spent the night with her and just went home to get a shower. Just as I sat down on the sofa to rest for a moment, I received the phone call no one ever wants to receive. My mother had passed while I took the time to get a shower. I was heartbroken that I had not been there with her, holding her hand and praying with her. She was gone. All that I had the time and opportunity to say, and do in 70 years of my lifetime was gone.

As I was headed back to hospice to be with the family  and wait for the arrival of the funeral directors, I was thinking about her influence in my life. She had taught me the love of music. She taught me the elementary chords on the guitar. She introduced me to everything in my heritage when it came to music. She loved it.

My dad’s first church was in Huntingdon, Tennessee. It was a small farm town in West Tennessee. We had few people in the church and we had moved into a 32′ by 8′ house trailer (rv was NOT an operative term then). However, one of the great things about this church was Sis Humphrey. She owned a little cafe. It was called the “Cat and Fiddle” and was known all over the state for it’s BBQ. She held “chitlin” dinners for Gov. Gordon Browning.

She didn’t tithe since  her husband objected, but she had permission to feed the Pastors family every day. We ate a lot of meals in that place. I loved that she had a “juke box”. On that big old record player, was a record of the Famous Statesman Quartet. My mom would give me a nickel to play that record every time I walked in. Always,,,”Prayer is the key to Heeaaavvvvennnn, but faith unlocks the door”….The amazing voice of Jake Hess filled that little cafe

Then I would looked at my beautiful mom and smile knowing she had sung with him and knew the Statesmen. I knew I wanted to sing gospel music. A mere 7 years later, I stood on the stage of the Ryman Auditorium and played back up for the Statesmen , Blackwoods, etc. I was hooked from that day. Jake Hess and I became friend….because of mom. Later, I was asked by Jake Hess to play guitar with the Imperials. I can’t describe that feeling. From the Cat and Fiddle to the great stages of America.

One day my boss, Jake Hess, called me to the hospital. He was having a heart procedure. I was his toupee guard…..it’s true. I was not to allow anyone to take it off. So I didn’t. I spent many hours sitting in his room and talking about death with him. He was a young man, but he seemed much older. During one of our conversations, he said “Hambone, (his pet name for me)…I have come to the conclusion that “Death Ain’t no Big Deal”. Soon afterwards, he walked into a studio and recorded a song by that title. He lived a long time after that, but we talked again many times about that issue.

When I arrived at the hospice, I went to my mom’s room. The woman who had been so forceful in sharing her life, her love, her passion for music, and her love of Christ had silently slipped into eternity. Memories of sitting beside her on a piano stool and playing guitar while she told me the chords to play, standing beside her onstage and singing “Walking the Sea”…..”For Jesus is ever at your side He’s walking the Sea..”…flooded my mind. Seeing her walking through the isles and bringing the power down. Lifting people’s spirits to praise God. Those days were gone to all but those whose lives were impacted by them.

And then , I heard my boss, Jake Hess singing “Someday when I breathe my final breath, and the doctor takes one look and says’s “You’re dead” the truth is gonna finally be revealed Oh, I’m gonna find -Death ain’t no big deal…..The light will shine much brighter than the sun, and I’ll be right back where I started from , Ain’t no way to say how good I’ll feel. Oh..I tell you children …death ain’t no big deal….He’ll reach down and gently close my eyes . I ‘ll be watchin’ from the other side, I’ll be laughing “bout how scared I thought I’d feel…Oh Im gonna find …death ain’t no big deal.”

Mom and Jake….they taught me “Death ain’t no big deal”…..But I sure do miss them both.

See you guys later,


Way down deep in the don’t dos……

Because the church said NO.

I do water aerobics three days each week. It is men only and most of us are older gentlemen. Just a bunch of old vets and patriots. We begin each session with “God Bless America”, and always end by standing at attention with our hands over our hearts and sing the National Anthem. We call ourselves the “Pot=bellied Patriots”. We have actually done a youtube rendition of the National Anthem. We ain’t bad for a bunch of old guys. We sing at churches and open political rallys  some times.

We celebrate birthdays and a few weeks ago, we celebrated the anniversary of one of our guys getting wounded in Nam. That was the last of his many wounds that got him sent home. He was 19 then. So we celebrated the wound day and ate pizza at Cici’s. We are an interesting group to say the least.

A few days ago, we were sitting in the hot tub (it’s built for about 10) and we were discussing how we were raised. We all agreed that parenting now is not very recognizable from when we were being raised. No one worried about us becoming traumatized. We worried about getting our butts torn up. My dad was not too concerned that I would be scarred for life, but rather that I be respectful of my elders and people around me. Interestingly none of us went to integrated schools but we were taught by our parents how to be inclusive and understanding of other ethnic groups (I don’t use the word races, racism, racist). We are All the same race. We are not all of  the same ethnic background.

As we were talking one of the men made comments on how the church influenced his upbringing. He began to talk about what he was not allowed to do by his church. He said. “man we couldn’t do much of anything without the fear of being put out of our church. He talked a bit about stuff he wasn’t allowed to do. He looked at me and said, “You are a preacher, how did you grow up”. I replied to him. “I grew up WAY down in the Don’t Dos.”

I remember very well hearing most of my life about the evils of drinking, smoking , cussing, dancing. movies etc. I knew well that if I died with alcohol in my system, or smoke in my lungs, or a swear word on my lips, or a heart attack brought on by dancing , it was a one way ticket to HELL Do not pass go and no get out of jail free card! That was it and there was no debate. So….i grew up hearing Don’t smoke and I didn’t (except for rabbit tobacco; you can look that one up), Don’t drink..so I didn’t ….don’t cuss, so I didn’t (except for the occasional shucks, and darns. Don’t dance (unless it’s in the spirit at church) so I didn’t.

Then they added on “professional sports, stock car racing, pool, mixed bathing, card games, movie theaters, fairs, no shorts, no pants for the girls and no skirts for the boys, no bowling, no nothing! Way down deep in the Don’t dos.

I grew up being guided by a set of values (maybe just someone’s idea) that were very strict. On occasion some of us “jumped the curb” (that’s another blog) and tasted of the “don’t dos” to see just what might happen. We mostly survived unless our parents caught us (they normally did, I don’t lie well) and some even went on to believe those things might have been “spiritual repression” instead of being a good thing for us.

In the last 10 years, I have attended many funerals of the people who taught me those things. I remember those people who, while they might have been overly zealous in their teaching, cared so much about me and wanted the best for me. They truly wanted a life free of condemnation for me. They walked through so much of that and came out on the other side. My dad was an alcoholic before he became a Christian. I know the smell of “drunk puke”. There is nothing worse than that smell. I washed it off many times trying to help my mother get him into bed. He would throw up all over us and the bed. I hated that smell.

My dad became a very successful pastor and mentor. He only laid down the “Don’t dos” for my benefit. Many times he would say. “Son, you can try what ever you want , but nothing will ever satisfy you like the love of Christ”. He was so right. Christ has sustained me when men  have discarded me.

I haven’t always stayed true to those “Don’t dos”. One of my best friends, Dr. Tommy Griffin and I snuck off and went to see Elvis (Jailhouse Rock) at the movies. We LOVED IT! He got under conviction and while we were preaching a revival, he ratted us out and went to the altar to repent….looked at me and said, “you need to repent too”. I had just finished the sermon.

So, Just so you will know. I grew up ‘Way down in the Don’t dos.” Some of it was silly no doubt. But the men and women who walked Christianity before me, sincerely cared for my soul. I am grateful for their example. We might need to bring some of that back. It might be a good thing.


Wow, I could have had a V-8!

Refreshment over nutrition

Many years ago there was a street preacher in New Orleans. His name was Bob (something). He used to cause quite a stir preaching and calling people out over their sins and the influences of alcohol.

He never had a problem going public with their names. He called a beer company name and called them liars. He accused them of breaking the “truth in advertising law” and sued them.  They assured him he would lose in court. After all they had a battery of legal experts and he was going to plead his own case.

It was quite highly publicized at the time and finally there came a time of arbitration. The defense lawyers sat with him and asked him who his witnesses would be. He told them he was bringing a corpse from the local funeral home. They laughed and jokingly asked “And what do you expect to gain by this”? Bob said.”Your commercial says “Where there is life, there’s Bud”. I am going to bring a corpse and a case of Bud. I am just simply going to pop and pour. If that dead man don’t get up, you lose”. As I recall the ad was pulled the next day and Preacher Bob was given a settlement. He then got caught up in some preacher scandal and ……whatever….

Another commercial that sticks in my mind was one where a man is looking for something to drink that would be nutritious. He drinks some kind of drink then slaps his head and says “wow, I could have had a V-8!” He recognizes that he settled for refreshment over nutrition.

In our world we have done much the same as the V-8 guy. We are in need of nutrition spiritually, physically, emotionally, and relationally. Our lives are shallow and painful. Stress is at all time high levels and people are driving themselves crazy looking for something that will satiate their desires and needs. And so they look for refreshment instead of nutrition.

My doctor recently told me to exercise more. I told him I was tired a lot. He said “Ron, the best time to exercise is when you are tired. It gets the blood moving again, raises the heartbeat, drives oxygen to the muscles and organs. It makes you “feel” again instead of exist”. He is a good doctor. And he was right. It is when I am eating a proper diet and exercising that I see the difference in my life and my stress level.

We spend our lives trying to escape the “non-feeling of existence” We just live from day to day. We find things to be passionate about emotionally but not experientially. I remember the days when going to church was an experience to enjoy and participate in. It was rewarding and uplifting. Now all I hear is “No sermon should be more than 20 minutes long.” My recently departed friend, Elva Howard would have laughed you under the table for that one.

We try so hard to assuage our guilt and our condemnation with “refreshment” but eschew the idea of nutrition. We want deeply to be whole, but we spit out the life giving source and settle for sugar water.

One day many of us will slap our head and exclaim. Wow, I could have had a V-8. I hope it won’t be , as the old folks used to say “everlasting too late”.

Now go eat your veggies.




This is a test post to see how it does going to social media. Only a test. If this had been an actual post, our social media channels would have alerted you with a high-pitched siren and a funny looking image on your tv.

The auspiciousness of a day

He went to sleep talking to me on the phone. I thought it was a good thing.

Some days in our lives just seem to stand out above all the others. We make some of them special and then some of them are kinda forced on us to make them special. Commercialism does that to all of us.

We have so many days that we feel almost guilted to observe. We buy flowers on Mother’s day and Birthdays and Anniversaries. We go out to eat ( as though that is unusual) on other days. We have to go to our favorite place to eat what we like on any given night that is NOT an auspicious night. but the occasion for which we go Makes it auspicious.

I guess what I am saying is that we are not always allowed to choose what days we think are the most special in our own lives.

Two kids planned a wedding some 53 years ago. “Let’s see, you graduate on May 30th, and I graduate on June 4. That takes up two weekends back to back. I will come to your graduation with a u-haul trailer and bring all your things back to Nashville and you can live with my sister until we can get married. Mom and I will come and bring you back. Then, we have the next two weeks to get everything ready. I know, let’s make it June 20th. That sounds like a good date, because we will have a week for our honey-moon, then we come back and move into the parsonage in Greenbriar in 2 weeks after that. Then I sign up for classes at MTSU the next week, so this is the best date. ” we agreed.

The fact that June 20th, 1965 also was Father’s day. It was never considered until we started sending out invitations. The RSVPs were something like . “we would love to come , but we are going to be visiting my dad on that Father’s day.

And so it was that we actually saw the auspiciousness of a day. But, we went ahead with our plans. We had a beautiful wedding in the North Nashville COGOP. It had a bell tower and was just a perfect setting. We went to church that morning…well, she didn’t  but after church at about 2 pm , it all started.

The wedding went as planned. Her dad walked her down the isle and gave her hand to me in marriage. We were 18. I sang to her as she walked down the isle. It was all quaint and romantic and it has lasted for 53 years.

Our anniversary always falls on the Father’s day weekend. It can sometimes get hectic being away from our families on that date, but we only see it as an anniversary. And since she is the one who made me a father, I kinda feel the need to make that day special for s both.

And so it was on Father’s day in 1991, that we made plans for a trip to Austin Texas for a couple of days for the anniversary.

I called my dad on that day and talked to him for a couple of hours. We laughed and he told me some of his old jokes that I had heard a dozen times, but then something interesting happened. While I was talking to him, he just feel asleep . My mom scolded him and woke him up. I thought it was awesome that he felt comfortable doing that. We said our good byes and I told him where we would be.

On the day we were to leave for Austin we had our clothes packed and in the car. The phone rang. When I answered a voice on the other end asked if I were sitting down. That is a strange way to start a conversation. I said no but I can if it is necessary. I was the Presiding Bishop of W. Texas and sometimes I dealt with some pretty difficult issues.

The voice on the other end said. “Your dad has had a stroke. You need to get here as soon as possible. ” I thanked him and hung up. I was frozen. My wife asked .”what was that about”? I said . “Dad is not expected to make it” We both were just shocked for a few minutes. It was gut wrenching.

It was at the hospital that I learned why he had fallen asleep. The stroke was beginning at that very moment. He was fixing a washer for mom and fell in the floor. Eight days later, he died.

Never a Father’s day goes by that I don’t buy white roses for my wife to celebrate our anniversary. We always go out to eat and sometimes we do special things like take a cruise for those milestone years. But never, on Father’s day do I not remember the last conversation I had with my dad. Father’s day is not my favorite day for that reason.

He had asked me to come home. He said “Hey son, move back here and let’s start a church together. I will be the pastor to the older group and we can have some time together”. I looked at my father looking at me like a little boy and told him how important my position was in the church and how needed I was in that position and all the great things we were doing. I heard him say. “yeah, that is important.”

How I wish I had done as he asked. How I wish I still had some of that time to spend with him; laughing. building stuff, fishing, or just hanging out drinking coffee.

The auspicious day I look forward to is the one where I get to see him again. Yep. That one will be really special.

So on this father’s day, nothing you are doing for anyone else is nearly as important as loving your dad.

I love you pop!


Wow! Did Pop have a daddy?

My grandson brought my mortality full force to me.

Time is a robber it has been said. It’s the one thing that makes us all equal. Everyone has 24 hours in every day. President Trump has the same amount of time as the kid flipping burgers at the local fast food joint. But those 24 hours can be stolen by any number of distractions and poor choices. We are all the masters of those days.

I keep my grandfather’s railroad watch (pocket watch) sitting in a little glass dome on my night stand. It constantly reminds me of my past, my present, and certainly my future. Time waits for no man. While it is the only constant in our lives, it is the great robber of youth and vitality,of dreams and aspirations, of hopes and desires, and of health and well being. One never knows what a day will bring. It always comes with a disclaimer that it is not guaranteed.

My grandson Jonathan was visiting us when he was about four years old. He was looking at all the stuff my wife keeps for dusting purposes. She has all these little things sitting around so that she will have plenty to do on cleaning day. Jonathan was asking her about each piece and where it came from and why she had it and what did it mean and …..he was four you know.

He looked at my grandfather’s railroad watch in the little dome and asked “Grammy, what is that?” My wife replied, “That is your Pop’s daddy’s watch”. He looked surprised and held out his little hands and asked “Did Pop have a daddy?”

At that moment, he brought my mortality to full focus. I has somehow forgotten that my dad was dead before Jonathan was born. He had never seen him in the flesh. He had never heard his laughter, or his sermons, or his humor, or seen him love his family the way I did.

He made me realize that my dad had been my hero. He had been the man who taught me 15 shovels of sand to one bag of cement. He taught me how to throw bricks up on scaffolds two at a time without them coming apart from each other. He had taught me to use a measuring tape and how to use a hammer. He taught me how to love the idea and process of learning. He was the one person I could always turn to for truth and integrity.

My dad was the essence of strength under pressure. He was a man’s man who stood his ground and never gave in. He was intelligent. Even though he had little formal education, he was well spoken and articulate. He was funny . I always called him the “Christian Will Rogers”. He was always quick with the one liner.

And my dad loved my mother. I cherish that he did that. He even had a small tattoo on his right forearm that was of a blue bird with my mother’s name in a banner being held in the beak of the bird. Of course, the story of the tattoo is not really all that romantic. He was a sailor in WWII and got drunk while on a three day pass in San Francisco. He never remembered getting the tattoo. He would always say, “I am sure glad I was sober enough to tell them Mary was my wife’s name”. I miss that tattoo.

However, I have to reconcile that he is no longer a presence in the flesh. He is an historical figure that becomes a story line to my children’s children. He ceased being the hero and is now simply “the dearly departed”. I visited his grave recently. I do that now more since my mother has joined him in the cemetery. I look at his head stone and long for his presence. It is lost to the ages. Now….he is a story.

My mother used to say..”As you now are, I one was, and as I am now, you soon will be”. How true those words. We are all marching toward that end.

But the greatest thing my dad taught me was the knowledge of a living God and a redeeming Savior! He taught me that the only person who ever lived that remains alive is Jesus!

We sometimes see our Lord as a story to be told ” And the birth of Jesus was on this wise”.(kjv language) and we read the account of the visitation of the angel to the virgin. We put up trees and lights and have parties. We have family gatherings and eat too much and buy too much for people who don’t much like us. We feel the need to give to charity and make ourselves feel better by getting in the “Christmas Spirit”.

I am afraid the condition of our world stems from the fact that we have made the Living Savior just another story to be told. He once was a great man who preached and did miracles. He once was a man who could calm seas and cast out demons. He once was a man who could touch blind eyes and bring sight. He once was a man who showed love and mercy where hatred festered. He still lives and still performs the same miracles now as then.

We must recognize once again that He is not just a story of antiquity, but rather He is the risen savior. He is as much alive and more so, than at any time in history.

My grandson will never know the tenderness of my dad’s hugs or the light in his eyes. But Jonathan CAN know the same Savior and Redeemer that I know. He is more than a story! He is Alive for evermore! He is the one constant in the world of inconsistency.

Get to know Him. You will thank me later.


Memorial day weekend

It's not about the flag son, it's about the people.

My dad was in the US Navy during WWII. He was a landing craft operator. He was one of the guys who took Marines to the beach and went back for more. He was a young husband and father of a little black haired, brown eyed girl whom he adored. He had heard the radio broadcast while having breakfast with my mom and sister. America had been viciously attacked by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor.He recounted that story to me many times and so did my mom. They were simply horrified. My dad said he looked at my mom and she began to cry. They both knew at that moment the he would be leaving them to serve. That scene was played out across this great country millions of times. The US was at war; World War. Nothing would ever be the same again.

My father was sent to California to train for the Pacific invasions. He worked hard to learn his job. He loved it. He told me many times that he felt confident in that boat, and he had a feeling of self worth for the first time in his life. He was part of something huge. The peace of the world was at stake and he had a part in that.

The training was rough but the men of that era were accustomed to hard work and tough times. They had come up through the great depression. Many of them saw the military as a step up from their hard lives on the sharecropper farms and sweat houses. Three hot meals and clean sheets of the Navy was the reason my dad joined that branch.

He had finished training for a particular invasion with his shipmates and Marines. They orders came down that they were to embark for missions unknown, but certainly they were going into harm’s way. He was proud of this group. My dad told me how he had written to my mother and my sister telling them how much he loved them and letting them know he would be back to them soon. But dad told me that he could not shake the feeling that he would not make it back. His sea bag was packed and the sailors and marines were lined up ready to go aboard. Just as my dad stepped up to the gangplank, he heard his name called. “Seaman 1st class, Hamm, fall out.” He followed the order and stood to the side. A young Ensign came up to him and after the obligatory salute and report, my dad asked what this was about. The young officer in white said, “You have been pulled from this invasion. We are needing some instructors for the next invasion force, and you have been chosen. According to your fitness report, you are one of the top drivers. ”

Dad told me how sad he felt and a bit mad that he was pulled away from the guys he had trained with. They were ready for action. Now he was being torn away from them and would have to go through those motions again. He was not a happy seaman.

Fast forward one month: The young Ensign in the white uniform entered the day room of the barracks and posted the casualty reports of the battle group my dad had been pulled from. His ship, the one he was taken away from, was sunk by a submarine and all hands went down. No survivors.

This same situation happened to my dad on three separate occasions. He would train with a group for an invasion and then be pulled at the gangplank to become an instructor. All three of those ships he was scheduled for were sunk in the Pacific. No survivors.

When I was a child my dad talked of those days often. He instilled in me the love for my country. My dad showed me pictures of him and his friends. He would say ” This is Dominic. We called him Domi for short” He went down on the second ship.” He never forgot those men.

I shall never forget the first time we got a tv. My dad and I watched a war movie. Run Silent , Run Deep. Then the tv was going off the air at midnight. They closed the day of broadcast with the National Anthem and the Flag flying in the wind. They showed a background collage of ships and planes and soldiers, and seamen and marines. They showed the flag on Iwo Jima.

At the first sound of the Anthem, my dad, in his pajamas, stood proudly in our little living room and put his hand over his heart. Tears dripped from his chin most every night. He said to me “son always stand for the anthem. It’s not about that flag, it’s about all those men and women who died in our place.

So this Memorial Day, remember, it’s not about the flag. it’s about the people who died for what that flag represents. Never forget those people. I still stand for the flag and the anthem. I still tear up (like now) and remember Domi, and all the men who went to their deaths in the sea. I remember my dad who would have willingly died alongside his buddies. I stand for them and all those who have paid the enormous price for our freedom.

It’s not about the flag, it’s about the people. So if the flag offends you, maybe the memory of the people won’t. I pray that no one forgets…..ever.

Let the blogging begin!

I have told people for many years, that I remember when “beepers” first came out. I hated those things. Right in the middle of a conversation, someone’s “beeper” would go off and our great time of fellowship was ruined by the interruption. So, I tell the story that in order to not look like an old stick in the mud, I would put my garage door opener on my belt so I at least LOOKED like I was savvy to the tech world.

Someone’s “beeper ” would go off and , of course everyone checked to see if it were theirs. I would look down at my garage door opener and smile. That also came in handy when I Wanted to leave a boring conversation. I would just look down at it and point and have that ” I need to get this ” look on my face.

Fast forward a few decades and I am now tethered to an electronic leash called a cell phone. I live by that stupid thing and I am retired! How funny is that. I can text, place calls, get directions, play games, take pictures, make a full length motion picture with special effects, fly an airplane and google what every word in the bible is in Greek and Hebrew. I don’t take my physical bible to church anymore if I am not preaching. I just stare at my phone which has every version of the bible at the touch of a finger.

I have to admit to staying on social media far too much. But then …I am retired so I check everyday to see which of my friends passed or is in the hospital. At my age, I have few friends who are well. When I had my heart attack last September, I updated my status on FB on the way to the hospital! People were calling me before I got in the ER. Some things are just too marvelous for words.

Now, I find myself sitting at my desk writing a “blog” (whatever that is) on a laptop Macbook Pro (whatever that is) on my own web site (whatever that is). I am learning some of the language as I go and the small abbreviations  like “idk” and “omg” and stuff. I am clicking and pressing on keys and using my “mouse” (whatever that is) and just basically enjoying the toys.

Since all this is available, I decided that I might spend some time sharing my experiences and life lessons with people. It is my intention to try to blog once a week at least. I am also writing books.

I have posted on FB that big changes were coming this year. This is one of those changes. I hope to be able to discuss some things with you all that are meaningful and give some insight to those who have questions. (Please don’t ask if Adam and Eve had a belly button). We are going to have some fun, laugh a lot and maybe even share a tear or two when the situation calls for it.

My hope is that you will join me on this new journey. I will do my best to never be disrespectful or demeaning in any way. I certainly hope you will comment on the blogs and share them with your friends if you see something worthy of repeating.

In the mean time, please pray that I learn what “twitter” is and how to use it. Don’t even mention “snap chat”. My tech friends (Wendy Page, Annette Lee, John Huffman,) understand my issues. Thanks for your patience.

God bless and lets have some fun.

My first blog

This is the start of something I hope will be a blessing.

It has been my intention to blog for several years now. I am finally getting some free time and help with the computer to accomplish my goal.

My prayer is that you will be uplifted and informed. The nature of my blogs will never be intentionally written to create confusion or adverse debate.

Please feel free to respond to me on anything I write. I love diversity of thought. I consider it the fertile ground of new ideas.