Category: Life Stories

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Part Tides.. Part Timber..

Salt Life needs Mountain Life…

Beach or Mountains ??? which do you prefer ….?→~≈↔^/’…❓

Both places preach.. one with waves.. one with wind..
I’ve always been an outdoor sportsman.. at least I used to be..
These days work and ministry keep me busy..
but that part of me is still alive somewhere in there..

I lived in Florida for twelve years..
and I got used to the salt life..
I had a kayak.. and I’d fish the hidden corners of Tampa Bay.. mostly alone.. but sometimes with my friend Jimmy..
Bishop Harbor was my favorite..
I’d take whole weekends and just disappear..
camp on those tiny islands.. fish day and night..
no clock.. no noise.. just water and sky..
a kind of backwater solitude I still miss..

I also did a lot of freshwater bass fishing down there..
I’d bounce back and forth between saltwater and fresh..
Florida gave me both flavors.. and I never got tired of either one..

For a few years I even lived in a beach house on Anna Maria Island..
At high tide the waves from the Gulf broke about fifty feet from my back porch..
When I wasn’t working or fishing or swimming..
I’d sit out there.. play my guitar.. sing into the night..
and just watch the water drift through its moods..
In the dark I’d lay in bed and listen to the waves crash..
a steady sound that felt like the world breathing..
It was a sacred season in my life..
My roommate Nathan was there too.. a good friend..
He died of an overdose a few years later..
Good times.. memories I still smile about.. and I miss him..

But I also love the mountains..
I grew up fishing and exploring the North Georgia mountains..
Every summer.. me and my friends.. sometimes my dad or my uncle or both..
would drive ten miles off the main road on a gravel trail
to get to our camping spot on the Tallulah River..
It was quiet.. beautiful.. hidden away from everything..
We pitched tents.. built fires.. fished.. talked.. laughed..
and mostly fished haha..
And yes.. I catch fish 😁🎣
Even when you don’t catch anything.. it’s still great..
but I always catch them..
I fish for people now …..t`

Up there we always ate what we caught..
trout for breakfast.. lunch.. and dinner haha..
By the end I didn’t want any more fish for a while..
but I always looked forward to going back..
year after year.. from a kid into an adult..
those mountain memories run deep in me..

So therefore I can’t choose..
I’m part tides.. part timber..
Both preach..
Both shape me..
It’d be like choosing between your mother and your father haha…

…….🌊⚓❤️→⛰️🌲❤️→❓→👩‍👦👨‍👦’…….~≈<3→/\^<3→?→||’……….🌊🐟🏖️<3→⛰️🌲🏕️<3→🤷‍♂️→👩‍🦰❤️👨‍🦳’…….~≈→<3→^/\→<3→?→(M+F)’…….👬→<3→🥹→⏳→👀👋🌤️→🧠💙’…….<3→…→⏳→^↑→∞→[]💙’……`~°•▪︎-¡-.○}`-.

My buddy Nathan (rip) and his sister Bethany
Me and my buddy Jimmy
Thats Jimmy holding my fish haha
Me
Me
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The Day I Held a Wild Vulture…

When Fear Had Feathers

In 2012.. I was running on spiritual fumes.. living and working down in Florida.. driving an 18-wheeler and hauling orange juice concentrate..  Most days I’d head down to the seaports.. wait for the massive container ships from Brazil.. then hook to a bulk tank and run it to one of the orange juice factories scattered across the state..

One day.. I was rolling down a long.. deserted.. country road in the middle of nowhere when something big.. black.. and winged shot across my path and smacked the front of my truck with violent force..

It happened so fast I couldn’t tell what kind of bird it was.. I just prayed it wasn’t a bald eagle—there were plenty of them in that area.. Whatever it was.. I knew it had to be dead.. No way anything could survive the hit I felt.. My anxiety climbed as I pulled over and walked to the front of the truck.. preparing myself for the worst..

But when I looked down.. lodged in an open section near the bottom of the grille.. was a huge black vulture—one of the largest I’d ever seen..
And it was still alive..

For a few moments.. I just stood there.. trying to process what I was seeing.. The bird was incredibly calm and strangely quiet.. It looked right at me with an expression I can only describe as.. “Please help me…”

There was no way I was going to grab this thing bare-handed.. I was certain it would lash out with its beak.. So I found a big stick on the side of the road and tried to pry it loose.. No luck.. The bird was wedged tight.. and part of it was pressed against the radiator—which was extremely hot.. I knew time wasn’t on its side..

I kept trying with one hand on the stick and one on a wing.. but it wasn’t working.. I was starting to make it worse..

Eventually.. I realized the truth..
I was going to have to pick this thing up with both hands..

Fear hit me hard…
But I also knew I didn’t have a choice..

So I took a breath.. Said a small prayer..
Had myself a quiet ellipsis moment haha..
Then reached in..

I put both hands on the bird..
To my surprise.. it stayed gentle—completely calm.. completely trusting.. Its eyes were locked on me.. almost talking.. It knew I was trying to help.. As my fear faded.. a strange confidence grew.. I grabbed all over its body.. trying to find the angle to free it.. At one point.. I even had my hands around its neck and head.. carefully working it loose..

Finally.. with one good pull.. the vulture came free..

I lifted it high in my hands.. expecting it to explode into flight—but it didn’t..
It simply rested there…

It had just survived something that should have killed it.. and it needed a moment to breathe.. The amazing thing was… it wasn’t even injured.. not a broken wing.. not even a wobble.. nothing…

We stood there together for about a minute—me holding it.. it staring at me..
No fear on either side..
Just this strange wild peace…

Then it looked at me one last time.. as if to say thank you.. turned.. and flew…

I climbed back into my truck and drove on.. replaying the moment in my mind.. I still can’t believe it survived the impact.. Not only survived it—walked away completely fine…

And then the old saying hit me..
“Tough as an old buzzard…”

Now I understand where that phrase came from… those birds are built like tanks..
And on that day.. something wild trusted me — enough to rest in my hands… an indelible memory…

…….↓⚡→🛻⇂⇂⇂→🪶😨→🤲†🦅→🤲🤝→↑🦅✨’……….↓~→|⇂⇂⇂→v?→/†^→/↢→↑^*’

Wow… i just googled ‘tough as an old buzzard.’ to see how it came about.. I knew none of this…

(Where it comes from) The phrase “tough as an old buzzard” grew out of american frontier language in the 1800s.. early 1900s.. People on ranches.. homesteads.. and in desert regions watched buzzards (vultures) survive things almost nothing else could survive.. blistering heat.. drought.. storms.. rotten food.. injuries.. and just plain rough living.. Why a buzzard specifically? Because vultures/buzzards are famously hard to kill…………
Cowboys and farmers noticed that even old.. beat-up buzzards still lived incredibly long and stayed sharp.. Their survival was legendary…

It all makes sense to me now 😁

And I relate……….. I’m also famously hard to kill 😁.. but that’s another story for another day… 😎`

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A Seat Saved For Me

Some seats were filled long ago before I arrived

If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why?

So there are so many historical figures I’d love to meet.. I’ve already met Jesus — I know Him personally.. better than I know anyone else — so let’s scratch Him off the list…

George Washington is one that fascinates me.. Most people don’t know the hidden pieces of his story.. It was like he couldn’t be killed in battle — as if something.. or someone.. was watching over him.. I believe that someone was my friend Jesus..

Native warriors supposedly had a name for him that meant “the man who couldn’t be killed by a bullet.” Maybe that part became legend over time… but the testimonies are wild.. After the 1755 Battle of the Monongahela.. one unnamed warrior said..

“Washington was never born to be killed by a bullet! I had seventeen fair fires at him… and.. after all.. could not bring him to the ground.”

And there were more stories like that — one after another — people watching him walk through battles untouched..

But as interesting as all that is…
I think I’d rather meet my own family members — the ones who lived and died long before I was born..

About five years ago.. I started digging into my family history.. and there are so many I wish I could sit down with.. Some of my great-great grandparents had incredible stories.. One grandmother even had the same birthday as me.. Another ancestor lived a remarkable life.. I’d love to hear in his own voice.. and one grandmother died just before I was born — she was excited to meet me.. but she never got her chance..

I have famous relatives too — Richard Nixon.. William Penn.. John Penn — and ancestors who came over on the Mayflower.. I even discovered relatives who were directly involved in the Salem Witch Trials..

So yeah…
as great as the heroes of history are.. I think the people I’d most want to meet are the ones whose blood runs through my veins… the ones who helped shape my story before I ever breathed..

…….🛡️†→⚔️→👤↑🇺🇸’…….^†→/→|↑^’…….🌱→🌿→🌳↑🔥’…….•→~→|↑*’…….<³→👥’