I share some of my blog posts on my other platforms and with people I’m connected to in ministry. I’ve had quite a few people ask me about what happened to me with the crossroads thing, so I decided to share the story in an audio recording.
I also added 2 songs I just recorded, “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” and “Love Song.” I hope yall enjoy them, and thank you for your continued support.
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My Crossroads StoryWill The Circle Be Unbroken Love Song
If you could relive one day from your past, which day would it be and why?
I don’t even have to think about it. I never would have gone down to the crossroads.
Let me tell you this. It’s not some old, crazy myth or legend, although it sounds like one. It’s the straight-up truth, and for the past 20 years, my life has been the stuff of movies because of that one unforgettable, unbelievably stupid thing I did.
It’s also the main reason I blog today. I wanted a place to gather the stories from my life, so that in a few years, when I’m ready to write my memoir, it will be easier to paint the picture.
Oh, how I wish I could go back to that night. I would have kept my mouth shut and just gone to sleep.
The other night my girlfriend and I were having a conversation about old sayings that have been around for hundreds of years or so, and it made me think of one that I actually use.
“Red touch yellow, kill a fellow. Red touch black, friend of Jack.”
This is an adage that some in the U.S. use, especially in Florida. It’s one way you can tell the difference between a harmless Scarlet King Snake and America’s cobra, the deadly Coral Snake.
I’ve always loved snakes. Growing up as an outdoorsy kid in Georgia and living in Florida for many years, I’ve had many encounters, mainly because I went looking for them lol.
As a boy and young teen, my friends and I would spend countless hours in the woods looking for snakes. If anyone in my neighborhood had a snake issue, they would call me. Venomous or not, it didn’t matter. I would take care of it.
I’ve been bitten many times by harmless ones, and I’ve had some close calls handling dangerous ones. One memory I can still see clear as day in my mind.
I was around 10 years old. My friends and I had been back in the woods fishing this particular creek, and there was like a little swampy area with a trickle of a waterfall about 10 feet high. So I started climbing up it.
There was this one small ledge. As I pulled my head up over it, I came face to face with one of the largest Water Moccasins I’ve ever seen, aka the Cottonmouth. Its head was about the size of a tennis ball, and it was all coiled up, just inches from my nose.
We were staring at each other there for a second, both of us surprised. Lucky for me, it was just relaxing and sunning itself.
I slowly lowered myself back below the ledge, and that was it. End of story.
Later in the evening, after talking with my girlfriend, I still had snakes on my mind, so I decided to go on Wikipedia and read about all the documented snakebite deaths in American history. It was just fascinating.
So many people were bitten while in church and later died. How effin crazy is that? Snakes in church is a whole nother subject for another time.
One story was especially sad. The pastor of this one church was letting his young pregnant wife handle a rattlesnake, I believe it was, and she was bitten. Both she and the baby died, and he had charges brought against him.
Another story was from the 1970s. A woman in Florida was driving one evening and had to pee, so she pulled over on the side of the road and went behind some bushes. She didn’t even know she had been bitten. She thought it was a thorn bush that poked her in the butt.
She was dead the next morning.
It wasn’t a thorn. It was rattlesnake fangs.
Many of the stories are interesting. I’ll post the Wikipedia link below in case anyone wants to check it out.
So let’s get back to the Coral Snake. It’s different from America’s other deadly snakes. Its venom is a neurotoxin, which means it targets the nervous system instead of destroying tissue. There may not be much pain or swelling, but it will totally shut you down and paralyze the diaphragm. The cause of death is respiratory failure. Without proper treatment, you don’t stand much of a chance.
Coral Snakes are Elapids, the same family as cobras, mambas, kraits, sea snakes, and like the brown snake and others found in Australia.
We have 3 species of Coral Snakes here in the U.S. The Eastern Coral, Texas Coral, and Sonoran or Arizona Coral.
I’ve handled some of the Eastern ones from my years living in Florida. From my experience with them, they have been pretty chill for the most part, but not always. I have seen them bite.
At times I would hold them freely without securing the head if I felt that particular one was calm enough. Don’t ever do this yourself. It’s best to not even handle them.
Here’s 2 lil quick stories.
One evening I was sitting out on my enclosed back patio and one slithered close to my feet. I ended up handling that one freely and took it to the woods on the edge of my backyard and released it.
Another time, I was standing in my backyard one morning having coffee and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a fairly large one. I didn’t hold him loosely because he tried to open his mouth and bite a few times, and he showed me his 2 tiny needle teeth.
Elapids have different fangs from vipers or rear fanged snakes. They don’t fold back. They are just lil short, sharp, fixed, hollow needles.
I have so many stories I could tell you regarding my snake encounters, maybe some other time. I’m tired of writing now, and I want to go get some caffeine.
But yeah, snakes are so cool to me. Heck, ya know what? All living creatures are cool. And it’s funny how this story slithered into my mind from a conversation with someone who is the coolest of cool, my favorite living creature, my amazing girlfriend. ❤️🔥🐍❤️🔥
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Cool Snake Pics
A harmless Scarlet King SnakeEastern CoralBaby EasternTexas Coral, I think or maybe EasternSonoran or Arizona CoralFlorida Cottonmouth
My first memories as a child are of sitting beside my great grandmother as she played the piano and sang Christian songs. I’ve been singing ever since.
But I never planned on being a musician. It was more like it chose me and I could take my heart there.
It’s such a great thing to have people to talk to. Friends. Family. A counselor. A therapist. Your pastor. Someone. Anyone.
I didn’t have any of that as a young Gen X teenager.
I just had a dead best friend and God and Guitar.
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Blues ManShooting Star
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I’m just a singer, a natural-born guitar ringer Kind of a clinger to sad old songs I’m not a walk-behinder, I’m a new note finder But my name’s a reminder of a blues man that’s already gone
I was working, driving an 18 wheeler, driving my life away, mile after mile, day after day, watching yellow and white painted lines fly by, gone for good, and dodging current wrong decisions.
I had just gotten married two months before. My first time.
It wasn’t a typical newlywed situation. More like a dirt road train with no rails and vanishing confetti dreams.
Just months earlier, I was living the good life in a little house right on the beach with my friend Nathan. He and I met in a Christian drug rehab 6 years earlier. He was younger than me. Like a little brother.
It was an 18 month program, and all us guys lived together and were around each other 24/7. On Sundays, we traveled around to different churches all over Florida as guest speakers. We would stand in front of the congregations and tell our stories. Our testimony.
I learned a lot about Nathan in those days, as he would take the mic and stare out at the people in the pews, out at a new way, with the old things having passed away and all things being made new. He would speak of how it used to be for him. How the drugs had him prisoner. How nothing inside was worth anything. How he didn’t care anymore.
Nathan had just lost his only brother to that life, the same one we were all so desperately trying to let go of, and he was determined to turn himself around and not end up like so many we knew.
His story was incredible. He had miraculously come through situations that should have killed him. He survived two separate car accidents where the others didn’t make it. He was in a bad motorcycle crash. He had overdosed several times, among other things.
There’s a historical drama TV series called Vikings and one of the characters is Bjorn Ironside. It was well known throughout the land that Bjorn couldn’t be killed because he was protected by the gods, haha. Well, it was like this for Nathan, but it wasn’t the gods, it was the God, the same one that had just miraculously showed up beside me and led me untouched out of a murder plot. Even though we had a 12 year age gap between us, I could relate to Nate, the addiction, the pain, the nothingness, constantly losing in the face of life controlling problems but always getting back up.
A few years went by and we did much life together and became great friends. We prayed together, We cried without tears, we forgot our pangs and sufferings and practiced putting our brothers first, we went to church together, worshipped with raised hands and hearts, side by side, helping in the community, sharing a new life so different from the bound one of an addict.
We became such good buddies that I would spend time with his family on holidays and special occasions. All my people were in another state and I didn’t get to see them often. So times like Christmas, it was nice to not be alone. Him and I moved in together and lived in a small beach cottage right on the water. It was an amazing time in our lives. So many memories from the two years we spent there, hanging out with our girlfriends and friends, having people over on the weekends. Living the famous SaltLife that Floridian beach residents were known for.
As I’m writing, I’m smiling and remembering much, like the only time I ever went skinny dipping. It was him and me and our girlfriends and some of their friends, and Nate talked everyone into getting naked and going swimming at night, in the ocean. Haha, crazy times, man.
He was a paramedic and worked a grueling schedule. I was also working long hours, driving locally, picking up 40 ton orange juice concentrate tankers from the port that were arriving from Brazil and taking them to production plants all over the state. We didn’t see each other much those last few months because of our jobs, but occasionally we’d have a few moments here and there on the weekends and we’d talk, reflect back on our lives, and how great things are today, how we never wanted to go back to the way things were. How blessed and fortunate we were to have made it out alive from a past that had hooks.
As I hammered down the road that day, my phone started ringing. On the caller ID was my best friend and new brother in law, Jimmy. He said he had bad news, in that one particular tone people use when it’s the worst. I felt a deep pause inside, like breath and blood ceasing, then I listened.
He said it was Nathan. Something terrible has happened. He was in the hospital, brain dead and being kept alive by machines. His family has decided to let him go and will be turning everything off soon. They wanted to give all his friends time to come by, see him, and say goodbye.
After I hung up the phone, the memories drove through me and passed like mile markers, and every exit sign suddenly meant something.
Oh Nate, why did you go back.
A few days later, Jimmy and I went to see Nathan one last time. As I stepped off the elevator and walked toward his room, my heart did that thing. His door was open, the curtains as well, and the room was so bright and warm from the sun. I saw him laying there from a good ways down the hall, and everything went into slow motion as I walked that last little bit.
I stood beside him. I sat beside him. All the tearless crying from days past was about to be gone. I held his hand the way a man would and talked to him for a while.
Something amazing began to happen, he started responding. He knew I was there, and he was saying goodbye too. It was the most beautiful thing. I could feel God. I could feel Nathan. I could feel everything.
I walked out of that hospital room that afternoon with my shoulders raised—strong inside, healed, and at peace. I was ready to face my own life and recent wrong decisions. It was time to stop mourning and start living.
Nathan just had his 29th birthday 2 months before his passing.
Sports have always been a huge part of my life. They’ve been there for as long as I can remember. I come from a long line of athletes. My grandfather even had an opportunity to pitch for the Detroit Tigers, but he chose to serve in World War II instead. My father was a great athlete too, and he was also my coach growing up, teaching me the game—and a lot about life—along the way…
I love a lot of sports, but my two main ones are American football and baseball. I played Little League all through my childhood and into my teens. I didn’t just throw on a uniform and participate—I excelled. I was a star, haha. I’m normally pretty humble, but I want to be accurate here so you can feel what I’m putting down 😅 I was mainly a pitcher, but in between starts I played shortstop and left field, doing whatever my team needed… I also hit for power and average.
In little league.. I once made an insane diving catch in left field to win the game… the crowd went nuts… bum-rushed me and carried me off the field on their shoulders cheering haha…
Sports were where I learned who I was when things got hard…
I kept it going into junior high and high school, playing both baseball and football. On the football field I lined up at quarterback, wide receiver, and at cornerback on defense, and I excelled there too. The dream was always to try and go pro in baseball, but along the way I got pulled into the music scene and ended up chasing that route instead. Even then, I never really left sports behind. I kept playing, jumping into league softball over the years and staying connected to the game any way I could.
As far as watching sports, my heart stays close to home. I love the Atlanta Braves and Falcons, and when it comes to college football, I’m a huge Georgia fan—Go Dawgs! Major League Baseball, the NFL, and college football are my mainstays, but I also enjoy basketball and golf, both playing and watching. Sports have always been more than just games to me. I’m thankful I grew up the way I did, grateful for the chance to play, I miss them days…
My first year in little league… im holding the bat wrong in this pic.. my hands are opposite how they should be lol
1 Corinthians 9:24–26 (NIV)
Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize… Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever…
I’ve got two lottery stories. Here’s the first—one that’s stuck with me for years.
Back when I used to work delivering top-grade fruits and vegetables to restaurants all over Atlanta, one of the guys I worked with told me this story about his aunt and uncle up in Michigan. They were the kind of folks who played the lottery religiously—same numbers every week, knew them by heart. His uncle worked construction, his aunt stayed home.
One day, the uncle was on the job, radio on in the background, when the lottery numbers came up. One by one, he heard them read off… and they were his numbers. Every single one. He stood there frozen, trying to grasp it—he was a millionaire, just like that. He felt like Jed Clampett, like George Jefferson—about to “move on up,” as they say. He couldn’t believe it—after all that time, the numbers finally hit.
Trembling, he grabbed his phone and called home. His wife answered. He could barely get the words out—“Honey, we won. We won!” You can imagine that rush of joy, disbelief, tears, laughter—the whole spectrum of emotions hitting at once.
When they finally calmed down, he asked her, “Where’s the ticket?”
Silence.
She didn’t know. Couldn’t remember. They searched every corner of that house—you name it: drawers, kitchen counters, coat pockets, even the trash—but the ticket was gone.
Never turned up.
It was a multimillion jackpot—ten million or more, my coworker said. They never recovered from it. They ended up divorcing. He drank himself into an early grave; she lost her mind and eventually wound up in a mental hospital.
I’ll never forget that story. They were just one missing ticket away from a whole new life. Makes you realize how thin the line is between winning big and losing everything…
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The second story’s a little different—it’s about the strange brush I had with the lottery once.
I don’t normally play. Honestly, it had probably been ten years since the last time I bought a ticket. But one day, these numbers just popped into my head out of nowhere. They felt… random, but not really. So I scribbled them down and thought, why not? Maybe I’m supposed to play these.
That evening, I bought a ticket for the Fantasy Five drawing. Later that night, I sat down in front of the TV, ticket in hand, heart doing that nervous little dance while I waited for the numbers to roll out.
The first one—bam. I had it. The second—got it. The third—hit again. The fourth—yes! Four in a row.
Now it all came down to the last number. If it hit, I’d be holding a ticket worth half a million dollars. I was right there on the edge of my seat, waiting… the winning number flashed on the screen—29.
I looked down. Mine said 30.
Missed it by one digit. Just one.
Still, four out of five wasn’t bad—I got a hundred bucks out of it. Not life-changing, but it sure made for a good story.
Funny how luck works, isn’t it? One number can mean the difference between a payday and just another story before bed…
So I guess if there’s any moral here, it’s this—don’t store your hopes and dreams in things that can be lost… store them where they’re eternal — that’s where the true jackpot is waiting…
Matthew 13:44 (NIV) “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field…”
This song has the “F” word in it… only once… in one line… so you may not want to listen… if it may offend you… 👇
I was born in September of 73`… a Gen X kid… when I look back now… I realize things…
Yeah maybe I was doing stuff early on that probably could have waited until I was an adult…
but life was different back then…
the world was wider… lighter… rawer… simpler… all at once…
And us kids…
we were all little grown-ups…
From the time I was about eight until I was fourteen…
life couldn’t have been much better…
I grew up in a fairly large community of side by side houses… side by side families… where everybody knew everybody… neighbors didn’t just nod — they shared life… they borrowed sugar… they brought each other meals… they sat in yards and talked about real things… hearts… stories… struggles… faith… loss… laughter…
It wasn’t perfect — but man… it was real…
My great-grandfather lived with us in those days…
he was one of a kind…
old as dirt… tougher than leather… stubborn as wet cement…
he had lived much… And he never ran out of stories…
He’d sit outside every day… in this beat up old folding chair…
And half the time.. I’d pull another chair beside him… and just listen…
He was a war veteran — A Purple Heart… other medals he earned through blood and grit…
Infantry… France… WW2…
he’d tell me stories of laughing under fire… marching… waiting… freezing… fighting… barely surviving…
And I’d pepper him with a thousand questions… because I couldn’t get enough…
Later.. I found out from my grandmother… that he had taken many lives in battle… those stories… he never told… those belonged to him… and God alone…
What I did see… was a man who had walked through hell…
And somehow came back kinder… tougher…
And still able to laugh a little… And love a lot…
And without making speeches… without preaching a word…
he was shaping the boy sitting beside him…
In those days… my parents worked…
so most times I had to fend for myself…
I had a house key… freedom… responsibility…
but there were rules…
Do the right thing when nobody is watching…
Be about character… Be about integrity…
Be about it…
Be a decent human being…
And oh yeah… be home by dark…
On the edge of our community… the world exploded into a massive forest deep woods stretching for miles… thousands of acres… trees… creeks… hidden lakes… trails… wildlife…
a giant playground for kids who hadn’t yet learned to be afraid of living…
I spent countless days exploring those woods…
fishing… riding dirt bikes… shooting guns…
no supervision… no phones… just trust…
Sometimes on Saturdays I’d wake up before the sun… pack myself a sack lunch and some drinks… grab my fishing poles and tackle box… strap it all to the back of my dirt bike… And disappear into the woods…
All… day… long…
Sometimes friends came along… sometimes it was just me and the world — And honestly… those were some of the best days…
Many mornings my great-grandfather would stop me before I left… hand me his old .22 pistol in a worn leather holster… And tell me to take it “for protection”… because us kids needed guns back then haha… we learned early… how to treat and respect a firearm… it was a great privilege… responsibility… And it was ours…
I’d strap it to my waist like a cowboy… fire up that dirt bike… And ride off into the blue…
Freedom… Adventure… Responsibility… Trust…
A childhood that felt like life training…
And I am grateful… deeply grateful…
Those years shaped me… they toughened me… they softened me… they taught me courage… solitude… resourcefulness… respect… curiosity… wonder… independence…
I didn’t know it then…
but those were Holy days…
And I am thankful I grew up when I did…
in a world… full… of little grown-ups…
`’x.~¡-^;‐
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Also… my great-grandfather’s middle name and mine… are the same… Loia… pronounced Loy like Joy…
I forgot to mention my dog… Buck… he was there too… he didn’t live inside a fence… he never knew a leash… he was free to roam… just like me… he followed me everywhere… he loved to swim… while I fished…
This is about a first day — just not the kind most people mean…
“I lost my innocence early in life… and I continued down that road for many years… It was nobody’s fault… life will just show up on you… Some lessons are hard learned in repetition… And actually… I believe I’m thankful for it… because it taught me… with beauty… just how special things can be… differences… in what happens… and what is supposed…”
