A Tribute

     As I write this, it is 6:05 Thursday afternoon.  My wife is having a pampered chef party in our living room.  I am locked in my bedroom.  That's the best way to handle it, I don't care anything about that kind of thing.  I am a guy, and a pot is a pot, a pan is a pan.  I do have a lot on my mind, but today's blog is going to be a tribute to someone who I admire, a man that has set a great example.
    When I was in high school, I had a very dear friend named Melissa.  We were in the band together, she was a couple of years behind me.  We were like peanut butter and jelly though.  I never had any sisters, but have been blessed to have had two women in my life that were like sisters to me, my older "sister" Karen, and my younger "sister" Melissa.  I grew close to Melissa's family, her Mother was dear to me, and her husband and I were inseperable for years.  I even became a Godfather to her two sons.  One day I was hanging out with her husband at their home, when an old Dodge truck pulled up.  It was her grandfather, Buford Fox.
     I didn't know Buford then, and was a little aprehensive about meeting him.  At the time, I had long hair which I kept in a ponytail, and I could just tell Buford was a straight shooter.  My fears were relieved when he talked to me, and if he was bothered by my appearance, he sure didn't show it.  At the time, I wasn't living the best kind of life, and one of the goals of David and Melissa was to get me to come to church with them.  That was 15 or so years ago.  When I finally gave in and went, I found out Buford was the choir director.  Later on I found out he had been the choir director for just about forever.  The more I got to know Buford, the more I found out just how genuine he was.  He was never judgemental, and was always there when anybody needed him.
     Later on down the road, I found out that Buford had an amazing accomplishment.  He had, and still has, perfect attendance in Sunday School.  Now, when I say this I'm sure some of you are saying so what, but you don't understand.  When I say perfect attendance, I mean for 40 plus years.  I say 40 plus, because I long since lost track of the exact number.  To put that in perspective, this man has had perfect attendance in Sunday School for about as long as I have been alive.
     At the church that I attend, Buford was the choir director, and the chair of the deacon board.  What eventually happened was that another choir director, called the worship leader was brought in, and Buford would lead a couple of songs out of the hymnal before turning the choir over to the worship leader to do more special type music.  I had the chance to be the interim worship leader for a few years, and was proud to sit under Buford's tutelage.  Soon though, Buford's health started fading, and he would sing the same verses twice, and then occasionaly the same song.  It was sad and heartbreaking.  One day Buford came up to me and told me he wasn't going to lead the choir that day, and wanted me to lead all of the songs.  I almost cried.  He never stepped behind the podium again.
     The past few years haven't been very kind to Buford.  Luckily he has some great people watching over him.  The streak is still intact also.  He is still there in Sunday school.  I can honestly say that Buford is one of the few people I have ever looked up to in my life, and one of the rare few that has never wavered.  They never made many like that, and even fewer are around today.  God bless you Buford Fox, you are one of the best.

The Way Back Machine

     My youngest daughter decided this year she wanted to play softball.  She has played soccer a few years, and cheered for football one year, but never showed any interest in softball until this year.  We signed her up.  Little did I know her playing softball was going to put me in the way back machine.
     I actually was going to write a similar post several months ago, but got other things on my mind.  I took her to her practice Tuesday night, and it started bringing back a lot of memories.  The field she was practicing on was the same field that I used to go and watch my niece play on.  That was the first flood of precious memories I got.  I was standing by the fence in the outfield watching the practice, when it hit me that I was standing in the exact same spot my Dad would stand in to watch my niece.   I never remember my dad sitting in the stands, whether watching her, or back in the day watching my brother and I play.  He always stood at the fence.  I am the same way.  I guess I got a lot from my Dad.
     The second thing that hit me was just how long it had been since I had actually played softball.  Back in my younger days, I looked forward to the days when the weather would get warm enough to start practicing.  The way we were back then, that normally meant late February.  It was still cold, but we didn't care, we were ready to play.  I started out playing church league.  Back in the 1980's, church league was a big deal.  Actually, softball all around was huge.  There would be a full church league, and an industrial league.  I played for South Summerville.  We played against Alpine, Four Mile, North Summerville, West 5th Street, Berryton, Summerville 1st, Trion 1st, you name the church, they probably had a team at one point or another.  The industrial league was another world, as all of the local industries sponsored teams.  The Reigel Rifles were the big dogs, and were almost always playing for national titles.
     In church league, our biggest rival was always Four Mile.  We never could seem to get the best of them.  I don't know how many tournaments we played in against them, and always came out on the losing end.  We had some great men playing on our team.  I started out as the bat boy before I was old enough to play, then learned the ropes until I ended up the first baseman.  I remember the guys like it was yesterday.  Arnold Kilgo, Craig Holt, Stan Burrage, Kevin Lee, Thomas Ballenger, Randy Willingham, Gary Woods, Derek Adams, and the late Lamar gravely are the faces that come to mind right now.  Ray Lee, Pat Gaines, and the late Herbert Hale were the coaches through the years.  We had a lot of fun.
     Later on the league started to die out, and South Summerville no longer fielded a team.  Derek Adams and I went to play for North Summerville.  They were great guys, and I made lifelong friends, but it just wasn't the same.  I got a few teams up for tournaments a couple of times after that, but soon the fever died down and I retired.  I played one more game for a friend of mine a few years later, then put my glove up.  I talked to my daughters coach after practice and asked if he needed any help with the team.  He told me he would be glad for me to help.  I guess I will get the glove out again and help teach the next generation.
     Every once in a while I wish I could turn back the clock to those days, and have the old team take the field one more time.  My body has grown older, and the aches and pains don't go away like they used to.  It would be fun to go back and have one more day of playing ball in my youth.  It sure would be fun.

Weighing In On My Weight Loss

     I said when I started my weight loss journey again I was going to be transparent, and take you along every step of the way.  I have to admit, when it came time to make my starting weight public, it was painful.  I was humiliated and ashamed.  My first weigh in I was 310 pounds.  I set several goals for myself.  The first was to lose 40 pounds during the Biggest Loser competition where I work.  That was not my final goal, just the one I was hoping to hit in that time frame.  My second goal was to get below 300 pounds.  I figure I would set goals along the way, so that as I worked towards my long term goals I was hitting short term goals.  Last Friday was my 2 week weight in.
      I knew I had lost some weight.  I had weighed the Friday before, and had lost 5 pounds.  I also knew that when you change your eating, you lose water weight.  I wasn't overly excited about weighing in, as I did not think I would meet my first goal, of being under 300 pounds.  I was anxious Friday morning, waiting until time to step on the scales.  Finally, at 10:00, we got to do the official weigh in.
     The guy that weighed before me is one of my best friends, and he had lost 12 pounds.  I was happy for him, but also thought that I would be disappointed if I had not lost that much.  I took off my boots, cleaned out my pockets, and stepped on the scale. 298 pounds.  I had done it, I had gotten below 300 pounds.  I hope I never see that number again on a scale.
     I am not going to lie and say it has been easy, because it hasn't been.  I like food, and there are times when I feel like I am not going to make it if I don't eat some junk food.  I have found that sooner or later, those cravings pass.  Saturday night I had to go to Chattanooga, and was faced with great temptation.  I was with a party, and they wanted to go to Golden Corral.  That used to be one of my favorite places, and in the old days I could do some damage.
     We went in, and I think I made smart choices.  I am not going to lie and say I didn't give myself a little leeway, but I do think I did well enough under the circumstances.  I ate steak, a couple of very small portions of sweet and sour chicken, and then my vegetables.  I ate a couple of small pieces of meatloaf.  I sat and stared at the chocolate wonderfall, and did not give in.  I did not get anywhere near the sweets.  For the first time ever, I walked out of a Golden Corral not feeling miserable.
     Sunday I did treat myself, and took my family to Steak and Shake.  I had a burger, and fries.  I drank a diet coke.  I'm not going to beat myself up over one meal.  Tonight, I ate a pack on peanut butter M&M's.  That was  the amount of my cheating.  I think I did good.
     Today, Monday, I am back to hardcore dieting for two more weeks.  I have a long way to go, but with God's help, I will get there.  I have no other choice.

Another Day, Another Blessing

     Thursday morning I received another blessing out of the blue.  I was taking a break at work, and decided to check my email, which is something I hardly ever do.  Sometimes I go weeks without checking my mail.  I was scrolling through when one caught my eye, it was from a name I didn't know, but the title was "Your Story Submission To Guideposts."  I had submitted a story to Guideposts a few months ago, but didn't expect to hear anything back about it.  I honestly figured it was a "thank you for your submission but we are not able to use your submission at this time" letter.  Imagine my surprise when I read the message, and it said they wanted to use my story in their Mysterious Ways Newsletter.  The message went on to say for me to contact her as soon as possible.
     I was excited as the morning went on, and during my lunch break I called up my mail again to get the number to call.  I had already received another message wanting more information about the story.  I called the number, and the editor answered.  I told her my name, figuring I would spend about 5 minutes waiting on her to figure out who I was.  Instead, what I got was that she was working on my story as we spoke, and how much she enjoyed it.  She started asking me questions about how everything came about, and exactly what had happened.  I went through the story with her, and she told me she would do an edit on it to clean it up a little, then would email it back to me for approval.  I told her that was great.
     She then told me they would mail me a contract, that I needed to sign and get back to them so they could send me a check.  I knew I heard her wrong, so I asked her what she just said.  She told me they paid for published materials, so not only would I be published, I would be paid.  She didn't know how much, as she handled editing only.  I didn't care.  She then told me my story would be in the Guideposts Mysterious Ways Newsletter and on the Guideposts.org web site on March 28th.
     There are several things about this whole deal that make it extra special for me.  The first is the story itself means so much to me.  It is the story of my daughters miracle baseball.  I have written about it here, and the story actually made the finals of a national contest with Reader's Digest.  It is a true story, and one that means a lot to me.  To know that I have finally been able to share the story with a large audience is amazing.  Secondly, most things that attempt fall short, but this is one time that I am actually going to accomplish something that I set out to do.  I am not a great writer, and I am far from eloquent, but I write from the heart.  I have failed at so many things, it is hard for me to actually believe this is real.
     Finally, I can now officially add to my resume that I am a published, professional author.  It sounds good to me.

An Unexpected Blessing

     I received an unexpected blessing tonight.  These are the best kinds, the kind that comes when you have reached the end of your rope, and you just need a little something to pick you back up.  First, the back story.

     Several years ago I was at home talking to God, when something strange happened to me.  I closed my eyes and saw a friend of mine sitting on a hill.  The more I looked, the more I realized that she was sitting on the hill at the time Jesus fed the multitudes with the five loaves and two fish.  It was as if I was watching it from afar, but it was clear as day.  When it was over, I went to tell my friend about what had happened.

     My friend has written several gospel songs which have been recorded.  I told her about what had happened, and we talked about it.  I told her that I was sure it was something that God had wanted me to give to her, to write a song, or for whatever.  I knew it was for her.  Soon after she told me she had studied the story, and had been given a song.  Several months went by, and we both kind of put it in the back of our minds.

     Later on I happened to think about it when I was talking to her, and asked her about it.  She told me she had almost finished it, but couldn't quite get the completed song done.  I was disappointed, but still didn't think much about it.  A few months later she came up to me at church and told me she had something to tell me.  She had finished the song, and was singing it that morning.  I was thrilled.

     The song was titled "I'm Not Hungry Any More".  It was a beautiful song which talked about not only being fed physically, but spiritually as well.  She sang it a couple of times the next few months, then it just kind of went away.  I hadn't thought about that song in a long time.  My friend now sings with a couple of other people, so I don't see her much any more.  When she told me she had something she needed to tell me, I didn't know what to expect.

     One of the guys she sings with was formerly a part of an up and coming country duo.  They were on the brink of making it big, when this man accepted Jesus Christ as his Savior.  When that happened, he walked away from the burgeoning country career, along with a record contract, to sing only gospel music.  That was his conviction, and he followed it wholeheartedly.  I have heard him sing gospel, and it is obvious he made the right decision.  Anyway, she told me that this man had recently signed to record his first gospel album.  I thought that was great.

     The next thing she told me blew me away.  She said that one day they were practicing, and she told the story to him, and sang the song.  He fell in love with it.  She has started singing the song whenever they sing, and said that the reaction is amazing.  She also said that this song is one of the songs he wanted recorded on his album.  Ain't that something?

     I would not dare take any credit for anything about this song.  I was just in the right place at the right time, and willing to listen.  It still tickles me pink knowing that I had a very small part in something that God is using to bless others.  I'll take my blessings any way I can get them these days.

A Grizzard Nugget

       I have a great affinity for the writings of Lewis Grizzard.  Lewis Grizzard was the Dean of southern humorists in his day, a precursor to Jeff Foxworthy, Bill Engvall, and Larry the Cable Guy.  He wrote a column that was syndicated throughout the U.S., but his home paper was the Atlanta Journal.

     One of my joys in the days he wrote the column was to stop on my way to work and get an Atlanta paper.  The only things I really cared anything about were the sports page, and the Lewis Grizzard column.  It was a daily ritual.  I still remember the day that the news of his death was front page, I remember where I was, and the feelings I had.  I had lost a hero of sorts.

     Soon after, I started collecting books he had written.  I did not become a fan until late in his life, so there was plenty of material for me to read.  I don't know how many books of his I have, I do know there are plenty.  I have read most of them over and over again.  It had been a long time since I had seen a Lewis Grizzard book that I didn't have, until Saturday.

     My family had gone to the local flea market to get a little fresh air and exercise.  Normally, I don't buy things at the flea market, unless it is something I specifically went looking for.  Most of the time, my wife and kids do the looking, and I walk and talk to whomever I run into.  There is a couple that sets up most weeks that sells books, and I had looked through their books several times not finding anything.  I decided to glance through as I walked by, just to see if they had anything interesting.

    I walked past the boxes and could tell that most of the books were not anything that would interest me.  I am not a big fiction fan, and political book bore me to tears.  I was almost to the final box when I saw it.  A Lewis Grizzard book!  I was still not too excited as I was sure it was one already in my collection, but was pleasantly surprised when I did not recognize the title.  It was "The Last Bus To Albuquerque", and I didn't have it.  It was a hardback book, and I had no idea what the going price was, so I asked.  Two dollars was the answer.  I didn't hesitate.

     The book was written and put together after he died by his friends.  The first chapter of the book was memories of Lewis written by his friends, then the remainder was a collection of his columns that were written in his final years.  It was two of the best dollars I have ever spent.  I have already read the first two chapters, but am intentionally reading only a few pages at a time.  I can go through a book like that in no time, but this is one that I want to savor.

     I do know that the final entry in the book is the final column Lewis wrote before he died.  I don't look forward to reading that.  I found a gold nugget Saturday, I want to treasure it as long as I can.

      

Put Your Hands Together, Or Not

     Something has bothered me for a long time, and I think it is time to put it out there and find out others opinions on the matter.  It's not anything that is  physically wrong with me, or anything like that, but rather what I am starting to think is a belief that only I hold.  To get to the root of the issue, we have to go way back.
     When I was a kid, I went to a very conservative Baptist Church.  The people there were people of great faith, but it was a church where you went in, sat down, and stayed quiet.  I cannot remember one time when anybody had a shouting fit, and to be honest about it, I cant really remember very many amen's.  That just wasn't the way that things were done there.  Like I said, there were, and still are people of great faith there, every church is different.
     After I came home from college I felt like this church was not the church for me, and through the years I have been a member of several different churches.  Some were like that one, others were more, for lack of a better word, free.  The church I attend now sits in the middle, it is not Pentecostal, but there are times when shouting happens, and amen's are bountiful.  Some people in the church say it is a Bapti-costal church.  Sounds good to me.
     Anyway, now that I have rambled for a while, I guess I could go ahead and get to the point.  My issue is, when people sing in church, I, me, myself personally, feel uncomfortable clapping when they finish.  I'm not talking about clapping along with the song, but after they finish.  To me if I do that, and this is just my belief, I am applauding the performance.  Singing in church should not be about the performance, but about the message.  I am alone in the wilderness on this issue.
     You see, I honestly do not remember people in church clapping like that when I was young.  Maybe they did, and my memory has just gone haywire, but to me it has always felt uncomfortable.  If I go to a concert like I did recently, I have no such hesitation applauding, because I understand in that situation it is part performance.  Church is a different thing to me.  Even when groups come to the church to sing, I feel uncomfortable applauding.
     Maybe this is just some strange hang-up with me.  I really don't know.

Losing Face

     I promised to keep everyone updated on my weight loss journey, good or bad.  Last week I started off with the bad, really bad.  My beginning weight, sad to say, was 310 pounds.  The way our biggest loser competition is supposed to work, we weigh in every two weeks, which would make my next weigh in Friday.
     I told myself I was going to change my eating habits, and start exercising.  I was not, or so I told myself, going to obsess over my weight.  I was going to weigh in once every two weeks and that was it.  That's what I told myself anyway.
     As for the changes, I am writing this on Saturday night, and I can honestly say that I have not had any bread since Sunday, have eaten a farm full of grilled chicken and turkey, and probably a full garden of salad.  Heck, I even ate a good bit of celery.  I actually feel pretty good right now.  That hasn't been the case all week, as to be honest Wednesday and Thursday I felt awful, enough that I seriously thought about quitting again.  Thankfully I got over that hump.
     I am convinced that somewhere there is a dry lake from all of the water I have drank, and I even drank 4 cups of black coffee this morning.  I did not have my first diet coke until noon, which is some kind of record.  I have carried a bottle of water around with me all day today instead of my normal diet coke.  I am kind of proud of that.  Today I jumped a big hurdle.  I have kids, and one of the things that is almost unavoidable with kids is McDonald's.  My wife had a business meeting today, and it was convenient for her and the person she was meeting to get together there.  We took the kids and off we went.  I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't want my normal two double cheeseburgers and large fries, but that is not what I ate.  I actually got a grilled chicken salad, and enjoyed it.  Tonight I gave in just a little and had two grilled chicken wraps. The tortillas were honestly the first food of that type I have had all week.  I think I deserved it.
     Tomorrow is going to be another challenge, as I truly liked having my biscuits and gravy on Sunday morning, along with my cinnamon rolls.  I also like going out to eat after church, stuffing myself, than going home and taking a nap.  I will make it though, somehow.
     Now on to the main event of the story.  I was getting a little worried Thursday night, as I honestly felt like I had gained weight during the week.  I knew that my face looked a little thinner, but my clothes actually felt tighter.  I got to work Friday, and made it until about 10:30.  I couldn't stand it any longer.  I went to the scales, and jumped on.  The scale said 305 pounds.  I had lost 5 pounds.  That's a good start.
     I am really hoping that by Friday I am below 300 pounds for the final time in my life.  I never, ever, want to be that big again.  If I don't make it, I will be disappointed, but I will get it the next go around.  I'm in this for the long haul this time, and their ain't no going back.

A Big Time Gospel Singing

      I took my wife to a big gospel singing this past weekend.  Well, to be honest she is the one that found out about the singing, and she bought the tickets, but I drove.  It was in Chattanooga at Memorial Auditorium, and there were 5 groups.  It was a choice between this singing, or a Gaither Homecoming concert next Saturday, and I think we chose wisely.
     The first thing that struck me was that it had been a long time since I had been to Memorial Auditorium.  My Dad used to take me there when I was little to watch wrestling.  I have many memories of Tojo Yamamoto, Dennis Condrey, Bobby Eaton, Terry Gordy, and Micheal Hayes from those days.  Later, after I had gotten a little older I would go see Mr. Wrestling 2, Tommy Rich, and the likes.  I knew when I walked in that it had probably been close to 30 years since I had stepped foot in that building.
     I was excited about the singing, which featured The Greesons, The Singing Cookes, The McKameys, The Inspirations, and Micheal Combs. This was my first real big time southern gospel singing, so I really didn't know what to expect.  I know that I was looking forward to the evening, especially the Greesons.  They have become my favorite group. 
     We got to the Auditorium early and found our seats.  We had great seats, about 10 rows back and on the right side of the stage.  We were happy to see several people that we knew, and spent a few minutes visiting before the singing started.  Soon it was time for the singing to start, and The Greesons were the opening act.  I was happy, and they had the audience from the start.  By the time they sang "I Shall Return" I knew this was going to be a special night.  If you have never heard them sing this song live, you have really missed something.
     I sat amazed at The Inspirations, The McKameys, and The Singing Cookes.  All of these groups have been going at it longer than I have been alive.  They are leaving legacies that will last for all time.  I both laughed and cried at Micheal Combs and his special talents.  Time flew by quickly.  I kept waiting for the intermission that they kept talking about, but each group came on right after the other.  Like I said, this was my first big time gospel singing.  When everyone had finished, they announced a 20 minute intermission.  It was 10:00.  We had been there for three and a half hours of Southern Gospel.  It was great.  The Greesons came back out and sang two songs, and as much as I hated to, we had to leave.  We had children to pick up, and church the next day.  We got home right at the stroke of midnight.
     I loved hearing the groups, but at the same time it was bittersweet.  One of my dreams has always been to sing in a gospel quartet.  Unfortunately, I never got that chance.  I have always admired the old time singers, especially the late George Younce.  He was always my favorite.  I just wish I had gotten my love of southern gospel back in the heyday of the Cathedrals and such.  By the time I had caught the bug, many of the greats had already gone home.  Now, there are fewer and fewer actual quartets.  One thing that I do is when the groups that don't have bass singers sing, I make up my own bass line and sing along.  I guess that will have to do for me.
     As for my all time favorite group, well, they don't sing any more.  My all time favorite group was The Duvall Family.  Jeff Duvall went into the ministry full time, and is an even better preacher than he was a singer, and that is saying something.  My admiration for that particular group is another story for another day.

Starting Over From Square One

     I promised that I would be open about my weight struggle, and my progress in the biggest loser competition.  We were originally supposed to weigh in Thursday, but didn't weigh in  until Friday.  When I stepped on the scales, it was the first time I had weighed in over a year.  I now wish I had kept up with it better.

     When I was in high school, I was extremely shy.  I was not popular, I was a band kid.  I wasn't even popular with most of the other band members.  I remember one year we had old band uniforms, and they did not have one that would fit me, so they had to take another, cut some fabric out of it, and add them to another to make me a uniform.  I was embarrassed.  My junior year of high school, I weighed in the neighborhood of 280 pounds.  When I graduated I was probably around 250.
     College brought another round.  I stayed around 250 pounds for my first two years of college, but then decided that I wanted to get healthy.  I got down to 212 pounds, was lifting weights, running, and felt great.  When I graduated college I was probably around 230, but still not really bad.
     At the beginning of 2010 I knew I had gotten extremely big, but had no idea what I weighed.  My employer started a biggest loser competition, and I joined up.  When I stepped on the scales, I weighed 310 pounds.  I was sick.  By the end of the year I was 250 pounds, and had every intention of making it back to around 210.  I didn't make it.
     I got back into my old bad habits.  I knew I had put on a good bit of my weight, but I didn't have a clue how much.  I knew that I was having trouble fitting in to some of my clothes, but not like I was before, so I was thinking I was back up to around 280 pounds.  To say I was shocked when I stepped on the scales would be an understatement.
     Here is the hard part.  I said that I wanted to be held accountable, and so I have to be transparent and honest.  I didn't think the honesty part would be so brutal starting out.  When I stepped on the scales, I was back at 310 pounds.  I wanted to cry, and not in a figurative sense.  I honestly wanted to leave work, come home, crawl in bed under the covers and never come out again.  I was ashamed, humiliated, and defeated.  It took me a few hours before I could even think straight.
     What I realized, when I came back to reality, was that I had a hard road ahead of me, but that it was one that I had been down before.  I could succeed again.  This time however, I want it to be a lifetime thing.  When I break the 300 pound barrier again, I want to never go back.  When I am at this weight,  I am different.  I don't mean to be, but I am.  I am even more aware of my weight, and self conscious about it than I normally am.  Honestly, I don't even care to go out in public.  My personality changes, and I go into my shell.  This has to stop.
     I realize that I am now 44 years old, and the losing weight then gaining it back HAS TO STOP.  My body can't keep doing it.  This is my last hurrah, and I mean to succeed.  I have to change the way I do things, and stop using food as a crutch.  I have to find me, and be the me that my family deserves.  It's time.