They say rabbit tastes like chicken. After spending a considerable amount of time (one and three-fifths seconds) I have come to the conclusion that I will have to take their word for it. I can’t recall having ever eaten rabbit. What I can say with full knowledge having tested the subject personally is this; chickens are tougher than rabbits.

Back in seventy-three, my brother-in-law Jimmy and I spent our time together hunting. It was one of the things we had in common, and it was something country boys did to pass the time. Most of our rabbit hunting was done at night. One of us would drive while the other was on the passenger side with a 22 rifle. My old green Ford pickup had a spot light mounted on the drivers’ side which left the man with the 22 free to fire when ready. On this particular occasion however we were hunting in the afternoon.   As I was driving west from the old home place we encountered a few chickens pecking around out by the dirt road we were on.  I suppose you have guessed what happened next.

Suddenly two normally responsible young men, or old boys if that’s what you want to call us, were completely eat up with a case of the stupids. We shot one of the chickens. We knew better, and that’s why it wasn’t being completely eat up with a case of ignorance. Ignorance is doing something when you don’t know any better; stupid is doing something when you do know better. Wouldn’t you know it? The dumb chicken didn’t just drop over into a “better place” she continued to run. Which called for another shot, and then another. We finally realized we had to get moving. The chicken owner’s house was less than a hundred yards from where the attack was taking place. Friends, I am offering no defense for our actions, we screwed up…royally.

Graften Smith was my granddaddy. I only saw him a handful of times in my life. He was backwoods Alabama. His house had holes in the walls between the planks, and it had no running water. He didn’t even have an outhouse that I can remember, if you needed to go you just went out behind the chicken coop like the livestock did. Graften was a moon-shiner; he ran a still up in the hills. If he is the man who actually ran the shine once it was made I never knew it. If he did, he must have kept his shine running car hidden because I never saw a vehicle that could run more than thirty miles an hour at his place. However, a few years after I had last seen Graften Smith, I was about to find out what it must be like to run shine.

A few days after the great West Texas chicken massacre, Jimmy and I were at it again, only this time it was dark out.  Somewhere during our evening of spot lighting rabbits I noticed a set of lights heading our way at a very rapid speed. I pushed the peddle to the medal and tried to get away, but I soon realized that my old six cylinder four speed was not going to out run what must surely be the deceased chicken’s owner. I turned off the headlights and made a run for it. It took us more than an hour to make our escape. I was running sixty and seventy miles an hour on dirt roads using no headlights. I down shifted the four speed in order to make my turns so I didn’t have to use my breaks, and give away our position with the stop lights. I knew I was stirring up a trail of dust but I couldn’t afford to slow down.

We got away. I don’t know if we actually lost him, or if he simply decided that he had made his point, and knew that we wouldn’t be sending any more of his chickens to the great pecking ground in the sky. You know, I really don’t think we got away with it. I honestly believe he knew who I was.

You remember Adam and Eve don’t you? Member how they tried to hide after disobeying God? He knew what they had done then, and He knows what I do now. I can’t run fast enough, or dark enough, or down shift enough to get away from God. So, what I am I to do? The answer is simple. I can’t allow myself to be completely eat up with a case of the stupids.  

Till next time,

Grump

It’s not my intent to take my blog page down a political path, but on occasion I may allow myself to drift in that direction. Today is one of those days. I’m not going to be taking on either party or any particular topic today. What I am going to do is pass along a web site that I received yesterday. I believe this man, who is a very dear friend of mine, has some good ideas. I know he has some controversial ideas, and some proposals that will be painful. However, I believe he is on the right track, and I hope his ideas can gain some traction, and attract some attention.

Please visit http://www.oneordinaryman.com/

Don’t let the ordinary man thing fool you, this is not written by me, “Just an Ordinary Man” this is written by a friend who considers himself “one ordinary man.” He doesn’t provide his name one his site. He is not running for office, nor does he have anything to sell. He does however hope to start a movement, or add to a movement that can change the downward direction our country is taking.

Till next time,

Grump

I thought I’d tell the new readers what I’m up too, and remind my old readers just in case I can help them in any way. Wait a minute, I didn’t mean old as in OLD; I meant those of you who have been reading my post for a while.   I mean you guys know I’m all about PC, and it ain’t PC to call anybody old. Which bring up a question. If’n we consider forty to sixty to be middle aged, does that mean we aren’t old until we reach a-hunnerd-an-eight?

My passion is professional speaking, preaching, and teaching. That is what I would be doing full time if I could make a living doing it. In fact that is the real reason I write a blog, and why I wrote Everyday Christianity. I need exposure and the blog, and book have done a great job in getting me known. I know what I am about to say is going to sound a little arrogant…. well, ok, a lot arrogant, but I have to say it anyway because I have faith that God gave me the gift of speaking so others can identify with me.   I can say with full confidence that I can out preach nine out of ten preachers, and out teach a larger percentage of teachers than that. I am also fully confident that I can present a funny, yet touching, inspirational, or motivational speech that is clean, and meaningful to any business, civic, or professional organization in the country better than ninety percent of the professional speakers out there.  

I am a Realtor by profession. I know many of you may have thought I wasn’t with Coldwell Banker anymore, and I can understand why. I have been pushing my speaking so hard that people assume I am no longer in real estate, but I am, and I would love to help you buy or sell a home.

Finally, I know many of you have seen me working at Chick-fil-A, and at two of our local sports arenas. I am thankful that God has opened the door for me in these areas. There are a lot of folks struggling to make ends meet in the current economy, and these venues have been a God send to me. There again is one of the reasons you may have assumed that I am no longer a Realtor. Well to be honest, I knew that being seen in part time jobs would hurt me as a Realtor. People want a full time Realtor. Rest assured, my first priority is to my real estate clients, and the folks I work for in my part time jobs know that.  

So, if you need, or know anyone who needs a professional speaker, or guest preacher/teacher, I am your man. I am so confident in my ability to deliver that I will guarantee my services to you. If you are not completely satisfied with me, or my presentation, I will gladly refund my fee. If you need a Realtor who will listen to you and represent you, I am ready to assist you. However, if all you need is for me to refill your drink, or clean up your mess, I can do that too. I will say one more thing with full confidence, I am better at taking care of you at the Chick, or at the sports venues I work at than…oh…let’s say four and a half percent of the wait staff in the entire country. lol

Till next time,

Grump

This is the story I’d intended to tell last week when I ended up telling you “Bad Weather Days.”

For a spur of the moment idea it seemed like a good one. We figured we could pull it off, we expected he would take it well, and we expected to have some long term fun after we had done it. We were standing around the concessions area out in front of the high school gym during our lunch break. The weather outside was cold and windy, and the ground was covered with snow. If I remember correctly there were four of us involved, and even though Chung and I were rather small we still figured we could get it done. I’m sure our fearless leader Czech is the one who came up with the grand idea, but I admit that the rest of us didn’t have to have our arm’s twisted.

We casually started to circle our prey, respectfully engaging him in small talk. I don’t think he was on to us, because we talked to him all the time. He was our Ag Teacher, Mr. Scott, and having come straight from graduating A&M to become our teacher he wasn’t much older than we were.  Suddenly someone made the first move and the rest of us followed. Czech, Chung, Troglodyte, and I all attacked our unsuspecting teacher grabbing him in an effort to take him outside and roll him in the snow. Best I recall the surprise attack only surprised him for split second, then in the blink of an eye we were all four lifted off the ground, carried almost effortlessly, out the door and roughly deposited into a snow drift. I don’t think Mr. Scott even came close to being rolled in the snow, but the four of us were covered.

In the end we were jeered, he was cheered, and just about the entire Loop High student body (maybe fifty-three kids) was standing outside in the snow laughing like there was no tomorrow. Yup, we had done bit off more than we could chew. I don’t remember if the others had any lasting reminders of the event, but I wore my reminder for a couple of weeks. Somewhere between being swept up, and then deposited in a heap, my cheek met someone’s jeans covered knee, and I ended up with a nice strawberry. I don’t know whether it was a badge of courage or a sign of stupidity, but it was bright red, and almost bleed.  

This past September I went back home for the LHS Homecoming Game. It was the first time I had been back in maybe twenty years. I ended up visiting with Mr. Scott, I call him Calvin now that we are both granddads. During our visit he pokes his twenty something year old son and says, “Smith and some of his cohorts thought they were going to roll me in the snow one day. Didn’t ya Smith?” Member I told you at the start of this story that we expected to have some long term fun? Well we did, it just wasn’t fun at his expense, it was fun at our expense.

Those were the days. I wish students and teachers could still have that kind of relationship. It wasn’t a matter of disrespect for us to try to roll our Ag teacher in the snow; it was a matter of respect and admiration. We knew the limits. We knew when to learn, and when to have fun. It was a different time, and I’m not saying it was a better time, but I do know this. Kids were taught to respect their elders, and respect authority. We were taught to say Yes Sir, and No Sir. We were taught to say please, thank you, and you’re welcome. We were raised with a sense of responsibility. I expect the parking lot had at least ten pickups in it that had loaded rifles, and twelve gage shotguns mounted on a rack in the cab, and those pickups were even unlocked.

We had a sexy young teacher no more than six years older than us. By we, I mean the entire class was made up of high school boys, yet she never had to worry about her safety. Our parents loved us enough to allow discipline at school. If we failed a test, or didn’t complete an assignment our parents were not laying the blame on the teachers, they were on us. Teachers and parents were not adversaries, they were team mates.  Oops, sorry, I’ll stop for now, I just heard Edith Bunker singing “Those were the days.”

Till next time,

Grump

Three weeks ago Mark challenged the congregation to invite someone to Sunday dinner. He talked about remembering Sunday dinner as he grew up, and how it used to be a common occurrence that people had people into their homes for food and fellowship after church on Sunday. He set a plan in motion, and even offered up this mechanism for a successful two Sunday “have someone over for dinner” event. The first week those families with last names starting with the letter A thru Kla were to invite families whose last names started with Kle thru Z, followed the next week with the later group doing the inviting.  One final caveat was added; you had to invite someone you didn’t already have a relationship with. The point was for us to expand our circle of friends.

As we drove away from the building that first Sunday I asked Paula if she thought we would get an invite to dinner the next week. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” She said. Thankfully we didn’t have to wait long; we received a call on Monday evening from Lee and Robin Henry. They invited to their place for Sunday lunch the next week. The Henry’s have been worshiping with us for a little over a year, and I had spoken to them on a number of occasions, but I didn’t really know them. Well, as a result of Mark’s challenge to the congregation Paula and I know them better now. Here are a few things I can tell you about the Henrys. Robin is a good cook. She had prepared ham, and the fixing’s, and she also took my need to avoid gluten into consideration and made gluten free dinner rolls, and desert. (By the way, I didn’t tell them about my problem, they remembered it from my having mentioned during a class sometime in the past.) Next is their dedication to meet and worship with the McDermott Road congregation. They live forty-five minutes from the building, yet they attend every time the doors are open. In other words, it takes a good chunk of their day just to get to and from worship, and that serves as inspiration for me. In short, Paula and I were truly blessed by the opportunity to get to know them better.

Now it was our turn to be the host. I looked through the online membership directory, and chose two couples to invite over for yesterday’s dinner after worship.  We invited Scott and Elaine Butler, and Charlie and Shirley Fitzgerald to our home for a pot roast dinner. The Fitzgerald’s are the newer couple to the congregation of the two. We had ended up sharing a table with them one Sunday a year or so ago when we happened to get to the same restaurant for dinner at the same time. That had been a nice day, and we looked forward to getting to know them better. Unfortunately, Shirley wasn’t able to make it to worship yesterday, but Charlie did, and he joined us for lunch as what he called “the fifth wheel.”  I like the fact that he felt comfortable enough to come by for lunch and a visit without his better half being there. I know I might have bowed out of the event without Paula’s protection.

The Butler’s have been at McDermott Road for several years, and we have had a few nice conversations over the years, but we had never connected on a personal friendship level. I always felt that we could be good friends if the opportunity presented its self. The thing is we have been empty nesters for a long time and they still had kids at home until this year. Now that they have joined the couple’s only league it just seemed right that we should hook up with them.  Sure enough we had a great time visiting them, and learning about their lives. I think what we started yesterday with the Fitzgerald’s and Butler’s and the connection we made last week with the Henry’s will grow into closer relationships. Thanks for the encouragement for us to step out Mark.

I want to finish up by saying that I hope Paula and I will not have to be prompted by Mark to keep doing this kind of thing. It was nice to go to someone’s home for lunch, and to have folks over for food and friendship. I don’t know how many couple’s from McDermott Road participated in the two weeks, but I hope it was a lot. And, I want to encourage you to invite someone to your home in the near future, someone you don’t already know well. I think you will be blessed by the experience.

Till next time,

Grump

Well, I think I’m glad I’m not in West Texas today. Sounds like the weather is terrible with ice and snow and wind, course if I was there we’d make it a good day. I spect I’d spend a lot of the day in a coffee shop shoot’n the bull with the guys. I’m positive we could solve most the countries problems if someone would just listen to us. If Radical happened there, he and I could go a round or two over whether or not everything was the democrats fault or the republicans. Course I’d win, I always did.

After take’n in all the coffee and second hand smoke I could handle I’d end up at the gin office. Most likely a few of the farmers would show up for more coffee, and to increase the likelihood of lung cancer for themselves and me. There’s a good probability a nice game of Moon would break out, or now a day’s maybe it would be Hold’em. Come lunch time we’d all end up at the same hole-in the-wall café where one or two of the guys would treat the rest of us to a nice cigarette between the salad and meal.  After leaving the eating establishment with a refill of Coke in hand, we’d head back to the office to kill the afternoon the same way we had knocked off the morning.

Sounds lovely doesn’t it? Well to tell you the truth is was. I could still enjoy those days, and it might even be more fun now than it was eleven years ago. I know a few of the guys have stopped smoking. That’s a plus. If we were playing Moon, Sheep Dip wouldn’t hang around long. He hates dominoes. Says he’d rather watch paint dry. Cuervo would do a lot of laughing as he applied another hickey to someone. (Calm down now, hickey is a Moon term that has no relation to what you just thought.)Grande Patron would keep score. He was the official score keeper no matter the game. Moon or Golf, he’s the man with the pencil. …Come to think of though Cuervo did keep score when we played Moon.  I seem to remember how much he enjoyed adding up the burrito’s he’d collected. Now that I think about it that laugh of his always did have undertones of mocking delight. That dog!

Well, I didn’t set down to write what I just wrote. I had intended to tell you about a bad weather day when I was in High School, but I guess I’ll save that one for another day. Now that I’ve sat here and thought about what’s most likely go’n on back home I wish I was in the ice, rain and wind of West Texas. I’d think the weather was miserable, I’d wish my second hand smoke head ache would go away, and I’d be hoping some liver lilied sap sucker didn’t come into the office expecting me do something for him. Bad weather days are just that, they are days to kill with good friends, not days to work for some inconsiderate so-n-so who thinks he has to have something that I think he could live without, especially if what they wanted involved being outside.  LOL. Sorry to say friends, that was me back in the day. I spect that’s why they called me Little Caesar.

Till next time,

Grump

Well, Jennifer Nettles, from the country duo Sugarland, has done it again. She has written another Country song that has a very deep meaning, and thought I’d make sure you knew the words. The song is titled: Very Last Country Song. The verses paint a picture of how things have changed, or gone wrong, and then the chorus brings it all home.

But if life stayed the way it was

And lovers never fell out of love

If memories didn’t last so long

If nobody did nobody wrong

If we knew what we had before it was gone

If every road led back home

This would be

The very last country song

We all know that life doesn’t stay the same. Babies are born, people die, wars are fought, and nature wreaks havoc. Couples fall out of love, and they remember what it used to be like, but then make no effort to relight the flame of love. Deals are struck and success celebrated, deals are made and then failure follows, and both carry memories that last a life time.

It seems even the most serving and loving among us has the ability to do someone wrong, and that kind of thing always has a lasting effect on everyone involved. We have come to forget how blessed we are until we are suddenly reminded by a loss or a tragedy, and then the road we chose to gain recovery doesn’t end where we expected it too.

Yes, we need country songs, we need music, we need words, and we need close friends and closer families to help us through life. Success, failure, birth, death, love, hate, close relationships, and dark loneliness are all a part of life, and we do need help. We look to a lot of people, and things to help us through, and I pray that we look to God before all of those other things.

Till next time,

Grump

It’s another special day in the Stephen Kent Smith family. Ranger Lee Johnston was born into our family one year ago today. Our world has been brighter ever since God sent us this little man, and we know that he will continue to bring us joy over the course of our lives.

Ranger Roo is the son of Chad and Miranda Johnston. Their first child. He has his daddy’s eyes, and his mother’s mouth. He has his daddy’s mischievousness, and his mother’s heart. He has his daddy’s energy, and his mother’s determination. His overall personality is a combination of both Chad and Miranda, which means he has the ability to melt even the coldest heart. Roo has more facial expressions than any kid I have ever known, and even though we are a ways from carrying on a conversation with the little guy we seem to always know what he is saying just by the look on his face. It is easy to see that he already has the ability to call bologna on his full of prunes dad.

I have no idea what Mr. Ranger will become in life. Will he be an Olympic gymnast, or a minister? Will he lead the country or even a corporation with his God given leadership ability? Will he be an humble man of service, or an over the top sales rep? Only God knows. What I do believe is that he will love people, care about people, and help people every chance he gets, because that is what he will see modeled by his parents. Miranda is a people person, a people pleaser. Chad is a servant, a helper, a doer for other folks. If you need either of them to help you all you have to do is ask, and they will be there for you. Miranda has such a heart for others that it upsets her to see someone eating alone at a restaurant, and the repeated refrain in praise of Chad is, “If you need help all you have to do is ask Chad, and he will be there. “

Nonnie and I will be having supper with the Roo tonight to celebrate his first birthday. We will have a wonderful evening laughing at his amazing personality, and we will talk on our way home about how wonderful he is, and what he means to us. Our prayer tonight will be that he grows up in service to, and love for, the Lord. We will close our words to God by asking Him to bless our little man, and to guard him from Satan.

Friends, I’m not over the top in love enough to believe that you will feel the same way about Ranger that I do. In fact I expect that there may be some folks who have stopped reading this post by now because I realize that I can be rather obnoxious when it comes to my kids. However, most of you have your own children and grandchildren, and I pray that they have you wrapped around their little finger. I pray that they are the most important thing in your life, and I pray that you will lead them by your example into a life of love and service to God, and others.

Ranger Lee Johnston turns one year old today, and I know he has no idea what he means to Nonnie and me, so I want to put it into words. I want to write it down in black and white because I have no way of knowing if I’ll be around to tell him when he is old enough to understand. Ranger, we love you very much. You have been, and will always be very special to us. You are a very important part of the light that warms us each day. That light is you, Milla, Major, Mary Alice, your mom and dad, and your Uncle Joshua, and Aunt Amber, with God in the center of it all.

In case tomorrow never comes, I want you to know, I love you Ranger Roo.

Till next time,

Grump

My man is a competitor no doubt about it. He had his hands full on Saturday guarding the big man from the opposing team, but he was up for the task. The tale of the tape, four foot three inches guarding the opposing teams four foot six inch big man. Both players are participants of the Burleson, Texas, Upwards Basketball League. It was plain to see that both of the star players from the opposing teams are Dallas Maverick fans, or at least NBA enthusiast. Each player knew the delicate art of blocking out for a rebound, or guarding your opponent. Each was adept at the hold’em if you can move. Both players had perfected the fine art of using their elbows and forearms to do whatever damage was necessary to keep the other guy from catching, shooting, or dribbling the ball. Both had practiced and perfected the ability to take up to five steps without dribbling the basketball and still not be called for walking.

We have no idea who won the game. They don’t keep score in this league. It is clear that the two players are destined to face off many more times over the years to come and I’m sure their relationship will develop into a love hate kind of thing. I expect they will each grow to appreciate one another’s athletic ability as they meet as competitors over the coming years, and they may even look forward to the contest they will compete in. As for the four foot three man; he was glad the beating was over with at the end of the game Saturday. He was tired, and sore, yet he was upbeat about his play. He was even awarded the most hustle award by the coach after the contest. When Nonnie mentioned that he and the other guy had given one another quite a pounding he said “Yes, I was glad he got hurt late in the game, I was getting tired of getting beat up.”  Who knows, maybe these guys will end up being team mates one of these days and the lessons they’ve each learned taking on one another will come in handy in winning a really big game for their school. Time will tell, these boys are only five years old. Lord willing they may compete against one another, or with one another for the next twelve or thirteen years.  

Those of you who know me, know how much I am looking forward to watching my latest “main man” play and succeed. My life was so blessed by my being a part of my kids’ athletic and academic progress, and now the blessings just continue. Mary Alice is in her third year of basketball, Major is in his first year, and I have two other young’uns coming along behind them. Lord willing I will grow old watching them all accomplish great things, at least in my mind, whether athletic, or academic.

Till next time,

Grump

I know it must have driven her crazy, and I really don’t know why she kept submitting herself to the frustration, but I’m glad she did. Mrs. Payne stuck with me every year even though she knew I’d do it again. I guess she knew that in the end I’d once again rise to the occasion, but looking back I have always ask myself how much better things could have been had I not been so…I don’t know, so selfish I guess.

Mrs. Payne was my high school English teacher. Please don’t hold my writing and grammar against her as you read my blogs, and things she did the best she could with what I gave her.  She was also the drama teacher so every year for the UIL Competition she was the One Act Play director. I was in three One Act Plays, and a Three Act Play my class performed our junior year. In all four of those productions I had the leading male role, and in all four of those productions I was the same old me. Being the same old me meant that she had to have faith that I would shine on the stage when the curtain was drawn, because I never really gave her everything I had during practice. I wasn’t good at practice. I would listen to her instruction and critique, and I would do it the way she thought best, but I just didn’t practice well.  

I later realized that the entire production could have been much better if I’d only practiced with as much intensity as I gave during the live performance. Had I practiced like I should have everyone else could have been better. They would have all known what I was going to do, and how I was going to do it, and I believe that could have enhanced our final product. Mr. Calfee even pointed this out to me on more than one occasion, but I just never changed the way I did things. I think I have always been and still am too independent. It’s not that I don’t take instruction; it’s that once I hear that instruction I will implement it and move on. I have always been the kind of person who just wants you to tell me what you want me to do, and then get out of my way I’ll take it from there. If I don’t know how to do what you want I’ll ask how, but once I know how I want you go about your business and just let me do what you have asked me to do.

I guess you could say I am just too independent. I like to do things my way. I like to be in charge. In group situations I really have to make myself take a step back and let the group dynamic work. When I do this it seems to always work out for the best. I may still end up in charge, but it is a position I earned not took.  You know I see the same thing happen in my Christianity. I struggle to allow God to be in control. I know what He wants, and true to my character I take it from there. I don’t allow Him to guide me. I don’t listen to His instruction. I just try to live Christianity the way I think it should be lived, instead of asking Him to show me the way. I know it must frustrate Him to see me struggle with my weakness. I know He must be saying “Kent let me help.” but instead, I continue to remain weak in some areas of temptation because I just want to take care of it myself.

My heart, my mind, my body, my soul

I give to You, take control

I give my body a living sacrifice.

Lord, take control, take control.

(Author Unknown)

Till next time,

Grump