Declared a Good Day

I’m up extra early this morning doing prep work and hosting lunch for my mom and aunt. It is quiet here at Tranquility Base at 4:30 and even though it’s still dark outside, through the blinds I see a heavy fog flowing like ribbons and creating its own currents across the White River channel. We’re not in the fall season yet, but it’s coming soon, and it will be glorious out there. Autumn brings me alive.

Drinking coffee in the same chair I sit in every single morning I am overwhelmed with gratitude almost to the point of tears. I have felt the constant presence of peace and joy for a couple of years now, and am further working on learning how to rest and just be. I have an amazing family.

Thinking about Dana just yesterday I reflected back over our years together and realized that as much as anything, she just loves us being together doing things. Now, this may come as a great shock, but I’m not the easiest guy to live with. She loves me still, and us together is what she cares about most. I’m not sure what a man could want more. It’s a joy to host my mom and aunt for lunch today. Mom will be a part-time resident here at the Base soon and I’ll feel good about that. We are friends, partners, and kin. And friendship with your adult children is a further joy. I love just sitting and talking with them. Watching them maneuver this tricky world in their twenties, I am confident of their bright futures. There is no pride in legacy here. I just love them.

I get to write for a living, and I write a lot these days. Between this ongoing and aspiring book career and my small role in community journalism I’m professionally fulfilled. As we produced our weekly paper yesterday I thought how great it was to be both competent and confident at something that makes a difference.

Recently, a friend asked why I live in Arkansas. There is so much out there in the world, he said, and I completely understood his question. Honestly, I was at a rare lack for words. I can only say that in recent years, and perhaps as part of that peace and joy, I have gained an all new appreciation for all things rural. I am truly “from the country.” I love dirt, tractors, a great home-cooked meal seasoned with love, and watching the Canada geese fly in perfect formation over my property honking and honking, searching the landscape for a spot to glide in, wind over wings, and gently settle down.

I spent so much of my time as a young adolescent lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what my future life would be like. I’m not sure I’ve walked a perfectly straight path to get here. I suppose all the detours and moments of being completely lost are what add the seasoning to all the stories, and the color to a grateful life.

I declare it a good day, and I am thankful.

The King is an Amazon #1 New Release!

My deepest gratitude to all who bought and helped spread the word on our pre-order launch day September 1. With your help and kindness, The King of Highbanks Road been designated an Amazon #1 New Release in not one, but two categories!

But we could still use your help, and this is why.

From now until release on October 1, we’ll give $1 of every book sale to programs created from Sowing Seeds of Hope, a non-profit organization (1999-2014) dedicated to helping rural and farm families with behavioral and mental health issues. Most people don’t know the American farmer is among the most likely of professionals to take his/her own life. Farm life stress can be overwhelming.

Please join us in our mission to spread the word about this historic time in rural America, and to give back to one of the greatest unsung heroes of our nation – the Great American Farmer.

The Art of Loafing in a Parts Store

When you think on it, it’s amazing just how much of nothing can go on in a little town. In the seventies and eighties, Monette, Arkansas had at least a half dozen places dedicated to doing nothing. If you wished to laggard about and pick up on the latest second-hand hearsay, there was a group and a place just for you.

Claud Earl Barnett’s parts store was headquarters for some of the older, more refined,  town loafers. It was an exclusive club and the store was configured so patrons could park around back. Those who took a view from main street were none the wiser who was there.

Farmers had two primary loafing hot spots. The offices at Keich-Shauver Gin were appointed with fifteen wooden chairs around the periphery where some of the more legitimate loafing took place and the topics focused mostly on farming. Gin manager Raymond Miller was one of the smartest men in town, the kind of man a kid could listen to forever.

Not a hundred yards south at Ball-Hout Implement was where the real cut ups and the tallest tales got told. Of course, it was David Watkins go-to place of belonging. Oftentimes, I thought, the center of his world.

Loafing hours started at 6 AM and ended at 5 in the afternoon. Ball-Hout, known to locals as the International (Harvester) Place, was the only location in town with a room dedicated entirely to hosting town loafers. In retrospect, it was some of the most brilliant marketing of the day.  A rectangular room with two extra-long couches and a couple of vinyl cushion chairs, there was an industrial-sized coffee pot that parts manager Doyle “One-Eye” Yates freshened on the hour. All this across from the long parts counter and a small room where you could buy Nacona boots and toy tractors. The store and its loafing customers were so amalgamated, there was a huge framed art piece above the parts counter featuring a Western bar scene with dozens of characters, each named for store employee, or a special customer. I spent hours admiring the piece in the near eighteen years I accompanied my dad there. It hung until the store closed forty years later.

In many ways, loafing with dad at the International Place taught me a lot about what it meant to be a man. One day you’d hear stories of uncommon valor from some of World War IIs bravest veterans like J.L. Kimbrell or Tinkie Wimberley. The next, a rambling tale from some of town’s most lovable drunks.

It was in the International Place where I learned that in casual settings a man can cross his legs one of two ways — with one leg perpendicular straight across the other, or hanging down in a more feminine sort of way. Some of the toughest men in town went with the feminine style, and by four years old I was replicating their behavior — a young boy’s admiration for some of America’s finest. A little of each lives on in every child who ever loafed there with his dad.

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Stop the Presses! But Go to 500!

After eighteen months of writing, and a half-year of (ongoing) editing, we’ve set Saturday, October 3 as the release date for The King of Highbanks Road.

There is much to to share. The book’s foreword is set to be authored by a New York

Our hardback and paperback cover.

Times best-selling author at the top of his game. We’ll have some commemorative ceremonies, but more about those things later.

Today, I’m happy to tell you that KOHBR will release as a traditional limited-edition hardback with a 500-volume numbered press run. That means you can get a “one and only.”

So I hope you’ll make plans to buy one one of these signed, limited-edition books now. They will be released for sale in two phases: first at a ceremony in the King’s hometown of Monette, AR; the second phase a few hours later via online order. Hardback copies will sell for $24 each, plus shipping. #1 goes to my mom. #2 goes to my wife. #3 through #500 are up for grabs.

Both unnumbered hardbacks, and paperbacks will also be available via Amazon. The paperback will sell in the $15 range.

I’m also pleased to report there will be an audio version of KOHBR, narrated by yours truly. More to come on that as well.

Stay tuned for future announcements. We’re not finished yet!

Which number will be on your bookshelf???

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When Religion Makes You Think Too Much

 

It’s worth noting at the beginning my sensitivity to this topic. It began in 2012 when a well-intentioned, but misguided church pastor literally walked away from my dying father’s request for baptism.  There is no more anger. Over the years, I have understood this moment for what it was.

Fast forward six years.

Dana and I were working a  three-month term of volunteer service at a facility in Santiago de Compostela, Spain known for its welcoming atmosphere, peaceful environment, and Christian foundation. This is not a place that pushes religion on you, but it ideally operates as if Jesus managed it. We often said we hoped visitors experienced Jesus when they walked through the door. It’s also worth noting that the founders of this facility were abroad on business during these three months, and had they been there, none of this likely would have happened.

As I mentioned, Dana and I were volunteers working with several full-time staff members. We greeted visitors, helped them with travel issues, helped them understand the city, and other basic needs. Volunteerism is a commendable thing, but you also have to remember your place. You are there to assist, not necessarily lead. You are on someone else’s turf.

Several weeks into our service, a young man from Portugal came in. After helping him with some logistical issues, he began a conversation along spiritual lines. The young man mentioned he’d been on pilgrimage for three weeks, stopped in three churches to request baptism, and was denied each time. He was confounded how this could happen.

“Can you baptize me here?” he asked.

I asked a few questions exploring his faith a bit more. My judgment was that he’d had a genuine experience out there that fully merited his request.

I should have handled it right then and there. It was so exciting. What a moment this will be, I thought. We will remember it forever. It even crossed my mind that this was the reason we were called so far from home. Yes, I should have handled it right there. Were it to repeat, that’s exactly what I’d do.

But in the moment, I decided the best protocol was to quickly explain the scenario to a full-time staffer and let him and others move this process forward. There was no question in my mind they’d do so, and it was the respectful thing to do.

So I led Carlito into a conversation with the senior staff member on duty and went back to the desk, listening intently, and excited about Carlito’s decision.

Carlito described his frustration with the three churches who would have no part in his baptism. He did not wish to be catholic. He wished to be baptized in the name of Jesus. I counted this a real sign of his understanding.

At this point, it might be helpful to explain what baptism is, and what it is not.

It is not:

•Membership in a denominational church

•A magical moment of conversion

•Even particularly necessary for  one’s salvation

It is:

•A symbolic profession of faith carried out as a result of a previous experience

•Agreement that one believes in Christ Jesus, His deity as the Son of God, his death as atonement for sin, and his resurrection ,and place at God’s right hand today

•A milestone moment on which a Christian can reflect

Our staffer, a well-educated, deep-thinking scholar and Christian evangelical from Tennessee walked Carlito though conversation. I eventually heard him explaining how baptism is an act of community, and should be performed in community. He encouraged him to return home, find a church, explore his faith further and invest in a place where he could serve. There was so much talking, and so little acting.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It would be the fourth time Carlito was refused baptism. He left later that day never knowing the difference.  I was sick to my stomach.

So much theology!

It doesn’t take a special set of circumstances or a certain environment to profess your faith in Christ. Jesus doesn’t care if you are fully immersed, or sprinkled, or if you are in a church of five thousand, or with a friend in the woods. Jesus cares for the condition of your heart, and asks that you take a step in faith to know Him.

Our faith has never been about the rules, or the guidelines, or the principles. Just as it is not about your resume or list of achievements. We come to the place where we realize that we are not enough, and we need a helper. A simple decision, not a ceremony.

Don’t overthink Jesus.

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Pilgrim Strong Readers: We Need Your Review

Did you read Pilgrim Strong? I could use your help.

We need 36 reader reviews to reach 100. The Amazon gods are saying magical things happen to a book’s visibility at 100 reviews. All our reviews are legit. We’ve never attempted to pad our page with fake reviews for the sake of numbers. But if you”re a reader, and can take a moment to help with an honest opinion, we’d be grateful. You must have an active Amazon account in good standing. Here’s a sample, and thank you!

Giving Tranquility Base Some Breathing Room

 

 

Lot 5 was our original purchase on January 2. The Lot 4 addition doubles the property for our Tranquility Base Writer Retreat Center Development.

Its legal description is Roundbottom Pool Estates, an approximate 50-acre land tract developed in a spectacular river valley near Mountain View, AR in 2007. When a one-hundred-year flood passed through a year later, it derailed plans for everything. Today it is the site for about seven homes, most of them vacation homes for people living full-time elsewhere. It is also the home of our Tranquility Base Writer’s Retreat Center. Outside the trickle of the White River and an occasional eagle, you can hear a pin drop there.

From Mountain View, you travel about five miles southeast and downward following the White River to reach Roundbottom. Not uncommon along the drive are deer, turkey,  and all kinds of wildlife, not to mention the occasional hillbilly. The Herpelites (those hillbillies living along Herpel Road) are the biggest challenge as they fly around blind corners in beat up pickup trucks (think Deliverance) with no regard to possible oncoming traffic. A Herpelite can kill you in a heartbeat. Watch out, and drive defensively for Herpelites.

The conclusion of the five-mile drive down into the valley on our River Valley Road is take-your-breath-away beautiful.

Last Monday, Dana and I spent an hour researching real estate records at the Stone County Courthouse. After some digging, we identified the lot owners immediately west of our 1.2 acre property. The kind clerk gave me directions to the owner’s house and we drove there. The owners kindly invited us in to their amazing mountain cabin overlooking our valley and I asked about his willingness to sell his property adjacent to tranquility base.

“I’d love to sell it,” he said. My heart jumped.

After a couple of days of negotiations, I’m happy to say we’re purchasing another 1.2 acres that will double the size of our sanctuary, providing room for more wildlife habitat, a walking trail and lots of breathing room. It also brings our river frontage to just more than 200 feet.

We’re hopeful that construction will begin on March 1.

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