Legacy: A Word to Live By
The Sixth Word to live by In the past week we’ve blogged about the six words I strive to live by. Here are the previous ones: compassion/passion, integrity, resolve, gratitude, , and relationships. My final word, and today’s subject is Legacy. Legacy is all about where you end up at. Legacy is about how you’ll be remembered. Anyone can start well. It’s finishing well that cements a person’s legacy. I remember well Sunday September 17, 1967. We rushed home from church and turned on the television to see the first regular season NFL game of the New Orleans Saints. I sat between my friends Paul and Ritchie Young. There was a huge crowd on hand (80,879 fans) in Tulane Stadium as the Los Angeles Rams kicked off to the Saints. The kickoff went to rookie RB John Gilliam at the six yard line. Gilliam broke through a crowd of Rams and emerged 94 yards later in the end zone. The stadium went wild and so did we. First play in Saints history. First touchdown for our new team. We turned to each other in excitement, exchanging high fives (or however we celebrated in 1967) yelling, “Hey, we’ve got ourselves a team!” However, the Saints lost the game 27-13. They did win 3 of their games in that inaugural season, but it wasn’t until twenty seasons later that they posted their first winning season. Since that day in 1967, the Saints have lost 381 more games (compared to 264 wins.) They’ve kicked off 41 seasons since 1967 and had only eight winning seasons. I’m not picking on my hometown team. They’re Louisiana’s team. Our New Orleans Saints. However, they are a good example of starting well… and finishing poorly. Being a middle-aged man who knows he has lived over half his life, legacy stays on my mind more these days. I believe my own greatest legacy will be the three sons DeDe and I have raised, as well as the three grandsons they are raising (with hopefully more to come with a granddaughter thrown in.) Because these grandchildren are at a malleable age, I want to spend my time, love, and money in instilling a positive and Godly legacy in their lives. Legacy is not about buildings or titles. Real legacy has little to do with fame, money, or possessions. If that is all a person is remembered for, I wonder about their priorities during the time they sucked air on this earth. I’ve picked on the Saints, and now I’ll use another New Orleans institution as an example. Al Copeland rose to fame as the owner of Popeye’s Fried Chicken as well as other restaurant chains. There’s no doubt in my mind that Popeyes makes the best store bought fried chicken anywhere. Love Dat chicken from Popeyes. When Al Copeland died on Easter Sunday 2008, an elaborate wake, funeral, and burial ensued. It’s his burial at Lake Lawn Cemetery that caught my attention. The Times Picayune (March 31, 2008) commented: “Copeland, who became known for extravagant Christmas displays, speedboats, sports cars, spectacular weddings and messy divorces, was being buried in the family mausoleum in Metairie Cemetery.” At the mausoleum where he was buried, all of Al Copeland’s “toys” were lined up. Sports cars, motorcycles, race cars, and his large speedboat. Evidently, those were his wishes. It’s his right to set his own legacy, but it makes me wonder. I compare it to another legacy I’ve familiar with. I share it only because it affected me so deeply. My dad passed away in April 2003. On the night of his wake, I stood beside his casket for four solid hours as a steady line of friends, family, and neighbors “paid their respects.” I’ll forever cherish in my heart the words and stories they told me. My dad, an ordinary man who worked for the highway department, had spent a lifetime collecting friends and helping those in need. That was his legacy. I compare those two. While I do not wish to criticize a man who cannot defend himself, Al Copeland’s life, and subsequent legacy, was much different from that of Clayton Iles. Yes, legacy. How we’ll be remembered. It’s not something you can place in a written will. Legacy is determined by how we choose to live, not what will happen at our funeral. Finally, when I think about a man and his legacy, I always turn to my hero. Yes, Jesus is my hero. He’s much more than that. He’s the living Son of God and my personal Savior and Lord/Boss. But he is also my hero. A hero is someone you respect, admire, look up to, and wish to be like. All of those reflect how I feel about Jesus. Jesus left the greatest legacy. A legacy of giving. Of dying in my place on the cross. A legacy of “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve… and to give his life as a ransom for many.” The legacy of his life, death, and resurrection lives on. Jesus’ legacy has changed the lives of millions over the past two thousand years. Lord, help me live my life to leave behind a legacy of service, integrity, love, compassion, kindness, resolve, gratitude, and strong relationships with friends and family. Amen.
Goma, DRC Africa
Green Lake, a volcanic lake near Goma, Congo. Eastern Congo is located in a branch of the Great African Rift valley. Because of this, Goma is surrounded by five active volcanoes. With one of the churches we visited in the foreground, Mt. Nyiragongo lets off steam. African stories and faces The walls of African churches are simple. The worship taking place within these walls is touching. Often they have so little, but the way they worship is worthy of a big God. The inside of the churches are dark, but the drumbeat, singing, and joy light up the room. The family of Pastor Habimana Athanase. Reggie Burnaman and Bill Calloway are shown after we enjoyed a wonderful African meal with this gracious family. Pastor Habimana has faithfully shared the gospel for twenty-five years in Goma, Congo and the surrounding mountainous area. There are now over eighty churches in his fellowship. Being with he and his family was one of the highlights of our trip. Coming tomorrow: The beauty– and tragedy– of Rwanda
A Lifetime Love Affair with Longleaf Pines
A Love Affair with Longleaf Pines… and a life lesson from them. (Above) A “Landmark” Longleaf Pine. Longville Gravel Pit Road. When the Longleaf Pines of western Louisiana were cut early in the 20th Century, some trees were left as “landmark trees” or “testimony trees.” This is my favorite about five miles southwest of Dry Creek. “The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The next best time is today.” We’re just finishing burning season in Southwestern Louisiana. Five days of rain and the greening of the grass ended one of the driest winters we’ve had in years. The following story is from my 2004 book, Wind in the Pines. It tells about another spring ten years ago. Burned, yet Blessed, by the Fire… Nothing breaks my heart like a field of dead burned pines. Yet, that is exactly what I’m looking at driving down Highway 113 toward the community of Reeves—forty acres of longleaf pines have been the victim of a forest fire. The fire must have been hot. It completely burned the smaller trees and blackened the bark of the more mature trees over ten feet high. It’s a sad sight seeing acres of pines with blackened trunks and brown straw. This entire stand will need replanting. There is an amazing story behind the fire in the pines. These trees might look dead, but they aren’t. The history of the longleaf pine, Pinus Palustrus, must be understood in grasping this story. This native tree, also called the yellow pine, ruled the virgin forests of the South fromVirginia toEast Texas. Because of its hardiness and adaptability in growing in shallow, sandy soils, it covered much of the acreage of the southernUnited States These beautiful pines existed in vast tracts called pine savannahs, upland areas where the pines were scattered throughout grassy areas. Because of the tall grasses, fire was always a reality during the dead of winter when frost had killed the surrounding vegetation. The first humans burning the woods were the native Indians. They burned the savannahs to better see game animals and lessen the chance of their enemies hiding nearby. Later, white settlers burned these same grasslands for better grazing for their cattle and sheep, as well as killing pests such as redbugs and ticks. A lightning struck pine tree on fire. This fence row pine had been struck earlier in the year. As I burned the fencerow, the sap on the lightning scar caught afire. I ran to the house, got my camera, and captured this unique picture. No matter the reason for these fires, the longleaf pines could survive the heat. In fact, fire is imperative for the early development and growth of this species. The early stage of a longleaf pine is called the grassy stage. The tree has hardly any trunk above ground and the long green needles more nearly resemble a wild type of grass than a tree. The pine will stay in this stage indefinitely—until a fire sweeps through. Notice the candle bulb on this young longleaf pine. It is leaving the grassy stage and will experience upward growth for the coming decades. This pine is in my front yard. The larger trees in the background are slash pines. However, tremendous growth is taking place underground. The small visible tree is sending down a strong taproot, that anchors it deeply into the earth and stores energy and nutrients for the future. During this grassy stage, the above ground portion of the pine will remain dormant in growth due to what is called Brown Spot Needle Blight. This fungus attacks the top growth area of the young pine, called the candle bulb. The combination of the tall grass around the tree competing for sunshine and nutrients, and the Needle Blight keeps the young pine tree from growing upward. The surrounding grass keeps the area moist, which is the condition the Needle Blight needs to attack the small pine’s topmost candle bulb. The result is that the longleaf sapling will remain alive, but never grow upward. This species will never reach its potential until a fire rushes through, killing the grass and other trees competing with it for water, sunlight, and nutrients. Additionally, the heat of the fire kills the Brown Spot Needle Blight. The bushy longleaf pine is now freed for growth to its intended height. A few years ago, I was hiking in the “Red Dirt” area of theKisatchieNational Forest. This is an area still populated by tall, thick stands of longleaf pines. At the end of my hike, I hitched a ride with a forest ranger back toward my truck. We began talking about the beauty of the pines ofLouisiana. He made a memorable statement “My daughter just got back from visiting twelve different states. She told me, ‘Daddy, I saw lots of pretty sights and trees. But I didn’t see anything more beautiful than the longleaf pines ofLouisiana.’” I agree with her. I love those pines and one of the reasons I love these pines is because of their resilience. Looking across the tract along the Reeves highway, I see pines of all sizes blackened and charred. The needles have been burned off the smaller trees, leaving a pitiful stump. In spite of their appearance, I know the small trees are still alive. In the succeeding weeks, I inspect the field hoping for new growth. Finally, in March the tops of the trees begin showing new green growth. Soon new healthy candle bulbs, some nearly a foot long, begin reaching upwards. Over the coming weeks and months, these thin bulbs turn into tree trunks and sprout fresh pine straw. These longleaf pine seedlings, once dwarfed by the grass and bushes, will never again compete for water, sunlight, or food. Knowing about this species, I also know that this same growth is taking place underground. If you’ve ever seen the exposed taproot of these trees, you know that it has a deep
African Eyes
African Eyes This photo was taken while we taught Congolese pastors. I later placed my hand through one of the cracks, and soon a small black hand grasped mine and began stroking the hair on my arm. It was a special moment in our trip and I hope this photo captures the beauty of the young eyes and hearts of Africa. I have but one passion– it is He, it is He alone. The world is the field and the field is the world; and henceforth that country shall be my home where I can most used in winning souls for Christ.” -Count Zinzindorf As I share photos and stories about Africa, it is evident as to how God has turned my heart to this continent. I cannot explain (nor do I fully understand) why or how God has focused a Southern redneck’s heart on Africa. I only know it’s happening. I’m always concerned that I sound as if I think everyone ought to go on overseas missions. That is not my job or wish. That is God’s job to direct the hearts of His followers wherever He wishes. That includes Jerusalem (where we live and minister daily) all the way to the “ends of the earth.” If eastern Congo ain’t the ends of the earth (as least for where I come from) it’s close. Enjoy these photos. A Baptist church at one of the Refugee* camps outside Goma, Congo. The construction is very simple and the floor is volcanic rock. The official names for these camps are Internally Displaced People (IDP) camps. the UN gives them this designation due to the fact that these residents have not crossed an international border. There are six camps in the area housing an estimated 300,000 people. The needs are great and the conditions are primitive.
In the Congo
Photos from Africa Bill Calloway of Glenmora teaches at a “Bible School” in Goma. This is where pastors and church leaders come for training. Our fine translators, John and Plamedia. These two young Christians were a key in our teaching and visiting throughout the Congo. Notice that Plamedia is holding a copy of Wind in the Pines. One of the joys of writing and traveling is sharing my books. I gave away a small suitcase of titles to English readers and schools. It’s all about influence and spreading the Good News through our voices and pens. A Congolese soccer player shows off his ball made of plastic bags and string.
A Word to Live By: Relationships
I’m sharing this week about my six favorite words. So far, I’ve written about compassion/passion/integrity/gratitude, and resolve. Today, the word is relationships Relationships “Everything rises and falls on relationships.” I’ll be adding to this blog as the day goes on. In the end, it’s all about relationships. When it’s all said and done, the people around us are all that matters. No one ever asks to be surrounded by their material possessions on their deathbed.However, the stories are legion of men and women calling for their family– especially estranged family– at that critical moment. There are several directional relationships we’ll look at, and as always several stories illustrating about this word that is one of six words to live by. Relationships. When you break it down, whatever you do is built on relationships. It doesn’t matter if you’re a working mom, salesman, CEO, teacher, pastor, or the greeter at WalMart— you’re in the business of building relationships. Those who spend a lifetime nurturing friendships and relationships are the happiest people. We were created to have bonds and bridges with others. In his excellent book, The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell defines a group of people called “connectors.” These are folks who seem to know everyone and go through life making friends and contacts. One of the joys of their lives is connecting people together as in “I’ve got a friend whom you must meet, they’re also interested in ___________.” Connectors are relationship builders. In my estimate, the most important relationship is the vertical one between me and my God. I don’t view it as “religion” but a relationship. This relationship with God is very personal and an intimate part of my daily life. It should influence every decision and action of my life. This relationship with the Creator God of the universe is cemented through my relationship with His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. Notice I use His full name. He’s that important. The Lord Jesus Christ. All of the other relationships of my life should take a back seat to that one. As Jesus himself commanded, “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.” “All these things” are all of the other important things in my life, including family and friends. This has nothing to do with neglecting or ignoring my other relationships. I firmly believe “seeking the Kingdom of God first” only makes a man or woman a better mate, parent, worker, and human being. Relationships. It’s a powerful word and must be a priority in our lives. In every direction. In every way. Coming next: The sixth word: Legacy
In the Congo
Pictures from Africa Pictured in Rusty Pugh, a wonderful Southern Baptist missionary in the Congo. When Rusty put his cowboy hat on, I had him pull it down over his eyes and sing, “The devil went down to Georgia, looking for a soul to steal.” He does resemble Charlie Daniels (especially when he puts the hat on.) Rusty, a Lower Alabama native, is a relationship-building worker sharing Jesus with the folks in Congo. He is on Facebook for you social networkers out there. Seriously, Satan is seeking to steal souls– not just in Georgia, but all over. Especially in Goma, Congo. Jesus identified Satan in John 10:10a, The thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy. Satan is busy killing, stealing, and destroying in Central Africa. Warfare, systematic rape by soldiers, corruption, AIDS– the list could go on and on. However, Jesus continued with his statement in John 10:10b: But I have come that they might have life, and might have it abundantly. Jesus gives life, and He gives freedom from the thief. The red soil and black volcanic rock of Eastern Congo is a spiritual battleground. A place where the thief is busy destroying. but Jesus, the Son of God, is powerfully changing lives. There is an openness to the gospel- the good news of hope. Folks like Rusty Pugh and his wife Debbie, as well as the strong native pastors of the Goma area, are busy in the battle. They need our prayers. They need our encouragement. They need our presence. I’ve been there. The fields are ripe. Let’s pray to the Lord of the harvest for workers. Joy and Christian, their daughter Lovely and local boys How Africa will be reached for Jesus This is my third trip to the continent. I’m more convinced than ever of this: Africa will be reached by the good news of Jesus by Africans. Westerners will not reach Africa. White people will not be the vehicle by which the continent is won. We Americans do not have all of the answers. Africa will be reached by Africans. Jesus-followers (the term I like to use. It denotes a relationship as opposed to watered down terms we’ve come to use.) who are African are the vehicle of hope. Rusty Pugh shared this model for teaching and sharing: M.A.W.L. Model Assist Watch Leave Rusty believes that anything we do should be, and must be, reproducible. In other words, it must be something folks can learn, adapt, and use in their culture. I fell in love with the family shown above. Joy is the daughter of Pastor Habimana Athanase. She and her husband Christian are the parents of Lovely. They are a neat young couple building their lives for Jesus. Families like this of committed Jesus-followers are the future of Christianity in Africa (as well as the United States and every other country in the world.) Our job is to teach, equip, mentor, and encourage these younger Christians. It’s how a city, country, continent, and world can be reached.
Researching History: A Spent Bullet
Research Question A rose by any other name is still a . . . I’m starting a new manuscript tentatively titled, A Spent Bullet. It takes place in SW Louisiana during the large La. Army Maneuvers of August 1941, and involves the evolving relationship between a young La. schoolteacher and a soldier from Wisconsin. I’d appreciate reader input about what folks call “cold drinks” in different regions of the U.S. Your names and details will help me. Here is a short anecdote from that time. A young boy, holding a coke and candy bar, was outside the local general store in his small town. He stood watching the endless procession of Army transport trucks passing by. (500,000 troops were in SW La. during this time.) As the convoy stopped, a soldier called to him, “Hey, boy. I’ll give you a dollar for that cold drink and candy bar.” The boy, who had paid 10 cents for both of them, gladly handled up his snack and took the dollar bill. He was smart enough to realize he’d “found a bird nest on the ground.” He spent the rest of the day buying cokes and candy bars and turning a neat profit each time. He took home more money that day than his sawmill-working daddy made in a week. Here’s the question: What would soldiers from various parts of the U.S. call the “coke?”
DRC: Congo Africa
The children of Goma Faces from Africa I’ll be adding photos in the coming days. (Above) Pastor Habimana Athanase and his granddaughter, Lovely. Pastor Habimana is the leader of a strong fellowship of over 80 Baptist churches in the city of Goma, Congo. My favorite picture of the trip. This “singer in sneakers” was part of the children’s choir in the church I preached at on Sunday. The church had four choirs that sang. It was a day to remember as we worshipped with our African friends. I traded my tambourine for an African shaking box. The tambourine had been me in Central America, South Africa, and an Irish pub, but now it’ll stay in the Congo. Three sisters shaking their shakers. (Try saying that three times in a row.) Typical housing at an IDP camp. (“Internally Displaced Persons) There are about six IDP camps outside of Goma, Congo “housing” an estimated 300,000 persons. The UN designates “refugees” as those crossing a national border for help, while IDP s are those moving within the borders. These two groups are treated differently on regulations and aid. Basically, the camps consist of thousands of crude shelters as those seen above. Water and toilets are supplied at central locations. The military/political situation in Eastern Congo is very complex. Here it is in a nutshell. Rebel armies, consisting of several Rwandan factions (from both the Tsutsi and Hutu tribal groups) are imbedded in the mountains surrounding Goma. In addition a Congolese militia called the MaiMai are also active. Mix in two more groups: the Conglese army and an United Nations peacekeeping force and you have the formula for confusion and conflict. Goma City has been occupied by five armies over the past decade and its future status is always unsure. The fighting is an outgrowth of the Rwandan civil war/genocide of 1994 and a desire for the rebel armies to control the vast mineral wealth of the mountain areas. Please pray for peace for this troubled region. Many of the pastors we worked with are risking their lives by going into the mountains to witness to the Rebel groups. Additionally, we met pastors and church members in Goma, who were forced to flee their homes and churches because of fighting. Most of the time, they will return to charred homes and destroyed crops. Because farming is so important to rural Africans, crop destruction or even the possibility that they’ll not be able to harvest their crops, leads to famine and sadness.
Chapter 1 Commentary: “A Good Place”
A Good Place Chapter by Chapter Commentary Chapter 1 A Good Place begins with a hurricane. Author Notes: My experience with riding out Hurricane Rita in September 2005 led to the writing of this chapter. I was in charge of a camp full of 300 evacuees on the night Rita moved in from the Gulf. Even though Dry Creek is nearly 100 miles inland, the storm was fierce. Just like Mayo and his family, the storm during the night only seemed to intensify the feeling of dread and destruction. This “Landmark Pine” on the Longville Gravel Pit road lost limbs during Hurricane Rita but still stands tall and proud. It is symbolic of the family strength of the Moore family during the hurricane and in the hard days and years that followed. I’ll never forget driving through our community the next morning and viewing the destruction: leaves and debris piled on the roads, downed trees and power lines everywhere. It is still something that folks in our neck of the woods discuss often. A true life changing event. I thought about the surprise of a hurricane in the 19th century. No way to know that the first raindrops and wind are part of a destructive storm moving inland. Two surprise storms have always intrigued me. The Galveston Texas storm of 1900 killed over 6000 people on the island. The legend tells of a doctor who drove up and down the crowded beaches in his carriage, warning of a coming storm. (He had a barometer and knew from the steady drop in air pressure that a storm was afoot.) In 1918 a surprise storm blew in over SW Louisiana taking probably the same path as our fictitious 1852 storm does in A Good Place. The 1918 storm destroyed Lake Charles as well as a nearby Army Air Base. Dry Creek historian Frank Miller related of the miles of virgin longleaf pine laid flat by the hurricane. (This was the decade before all of the pines were cut in the timber boom that changed the face of our area.) Even though it wasn’t a total surprise, Hurricane Audry (June 1957) intensified quickly and sped up as it came ashore, trapping thousands of people in Cameron Parish, south of Lake Charles. Hundreds died and it still affects the psyche of folks in South Louisiana. I have many friends whose families lost loved ones in Audry. I was one year old when Audry hit and my mother evacuated (with me) to Shreveport. Daddy stayed in Dry Creek and rode it out at the Old House. He said the eye of the storm came over that day and the skies cleared before the storm resumed. That’s where I get the part of Chapter 1 where the storm calms before catching Mayo in the open. The Old House, built in 1892, has been through all of the storms mentioned above. The log room shifted during Audry and this resulted in the floor being slanted to this day. The Old House in Dry Creek circa 1892. It’s where I write and dream and is the most precious piece of real estate on earth for me. Built by my great great grandparents when they homesteaded this land, it still belongs to our family. One of my joys is showing readers around this special house. You’re welcome to a tour if you’re in the Dry Creek area. The log room in Chapter 1 of A Good Place is patterned after the log chimney room shown in the picture.. The fun of writing fiction is taking true stories and weaving them into a narrative. It’s what I do and what I enjoy. Did a hurricane really occur in 1862? To my knowledge and research, there is no record of an actual storm in August 1862. Newspaper records from that time are very sketchy, especially about western Louisiana which was still literally a “No Man’s Land.” Thoughts on historical accuracy– In writing historical fiction, I strive to be accurate and relevant. This doesn’t mean that every event happened when mentioned. It means that it could have and if it did, this is how it would have been. I will confess to one part of the hurricane that is inaccurate (on purpose) It’s lightning. In spite of the ferocity of hurricanes, they don’t feature lightning and thunder. I have studied this as well as experienced it. (Rita, Gustav, and Ike are all recent storms that affected our area. None had lightning or thunder.) However, for the dramatic effect of the storm hitting Ten Mile Community at night, I included lightning. The main sound I recall from Rita was the sound and crash of trees falling. It is a a feeling not easily forgotten! I tried to blend the thunder of the storm, crashing of the trees, howling of the wind, and imagery of distant cannons of war into an audio setting to carry the reader into that one room log cabin under the table with Joe and Eliza, Mayo, Colleen, and a dog named Bo. Your comments on chapter one and the storm are welcome. Curt Iles curtiles@aol.com
Sample Chapter A Good Place by Curt Iles
A Good Place Readers: How you can help. Part of the joy of writing is working with friends and readers to improve our stories. I need your help on the name of one character. Curt Iles’ new novel, A Good Place, follows the story of Joe and Eliza Moore. Moving ahead ten years from their story in The Wayfaring Stranger, the new novel tells of the Moore family’s challenges during the difficult Civil War years. Set in Louisiana’s No Man’s Land, A Good Place, is narrated by Mayo Moore, oldest child of the couple. The theme of the book is simple yet timely: Families stick together through the storms. Coming soon: You’ll be able to view the video book trailer for A Good Place. To read sample chapters, scroll down. As in all of Curt’s novels, he has collected a sound track of the songs that influenced the writing of this book. The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down Lakes of Ponchartrain http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OKOLgenOHF0&feature=related Let Nature Sing Publishing information Title: A Good Place Sub-title: Louisiana Journey Series Publisher: TBA Trade Paperback 85,000 words Back cover copy: Author Curt Iles Curt Iles is a full time author/speaker who writes from his hometown of Dry Creek, Louisiana. He and his wife of twenty-eight years, DeDe, are parents of three sons and two grandsons. A popular speaker, Curt enjoys traveling, telling stories, and making new friends. His recent mission trips include Asia and Africa. Curt’s hobbies and interests are wide and varied: They include drawing, photography, hiking, traveling, gardening, nature studies (birds, snakes, and trees), and family. He has recently released his sixth self-published book, The Wayfaring Stranger. His previous five titles have sold a cumulative 15,000 copies. To learn more about Creekbank Stories and the writing/speaking ministry of Curt Iles, visit http://www.creekbank.net <!–[if !vml]–> <!–[endif]–>Families stick together, survive the storms, and come out stronger. ______________________________________________ Mayo Moore is familiar with storms. Whether it is a devastating 1862 Louisiana hurricane or the creeping American Civil War, he has seen trouble and storms up close. In this coming of age story, Mayo, now an old man, recounts his twelfth year of life when a series of storms swept through western Louisiana. Whether riding out an unexpected hurricane, floating with a load of logs down the flooded Calcasieu River, or having a deadly encounter with Jayhawkers, Mayo’s stories are spellbinding. However, behind the retelling of these adventures are stories of the heart—lessons that can only be learned through difficulty, sorrow, destruction, and loss. The real storm in Mayo’s young life is the American Civil War. Viewed only as a “rich man’s war” by the piney woods settlers, the Union invasion of western Louisiana brings the war home to the settlers and threatens to tear apart their world and family. Through the inspiration of his parents, the Irishman Joe Moore and his Indian wife Eliza, Mayo learns of the strength found in family, faith, and the woods. In the warm and humorous story-telling style loved by his readers, author Curt Iles takes readers into Mayo Moore’s world—into this good place to be—the wild and untamed piney woods of Louisiana’s No Man’s Land. Front Cover If you have any ideas for the front cover, send an e-mail. Tentative release date: Fall 2009 or beyond To learn more: Stay tuned to http://www.creekbank.net A Good Place by Curt Iles Chapter 1 “Now I don’t mind choppin’ wood, And I don’t care that the money’s no good. You take what you need and leave the rest, But they should never have taken the very best.” -J.R. Robertson “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” When Daddy shoved me under our kitchen table, I knew this wasn’t just any storm—it had to be a hurricane. As the crow flies, our Louisiana log cabin was about a hundred miles from the Gulf of Mexico. When this day quietly began, we had no idea a hurricane was churning ashore. However, here we were, less than twelve hours later, riding it out under the table in the dark. Watching Momma vainly trying to keep the lantern lit, a knot of fear as big as a turnip grew in my stomach, and when I swallowed, it lodged in my throat. Giving up on the lantern, she turned to Daddy. “This ain’t no normal August thunderstorm. Do you think . . .?” It was as if she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say the word. In her eyes was something I’d never seen—a look of raw fear. Her trembling hand on my knee reinforced the depth of this fear. Momma’s obvious alarm moved Daddy into action as he said, “This has got to be a hurricane.” Crawling from under the table, he said to her, “Eliza, get the windows covered best you can.” Then he grabbed me, “Mayo, come with me, and we’ll get the animals in.” On that August day in 1862, I was only twelve and didn’t have enough sense to realize the danger outside, so I eagerly joined him, ready to venture out into the storm. As soon as we cleared the lee of the house, the wind whipped us, tearing Daddy’s hat right off his head. He didn’t even look back, but ran on toward the barn, the lightning outlining his silhouette with each strike. Reaching the building, he pushed me inside. “Pen the animals. Put hay in their troughs.” He hurried out, leaving me in the building’s darkness with only the whimpering animals. I tried calming them—something I’m normally good at—but it was futile. I found our horse, Dallas, and stroked his mane. He was shaking just like Momma, maybe like me, sensing something evil was blowing in the wind. Daddy stuck his head in, “Hurry, it ain’t safe. Let’s git.” Hunkered down, we ran by our outbuildings, stopping only to bolt the smokehouse and the adjacent kitchen. I stood under the covered walkway that connected our kitchen and house, holding onto a post. With my other hand, I
Africa Sketches
More sketches Top left If an African’s hands are dirty, wet, or they’ve been ill, they’ll extend their wrist to shake. Middle left: Everything can be carried on an African head. The old sewing machine was my favorite. Middle right: Every move of a “Mzungo” (white man) is followed closely. Even a trip to the outhouse draws a crowd or children, who will faithfully await your return. Bottom: There’s always an easier (but dangerous) way to do everything. There were actually two bike riders catching “a free ride.” A Goma tollroad. the roads in and around Goma, Congo are the roughest I’ve been on (and I’ve been on some bone-jarrers and teeth-shakers.) As a result of war and poverty, very few Congolese roads are paved. Goma is built on volcanic rock and that is what the roads are made of. Potholes are numerous, deep, and ready to break any vehicle suspension. The sketch above relates to a group of “volunteers” who are patching the potholes with small rocks. When finished, they set up empty water cans as a barrier across the street and “invite drivers” to donate in appreciation of their work. They are reluctant to move the can barriers without a franc or two. It’s an African toll road at its most basic form. I admired these entrepreneurs. They were out working, making the road better, and showing inititative. An African tollroad. In a town called Goma. Upper portion of page: Two things you don’t see in Goma: pets or cigarettes. The absence of these two are so illustrative of the poverty in this area. No one can afford a pet. And if you had one, it’d probably be stolen (and possible eaten.) Few people smoke because it is simply too expensive a habit. Cigarettes are sold singly and usually shared among a small group. One of the fascinating parts of our trip to Congo was being in a city surrounded by five active volcanoes. Nearby Mt. Nyiragongo belched smoke the entire time. At night it gave off an eerie red glow from its crater. We stayed at a Catholic guesthouse in Goma. It sat on Lake Kivu, one of Central Africa’s “Great Lakes.” We are awakened early each morning as the fishermen paddled out to fish. They sang and chanted to keep time on their paddling. It carried far across the water in an eerie way that seemed as if they were fifty feet away. The Catholic guesthouse we stayed in had wonderful paintings on the wall. This was my favorite: Peter bowing to Jesus in the midst of a miraculous catch of fish on the Sea of Galilee. Because the guesthouse sat on a large lake (Lake Kivu) this picture really connected with my heart. My favorite part of the narrative is when they got ashore, Peter and his fishing crew “left the nets and followed Jesus.” They left behind the catch of a lifetime to follow Jesus. He’s worth following. He is worth whatever it takes. I especially like how this picture (and the others in the guesthouse) showed an African Jesus. Lake Kivu at sunset. Central Africa’s Lake Kivu serves as part of the border between Democratic Congo and Rwanda. Some of its sister lakes (Lake Victoria in Uganda is the largest and Lake Tanganyika is where Stanley stumbled up on David Livingstone and uttered, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume.”) are larger and more well-known, but I cannot imagine their being more beautiful.
A Good Word: Resolve
A word for today. I’m working on the six words that drive my life. I encourage you to write down your own list. Why six? Because five is not enough, and seven seems too many. Seriously, your list of words can be short or long. I’ve already covered Compassion/Passion (I’m cheating and using them as one word.) We also talked about Integrity. My third word is Resolve. It means to persevere. No quit. To keep on. To hold fast. As we say in the rural South, “To show grit.” There are several uses of the word, but I love the definition that speaks of persistence and grit. Webster’s defines it as “to act with determination, boldness. To be steadfast and faithful.” Resolve is a trait found in the lives of all great leaders and difference makers. It is that willingness to carry on no matter the cost. It is the fixed and focused intention to achieve a desired end/result. Jesus had it. I want to have it. He can teach us how. We see resolve in the life of Jesus. In the ninth chapter of Luke, Jesus has turned His face and feet toward Jerusalem even though he is currently in Northern Galilee. It is time for Him to begin His final journey to the cross. As he begins this journey, the disciples believe they are going to a crowning… a coronation of the Messiah. But for Jesus Christ, it is a death march. He is moving toward the cross, not a kingly coronation. No golden crown is waiting – only a crown of thorns that will cut his head and draw blood. So Luke 9:51 is a great verse to examine the resolve of my Jesus. It states: “As the time drew near when Jesus would be taken up to heaven, he made up his mind and set out on his way to Jerusalem.” (NIV). Listen to the same verse from The Message: “When it came close to time for his ascension, he gathered up his courage and steeled himself for the journey to Jerusalem.” The NKJV says, “… He resolutely set His face to go to Jerusalem.” I can see the jaw of Jesus clinched tightly. There is purpose in every step as He begins the journey southward. I can imagine His eyes taking on a deeper focus and intensity. Jesus in now ready to do what He was born to do. He was born to die – to die for the sins of all mankind, including you and me. When we need resolve and determination to take on a tough job… and to finish a difficult task, there is a place to turn for strength, understanding, and guidance. We can turn to this same Jesus who set His jaw, gathered up His courage, made up His mind, and started the long, lonely journey to Jerusalem He will give you the resolve you need. Ask Him. He is faithful. Next word coming soon to this blog: Gratitude.
African Sketches
Sketches from AfricaScroll down to an earlier entry to read about the lesson on living passionately I learned from a dancing deacon. I am not a true artist. I’m only a sketcher. I’m learned that one of the best “friend-catchers” in a foreign country is one’s journal and sketches. Even the shyest person cannot help but looking over your shoulder at your drawings. So with no further adieu (Too much time in a French-speaking country) here are some drawings from Congo and Rwanda. Alongside the main highway connecting Rwanda and Congo, I spied this advertisement. It tickled me with the title. What a difference one “o” can make. The “Jesus is Coming Saloon” is really a beauty salon. Seriously, Jesus is coming. Seriously, everyone deserves at least one chance to hear who Jesus Christ really is: The living Son of God who gave His life for our sins and wants to change our lives. African Drums I’m a drummer and love rhythm, so I enjoyed their music. The American missionary we worked with, Rusty Pugh, has been in Africa for nearly twenty years. He told me, “When I get to heaven and see a sign pointing toward the Southern Baptist choir room and another sign leading to the African choir, I’m going to the African one. Me, too. Notice in the sketch about the charcoal fire. The drum is placed over it and the heat “tunes” the drum head. More sketches in next entry
