Douglas and His Day

6 Days old

One year

Pancakes with Mom

Yummy Popcorn

Just like Daddy

Like my Icing Lips?

Curious George...For ME?

Bye Bye three...hello four!!

The Maturation Process: Sweet to Sweeeeeeet!

The Hunt

As little folks, we were subjected to family tradition and revelry centered around Easter. Mom would take Amy and I to Hamrick's and buy us our new Sunday duds, and get us ready for the big day. As you may notice in the picture above, I am somewhat torn between, my two careers of contortionist, and televangelist. The clothes would get better,as the years rolled by and our hair would be styled just so, and afterwards we would have a big meal..and hunt eggs.



The eggs were hid in various places, with the best being in the shrubs, gutters, or trees. Dad even found a way to get those plastic eggs to fit between the links of the chain link fence.



This year, we hid 1800 eggs for the kids to find at Apache Campground, and the task was accomplished in 2.3 seconds.



Other folks came hunting too, as we served Communion to almost 600 people yesterday. The sunrise brought 350 people to gather and remember the Son rising from the tomb. I was awed and humbled to have the chance to say repeatedly, "The blood of Christ given for You, Happy Easter."

Easter is a great time of festivity and focus. I hope that you were moved, hunted, and found.

"You Can't go Home again", was written by Thomas Wolfe, and is an idea that is often acknowledged and quoted. Home, in my formative years was the Upstate of South Carolina, in a small community with the landscape dotted with peach trees. During picking season, I would help the Souther family get those peaches ready for market. My jobs were varied, as sometimes I would sit on the tractor with a legal pad, and add a line beside each pickers name as they filled a basket. Other times, I would level each box out, place the lid on top, and then load it on the truck. I even had the chance to go to the market, and be involved in the selling process.I was not the best peach worker, but it was a fun, and fuzzy experience.I also recall spending many Sunday's inside a church, sitting on a hard wooden pew. One Sunday would be spent at the Pentecostal church with my grandparents. This was a place filled with jumping up and down, enthusiastic singing, speaking in tongues, and all people praying at once. Beginning with a soft whisper, these group prayers had a distinct ebb and flow, and were displays of laughter, tears, yelling and joy.The next Sunday, I would be in the Baptist church, on a hard wooden pew. We would sit quietly, sing with a little fervor, and rarely show emotion. I recall grasping the back of the pew in front of me, as I stood and sang all the verses of "Just as I am", waiting on someone to go down front and grasp the preachers hand and accept Jesus. To be honest, I prayed that someone would hurry down, so that I could go home and watch Roger Staubach, Tony Dorsett, Tony Hill, Tom Landry, and the rest of my Dallas Cowboys. On Saturday, I would look in the TV Guide to see what time the Cowboys game kicked off. If it was at 1pm, I prayed and prayed that church would not last too long. Those pews got awfully hard sometimes, but I think that if they were places of comfort, we would sleep during preaching. Unthinkable...for the naked Preacher now....but an embraceable idea way back then.In Korea, one afternoon, I decided to go for a little stroll. I am not one for strolling, or as Sarah puts it, "Tromping Around". I put on my warm jacket, and grabbed the ipod in a sock (long story), and took to the hills. I walked up the mountain, and looked at the trees and rocks, and actually enjoyed myself. After walking back down, I passed my friend's house and ventured into the flat part of the land. After a few brief minutes I noticed some peach trees planted on a small section of land, and right in the middle of them...was a pew. As I sat there, with the cold breeze blowing, in my memory, I looked to my left and saw my Aunt Bernice sitting there. On the second row, was Jay Pearson with many young guys sitting beside him. The Choir had on the green robes, and Jerry Baskin anchored the bass section, Doug Jones was the Tenor supreme, and Diane Thomas was the Soprano that could crack glass(or at least crack me up). I heard Preacher Turner pronounce the W in the word "sword", smiled and instinctively began to sing a hymn. Dallas was not playing today, so I sang a few verses of the following:

I've wandered far away from God,

Now I'm coming home;

The paths of sin too long I've trod,

Lord, I'm coming home.

Coming home, coming home,

Nevermore to roam,

Open wide Thine arms of love,

Lord, I'm coming home.

I've wasted many precious years,

Now I'm coming home;

I now repent with bitter tears,

Lord, I'm coming home.

I'm tired of sin and straying, Lord,

Now I'm coming home;

I'll trust Thy love,believe Thy Word,

Lord, I'm coming home.

So, I guess you can go home again...I only wish I could give Thomas Wolfe a hard pew, and a super juicy peach, and perhaps, he would reconsider.