God where are you?

I purchased my NASA approved eclipse glasses on Amazon. As they promised,  they were delivered within two days. As with half the population within 100 miles of either side of the totality line, our office waited in great expectation.

When the time came, sporting my safety glasses, I looked up into the heavens. The picture that I saw was amazing. It spoke to me of heaven itself.

Years ago, King David wrote, "The heavens declare the glory of God; and their expanse shows the work of his hands."

Obviously, I don't look into the eye of the sun on a regular basis. But with these powerful shades, for just a moment I could see the sun and moon perfectly pair with each other. I said to myself, this didn't happen by accident. How could it? I looked up and beheld the majesty of an almighty creator.

If you're a person who is skeptical about this God thing, think about yesterday. Think about the chances of this happening. It couldn't have happen without an intelligent creator. The way I see it is God is not giving you any excuses to wonder. The writer in the New Testament book, Romans says "For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood from His workmanship, so that men are without excuse".

Sunset after the eclipse

Yesterday, He was clearly seen. I thought about it all afternoon and even now. Even as I watched the sunset, the silence was screaming to me "I AM GOD".

I hope you will use this solar eclipse event to
create, ponder, or restore your faith in an Almighty God. If he can lineup the planets, just think what he can do in your life.

So as to the question, "God, where are you". I hope you get it. :-)

A handshake means something.

Wrong

Today, I reached out and offered a handshake to a young millennial. Don't think I'm picking on that age group, that's just what he was. He's not a friend of mine on social media, so he probably won't read this blog...but if so...good.

I remember my dad telling me as a young man, "offer a tight squeeze, and look the person in the eye".  This young man didn't attend the Jerry Swicegood School of Handshakes. I honestly felt like I was holding the hand of a corpse. It was limp and lethargic. If the hand had a personality, I would have called it melancholy.

A short search on google identifies that the custom of handshakes started in the medieval times. As dangerous as those times were, it was important to demonstrate that you weren't carrying a weapon. Later it became a customary way for a gentleman to politely greet one another. Then it was a demonstration of a bond, an agreement. Today it is gender neutral.

Right

In 2017, I don't think that "bond or agreement" would hold up in court, but I am certain it is a polite way to greet someone and demonstrate the emotion for which  you have in meeting someone. The eye contact part of that exchange is to authenticate your sincerity in the meeting of a person. I think we have all seen someone with shifty eyes. It makes us uncomfortable.

I say all that to say this: we all want to be received as credible and authentic. Whether its in business or in social settings. Consider your handshake and eye contact. If its difficult, break through the fear because the dividends it will pay in the minds of the people that meet you is in-calculable.

Preparation for Town Management & Business Ownership

Who would have thought in 1983 that my friend, Lee would be an executive manager of a successful town and I'd would have owned a business for 28 years. 

We had just turned 16. We were idealistic young "bens" (boys trying to be men). School had just let out. For 9 months Lee was an experimental driver; one might call him a novice. Me on the other hand, I had only had my license for three months. But like most "country boys" we both had been driving the back roads since we were 13, praying we wouldn't get caught. I had a jack-up, large tired, roll-bar pick up strewn with KC 1,000,000 power spot lights. I considered myself a sophisticated redneck.

For months we had been dreaming about heading to the mountains.  Camping, experiencing nature as two independent men (or so we thought). So the week after school was released, we loaded up the bed of the truck with sleeping bags, lounge chairs, coolers, flashlights, food, a tarp and rope. Basically everything but a tent. Decidedly, we wanted to rough it. 

Cades Cove

In that day, 16 offered a little more confidence from parents. They endorsed our trip.

So with about $75 in our pockets each, we set out for Cades Cove, Tennessee. We made our way through Asheville and detoured through Cherokee. Winding our way up the mountain, we turned  at the Sugarland visitors center and headed along the Little River to the primitive camp ground and 11 mile loop road called Cades Cove.

Cades Cove, a valley surrounded by the tall green canopied Appalachian mountains is a popular destination in the Great Smoky Mountains.  Its a broad, verdant valley surrounded by mountains and is one of the most popular destinations in the Great Smokies. The 11 mile loop road offers some of the best opportunities for wildlife viewing in the park. On any given morning or afternoon, you can see large numbers of white tail, the occasional black bear, and smaller animals like coyote, ground hog, turkey, raccoon and skunk.

So when we arrived, we set up and organized our campsite. Using the tarp and the rope, we created our lien too shelter. Open air on the front and sides, it was our hope to protect us  from potential rain and morning dew. 1 out of two wasn't bad. It never rained while we were there. Roughing it meant sleeping bags, but we brought with us certain evidence of the city. We had two lounge chairs that folded out into a layout recliner. I'm certain my mother turn a few shades of tan laying in this orange poolside recliner over the past, but for now, it was supporting the comforts of my sleeping bag. Lee had a similar night-time heavenly rest.

The days were filled with exploring, sight seeing and wildlife appreciation. Despite our age, our personal wildlife was fairly tame as we were quite honestly two fairly innocent kids. I'd love to tell you that we created magnificent meals on an open fire, but our most impressive protein was a tube steak packaged by Oscar Meyer and our sweet course typically was a honey bun. I should include that our midday snacks were salted peanut butter crackers prepared by Lance. 

The test of friendship came one afternoon when we decided to visit the populated area called the Y. This was a rocky beach at the confluence of The Little River and West Prong Little River. As we had driven by earlier, it was populated by beach dwellers. They happened to be dressed as though they were at Myrtle Beach, so you can imagine the minds of two 16 year olds. So with our packed lounge chairs, we showed up at the beach. Both of us fair skinned from a winter and spring of long pants, we rested the legs of our beds in the water. Lee, the more righteous of the two of us, laid down and fell asleep. Me, on the other hand, felt the need to do a little reconnaissance. I was curious if any of these pretty young ladies were the welcome wagon for the Great Smokey Mountains. After about thirty minutes or so of talking with some of the locals, realizing that I wasn't interested in their Appalachia  demeanor, I made my skinny 125 pound way back to Lee. I'm certain he was dreaming about pretty girls, the mountain men that we were (or thought) and simply getting rest considering our taxing schedule we had created 

I'm not sure what got over me; was it the devil, was it mischief, or did I think Lee was overheating from the Tennessee hot sun. I had a plastic cup that had been filled with Cheerwine (Yes, no beer. We never drank the first sip of alcohol on this trip), I dipped it into the cold cold waters of the union created by the two rivers, and decided to give Lee a Methodist baptism, a sprinkling of water, however not on the head, but on the sunbaked belly of my good friend. I really don't remember anything about his response with the exception of the look on his face, and the fact that he turned over my lounge chair. I do remember laughing at myself and him. That caused the situation to get even worse. As the water cooled down his belly, time caused the situation to cool down. I think the only unholy words used on that trip was him calling me a Jackass. I guess the shoe fit.

We left our mark on Cades Cove and decided to drive through Gatlinburg to get to I-40. While we both thought we were sophisticated rednecks, we were able to see the real definition of rednecks in this narrow gap in the mountains. It was a Sunday, and probably out of obligation rather than reverence, we decided to attend the Gatlinburg Church of Christ.  Worn out, I quietly told Lee, "if i begin to fall asleep during the sermon, give me a nudge". During the singing my soul was stimulated enough to keep awake. However during the opening prayer, I caught myself nodding. When the preacher began speaking, I knew this was going to be challenging as his presentation was melancholy. Sure enough, about 5 minute into his sermon, my head felt like 50 pounds and I began to dose. Lee, a rule follower, gently shook my shoulder and like a car wreck with whiplash, my head came up. this happened about four times in the next 15 minutes, and finally with the same look that Lee had at the river, I said "leave me alone". The invitation song woke me up. 

We risked the norm that day by wearing shorts to church. In that day, casual and church was like 13 year olds and cigarettes. they didn't go. But we did that and was accepted. When we finally got to I-40 with the 3 hour ride ahead of us, Lee had this great idea. Since he didn't sleep through church, he decided to unfold his lounge chair and place it in the back of the truck. He must have looked great. Along with the roll bars and lights, I had a small rebel flag hanging on one side of the roll bar and an American flag on the other. Like Gettysburg must have been on July1-3 of 1863, Lee was lying between two opposing flag. He was not going to be fighting the blue or the gray, He was going to be fighting the sun. By the time we crossed into North Carolina, Lee was sound asleep. Having gotten my rest in church I was wide awake listening to Elvis Presley's American Trilogy. With a tank full of gas. I didn't stop until we were near hickory, when Lee and I both were not only awake but hungry, Lee rose from his reclined position, hopped off the tailgate of the truck and I saw something amazing. Lee's arms and legs were no longer fair skinned. In fact, they matched the color of red found on the American flag and rebel flag. He was burnt to a crisp. 

That trip was one of those monumental experiences from being a child to becoming  a man. We learned to cook, make up our bed, get along, handle conflict management, and the important use of sunscreen. Its a great memory. We rolled back into Mocksville with about $5 each in our pockets

I occasionally show up at Cades Cove. I still enjoy the scenery and always ride the 11 mile loop road to see the animals. As I cross the Y and look at the rocky beach, I always remember the spot where I almost got my neck broke (by Lee), and I am thankful for a friendship that has lasted since the 1st grade.

 . 

It started on the water.

Some people would have probably called me cheap, but others that knew me understood. There was something about being outside and on the water that caused me to have some of my most cherished dates with my wife Elizabeth Swicegood; what were we doing? Fishing, yes fishing.

Back in 1984, I had seen a number of afternoons on the water. There wasn't a fishing pond within 5 miles of my parent's house that I had not paid a visit to. So, when I took my first visit to Elizabeth Sharp's house, I had only heard there was a pretty girl from Texas that had moved in. No one said anything about two fishing ponds. So, I possibly could have been accused to picking Elizabeth as my girlfriend because her dad had a 100-acre farm with two fishing ponds.  One open and the other with great cover. The two tranquil bodies of water were special. Un-fished for many years before they moved from the prairies of north Texas, these two ponds were target central for me as a 17-year-old. Ok, don't get excited, the bulls eye was the brunette for sure.  Not knowing if my new potential girlfriend would enjoy fishing, much less take a bass or bream off the hook, I asked her what her thoughts were about making a date night a fishing experience. Using words like "experience" conjured up something a little more special than "lets go fishing". I had multiple rods/reels and plenty of fishing lures. Happily, she said yes, and there began our incredible experiences on the water. So many things happened on the banks of the ponds an in the aluminum seats of our John boat. First, I learned that I was attempting to date a very competitive person. She wasn’t just concerned with the quantity of fish caught, but who got the biggest. Second, in those quiet moments of nothing but the sound of a lure hitting the water and the mockingbird repeating its repertoire, we would talk, share and learn so much about each other. There were no distractions like TV, movies or other things to interrupt the senses. In that era, no Facebook, Instagram or other digital distractions.  I remember fighting the North Carolina mosquitoes on breeze less afternoons, but suffering a bite or two because we continued to reel in fish. We would end our angling focused dates just minutes after the sun was welcomed by the horizon. The only expense I can remember was the $1.20 per gallon gasoline that was required to drive from Jericho Road to Pete Foster Road, maybe 5 miles. 

Did I fall in love with her while fishing? I don’t know, but I’d say it help create a line between us that could not be challenged. It was strong. 

On the day of our wedding, I woke up early and while she was getting ready for our big day, guess what I did? Yep, I went fishing. Quietly I reflected on the many times we fished and hopefully the new life we would share together on future trips.

My love for catching fish came from my Grandfather, Roman Gobble. As a child, he would take me to High Rock Lake in Salisbury, NC and he would demonstrate the required patience caused by a tangled line or a lure that needed adjusting.  With his help, I reeled in my first fish. Like the fish, I was hooked. I look back with fond memories on the fish I caught, the sunburn I endured, and the lessons I learned in his little Bomber bass boat with its 90 Hp  Mercury.

Lewis Swicegood with a rainbow catch near Helena, MT

Now we have grown kids and the contagion has spread to my family. Like the feeling of having a fish on the end of your line that Elizabeth & I felt in 1984, my kids and son-in-law felt the presence of God on the water this past week; they enjoyed the glory of the moment and they bonded their relationships even stronger with the simplicity of a rod and reel. We fished this week in Montana. The area is called “Land of the Giants”. It's name relates to the size of rainbow trout that are caught on this section of the Missouri River. Ashton (my daughter) and her husband Ben, shared the boat with Lewis (my son). If only there’d been room for one more, I would have enjoyed hearing their conversation. They were in the boat from 7:45 AM -5:45 PM. Each landed fish; multiple big fish. Being a fly-fishing trip meant that they were able to learn the art of the cast. The faith required to cast the fly line over the head, pausing for one moment to delicately deliver the fly into the water. Ashton & Ben quickly learned the rhythm and count of casting a fly; Lewis had the contagion a few years ago and picked up the rhythm again rather quickly. My mother and father were in another boat making their day of memories. They too brought a number of 18-22 inch trout into the boat. Elizabeth and I boated to  a different section of the river. Quietly as I watched Elizabeth gracefully cast her line, my mind….my heart was brought back to those sunny afternoons in our small hometown

Ben & Ashton Burton experiencing their first day of Flyfishing

where we shared together fishing. Indescribable, my heart was filled with contentment. This sport, this hobby, this outdoor activity that brought Elizabeth and I together in so many ways, continued in our middle ages. But now, we had brought along our children and our son-in-law.

As I look back 33 years ago, I can’t think of any other way I would have wanted to go out with my girlfriend. The catches we caught on the banks and in the boat were such small catches compared to my ultimate catch…..Elizabeth Sharp Swicegood.

As to fishing.... All good things don't come to an end.. they are stored in my memory to revisit! I'll go there and relive those moments and yes, I will smile.

Go fishing, I think you’ll be enriched.

33 years later, we still in enjoy the catch.