Reflections

  While walking the ancient streets of Bethlehem , I picked up something most people would pass right by—a small, simple piece of olive-wood. No polish. No promise. Just a humble remnant from the Holy Land.   From the moment I held it, Elizabeth said, “I know exactly who this is  for.”   Back home, we gifted that small piece of Bethlehem olive wood to James Johnson, the son of Zach and Casey Johnson. James is a young craftsman—one of those rare souls who can look at raw wood and already see the finished form inside it. Bowls, turnings, carvings—his crafts tell a story of patience, skill, and respect for the material.   We intended the gift simply as a souvenir. A tangible connection to the Holy Land. Something meaningful he could keep.   What I didn’t expect was what happened next.   To my surprise, Zach later handed me a beautifully crafted writing pen—made by James himself, turned from olive wood. Smooth. Balanced. Thoughtfully finished. T...

  When snow is mentioned in the South, it’s not a forecast. It’s a  full-scale lifestyle adjustment . Somewhere, a weatherman casually says, “There  might  be a chance of snow,” and within minutes, the South responds like a hurricane is forming offshore. Step One: Panic-Buy the Essentials (You Know the Ones) No one knows  why  milk, bread, and eggs are required to survive snow, but history has proven this is non-negotiable. Even people who are lactose intolerant suddenly think, “We might need two gallons.” The grocery store shelves empty faster than a church potluck line when fried chicken hits the table. If you see someone guarding the last loaf of white bread,  mind your business . Step Two: Fill Up Everything That Has Ever Burned Gas Cars? Yes. Trucks? Absolutely. ATV? Might as well. Boat? Why not. Southerners believe snow can sense a low fuel gauge from three counties away. Nobody wants to be the person saying, “I should’ve filled up,” while starin...

  It was   1976 . America was celebrating its Bicentennial, fresh on the heels of Watergate and searching for steady ground. At the same time, my parents were in the prime of their careers, growing   Swicegood Real Estate of Mocksville   and moving into a brand-new office they had just built on Salisbury Street. I was nine years old, watching both my family and my country find their footing.   That year, I played  George Washington  in Mocksville Elementary School’s Bicentennial celebration. My grandmother Gobble, lovingly sewed what I believe were three Revolutionary-style uniforms for me—complete with knickers and buttons. I didn’t just wear them for the play; I wore them proudly to school and even on a family trip to Williamsburg. It was a time filled with patriotism, community pride, and a sense of belonging to something bigger than ourselves.   Now, nearly fifty years later, America is preparing to celebrate its  250th anniversary . Look...