Broken, but somehow pieced back together.

I was recently asked "what is it about Montana that causes you to make your way out there so often"? I love that question! It gives me the opportunity to lower the bucket into the well of memories that I've made.

My first introduction to Montana came in the form of two movies. A River Runs Through It and Legends of the Fall. Both movies were set in Helena, Montana amidst the Elk Horn Mountains. Both movies were about a broken person (both played by Brad Pitt). Although both characters were flawed in many ways,  they found their sense of peace in the water and mountains that are called Big Sky. I think the brokenness of the characters were always something I could related to. In those films, the scenery along the famed Missouri and Blackfoot Rivers cannot be described with words like beautiful; the words honestly escape me. Reruns continue to draw my desires to Big Sky.

So how did Montana become apart of me? Interestingly enough, it started at an auctioneer convention in Las Vegas. Attending alone to acquire post licensing education, I exited my class wondering what I was going to do in the city of lights and high hopes. In my class was Dan Pate, who I had never met
before. He recognized that I was alone and invited me to a nice meal with his partner Leah. As we got to know each other, he shared with me the world of growing up in Helena, Montana. I listened as his words created imaginative pictures in my mind. The life he grew up was at the base of the Elkhorn Mountains where cattle was more plentiful that humans, where a typical visitor through your back yard was a herd of elk or the visiting bald eagle. Out came Dan's cell phone as he shared his world of rivers, mountains, wildlife, and oh yeah, auctions.  As this stranger became a friend, he said "you'll have to come visit us". Now understand, this was after sitting in a class together for 8 hours and having a meal together. The notion crossed my mind and was one I tucked away.

Dan went home to Helena and I back to the Ole North State. Days after being home, my iPhone received a notification. It was from Dan, showing amazing pictures of his daily jaunts from the Bitterroots to Great Falls. This continued for months. Feeling the pull of his pictures, I told Dan I was going to come to Montana and I asked for a hotel recommendation. He said "Hotel?", "Boy Howdy,
you're going to stay at the Pate Place!" I told  him we couldn't do that, but he insisted. At the time, I had no idea that the Pate place was not only beautiful, but backed up to 300,000 undeveloped acres.

Packed with our cowboy boots and fly rods, Elizabeth and I made our connecting flight thru Salt Lake City and landed in Helena with Dan in the luggage area rolling out the Montana red carpet. The phone over the last 2 years had created a friendship we can only thank Steve Jobs for. And so began my 7 day passage into what I call my "Montana mind".

Our first afternoon in Montana

I had no idea he was going to turn the keys over to Elizabeth and I, but he did. Essentially the place was ours. The first night, we were fed Montana grazed prime rib. Leah is not only an amazing person but an incredible culinary creationist. As the sunset that first day in Helena, a transformation was taking place in my mind. A transformation where there is no turning back. This place was imagined and handcrafted by God specifically for me (others too, I'm not greedy). We woke the following morning to the typically cool summer mornings. Looking out the backdoor, Liz said "lets take a walk". We stepped out at 4000 feet above sea level and began a few miles walk up the steep slope. Because of the elevation, we didn't speak much until we reached our decided summit. Walking over the aquifers of bedrock formations and shale rock, intentionally missing the small prickly pear bushes that spot the mountain side, we finally came to a resting place. We could barely see the ranch house we were staying at. We found a rock to rest, tried to catch our breath from the elevation difference of 700 feet back in NC. As corny as is sounds, the awe of the scenery captured me-took me and Montana became part of my emotional DNA.

My second happenstance friend came in thru the Helena yellow pages. Determined to catch trout and experience the life poetry that comes with rushing water being pressed against your thighs and calves, I found an outfitter and hired a guide. Wondering what to expect, what I wound up hiring became another Montana friend. I'm not sure of Taylor Todd's age, but I do know that he is from Northern

California, recently finished his Masters degree and is quite educated. Fleeing the concrete world, his full time job is guiding fishermen on the famed rivers of Montana. Taylor is a "riverman". (I'll make that word up). He taught us the unique methods of catching the rainbows and browns that live in the currents of rushing rivers once paddled by Lewis & Clark. Each year I travel to Montana, I don't hire guides to take me to the waters, I call my friend Taylor. As he lives his dream of communing with the waters daily, for 8 hours or so, he offers the cup of Montana water experience to the guests in his boat.

I probably sound like the Montana visitors center. I don't mean to. I have found my place of renewal. Since going, I have traveled all over the mid and south west corner of the state. My friendship that began in a Las Vegas Hotel has turned into a brotherhood of outdoors and auctioneers. Now, for three years I have been a guest auctioneer at the Last Chance 4-H Livestock sale. I'm really proud to be considered for that. Its almost as though I'm a surrogate Montanan. I like that!

Like the movies, I'm a broken person that seeks to stand at God's front porch in Montana trying to piece myself together. Where its beauty and the friendships I've made mesh, the stitches are tight. Now, I just long for the next time and until then, I can just see the sunset over the Elkhorns and hear the waters dancing over the rocks. The entire place proves a witness to an incredible Creator; one who longs for us to just see Him there.

Snowy days & the south & animals

One of the things "us" southerners have always prided ourselves on is the fact that we have four distinct seasons.

Spring: we'll call this probably most people's favorite because the cold is leaving us and the newness of green leaves, colorful flowers and sounds of the thrush, robins and other song birds whose chirps are filling the air like an outdoor symphony.

Summer: Warm days can turn into oppressive humid mid days. Most people think about trips to the beach or a quick jaunt to the highlands to feel the moderate temperatures. As a child I remember camping out with friends along Bear Creek and Hunting Creek, thinking of myself as a young Jim Bridger.

Fall: In the south, this is the most colorful time of year. Seeing the green maple leafs turn into the vibrant orange, yellows and reds. Who can't be filled with wonder, if only for a time. This is especially true when you travel to the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Winter: On a snowy day like today, with the wind chill hovering in the teens if not less, I become grateful that the snow filled days are limited in our incredible south. Waking up to the immediate change of earth tones to a white filled pasture with the tree limbs sleeved in flakes as they are weighed down by the frozen density. Its as thought the earth is being baptized to make itself pure again.

So, it's winter in the south. It's cold. Some animals are meant for the outdoors in foul weather, others are not. Be sure your animals are fed. Its cold and they are hungry just like you.

Would you do this for $26,230.29?

Recently, I had a continuing education in Las Vegas. It happen to be the week of the National Finals Rodeo. The strip was electric as always but with a "howdy" kind of environment.

The CE that was being put on was with the National Auctioneer Association. If you know many people in that trade, you'll realize that most of them are salt of the earth people who have chosen the unique business of auctioneer/marketing. Some of the best friends I have have come from my relationship with this trade organization.

Since we were in Vegas during the week of the NFR; we had to get tickets. We show up at the Thomas Mack stadium at 6:15 excited about the opening events at 6:45. If you've gone to a rodeo, you'll appreciate the excitement and anticipation of the cowboys and cowgirls participating in difficult and dangerous sport activities. While bareback and saddle bronc are two dangerous events, I would say that the world agrees that the bull riding is the most dangerous. Sitting in the stands, watching the best of the best, I realized the complexity of this sport. First, you're sitting on a 2000 lbs + animal, second your holding onto him with a skinny bull rope, third, you're graded on 8 seconds a pure power, and finally, once your off, either by your on choice or the bulls, usually he is ready to plow you over; so you better run like heck to the gates. That night it was amazing with on a few of the athletes not making the 8 seconds. In the end, Round 10, Trey Benton III rode Mortimer (Bull) for 8 seconds and won $26,230.77. Roscoe Jarboe came in second and cashed in $20,73077 while Tim Bingham made 3rd with $13,236.92
Thats big money, but Tuf Cooper from Weatherford, Texas won the All Round Championship yielding him $341,560.29

 I realized with money like that, this isn't any hobby. Its a way for someone to make a pot of money and most likely gain sponsorships for the pants you wear, the hat you're wearing  and I am  certain the list goes on.

While in Vegas, I had the opportunity to spend time with my close friends Dan Pate, of Pate Auctions, Curt Pate with Curt Pate Stockman, and his wife  Tammy Pate. These friends are pure Montanas and bring a southern boy into the world of livestock, rodeo and western lifestyle. They are all high on my friend list!

The question I'd ask you is "would you ride a bull for $26,230.29? My seat in the stands was very comfortable. I think you'll get my answer!

She substituted for the lady I never met.

Elizabeth, Bonnie Logan, Kyle

Meeting your wife at the youthful age of 17 has so many blessings. We practically raised each other. Just kids, we molded each other in so many ways. Early on in our dating, in fact, our second date, we both expressed our fondness for each other and desire to have God in the center of our new found relationship. It was a great date that August 1984 night, and our bond has done nothing but get stronger over these 33 years.

You may have read about my finding Elizabeth's birth mother. Its a great story, and one that shaped our lives and relationship in many ways. Going back to the "17" years; part of my desire to find Elizabeth's birth mother was the curiosity that God placed in my heart. I just had to piece the puzzle of her life together; that included the things I didn't know about her, and the things she didn't even know about her own story. Things like, in what hospital was she born. Where did she go as a foster child (the first 5 weeks of her life).

One of the facts I was never able to secure an answer for was the question, who exactly was the counselor that lovingly directed her birth mother during her time of crisis. Although I discovered every sibling and a large number of the birth family, I was never able to meet or talk to the counselor in this story of ours. Oh how I would have loved to say "thank you"!

I believe God knocks on your heart in many ways. In 2000, the knock came to me from a friend, Steve Robertson. He invited me to join a crisis pregnancy ministry. So, when I joined the board at Salem Pregnancy Care Center, I was introduced to Bonnie Logan. As of today, Bonnie has been the executive director at Salem for 31 years. This past July, Bonnie announced that after 31 years in the ministry, it was time to slow down and enter a new chapter in her life. I remember noticing her sincere interest in women in crisis pregnancies early on at our board meetings. Six years before joining the board, Elizabeth and I had gone through a miraculous time in our life. Seeing the blooming of a mother/daughter relationship was quite amazing. Even today, the emotions are still very raw; very spiritual. I realized early on that the counselors that assisted by wife's birth mother through a difficult time in her life were just like Bonnie Logan. When I would see her at church or at the board meetings, quietly, internally, when I would look at her, I would see the face of the counselor(s) at Hope Cottage in Dallas Texas. It was that piece of the puzzle I had been looking for. For this reason, and for the reason of her Godly demeanor, I grew to love Bonnie, like a family member.

She is now leaving Salem Pregnancy Care Center. But her lasting love, her presence will always be part of this center. The lives she has touched, the women she has counseled, the administrative duties she exercised all to foster a center that started small but is now medical offering free ultra-sounds. At her celebration party last night, as I toasted her with these sentiments, "Bonnie, I am confident that many of the crowns you will receive one day in heaven will be placed upon your head by the very children who were given the gift of life because of your tireless work and dedication to this ministry."

I am proud to be a friend to Bonnie Logan, her husband calls her a wonderful wife, her children call her blessed, and I call her an advocate for the unborn.

31 Years......what a legacy!

Texas shooting, is there a story behind the story?

More proof of a fallen world.

Hollywood icons recently have apologized for sexual depravity. A Hollywood producer has been accused of rape; by multiple women. Hollywood stars acknowledge sexual favors for the exchange of awards or parts in a movie. And now, another mass shooting in a house of worship in a small town in Texas.

How could the sexual depravity of the Hollywood “elite” and a horrific mass shooting in a small church be tied together? I believe they have a digital common denominator.

First, I am convinced that the confusing nature of American sexuality is embodied in a generation that grew up on pornography. Openly introduced by the late Hugh Hefner, then taken to extreme levels by Hustler entrepreneur Larry Flynt. So many young people learned the fantasy ideas of sex and sexuality by the pretend world of these magazines. Then later, as the computer came of age, still pictures were transformed into video and later live streaming. The creation of feeding this insatiable appetite for sex, sexuality and experimental sexuality were seeds sown in a nation; and now the produce of which we are now witnessing. Men who can’t keep their hands-off women, who don’t know boundaries, women who dress overly provocatively, men and women who don’t understand the God created nature of human sexuality and pro-creation. I have thought for some time that pornography is the root to so many issues in our society.

With regard to the horrific shooting in a small Texas town; I think it too, probably has a digital root. This young generation has grown up playing video games. Games that are not just real –life like, but games that devalue human life. They are diversionary experiences that take the user into gun battles, killing and shooting human beings. All for digital sport. But what we don’t realize is the things that enter our eyes, the sounds that enter our ears, the ideas that are conjured up in a game, are in fact creating a worldview. All very passive, but in fact when you play them, you’re not just passing time by, you’re participating in self –talk; get down, shoot, get that one, win!

It’s so easy to blame a gun for the Texas massacre. It’s also easy to call Weinstein a pervert. It’s certainly spot on to call Kevin Spacey a sexual deviant, if in fact this man sexually confronted a 14-year-old.  But the hard thing to do is ask the question, “What was it that these people did in their private world that cause their behavior to be what it was. What molded their worldview?”

In the end, we are a product of what we have fed our minds. We need to be a generation that says no to pornography and no to violent video games.

Our heart is an empty shell and will always be filled with something. Consider God. He is the only thing that our insatiable desires can be fully quenched. All other things lead to emptiness. 

We'll soon find out what prompted the young Texan to go into a church building and begin shooting at people, from age 5 and up. But what we'll never learn most likely is the story behind the story.

God help our nation!

Calf blood? But I'm still a foodie!

Heat for the blood milk in Kenya

We only have about 4 score on this earth. Understanding that  too well, I have been a person who has enjoyed experimenting with adventure. Whether it's hiking the AT or deep sea fishing, I have wanted to be able to say, "Yes!" I’ve had that experience. Travel is no exception. Exploring the world has taken me into the unique barrios of Paraguay, to Buenos Aires where I stood in front of the Casa Rosada (crying 'Eva Peron!"). Liz and I camped in a tent in the Serengeti (Kenya) for five days once where we had the uninvited baboon tapping on the top of our tent as our wake up call at dawn. We’ve even sat on the side streets of the Champs-Elysées in Paris and watched the sun go down over the Arc de Triomphe while eating the most delicious cheese.

The common denominator of all of these adventures was not just the incredible vistas like the plains of the Rift Valley, or the river views along the Uruaguay  in Argentina, it was the fact that we had to have three square meals a day. The culinary experiences are things we still talk about.

Elizabeth tasting Terere in Paraguay

In Paraguay, we tried terere. This is considered the national beverage in Paraguay It’s made from the yerba mate plant. It is served cold in guampas. A guampas is made out of wood or of hollow bull horn. The drink, nationwide is drunk through a metal straw called a

bombilla. (For my Church of Christ Friends and Southern Baptists, it’s not alcohol, but it will give you a buzz).

Our visitor in Kenya

In Africa, we ate at a restaurant called Carnivore. It was located in Nairobi. In the restaurant, there were live fire grills, with skewers of just about every kind of east African meat you can imagine. This protein experience was amazing as Liz and I had been in Kisumu, West Kenya on a very limited diet.

Dung hut in the Maasia of Kenya.

Most shocking of the culinary opportunities we've had was found in the Serengeti (stop reading if you have a weak stomach). On an animal drive one day, we came upon a tribe of Maasai with its circular dung huts. We were invited in. These are the groups where the men jump vertically as a dance ritual. We actually visited the inside of a tribal leader’s dung hut. It was a tiny hut clad in manure and water. Still it was as strong as concrete…and no, it doesn’t smell like you would think. Inside the hut was a bedroom for the owner and his family. In the center was a closet where the family kept a calf and on the right-hand side was an open fire pit, producing smoke which

The calf's bedroom in the hut

made the experience unbearable for us to remain there for over a few minutes. So what was the culinary opportunity that I didn’t indulge in? It was the  traditional Maasai drink of cow's blood and milk. They had a

milk cow and got some fresh milk then made a small slit in the cow's neck to mix blood into the fresh milk. The tribesman offered me a drink and was disappointed I didn’t partake (would you??).

Since I’m sure you’re not interested in terere or blood milk. Let me share with you a favorite breakfast idea that we discovered at a restaurant in Steamboat, Colorado called Creekside.

If you’ve never poached an egg, put a pot of water on the stove, ad about a 1/4 cup of white vinegar and a table spoon of salt. While you’re bring that water to a boil, cut an English muffin in half and be toasting it. While the water is boiling, turn the heat down to a lite boil and gently crack your eggs in the pot (if you break your yokes, throw them away…you’ve lost the best part of the poached experience). After about 4 minutes, the whites of the egg will have enveloped the yokes and begin to float. That means they’re ready. You will need to be making a hollandaise mix so pick up a package at the grocery storage and don’t forget the butter and lemon.

 Step two: place a piece of smoked salmon on the toasted muffin, make sure and take your poached egg gently (and I mean gently) pat the moisture off of it to remove any hint of vinegar. The vinegar helps with the poaching process, you don’t want to taste the vinegar on the final product. Once you have the salmon and poached egg on the muffin, pour the hollandaise sauce all over the top of the egg. Not too much or you’ll lose the delicious taste of the yoke. The last two things you’ll want to add will be finely chopped red onions and capers. A caper is a pickled edible flower bud. These are found in the wild in the Mediterranean and East Africa.  They will add a tart salted seasoning to the dish. You can pick this up at any grocery store.

Probably my favorite breakfast,

Once you have added all this, you have what the world calls a "New Yorker Poached Egg".

Always try to enjoy life and sample the flavors of the culture that surround you. You won't regret it, unless its fresh from the cow and calf :-).

Enjoy food

Fall. The leaves call out her name!

Every October, I am reminded about a significant event that happened in my young married life. Indulge me for a moment.

I grew up in a house with a patient mother and an aging grandmother who ran a country store. On a Wednesday night, she attended midweek bible study, left with a headache, went home and sat on the bed with a beet red look upon her face. She lost her speech before she was taken to the hospital. 

A North Carolina Fall Season

Laying on the hospital bed, her eyes became paralyzed staring at the ceiling. Still speechless we all spoke to her as thought she could her us. I guess I won't know until heaven if she heard our departing words. Slowly the monitors began to loose the beat; and then Dr. Edwards said "She's gone".

Grandmaw was the first close person in my life to leave this earth. 

The reason I am posting this is because I remember the day of her memorial. A classic Carolina fall day. Perfect temperature. The leaves were rich with color. The cumulus nimbus clouds were bellowing almost as though God was separating the sky for her entrance into heaven. 

God's gift was not just years of having a grandmother who lived with me, co-reared me, and raised me in many ways, but his gift was a beautiful departure on her memorial day. The leaves are a reflection of the life she lived; beautiful, colorful,  and later wrinkled. Even her vascular hands were like the vains in the leafs. 

Continue to RIP Ms. Ella. The leaves are calling out your name this season.