My current "scenic overlook" began back in early summer when I lost my job.  I've still not found work, but what I have found is a spectacular view of the world I'm passing through.   I've met others at this place; some have motored on, and others are still with me here.  We've stopped, gotten out, stretched our legs and marveled at all there is to see.  The lives that have touched mine while I've been here have written the pages of a premier chapter in my travelogue.
    To those of you who have extended their hands to me:  my words can never express the depth of appreciation I feel for you.  You are my fellow travelers, and my journey is all the more sweet because of your presence here.  God speed, to all of us.

23 Nov 03 -- As we in the U.S. enter the week set aside for giving thanks, I'd like to tell you what I'm thankful for.  It's a pretty long list not sorted in any particular order, other than the order in which they come to mind: a relationship with my Heavenly Father, my wife and kids, no consumer debt, my pastor, the leaky roof (because it IS a roof), good hearing, Wanda's fried catfish,  the guys at the Rescue Mission, men and women who dare to speak the truth in print, coffee, Coach Sean Gray, arms and legs that work like they're supposed to, family, discernment, Sundays, friends who care, enemies who teach me patience, the trees in my yard, pets, freedom of speech, freedom of worship, rainy days, sunny days, flannel sheets, our Armed Forces, those who lead our Armed Forces, grits, gardeners who share, our church and everyone in it, Cedar Wax-Wings, Indigo Buntings, wild turkeys, crisp Autumn nights, memories of Summer, Boolean Logic, cow paddies that I didn't step in, The Holy Bible and those who hold it dear.  
    I could go on and on.  I bet you could too, if you tried.

Grace, grace, God's grace.  Grace that is greater than all our sin.  -- Julia H. Johnston, 1910.

     Makes perfect sense to me, and I don't even need a lawyer to help me understand it.

12 Nov 03 -- I woke up this morning knowing I had made a mistake, and that I had to fix it.  It was one simple sentence, but the potential for misunderstanding and misdirection is too great to ignore.  The day before yesterday, speaking about men I've served with in the Marine Corps, I said "Faces and names, in the end, are all that really matter, I believe. "
    Trite. Wrong thing to say, wrong of me to let it slip so easily into the dialogue.  What I need to say instead is that in the end all that really matters is whether or not I shared the Love of Jesus with all those "faces and names."   A name can be depersonalized.  A face is really just an outer marker, it points the way.  It doesn't tell you who or what lies inside the skin.  Faces, names, personas don't matter.  What matters is the soul that those things represent.  Reaching out to that soul is of utmost importance to God.   It should, therefore, be of utmost importance to me. My biggest crime was not that I didn't tell them thank-you for enriching my life.  It was that I failed to point them toward the Father.   In the end, that's all that really matters.

11 Nov 03 -- Most dogs develop a preference for special sleeping spots somewhere in the yard.  Under the porch, maybe, or out by the old oak tree.  They're funny that way; like people, they're creatures of habit.  Bubba the Dawg took that to a higher level of sophistication.  Special spot for evening, one for mid-day, and one for the morning.  His special morning spot is a lush growth of English Ivy.  Cool in the summer and positioned just right for the dim winter sunrises to warm his face.  It was in his favorite morning spot, deep in the lap of his English Ivy, that I buried him this morning.
    I introduced you to Bubba here two weeks ago as a big-hearted baritone of a Chocolate Lab.  I sensed then that it was time to mention him, but I had no reason to imagine his passing would come so quickly thereafter.  But that's the way of things, isn't it?  Life sneaks up on us.  Saturday he was up and about, barking at us through the kitchen window wanting his supper.  Sunday he showed signs of illness.  Monday, his decline progressed.  Early this morning I held his huge head in my hands and watched the life sneak right out of his heart.
    He had a nighttime routine that was sometimes irritating but usually endearing:  he'd lay in his evening spot and woof at the moon.  Three woofs, no more, no less, but he'd repeat it over and over.  Sometimes it would go on for hours.  One big WOOF, followed by two more, each a third lower on the harmonic scale.  Ever a creature of routine, he did it again last night, even as he lay dying under the bright November moon.  It was weaker, and the third woof was little more than a wheeze, but he was faithful to it.  Of course he was, for that was his way.
   I know, just as sure as I'm sitting here, that I'll hear him again tonight. 

10 Nov 03 -- Today is the 228th anniversary of the founding of the United States Marine Corps.  It's a special day for Marines the world over, and it's always celebrated in grand style.  I spent nearly half my adult life in the Corps, so for me the attachment runs deep.  Days like this bring back a flood of memories -- places, sounds, smells -- some of the memories bring a smile.  Others, well, I'd prefer they not intrude.   There's a common theme I keep coming back to, though.  It's the faces.  I can see their faces so clearly, and I want somehow to honor them, let them know how much they meant to me.  Faces and names, in the end, are all that really matter, I believe.  These men shaped me, and I don't think I ever told one of them thank-you.  Some are still with us, others aren't.  The words would be superfluous to them, but it makes me feel better to speak their names:
    Ed Johnson, McNama, Polhamus, J.T., German, Banks, Capt Henry, Les Shaw, 1stSgt Martinez, Russ Thurman, Dale Dye, Bagley, Clyde Wilson, Col North, Top Fabrizio, Maj Jordon, Pettingill, Blizzard, Skip Haynes...and many faces whose names I can't recall.  Semper Fi, Devildogs!

Different atmosphere out there tonight.  We went in really wanting this game.  I think the last time Ringgold defeated Dalton was in 1983 -- not sure about that -- but I know we wanted it bad tonight.  It's probably safe to say they outplayed us, but there were a few calls from the referees that caused our entire home side to let loose with a lot of loud boos and sundry other expressions of discontent.  There was even a local preacher sitting over my left shoulder shouting out his opinion.  (It wasn't Sunday preaching, either.)  Anyway, we went down, 16 to 13, and it hurt.  Still, it's been a remarkable season.  The Tigers haven't done this well in several years.  Yo, Tigers, we're proud of you!