Alabama Lifesong

                      I thought I was in the clear. Our lives changed this year. Everything seemed different. We moved Maddie out, and it felt that my annual grief was packed in one of her bags. I was living the good life of an empty nester. I thought the change in circumstances drove away the monsters that haunt me each Fall. I was wrong. Today, on the Eve of Elijah’s 19 th birthday, I found that my supposed victory was ignorance built on sandy soil. I was blindsided…once again.                 The morning was a normal one; telling Paige bye before she left for work, running in our field, having breakfast with the dogs watching, and waiting to see Paige again before I left for work. Everything was mundane…until the afternoon, when I thought about writing something for Elijah’s birthday tomorrow. I opened Word on my PC but decided I needed a little...

   ***I have chosen not to post pictures to enhance this post. I do not want it to take away from the text. I wrote this a year or so ago for a writing competition on Valentine's Day. To me, Frank and Sarah Channell do not need "enhancements." Their life said as much. They lived for the Lord. They lived their life with the love Hallmark movies are made of.***                This isn’t your typical love story. It’s certainly not one that would normally fit Valentine’s Day, but it does happen to be one of the few times in my life I was able to see true love with the greatest clarity. No, not the mushy sort of emotion that reveals itself in hugs and kisses, but something much more. It’s when love comes from some place deeper than the heart. A love like this can only be digested by the soul because it’s a love that only Jesus can give, and it’s only through His leading that it can be given to someone else.       ...

                   Christmas day 1983, and I had just turned 8 years old the month before. It was cold; unusually and bitterly cold by Alabama standards. There would be very little playing outside that day, or at least until the afternoon. The high was supposed to be 17, but the early morning sun was struggling just to push the temperature past 2. Daylight had begun to filter through the layer of blankets over my head, and although I wanted to see what presents lay under the Christmas tree, the heavy blankets felt too good compared to the cold air in the house.       Anyone who has ever felt the cocoon of warmth an old heavy blanket provides can testify to what I’m talking about. It is a magnificent feeling. One that I cherished, even as a child. I wanted to get up, but those presents weren’t going anywhere, and neither was I until the house warmed up some. I stuck my nose out from the heavy layer of blankets on top...

            He was born on September 16, 1914 in Ashville, Alabama, or at least that’s what the grave marker reads. He fathered two sons, had three grandchildren, and he left a legacy that I’m still chasing today. From everything I’ve been told by family and friends, he was the best man since Jesus to walk the earth. His life is probably forgotten by most who knew him, if they’re still alive, and he will likely be nothing more than a name on a census paper once I’m where he now resides. His name was John Philemon Partain. He was my dad’s father; the only grandpaw I had who chose to be part of my life, and I still miss him. I still want to make him proud. In a way, I’m still trying to be half the man he was. His father, John Wesley Partain, was a Civil War veteran; a man who had remarried later in life after his first wife passed. I was told it was a marriage of convenience because she had nowhere to go and he needed a wife. However it worked, he ga...

            The fire was roaring, crackling, and popping. It was Monday December 24 th,, 2007, Christmas Eve. All felt right in our home that night. We weren’t waiting on Santa, because we had already received our gift months ago; after almost six months in the NICU, our son was home. We were a family at peace, on a night that defines peace, and we were grateful for a miracle son. You might say that we found common ground that night with another couple that came 2000 years before us.           No one came bringing gifts, however, but we knew that the night was still special. We didn’t need gold to understand that what we had was precious. In fact, our son’s name was written in silver across a blue sock just above the fire that warmed us. God had already provided our miracle that year, and we were in awe of His grace and mercy. That stocking was a reminder of His faithfulness.         ...

    She came with our house when we purchased it. She was just an “ol-brown-dog;” one like you would find roaming through any Alabama back road or city street corner. The kind that shelters are full of. The sort that often don’t have a place and a person to love unconditionally. The previous owner of our home had left her there with her 6 puppies. No food. No water. He just abandoned her; left her to fend for herself for over two weeks. I believe you can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats his dog. I dare someone to try and prove otherwise. I had met this dog when we first looked at the house. She played with one of the man’s horses in the pasture before coming up to greet me with a great big smile. I love a smiling dog. I had always wanted one, but that’s not something you find every day. I was puzzled by the name he gave her, June. I was pretty sure that Alabama has a law that forces you to name a smiling dog something to do with their grin. If not, they need...