" If you feel bad, if you can do nothing, think of a rock in your shoe. It is very small, but it makes a huge difference!"
Written in 2006 by C.K. --- Tennessee
" When you shoot an arrow, you aim a little above your target for force of gravity. In life, you should always dream more than you can do."
Author Unknown
Friday, May 12, 2006
Living Under the Overpass
Living Under the Overpass
When I realized that my life didn't reflect Christ's command to 'love thy neighbor,' I decided to live as a homeless person.
By Mike Yankoski
Author Mike Yankoski
In 2003, college students Mike Yankoski and Sam Purvis voluntarily became homeless in order to experience what life is like for the poor in America. For five months, both men traveled through five different cities with bare essentials and two acoustic guitars. Singing worship songs while panhandling, Mike and Sam got to know homeless people and saw firsthand whether churches respond to their needs. Below are excerpts from "Under the Overpass," Mike's book about his travels.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Washington D.C. * San Francisco * Phoenix
WASHINGTON D.C.
Communion on an Empty Stomach
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially when you didn’t eat the night before.
In D.C., the only place we found to get breakfast on Sundays was at an Episcopal church in the heart of the city. The old church’s oak pews were at least softer than concrete, and seemed almost welcoming after a night on the sidewalk.
Each morning, a female priest spoke briefly on the passage of the day while more than a hundred homeless men and women sat scattered through the sanctuary, enduring the mandatory service. Some rocked slowly back and forth. Others talked to themselves, or coughed incessantly. Some slept quietly, others snored loudly. Some escaped to the sounds of heavy metal in their headphones. Some actually listened, and you’d hear an occasional “Amen” ringing out through the expansive sanctuary, usually well after the priest had begun her next sentence.
One Sunday, the priest offered communion, and about 40 of us ragged souls walked up and kneeled down around the pulpit.
I knelt next to a huge man who had been seated in front of me. His broad shoulders and large, rough hands told of a lifetime of hard labor. The wrinkles in his weathered face were thrown into dark relief by the dirt that had collected in them. His long graying hair and beard were stained and thick with debris.
As I knelt beside him, he started coughing violently, a thick gurgle rising from his lungs between convulsions. He braced himself against the floor with both hands until he could regain his composure, then he wiped his eyes, shifted back to a kneeling position, and waited.
The priest moved quietly around the circle, leaning down to each person. “This is the body of Christ, which was broken for you,” she said, looking each in the eye. Then she came around again with the cup. “This is the blood of Christ, which was shed for you.” The white of her cloak shone brilliantly against our filth.
By the time she brought the cup to the big guy next to me, he was back on his hands again, struggling for breath. She stopped directly in front of him and waited for him to rise. When he could look up at her, she held the shining silver cup as he put it to his lips. I heard him swallow, and as he handed the cup back to the priest, two drops of wine ran down his mustache and disappeared into his beard.
The priest wiped the cup where he had received and stepped in front of me. "This is the blood of Christ..."
I’d never taken communion on an empty stomach before. The cup burns when you’re hungry. It goes deeper, quicker, when there’s nothing to stop it.
The priest moved on, and with a deep sigh, the big man next to me crossed his chest and pushed himself to his feet. I rose too, and before we walked back to our seats, we caught each other’s gaze and nodded.
SAN FRANCISCO
The Grace of Pizza
It was a busy Saturday night in Berkeley, throngs of students everywhere. We’d come here on BART (the Bay Area Rapid Transit system) earlier in the day in a search of better panhandling. So far, we were doing okay on the donations, not so great on the requests. We just never seemed to know the songs others wanted to hear.
My fingers were getting sore from hours of playing. I stood to stretch, then yawned and laughed.
“What?” Sam asked.
“You know, before we came out here, a part of me was excited to have all this time to play the guitar. I figured I’d get a lot better. Six months on the street and I’d be the next Dave Matthews.”
Sam confessed to having similar thoughts.
I examined the calluses on my left hand. “We’ve gotten a little better, but not much. Out here, you don’t play to get better, you play to eat.”
“Yup, and that means being heard above the traffic.”
“So we’re not really playing and singing, right?” I said. “We’re strumming and yelling. We’re getting better at strumming and yelling.”
We both laughed, and I sat down to begin again. Just then three guys walked past, the lead guy carrying a pizza box.
“Hey bro!” I called. “You going to eat the rest of that pizza?”
The guy stopped, looked from Sam and me to his box of pizza, then said, “Nope.” Shaking his head, he walked over. “You want it?” he asked.
“Sure!” I said, and he handed it down to us.
We thanked him profusely. “No problem,” he said, walking away. “Enjoy.”
Opening the box we found half a pepperoni pizza. “Unbelievable!” Sam yelled.
“This is the good stuff!” I said, grabbing a piece. “Father, thank you for this food!”
We sat there, happily devouring the still-warm pizza. By the time we were down to the crumbs, we were ready for more conversation.
“‘Father, thank you for this food’ means something different out here, doesn’t it?” I said.
“Sure does,” said Sam. “I don’t know if I’ll ever say it so sincerely again after we get back.”
“I hope I don’t change,” I said.
We sat watching people walk by, thinking about pizza and thankfulness. “What do you think would have happened if the Israelites hadn’t gone out and picked up the manna God sent,” I asked.
“And your meaning is?” said Sam.
“I mean, don’t you think they would have starved if they never actually went out and picked the manna off the ground?”
Sam looked at me as if I had pepperoni poisoning. Finally, he responded. “Yeah, probably. They had to eat, and God was providing, but—yes—they had to go out and pick it up.”
“Exactly!” I said enthusiastically. “They had to pick it up! How dumb would it have been if some had starved because they refused to take what God was providing.”
Sam sounded thoughtful. “I’d be a lot more hungry right now if we hadn’t asked those guys for their leftover pizza.”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “We prayed for God’s provision, right? We prayed that He would bless us and give us what we need. But then when it walked by, we had to make our move. Asking and receiving means different things out here on the streets than back home. But the idea is the same.”
Sam didn’t look nearly impressed enough by my line of logic. So I kept at it.
“Just like you said,” I continued, “we’d be a lot more hungry if we hadn’t asked for that pizza. God answered our prayers for provision, but we still had to ask these guys for it. We still had to ‘pick up the manna.’”
Now Sam was nodding. “I wonder how much we miss because we’re unwilling to pick it up. That verse in Matthew, ‘Knock and the door will be opened,’ why have the door opened if you don’t walk through?”
“I know,” I said. “Kinda scary.”
“It’s like asking God to bless your day, then when He puts a needy, smelly person in front of you that you could really help, you wonder what you did to deserve such rotten luck.”
“Yep!” I agreed.
We both felt insightful, mature, brilliant to the point of genius. Manna does that to you.
In no time at all, we were back to strumming and yelling.
PHOENIX
Sleeping on the Church Steps
Although Sam and I had spent every Sunday morning at church somewhere on our travels, the lack of community was taking a toll on us. Even at church, we felt isolated because of how we looked, how we smelled, and who people perceived us to be. In fact, walking into a church where we hoped to find genuine fellowship only to be met by condescension or suspicion or disingenuous flattery was the worst kind of rejection.
One night in Phoenix we stretched out our sleeping bags in front of a church’s main doors hoping that early the next morning we would be awakened by a kindhearted churchgoer wondering if he could help us in some way. A simple, obvious plan, we thought, but it didn’t work.
At about 7 the next morning, while a dream of wintertime in the Rockies cooled my sweating body, a far away voice pulled me back to reality. “And before we read from Romans 8, let us pray together...”
Sam and I were still on the steps of the church and already baking in the morning sun. I rolled over to look through the sanctuary windows. A small gathering was standing while the pastor led in prayer. The early service was just getting under way inside, but for us, the voice came from a speaker just above where we slept.
“Sam,” I said, nudging him awake.
“Yeah?” He sat up and shaking his head.
“Did anybody wake you up?” I said pointing into the sanctuary.
"No way,” he said. We both realized what had happened. Every person inside had gone through a side door. “Nobody woke me up. You?”
“Nope.”
The pastor was ending his prayer. “Lord, teach us to look not unto ourselves but unto you and unto others...” With a loud Amen that came metallically through the speaker above, the congregation took its seat and he began his sermon.
Already soaked with sweat, we decided to pack up and move on. “Wow,” said Sam, “I thought we were making it easy for them!”
But were we? I’m not so sure now. I think two sleeping transients on the church steps early one morning would make most people uneasy, Christian or not. The need is unexpected, out of place, and a little disturbing. Yet it is in exactly here, in the difficult circumstances, that Christ’s love should take risks to meet needs. In A Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning describes what that kind of love looks like: “To evangelize a person is to say to him or her: you too are loved by God and the Lord Jesus. And not only to say it but to really think it, and relate it to them so they can sense it. But that becomes possible only by offering the person your friendship, a friendship that is real, unselfish, without condescension, full of confidence and profound esteem.”
Reprinted from 'Under the Overpass' by Mike Yankoski, with permission of Multnomah Publishers. Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.
When I realized that my life didn't reflect Christ's command to 'love thy neighbor,' I decided to live as a homeless person.
By Mike Yankoski
Author Mike Yankoski
In 2003, college students Mike Yankoski and Sam Purvis voluntarily became homeless in order to experience what life is like for the poor in America. For five months, both men traveled through five different cities with bare essentials and two acoustic guitars. Singing worship songs while panhandling, Mike and Sam got to know homeless people and saw firsthand whether churches respond to their needs. Below are excerpts from "Under the Overpass," Mike's book about his travels.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Washington D.C. * San Francisco * Phoenix
WASHINGTON D.C.
Communion on an Empty Stomach
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially when you didn’t eat the night before.
In D.C., the only place we found to get breakfast on Sundays was at an Episcopal church in the heart of the city. The old church’s oak pews were at least softer than concrete, and seemed almost welcoming after a night on the sidewalk.
Each morning, a female priest spoke briefly on the passage of the day while more than a hundred homeless men and women sat scattered through the sanctuary, enduring the mandatory service. Some rocked slowly back and forth. Others talked to themselves, or coughed incessantly. Some slept quietly, others snored loudly. Some escaped to the sounds of heavy metal in their headphones. Some actually listened, and you’d hear an occasional “Amen” ringing out through the expansive sanctuary, usually well after the priest had begun her next sentence.
One Sunday, the priest offered communion, and about 40 of us ragged souls walked up and kneeled down around the pulpit.
I knelt next to a huge man who had been seated in front of me. His broad shoulders and large, rough hands told of a lifetime of hard labor. The wrinkles in his weathered face were thrown into dark relief by the dirt that had collected in them. His long graying hair and beard were stained and thick with debris.
As I knelt beside him, he started coughing violently, a thick gurgle rising from his lungs between convulsions. He braced himself against the floor with both hands until he could regain his composure, then he wiped his eyes, shifted back to a kneeling position, and waited.
The priest moved quietly around the circle, leaning down to each person. “This is the body of Christ, which was broken for you,” she said, looking each in the eye. Then she came around again with the cup. “This is the blood of Christ, which was shed for you.” The white of her cloak shone brilliantly against our filth.
By the time she brought the cup to the big guy next to me, he was back on his hands again, struggling for breath. She stopped directly in front of him and waited for him to rise. When he could look up at her, she held the shining silver cup as he put it to his lips. I heard him swallow, and as he handed the cup back to the priest, two drops of wine ran down his mustache and disappeared into his beard.
The priest wiped the cup where he had received and stepped in front of me. "This is the blood of Christ..."
I’d never taken communion on an empty stomach before. The cup burns when you’re hungry. It goes deeper, quicker, when there’s nothing to stop it.
The priest moved on, and with a deep sigh, the big man next to me crossed his chest and pushed himself to his feet. I rose too, and before we walked back to our seats, we caught each other’s gaze and nodded.
SAN FRANCISCO
The Grace of Pizza
It was a busy Saturday night in Berkeley, throngs of students everywhere. We’d come here on BART (the Bay Area Rapid Transit system) earlier in the day in a search of better panhandling. So far, we were doing okay on the donations, not so great on the requests. We just never seemed to know the songs others wanted to hear.
My fingers were getting sore from hours of playing. I stood to stretch, then yawned and laughed.
“What?” Sam asked.
“You know, before we came out here, a part of me was excited to have all this time to play the guitar. I figured I’d get a lot better. Six months on the street and I’d be the next Dave Matthews.”
Sam confessed to having similar thoughts.
I examined the calluses on my left hand. “We’ve gotten a little better, but not much. Out here, you don’t play to get better, you play to eat.”
“Yup, and that means being heard above the traffic.”
“So we’re not really playing and singing, right?” I said. “We’re strumming and yelling. We’re getting better at strumming and yelling.”
We both laughed, and I sat down to begin again. Just then three guys walked past, the lead guy carrying a pizza box.
“Hey bro!” I called. “You going to eat the rest of that pizza?”
The guy stopped, looked from Sam and me to his box of pizza, then said, “Nope.” Shaking his head, he walked over. “You want it?” he asked.
“Sure!” I said, and he handed it down to us.
We thanked him profusely. “No problem,” he said, walking away. “Enjoy.”
Opening the box we found half a pepperoni pizza. “Unbelievable!” Sam yelled.
“This is the good stuff!” I said, grabbing a piece. “Father, thank you for this food!”
We sat there, happily devouring the still-warm pizza. By the time we were down to the crumbs, we were ready for more conversation.
“‘Father, thank you for this food’ means something different out here, doesn’t it?” I said.
“Sure does,” said Sam. “I don’t know if I’ll ever say it so sincerely again after we get back.”
“I hope I don’t change,” I said.
We sat watching people walk by, thinking about pizza and thankfulness. “What do you think would have happened if the Israelites hadn’t gone out and picked up the manna God sent,” I asked.
“And your meaning is?” said Sam.
“I mean, don’t you think they would have starved if they never actually went out and picked the manna off the ground?”
Sam looked at me as if I had pepperoni poisoning. Finally, he responded. “Yeah, probably. They had to eat, and God was providing, but—yes—they had to go out and pick it up.”
“Exactly!” I said enthusiastically. “They had to pick it up! How dumb would it have been if some had starved because they refused to take what God was providing.”
Sam sounded thoughtful. “I’d be a lot more hungry right now if we hadn’t asked those guys for their leftover pizza.”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “We prayed for God’s provision, right? We prayed that He would bless us and give us what we need. But then when it walked by, we had to make our move. Asking and receiving means different things out here on the streets than back home. But the idea is the same.”
Sam didn’t look nearly impressed enough by my line of logic. So I kept at it.
“Just like you said,” I continued, “we’d be a lot more hungry if we hadn’t asked for that pizza. God answered our prayers for provision, but we still had to ask these guys for it. We still had to ‘pick up the manna.’”
Now Sam was nodding. “I wonder how much we miss because we’re unwilling to pick it up. That verse in Matthew, ‘Knock and the door will be opened,’ why have the door opened if you don’t walk through?”
“I know,” I said. “Kinda scary.”
“It’s like asking God to bless your day, then when He puts a needy, smelly person in front of you that you could really help, you wonder what you did to deserve such rotten luck.”
“Yep!” I agreed.
We both felt insightful, mature, brilliant to the point of genius. Manna does that to you.
In no time at all, we were back to strumming and yelling.
PHOENIX
Sleeping on the Church Steps
Although Sam and I had spent every Sunday morning at church somewhere on our travels, the lack of community was taking a toll on us. Even at church, we felt isolated because of how we looked, how we smelled, and who people perceived us to be. In fact, walking into a church where we hoped to find genuine fellowship only to be met by condescension or suspicion or disingenuous flattery was the worst kind of rejection.
One night in Phoenix we stretched out our sleeping bags in front of a church’s main doors hoping that early the next morning we would be awakened by a kindhearted churchgoer wondering if he could help us in some way. A simple, obvious plan, we thought, but it didn’t work.
At about 7 the next morning, while a dream of wintertime in the Rockies cooled my sweating body, a far away voice pulled me back to reality. “And before we read from Romans 8, let us pray together...”
Sam and I were still on the steps of the church and already baking in the morning sun. I rolled over to look through the sanctuary windows. A small gathering was standing while the pastor led in prayer. The early service was just getting under way inside, but for us, the voice came from a speaker just above where we slept.
“Sam,” I said, nudging him awake.
“Yeah?” He sat up and shaking his head.
“Did anybody wake you up?” I said pointing into the sanctuary.
"No way,” he said. We both realized what had happened. Every person inside had gone through a side door. “Nobody woke me up. You?”
“Nope.”
The pastor was ending his prayer. “Lord, teach us to look not unto ourselves but unto you and unto others...” With a loud Amen that came metallically through the speaker above, the congregation took its seat and he began his sermon.
Already soaked with sweat, we decided to pack up and move on. “Wow,” said Sam, “I thought we were making it easy for them!”
But were we? I’m not so sure now. I think two sleeping transients on the church steps early one morning would make most people uneasy, Christian or not. The need is unexpected, out of place, and a little disturbing. Yet it is in exactly here, in the difficult circumstances, that Christ’s love should take risks to meet needs. In A Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning describes what that kind of love looks like: “To evangelize a person is to say to him or her: you too are loved by God and the Lord Jesus. And not only to say it but to really think it, and relate it to them so they can sense it. But that becomes possible only by offering the person your friendship, a friendship that is real, unselfish, without condescension, full of confidence and profound esteem.”
Reprinted from 'Under the Overpass' by Mike Yankoski, with permission of Multnomah Publishers. Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.
When we look into our own hearts
Today's Quote
When we look into our own hearts and begin to discover what is confused and what is brilliant, what is bitter and what is sweet, it isn't just ourselves that we're discovering. We're discovering the universe.
-Pema Chodron
When we look into our own hearts and begin to discover what is confused and what is brilliant, what is bitter and what is sweet, it isn't just ourselves that we're discovering. We're discovering the universe.
-Pema Chodron
Thursday, May 11, 2006
If I had my life to live over...
Today's Quote
If I had my life to live over...I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
-Nadine Stair
If I had my life to live over...I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
-Nadine Stair
One can walk all day, thousands of days and never see this view
One can walk all day, thousands of days and never see this view and then all of a sudden it appears, and then God helps in making my hands steady and then He uses my eye to find the picture and allows me to take it. This is what is meant by... we are only using what God has lent to us, and this photo is in fact, talent on loan from God seeing His world on loan to us all through our own eyes... As Ann taught me when we were dating and she came out and helped me feed the cows one afternoon, and had me stop by some ole weeds, I thought, at the north end of the double pond pasture, and got out and walked to the weeds and got down on her knees and looked at the small beautiful flowers, that I called weeds, and she had me get out and join her and look at their beauty, and I have never forgot that valuable lesson in life and taking time to see things around us! So now, all that know me have to suffer through tons of photos... haha... Needless to say, you can see by the path in the grass, I walk this way every day and have never seen this till today! And yes, in person, it was breathtaking. I honestly stopped and enjoyed this for about 5 minutes!! It took my breath away! I am amazed every day at the evidence of His Being, and all that He created.
And yes, there are lots of photos from this mornings walk, but I will have to post them later. Enjoy the day!
Stan Moffat
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
forgot to mention
Lots of new pics online in the gallery and on dotphoto.com. see links below.
Ann and I went to Austyn's Tea Party at School last Thursday afternoon. We had a great time and saw a GREAT teacher and a super set of kiddos perform various skits and behave in a "grownup" way. Nothing at all like it would have been had I been young and there... in that class at that age. I was blown away by it all!
Photos from it and tons of short movie clips too online at http://www.paynecountyline.com/Gallery. or see the gallery link below on the left side of this page...
Ann and I went to Austyn's Tea Party at School last Thursday afternoon. We had a great time and saw a GREAT teacher and a super set of kiddos perform various skits and behave in a "grownup" way. Nothing at all like it would have been had I been young and there... in that class at that age. I was blown away by it all!
Photos from it and tons of short movie clips too online at http://www.paynecountyline.com/Gallery. or see the gallery link below on the left side of this page...
Finally... my blog is back online.. haha..
Seems ole Mr. Blogger ate this one for a week... it seems... haha...
We had a family day last Sunday at Heather and Paul's to celebrate a very important milestone. Young Miss Madison celebrated her 1st Birthday!! It was a wonderful afternoon. And a great party. She had a blast and enjoyed it all, from providing the "stripper" entertainment to eat her birthday cake... to opening her presents to being held and played with by Grandpa Roy and Uncle Chris and playing with Kaitlyn and Andrew too.... Was a great time. We all have made a point to be together on the first birthday of each kiddo... we might not be able to make the rest, but we wanted to be together on their first. This kind'a started with Austyn and how we all came together for his birthday.
It's a neat family thing. You would just have to be there to appreciate it, haha...
Well, God heard our prayers and has sent us rain. And we rejoice in His love. Just when it seems He might have turned a deaf ear, He blesses us, in many, many ways!
Paul was one of the chosen few to guard the President of the USA on his visit to Stillwater to speak at the OSU graduation. He has quite a story to tell, so will let him share that with you, but it is truly the "once in a lifetime" story. He had an early start and an eventful time, we can leave it at that.
Andrew if playing TBall and having fun. He as a couple of really good coaches and they are getting the best from him.
Ann and I bout have our home finished on the outside. Sure has changed the way it looks. Matthew did an awesome job for us. The kiddos went to school with Matthew, so we chose him. We just told him to do it. And he did and all is well in the world.
I am still walking about half as much as before the rain started. But am down to about 250... less in the buff, but thought that paints a pretty bad image so maybe I should not mention it... haha...
That's 50 pounds from heart attack and 100 from last Sept. 1st!!
Our heifers we kept back are calving and looking great. The mature cow pastures we have are enjoying this spring and the rain to recharge themselves and grow without momma cows eating them off ...
I moved my office for Payne County Line to Flatland Studios in Stillwater and am helping my good friend Greg Pearce. He has put together a complete package for artists at any point in their career. Flatland has a very modern up to date recording studio, a management company, a booking agency, a record label, a publishing company, and a university for the artists to attend to learn the business of music. I enjoy it and being around the artists I have known for a long time.
To date we have two artists we have signed exclusively with our record label, Tough Records.
Well, actually we are in the process of signing our second artists. He is from Midland, TX. and is a solid artists and a very nice person as well. We will see.. haha...
Payne County Line, my first love, crashed the servers that is it housed on with ipowerweb.com. They informed me that the site in 4 hours that afternoon received over 750,000 hits!! PCL has had many days of million hits... unbelievable to me. Some days it seems like maybe I should quit doing it as no one looks at it, but that is just on the surface, I guess... it seems that Nashville and both coast's have found it too...
ok.. enough of us... now how bout you???
later.. Enjoy the day - S
We had a family day last Sunday at Heather and Paul's to celebrate a very important milestone. Young Miss Madison celebrated her 1st Birthday!! It was a wonderful afternoon. And a great party. She had a blast and enjoyed it all, from providing the "stripper" entertainment to eat her birthday cake... to opening her presents to being held and played with by Grandpa Roy and Uncle Chris and playing with Kaitlyn and Andrew too.... Was a great time. We all have made a point to be together on the first birthday of each kiddo... we might not be able to make the rest, but we wanted to be together on their first. This kind'a started with Austyn and how we all came together for his birthday.
It's a neat family thing. You would just have to be there to appreciate it, haha...
Well, God heard our prayers and has sent us rain. And we rejoice in His love. Just when it seems He might have turned a deaf ear, He blesses us, in many, many ways!
Paul was one of the chosen few to guard the President of the USA on his visit to Stillwater to speak at the OSU graduation. He has quite a story to tell, so will let him share that with you, but it is truly the "once in a lifetime" story. He had an early start and an eventful time, we can leave it at that.
Andrew if playing TBall and having fun. He as a couple of really good coaches and they are getting the best from him.
Ann and I bout have our home finished on the outside. Sure has changed the way it looks. Matthew did an awesome job for us. The kiddos went to school with Matthew, so we chose him. We just told him to do it. And he did and all is well in the world.
I am still walking about half as much as before the rain started. But am down to about 250... less in the buff, but thought that paints a pretty bad image so maybe I should not mention it... haha...
That's 50 pounds from heart attack and 100 from last Sept. 1st!!
Our heifers we kept back are calving and looking great. The mature cow pastures we have are enjoying this spring and the rain to recharge themselves and grow without momma cows eating them off ...
I moved my office for Payne County Line to Flatland Studios in Stillwater and am helping my good friend Greg Pearce. He has put together a complete package for artists at any point in their career. Flatland has a very modern up to date recording studio, a management company, a booking agency, a record label, a publishing company, and a university for the artists to attend to learn the business of music. I enjoy it and being around the artists I have known for a long time.
To date we have two artists we have signed exclusively with our record label, Tough Records.
Well, actually we are in the process of signing our second artists. He is from Midland, TX. and is a solid artists and a very nice person as well. We will see.. haha...
Payne County Line, my first love, crashed the servers that is it housed on with ipowerweb.com. They informed me that the site in 4 hours that afternoon received over 750,000 hits!! PCL has had many days of million hits... unbelievable to me. Some days it seems like maybe I should quit doing it as no one looks at it, but that is just on the surface, I guess... it seems that Nashville and both coast's have found it too...
ok.. enough of us... now how bout you???
later.. Enjoy the day - S
Let us be grateful
Today's Quote
Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.
-Marcel Proust
Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.
-Marcel Proust
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Making Memories
Making Memories
Some may think spending the day with a child is doing 'nothing much.' Here's why it's the most important thing in the world.
By Tonna Canfield
Reprinted with permission from Chicken Soup for the Soul.
After eating breakfast, my little girl says, "Mommy, will you watch this show with me?" I look at the breakfast dishes in the sink and then at her big brown eyes.
"Okay," I say, and we snuggle together on the couch and watch her favorite show.
After the show, we put together a puzzle and I head for the kitchen to wash those dirty dishes when the phone rings. "Hi," my friend says, "What have you been doing?"
"Well," I say, "watching my little one's favorite show with her and putting together a puzzle."
"Oh," she says, "so you're not busy today."
No, I think to myself, just busy making memories.
After lunch, Erica says, "Mommy, please play a game with me." Now I am looking at not only the breakfast dishes but also the lunch dishes piled in the sink. But again, I look at those big brown eyes and I remember how special it felt when my mom played games with me when I was a little girl.
"Sounds like fun," I answer, "but just one game." We play her favorite game, and I can tell she is delighting in every moment.
When the game ends, she says, "Please read me a story."
"Okay," I say, "but just one."
After reading her favorite story, I head for the kitchen to tackle those dishes. With the dishes now done, I start to fix supper. My willing little helper comes eagerly to the kitchen to help me with my task. I'm running behind and thinking about how much faster I could do this if my sweet little one would just go play or watch a video, but her willingness to help and her eagerness to learn how to do what her mommy is doing melts my heart, and I say, "Okay, you can help," knowing it will probably take twice as long.
As supper is about ready, my husband comes home from work and asks, "What did you do today?"
I answer, "Let's see, we watched her favorite show and we played a game and read a book. I did the dishes and vacuumed; then with my little helper, I fixed supper."
"Great," he says, "I'm glad you didn't have a busy day today."
But I was busy, I think to myself, busy making memories.
After supper, Erica says, "Let's bake cookies."
"Okay," I say, "let's bake cookies."
After baking cookies, once again I am staring at a mountain of dishes from supper and cookie baking, but with the smell of warm cookies consuming the house, I pour us a glass of cold milk and fill a plate with warm cookies and take them to the table. We gather around the table eating cookies, drinking milk, talking and making memories.
No sooner have I tackled those dishes than my little sweetie comes tugging at my shirt, saying, "Could we take a walk?"
"Okay," I say, "let's take a walk." The second time around the block I'm thinking about the mountain of laundry that I need to get started on and the dust encompassing our home; but I feel the warmth of her hand in mine and the sweetness of our conversation as she enjoys my undivided attention, and I decide at least once more around the block sounds like a good idea.
When we get home, my husband asks, "Where have you been?"
"We've been making memories," I say.
A load in the wash and, my little girl all bathed and in her gown, the tiredness begins to creep in as she says, "Let's fix each other's hair."
I'm so tired! my mind is saying, but I hear my mouth saying, "Okay, let's brush each other's hair." With that task complete, she jumps up excitedly, "Let's paint each other's nails! Please!" So she paints my toenails, and I paint her fingernails, and we read a book while waiting for our nails to dry. I have to turn the pages, of course, because her fingernails are still drying.
We put away the book and say our prayers. My husband peeks his head in the door, "What are my girls doing?" he asks.
"Making memories," I answer.
"Mommy," she says, "will you lay with me until I fall asleep?"
"Yes," I say, but inside I'm thinking, I hope she falls asleep quickly so I can get up; I have so much to do.
About that time, two precious little arms encircle my neck as she whispers, "Mommy, nobody but God loves you as much as I do." I feel the tears roll down my cheeks as I thank God for the day we spent making memories.
Some may think spending the day with a child is doing 'nothing much.' Here's why it's the most important thing in the world.
By Tonna Canfield
Reprinted with permission from Chicken Soup for the Soul.
After eating breakfast, my little girl says, "Mommy, will you watch this show with me?" I look at the breakfast dishes in the sink and then at her big brown eyes.
"Okay," I say, and we snuggle together on the couch and watch her favorite show.
After the show, we put together a puzzle and I head for the kitchen to wash those dirty dishes when the phone rings. "Hi," my friend says, "What have you been doing?"
"Well," I say, "watching my little one's favorite show with her and putting together a puzzle."
"Oh," she says, "so you're not busy today."
No, I think to myself, just busy making memories.
After lunch, Erica says, "Mommy, please play a game with me." Now I am looking at not only the breakfast dishes but also the lunch dishes piled in the sink. But again, I look at those big brown eyes and I remember how special it felt when my mom played games with me when I was a little girl.
"Sounds like fun," I answer, "but just one game." We play her favorite game, and I can tell she is delighting in every moment.
When the game ends, she says, "Please read me a story."
"Okay," I say, "but just one."
After reading her favorite story, I head for the kitchen to tackle those dishes. With the dishes now done, I start to fix supper. My willing little helper comes eagerly to the kitchen to help me with my task. I'm running behind and thinking about how much faster I could do this if my sweet little one would just go play or watch a video, but her willingness to help and her eagerness to learn how to do what her mommy is doing melts my heart, and I say, "Okay, you can help," knowing it will probably take twice as long.
As supper is about ready, my husband comes home from work and asks, "What did you do today?"
I answer, "Let's see, we watched her favorite show and we played a game and read a book. I did the dishes and vacuumed; then with my little helper, I fixed supper."
"Great," he says, "I'm glad you didn't have a busy day today."
But I was busy, I think to myself, busy making memories.
After supper, Erica says, "Let's bake cookies."
"Okay," I say, "let's bake cookies."
After baking cookies, once again I am staring at a mountain of dishes from supper and cookie baking, but with the smell of warm cookies consuming the house, I pour us a glass of cold milk and fill a plate with warm cookies and take them to the table. We gather around the table eating cookies, drinking milk, talking and making memories.
No sooner have I tackled those dishes than my little sweetie comes tugging at my shirt, saying, "Could we take a walk?"
"Okay," I say, "let's take a walk." The second time around the block I'm thinking about the mountain of laundry that I need to get started on and the dust encompassing our home; but I feel the warmth of her hand in mine and the sweetness of our conversation as she enjoys my undivided attention, and I decide at least once more around the block sounds like a good idea.
When we get home, my husband asks, "Where have you been?"
"We've been making memories," I say.
A load in the wash and, my little girl all bathed and in her gown, the tiredness begins to creep in as she says, "Let's fix each other's hair."
I'm so tired! my mind is saying, but I hear my mouth saying, "Okay, let's brush each other's hair." With that task complete, she jumps up excitedly, "Let's paint each other's nails! Please!" So she paints my toenails, and I paint her fingernails, and we read a book while waiting for our nails to dry. I have to turn the pages, of course, because her fingernails are still drying.
We put away the book and say our prayers. My husband peeks his head in the door, "What are my girls doing?" he asks.
"Making memories," I answer.
"Mommy," she says, "will you lay with me until I fall asleep?"
"Yes," I say, but inside I'm thinking, I hope she falls asleep quickly so I can get up; I have so much to do.
About that time, two precious little arms encircle my neck as she whispers, "Mommy, nobody but God loves you as much as I do." I feel the tears roll down my cheeks as I thank God for the day we spent making memories.
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