"I'm an American Baseball Player"

This story is written by my 12 year old nephew and it's presented exactly as Michael wrote it during his English class.


"I am from a baseball bat from Wilson, Easton and Rawlings.

I am from wood carved of oak or pine with a shiny finish.

It is smooth with a natural color.

I am from the Georgia pine tree, the root runs deep, sturdy, flexible, but very strong.

I am  from Thanksgiving Dressing that Grandma Sylvia makes, athletic from John, southern from Ava, strong as well as proud from Pawpaw David.

I'm from the outdoors, stand for right, love Jesus, never give up, and work your hardest.

From the lies I was told not to tell and to always do your best, never give up, and pray.

I'm from God. He has helped me get where I am today.

I'm from the Royal Stuarts of Scotland and the non-royal Wein's.

Yes, Scottish ancestry of fight and Southern ancestry of pride run through my veins.

From the family stories Grandma Stewart tells; the strenght, love, and steadfast hand of her and you can see in a pile of office photos that she loves me.

I am Michale.

I am from the red dirt found on a baseball diamond scattered across Georgia.

I am an American baseball player."

Michael W.
Age 12
March 2013

“I AM THE SOUTH”

I’m a culture of people established and confirmed in strength; a land of hills and valleys, bayous, gulf streams and blue skies, I’m like no other.  I am the South.

See my Spanish moss swaying in the breeze from timeless oak trees, reflections bouncing off black bayou waters; you’ll not notice where the sky ends or the earth begins.

I went to war and found compassion; weeping for fifty thousand spirits that lie still on grassy fields where a hundred thousand brothers stood opposed; a battle of civil rights we would fight and still fight for a century more; ‘til the back bone of segregation had broken.

You’ll sit on my white sand beaches and watch the sun melt into the gulf; as the moon rises and bashfully hides his face behind a cloud, you may hear a whippoorwill singing the blues or listen to a train whining low near midnight, perhaps see a fallen star light up my dark purple skies.

And when you fall for me I’ll blush in hues of red, orange, yellow, and plum. Rome jealous of my coliseums known as Bryant-Denny, Swamp, and Death Valley; where gladiators’ roll in on a Crimson Tide, greeted by Seminoles, Tigers, and Volunteers. Under blue skies these warriors step onto green fields, equal; to be judged only by their character; where victory and loss are received with a handshake and smile.

I roll with thunder of a thousand horses; when younger my path was red stone carving through blue-ridge Mountains as blue grass bent in my breeze. Today I roll across earth black as coal through towns called Charlotte, Darlington, Talladega; at paces that step us back to a childhood dream.

I’m a muse; heard in music halls, street corners, and churches; called country, gospel, blues, and jazz. You’ll listen to the tenor in my voice as I tell stories of journeys old and young from cities and towns without pride or prejudice.  It’s an ensemble you welcome to a marriage; hear in a childs laughter; recording moments in time. 

I’ve risen from the ashes like a Phoenix, embracing a steadfast love for our beliefs, way of life, and declaration of who we are; I am the South. 

VinceS

Rusty

James Russell Wilson, his family just called him “Rusty”, as did his friends.

Rusty loved people and working was a pleasure for him.  His greatest outdoor love was anything to do with yard work; mowing the lawn, raking leaves, or chopping wood.

Rusty always loved his family but his love for his mom was unconditional from childhood to adult hood.

Rusty always liked a watch, his boots, and his wallet containing a few nickels, dimes, and dollars. 

Rusty always had a smile on his face and did not allow his physical challanges to handicap his life.

Easter time is so precious and our family is so happy to know the Lord called Rusty home – Holy Thursday five Easter’s ago. 

Rusty, you are missed.

VinceS

Stepping Out - Don't Look Back

As I travel through life I expected life to toss me a few lemons; instead life threw stones.  I took these stones and built a road which I now stand above.  Jesus give me the faith to step forward, the strength not to look back, and the courage not to fear what I do not know.  My dear Jesus, thank You for loving me, Amen.
VinceS

Serpiente and the Porcupine

A long time ago in the forest on the island of Rakata; squirrels, chipmunks, and all of the other critters were waiting for the arrival of the forest god Serpiente the winged serpent.   The animals were busy gathering food for the festival of Serpientes arrival.  There was only one green quilled porcupine that wasn’t helping.   The other animals tried to get him to help with the festival, but he ignored them.  They warned him of the punishment that Serpiente would give him if he didn’t help.   Mr. Porcupine ignored their warnings and just kept being lazy.  The next day Serpiente arrived with his rattlesnake guards and saw the smaller amount of food.  He asked a chipmunk why there was less food and the chipmunk told him about Mr. Porcupine.   Serpiente was furious, and he ordered his guards to get Mr. Porcupine and bring him to him.   When Mr. Porcupine came, Serpiente turned him into a pine tree and ever since you can see the pine tree has had spiky leaves all over it.   It is stuck in one place forever.   Everywhere that Mr. Porcupine had traveled and dropped a quill a tall pine tree grows. 
John S.

This short story was written by my son at 10 yrs of age and it's presented exactly as he wrote it -- he's now 20 and attending college.    Hope you enjoyed it.

Rock My Baby Bye

An Easter Prayer in the memory of the Sandy Hook boys and girls and the teachers who still hold their hands.

“Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock my baby bye,
Angels in heaven sparkle like stars in the sky,
Sleep my babies, sleepy bye.

Six golden candles light the way,

For angles come from heaven to keep you safe as you sleep and play,
Rock my baby, rock-a-bye.

Twenty little angels forever walk among rainbows and blue skies,

Among green pastures, blue birds, puppies with wet noses, and little baby ducks,
Picnics beside country streams, eating ice cream,
Knowing everlasting peace and love,
Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock my baby bye”.
Amen.

VinceS

Credit to my mom for  providing the lyrics "Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock my baby bye".
She has sung this lyric to babies and children for over sixty years. Rock-on mom!
 

A Dad's Gift to His Son - "Hold Fast"

Son, I can give you many gifts, but the one gift that prevails above them all is the gift of wisdom and love.  Here’s my gift to you.

“Hold Fast” is not a phrase often used in this culture. But in the original Greek, hold fast means not only to embrace, but to embrace with force as if someone is trying to take something from you. In other words, you’ve got to have a firm grip or you’re going to lose out!  And notice what we’re supposed to hold fast to — our faith, our dreams, our goals, our profession, our declaration of who we are.

Son, think of it sort of like a tug of war.  You’re on one end and the opponent or enemy is on the other.  He’s trying to pull that rope out of your hand.  He’s trying to steal your hope and get you to speak negative words of doubt and unbelief that’ll knock you off course preventing you from reaching your destination.  But you must be determined and stand strong.  You’ve got to persevere and “Hold Fast”. 

 Don’t let this opponent, this obstacle, this enemy, to pull you off course causing you to doubt yourself.  You might need to dig your heals in and get a new grip, but don’t you dare let go, don’t you dare surrender! When it gets tough and it will, keep speaking these two words “Hold Fast”.  You will learn that these two simple words “Hold Fast” will breathe life into a tired and broken body giving you the energy to continue moving forward.

Son, “Hold Fast” to your faith, your dreams, your goals, your profession, and who you are, and you’ll reach your destination!    

Love Dad

VinceS