All Louisiana Office of Motor Vehicles customer service centers will be closed Monday, Sept. 14, 2026, for system modernization efforts and staff training.

All private companies contracted to do business with the OMV, including Public Tag Agents and Auto Title Companies, will be unable to perform driver’s license, reinstatement, vehicle registration and title transactions from Saturday, Sept. 12, through Monday, Sept. 14.

Additionally, the OMV’s website, Expresslane.la.gov, and LA Wallet will be temporarily unavailable from Saturday, Sept. 12, through Sunday, Sept. 13.

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I’m a huge fan of the Little League World Series. There’s so much joy watching baseball at its purest form, kids having fun in a game that has been played for over a century, not worried about how much money they are making.

It’s probably the one time in a young baseball player’s life that money is not a factor. It’s kids playing a game they grew up with on a sandlot or in the side yard of their neighbor’s house. 

This is how I learned to play baseball, either on a sandlot or in someone’s backyard. Sure, there were a few broken windows and an occasional broken nose when someone (probably me) lost control of a fastball. But at the end of the day, it was just a part of the game we all loved!

Of course, once a window was broken, we scattered like a covey of quail and ran to our houses as if nothing had ever happened. No one wanted to accept or admit they were responsible for the damage done. But eventually over time, the truth would come out and the person responsible had to pay for the window either by handing over cash or doing yard work for a month, or maybe even both. 

While we very seldom had enough players to field a full team, baseball is the only game that I’m aware of where you have ghost runners. That’s right, imaginary runners who could literally fly around the bases. You could play with 3-4 players on a team and make it work, all due to the ghost runner rule.  

The thing about growing up in a small Texas town was that there really were neighborhood rivalries. East side vs. West side, North side vs. South side. One elementary school vs. another. The rivalries were real until you got to high school and you became one team. 

What is the secret to a winning athletic program? Well, in the town of Mt. Pleasant, Texas, during the 1970s, the athletic talent level was insanely high for such a small town. There were many great athletes coming through MPHS during this time frame. The Mt. Pleasant Tigers had a statewide reputation for winning and doing well in all sports. 

Championship teams were a constant and expectations from the community were high. But the one thing I remember the most was the support we had from the school and the community itself. 

The leadership came from a lot of people like the mayor, school principals, teachers, booster club members, the student body, auxiliary groups, coaches and our parents, that paved the way for so many championship teams. You cannot put a price on how much community support means. 

We took pride in representing Mt. Pleasant High School and looked forward to anyone who wanted to challenge the Mt. Pleasant Tigers in any sport.

I was so blessed to have the opportunity to play for a Texas baseball state championship in 1978 and win. I’ll never forget what our head coach told the team after we won. “Fellows, this win tonight will mean more to you later in life than it does now.” Truer words have never been spoken.

To this day at the young age of 65, it’s the proudest moment I have ever experienced as an athlete including the day I signed to play college football and baseball at Northwestern State. Winning a state title has meant more to me than being drafted by Major League Baseball.

There’s something special about growing up in a small town and winning a state title during your high school years, playing with guys and friends you grew up with. 

It’s that closeness and comradery that made us great, along with the talent we possessed as a team. It has made us friends for life as we continue to get together from time to time to celebrate our accomplishment and share the same stories over and over. 

The one thing I have noticed over time is just how much better we have gotten with each passing year. That’s right, we’re now legends in our own minds!  

How lucky was I to have been a part of such a great community of people who cared about and made sure we had the support we needed to be successful! I would like to say thank you to those who played a part in not only my personal success, but the success of many teams that represented Mt. Pleasant High School. Go Tigers!

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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On Sept. 9, 1776, the Continental Congress formally declared that the new nation would be known as the “United States” of America, replacing the term “United Colonies” that had been used previously. 

The decision came less than three months after the Declaration of Independence was adopted, as the colonies continued establishing the government and identity of the nation they had declared independent from Great Britain.

The name “United States of America” was directed to be used in continental commissions and other official documents.

Sept. 9 also marked other notable moments in history, including California becoming the 31st U.S. state in 1850 and Elvis Presley making his first appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show” in 1956. 

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“We don’t understand it, but your muffler is disintegrating from the inside.”

For once, the description of the noise my truck was making actually matched the noise it made for the service technician. Usually, when you take a vehicle to the shop, it immediately begins behaving like a child in front of company.

“It was doing it all the way over here,” you say.

The mechanic starts the engine.

Silence.

The truck sits there looking innocent.

But Saturday it cooperated.

“Eventually,” the service man explained, “your muffler will completely disintegrate, and your truck will become very loud.”

There are at least two ways you know you are getting old. The first is when the phrase “your truck will become very loud” sounds more like a threat than a promise. When I was younger, a loud truck might have been impressive. Now I want my muffler to do exactly what its name implies: muffle. Loud and old do not mix well—whether we are talking about trucks, music, neckties, or people explaining their opinions at restaurants.

The second way you know you are old is Muzak. If you step into an elevator, a doctor’s office, or a car dealership and realize the gentle instrumental music playing in the background is the same song your parents once yelled, “TURN THAT GARBAGE DOWN!” about—you are old. Saturday, Muzak was playing while the service man described my disintegrating muffler.

There was no denying it.

I am old.

And suddenly I began imagining life with a loud truck. Would people hear me pulling into the church parking lot before they saw me? Could I lead a funeral procession in it? Would the Baptists think I had joined the youth group? Would the Catholics begin praying for me?

“How much will it cost to fix?”

It was going to be expensive. Apparently, disintegrating from the inside was not covered by the warranty. That phrase stayed with me. Disintegrating from the inside.

How is your muffler?

Because mufflers are not the only things that can look reasonably good on the outside while quietly falling apart where nobody can see.

People can do it too.

Discouragement is a kind of interior rust. You start with faith, hope, and love. But disappointment works on you. Frustration works on you. Anger works on you. Fear works on you. And if you do not continually center your life in Christ, the corrosion begins. Often the problem is not that God has abandoned us. The problem is that we have decided exactly how God ought to behave. We get a plan fixed in our heads, a result fixed in our hearts, and a timetable fixed on the calendar. Then, when God refuses to cooperate, we become discouraged. Slowly, quietly, something begins disintegrating on the inside.

And here is another thing I learned about mufflers: When they deteriorate on the inside, eventually they get loud on the outside. That may explain more about our world than we would like to admit. Public discourse has become a contest to see who can be loudest. Conversation has been replaced by competition. Listening has become a lost art. We no longer seem content to disagree with somebody; we must defeat them, embarrass them, label them, or shout over them. Maybe all that exterior noise is telling us something about our interior condition.

Maybe some of us need our spiritual mufflers repaired. There is a verse of Scripture that both comforts and confronts. Eight simple words that can aggravate people who are determined to stay loud and bring wonderful hope to those who know something inside them needs restoring:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
—Psalm 46:10

Be still. Stop shouting. Stop insisting. Stop rehearsing everything that is wrong. Stop telling God how God ought to run the universe. Be still long enough to remember who God is—and who you are. Maybe faith, hope, and love are not restored by becoming louder. Maybe they return when we become quiet enough to hear God again.

I get it, Lord.

Will you help me repair my muffler?

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In 1863, the United States of America and the Confederate States of America were in the midst of what we now call the Civil War.  On June 1, 1863, nineteen-year-old Willis Meadows of Lanott, Alabama, joined Company G of the 37^th Alabama Regiment.  Willis was a fierce hunter who realized early on that missing a shot at wild game meant that he and his family would not have any meat on the table.  Within days of his enlistment, his superiors recognized his shooting skills and made him a sharpshooter.  One month to the day after his enlistment, July 1, Willis was helping defend Vicksburg from the Union army.  Through a small hole in a sheet of boiler plate, Willis took careful aim and fired a single shot at a time at Union soldiers so as not to give his position away.  He waited several minutes before firing again so the enemy could not pinpoint his position.  Every few minutes, Willis took down another soldier.  

21-year-old Peter Knapp and three other members of the 5^th Iowa volunteers were ordered to eliminate the sniper.  They slowly scanned the area while they awaited another shot.  Finally, Peter saw a flash come from the small hole in the boiler plate.  Peter was a crack shot as well.  As Willis peeked through the hole in search of another target, Peter fired.  The one-ounce cone-shaped bullet went through the same hole Willis had been firing through and struck him, Willis, in his right eye.  Peter saw Willis collapse and knew he was either dead or dying.  Peter and the other three reported that they had eliminated the sharpshooter and were sent on another assignment.

A short while later, a Union soldier found Willis and realized that he was still alive.  He and other Union soldiers took Willis to their surgeon who transferred the wounded sharpshooter to a federal hospital.  Doctors operated on Willis and concluded that it would be too dangerous to try to remove the bullet.  They stopped the bleeding and hoped for the best.  Despite the doctors’ grim prognosis, Willis’s condition slowly improved.  Except for the loss of his right eye, Willis regained his health.  Willis was eventually paroled and returned to Alabama.

58 years later, Peter was reading the newspaper when he read Willis’s incredible story.  He soon realized that Willis was the man he shot and whom he thought he had killed.  Peter wrote to Willis and they began corresponding back and forth for the remainder of Willis’s life.  The newspaper article which turned former enemies into friends was published on March 22, 1921.  On the day before, Willis, then 78 years old, was in his kitchen when he began coughing.  His coughing progressed into a coughing fit.  Willis held his handkerchief over his mouth, but nothing he tried would ease his coughing.  After several long minutes, Willis’s coughing ended abruptly when something struck his handkerchief.  He lowered the handkerchief from his mouth and stared in amazement.  58 years after being shot through the eye and left for dead, Willis coughed up Peter’s bullet.         

Sources:

1.     The Wellston News (Wellston, Oklahoma), April 1, 1921, p.2. 

2.     Phillips County News (Malta, Montana), September 8, 1921, p.1.

3.     “March 14, 1921 Coughing up Bullets,” Cape Cod Curmudgeon, March 24, 2018, Accessed August 30, 2026, https://todayinhistory.blog/2018/03/24/march-24-1921-coughing-up-bullets/.

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WINNFIELD – Experience.

That’s the sticking point in the 2026 football season for Winnfield, who will crank up the season Friday at Class 1A Glenbrook.

The Tigers boast 20 seniors on a 46-man roster, and those seniors are now accustomed to the way second-year coach Byron Keller wants to practice and play.

That’s why Winnfield seems poised to make a major leap from its 3-8 mark in 2026, although the Tigers did make the playoffs.

Defense was the major concern in 2025 as seven teams scored at least 40 points or more.

While jamboree opponent Holy Savior Menard may be no offensive juggernaut, Winnfield’s 20-8 win signals the defense has tightened up while not affecting the offense’s explosiveness.

“From this time last year to where we are this year, it’s a night and day difference,” Keller said at a pre-jamboree press conference at Battle on the Bricks. “I’m truly proud of the kids and how much hard work and dedication we’ve seen out of them.

“We had a large junior class last year, but they weren’t the most experienced, and we took our lumps. Now those guys have grown by leaps and bounds and are doing great things for us right now.”

Craig St. Cyr leaves a gaping hole in the receiver and defensive back corps, but the Tigers are not without weapons.

Both Detavious Williams and Richard Williams are proven threats both running and receiving, and Nickalas Mockosher is under center for another season.

Winnfield proved it could beat teams of equal or lesser quality this past season, but raising its level against opponents who’ve played at a higher level in recent seasons will be the key.

The Tigers should be the better team in four of their five contests before saddling up to one of the better Class 2A districts in the state.

Week 1 opponent Glenbrook is in the same boat.

The Apaches feasted on lesser opponents in each of their three wins, but they couldn’t hang with opponents near equal or better quality.

Glenbrook, which also finished 3-8 in 2025, will need to rectify that metric when Winnfield rolls into town.

Winnfield has won each of their past two season openers – both against traditional rival Jonesboro-Hodge.

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Back in 1990 when I started fishing bass tournaments, I had a great partner, Randy Farrar, who helped teach me a few things about how to pre-fish before a tournament — pre-fishing techniques like how to find bass but not catch them right before a tournament. You always want to catch them on tournament day and not so much in practice.

So many guys go out and catch bass right before the tournament and take them home for a good fish fry. One thing I know for sure, you will not be able to catch them on tournament day after you’ve eaten them!  

I learned a lot from my first fishing buddy. One thing he taught me was how to “shake fish off” and not hook bass during practice since you want to catch them on tournament day. 

“Shaking” refers to when a bass bites your lure, you shake the tip of the rod and hopefully the bass will let it go. Close to tournament day, the last thing you want to do is set the hook and sore mouth bass you’re wanting to catch when it counts.

However, during pre-fishing when the bass are in spawning mode, you don’t have to worry if you hook a fish. Because during spawning, bass are very aggressive and will strike a lure multiple times if it comes anywhere close to their spawning bed.

But over the years, I have learned on my own that bass might be the most unpredictable creatures on earth. So many times during practice, I have gone through a particular area and shook off a lot of bass thinking they will be there on tournament day. Well guess what? For whatever reason, the bass have either left or will not bite. 

This is when fishing gets very frustrating! But then there are times when finding those bass, a day or two before tournament day, actually pays off.

Another pre-fishing technique that I now employ is fishing without a hook and using what is called a screw lock. I use this when I’m fishing with any type of soft plastic worms. This is where you tie on a screw lock and use it to hold your worm or soft plastic bait instead of using a hook.

This way you never have to worry about hooking any fish you want to catch on tournament day. This is a pre-fishing technique I always use, especially the day before the tournament. 

In today’s bass tournament world, if you don’t pre-fish several days in a row before a tournament, you’re probably not going to win. The anglers winning today are guys who are on the water at least three days before the tournament. 

The days of showing up and winning or even getting a check are gone, as there are too many anglers putting in 8-10 hours a day locating bass. Even fishing on a lake that you know very well is not good enough to beat the guys putting in hours of pre-fishing. 

There are a lot of variables that can affect your ability to locate bass and catch them on tournament day. The first and foremost is the weather. This is something an angler has no control over, but you must understand bass behavior well enough to know how the weather affects them. 

Another factor you can’t control is the movement of baitfish they like to feed on. Bass will always be close to wherever the bait fish are. It’s their buffet; it’s their grocery store. Wherever the baitfish go, the bass will follow. 

So, if you want to compete and have a shot at winning or even getting a check in today’s bass tournaments, you better pre-fish and find as many schools of bass as you can during practice. Otherwise, you’re just donating your entry fee.  

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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If you think declaring yourself emperor or empress requires an army, a palace and perhaps a crown, Joshua Abraham Norton had a different idea.

On Sept. 2, 1859, a San Francisco businessman named Joshua Norton took a rather unusual step: He proclaimed himself Emperor Norton I of the United States.

Norton had once been a successful businessman, but after losing much of his fortune, his life took an unexpected turn. He began wearing a military-style uniform and issuing proclamations about how the United States should be governed.

His 1859 declaration announced that he was now Emperor of the United States. A few years later, he expanded his imaginary empire by proclaiming himself Protector of Mexico.

San Francisco residents, rather than simply dismissing Norton as a crank, embraced the eccentric figure. Newspapers published his proclamations, restaurants reportedly accepted his self-issued currency and some businesses gave him free meals.

Norton also issued decrees that were surprisingly ahead of their time. He called for the creation of a League of Nations-like organization and advocated for a bridge connecting San Francisco and Oakland — decades before the Bay Bridge was built.

Although Norton had no actual political authority, he became a beloved San Francisco character. When he died in 1880, thousands of people reportedly attended his funeral.

So, Sept. 2 marks the anniversary of one of history’s strangest self-promotions: the day a financially ruined businessman decided he wasn’t unemployed after all.

He was emperor.

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Football season has arrived in the South, which means several things are about to change. Our Saturday schedules will change. Our diets will change. Hopefully, the weather will change. And for the record, if Alabama is playing, please do not call the preacher unless the church is on fire, somebody is bleeding, or you have discovered a previously unknown Bible verse promising a Crimson Tide victory. Did you know the phrase Crimson Tide appears in many hymnals?

I am an Alabama fan living and pastoring near Louisiana Tech, and my children went to LSU. So, I know what it feels like to be a football outsider. I have survived years of purple and gold. I have smiled through “Geaux Tigers.” I have lived close enough to Louisiana Tech to know that on game day, Ruston suddenly contains considerably more red and blue than the census would suggest. Football in the South is not merely recreation. It is geography, family history, tribal identity, and occasionally a reason not to speak to your brother-in-law until Monday.

Football season also changes our schedules. In July someone says, “How about Saturday afternoon?” Everybody answers, “Sure.” In September, the response becomes, “What time is kickoff?” Don’t get me started on couples who plan a big church wedding on Saturday afternoons in the fall! That may be the first theological lesson football season offers us:

We make time for what matters to us.

People who are “too busy” can somehow find four hours for a football game, an hour for the pregame show, and another hour afterward listening to people explain why the coach should have gone for it on fourth-and-two. Our calendars reveal our priorities. Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” I suspect our calendars may reveal our treasure almost as clearly as our checkbooks.

Football season also changes our wardrobe. We wear team colors. We have lucky shirts. Some fans own clothing containing more school logos than actual fabric. Wouldn’t it be interesting if Christians were equally recognizable—not by what we wear, but by how we live? Jesus said the world would know his disciples by their love. Not their bumper stickers. Not their church membership. Not their ability to identify all the verses in Revelation. By their love.

Then there is the football diet. Nobody has ever said, “Alabama and LSU are playing tonight. Let’s celebrate with steamed broccoli.” Football calls for wings, nachos, sausage, barbecue, cheese dip, and whatever mysterious creation has been simmering in somebody’s Crock-Pot since breakfast. And strangely enough, there is something theological even there.

People gather around tables. They laugh. They tell stories. They argue about officials. They remember old games and old friends. We were created for community. That may be why Sunday worship matters. Church is not simply a place to hear a sermon any more than football is simply a way to discover the final score. We gather because we belong to one another.We celebrate victories. We carry one another through losses. We pray when life goes into overtime. 

So enjoy football season. Wear your colors. Cheer loudly. Eat irresponsibly. And when Sunday morning comes, remember there is another gathering where you belong. The admission is free. The fellowship is better. And unlike football, we already know who wins.

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Dolly Rebecca Parton, beloved singer, songwriter, actress, philanthropist, and one of the most treasured figures in American music and culture, passed away on Tuesday, August 25, 2026, in Nashville, Tennessee, at the age of 80.

Born on January 19, 1946, in rural East Tennessee, Dolly was the fourth of twelve children and grew up in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains. From those humble beginnings came a voice, a talent, and a spirit that would eventually reach nearly every corner of the world.

Over a remarkable career spanning more than six decades, Dolly became one of country music’s most recognizable and influential artists. Her extraordinary gift for storytelling gave the world songs that became part of the American soundtrack, including Jolene, Coat of Many Colors, 9 to 5, and I Will Always Love You. Her unmistakable voice, quick wit, larger-than-life style, and genuine warmth allowed her to connect with generations of people far beyond the boundaries of country music.

Her talents extended well beyond the stage. Dolly became a celebrated actress, author, businesswoman, and entrepreneur while remaining deeply connected to the Tennessee mountains and the people who helped shape her. Yet among her greatest accomplishments was the generosity she showed to others.

Through the Dolly Parton Imagination Library, founded in honor of her father, millions of books have been placed into the hands of children around the world. Her philanthropy also supported education, disaster relief, healthcare, and countless communities and individuals throughout her lifetime.

For all the awards, records, rhinestones, and worldwide recognition, Dolly’s greatest legacy may be the way she made people feel. She encouraged people to dream bigger, laugh at themselves, remain true to who they were, and extend kindness wherever possible. She never seemed to forget where she came from—and because of that, people from every walk of life felt as though they knew a little piece of her.

Dolly was preceded in death by her beloved husband of nearly 60 years, Carl Thomas Dean, who passed away in March 2025. Their famously private and enduring marriage remained one of the most cherished parts of her life.

The little girl from the mountains of Tennessee grew up to become an American icon, but she never lost the heart that made the world fall in love with her in the first place. Her songs will continue to be sung, her stories will continue to be told, and the kindness she put into the world will continue through generations of lives she touched.

In lieu of flowers, those wishing to honor Dolly’s extraordinary legacy of generosity and her lifelong commitment to children and literacy are encouraged to make a memorial contribution to Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library. Through the program, books are provided each month at no cost to children from birth to age five, helping Dolly’s love of reading and learning continue to reach future generations.

Memorial donations may be made directly to Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library: Click here to Make a Donation in Memory of Dolly Parton

A message from the family of Dolly Parton: Click here to watch video

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By Brad Dison

Where are the flying cars that engineers began promising us as early as the 1940s?  In 1946, Popular Mechanics magazine predicted that flying cars would become commonplace soon.  Nearly 40 years later, Doctor Emmett Brown in the Hollywood film Back to the Future told Marty as they were preparing to hit 88 miles per hour, “Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads.”  That was in 1985 and flying cars are still not commonplace.  What happened to the flying cars that we have been promised for generations?  

During World War II, Theodore “Ted” Hall proposed a flying car that could be used in commando-type raids but he was unable to convince the military of its practicality.  Following World War II, Ted worked with Consolidated Vultee Aircraft Corporation to build flying cars for the masses.  They began with the Convair Model 116, a two-seater crude car body with detachable wings and tail.  Test pilots completed more than 65 flights in the Model 116 before Ted began working on a more marketable model called the Model 118 (see photo above).

The Model 118 had a more refined plastic car body, a 26½ horsepower car engine, a more powerful Lycoming airplane engine, and could comfortably transport four people.  Convair planned to produce 160,000 of the Model 118s and expected to sell many of them to airports to use as rental vehicles.  

On November 15, 1947, test pilot Reuben Snodgrass flew the prototype Model 118 for the first time, and it performed splendidly.  Three days later, pilot Snodgrass and flight researcher Lawrence Phillips flew the flying car over San Diego, California, on what was supposed to be a one-hour flight to test the engine’s calibration.  A few minutes into the flight as they were enjoying what had been a flawless test, the engine sputtered and died.  All attempts to restart the engine failed.  Pilot Snodgrass was familiar with the area and glided the flying car toward the hard-caked mud flats near South Bay.  It was a textbook landing for the first 200 feet, but pilot Snodgrass did not see the four-foot-high embankment until it was too late.  In the crash, pilot Snodgrass suffered only minor bruises, but Phillips suffered a fractured shoulder.  The car portion was destroyed, but the wing and airplane engine were repaired and used on further test flights.  Although public interest in the flying car was initially high, it was not high enough.  The company cancelled the flying car.     

The reason the Model 118 flying automobile was never made available to the public was not because of a design flaw, not because of something the pilot did, but something he did not do.  On that cool November day, the Convair flying car crashed because… it ran out of gas.  Pilot Snodgrass was a careful pilot who always used a preflight checklist to avoid accidents such as this.  After the crash, Pilot Snodgrass went over the checklist more carefully one item at a time.  He remembered vividly checking the fuel gauge which showed to be full.  Then, he realized his mistake.  It was a simple mistake that anyone could make.  Pilot Snodgrass had checked the fuel gauge, the car’s fuel gauge.  He had not checked the airplane’s fuel gauge. 

Sources:

1.     The Fresno Bee, November 12, 1947, p.1.

2.     The Los Angeles Times, November 19, 1947, p.14.

3.     Holdenville Daily News, November 20, 1947, p.4.

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I’ve always felt that I grew up in the perfect era. It was the early ‘70s and the Vietnam War was coming to an end. My generation never had to worry about being drafted by the armed forces. If you wanted to join the military, it was strictly voluntary. 

While a few of my classmates chose to go in that direction, my attention was trying to get an athletic scholarship to play either football or baseball on the Division 1 level.

Let’s go back to my early years of growing up in the small East Texas town of Mt. Pleasant. As a child during this time frame, we had a lot of freedom. If you had a bike, it was this form of transportation that was basically unlimited. If you could ride your bike on it, there was no limit to where you could go. 

We woke up at daylight and were on our bikes by 8 o’clock every summer morning and only came home for lunch, or right at dark. My kids still have a hard time understanding that the only rule we had — be home when the streetlights came on. 

Parents didn’t always check on their kids. They pretty much knew where they supposed to be. My mother always knew where I was and who I was with most of the time. There was also a certain amount of trust between parents and their kids, until that trust was broken and we got into trouble. 

We lived about three miles out of town and several days out of the week, I would ride my bike for miles. I was either playing ball somewhere at a local ballpark or somebody’s back yard. We rode our bikes looking for coke bottles on the side of the road that we could trade for candy at the local country store.

We played in creeks and ditches, especially after a big rain. As friends we were always together every day and spent a lot of time playing baseball or going to the local pool. 

Occasionally, you could find me fishing at one of the stock ponds, or tanks as they call them in Texas.  If I wasn’t at one of the ponds on our ranch, our neighbor Mr. Rayford Jones, who lived across the road from our house, owned a cattle farm and allowed my brother and me along with his grandson to fish his two ponds (tanks) that were full of bass and catfish. 

Growing up in the country meant you probably had a garden to tend to. Every other day, I had to spend a couple of hours raking grass out of the garden, which was absolute torture for me. But the produce that came out of the garden was incredible, especially after dad had a load of chicken manure brought in! 

We also had about two acres around our house that had to be mowed once every two weeks. Not with a riding mower, but with a push mower! That’s right, a 14-inch cut push mower, which required at least two days to complete the job. 

I had a brother, seven years younger, who was supposed to take over the lawn cutting duties after I left home for college. Guess what showed up two days before I left home: that’s right, a Sears riding mower! 

To say I voiced my displeasure to my parents about this purchase would be an understatement. For five years I push-mowed two acres and now my little brother would get to use a riding mower! 

That being said, there were several chores demanded of me that my brother never took on. So, I guess you could say being the youngest had its privileges.

Looking back, I had an awesome childhood with more freedom than kids have today. They say it’s a different world than what my generation grew up in. I’m not sure that’s totally right. 

There’s just so much more media exposure with up to the minute news and social media sites that are always shedding light on topics most really don’t want to hear about. 

There’s always been bad people in the world who are looking to prey upon the weak. Today’s kids are growing up in a bubble of overprotection. Parents are less likely today to allow their kids to roam free like we did. 

I think kids and young teenagers today are not near as mature as earlier generations. This is due to parents being overprotective, afraid to let their kids make mistakes they can learn from. With my generation, we all had summer and part-time jobs that helped us to mature and understand responsibility at an early age. 

Our parents did a great job of preparing us for the real world. That gave us something I think is lacking with so many of today’s youth –maturity and accepting responsibility. We can only hope and pray that the generation of today will find its own path to success sooner rather than later. 

Our country is at a crossroads in so many ways today. Far left extremists continues to gain ground in small areas of the country. But I don’t think when it comes down to a national election, they will have enough support to win.

I think common sense once again will prevail with the American people,like it did back in the good ole days. If it wasn’t for today’s social media, these small pockets of far-left activists would never even be heard. In God we trust! Stay strong America!

 Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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A bomb discovered at a Nevada casino on Aug. 26, 1980, was supposed to be carefully dismantled by the FBI. Instead, the attempt to disarm it triggered an explosion that caused millions of dollars in damage.

The bomb had been planted at Harvey’s Resort Hotel in Stateline, Nevada, by extortionist John Birges. He demanded $3 million from the casino and built the device inside a large metal box.

When authorities discovered the bomb, FBI bomb technicians were brought in to dismantle it. During the operation, however, a mistake caused the device to detonate. The explosion tore through part of the hotel and caused an estimated $18 million in damage. 

Despite the enormous blast, no one was killed.

The bizarre incident became one of the more unusual chapters in the history of casino crime and bomb disposal. Birges was eventually arrested and convicted for the bombing.

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Human beings are amazing creatures. We can build skyscrapers, transplant hearts, send people into space, and teach a telephone to recognize our face. But ask us to do something difficult—even something we have dreamed about doing—and suddenly we become extraordinarily creative theologians.

“I would, Lord, but…”

That sentence may be humanity’s oldest hymn.

Moses certainly knew the tune. In Exodus 3, God appears to him in a burning bush and essentially says, “Moses, remember that thing you have cared about most of your life? Remember your people suffering in Egypt? Remember how you once tried to do something about it? Well, I’m sending you.”

You would expect Moses to shout, “Finally!”

Instead, Moses begins producing excuses like a Louisiana mosquito produces relatives.

“Who am I?”

“What if they don’t believe me?”

“What if I don’t know what to say?”

“I’m not a good speaker.”

And finally, when the theological arguments run out: “Lord, please send somebody else.”

That last one is refreshingly honest.

We do exactly the same thing.

“I’ve always wanted to write a book.”

Wonderful. Start writing.

“Well, I really need the right desk.”

So we buy the desk.

“Now I need the right chair.”

We buy the chair.

“Of course, proper lighting is important.”

Six months later we have a magnificent home office, three notebooks, seventeen pens, a new computer—and not one sentence.

Or maybe we have always wanted to get in shape. Monday morning arrives with all the promise of a new creation. Unfortunately, Monday is inconvenient. Tuesday looks better, except there may be rain. Wednesday is Bible study. Thursday feels too close to Friday, and everybody knows you should never begin anything major that close to a weekend.

Next Monday it is.

Church people are particularly gifted at sanctifying excuses.

“Someone ought to visit that person.”

Someone ought to.

“We really need somebody to work with the children.”

Absolutely.

“Somebody should invite that new family to lunch.”

Amen!

Apparently, “Somebody” is the busiest member of every congregation in America.

The funny thing is that we sometimes make excuses about doing the very things we have asked God to let us do.

We pray for an opportunity, and when God provides one, we say, “Not quite what I had in mind.”

We pray, “Lord, use me.”

God says, “All right.”

And suddenly we begin renegotiating the contract.

“Lord, when I said ‘use me,’ I was thinking perhaps in an advisory capacity.”

Moses discovered something important at the burning bush. God never really answered Moses’ question, “Who am I?”

Instead, God answered the question that mattered: “I will be with you.”

That is the hope for all of us excuse makers.

God does not wait for us to become fearless, eloquent, organized, perfectly prepared, ten pounds lighter, completely confident, or free next Tuesday.

God simply calls.

And when our excuses begin piling up, God keeps saying what he said to Moses:

I will be with you.

So perhaps the next time God opens the door we have spent years asking him to open, instead of developing another excellent reason why we cannot walk through it, we might take one trembling step.

We excuse makers may discover that God has already gone ahead of us.

And apparently, he is not nearly as impressed with our excuses as we are.

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