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It's Here - FOOTBALL

2010-09-03T19:26:00Z

It’s Here – FOOTBALL

My favorite time of year is the fall and we are getting close. I love the beautiful colors with the changing of the leaves, the crisp mornings on the deck with a hot cup of coffee and the beginning of hunting season. But, that is not the main reason that I love the fall. I love the fall because of football. This weekend college football kicks off and I love it.

I have always loved football. In high school I couldn’t wait for Friday nights to watch my friends amaze me on the field. Joe would drop back and pass, Darry would run through the line to the end zone. Jerry caught Joe’s passes. Ronnie and Ranny would block with Steve, Butch and Ben playing both sides of the ball. These guys were my heroes. I wanted to play football, but most people didn’t know that I had a problem with my back that would not allow me to play football; a yellow streak a mile wide!

Rita would lead the best group of cheerleaders ever assembled on the planet. While Terri and Cindi, would march and twirl. I loved the majorettes (what healthy teenage boy didn’t like cheerleaders and majorettes) after all I married the prettiest majorette that I had ever seen, Pam. Even after forty two years of marriage on some special football nights Pam puts own her old high school majorette uniform (she still looks awesome) grabs her baton and… well, that’s another blog subject. The award winning band at Parker High School was the best. Waymon led them in keeping the crowd pumped up and putting on fantastic half time shows. With the help of a great group of kids like Roseanna, Nancy and Sherry, I did my best to raise school spirit and fill the stands with loud fans. I loved football and I still do.

Today, my college loyalties are as follows: 1). How ‘bout them DAWGS! 2). Roll Tide 3).Go Furman (or whatever they say). But, there will never be anything like Friday nights at PHS when the Golden Tornadoes hit the field.

The sport is great, but it is the people who play the sport that catch our attention. There is a great story about a coach who was looking for the perfect player. He told his scouts to go out and find that guy, the perfect player.

“Coach”, the scout asked, “How will we know which one is the best?”

“There is this guy who gets knocked down and gets back up and gets knocked down again and just quits”, the Coach stated.

“We don’t want him Coach”, the scout quickly answered.

“No sir, but this other guy keeps getting knocked down and he keeps getting back up but dies out the second half”, the Coach kept on.

“Not him either”.

“Nope, but there is this other guy who gets knocked down, gets up and keeps getting back up until the last play of the game and then he is ready to hit some more”.

“Coach, that’s the man we want!” the scout shouted.

“No, not him either”, the Coach answered, “I want the guy knocking everybody down!”

You know, the Coach is not the only one looking for someone special. A little boy and girl are looking for that special mom or dad that loves them and has time for them. A wife is looking for that husband who really loves her. Some husband is looking for a wife that believes in him. And God is looking for those who will follow Him. This fall would be a good time for us to focus on being that someone that someone in your life is looking for.

God bless . . . .

Confessions of a Mandoholic

2010-08-07T18:01:00Z

Confessions of a Mandoholic

I have shared many stories and observations with you in my past blogs. As many of you know, the mandolin has become a very important part of my life. If confession is good for the soul, then this blog will help you understand the following statement:

“Hi, my name is Joey and I am a mandoholic”.

It has been said that there is a strong bond between a cowboy and his horse. We all saw that bond lived out on the TV screen with Roy and Trigger and the Lone Ranger and Silver. Print ads and television commercials have shown over the years the connection of a man with his old beat up pick-up truck. Dierks Bentley and the late Sam Walton are perfect examples. Heck, my truck has 233,000 miles on her! The deeper that I get into the music world, both playing and researching for a book that I am writing, I have found the same to be true about these little instruments made of wires and wood and the pickers that play them.

Vince Gill’s song “This Old Guitar and Me” and John Denver’s “This Old Guitar” captured the hearts of many musicians about that special relationship that develops over years of song writing and playing on a special guitar. I have that relationship with a ’67 Gibson B-25 guitar. She stole my heart as a teenager.

But, this mandolin thing takes it to another level. Having played the guitar since I was fourteen, I knew about mandolins or at least that is what I thought. An April Sunday morning years ago found me sitting on the front pew of a picturesque white clapboard country church in the Amish country of Ohio. At the invitation of the pastor, I was to speak that morning.

The pastor was a kind, unassuming man who had a problem with stuttering. He worked his way through welcoming the folks and a few announcements with scattered stops and restarts. Just before I was to speak he announced that he and his teenage daughter would sing a couple of songs for the special music. His daughter stepped on the stage with a beautiful old Martin D-28 and he reached around to uncase an old Aria Pro 2 mandolin. As his pick struck the first few notes of the introduction, something deep down inside of me came alive. My eyes focused on his fingers and my ears strained to capture ever note. As he sang, he never stuttered a word and their harmony was as smooth as warm honey. I could have listened to them for the entire morning.

After the back door handshakes and comments, I asked the pastor to show me his mandolin, not the vintage Martin and I was a guitar guy. Removing it from the old leather case, he placed it into my hands. A fire ignited in my soul. My mandolin journey had begun.

How is it that we become so attached to just a combination of wires and wood? After speaking with literally scores of mandolin players and builders, I find this common thread of bonding. My mandolin sits now in an antique bookcase with glass doors near my writing desk. Many mornings it is the first thing that I pick up after my morning coffee. More often than not, it is the last thing that I put down before going to bed the evening before.

When I am tired, playing it seems to give me strength. When I am anxious, it seems to give me peace. During the times that I hit a writer’s block it clears my head and helps me refocus my thoughts. Sometimes I pick a lively tune for fun, while other times I need the deep notes of the blues to help me with sorrow or sadness. As a Christian, I play old hymns or praise songs to thank the good Lord for how He has blessed me. I play it for others to hear or sometimes just for myself. It is as though it is my friend. How is that, isn’t it just wires and wood?

I guard it like a child when I fly and in some distant lonely motel room it takes me back home. I have watched it played by many of the best mandolin players on the planet. I have heard Mike Compton bring out the Monroe in it; Jesse McReynolds cross pick it in only the way that he can play or Ricky Skaggs run out an unbelievable string of notes. Those special times filled my heart with both excitement and sympathy. Excitement because I heard it’s potential. Sympathy, because the mandolin deserves a much better player than me; although I am getting better, I don’t drop the pick nearly as much as I used to.

It is hard to understand this love affair that we have with these wonderful instruments. We name them; polish them and buy accessories for them. You can see mandolin folks walking around with tee shirts and ball caps adorned with mandolin images. The internet is filled with stops for the mandolin enthusiast with even a Mandolin Cafe, a place that I visit daily (www.Mandolincafe.com). We carry our mandolins to jams, festivals, church socials and even to park benches where we open the case in hopes to share the magic with anyone that comes along to listen. All of this because of our love for this simple little instrument made of wires and wood.

Musicians are certainly an interesting breed. Unless you have felt the life in a mandolin as it vibrates in your hand and hear its voice as it pulls music out of its depths and sends it across the strings into a world of waiting listeners, you probably won’t get this blog. It has been well said that “those who don’t hear the music think the dancer is mad”. Or as a great mandolin philosopher once said, “That ain’t no part of nothing”.

Let me assure you, when you do hear the music you’ll know why we dance and you find out that this is a part of something, the wonderful world of wires and wood.

Have a great week and leave a comment if you wish . . . .

Ring Tones

2010-07-11T17:19:00Z

Ring Tones

I was waiting in the checkout line at the grocery when my iphone rang. Well, it didn't really ring, it quacked. The check out lady looked at me with a smile and asked, “Did you just quack?”

Before I could answer, the phone quacked again. Without missing a beat, I leaned over toward her and said, “It is okay to bring my duck in the store with me isn't it, it's just too hot to leave him out in my truck”.

I reached in my coat pocket and pulled out my iphone, answered the call and winked at the checkout lady. It was my son, who is a Veterinarian, thus the duck ring tone.

You can hear every kind of ring tone in the world today. From Charlie Daniels'
“The Devil Went Down to Georgia” to a Bach Overture, they announce a special call from a special person.

Hearing them go off in church is a hoot. It always happens right when the preacher is waxing eloquent about the evils of the world and out of nowhere comes Toby Keith's “I Love This Bar”.

I was in line at the Walmart last week and a very large lady was in front of this young boy and his mom. The large lady's phone went off with a beeping ring tone and the boy pushed his mom and cried “Get out of the way, she's backing up!”

Ring tones are not new. When I was a boy, we had a party line telephone. That meant that more than one family shared the line. So, each family had a different ring. Our ring was two quick rings which signaled our family and the nosy lady who was on our party line to pick up the phone. Oh, I had some fun with her eavesdropping until the spankings became too painful.

Ring tones are designed to let you know who is calling. Here's a thought; what is God's ring tone in our lives? How do we know when He is calling us? Just like we have to set the ring tones on our new phones, we need to set the ring tone of our heart to hear from God. We are programmed to have a desire to hear from God, to even search for God. But, we must learn to listen when He speaks. So, each of us, in our own way, need to set the ring tone to our heart to hear from our heavenly Father. And He usually calls every day, sometimes even more often.

Have a great week and leave me a comment or your ring tone story.

God bless . . .

Joey

Happy Father's Day

2010-06-18T14:01:00Z

Happy Father’s Day

Here is a story out of my book Success Afield that I hope with bless you on this special weekend.

Fish Talkin’

The little red and white bobber danced on the still, green water like a kernel of corn ready to pop. Slowly, the bobber pulled down as the fish took it toward submerged tree top.

“Come on Hully, take it Hully, easy Hully,” I whispered to the fish.

“Dad, who are you talking to?” asked my seven year old son.

“Son, I am talking to the fish,” I replied as I lifted the rod and set the hook in a slab crappie’s mouth.

“See it works,” I said. “You should try it sometime.”

“You’re nuts,” he laughed. “Where did you learn that trick?”

I remember well. It was one of those childhood memories that live in your heart forever. Fats and Mary Waddell, who worked with my dad, took me on my first spring crappie fishing trip at the age of eight. Fats, a man over six feet tall who weighed about 140 pounds- go figure-taught me how to fish talk.

I watched in amazement as he put fish after fish in the boat. I was fishing right next to him with the same bait, yet he caught many more fish than me. He talked slowly and calmly to each fish taking his bait. So, I began to copy him. As the cork swam away, instead of jerking quickly like an eight year-old kid might, I talked to the fish until the cork was under; then with a steady lift, the fish was mine. Fats taught a kid how to be patient by never saying a word- at least to me.

My son’s cork was easing away. Under his breath I could hear the faint words, “Come on Hully, easy Hully.” The cork disappeared, and with a smooth lift the fish was hooked. Oh, by the way, that was just last week, over twenty years away from his first lesson in fish –talkin.”

Every day God gives us opportunites to teach our children and to pattern their lives. What have you been teaching you child lately? Give your kids the right example. They deserve it and God expects it.

Teach a youth about the way he should go;

Even when he is old he will not depart from it.

Proverbs 22:6

Have a blessed Father’s Day and leave me a comment or your story about your Dad and special moment …….. God bless ………

This One Thing

2010-06-08T18:15:00Z

This One Thing

I am sitting here on my deck, coffee in hand gathering myself for a challenging week. There are decisions to be made, some tough, deadlines to be reached, getting closer with each tick of the clock and prayers to be prayed. Through all of this stuff called life, what is the one thing that I can do to lighten the load, walk a little easier, feel more happiness and encourage others? I know that one thing and I want to share it with you this morning.

I love westerns; you know John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Kevin Costner and Roy. Yet, one of my favorite westerns doesn't have any of them riding away into the sunset. It has Billy Crystal bringing home a pet cow! Yep, “City Slickers” makes me laugh, but one line makes me think.

Curly, the tough cowboy played by Jack Palance, asks Mitch (Billy Crystal) a life changing question.

“Do you know what is the secret to life?” Curly asks as he holds up one finger.

“Your finger?”, Mitch answers.

“One thing, just one thing and you stick to that”, Curly replies.

“But what is that one thing?” Mitch fires back.

Curly with a smile as big as the Montana sky says “That's what you have to find out”.

All through the movie Mitch is haunted by that statement and the viewer is watching for any and every clue. The whole time Curly just smiles, hmm-mm?

Could that one thing be a smile? Could something as simple as a smile make a difference in a day, in a week or in a lifetime?

I think it can, as a matter of fact I know that it can. So, this week I am going to smile more. A smile is good for you and those around you. But, Joey I really am having a hard week and I don't have anything to truly smile about. Really? A smile is triggered often by the outside things like a cute puppy, a funny hat on a woman at the mall or a good joke. A smile can also be traced to a grateful heart, a happy hope that all will work out or a path of a purposeful life.

Don't let a rough spot in the wonderful path of your life rob you of your smile. It is contagious to others and comforting to you. So, just before you open the office door for that meeting you have been worried about all week, smile; just before you pick up the phone for that dreaded call that you are about to make, put on that smile. Just before you walk in the front door of home after a rough day, smile.

It might just be that one thing!

Have a great week and let me know what you think in the comments, God bless . . .

© Joey Hancock 2010

Gobbling at the Graveyard

2010-04-18T18:33:00Z

The weather that April afternoon in south Alabama was beautiful and a blessing for the bereaved family gathered at the graveside of Grandpa. He was a good man with a wonderful family; a God-fearing man who loved the outdoors and especially the spring of the year when he could put in his garden, go fishing and hunt turkeys. So, what was about to unfold was so appropriate.

I was conducting his graveside funeral in a small country church grave yard with about 50 friends and family. The opening scripture reading of the twenty third Psalm had been read, I had finished the eulogy and the lady singer was belting out her version of Amazing Grace with particularly high, off key notes, when down below back in the woods a Tom turkey cut loose with a soulful gobble. Each time that she would hit a high note that would wobble, he would gobble.

The family thought it touching; the friends thought that the turkey was more in key than the singer and the turkey hunters in the group were looking at me to wrap this thing up. The land where the turkey was gobbling was paper company land to which every turkey hunter at the funeral had permission in their pocket or on the visor of their truck to hunt.

The lady finally finished her singing to the blessing of the family and the mercy of the crowd. I prayed and then went down the line consoling the family and explaining that I had to leave quickly for a meeting. I encouraged all the folks there to stay a while and fellowship. Each turkey hunter had their wife with them who would heed my call to console and comfort, so I knew that I could get the jump on the men.

As I got in my car, everyone else was visiting and I was ahead of the game. Only 20 minutes from my house, I sped home to change clothes, grab my turkey gear and head out. If I was the first back, the others would honor it and let me hunt the turkey.

Turning into the gravel parking lot of the country church I saw that all the funeral folks were gone and there was only one lone car parked up next to the church. It was the car of a good hunter who went to my church in town and was there at the funeral. How did he do that? How did he get back so quickly? I saw his wife, where was she?
I reached into the back of my truck and grabbed my turkey vest and swung around to put it on. Coming out of the woods was the hunter with a huge gobbler over his shoulder. I noticed as he got closer to me, grinning from ear to ear, that he was wearing a camo jump suit over his regular suit and tie.

“Preacher”, he chided, “You’ll learn one day to keep your turkey hunting stuff with you and nice try with the lady folks and stuff, but my wife drove her own car”.

I was raised as a scout to be prepared and I had gone away from my raising. When you have your head right and your heart right before walking out the door every morning, you are prepared for the day. Spend some time with the Lord each morning to prepare you for the unexpected gobbling at the gravesides of your life.
If you know a turkey hunter, pass this blog along. Please leave comment, thanks!

Empty

2010-04-03T14:19:00Z

Empty

Admit it, you like everybody else likes to find stuff. Often it is the high point of our day when we find stuff. How great is it to run your hand into the pocket of the jeans that you had on last week and find a $20 that you had forgotten or when you find your favorite CD that you lost under the seat of the car?

Some stuff that we find because we lost it in the first place and other stuff we are find just by living life. I found a great BBQ place in MO last week just by being hungry and a friend taking me there. They served sliced BBQ pork covered in pimento cheese in a grilled sandwich. Wow!!

How about those times that you go looking for one thing and find something else? Most of us find our car keys that way. You know the ones that we already replaced. So many times, what we found was better than for what we were looking.

On the first Easter Sunday Mary and Martha went looking for one thing and found something else, which was so much better. Early that morning they went to the tomb of Jesus. They went with empty hearts to find a filled tomb, but they found an empty tomb that filled their hearts.

What will you find this Easter? Hopefully, you find a new realization of how much God loves you and an empty tomb that will fill your heart. Have blessed Easter . . . . .

Got Your Wife's Present Yet?

2009-12-18T17:32:00Z

As Christmas day approaches, I see more and more of them. You have seen them as well. Men, just standing in a mall, a department store or a gift shop with a faraway look in their eyes and a single bead of perspiration easing down their forehead. They are a desperate breed, terrified group, tormented souls for they are the men who have forgotten what their wives told them that they wanted for Christmas. But yea, there is one group in even a worst condition. Those are the men who forgot and then just picked out something that they thought was cool. Oh, Lord have mercy on this fallen being as the gift wrap is torn. Permit me to share a story of a man who knew exactly what his wife wanted and didn’t forget.

The story begins with man’s most feared question followed by a not so good answer and then a Christmas ultimatum.

“Honey, does my new Christmas party dress make me look fat?” she asked as she modeled her new dress.

Fear gripped the heart of this husband, for in twenty five years of marriage he had never answered this question correctly.

“Uh”, he stumbled, “You asked the wrong man ‘cause I saw you before you got in it”. He had kept his batting average alive.

“Well sir, I have had it with twenty five years of answers that make me feel fat”, she stormed.

“You have one chance to make this up or I am out of here”, she continued, “This Christmas I want the gift that I have always wanted. And I want a brand new one, Candy Apple red sitting in the driveway on Christmas morning. And I want it to go from 0 to 160 in a flash. You got it?”

“Yes”, he stammered, “You’ll get it”.

Christmas day she came down the stairs with doubt in her heart and was amazed that he was sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee in hand and a grin spread across his face.

“Well?” she questioned.

“It’s out here in the driveway just like you asked Candy Apple red and all”, he replied.

She threw her arms about him with a big hug and ran out to the driveway. He was exactly right. There it sat; a brand new Candy Apple red set of bathroom scales.

“Step on it”, he shouted, “and it’ll go from 0 to 160 in a flash!”

Merry Christmas and God Bless!!!!

Leave your comment on Joey’s blog page http://blog.joeyhancock.com © Joey Hancock 2009

When Coffins Come Alive

2009-10-31T16:17:00Z

When Coffins Come Alive

This Halloween had been super productive and I had enough candy to last this ten year old boy for a few good weeks. My buddies and I had covered every house in our neighborhood and now we were breaking up to head home. As they disappeared into the darkness, I started for home. It’s funny that it doesn’t seem near as dark or spooky when you are with a crowd of other guys, but now the night had turned dark and dangerous. I wanted to be home as soon as I could and that meant taking the short cut behind Creamer’s Funeral Home. The dark alley split the funeral home and the community cemetery and I set out as quick as I could to get through this tortuous passage.

There by the back door of Creamers laid an old weather beaten coffin. I guess that they were putting it out for the garbage pick guy. Even though I thought that in my head, I couldn’t get it to stick in my heart. The vivid imagination of a ten year old boy high on Halloween candy came alive. If I only had my Daisy Red Rider BB gun, I’d be safe. Easing to the left side of the alley, I walked as far away from the coffin as I could. I wouldn’t even look at the coffin lying beside the funeral home door.

Suddenly, the old coffin thumped and I jumped! At this point there was not a curious bone in my body and I hit the ground running only to hear the coffin dragging along behind me. The sound of a deep moaning kept coming out from inside the coffin. I knew that I could run faster without the huge bag of candy, but you know I’m a kid and he might get me, but he ain’t getting my candy. Around corners I would cut, but the coffin was gaining on me. Out of breath and up to a dead end, I just fell to the ground. The coffin was now over me and the slowly the lid began to open. What was I going to do? How could I be saved? I was going to be eaten by the old coffin. Yipes!!!

Then it occurred to me, I reached in my pocket and pulled out a Ludens Cough Drop and popped it in my mouth. It was the only way that I knew how to stop the Coffin!! Have a great weekend!!!

Who Stole Supper?

2009-09-15T20:07:00Z

It is getting to be that time of the year again when the eating habits of the folks in the south start cranking up toward the holidays. Let’s face it, we southerners love to eat. It might be a church social, tailgating at the football game, grilling steaks at the hunting camp or our holiday family meal marathon, we love to eat. I heard that the number one pin up girl poster for our southern boys in the army overseas is Paula Dean. So, I felt that it is time to address this issue in our culture; who stole supper and replaced it with dinner in the land of magnolias, Bob White quail, Spanish moss, cornbread and fried green tomatoes?
When I was a young boy, eating out was a treat. It was reserved for after church on special Sundays like Mother’s Day. Now a days, eating out is as common as spots on a puppy. Back in the day, we really never had a lot of choices about where to eat either. There was the meat and three down the Easley highway, hot dogs at Pete’s or the wonderful Italian restaurant Capri’s where Momma Capri would fix you the world’s best pizza pie.

Today for our family, it is an all day ritual to decide where to go. We get in the car and no one can make up their minds. So, I am going to go into the restaurant business and get rich. I am going to name my restaurant, “I Don’t Know, Where Do You Want to Go?” Why, because, that is where everybody in my car always wants to go. And the daily special is going to be called, “I don’t know, what are you going to get?” Make a choice, pick a dish, it ain’t rocket science or a life and death choice, it’s just a meal.

And while I am chasing this rabbit, let me ask, who renamed our meal times? In the South it has always been breakfast, dinner (lunch if it was a sandwich) and supper. Who kicked out supper and replaced it with dinner? I want to kick them out of the South. Down here it is supper, like it says in the Good Book. In the evening when I go to the restaurant to get my meat and three veggies served with a hot roll, cornbread, a glass of sweet tea and little bowl of ‘nanner pudding, I don’t want a dinner menu, I want a supper menu. Well, I have to go; my wife is calling me to go out to supper.

“Honey, where do you want to go eat?”

“I don’t know, where do you want to go?”

“What are you going to get?”

“I don’t know, what are you going to get?”

© 2009 Joey Hancock

Dinner on the Grounds

2009-07-16T14:08:00Z

They are as common as the steeples on the churches that they accompany. All across the southland in the backyard of almost every church, you will find the center piece of food and fellowship, the “Dinner on the Grounds” table. This practice transcends all denominational and political lines. Often the tables seat more folks than the meeting room inside the church. I guess folks like pie more than preaching!

I was the special guest at a church Homecoming and Dinner on the Grounds where I saw something occur that I had never seen before or since. After the Pastor said grace, I was put to the front of the line to fill my plate. That was not going to be a problem. The table stretched out for sixty feet I reckon and it was packed with food. Not just food, but good old down home southern food that painted a picture fit for the cover of any cooking magazine. Paula Dean would have been proud. And from the looks of the old wooden table it wasn’t the first meal that it had held. Glory, it was going to be an antacid night!
It didn’t take long to fill my chinette plate. Then, a gentleman behind me asked me an unusual question,
“Where’s your pocket knife?”

“Well, right here in my pocket,” I answered, “My wife frowns on me taking it out in public when there is food involved”.

“Naw, man. You don’t eat with it. You stick it up in the table where you stopped filling your plate and then when you come back for seconds, you’ll know where to start from,” he instructed.

Are you kidding, man that is awesome. I began to notice the table filling up with pocket knives marking the spots of round one. And these were not just any old pocket knives, but trading quality knives. Once the meal ended, then the trading began. What a tradition.
I guess that it is good to come back every once in a while to where we have come from. It gives perspective that is easy to lose in today’s world. As far as the knife thing, I did it one more time at an all you can eat seafood buffet, but the manager brought me my knife and asked me to leave.

Leave a comment about your “Dinner on the Grounds” or back to the old home place experiences …..
Joey Hancock
Copy write 2009

Inherited Freedom

2009-07-01T14:40:00Z

Inherited Freedom

I have always loved books. My mother placed a book in my hands along with a baby bottle and by the time I was four I could read. Since that time, I have read almost any and every book that I could. So, with that history and being an author myself, I am always checking out book titles. When I saw the title of Tim Drake’s new book, Inherited Freedom, I was hooked.

In this beautifully crafted book, Mr. Drake outlines in the lives of his two grandfathers, World War II Veterans, the concept that the freedom that we all enjoy in America is an “Inherited Freedom”. This is not a book review, but you need to read this book. You will never see a soldier in uniform or a Veteran the same again. A large dose of pride and gratitude will fill your heart as you begin to understand the high cost of our freedom.

America needs to hear this concept over and over again this Fourth of July season. Each time you see the flag wave, hear a marching band play a patriotic song, sing God Bless America or do something as simple as eat an all American hot dog with you family, remember you do so because you have inherited this great freedom from the generations who have gone on ahead.

These generations have given their lives and their families have sacrificed deeply to keep us safe and free. Chairs sit vacant around kitchen tables waiting for soldiers to come home that never will. Cross covered cemeteries tell countless stories of bravery throughout our land and the world.

Let me just mention two of the ways that Inherited Freedom challenges us. First, this concept calls us to respect and honor those who stood and protected us and our families. I have in my hand my Uncle Bill’s U.S. Marine Corps knife. He carried this knife all across the pacific theater as a combat soldier. He passed away a number of years ago and I was given his knife. Each time I open it I wonder where and how he used it while he stood up for freedom and fought for America. Just holding it gives me a feeling of pride and patriotism. So, when you see that older man or woman with the veteran’s hat waving a flag at the parade this year, take your kids in tow and make a point to say thank you for his service. Then, explain to your kids why you did so.

Secondly, this concept challenges us to step up, stand up and do our part to keep America great. Not only have I “inherited the rewards of freedom”, but I have also “inherited the responsibility” of freedom. President Ronald Reagan compared America to a “city of light set upon a hill”. We must realize that this light of freedom was fueled by the lives of those who were willing to give so that others might have. It is now our responsibility to fuel that light.

You can get this wonderful book at Amazon.com, Tim Drake’s web site www.inheritedfreedom.com or ask for it at your local book store. It is a must for any veteran and their family or for any American and their family. God bless America and I hope that you will have a wonderful Fourth of July . . . .

Joey Hancock

Copy write Joey Hancock 2009

Life Upside Down?, Here's Some Help

2009-04-24T16:17:00Z

Upside Down, Here’s Some Help

I guess that a blog is a good place to confess and admit, this morning I am doing both. Because of pressure from the outside world and an energetic curiosity, I entered the upside down side of life and bought two “Topsy Turvey” upside down tomato growers. I watched those info commercials of bushes of sweet red tomatoes and how that any idiot (that’s me) could grow tomatoes in this contraption.
Now, some things are made to be upside down. Old bats sleep upside down in caves or at least that’s what a recently divorced buddy of mind said about his ex! Icicles hang upside down and one of the world’s best deserts is an upside down cake, so there you go. But, are tomatoes really suppose to be upside down? If we use those tomatoes to make sauce for our spaghetti, do we put the pasta on top of the sauce? When we make those wonderful summer ‘mater sandwiches, do we put the tomatoes on the outside of the bread? And will this thing work in China?
So, where is this crazy blog going? I checked my upside down plants this morning and they are growing and there already are little flowers that will turn into tomatoes. I guess that upside down things can be fruitful. When I was a kid raised on the mill village, I remember a couple of bullies holding me upside down by my heels and banging my head on the sidewalk. When they left, I found a couple of quarters that I had lost, on the ground. They shook them out of Lord knows where, but thanks to them, I went and had a double dip ice cream!
Your life might be upside down right now. You have just had the rug jerked out from under you or you feel yourself slowly loosing grip. This time in your life might just be the most fruitful time in your life. Unanswered questions or unresolved conflicts are filling your mind. Fear walks the halls of your heart and joy and peace stand on the outside looking in through the pains. Let me give you a resource today. Let me help you today.
A friend of mine, Andy Andrews, has written a new book, The Noticer. He is the author of the NY Times Bestselling book, The Traveler’s Gift and this new book is heading straight to the top. It opens with his personal story of coming from living under a pier on the Gulf Coast to being one of the most influential persons in America. I have just finished the book and I am now in the second reading. It is unbelievable, the wisdom, insight and encouragement that Andy has written into this book. You won’t want to put it down as Andy introduces you to a man named Jones.
Published by Thomas Nelson, it is in any major bookstore, Amazon or buy it off Andy’s web site www.AndyAndrews.com. Get this book, even if you say, “Joey I am not a reader or I don’t have the time”. Get this book and you will gain perspective on your world turned upside down. It’ll change your life. Pro golfing legend Nancy Lopez said about The Noticer, “This is not just one of the best books I have read…This is the best book that I have ever read in my life”.
Now, I’ve got to go water my upside down ‘maters. It sure is hard to get that water to pour up instead of down!! God bless…..get the book!!!! Let me know what you think on my blog comments or drop me an email.
Joey Hancock
Copywrite 2009
www.JoeyHancock.com

Lessons Learned From a Chocolate Bunny

2009-04-08T01:47:00Z

Lessons Learned From a Chocolate Bunny

The dogwoods are in bloom and the azaleas are brilliant in their color. It is Easter time in the South. The fish are biting and the turkeys are gobbling. Golf tees are being stuck in the ground at Augusta. Tomato plants are being buried in yards with hopes of fresh homemade ‘matter sandwiches in the summer. I love it!

It was during this time of year, as an eight year old boy, that I learned one of life’s hard lessons. And of all things, I learned it from a chocolate Easter Bunny.

Arriving home after the Easter Sunrise Service I found that the Easter Bunny had left me a huge basket filled with every type of Easter candy. But, my eyes filled up with tears of joy as I saw the biggest chocolate Easter Bunny ever sitting right in the middle of the basket. Now, I knew the policy, no candy until after church and the church clothes are off. What were only a few hours to a mom and dad was an eternity to a kid.

As much as I tried, I just couldn’t get focused on the Easter story this year. Our Sunday School teacher taught about "the greatest day" in history when Jesus came out of the tomb. Amen, and I agreed completely in my heart, but my stomach was thinking chocolate Easter Bunny. My mind was debating the proper way to eat such a fine specimen. Some folks would begin at the ears and nibble down. That seemed just too obvious to me. Maybe, I would start at the feet or even eat the cute little tail off as an appetizer. This bunny was going to be eaten with careful planning and it should last me at least a week. I would fill in my candy cravings with the little yellow peeps and other goodies.

Finally, we are home and my new Easter clothes are off and put away. Now, in my blue jeans and tee shirt, I could begin my adventure. Holding the bunny close, I could smell the richness of the chocolate. Getting to you isn’t it? Have you stopped reading yet to grab a bite of chocolate? Go ahead, I understand. I’ll wait.

Now was the time of decision. I fell into the trap of everyone else and took my first bite right out of the ears. My teeth melted through the smooth chocolate and my life was scared forever. The bunny was HOLLOW!!! Oh, no, how could this be. I held in my hands a hollow bunny that posed to be a solid chocolate bunny. My heart sank and my life was crushed and I tasted with a deep drink the wine of disappointment.

Thankfully, with much prayer and encouragement from family and friends, I am now able to talk about that dark day. A week long bunny was eaten in a fifteen minute flurry of anger and tears. Just for the sake of it, I got out my Daisy Red Rider BB gun and shot the sorry thing a few times before I finished him off. Even eight year old boys hate disappointment.

As I have gotten older, I have found that life is filled with hollow chocolate bunnies. If you think for one minute that you are going to make it through this world without something being hollow that you thought was solid, think again. At some point in time, just about everything or everyone will disappoint you, including your own self. So, how do we live in a world of hollow bunnies? I have found that gratitude works well. Instead of losing it when I bit into the hollow bunny, I should have been grateful to have had a bunny at all. Today, I try to notice the positive before I let the disappointment cloud my vision.

You might be frustrated with your life and just find it hard to be thankful. If you are having trouble being positive or grateful, let me invite you to a web site of one of my friends, Andy Andrews (www.andyandrews.com/blog/the-noticer-project). He is beginning a nationwide grass roots movement to get our perspectives and focus back on track. Andy’s book The Noticer will be in book stores April 28 and will be a quick best seller. If you want to know who I read, (and those of you that know me well know that I read all the time) Andy is at the top of my list. All of us need someone to keep us inspired and focused.

God bless and please comment on my blog page (www.JoeyHancock.com) and I hope that you have a blessed Easter filled with SOLID chocolate bunnies . . . . . . .

Joey

Copy write 2009

I Hope That You Find All of Your Eggs

2009-03-17T00:48:00Z

Growing up as a boy, my parents had everything in pretty good balance. Especially, they had the holidays in balance. We knew and celebrated that the most important thing was Jesus’ birth at Christmas. But, we also enjoyed Santa, gifts, family and food.

Easter was just the same. We were taught that this was the most important time of the year because of the death and resurrection of Christ. Each Easter Sunday morning began with celebrating at a Sunrise Service at Paris Mountain State Park. Our church sponsored the service and then the men cooked a killer breakfast with gravy, biscuits and all. It made the early hour for a kid worth it!

Once we got back home, we had an Easter basket waiting. The only problem was that we could not get into it until we got home from church. I guess Mom figured that all the candy would make me fidget in Sunday School and preaching. I did enough of that already and I sure didn’t need any additional help.

On the Saturday before Easter, we always dyed eggs and went to an Easter egg hunt. As a kid I loved it and I still do. When I became a teenager it wasn’t “cool”, so I quit. Then, after Pam and I got married and had kids, we were in the Easter egg business again. Then, they became teenagers and no more eggs or hunts. Then, my daughter had kids and here we went again. It was great! But, you guessed it, the grandkids are now teenagers. No more hunts for Joey. Oh, but you are so wrong.

Now, I am at the age where my memory isn’t as sharp as it once was. So, I dye the eggs on Saturday and then hide them before we go to church on Sunday morning. By the time I get home, I don’t have a clue where I hid them. I grab my basket and with the joy of a five year old I go on an Easter egg hunt, all by myself. And the good thing is that I won’t ever have to stop again. In the years to come, and it’s looking more like it might be this year, I’ll need to write myself a note that I did in fact hide the eggs to remind me to look. Now finally, I am self –sufficient! And another benefit is that every year I find a set of car keys and at least three old socks!!!!

I guess the thought behind this blog is to encourage you to give your families balance. I am eternally, literally, that my parents did. God bless and I hope you find all of your eggs!!

Joey Hancock

A Fun Old Fashion Christmas

2008-12-22T04:29:00Z

A Fun Old Fashion Family Christmas

The car ride seemed endless as it did every year. The trees passed by in slow motion and the whine of the tires droned on and on. Timmy, 8 years old and Tommy, 10 years old, were headed to their Grandparents for Christmas. Once they got there it would be great with a farm to enjoy and Grandma’s cooking; if the ride didn’t kill them first from boredom. See, a few years ago there were not video games, backseat DVD players or text messaging phones. It was just a ride of beautiful scenery and Dad’s attempt to sing Christmas carols. Take it Russ!

Both boys always shared a small bedroom with a set of bunk beds that were located next to their Grandparent’s bedroom. The evening meal was filled with biscuits, gravy and pot roast with all the trimmings and the boys were full and ready to go to bed with only one more night before Christmas Day, the day when Santa would come. Tommy always got the top bunk since he was the oldest. As Tommy was crawling up the ladder to bed, Timmy dropped to his knees to say his prayers. This close to Christmas he certainly didn’t want to take a chance of missing this opportunity.

With hands clasped and eyes tightly shut, Timmy began his prayer shouting out each and every word. After thanking the Lord for his family and the good food, he shouted "And Lord, please if you see Santa remind him that I really want that red Schwinn bike. You know the one with 20 inch wheels and tassels hanging from the handlebars. Amen".

Tommy just laid there and thought to himself, "Why is he shouting?"

The next afternoon found the boys all dressed up and on the way to the Christmas Eve Service at the local church. The evening was beautifully filled with songs and scripture and then the pastor invited the congregation to the altar to pray. Without hesitation, Timmy went down the aisle and to the altar to his knees. Once again he was shouting and the prayer was almost word for word the same prayer that he prayed in the bedroom the night before. Some folks laughed and a few kids giggled out loud, but no one spoke to Timmy directly about his passionate prayer.

Ready for bed, Tommy climbed the bunk bed ladder and Timmy hit his knees again.

"Dear Lord," he shouted.

"Hey," Tommy yelled down from the upper bunk, "What the heck are you doing? God ain’t deaf and I don’t think that Santa is either".

"Yeah, I know ", replied Timmy, "But, Grandpa is!"

Christmas, at least that year, to Timmy was all about gifts or should I say a gift. Much of the maddening pace of Christmas can be attributed to gifts. The malls are filled with anxious shoppers looking for the just the right gift. Husbands wander the stores with "deer in the head lights" expressions either trying to remember exactly what it was that their wives hinted for or even worse, trying to come up with the "perfect" gift on their own.

Year after year, the family finally settles down to give out the gifts and agrees that they will be opened one at a time, so that everyone can see the gift. After about ten minutes it is a snow storm of flying gift wrapping paper and Grandpa yelling "Save the bows, we can use them next year".

So, yes Timmy Christmas is all about gifts. Someone asked me this week, "What was your favorite Christmas gift as a kid?" I got many great gifts as a kid but two stepped forward in my mind. The first was a Daisy Red Rider BB gun. And no, I did not shoot my eye out, but I did accidently mess up the neighbor’s cat! The second was a red Schwinn bike with tassels hanging from the handlebars.

I guess I should say that Christmas is really not all about gifts, but the Gift. This really why we celebrate, sing carols, light candles and come together as a family. God gave humankind the greatest gift of love ever given, His Son Jesus Christ. So my prayer for you and your family this year is for grace, peace and an unusual assurance of God’s love in these unusual times.

Merry Christmas!!

Joey

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Is Your Tail Wagging or Dragging?

2008-11-24T20:28:00Z

Is Your Tail Wagging or Just Dragging?

Sunsets inspire me. Beautiful mountain vistas overwhelm me. A quiet moment next to a trout stream steadies me and a good mandolin break in a driving bluegrass song fires my engines. Different things touch us each day in different ways. Let me tell you the story of Jill since I live to tell stories.

About five years ago, our son Jay was working his way through school to be a veterinarian as a vet tech. Day after day he would come home with cool stories, but the story of Jill was special. Jill was a stray in bad shape. She was brought in by a nice lady who found her nearly dead. She had a huge cut in her stomach, infection; she was malnourished and her back burned where someone had poured hot motor oil down her spine to get rid of fleas and ticks (old time remedy that does nothing but hurt the dog). With the hand of the Lord and the hand of some great vets, she went into surgery.
My son came home that night describing this small, weak Jack Russell Terrier and how sweet that she was. He said everything that they did to her; she would just keep wagging her tail. Her brown eyes constantly said thank you. Even when they caused pain with a needed shot, she just wagged her tail.

So, the next day, I just had to see this little dog. I already liked the breed because we had a male Jack Russell. Back in the clinic area, one of the doctors handed Jill to me. She was all decked out with her plastic collar that looked like a lamp shade. She looked deep into my eyes with those brown eyes, licked me on the chin and I could feel her tail going ninety miles an hour. With her stomach stitched up from one end to the other, her back burned and an IV in her leg, she was just happy. The doctors were worried about her during the night, so I told them to let Jay bring her home and we would sit up with her.

When Jay came in with Jill, Pam and I agreed that we didn’t need another dog and that we would not get attached. Jay, with a stroke of brilliant thinking (comes from his father), put little Jill, collar and all in Pam’s lap. In about ten minutes she called for us both. We figured it was to take to pup and be reminded again to not get attached. Jay’s mother looked him straight in the face and said, “I want this pup, make it happen”. With Jill’s tail wagging, I really think that she understood each word. That was five years ago and she is still here. Heck, I’d get the boot before she would. Each time we come home Jill is so happy. Her tail goes all the time. She seems to say thank you each time you hold her. We are the blessed ones and we try to say thank you to Jill. When I get down or frustrated, Jill will show up, give me a lick and remind me of the power of a grateful spirit.

We all have so much to be thankful for this year. I want to encourage you to get your tail wagging. Now, I mean that figuratively, because I know many of you and it could be downright dangerous if you really got your tail moving that fast!

Have a blessed Thanksgiving and remember that all things good come from the Father above!!

Jill’s buddy,
Joey
PS: let me hear a comment from you

This Is My First Blog, So Here We Go

2008-11-20T14:57:00Z

I have been trying to discover a way to just say howdy and share with you some stuff in my head and on my heart, so here we go. I hope that through this blog we can encourage each other. I'll post my first story in the next few days. I hope you'll be waiting.

Joey

Welcome

2008-11-18T15:10:58Z

Welcome to my blog. Please check back soon for new entries.