The Creation of Men

It’s July something, 2011. Hot as blazes. The chainsaw’s motor breaks down. Again. The mesquite wood is just too much. I bring it over to Richard who’s sitting in the cool shade of the carport. He attempts to tinker with it for a bit and firmly concludes that his brother, Sam, is much better at these sorts of things. We hop in his truck and drive to see Sam at his oil and gas business in town before heading over to Kenneth down at the Parkway True Value Store to get whatever parts we need. It's another day working for Major McIlroy. Richard McIlroy, or Boss Man as I called him, never shied away from honest work nor did he shy away from sharing his life stories. His shirt would become soaked with sweat before taking his leave from the field and returning to the carport. We would both sit down around noon and have a sandwich together and discuss what more work needed to be done. He spent just about as much time working me out in the field as he did sitting and sipping ice tea ...

The year 2017 has finally arrived much to my dismay. This day finally proves that time happens regardless of my desire and that numbers on a page carry no more weight than a fat man riding a reindeer and certainly no more wait than a Holy Man on his ass. During the flight, I read Mere Christianity. The time is now but really it’s always been. I am following Christ and finding myself in Him. There’s no way around that fact though the understanding of that sentence will always be up for discussion. What it means to be a Christian and what it means to be a Christ-follower are two separate notions of the same sphere. To divorce one for the sake of dissection and conversation is to separate the Man from his chest. We need more men with chests and certainly more men in touch with their Wild Man. I know I am to be a writer in this lifetime of mine which means I come here to write and reflect as best I can. My quiet times must consist of Bible study (Holy Books are certainly importan...