Tionana (until we meet)

There is a place in Africa where children play outside

where dust floats high upon the air and colors red the sky

where mother’s work is always done with babies on their backs

slumbering still and sweet protected in their wrap

there is a place in Africa where laughter soars on high

where little hands reach up to hold the stranger’s walking by

where smiles are one true gift to give and hand on heart say all

where songs are sung with every word as from the lips they fall

there is a place in Africa where golden suns abide

where settings are more powerful than daybreak can provide

where night unfolds a full array when all the work is done

where dreams of wildness in the bush allow the lions to run

there is a place in Africa where once my feet did roam

and where a piece of heart will stay with those who call it home

there is a place in Africa

                   where children play outside

Songs 6000 miles away

On a dusty hill in Zambia sits a small chapel of old ragged red brick.  Though the door to the chapel has a lock on it, with a slight push the old weathered boards would give way.  The rusty hinges no longer can do the job so the door must be propped open with a rock.  Most of the window panes are broken or missing from many years of weather, children playing, or thieves.  The lace curtains which once had a quaint beauty, now hang ragged and yellow from age.  Yet they still hold some gracefulness while slowly swaying from the breeze entering the open window panes.  The benches are crudely hand carved with uneven legs which sway with a start when sitting.  The communion table must be covered with a small hand stitched table cloth to keep the flies from feasting.  The song books are tattered from years of use before they were donated to the chapel.  The pages are torn, yellow, and many are missing.  The binding hangs delicately by a few threads and struggles to contain what is left of the pages.  There is no air conditioning, no heater, no water fountain, no classrooms, and if one finds themselves needing to use the restroom, well you must go down the hill to the outhouse.

But early on a Sunday morning in this small chapel, when the benches hold more people than can handle, and the breeze is blowing through the broken window panes, and the tattered song books are opened, and the voices are raised in harmony, there is a feeling of being close to heaven. 

With eyes closed in meditation of song, with hands tapping the heart or folded in humble prayer, with faces toward heaven and tearful eyes, with natural harmony beyond comprehension, the voices raise the roof, move the clouds, and the songs soar to heaven. 

I pray that I may not lose the joy of songs 6000 miles away in a small chapel on a little dusty hill in Zambia. 

 

Through the dust of Africa

The plane ride is longer than one body can take.  The hut has no hot water.  Spiders and biting ants share the bed. You must stay on the path at night and watch closely for “the snake”.  Every piece of clothing, including what is packed away, is covered in red dust.  You find that breathing the dust will send your sinuses into a tail spin.  The afternoon sun along with the dust will dehydrate you very quickly.  And bottled water is always room temp because there is no ice. A cold drink is a 45 minute drive into Lusaka or across the road in the shanty town where you dare not tread alone as it is nicknamed Sodom & Gomorrah.  So where is the joy in this place called Africa?

It is in the people.       

It is in the smiles of every good morning with a hand over their heart or a firm slap of a hand shake.

It is in the laugh as they try to teach me the language.

It is in the quiet pride they show for their jobs.

It is in the humility of their eyes while showing me the dress they made to sell.

It is in the abandoned wildness of their dance.

It is in the complete fullness of their soul while singing.

It is in the wonderment of each child wanting to see their picture.

It is in the curiosity and innocence of learning the Bible.

It is all that we have forgotten.

May I never shake the dust from my sandals of this place called AFRICA.

A Herd of Buffalo Comin'!

“Just don’t fall outta the truck” was the last piece of advice Bud gave me before stepping on the gas.  Because of that, my hands began to sweat so much that holding on to the side felt like grabbing grease, my shoes suddenly had no grip, and I just knew that he had a flat or the shocks were gone on my side and the bed of the truck tilted down like a slide at a theme park.  And so began my introduction to feeding buffalo at a wildlife preserve. 

Now I grew up on a farm. When you feed cows they mosey up to the barn like they’re walking through quicksand.  But buffalo storm at food with the purpose of devouring!  Hence the need to not fall outta the truck! 

My job was to take pictures while the other person threw out the feed.     uh huh.  “Whose dumb idea was this”, kept running through my mind.

Before I ever saw the first buffalo, I heard them coming.  It was like what the pins at the end of a bowling lane must hear, and the same anticipation of an eventual strike! rumble rumble rumble and then the small dust storm.  As my eyes intensely searched through the cloud of dust for a big furry creature, my heart started to race like the old pickup I was trying desperately to stay within.  And then, like a football player bursting through the pep rally sign, those over-sized thick furry heads cut through the dust and came charging toward the truck full on!  

One of my favorite films is Dances with Wolves.  Great cinematography! Ever watch the special features of how they shot the buffalo hunt? Whoa Nelly! Exciting and Scary! Capturing on film a huge herd of stampeding buffalo while trying to keep them from not running over any actors, horses, or for that matter the guy holding the camera . . . quite a little rodeo!

So here I am in my own little Dances with Buffalo movie.  Dust flying in my face, my feet scrambling for some stability in the bed of the pickup, spitting out stray flying buffalo feed, and desperately trying to focus my camera on that wild hairy creature storming the truck! I just get the hang of this when Bud yells back “Hang On!”  Suddenly he u-turns on a cow patty and starts head first into the herd!  Having recovered from being slung to the other corner of this understandably beat up old Ford, I turn to the front of the cab while bracing for a head on collision with one of these large bulls and realized we just parted the waters of a sea of fur.  The buffalo herd split down the middle letting us pass!  Then, before I could close my gaping mouth, Cowboy Bud yelled “Watch this!”  Hitting the brake and making my rear drop to the bed of the truck quicker than a lead brick, I just knew we were done for.  My mind racing for all the quick get-aways or all the reasons I would have to give the doctors to explain the hoof marks across my face, I squinted into the now settling dust from our rapid stop (thinking squinting would help ease the pain of eating buffalo fur).  But to my amazement, when the dust did settle, there stood the herd about 10 feet from the truck, waiting for our next move.

Huh?  I had expected that the wildlife preserve CSI team would be peeling me up with eye tweezers and putting me in an evidence bag.  But instead, Cowboy Bud just slowly took us back to the barn as we threw out the last of the feed and the buffalo eventually wandered off.

So my point?  Well most of us are trucking through life trying to do what is right and with kindness and care, when out of the dust comes a world of wrong charging at us like a herd of buffalo trying to mow us down fast and hard while we’re just trying to hang on and stay focused.  It comes in all different ways, shapes, places, times and people.  For example, I’m out here trying to live by the foundation of the Bible and in today’s society, well that ain’t popular or politically correct.  And so there are times when this world tries to let me know that in some very harsh ways.  Now I’m not about to preach a sermon so just hang with me, it’s some common sense that comes in handy.

Here’s what I learned . . . you got 3 options when the world-of-out-of-control-charging-buffalo come at you: 

run away

face and attack

or stand still. 

Option 1:  you can try to out run it and hide and just live like you want.  Ask Jonah what he found out about that as he floated along in that belly of the great fish . . . hint – it’s just gonna follow.  And might I add, the fish vomited out Jonah, not a pretty picture (stinky).

So that brings me to Option 2:  face and attack. 

When Bud turned that truck around, suddenly the big furry snorting kicking fierce creatures were faced with something coming at them. Not what they expected.  You can ask Goliath about that when a young boy named David came charging at him with just a slingshot and some rocks.  But that actually makes perfect sense; it throws the world off guard.  Read I Samuel 17: 48, I’m telling you Goliath would have been one big ole buffalo coming at David, but it says that David ran quickly toward the battle. And . . . he won! We’ve got to dig our feet in, put our shoulder down, fix our eyes on the battle, hold strong to the flame of truth, and CHARGE!  We’ve got the same God with us as David did.  What’s the hold up? Go get ‘em!

Oh yea, Option 3?  Well as Cowboy Bud might have said, “don’t just stand there or by jenkies you’re gonna get smushed!”

Go Out Barking!

It happens every night after dinner, the neighborhood dog barking committee begins its ritual. Call & answer, call & answer, call & answer. And it does not matter which "non-furry" person sticks their head out the door and yells for "QUIET!", the barking committee continues their session.
I did not understand this ritual until I acquired 2 furry companions for myself.

Sweet Pea & Okie

And so began The Adventures of Okie & Sweet Pea. 

It's funny how we humans learn our lessons o' life.  Many times I have found myself hit over the head with a 2x4 before I "get it".  And usually as a "non-furry" person, it's because I think too much! Can that be possible with the sometimes seemingly pea brain that exist above my neck? Absolutely!
So, after living with my furry companions for some time now, here is a lesson o' life they taught me.

The after dinner ritual to me began as a would-you-shut-up-so-i-can-hear-my-tv-and-before-the-neighbors-shoot-you routine. Until the 2x4 smack in the brain woke me to what was really taking place.
Think about it . . . it's usually dark after dinner, or the last time the furry ones go out to take care of business before bed.  When I open the door, Okie & Sweet Pea are facing a world covered in darkness and not knowing what is before them. Scary! So, they go out barking!
Lesson?  They are facing their fears head on! Sweet Pea goes out with mouth open and pouncing to make herself seem bigger. Okie runs to the back fence with head down like a loud locomotive!  They are ready to take on whatever is out there and they are going to do it at full force!
Hmmmmmm, interesting in comparison to what us "non-furry" people do when it comes to fear.

1. Close the door and hibernate
2. Look down and act like it's not really there
3. Throw someone else out the door first
4. Go find all the different light bulbs first to light up the place and maybe by the time we get thru shopping
it will be gone anyway
5. or one of the last options but always before facing it . . . Move away

So, with this lesson o' life from my 2 furry companions, I am trying to stand more firmly when the darkness comes down and the fear sets in, and then go out barking!
For example:  as I see my country throwing away our moral foundation I will stand in the gap and cry out "ENOUGH! you will not put out my fire!" I will help to rebuild the moral foundation and the walls which have blessed this country and will face the fear of the world and some of my own countryman's rejection, ridicule, adverse reaction, and intent to destroy.  And I will do my part to keep the flame burning.
And whether the mortar holds or not, at least I can say "I've gone out Barking!"

As a start, here is a link to a documentary I produced about our Country's Foundation

check it out:     www.genesisofamerica.com

Seasons of Change

I was 3 years into my future life when I decided to cross thru the forest to another path.  

College gives you lots of choices and very little help in decision making.  After 3 years of intense study of kinesiology (basically the study of human movement) and coaching management, I decided to start over with my first love, Art - more specifically the art of storytelling thru film/video.  So 3 1/2 years later i gathered that diploma and began my journey into the world of video.
What a ride!
It has taken me all over the world, meeting fascinating people, being a part of incredible adventures, and creating/telling such a variety of stories thru video.  I've loved it, hated it, but mostly thankful for it.

And yet, I always wondered if I had continued my studies of coaching and acquired that diploma, what kind of coach I could have been.

Its funny how life can throw the ball in your court, step back and say "bring it!".

And that's what happened when my former high school basketball coach approached me 2 seasons ago.
"Me? You want me to volunteer to coach the 7th/8th grade girls basketball? Well, um (pause to collect the spinning of my head, and then the answer was falling from my face before the carousel brain ride had come to a complete halt) OK!". The ride home that evening produced a tug-o-war thought between "this is so cool" and "what an idiot I am".
So a few weeks later began the tryouts and practice.
Thankfully my sister agreed to assist me (thinking this the best plan of action since we grew up playing together and were fierce on the courts! Of course that was almost 30 years ago! ).
I won't go into a full 2 season Howard Cosell commentary on the games, but just a quick postgame wrap-up.
My sister and I were winging it most of the time. seriously. But we gave all we had to the team.  The girls came with a great desire for the game, a willingness to learn, a determination to improve, and the heart to win.  They taught me a great deal about leadership, motherhood, friendship, counseling, listening, and fun.  A friend recently reminded me that this time I've had with these teams was an opportunity for me to be a mentor in several areas, especially spiritually.  That's not what I usually think of during practice while blowing the whistle so loud I could easily have hearing loss, or during a game when I'm yelling a play from the bench or wanting to pinch off the head of the referee (believe it or not, I never got a technical called on me). But that passing reminder of mentoring stopped me in my tracks, mentally threw me to my knees and I intensely began to pray that I have been a keeper of the flame before these girls.  And also, one who humbly passes the torch on to them.

Oh yeah, our record? Well the first season we broke the school record and ended with a 17-6 win/loss and runner-up in the championship tournament! Our second season, again we broke a school record and were ranked #2 in the County! Not bad at all. I give the credit to the girls. They taught me and I am thankful.
And for 2 seasons (which I'm sure will soon be forgotten by the general public, but long remembered by me) I had the opportunity to reach a goal and with honor to be called "Coach Leigh".