Stay-cation at Grayson Highlands

As I wrote in the previous post, we went on a little trip to SW Virginia/NW Tennessee. It was a great time. Here are some more pictures and comments from our day hanging out at Grayson Highlands:

Yes! We needed the warm clothes. It was chilly there! We've learned that it's always cooler at Grayson Highlands than anywhere else.

Drew climbing up some nameless peak. 

I'm sure this peak has a name, but I don't know it. Yes, the clouds were beautiful! They were whipping by, too. We would get a few moments of sunshine followed by a few of cloud cover.

Happy Drew. Sitting with Sparky, looking toward Mt. Rogers. 

Happy Chad. Yes, I needed the jacket! The wind was kicking! When the sun was behind the clouds it was downright cold! Mo's on the leash because I didn't want him falling off the cliff.

Duncan resting on Sparky in a grassy wind break. Awesome spot!

Drew and Sparky finding a grassy windbreak in the cleft of a rock. 

Duncan made it to the top with Sparky.

Picking blueberries. This is truly one of God's great gifts.  

Blueberry were everywhere! Delicious, tart, and bursting with juice. Mmmm! I couldn't get enough. I could easily live a week playing Survivorman up there.

Sparky and Mo want blueberries too!

Beagle heaven! Too many rabbits to track! And deer... and ponies... and squirrels... and groundhogs... Mo exhausted himself!

Here's me trying to keep up with Mo. 

It's the simple days like this that are great. I want more of them! They also remind us of God's glory.

David sang (Psalm 72:18-19),

 Blessed be the LORD, the God of Israel,
   who alone does wondrous things.
 Blessed be his glorious name forever;
   may the whole earth be filled with his glory!
 Amen and Amen!

To The Easternmost "Tip" of Tennessee

Tennessee is, generally speaking, shaped like a long parallelogram. Of course, a closer look reveals a much different and irregular shape.

Many people think the northeastern tip of Tennessee is a tri-state border with Virginia and North Carolina. There is a tri-state point, but that is not the northeasternmost point. Like a puzzle piece that seems to not quite fit, it strangely protrudes away from the NC line a bit. A few miles, in fact.

This northeasternmost point of the state has been a curiosity of mine since I was a kid. I've known for years that this oddly shaped tip of the state was located near the Virginia Creeper bike trail, but I've never determined to find it. That is until today.

Our family (minus Dara, who was invited by her friend to go to the beach) took advantage of a couple of days when Drew was home from Berry College and before Duncan must begin at Carson-Newman, to take a stay-cation. So we hurriedly packed the Wagoneer and hooked up the pop-up and headed to Bear Tree campground near Damascus, VA.

It is one of our favorite places. After the first night, we ate a big breakfast and spent the day at Grayson Highlands (awesome) eating our fill of wild blueberries (everywhere and delicious), apples, blackberries, and lying around the rocky peaks and grassy fields watching the clouds blow by.

Sparky and Mo (our ten-year-old Chocolate Lab and one-year-old Beagle, respectively) had the time of their lives (Sparky relaxing and Mo running free)!

On the 28th of July, it was around 58 degrees! With the wind blowing, you really needed a fleece or a warm jacket.

On the way back we stopped at a couple of places to let Drew collect some wild Beebalm to make tea.
We went to Damascus for dinner and discussed what we would do on Tuesday. That's when I sprung it on them: "Let's go find the easternmost tip of Tennessee. It's really close to the Creeper trail near Green Cove." No enthusiastic response. It seems that I was the only one who appreciated the novelty of finding the spot. No one had a better idea about what to do so I brought it up again. This time I got questions:
"How do you know how to get there?"
Me: "My topo map shows the place and I have a compass. I even have satellite photos on my phone."
"Is there a trail?"
Me: "I don't know. I don't think so."
"How far down the Creeper from Green Cove do we have to go?"
Me: "It's UP the Creeper, and it looks like about a mile."
"Up?! That will be hard."
Me: "The Creeper isn't steep. We can do it, no problem."
"What will we do with the dogs?"
Me: "We'll take them with us."
"Mo will run in front of the bikes and cause a wreck, and Sparky can't run that fast."
Me: "I'll take care of Mo on a leash, and Drew can get Sparky. We won't go fast. It's just a mile."
Truth is, I was feeling the pressure. This crazy idea had better work.

We got up the next morning, ate breakfast, and headed to Green Cove. A beautiful day. The dogs did fine. Drew ended up giving up Sparky since his bike wasn't working well. Mo pulled me up the trail like a sled dog. He couldn't go fast enough! I was laughing the whole way. We got to the place where I had figured was closest to the point and parked the bikes. Darla wasn't happy when I started up the hill in the thick woods and crossed a barbed-wire fence. "There's no trail! This is crazy!" She almost didn't go. We walked through some pretty thick stuff, including spider webs and brush, all the while keeping an eye on the compass.

I'm standing on the very tip of Tennessee looking west-southwest.
Virginia's border follows the fence lines on either side. Beyond the
fences are thick woods dominated by laurels & hardwood trees.

Drew saw what appeared to be a clearing in the otherwise thick woods. About 30 feet from "the point" there were some stout barbed-wire fences that the girls decided not to cross. Drew and I did, and (imagine the sound of angels' voices from heaven) there it was! It is an unceremonious spot, really. There is no sign. What once was a marker has been broken. But looking west into Tennessee is a beautiful view. I took in the moment. Thomas Jefferson's father was the first to mark this very spot. Since he did, there have probably not been that many more who have stood there. But now we had.

Here is what's left of a border marker that's buried deep in the
ground, inches from the very point of Tennessee. You can see
what's left of a hole that was once carved in this old stone that
perhaps contained a signpost of some sort.

I'm sure there is some spiritual analogy here, but I've not found one. It was just cool. I'll try to add some more pictures later. A great day.

I just wish Dara could have been here with us. I bet she would have appreciated it. Guess I'll just have to bring her back!

Oh, and I want to find the other three corners of Tennessee now, too.

He Restores My Soul

Another feeble attempt at poetry. Don't make fun! I'm just trying to exercise the right (read: creative) side of my brain, and express my heart as well. I've been dwelling on Psalm 23:3 this week. It's rich.

He Restores My Soul
by Chad Sparks

My soul, you need restoring!

My life is dry, forlorn. 

The thought of mere enduring

A dreadful, painful thorn.

The “re-” in restoration

Says something once was fresh,

Alive with foliation;

A vibrant, healthy flesh.

But now my leaves have fallen,

My skin is pale and cracked.

My sin like ragweed pollen

Has now my soul ransacked.

Do I possess the power

To change this weary soul;

Rise up like Babel’s tower

And wrest from God control?

No! I stand as helpless.

Frustration is my cell.

Useless, conquered, feckless,

Condemned to earth-bound hell.

Regardless of my straining,

No matter how I try,

There waits beyond my feigning

A higher Rock than I.

He is Righteous Creator!

Incomprehensible!

How can he love this traitor?

I’m indefensible.

His Grace is my salvation

Oh how I love him so!

Beyond justification

He now restores my soul!

By grace I was forgiven;

New birth from spirit death.

By grace I am now given

New thirst, new strength, new breath!

My Shepherd is my rescue!

He stands me on my feet

So I can eat green fescue
And find delight replete!

Twenty Three

Twenty Three

By Chad Sparks 

YaHWeH

A word that’s like no other

We know not how to speak it;

The Word and Wholly Other

All else lies far beneath it.

Shepherd

Protector, guide, provider

I feel your presence near me,

No arms are open wider

To love and hold and heal me.

Contentment

My wants in you assuaged

All others left me longing,

Thirsty, empty, enraged

Before to you belonging.

Renewal

From you my needs extinguished,

You give me rest sublime. 

Restorer of souls distinguished

From others of all time.

Direction

You map and know the way

To holiness and pleasure

Which are the same you say.

Your glory is the measure.

Courage

When the trail of life grows dark

Your presence gives me cheer;

You are my strong bulwark,

I have no use for fear.

Indulgence

You feed me while foes hunger.

You make me shine with health.

My heart feels pleasant languor

As one who earned great wealth. 

Future

And what now of the morrow? 

As long as earth I roam

His grace and good will follow.

‘Til his house is my home.

Attempting Poetry

Poetry? You’re kidding, right?

I’m really wanting to exercise the right side of my brain. For some reason poetry has become meaningful to me in recent years. I know, it’s probably more proof that I’m getting old. I mean, who reads poetry? Certainly not many people in my circles…that I know of. There are always those English majors around who say they do. I sometimes wonder if they really do…as in regularly read poetry. Kind of like the pastors I know who say they pray a lot. I hope they pray as much as they say they pray (but that’s another subject). I have found an interest in the writings of poets long dead, vis. Frost, Kipling, Wordsworth, Cowper, Burns, Dickinson, Longfellow, Milton, Tennyson, Emerson, and others. This interest was piqued when my son, Drew, a lover of old books, bought some volumes on poetry. I admit I sneaked into his room and read from them. I also have noticed that many old hymns were first poems (before later being set to music). Inspiring and beautiful! Where have these works of art been? Why have I not read them before?

Poetry seems to be a dying art. I have wondered why. There was a time—most of human history in fact—when poetry was ubiquitous. Books, magazines, newspapers; all printed some verse. Most sermons of generations past included poetry. Is it the changing of communication media? Is it that we are too busy and distracted with other more- and less-worthy pursuits? Is it, as some friends of mine have suggested, that people aren’t as smart as they used to be? None of those answers satisfy my curiosity.

Granted, poetry is not entirely forgotten. There are small societies for poets and poetry among the literary sort. And hip-hop (i.e. rap), a wildly popular form of music, is indeed lyrical poetry with meter and rhyme. But why are we no longer encouraged to write poems? Why don’t we read them as previous generations did? Do you know of someone, anyone, who makes their living by writing poetry (a.k.a. a poet)? I don’t.

I must confess, until recently, I’ve never really been into poetry. I liked the poetry in the Bible (of course it is translated into English, losing much of its original grammatical impact), and pithy sayings and quotes my parents and grandparents recited were pleasant. I grew up reading poems for children: from Dr. Seuss to Mother Goose. But in school I became intimidated by poetry. Shakespeare, and other ancient forms, were toilsome for me. Teachers seemed to make poetry aloof. Some focused on rules and gave assignments to write accordingly. It lost it’s fun. Others (later) discouraged all guidelines, and advocated more variety and complexity, reflecting our changing culture. Poetry seemed darker, more political, nuanced, existential and relative. These more recent (read: 20th century) varieties seemed odd to me. There was little or no meter or rhyme, and I couldn’t tell the difference between good poetry and bad. Can anyone? And because multiple meanings could be inferred, no one could know what the poet really meant—if anything at all! Poetry became in a sense, complex and unstructured. Cold, hard rules were overthrown by verbal anarchism. Yuck and yuck. In my mind, poetry was relegated to the territory of academicians and elitists. Simple minds (like mine) had a hard time understanding—much less appreciating it. Several weeks ago I was in a bookstore that happened to be hosting an "Original Poetry Reading." Thrilled, I conspicuously (not easy, only five or six others were listening) slipped in a seat and listened to a couple of rather lengthy poems. I must admit...I didn't get it. The first one had some interesting word-play, but made no sense to me whatever (the last one I endured was full of profanity and sexual innuendo—no thanks!). I left asking myself, "Am I so dull?" Maybe so. "Is this what Poetry really is?"

Perhaps my experience is not isolated. Could this be a (perhaps even the) reason for poetry’s waning? In The Virginia Quarterly Review, Christopher Clausen, in his essay, “The Decline of Anglo-American Poetry,” recognizes poetry’s loss of audience during the 20th century, and offers some interesting observations that confirm my own experience:

…Poetry became paradoxically more difficult to read, and the familiar series of phenomena began: the decline in the number of original books of poetry published from year to year, the disappearance of poetry as a major cultural force, the virtual extinction of the self-supporting poet…at almost precisely the time when the traditionally realistic novel was seeking other, often more traditionally poetic modes of expression. It is even more ironic that in the process of becoming less narrowly selective in its subjects and adopting free verse and a closer approximation of everyday language as its most conspicuous formal characteristics, poetry should have become less rather than more accessible to the common reader. (Find this excellent essay here: http://www.vqronline.org/essay/decline-anglo-american-poetry.)

Indeed, whenever a 20th century poet did arise who actually captured an audience, the critics (read: elitist academics) crowed and scoffed until the poor soul was ridden out on the proverbial rail. Rod McKuen serves as an example. In the 1950s and 60s he was arguably the best-known poet in the world, having a mainstream, populist appeal. Highbrows, however, spewed incessant indignation for his works. Writer and literary critic Nora Ephron said of McKuen, “[F]or the most part, McKuen's poems are superficial and platitudinous and frequently silly.” Pulitzer Prize-winning US Poet Laureate Karl Shapiro said, “It is irrelevant to speak of McKuen as a poet.” (Nora Ephron, “Wallflower at the Orgy.”) This kind of abuse, despite his popularity, drove him to despondency and clinical depression. My thought? What’s wrong with sentimentalism and populism if that’s what people want? It seems somewhat better than erudite, sophisticated poetry (or mindless babble cloaked as such) that no one reads! I’m no fan of sentimental country music (for example), but I appreciate it’s appeal. And I certainly don’t wish for its demise! Some of the more sincere, patriotic, philanthropic, and likable celebrities are country music stars. Why can’t we view poetry with the same tolerance as we do music? As with many things elitist, though they feign tolerance, in reality they are not tolerant at all.

So, I think I’m going to try my hand at some poetry. I want to free myself a bit! As Emily Dickinson wrote: 

They shut me up in Prose –

As when a little Girl

They put me in the Closet –

Because they liked me “still” –

Still! Could themself have peeped –

And seen my Brain – go round –

They might as wise have lodged a Bird

For Treason – in the Pound –

Well, maybe I’m not that eager to write poetry. I know I may fall flat on my face, but not trying is no fun. I encourage you to try it too! If we don’t we may regret it. As John Greenleaf Wittier wrote (in his wonderful poem, "Maud Muller") 

For all sad words of tongue and pen, 

The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

I think one important thing about art (like poetry) is the opportunity it provides us to be image-bearers of God and create. It satisfies the soul into which God breathed the breath of life to create something unique, beautiful, meaningful, emotional, spiritual, and personal. There is a sense of satisfaction we experience whenever we are more like our God who is supremely satisfied in himself. This is true regarding holiness, and being incarnational, and serving others. And it is true regarding creating art. Because in all these things we are bringing God glory.

The Sparks Family Christmas Tree Adventure

We're may not be the Griswolds, but we're sometimes close...and proud of it! Today was a great day! But to be entirely truthful, it did not happen spontaneously as in years past. I had to start working on everyone a couple of weeks ago. Only Dara and I made this journey last time, so this time I was hoping to get more participation. Dara was a ready volunteer. I talked to Drew who said he would come home a day early for his Thanksgiving break. Two down. Now the tough sells: Duncan and Darla. Duncan actually (surprising to me) said yes when I told her Drew and Dara were going. That leaves Darla. I'm laughing right now as I write this. She's the practical realist. At first she scolded that the trip would cost too much money. Then she said, "I have no desire to drive 5 1/2 hours (round trip) to get a tree. Y'all just go without me." Then as it got closer and the forecast called for snow and cold, she said, "It's not smart to go up there in that weather!!" Finally, last night, after days of protesting, when she saw that I was determined to go (excited, actually) she decided to come too. She was a trooper! I could tell that she had decided in her heart that she was going to have fun today. Everyone else was happy, too, as we loaded up enough stuff for a week's trip, Sparky (our big old Chocolate Lab), Mo (our four-month-old Beagle puppy), and the five of us.

We started late this morning from Knoxville. It was 33 degrees with snow flurries. There was a wet dusting of snow on the ground. As we went east and north on I-40 and I-81, the flurries became heavier. As soon as we got to Damascus, VA, snow started sticking to the road. We passed a sign that said it was 16 degrees! Then as we drove up beside the Virginia Creeper Trail toward Whitetop, it started getting deeper and slicker, and the snow started really coming down. Not so good on the narrow, curvy, hilly roads! I flipped the switch to put the Wagoneer in four wheel drive, and Darla started getting really nervous while I started really having fun (this type of situation has repeated itself often during our relationship--as she reminded me). The kids were oblivious to any danger (I have taught them well) and we just kept going.

Finally, we got to our destination: a Christmas tree farm in Whitetop. We drove up the snow-covered, two-track gravel drive to a little house. I spoke with the old farmer (super-nice guy--he remembered me--it was snowing the last time I came, too!) who asked if I had a saw and told me, "Pick a good 'un!" By now the wind was blowing and it was like a blizzard (as you can see in the pictures)! The next 30 minutes ranks among the most fun of the year for me.

We drove not far up into the Frazier fir trees (there are many acres!), got out for some pictures, and started looking for that elusive, perfect tree. Unlike years past, this time there were many that would have fit the bill. We didn't have to go far. There was a beautiful tree on the edge near the barn that kept calling our names.

After finding "the one" (it didn't take long), I began to cut it down, with help from Drew. One of the downsides to having the dogs with us is that I didn't really have enough room to bring my chainsaw. So I did it the old-fashioned way: hand cut it with my bow saw. This required getting down on the snowy ground (read: soaked)! It wasn't easy. The branches of "the one" started at the ground leaving no room to work the saw.






The girls and the dogs went playing and running around in the snow and taking pictures. Sparky LOVES the snow and cold. Mo...not so much. He did at first, but he quickly retreated to Dara's feet and wanted to be held. He's the most cold-natured dog I've ever had! Darla kept wanting to go somewhere to buy a doggie-sweater for him to wear. She asked a clerk when we stopped for lunch at Cracker Barrel. Darla said the lady laughed like she was crazy. Funny, that's one place I would totally expect to see something like a dog sweater!


After the tree was cut, I drove the Wagoneer up closer and we strapped the tree to the roof.

Awesome. I was freezing--my jeans were soaked from the knees down from where I knelt to cut down the tree and they were now frozen stiff! But the whole thing was a blast.

Ok, I admit it. I am a total romantic about my Jeep Wagoneer. I've had it for almost a year and I haven't been sorry once. Of course, this all could change at any moment when the engine blows or the transmission quits. But as for now, it's still like a little vacation any time I'm behind the wheel. It's total nostalgia and sentimentalism. But you have to admit, this thing is made for days like today. Who cares if I spend $25 more for not driving Darla's Equinox?!

When I finally got back in the Wag, Darla handed me a cup of hot chocolate! She's awesome. We stopped by the farmer's house on the way out and I gave him $25 for the beautiful nine-foot tree.




Then we went to the Whitetop store and got boiled peanuts, Nehi Peach soda, and Red Rock ginger ale.







We stopped by Green Cove and Buchannon Inn to take some pictures and headed back toward home. What an awesome day! We sang carols, talked of Christmases past, and laughed a lot. Darla wasn't even as nervous on the snowy roads (or at least she pretended not to be).





Was the Sparks Christmas Tree Adventure a success? You bet! But it wasn't cheap. We ate out twice, and the Wagoneer's choke got stuck closed which caused it to burn an unreal amount of fuel. I gave it a temporary fix, but it is still thirstier than normal--and that's saying a lot! Yikes, we got about 8 mpg!! Not cool. I'll have to figure that out later. But wow, it was in its element in all that snow!


More than anything, I am aware of God's blessings this day before Thanksgiving. After we got home and unpacked, and got the tree in the stand, I headed to the store for a few things we need to cook the Turkey tomorrow. I was overwhelmed with gratitude to God. Almost to tears. I have a great family. There are not four other people in the world with whom I would rather share a day like today. I love them so much. Thank you Lord.

A Good Day.

For the last three days I've been telling Darla, "Saturday was just a good day." It was nothing super interesting, but it was made special because Drew was home from Berry College in Georgia where he just spent most of the summer taking classes and working. We decided to load up the Wagoneer and go to Cocke County.
It was afternoon and we hadn't eaten lunch, so our first stop was Carver's orchard in Cosby. We ate at the family-owned restaurant, and shopped in the produce barn. It's a great place. We got peach cider, apple cider, a half-bushel of big, juicy, South Carolina peaches, apple butter, and some other tasty stuff.

 This is a spring-fed pond below Max Patch mountain. Clear, cold water. There was an older couple fishing for trout. Max Patch is a mountain on the border of Tennessee and North Carolina accessible from the Harmon Den exit off I-40. Just take a left at the end of the exit and go. The pavement quickly ends. Just follow the signs all the way up. In the winter it will snow on Max Patch when hardly anywhere else gets snow. You better have four-wheel-drive when conditions are bad! The curvy road can be challenging. We take our time and enjoy the view. Don't expect bathrooms or any kind of amenities. Hardly anyone is up there, and there are definitely no stores or gas stations. Just like we like it!

 Here we are on top of Max Patch. The only other people up there were a young couple that took this picture. They had just become engaged! We took their picture and they took ours. She was still teary-eyed. The Appalachian Trail crosses over the top of this wonderful bald. That's Tennessee behind us to the west.

 Darla, Sparky, and Drew walking in front of me and the girls on Max Patch. It's crazy that it's the middle of August and we needed jackets--it was cold! Darla even wore my Mountain Hardwear toboggan! What a beautiful place. We've been coming up here since the kids were tiny. Every season is beautiful. Sledding in winter, colors in fall, flowers in spring and cool, breezy, green beauty in summer. Duncan talked about wanting to have her wedding up there.

This is after the hike before we headed home. The hike is not bad at all (Dara and I wore Chacos), but you wouldn't know by looking at Sparky. He's so out of shape.

The Wag was flawless, by the way. It's more eager than the family truckster on Sparks adventures--and thirstier, too! I got a whopping 13.4 mpg! But (in my opinion) the gas mileage is well worth the old-school, silky-smooth ride and torquey v-8. Oh...and we love all those people who give the thumbs-up or ask about it!! My kids laugh when people will take pictures of the G-Wag. Crazy!

A day like today when all five of us can be together is becoming rarer. Taking a break from everyone's busy schedule was a good call. It's something we need more of.

And the icing on the cake? We stopped in my hometown of Jefferson City on the way home and met my dad at the legendary Hoagie Shop Deli for supper. A good day indeed.

The Miserable Ones (Les Miserables)

What a great Sunday! We got creative, covered Father's Day, AND grappled with Romans 5! I love our church so much. If you weren't able to come, you missed (as John called it) "movie day." I broke all the rules I learned in preaching class. I started by simply reading the passage (with a few clarifying comments):
Romans 5:6-11 ESV

⁶For while we were still weak (some trans: “powerless, without strength, helpless”), at the right time Christ died for the ungodly (the unworthy, undesirable, the miserable ones). ⁷For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die— ⁸but God shows (or “God has demonstrated”) his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

⁹Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God. ¹⁰For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life.

¹¹More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.

After some introductory remarks, I turned it over to John Barber who walked us through the old classic story and recent motion picture, Les Miserables. We saw how human art (vis. this story) reflects the ancient story of God's grace, and how this one encapsulates Romans 5.

I love our church.

Father's Day

I think I'm looking forward to Father's Day more than ever. Maybe it's because it's the last one before my kids start going to college. Maybe it's because it's the first one since learning my dad has terminal cancer. It could be because I'm really tired and I'm ready for a break (we usually go camping for a week after Father's Day)! While all those reasons certainly contribute, I actually think it's because I'm looking forward to church on Father's Day! I don't mean to shock, but this is unusual! Ask any pastor and if he's honest he'll tell you the secular holidays are some of the most difficult for which to prepare. In truth, most pastors dread preaching on those days--especially the ones that fall on a Sunday. Here are the choices: preach from the Bible and ignore what's on everyone's mind (in this case you'd better keep it short!), do the gratuitous special holiday thematic sermon (shmeh--they all seem to sound the same to me), or scrap everything conventional and do something totally creative and outside-the-box different.

I'm fired up about church on Father's Day this year because the sermon (hint: it's not really a sermon) is going to be all three!!

I'm telling you: this year is going to be one to remember. And it won't be the same if you try to catch it on MP3 later.

If you don't go to church, I invite you to Providence tomorrow (for times and directions, visit providencechurch.com). Bring your dad or a man you know. You (and he) will not be sorry!