The Gratitude List

All Things Must Pass



"give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."
1 Thessalonians 5:18

As long as I  can remember I have cherished the ritual of reading the Sunday/holiday newspaper and it all started with "The Miami Herald".  There is something about the -day off/holiday- mentality that lends itself to the relaxed nature of a morning with a steaming cup of coffee, rustling of newsprint in your hands and sitting back in your favorite chair.  I always went to the sports section first and still do.

My first regular sports columnist read was Edwin Pope and did not realize until doing research for this post that he is from Athens, Georgia and like this writer a UGA graduate. I am grateful today that God continues to show me all he makes ties together in some form or fashion and were we to notice, speaks to His unmerited gift of Grace to us.

Furman Bisher's tearjerker in 2000 on losing his son.

My unbeknownst ties to Mr. Pope evolved into a short career in sports journalism where I found myself in the very same Press Boxes with columnists who captured my fancy from their sports pages on Sunday mornings.  One of those writers was a southern gentleman named Furman Bisher who applied his trade with the Atlanta Journal- Constitution. As a neophyte publicist for a NASCAR Winston Cup Grand National race team in 1978 I met Bisher for the first time at the Dixie 500 at Atlanta Motor Speedway.

Lewis Grizzard & Furman Bisher

It was not my experiences in NASCAR that are my cherished Furman Bisher memories but the time spent with him on Thanksgiving mornings over the course of two decades.  A highlight of our family's Thanksgiving ritual was reading aloud his "I'm Thankful" columns as if they were scripture from the Holy Bible. The Grace that those columns brought forth each year was sufficient to establish the spirit of the day. His kind of Journalist is hard to find these days and we lost him in 2012 along with his hallowed Thanksgiving tradition.

A Bisher Masters Memorial

I did not, however, understand the real import of a gratitude list till I got sober in 2008.  It was as if Bisher's columns resonated with that still small voice within during my straying years.  In my sober faith walk I have come to believe that self pity is a spiritual malady that is part and parcel to substance abuse and addiction.  In the 12 Step Programs of various AA fellowships it is often suggested that a recovering alcoholic routinely construct a gratitude list.  Furman Bisher over the hard years allowed me to get a leg up on this effective spiritual practice.

What I believe: If I fill myself up with gratitude, there will be no room for self pity.

My T Day Gratitude List

Two beautiful daughters whose character tell me,
I got something right!
A place to go to work 
and part of the job is riding Harleys.
A woman with strawberry blond hair named Patti,
and she likes me.
Butter Pecan Ice Cream and Golden Oreo Cookies.
A Dave Matthews' song called "So Damn Lucky"
performed by his DMB.
For God giving us Charles Schultz 
and he in turn giving us Snoopy.
Riding through the countryside on my H-D Softail Standard
and picking up the scent of sassafras in the air.
Sons of Serenity, my men's home group.
Hawks and Dragonflies because when I spot one,
I know I am presently aware.
The Truth will set you free and I can find it,
 embodied in Jesus the Christ and His teachings.

Amen,
Bradford Bosworth
Thanksgiving, 2016

Amicalola Adoration

 Love Letters

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins."
1 Peter 4:8 NIV

Lodge View

I am familiar with this couple who are newly found in their love for each other. However, that is not to say they are newly found in their acquaintance with each other.  They met for the first time around six months prior at a retreat setting in the exact expression of Christian faith.  The circumstances that they might find themselves in conversation were providential and were what the man used to describe as coincidental but now is assured are means of Grace. This writer has it on good authority that when these two souls made first eye contact a spark ignited in them both divine curiosity.

So, the man tells this writer that at the first chance meeting he was in a relationship with another woman, not just any relationship but a committed relationship and one in which he had been totally invested. He did not forget the penetrating look in the hazel eyes nor the remarkable strawberry blonde hair, but he did forget the name of this strikingly beautiful woman and they lost touch as they both were absorbed again by the world.

In just a couple short months, the man's committed relationship with a no less remarkable lady began to unravel. He still does not quite comprehend how a loving relationship can fall apart for it is his belief that real deep love is forever. Alas, the man's love for the first woman will always be.  His faith tells him that our Creator has a plan and that there is a reason for everything. God places people in our lives at various times to serve His purpose. We are the clay. He is the potter.

Fast forward four months, and my friend found himself in the exact same place at another retreat and there she was, the angel with strawberry blond hair!  This time he would take nothing for granted and seek her name and begin the wooing.  He tells me that this past weekend they took a spectacular motorcycle trip to Amicalola Falls State Park.  It was there that he felt and learned a whole new meaning for the word adoration and again God is good!

Sunset Silhouette

Writer/Editor's Note: Stay tuned as there is more to come in this Love Story. Oh and Happy Birthday to my new partner in Devotion!

Amen
Bradford Bosworth
November 2016





Requiem Letters

Thank you Papa AL


When a twelve year boy loses his father to death the grief is numbed by an immediate survival instinct that includes an awareness that job one is to take care of Mom.  That same boy as a young man becomes relieved at first, but then more and more is gracefully blessed when it becomes apparent that there is a man to love and attend to Mom.  Oh how grateful I am that Al Hamilton came into Jeanne's life...and mine.  I witnessed a joy, peace and happiness in her life that had been missing for a long time, but most of all I had an example of what a gentleman looks like, a model to emulate and remember when my own character defects wanted to lead me astray.

Papa Al passed away this morning in Kentucky after a long rich life.  We had lost touch in the years since mom died in a 1993 car accident in which they were both involved.  After surviving an extensive ICU stint with serious head injuries he stayed in Somerset, Kentucky and eventually remarried a lovely lady, named Wanda.  I have some regrets about losing contact but our lives so often take divergent paths and really we stay in touch because of the love we have shared and will forever be.  And I have it on good authority that Jeanne along with all the angels are in welcoming reception of Alfred in the heavenly kingdom of our Father.


Also, I am assured that one day I'll be joining with you all again and oh what a joy that day will be!

Amen
Bradford Bosworth
November, 2016

Remember: Look Up:


Smiling at Our Smyrna Supermoon


Matthew 25:13
"Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming."

What a momentous month this November 2016 has been! We had the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series; the first time that has happened in 108 years! We had Donald Trump winning the Presidency of the United States in an unprecedented manner. And as the writer types out these words, our earth's moon will come closer to this planet than it has been in 68 years!

Now, we do not know when the Cubbies will win another World Series and Trump cannot win another election for at least 4 years and many are praying the election and run up to it will not repeat as far as divisiveness goes. But, we do have scientific data which says the full moon will not get as close to us again until November, 2034.  I would be 82 years old.  Odds are I will not be here in this world to witness it again.

Smyrna,Ga. Supermoon (PM) 11/13/16

I wonder how many folks will miss the witness of this display from the heavens. Our Creator longs for His creation to awaken and become aware of the miracles happening, the messages being sent and the angels in attendance along our journey.  We, as his chosen children have never throughout history here been good at noticing all that is placed in front of us. Forgetful, we sleepwalk through most of our terra-firma existence. In our present age with the advent of portable devices we are even more unawares of what is truly happening around us, always looking down at those devices.

 And the prophets, saints and angels weep at our slumbering stumbling missteps through this glorious life we have been afforded.  The good news is: It's Okay!  Each new day all we need to do is remember to look up!

Father may we remember when awakening to look up also to see the full morning moon. Amen


Good Morning Supermoon (AM) 11/14/16

Bradford Bosworth
November, 2016

Of Saints and Angels

Take Nothing for Granted

Hebrews 13:2  NKJV
Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some 
have unwittingly entertained angels.

I have an avocation that involves collecting and gifting antique keys along with scripture or noted quotes from classic writers and books.  These keys are specifically categorized as skeleton keys, a rather macabre way of description. And with the passing (no pun intended) of Halloween and the advent of All Saints Day, I am nudged to scribe about the Saints and Angels of this life.

The Key to Hospitality

I am assured that our Creator places people in our paths throughout our journey here on earth and reciprocally He surely removes them as well.  Sometimes they are with us for awhile and sometimes not.  There is purpose to them all. Some we notice and some notice us. Some we fall deeply in love with and part with broken hearts strewn in the wake.

Some we are born of and some bear our children.  Some we learn from and some we teach. Some as we turn to see in the distance remain a mystery always presenting a struggle for our understanding. All whom we have loved, we love forever. That place in our heart they continue to occupy though sometimes we try to cover it up or paint over it in pastels of denial.

The noted Christian Psychiatrist M Scott Peck wrote in his popular book "The Road Less Traveled", 
"All human interactions are opportunities either to learn or to teach." To take this concept further, sometimes the student walks a long way before the lesson is learned and then realizes the teacher was an Angel he welcomed innocently unaware.  



When the door closes on that relationship, whether it be Saint and sinner or student or Teacher as we stand begging, "don't let me go!" we become amazed and stand in awe as we turn to see another door opening towards heaven's way and a new Angel waiting to guide us onward.

Abba, so grateful are we that You send your Saints to guide us home!
Amen

Bradford Bosworth
All Saints Day, 2016


Catch a Falling Star

Don't Pray the Biscuits Cold


Upon arriving in Charlotte, N.C. from Daytona Beach, Fla. in 1978 as a budding PR executive in the sport of NASCAR stock car racing, I received a daily dose of satirical humor from a colorful local morning radio personality who would- during each  morning drive- do a well produced skit about the phenomena of televangelists Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker and their immensely successful  TV show "PTL( Praise the Lord) Club".  The skit was titled "Pass the Loot."



I had no  prior familiarity with the "PTL Club" which happened to be based and produced just down the road in Fort Mill, S.C., nor with Jim Bakker. The satire of this irreverent and humorous skit just served to reinforce a growing and prevailing secular attack  on organized religion generally and Christianity specifically.  My chance meeting with Jim Bakker less than two  years later would do nothing to debunk this less than Holy image portrayed by the media.



In my first days in Charlotte, I was PR Director for a company called DiGard Racing which built and fielded the #88 Chevrolet sponsored by the Gatorade brand, owned by Stokely- Van Camp and driven by Darrell Waltrip.  Subsequently I was hired by Charlotte Motor Speedway in their Marketing & PR department where one of my primary responsibilities was to produce and direct the Pre-Race shows for the two Major NASCAR Winston Cup Grand National races.

It was at the 1979 World 600 Pre-Race Show where I  would have my encounter with Mr. Bakker. The Pre-Race Show for a NASCAR race is the equivalent of an NFL Halftime Show except it comes before the event. A successful pre-race show will involve all the elements of a classic P.T. Barnum 3 ring circus.  The promotion as such will be designed to influence the spectators to arrive early at the track to accomplish 2 objectives: reduce traffic congestion and boost concession sales.



The challenge to the producer is to keep things flowing into a final crescendo culminating with an Invocation and National Anthem, followed by the command "Gentlemen (and perhaps Lady(s)) Start Your Engines" on time! For the 1979 World 600 I was informed by my boss H. A. "Humpy" Wheeler, -who was a modern day P.T. Barnum in his own right- that Jim Bakker would be saying the invocation this particular Sunday.

For this show I had already decided to enlist the US Navy's Chuting Stars parachute team to bring in the colors via the air during and as part of the performance of the National Anthem.  To accomplish this objective it would take precision coordination from ground to air with a small degree of flexibility.  So as fate would have it, coming to conclusion we were a bit behind schedule.  As I approached Mr. Bakker with the PA microphone I implicitly directed him to "make it short and compact and cut his time."



Well, I must have been speaking a foreign language. Jim Bakker commenced to- as we are fond of characterizing in my different fellowships- "pray the biscuits cold."  As the time was winding down the jumpers had exited their plane planning to land the flag before the main grandstands at the start/finish line. They had to buy time as Mr. Bakker's seemingly endless prayer went on. There was nothing I as director could do. One does not interrupt or cut-off a preacher in mid-prayer.  As it turned out the Navy skydivers landed haphazardly around the Speedway.  I would learn later that one young man landed on the third turn banking and broke his ankle.  To this day I have a framed picture hanging in my living room that has signatures from all the jumpers except one blank space where our wayward skydiver would have signed except he was at hospital being treated.  I have always wondered about that wayward sailor as I gaze at this treasured gift.

Amen Brother

Bradford Bosworth
September, 2016

Ride Through It!

Thresholds and Transitions

Labor Day weekend traditionally marks a point on the calendar that signifies a transitional time for most in our culture. Many are rushing away to the beach, lake or mountains for a summer ending respite, a final vacation before summer officially ends. Endings and beginnings, isn’t that what life is?  What is it that the end of summer brings? One suspects that it brings a bit of angst for this society regularly as we race into all that accompanies the final quarter of the year.

For families the kids are back in school. Mom and or dad-if they are gainfully employed- and these days it is mostly mom and dad, are immersed in the business of finishing the year strong where pressure mounts to meet goals and quotas. This year it is different.  It is a presidential election year filled with mistrust and vitriol and the anxiety of the nation is red lining.  We are careening towards a November Tuesday which will result in a transition of which no one is certain or comfortable.



Transition is good because it causes us to pause and reflect.  Usually when one pauses and reflects it allows a closer walk with the Creator.  We begin to become more in touch with who we are. Sometime it is painful. The transition may be away from a close and comfortable relationship a friendship lost or left behind.  We leave our comfort zones.  The path is unfamiliar or hauntingly familiar.  We become reacquainted with who we were.  Do we stop and cease to grow where surely gravity will drag us down or do we cross the turbulent threshold with faith, hand in hand with the Father and grow into something or someone new and improved?



One of the great pleasures and spiritual aspects of motorcycle riding is experiencing thresholds and transitions.  When one is just learning or still new to riding or maybe adjusting to a new model there are a few moments that are critical to successful and enjoyable experiences. Some of them are as follows: your first rain shower with wet roads, your first foray onto the interstate with the big semis, the first time you find yourself behind a truck hauling chickens…. or better yet in the rain, the first time a landscaper is blowing leaves and cuttings into your path and the first time you ride someone special on the back with you.  See: 


What are we to do when we find ourselves in life’s uncomfortable and anxiety laden transitions? Ride through it!

The Writer's Standard

Amen Brother and Sister Riders.

Bradford Bosworth

September, 2016

Matching Moles

Made for Each Other

There is this couple I know. Well, they were  a couple, and as of late, they are split up.  On appearances one might think they were a mismatch; mainly because she being diminutive and he being of a somewhat taller stature. This senior couple's differences did not stop at physical appearances but extended to a lifetime of social, cultural and geographical differences that shape one's personality and character.  The probability that these two people would meet up and come together in a loving relationship, from most analytical perspectives, would have been very low.  It was a special relationship- heavenly in nature- but dragged down by those same gravitational influences we first read about in "Romeo and Juliet",  forces that have been around forever.



There is no question that the one thing our couple had in common was a shared love of the Lord and a strong faith commitment.  They met in Church. They loved each other by holding hands in Church and sneaking kisses in the parking lot. The man believes in his heart there are no coincidences. Coincidences are small miracles and signs from God to his children whose  eyes are open and seeking. (See Jeremiah 29:13)  Here are a few of the small miracles where this man believes Abba was speaking to him.

Shortly before they went on their first date,(She asked him out.), he was given a book to read by a friend about the history of Stock Car racing.  Much of that history and the book centered around a north Georgia town where it turns out her parents were from and where she and her siblings still visit for family reunions. He did not nor does he now take this incident for granted!

One day she came to visit him and he had his Pandora tuned to his Aaron Copeland  Station and the music from Copeland's "Appalachian Spring" came on.  He remembers the watery sparkle in her eyes vividly, for she never cries.  He told her that his favorite hymn was "Lord of the Dance" as Copeland's same Shaker Theme was playing.  She told him that she had always wanted that music played at her wake.  The couple's first real getaway weekend was a springtime waterfall in the Appalachians.  There is no way now that he can hear that grace filled music and not think fondly of her.

He does not remember the first time he noticed or made mention of it, but as they became more and more intimate with each other his fingertips tracing the spinal indentation of the small of her back he noticed a small mole. He was amazed because this mole was the same proportionate size and in the same location as a mole on his own back that he himself had carried around for years.  The two of them have matching moles!  



It is hard for this man to let go of this women.  Every time he believes he  has succeeded in doing so he hears the music or  comes across his notes made about the matching moles and there is a  still small voice inside that says, "Hang on don't give up!"

That man urging this writer to submit this story to "The Standard Chronicles"  is clear indication that he  has not given up.

Persevere my brother, persevere!
Amen

Bradford Bosworth
August 25, 2016


For more about Aaron Copeland and "Appalachian Spring"  or "Lord of The Dance" click to these "Standard Chronicle posts:

American Treasure October 2015

These Simple Gifts May 30, 2016












Meeting Up With The Church Ladies

Originally written in 2009.

Me and the Church Ladies


            The idea came swiftly from somewhere deep in my gut propelled by the passion that accompanies an anger one feels when they spot an egotistic bully picking on the schoolyard innocent. You know, like Kanye West’s treatment of Taylor Swift on that nationally televised MTV awards show.  It is an idea that stays. No matter how you push it aside the thought keeps popping back up until you realize that you have to act on it.  And so I sent an email inquiring about participating in the 9/12 March on Washington DC.
            For me it was the breathtakingly obvious attempt by the Obama Administration (see bully), majority Democrat lawmakers and complicit media to ram through a power grab (see Obamacare) and alter our country forever. That stark realization was my motivation. The Republicans, weak spined patsies with no stomach for a fight, in my mind were equally at fault, because of their self preservationism. 
            It was four days after the initial email correspondence with jlmcgraw@xyz.com and only t- minus eleven days from protest.  I had been planning to broach the subject of my interest with my family at any moment. The moment came while my wife and I were sitting at the dining table with the TV turned to Glenn Beck. All of a sudden I looked up and here was the lady I had exchanged emails with, Joy McGraw, Atlanta, Ga. on the screen talking about the Georgia participation with Glenn Beck on national TV!  Certainly that moment was providential because I was still on the proverbial fence.  With the subsequent blessings of wife and daughters I phoned Ms. McGraw and cemented my plans for sharing my voice of objection.
            Through some subsequent discussions with Joy, I became the designated leader of the second bus leaving from the Georgia State Capitol Friday morning September 11, 2009.  The bus was filled with fifty six folks ranging in age from twenty something to seventy something.  We had folks from Augusta to the east, Birmingham Ala. from the west, Cumming from the north and Cordele from the south.  No radical right wingers were on this bus called Liberty, just concerned hard working Americans with traditional conservative values wanting to make a difference and to be heard.
            The lady I ended up sitting next to on the bus was a widowed Jewish grandmother and office manager originally from Brooklyn, NY.  Her name was Marcia Koch, no relation to former NY Mayor Ed Koch, she was a real American original.
            Our long ride saw us arrive in DC after most of our routine bedtimes and being bus coordinator I was last to check in.  Waiting for me were two ladies traveling together who inquired if I would mind being their escort to the rally in the morning.  Seems they had a bit of trepidation about navigating the Metro and the accompanying crowds by themselves. I was flattered and honored that my presence would help ease their angst somewhat and gladly accepted their invitation.  We agreed to meet for breakfast in the AM.
****


            We prayed before breakfast and I received a little about each of them and they small parts of me.  Their names are Helen Johnson and Beth Alday.  They are best friends from Macon, Georgia.  They attend the same Church there and they met at that Church years earlier.  They are mothers and wives who picked up and left their families to travel a thousand or so miles into the uncharted territory of a national protest because they knew in their heart of hearts that they had to do something.  It was the same for me and the other folk on our bus.  Deep down in the gut comes a conviction that something is wrong and if we do not stand up, nothing will have a chance to change.  If we turn our heads and walk away it will be our great sin.
            So the Church Ladies and I made our way to the metro and each train we boarded we met more simple real Americans from across our land.  We rode up and out onto the streets of our nation’s epicenter, the eye of the storm, citizens everywhere and it was awe inspiring.  It was akin to that natural wonder of the king salmon coming back from their  long journey into a seemingly infinite ocean to find their Source, swimming upstream against the current motivated only from a sense of purpose, a purpose of survival and natural right.
            At each intersection I could look down the blocks and see people moving in the step of liberty towards the Freedom Plaza staging area.  It was a cool overcast morning on September 12, 2009 with a slight breeze carrying the sounds of anticipation and hope. I remember experiencing goose bumps and eyes full of watery pride.  We all knew we had made the right choice and were grateful to be present. 
            As we arrived at the plaza we could hear the PA system to tell us where the stage was, but Helen, Beth and I stayed on the periphery.  I knew that the crowd would continue to grow and wanted to be in proximity of the parade route with an exit option just in case. The Church Ladies then began to don their custom made protest hats extracting the parts from their rolling survival supply bag they had brought.   I never got confirmation from them but these hats looked suspiciously like they might possibly have been worn at one of those Red Hat Society functions. 
            When complete the red hats had a cut-out tea pot attached to the top that read “We are Tea’d! Taxed Enough Already.” It did not take long before photographers were coming by to take their pictures.  Throughout the rest of the morning Helen and Beth continued to attract attention because of their creative costume.  I was proud to be their friend along for the ride.
            The walk down Pennsylvania Ave was an emotional experience with the majestic Capitol beckoning us.  I did not fully understand at the time just how little is done under that dome truly on the people’s behalf. I had flashback recognition of exactly where we were, of the TV images, the horse drawn caisson with the widow in black trailing behind coming down this same route we were walking. A reeling Nation mourned on that grey November Sunday in 1963.  I prayed that our dissent efforts now would be noticed.



            Our position in the march was in the first fifth of the column.  Because of the time we arrived at the staging area and where we positioned ourselves I was sure we were more to the front than to the middle.  Our walk along the extreme right side curb and sidewalk facing the Capital put us in a position when we reached the complex area to secure seating on the northside wall of the reflecting pool.  We could not have found a more precipitous spot.  The porta-potties were fifty yards away and we had preferred viewing of the continuing procession as it arrived into the determined destination.
            Although we could not see the stage on the steps of the Capitol we could hear clearly the presenters.  But this fact was not as important to us as was the witnessing of the masses in attendance.  The procession kept arriving for hours.  It was clear to me that this was a huge demonstration. It was proof that a significant number of Americans were opposed to the direction that the Obama Administration specifically and our Government generally was trying to take us.
            I instinctively knew that there would be no aerial view in news reports of this mass demonstration.  The government controls the skies over Washington DC and they would not allow proper perspective on this event.  It was certain as well that the complicit news media would not give the protest justified coverage.  I took a walk around the Capitol grounds as best I could and my experience says that there were between a quarter to half million people gathered there this day.
            One thing is for sure.  The people who were in attendance are normal everyday Americans that care about their Country.  They cherish their freedom and want future generations to have the same liberties.  The Church Ladies are the consummate example of everyday Americans exercising their freedom and enjoying their liberties.
            Later in the day we went our separate ways.  The red hat ones preferring to travel back to the hotel. Me, I wanted to walk the mall and take in the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.  In 1987 on my first trip to this great town I remember what a breathtakingly moving experience the Lincoln Memorial was for me. That place surely is sacred ground.  September 12, 2009 was winding down for me.  I remember a feeling of fulfillment and accomplishment as I walked into my hotel room.  I switched on the TV to see the news coverage. David Axelrod, one of Obama’s senior advisors was being interviewed. Asked about the march and he said, “We don’t know who these people are.”  I switched the TV off.
***
 Writer's note: To this day people like David Axelrod still don't know who we are.

Amen Sisters

Bradford Bosworth
August 19, 2016


Last Full Measure

Wake Up Call

"When I have brought them to the land flowing with milk and honey, of which I swore to their fathers, and they have eaten and filled themselves and grown fat, then they will turn to other gods and serve them; and they will provoke Me and break My covenant."
Deuteronomy 31:20 (NKJV)


Today many of us searching for a stronger more steadfast faith try to spend more and more time in the Word of God- the Holy Bible, and some, like this writer, have come to believe that our America, as settled by the original pilgrims, is our time's "Promised Land". It is not an original idea. In a 1952 commencement address Ronald Reagan said, "I, in my own mind, have always thought of America as a place in the divine scheme of things that was set aside as a promised land."  We the citizens of the United States, well, we are Israel.  This extraordinary continent of North America is same as the Old Testament's  "land flowing with milk and honey."  Any southerner will tell you that south of the Mason-Dixon line one will find the richest of buttermilk biscuits and sweetest of golden Tupelo honey. 

As a child born of parents, one from Connecticut and one from Pennsylvania, I can find scant a lineal link to the Great South that stands behind the confederate flag. Furthermore my early childhood developmental years were spent between Akron, Ohio and Miami, Florida.  There was not much authentic southern influence in the personality development of this young boy.  Overalls and four wheelers were replaced by skateboards and Bermuda shorts until my father died and it was decided that the brothers Bosworth were shipping off to Tennessee to boarding school.  The kinder softer description was aka a "Prep School" until  we first awoke to a bugle born reveille calling us to fall-in and realized we were at military school.


One of the great blessings of my life was becoming an adopted son of one of those "Great South" local families. I guess my personality was such that I made friends with the day students of which in my class there were two brothers, Jim and Paul. It just so happened they played football and I played football. They wrestled and....well I started wrestling in the ninth grade and if there was such a thing in wrestling as a tackling dummy, well I was their tackling dummy.  Jim and Paul were two fifths of a brood surrounded by sisters and raised by two wonderful southern folk with North Carolina ties and heritage whom I knew as "Momma Francis" and  "Doctor Paul". Their's was a house on a hill I will forever affectionately keep in my heart as "The Hillcrest Home."

My adoption into the culture of the old and deep south led me to a college education at the University of Georgia and except for a couple years in Daytona Beach, I have been in this blessed place for my entire life. I go back to Chattanooga routinely and most recently to visit and celebrate another high school classmate (David) and lifelong friend's birthday.  On the way I stopped at Chickamauga Battlefield Park which brings me back to the topic of "a land flowing with milk and honey."




The park at Chickamauga was a sobering spiritual repast on a hot August morning. It made me consider what an astounding miracle and gift from God that this promised land of ours survived and the country became stronger from such a civil war.  I know in my heart we could not survive another.
More importantly one our classmates there to celebrate the aforementioned birthday spoke of his greatgreat grandfather who fought for the Confederacy in that war.  It is in this proximity where one will see many examples of the Stars and Bars flying proudly.   Asking a son of the south  to take down his flag is asking him to deny and disavow his parental lineage. This demand is also condemnation of many- the whole- for responsibility that belongs to a few and the part.  This kind of blanket intolerant conviction comes from the same place as the original sin.



So here we are in a "land flowing with milk and honey." as we were and have always been promised by Abba. And we have two choices as usual and one is to turn back towards God and rely on His direction.  Pray for our Country, please.

“If we lose freedom here, there is no place to escape to. This is the last stand on earth.” from: "A Time for Choosing" speech- 1964, Ronald Reagan.

This kinda sums it up:



And some other words of wisdom from some notable patriots:

“And yet the same revolutionary beliefs for which our forebears fought are still at issue around the globe—the belief that the rights of man come not from the generosity of the state, but from the hand of God.” 

 John F. Kennedy 1961


“The struggle now going on for the world will never be decided by bombs or rockets, by armies or military might. The real crisis we face today is a spiritual one; at root, it is a test of moral will and faith.”  
 Ronald Reagan 1983


“God who gave us life gave us Liberty.
 Can the liberties of a nation be secure when we have removed a conviction that these liberties are the gift of God?”
 Thomas Jefferson 1774


Amen America

Bradford Bosworth
August, 2016

Water Spirit


First Child a Daughter 

She brings me the deepest surest Love that any man could imagine. 
It is the kind that will never change nor diminish.
It is unique to a father-daughter relationship and I know it will never leave me.
Though I have struggles none are more difficult or as painful than those she encounters.
Nothing will bring me more abruptly to my knees than to see her hurt, confused, alone.
I thank God for providing me the life lesson of helping to raise up such a beautiful person.


*******


Growing up in south Florida on the Atlantic coast, water- more specifically salt water- became part of a personality trait for me.  I see these window decals now that say “Salt Life” and I am not sure what the context is for that logo, but I know how it applies to a young toe head boy.  So it was just a natural response that when our first child Maggie was a year old she took her first swimming lessons at Cobb Aquatic Center in Marietta, Georgia.

Now, I am not sure where the H2o genes came from. Her mother’s side was from the Midwest, landlocked southern Illinois; her namesake great grandma Maggie Sewell of coal mining, Harrisburg. This the Maggie Sewell who used to extend hospitality to the bootlegging Charlie Birger gang when they were in the area. The same Charlie Birger that was hanged in the Harrisburg town square. Our Maggie’s grandfather Herschel used to tell of being let out of school just so they could go watch. It was the last public hanging in the state of Illinois.

From the first time in that indoor pool, our Maggie took to the water like it was her natural habitat. Seeing your infant so at ease in a large body of water is comforting. When you see them free in the water, well it must be akin to a mother bird seeing their hatch lings learning how to fly from the nest. I was able to cross child drowning worry off the list.

From this point my oldest posted a litany of water related accomplishments.  I’ll never forget on a cruise to the Bahamas when she went snorkeling for the first time off a Caribbean sand bar. I remember hearing her laughing and talking with the fish. I could hear the conversation through her snorkel! She was also at peace swimming with the stingrays off Grand Cayman.  Her attraction to the water entered a new phase after we took her to see “The Little Mermaid” and she developed a lifelong kinship with Ariel, another redhead.

Then there was the swimming during the summer community leagues with the Smyrna Sharks. Her competitive father got choked up when he saw the look on her face after she touched first for the first time.  There were many ribbons and state meet finals.  The swimming took to year-round practice and meets with the Marietta Stingrays swim club.

When Maggie got into high school she began to hear the call to work with younger kids and so now she has responded to her call. She works as a manager at Swim Revolution in Smyrna/Vinings.
  How much more proud can a father be than to see his oldest daughter passing it on in the Spirit of the Living Water.
Happy Birthday and keep passing it on my beautiful and gifted Maggie. 
Amen, Dad, August 1, 2016

The Split in the Garden

Hold Hands with Abba

In the past couple of weeks the chaotic nature of the world has shown up on my doorstep. It might have first arrived around our Country's Independence Day Celebration.  I do not remember in younger days the fireworks in the neighborhoods starting a week before and continuing for a week after. It sure seems that way now, It made for a few sleepless nights. The awesome patriotic tenor of the day has lost some luster because of this contemporary practice. But that is not the main cause of this writer's recent turmoil. The underpinnings of the angst is a broken friendship, a relationship split.

Combine this personal loss with the mood of our country framed by the divide of party politics and chaos keeps knocking at the door, banging on the door! So I decided to go on a 40 day fast.  I did not have to go into the wilderness. The wilderness came to me. My program of faith induced me to double down on my prayer and meditation practices. I have resisted  my default isolating behavior by staying active in my fellowships. I am fasting from two worldly pseudo sustenances Facebook and Television.

About ten days into my fast in the wilderness, I began to relocate in the presence of my Creator. Chaos gave up knocking on my door. I thought I saw signs of a healing in the fracture of my special relationship. The day was bright and the forecast was clear. Then as Abba is want to do when we turn our backs on Him, he sent a violent storm and a different kind of fireworks into the night put me to restful sleep.

The next morning- the Sabbath- I awoke and in the Garden out my back door this is what I saw:

I am grateful for His good morning Great Rays!

I take nothing for granted these days.  I know the Spirit of the Universe is speaking to me in every moment and all I have to do is be willing to listen and look for His signs; His trail markers. During the rest of that same Sabbath day I saw signs that the spark of healing in the diminishing relationship was flickering away.



Then while sitting at my kitchen table having dinner there was a strange unfamiliar cracking, shredding noise just out back. I stopped eating and got up from the table and there in the same scene from the garden in the morning was an astonishing split that will not, nor cannot be put back together.
For me it is an act of God and a message. 





 The split, however, between God and His people can and will be put back together. See:
  2 Corinthians 5:16-20

Bradford Bosworth
July 2016

Monkey Business

The Grandstand View



Twenty-eight years ago at the front end of my second career in the broader hospitality and narrower beverage alcohol distribution industries, I found myself managing a restaurant in downtown Atlanta at the mega convention hotel Marriott Marquis.  Being this type of hotel property, huge city-wides were not unusual but the 1988 Democratic Convention was in a class of its own.




Three years prior I had started my career with Marriott and to this day I have never worked for a better company. The family founded and lead corporation carried traditional Judeo-Christian family core values and principles from the top down through the entire organization and permeated the whole corporate culture. The management truly valued its human resources. In my earliest days there I spent many hours behind the bar at the Grandstand Lounge hanging in the Atrium.



 When the 1988 Democratic National Convention rolled into town I was managing Pompanos Restaurant and Oyster Bar a white table cloth seafood eatery.  Somehow I got my hands on a poster for the convention. It is a very creative piece of graphic art. It reads: Democrats in Convention -Atlanta 1988.  In all the years since, I have been under the impression that it was the official poster of the convention. In preparations for this article, I did a Google search for- 1988 Democratic Convention poster- and found everything but a representation of this poster.


I decided to pin the poster to an easel and place it at the front of the restaurant by the hostess stand with markers and invite guests to sign it. Throughout the week it became quite a conversation piece.
Without a doubt the most popular topic of  "water cooler" type conversation was the autograph in the lower right of the poster reading Gary Hart .


Senator Hart ( D Colorado) had been one of the top candidates in quest for the Presidential nomination until a picture of him with a woman- who was not his wife- on a pleasure boat to the Bahamas showed up in newspapers nationwide. The icing on the cake and irony to end all ironies was that the name of the boat was "Monkey Business"!

Other notable signatures on the poster include,  Spencer Christian, Benjamin Hooks, Bill Gibson, Bob Kerrey and Billy Graham. There are many more VIP and common folk alike but perhaps the most telling autograph of all is that of the current California Governor Jerry Brown. I'll let the readers draw their own conclusions.


The framed collector's item has hung in my residence in all the years since and it still calls for "water cooler" conversations.

Final thoughts: When the Democrats were in convention here in 1988 I was not yet married to the women (Becky) who would become mother to our two beautiful and amazing daughters, though I met her there at the Marquis. The Omni Coliseum, ground zero for the convention, was still standing. Amazingly soon they will replace the Georgia Dome that replaced the Omni! Two of our most blessed southern writers, Lewis Grizzard and Furman Bisher were still alive and making me laugh and cry. And-with a sigh- the Clintons has not completely entered the political stage.

Bradford Bosworth
July 2016


A Devotion for the Day

Not Seeing Each Other Any More

Proverbs 3:5

There was a couple who met late in life. Both had been married and divorced, one more than once. Each had children and one had grandchildren. I am not completely certain but my guess is that they were deep in love with each other.  From a distance it looked that way, so I have been told. They did many things together and shared themselves with simple honesty and had a bond with the Holy Spirit- a divine connection.

If you talked to the man he would tell you his most cherished moments of the relationship were holding hands at mealtime and saying a graceful blessing together.  He would read to her at nighttime and she would fall asleep in his arms.  If you talked with the woman she would most likely tell you her favorite moment was holding hands in Church; with his reading to her at night a close second. After the first time with him in Church, she said that she had been waiting all her life to hold hands in Church with the special man in her life.  He was taken by that expression of affection.

These days one would not necessarily consider senior citizens proficient at or artful with communication via texting.  This couple had a simple and mutually smile inducing daily text exchange.  She typing out and sending, “Hey” and he replying with “Hi” or vice versa.  A day without this exchange was cause for concern.  Sadly, towards the end there were more days than not without “Hi” and “Hey”.

They had periods along the way where their connection would stretch and weaken but it would always come back together.  Then one day the world intruded and would not go away. As they began to rely more and more on their own understanding the divine connection frayed. Their relationship began to unravel ever more quickly. “Hi” and “Hey” vanished, washed away with tears.   In the final analysis the couple still loved each other but they were not seeing each other anymore.

Yahweh lead us back to the garden where we trust in you with all our heart, and in that place we would notice all your markers set before us and see each other foreve.  Amen

Bradford Bosworth
July 2016



Pitch Man


The Witness of Our Lives


A few months ago I was invited to participate in a leadership role on a Christian men's retreat. In my faith  journey I am part of numerous fellowships, some are coed but this particular one was men only.
As part of my service on this retreat I was asked to give a talk. The talk was titled "Christian Action".

I want to focus this post on a young man who I admire and respect immensely. His name is Tim Tebow.  Back in the fall of 2008 my life was adrift on a sea of despair and denial.  I had recently been through a drug treatment center and was about 30 days sober when I decided to turn on the SEC Football Championship.  Tebow is known for his strong Christian faith and had a practice of  writing bible verses on his eye black.  On this evening, I wanted to know what the scripture message was so I was one of the record number of people googling John 16:33 making it the number one google search term for that date.


My Christian Action message to the men on the retreat can be summed up with the statement. "It is the witness of our lives."  There are not many better examples of this idea that I can think of than Tim Tebow.  I'm sure it makes a difference that I am a big sports fan.  I was a fan of his at the time but after looking up that verse- which is a quote from Jesus -I had a bit of a different perspective. The man who chose this scripture had to be serious about his mission! The words are from the One Teacher and if we listen to these words and then search out "these things" that he told us. And if we try to live by them and assimilate them into our lives then we too have a chance to "overcome the world."

Pitch Man

Side Note: A little over a year later the NCAA banned "Eye Black Messages" in an edict that is now known as the "Tebow Rule". "The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it." John 1:5


Amen Brother Tim

Bradford Bosworth
July, 2016

Hold on to Our Country!

What does it mean to be an American?

We are in the midst of an American summer now and not an ordinary summer but a summer that sees a presidential election around the corner. In my lifetime, I do not believe we have been as divided a country as this day brings. I hope and pray we can make it through November without becoming completely unglued.  Please Lord guide us in your paths.

As we near the weekend where we celebrate the divinely inspired birth of our country, I will share something I wrote 36 years ago. As I read it I become more inspired to take my writing to a new level.  The  "runner up " designation for this newspaper contest was one of my first legitimate examples of being mainstream published.  It shows me also that the inspiration behind my creativity
is same as it ever was!



As printed in "The Charlotte News"  Friday, July 4, 1980

Being an American means having the ability to  take for granted an existence that a great number of the world population can only dream about.

It means being able to change horses in the middle of a stream, or deciding to cross that bridge when we come to it.

Being an American means being able to return a favor, repay a debt. It means being able to say , "No problem, it's been my pleasure, think nothing of it...what are friends for?"

Being an American means being able to write a letter to a local newspaper explaining what it is like being an American.


It also means being able to have and write for your own Internet blog where people from around the world can read "What does it mean to be an American."


Amen Brothers and Sisters from around the globe.

Bradford Bosworth
June 2016

A Carnivore's Paradise

  (Writer’s Note: In my upcoming book “ Angel Food Cake” A Forty Day Devotional for an Upside/Down World, there are stories referencing ange...

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