What Are We Doing

   While seeing the film, “Paul, the Apostle,” I began to pray and ask the Lord what he wanted me to do.  I was so heart broken by the events of his life and the lives of the Christians during the time of Nero, that I questioned in my own mind “What are we doing?”  Today, what are we Christians doing?  As I stopped at the restroom, while leaving the theatre, I spoke to a very nice woman, as we were washing and drying our hands, and asked her the same question, “What are we, today’s Christians, doing?  Are we willing to risk everything, including our lives, to live out our faith?” She appeared to be as concerned as I.  As it turned out, she and her husband are in ministry to those in a nursing home.  I later met him, too. 

     What I have noticed in our world today is a lot of back-biting, criticizing, and watered-down messages, in far too many of our churches.  Who cares what the numbers are or how magnificent the building, if the message preached waters down the gospel and the Bible becomes a ‘nice book to have around?’  Are we teaching the full text, or do we stop at Jesus loves you?  What happens when troubles come?  Persecution?  Do we teach so that members can search scripture to answer questions that inevitably come?  Do we allow others to find the Lord and cling to Him in a way not like our own?  How do we stack up against the early Christians?   

     Sitting here trying to get my thoughts in order, I am amazed that the Lord loves me at all.  I have failed Him so often.  I am so very grateful that each time He brings me up short, He shows me mercy.  I, too, lay claim to be the greatest sinner of all time.  How often I have failed and sinned against the One who saved me by His grace, only to be allowed, once more, to come into His presence.  So, again the question, “What am I doing?”  How do I repay this magnificent gift?  How do I share with others all that He means to me?  Witness?  Exactly what is witnessing?  Be salt and light?  What does this mean, specifically?  How do I help hurting people, like those in Syria, and Christians in the middle east?  How do I help hurting people here in this country?  This state?  This county?  This city?  My family?  My church family?  How do I show Christ to this hurting world? 

     I bulk at “going out witnessing.”  Not sure why this troubles me, exactly.  Does knocking on doors and sharing the gospel constitute witnessing?  Does approaching strangers on the street or in a mall constitute witnessing?  Is this what the Lord did?  Did He not draw men to Himself?  How did He do that?  Doing good? 

     What about being the salt and light?  How can we be sprinkled out and shown abroad?  How do we make things tastier and brighter?  Don’t we have to ‘dig in’ and mix with those around us and allow Christ to shine through us?  Now, that sounds good, right?  But, exactly how is this done?  If I recall correctly, our Christ was often seen with sinners, and I do not recall Him ever condemning them. 

     A thought/a memory just emerged.  I searched for years, nearly thirty, before I came face to face, so to speak, with our risen Lord.  I searched many churches but did not find Him.  And, then one day, a knock sounded on my door.  My children were invited to ride a bus to Sunday School, and I agreed.  My children were the ones who invited me to join them, eventually.  Is this how the Lord drew me to Himself?

     I had visited several different churches over the 30 years of my life, not knowing for what I was looking, but knew I was not finding it.  I never felt welcomed.  Never!  When my first son was born and died within the first 12 hours, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could not ask a Catholic priest to do his service because they believed he was not going into the presence of God.  I knew he was.  I still had not had a personal experience with the living God, but I knew He was loving.  How did I know this?  Why was I so sure of His love for my son?  Where did I get that strong belief?  I didn’t even know how to pray.  All I had for myself were yearnings for this God that I knew existed.

     Another memory:  I attended my friend Wanda’s baptism, at her request, after graduation.  As the minister was baptizing her, I saw a bright light… I was drawn to near tears.  After talking with her, she had not seen the light.  Was I seeing things?

     I have been reading the book “The Way Back” by Paul Cooke and Jonathan Bock.  There is a statement in the book that has me asking more questions.  “To surrender is our heart admitting our weakness.  To accept is our ego demanding the illusion of still being in charge.”  Their premise is to accept the Lord is similar to signing for a FedEx package, whereas, to surrender to the living Lord is to devote ourselves to His cause.  Surrender is an all-encompassing word.  Do we (I) fully surrender our lives to Him?  If so, Does He have full control?  Are we holding something back?  How do we know when we are fully surrendered?  Have modern Christians watered down the gospel?  Are baby Christians suffering because of this possibility?  Are they left lacking knowledge?  What part do we play in bringing the needy to Jesus?  How do we do this?  Are we really, truly involved in this great commission? How do we partake?  What is my part?  Your part?

     When we are shut within the walls of our church, are we really reaching the world?  As we sit in the chairs or pews and listen as our minister teaches, are we reaching out?  I cannot help but remember the years I spent looking for a “place” to fit in, and the silence from members I received.  Names are important!  A hand shake is nice, but names are important.  Two or three minutes of “turn around and find someone you don’t know” does not allow for learning names.  Looking into the eyes of an individual and truly welcoming him or her is vital.  How often do we see someone in the foyer or hallway and, in passing, say “How are You?” never stopping to hear the answer.  Are we sincere?  Did our Lord ever meet someone in “passing” and continue without connecting?  What are we doing?  Why do we live life in such a rush?

     How many times have we heard, “People do not care about what you know, until they know how much you care?”  What are we teaching those coming into the ‘fold’ when we separate into groups:  the haves, the have nots; young people and old people; new Christians and seasoned Christians; minister’s inner circle, those on the outside?  Are

we not all in the body of Christ? 

     Earlier today I heard an excerpt of the message the minister of the Royal Wedding gave.  A message heard by millions!    “Love is the answer for all that ails our world: poverty, hunger, homelessness, anger, war, misunderstandings…”  So, are we, the church, loving as Christ loved.  Do we fill our hearts, days, actions, and thoughts with love, both individually and as the body of Christ?

     Because we are human, we are prone to messing up, but do we too often use the “I’m only human” excuse to brush over our lack of love and involvement?   Or, is it our busyness that might keep us from loving and ministry?

     I will never forget my first pastor, Brother Samuelson.  He was the most loving and giving pastor I have ever had.  The year my mother was ill with terminal cancer, he and his family did not take their usual Christmas trip.  I later discovered he did not want to be out of town should I need him.  That is really what one might say is the love of Christ expressed.  How many of us, today, would love like this?  That was over forty years ago, and I have not seen nor heard of another like him.

     In 1986, when my oldest living son died when he lost control of the jeep he was driving, and it rolled over on him, my pastor at that time stood on my front porch and told me he did not believe Johnny would be in heaven because Johnny had left his church to attend another.  Now, that was despicable!  So was my answer to him, “Brother Tanner, if Johnny did not make heaven, neither you nor I stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”  Was that loving as Christ loved?  Again, what are we doing? 

     Again, in 1997, when my eighteen old son Booger was killed in an automobile accident, I called the church I was attending, and at which I volunteered, and never received a call back.  I was not the only member of my family to call for the pastor, but we never received a call.  I had to ask the pastor of a church in our small community if we might use his church for Booger’s service.  He was so kind and allowed my request.  I called a Pastor friend from Houston and asked him to preach Booger’s service.  But, again, what are we doing?  In either of these painful situations, where was the love of Christ?  To be honest, my family and I saw it in the lives of those within our community.  They loved on us and walked with us through our grief.  That was where we saw the love of Christ on display… not in those of our church family.   Why are we Christians failing in our expression of HIS love?

     I have been idle for many days.  That is definitely my fault.  The very loving and giving minister of my hometown, has been relocated to heaven.  It came as quite a shock to everyone who knew him.  A year or so ago, he was asked to leave the church in my hometown.  Many felt he was too old and didn’t teach as he once did.  He left and began another in a community, not too far away.  He was welcomed with opened arms and continued preaching until the Lord called him home.  So, was his dismissal done in love?  Need?

     A beautiful young mother has been relieved of her position at the church I am attending, presently.  The reason given was she is not qualified to do all that was asked of her.  But, as we have found out recently, she is more than qualified.  She does have the certificates needed.   So, why the dismissal?  Where in this was love exhibited?

Was Christ glorified in this?  Does He appreciate seeing family members leaving the family?  Is division the answer?  What are we doing?  Why are we doing it?  Is Christ being glorified in our actions?

     A few days ago, my brother officiated the wedding of his beautiful granddaughter.  Now, Richard is not a minister, he is a deacon.  He took the time to become licensed because the minister and friend the groom had asked told him he would be glad to perform the service for $500.00.  WHAT?  Where is the love of God in that response?  What are Christians doing in this world today?  Is our heavenly Father pleased with all the ungodly trash filtering into our churches?   Do we even come close to what our God wants of us?  What are we doing?  How do we find our way back?

     I spoke to a friend yesterday, and during the conversation I learned that she and her family have not been in church for a couple of months.  They had left the church I attend because there was no group or person with whom her husband could relate.  He is a veteran of the War on Terror with many health issues.  The church they had moved to has no

place for neither her husband nor her daughter.  Both felt out of place, so they stopped going.  She has no desire to return to Fellowship, so they will visit another this Sunday.  What are we doing?  I have heard for years that the church is to be a hospital for the wounded, but how is this possible, if we are driving people away by our actions or inactions?  People are hurting!  What are we doing?  Why can we not just love one another? 

     Last week a well-known denomination voted to remove gender from their prayers.  It is unclear whether or not they will remove gender from the scripture.  Is it any wonder why it, far too often, appears as if our nation is no longer blessed, as it once was?  We have forgotten our foundation.  Are we receiving a wakeup call?  May God be merciful!  May He show us just exactly what we are doing and give us room for repentance.  His grace is sufficient, if we accept it and live it out.  Father, help us know exactly what we are doing or should be doing.

Childhood Christmas Memory

For unknown reasons, memories of a Christmas long ago have flooded my mind.  Perhaps it is the time of the year, the Christmas music playing, the decorations, or a combination of all the above, but the Christmas when I learned that Santa Claus was, in fact, not real came to mind.  Missing Tony has probably added to the memory rising up.

I was four or five, and Tony would have been nine or ten.  We had been sent to bed to await the arrival of Santa.  I had already fallen asleep when Tony came into the room and proceeded to shake me awake.  "Come here.  I want to show you something," he was whispering.  I just wanted to turn over and go back to sleep, but he insisted.  "I want to show you that Santa Claus is not real."  Stumbling I got out of bed and followed him to  the closet, and upon him opening it, I saw all sorts of items, some in bags or boxes, others not.  He then grabbed my hand and took me to the top of the stair case.  We walked down a few steps, just enough to allow us to look into the living room.  There was Mom decorating the tree!  Oh, no!  Santa always decorated our tree, but there was Mom doing it.
"See, I told you!  Now, do you believe me?"  I left him there without saying a word and went back to bed.  My young mind did not want to believe this, but there it was.

In the morning, we were awakened to see what 'Santa' had brought; I never let on that Tony had ruined the day for me.  We did not wrap gifts at that time, so I looked at each gift that was mine--eleven dolls, a dish set, and a table and chairs.  (I had many, many aunts and uncles.)  We had breakfast and I went to dress for outside.  I then went door to door, in our immediate neighborhood.  That was two long buildings that housed six apartments each.  I wanted to see what my friends had received.  Most in those eleven other apartments had received nothing, or very little.  By noon, I had given nine dolls away.  I kept two: one from Aunt Rosemary and the one Richard had picked up and threw across the living room, the little "brat."  LOL  He was two or three at the time, and he had not gotten a doll!

To this day, I do not know why Tony felt the need to reveal that little bit of information.  But, because of it, I did all I could to keep the myth alive for Richard.  I kept the doll Aunt Rosemary had given to me until we moved to Rio Hondo.  I gave the doll to Patsy Stokes' little sister.

I love Christmas!  I love the anticipation and memories it bring.  I, truly, love the kindness that fills the air.  Realizing why we celebrate has brought much joy.  For God so loved the world...  May each and everyone enjoy this season and remember the real reason for the season.

Road trip -- August 2018

I am listening to Roy Orbison's "station" on Pandora via Google Home, as I write this.  I love the memories this music provides, well, most of them.  The music definitely provides a beautiful background for the memories of our road trip

Bob and I headed out for Ft. Stockton the morning of August 21st, my brother's birthday.  We had decided to go somewhere a little different than the normal drive around Central Texas.  We were celebrating his cataract surgery and the fact that he could, once again, see clearly.  Trees actually have leaves!!  Chrys and Karen would check on Bella, so off we went--headed to West Texas.

Bob loves to take the road less traveled, so we  headed north on  Hwy 183, and then NW on Hwy 29.  The drive beautiful, but NW when we wanted West?  My ,mind was having a little trouble with the direction, but Bob was quite sure of where we were headed.  We started off with talk radio on, but soon turned it off so that we could talk. Of course, we settled all the world's problems, and thought of ways we could help others.  The normal everyday talk!   Once we settled all the problems, we got
quiet, so I asked him to turn on our play list.  He showed me how to do it, so I could learn this valuable tidbit.  :-)

We listened to all our favorite 0ld artists, and memories surfaced.  We spoke of  the various artists and what we remembered of them.  Roy Orbison  held the greatest focus.  We talked of the wreck that took Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, and Ricky Valens'  lives.  I told him of how I cried when I heard the news.  That day was and is called the day that music died.  Waylon Jennings, a member of Holly's band, gave up his seat on that fateful flight.  He lived to become great in his own right, and played Luchenbach with Willie and the boys. The music kept us mesmerized until we found ourselves near Ft. Stockton, on I 10W.  Wow, how time flew! The plateaus or mesas, what ever you want to call the mountains along I 10W are amazing.  In one state one can drive from the beaches, through hills, piney forests, mountains in the panhandle, and the vastly different mountains and deserts of West Texas.  I am very pleased and proud to call Texas home.

                                                            
                                                                   Plateaus/Mesas from I 10.


Once in Ft. Stockton, we settled on a motel and then headed out to find "lupper," Bob's word for
a late lunch or early dinner.  We settled on DQ and had a sandwich---no ice cream!  Once we ate we headed for the original fort area. This historic fort is located on the east side of town.  The site still contains three of the original buildings of Officer's Row, the original limestone Guard House, the original parade ground, and two reconstructed Enlisted Men's Barracks.  This piece of history was home to the famed Buffalo Soldiers, beginning in 1867.  It had been abandoned in 1861, due to the Civil War.

                                                                     
                                   Reconstructed Building






















             Copies of original photos of the Buffalo Soldiers



Once we left the Fort area, we headed to the Annie Riggs Memorial Museum.  This was a hotel originally built by a group of business men in 1899, and it was run by Annie Riggs, a pioneer woman in the truest sense of the word.  It is an adobe building with Victorian detailing.Walking in one is met by  pictures of the stern faced sheriffs of the time period.  Sheriff A.J. Royal's desk is used for signing in and whispers of his 1894 murder--a very bloody chapter in Pecos County history.  There are thirteen rooms in all, and they house so many artifacts of that time period.  I took so many pictures, but the one that amuses me the most is the one of a butter maker that was hung on a wagon and,while the wagon was being used, it swung so much it churned the butter!  There were also several type writers, and one looked as if it could type a full page of a news paper. A flour bin hung in one of the original cabinets.  WOW!  And, of course a picture of Annie Riggs, a true pioneer.

                                         

To say I enjoyed this short but sweet trip is an understatement.  I love history, and my fear is that our young people are not getting enough of it.  The counties of Texas each have a history of their very own.  Do we take the time to look and learn?  Hopefully, some are.

The Meandering of a Curious Mind

     Over the past week I have read much about the need to seek after our dreams, truly seek, and the need to sew seeds for harvest.  These scripture readings come at a time when my mind it whirling, seeking the will of God.  My dream is to write a book...  I do believe that I have sown seeds, seeds of love, hope, prosperity, and friendship, and I am patiently waiting for the harvest.  My dream,  on the other hand, must have "work" applied.  One can dream all day about a desire, but nothing will come of it unless he/she puts forth effort to make it happen.  My daughter Jamie has reminded me of this for years.  Yes, I said years!!!
     I began reading a book by Charles Krauthammer earlier this week.  I am finding it amazing, but I also find it to be perplexing, because of the style.  My mind was reeling until I realized that what I am reading are his articles.  Hmmmm  How much have I written over the years that could be assembled into a book?  Much of my life and the lives of my family members has been written, and the writings could possibly be positioned into the format of a "tell all" book.  NOT!!  It could be a mystery of sorts or, even, a comic book.  After all, the characters would be Claudette, Jamie, Johnny, Jason, Chrystal, Booger, David, Grandma Ila, Grandmas Elsie, Richard, Tony, David, and me.  How much better could it get?  Not to forget Bob and his children and all the friends we have amassed.  No one would be exempt; all could be the target of a section created just for them.  Hey, I am beginning to like this idea!  And, on top of all these characters, I have had thousands of students!  Ah, yes!!!  My wheels are turning...  No one would be exempt from his or her own "chapter" of sorts.
     This book idea is becoming an all encompassing non-fiction reflection.  I can not wait to get started.  This is fair warning, if you do not want to be included, say so now or forever hold your piece.  Watch out world!

Earlier today, I was going through some things, and I came across this folder I used while teaching. It contained a piece I had written years ago.  I hope it brings a smile to Richard's face.  We have since said good-bye to both Tony and Susan.

                               

                                                   The Joys and Laughter of Family

     Sitting on this oh so cool southern veranda has been exhilarating, and there were times in the past when it would not have been possible.  My brothers Richard and Tony are  here, along with their wives Charley and Susan.  Tony is here for rehab after his second hip replacement, and Richard and I came from Bossier and Austin to Nacogdoches to spend time with the 'old man" and, hopefully, cheer

 him up.  It is so peaceful sitting here on this cool, sunny autumn day.  A gentle breeze has been playfully shifting the branches on the tall East Texas Pines that line the drive, as honey bees flirt with the hibiscus type shrubs.  Every now and then one will fly into our circle and linger by an ear or shoulder before flying off to join his swarming buddies.

     The drive from Austin's hills this morning to the rolling mounds of East Texas, as my children jokingly call them, was so awe inspiring.  I never tire of seeing God's handiwork, and today was no exception.  I fell in love with a small ranching community called Crockett and have its image ingrained in my mind.  The ranch land surrounding it is beautiful, green, and lush.  When I stopped for coffee, its people were outgoing and friendly.

     Entering Nacogdoches, I made a  wrong turn and ended up lost for about twenty minutes.  I called Richard, and he talked me through my maze and into the parking lot of the Rehab Center.  The banter that followed hugs was the normal ditzy blonde getting lost, in of all places- Nacanowhere , and was par for the course in the Tewell family.  One of us is always the brunt of jokes: reality makes for better jokes!  

     Then it started!  Remember when...  Richard has a unique gift.  He remembers very little of life until he was about eleven.  Perhaps it is his way of coping, or maybe it is selective memory.  Either way, Tony or I could tell him just about anything, and he would not know truth from fiction.  Have we used it?  You be the judge.

     "Remember when David woke up telling Mom he was sick, and I told her he had a test, so she sent him to school?"  Tony is laughing so hard, tears are running down his face, as he manages to say, "And, the nuns called Mom because he had a temperature of 102."

     "What about the time you fell from the tree branch and landed in the pig slop?" I chuckle.  "See, what goes around comes around. "

     "Well, what about the time you stuck your foot in the spokes of the bike and sprained your ankle, and a bee stung your big toe after Mom wrapped your ankle and propped it up on a chair?  What pay back was that?"   We all laughed.

     "Remember when Richard was lying on the grass near the end of the other complex, and Mom runs across the grass screaming, "Richard, Richard," and when she gets to him he opens one eye and says, "shhhh , we're playing cowboys and Indians, and I'm supposed to be dead."  Mom nearly passed out.  Tony is laughing so hard by now, he needs to take a drink of water and catch his breath.  It is good to see him laughing.

     The stories fly fast and furious, as one after another we recall one laughable moment and jump to another.  Even Richard has stories to tell!  The morning passes very quickly. The nurse brings Tony's lunch and medication, so we get up to leave to find something to eat.  Susan and I ride with Richard and Charley, so that we can continue to enjoy one another's company.  During our drive to Black Eyed Pea, Susan tells us how good it is to see Tony laugh.  It has been a rough two weeks.  Tony's middle son Jay had been relocated to heaven, and Tony's physical pain had been unbearable.  He had really been beaten down the past two weeks.  Laughter is good...

     The food at Blacked Eyed Pea is great and the joking continues. This time the joking is with the restaurant staff...they are so friendly.  Good food and great staff!  Try it sometime.

     We head back to the center and pulling into the parking lot, I see Tony sitting there talking with a lady seated toward the other end of the veranda.  She, too, is wheel chair bound.  That brother of mine never meets a stranger.  "Wish I had his gift of gab," as Mom used to say.

     We start in again laughing and joking--one trying to out do the other.  This lasts through most of the afternoon, and then the mood shifts.  The remember whens become painful. 

    "Remember when David called to tell Mom he wasn't coming home because he wanted to stay at Aunt Veronica's for good?"  He said, "Aunt Veronica doesn't eat tomato soup all the time."

     "Remember when you boarded the bus for Pennsylvania?  Why did  you have to go?"

     "Bill didn't appreciate my getting upset with him when he pushed Mom down the steps, so off I went to live with a couple I had never seen before."   Tony's last words that day had been, "Viya Con Dios."

     We were silent for a few minutes.  Some memories are better left alone.  We talked of other things.  We settled world problems and fixed our government's ails, and before we knew it, we were once again laughing.

     We spoke of playing cops and robbers with Mom and Richard behind the sofa and with Tony and me on the staircase, being snowed in and digging tunnels across to the other complex, dressing Richard as a little girl and passing him off as a cousin, and spending  holidays with family and friends.  Life, with its ups and downs, is great!  A whole lifetime has passed as we sit here in the late evening of a perfect November day.

     Rose, a nurses aide, comes out and sits next to me, and she starts telling us about the bats that live in the center column.  "Bats," I say.  "Guess it is time for me to leave."  Everyone chuckles but me.  I'm remembering the bat that got into the trash can near my bed, while I huddled beneath the covers in that dark, dark room at Rancho del Cielo, Mexico.  Nope, I  don't need bats!

     Rose tells Tony about the fresh pot of coffee she has brewed, and I'm thinking it really is time to call it a night.  By the time I find a hotel, it will be nearly ten, and it has been a long day.

     Richard heads off in one direction, heading home, and I in another looking for a hotel.  It has been a wonderful day.  Mom would be proud.  "There is nothing quite like family," she would say, "and the memories they share."

     "Wonder what we can get Richard to believe next time", I smile to myself.

Musings : Luckenbach, Texas

Musings : Luckenbach, Texas:     Yesterday, Tuesday,  Bob and I took a day trip to Luckenbach.  The reason for the trip was...my bucket list.  I had never been, and have...

Luckenbach, Texas

    Yesterday, Tuesday,  Bob and I took a day trip to Luckenbach.  The reason for the trip was...my bucket list.  I had never been, and have wanted to do so for years.  I did not realize how close this historic little town  is to our home.

     We made several stops on the way: the jeweler's to pick up my pinky ring that had to be made smaller, the gas station to fill up on gas, and the bank in Liberty Hill.  It was a drizzly day, but not cold.  Bob and I took long drives when we first started dating.  We took one drive several years ago that took nearly eight hours, round trip.  I believe we drove through every county in central Texas that day.  We enjoyed just being together, talking, and taking in the sights.  But, this day, we had a destination in mind.

     Of course, he had to take the longer way...  He enjoys this!  Me, I just wanted to get there.  LOL
We were talking and laughing and listening to music the whole two hour trip.  We have come to a time in our lives where laughing is a real pleasure!  And, to spend two hours doing this is a big treat.

     We got to Luckenbach, home of Willie and the Boys, around 12:30.  I had been told not expect much because there isn't much there, but the ambiance of that place is like a vast metroplex. The little store that at one time was the post office is now the only place open during the week, but walking into it and seeing the old wooden floor that has been repaired, at times, with slabs taken from walls of another old building and license plates from all over adds to the "flavor" of the town.  At times the license plates have actually been cut to make "signs."   Little trinkets for sale are mementoes of a more precious time.

     I grew up on country music!  My mother raised me right...  So, those who spent week ends there were  names I knew vividly.  A gentleman in the room behind the store was picking and singing.  He sounded great!  We learned that he opened for Willie and others years ago.  I believe his name is Billy.

     I looked for a book or pamphlet to give me some history on the town.  I was given a piece of paper with history written on it.  Why has no one thought to write a book on this amazing little burg?  The post office/general store/beer joint was opened in 1886.  The town itself was named after Albert Luckenbach, the fiancé of Minna Engel.  Her father August Engel was a prolific fellow who also founded another little town, not too far away, named Albert.  At one time the town boasted a blacksmith shop, steam powered cotton gin, and a consolidated school.

     The town went up for sale when Benno Engel retired as post master.  It was bought by Hondo Crouch, who was a story unto himself, and Luckenbach became "A Texas state of mind."  He along with many of his friends began the legendary historic place that housed Texas country/American country music for many, many years.  The music and the legends live on, and one can still meet with others on the famous dance floor found in  the midst of Central Texas.

     I definitely want to go back, possibly in the summer.  I want to learn more about the Engels, Luckenbach, Hondo, and others that have made Luckenbach "A Texas State of Mind."  The history, alone, causes me to anxiously await our next road trip!