@CodyJinksMusic@CustomGibson@gibsonguitar Got to see in STL and it was the best show ever. The guitar was sick too. We went just to see you man. Thanks for being that dude.
And now... the rest of the story.
Every year, families across America gather around the television.
They watch a bald kid try to kick a football. A beagle dance on a dog house. Charlie Brown get a rock instead of candy.
They laugh.
They don't know they're watching a man's autobiography.
When Charles Schulz was a boy, the other children called him Sparky. The name of a horse in a comic strip. A joke horse.
He failed every single subject in eighth grade.
Not one or two.
Every. Single. Subject.
But the grades weren't the worst part.
Paul Harvey told this story, and his voice cracked on this line:
"Sparky wasn't actually disliked by the other youngsters. No one cared enough about him to dislike him."
He wasn't hated. He was nothing.
The one thing he had was his drawings. He submitted cartoons to the school yearbook.
Rejected.
He wrote to Walt Disney. Poured everything into the drawings.
The reply was a form letter. Disney only hired the very finest artists. Sparky was not among the very finest.
Harvey paused there. Then: "I think deep down, Sparky expected to be rejected."
This is where the motivational speakers lie to you.
The rest of the story isn't about winning.
Sparky didn't try to prove them wrong. He wrote his autobiography in cartoons.
He drew himself. The loser. The kid who failed everything.
He named him after himself.
Charlie Brown.
You know what Charlie Brown never does?
Win.
His kite crashes. Lucy pulls the football. The Little Red-Haired Girl doesn't notice him.
And sixty years later, we still watch.
Not because Charlie Brown succeeds.
Because Charlie Brown keeps showing up.
Here's the part even Paul Harvey didn't tell.
Schulz taught Sunday school. He read the Bible so constantly his strips are filled with scripture.
When network executives tried to cut Linus reciting Luke 2 from the Christmas special, Schulz refused.
Either the Gospel stays, or there's no special.
It stayed.
A boy called a horse.
A student who failed everything.
An artist Disney rejected.
Planted the Gospel of Luke in front of sixty million homes.
The loser became the messenger.
God has a history of using the rejected ones.
Moses had a stutter. David was the forgotten son. Peter denied Him three times.
The kite never flew.
But the Gospel did.
Still falling?
Good company, brother.
Get up.
He's not done with you yet.
Sam Houston pointed his sword at one of his own men and told him to pull the arrow out.
The man had already tried once and lost his nerve. This was Horseshoe Bend, 1814. Houston was twenty, the second soldier over the Creek wall.
(The first man died the instant he cleared it. He was Lemuel Montgomorey. The capital of Alabama is named after him.)
The arrow came free with a chunk of Houston's skin attached. Andrew Jackson saw the wound and ordered him out of the fight. Houston picked up a musket and went back in. Two balls tore into his shoulder and arm.
That night the surgeons looked him over and said that he wouldn't last till morning.
He lasted another forty-nine years. Long enough to win Texas its independence and to become the only man ever elected governor of two different states.
In 1776, George Washington asked for a volunteer to report on British movements. 21 year old Nathan Hale volunteered, was captured and hung as a spy. His last words:
"I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country."
American, remember who you are descended from.
That fox trotting through your neighborhood isn't your enemy. It's hunting the animals that give ticks Lyme disease.
Blacklegged ticks hatch clean. They pick up the Lyme bacterium while feeding on infected wildlife, and in the eastern US, one of the most important sources is the white-footed mouse. Depending on where you are, 40 to 90% of the ticks that feed on one come away carrying it.
Foxes eat a lot of mice. One study found rodents making up close to half the diet of a fox. But the better part is what a fox does to the mice it doesn't eat.
In field experiments, the mere signs of a fox nearby cut rodent activity by more than half. The mice stop foraging in the open. They move less, they range less, and they meet fewer ticks. Your local fox changes mouse behavior across far more ground than it could ever physically hunt.
In 2012, researchers publishing in PNAS found Lyme cases were negatively correlated with fox abundance across four states. In Wisconsin, fox harvests fell about 80% between 1984 and 2009 as coyotes moved in, and Lyme climbed as foxes disappeared.
So when a fox turns up in your yard, here's what to do: nothing. Don't call animal control. Don't shoot at it. Don't trap it. Don't poison it. A fox trotting through a neighborhood isn't lost and isn't coming for your kids.
Also, skip the rat poison. A poisoned rodent takes days to die and spends them stumbling around in the open, which makes it the easiest meal available. The fox eats it and dies too. So do the owls and hawks doing the same job.
If you keep chickens, bury hardware cloth around the coop and lock them in at night. A fox getting your birds is a coop problem, not a fox problem.
Otherwise, just let it hunt. It's working for free.
Encouragement is rocket-fuel for the soul.
A man can go 3x as far and do 30x as much if he is an ENCOURAGED MAN.
It is, in my opinion, the most underrated spiritual gift.