Billboard: Honk if you love Jesus. Text if you want to meet him.

I posted this on Facebook, but here’s where I really live, so…It’s been a year since my dad died and, it’s funny or strange or right on that I’m in the process of buying land — hunting land — up north. My dad and I hunted together since, well, I was the sheriff of my little town. Yeah, check out the badge on my shirt. And how about the rest of my get-up? Giddyap. 

It looks like I’m going to be a landowner — and I did it while I was unemployed. Ballsy. Yeah. Scary. Oh yeah.

But it’s a cool place — roughly 275 acres of water, woods and wildlife. Ducks, mostly.

I always wanted a place like this. And I guess, whether I’m working or not, it was time. Yeah, the years have snuck up on me.

There’s a little cabin that sleeps eight. It needs a bit of work, as does much of the land.

But I’ve always dreamed of doing that, too. And with a son who studies construction management, it should be fun.

I’m taking both of my boys up there this weekend. We’ll hunt, we’ll hang, and, hopefully, we’ll be back — again and again.

Unemployment sure sucks. No really. Well, actually, it has it’s moments, like this warm October morning, sipping coffee in my backyard, wondering…about a lot of things.

Everybody thinks I should write a book. Everybody thinks that’s what I should be doing.

Everybody…yeah.

Seriously, I don’t know what to write. Or do I?

How about a book about one guy’s search for a job? Not just any old job.

The job.

The one that allows him to make a difference in the world. The one that uses all his gifts.The one that’s his and only his.

You know, I think I’ll do this journal style. Small installments. Random thoughts.

Yep, tumblr.

Six years. Six short years (I can’t believe it’s been that long since I’ve seen him). Six long years (God I miss him). Six years. They say time heals all wounds. Then why does it still sting when I think of the car accident? Why do I still shudder when I think of the last weekend we spent together hanging out in DC? Why? I’m sorry for this sad post. But it’s real.

I’m home. But still on the road to freedom.

It seems to go on forever.

I guess my trip was the dad’s version of “Eat, Pray, Love,” the film my little sister wants me to see. Less than two weeks out, I’m scurrying home to be with my little boy. I miss him as much (or more) than he misses me. So, if I’m going to have any epiphanies, like Julia Roberts’ character does, it’s going to have to be in places like, well, this lonely stretch of I-70 in eastern Ohio. Here’s something: Mountainous terrain is very good for the soul, but incredibly trying on the patience. Trucks slow to a crawl on the way up; haul ass on the way down. If you’re trying to be a law abiding citizen like, of course, yours truly is, it’s an endless game of leap frog.

Kinda getting into state Welcome signs. West Virginia’s seemed to speak to me…”wild and wonderful.” But then I turned off for gas and had a dueling banjos kind of experience. So onto Ohio…

I talked with Bennie Boo last night and he wants me to come home. So, this afternoon, after another round of golf, I’m turning the car around and heading west. I’ll have to stop at a toy store: Ben says he wants to play Legos with me when I get back.