florence alabama

Seven years and a few hours ago, I sat in my apartment in Florence, Alabama, desperately trying to reach my best friend in Long Island. I never got through there, but after a heart-wrenching morning, I reached her mom in Memphis.

This post will have not much to do with Elvis at all besides its time setting, so my apologies in advance to anyone who arrived here by googling "Elvis's death anniversary." (Apologies in advance also to anyone--ahem, parents--who don't want to read a gooshy post about a boy I used to like.)

A few weeks ago Carpenter’s Way in Lufkin, Texas brought me and The Jesus Painter in for their Palm Sunday service. We had never worked together before, didn’t have a clue how we were going to make this pairing work, so we just improvised.  I watched him paint and sang what came to mind.  Here’s one moment from that morning. (Apologies for the audio quality.)

It’s like a fraternity.  Only smaller.

1.) Steven will be hanging out with me on a regular basis.  For a while anyway.  You could call our hanging out times “meetings”, though my rider calls them “events” and I call them “gigs.”

Several days ago Glen wrote my exact feelings on Cullman, Alabama’s election of a black mayor. I thought a few more questions needed to be asked so here’s a little ditty I wrote this morning on my site.
Thanks Dean-O:
About an hour from my hometown of Florence, Alabama is the city of Cullman. Cullman is a [...]

--Nathan McIntyre