that is why I singAll of my joy with you I’d like to share
And when my ship comes in
I’m gonna leave this world of sin
I’m going sailing through the air
I’m gonna take a trip
In that good ole gospel ship
And I am going far beyond the sky
And I’m gonna shout and sing
Until all the heavens ring
When I am bidding this ole world goodbye
Good Bye Ya’ll
Now don’t you want to go with me
Mylon Le Fevre
Angel Band Music/Dayspring Music
Used by permission
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God’s goodness doesn’t always show up in a blaze of glory. Instead, it sneaks up on you. It wraps itself in the
ordinary and turns you toward your destiny when you’re not looking. At least, that’s how it happened to me.
Long before I heard the fanfare of fame, or jammed in castles with millionaire musicians, God’s grace set my
course on my Aunt Maude’s farm. Every Thanksgiving all the Le Fevres gathered there for our family reunion. The
farm was heaven on earth for me when I was a kid. It was a beautiful homestead about five miles down a dirt road
in the rolling hills outside of McMinnville, Tennessee. My Uncle Othel, and his brother, Homer Parsley, (No city
slicker names for us; my family was definitely from the country!) inherited it from their father who divided it
between them.
I’ll be forever grateful for that farm. For me, playing hide and seek in the hay barn, shooting my BB gun at
everything in sight, swimming in the creek, and catching crawdaddies with my cousins, was the best kind of fun.
And it got even better when my Uncle George would show up with a box full of firecrackers. Cheap as dirt back
then, firecrackers were illegal in Georgia but not in Tennessee. So when Uncle George brought Cherry Bombs,
M-80s, TNTs, sparklers, and Roman Candles to Aunt Maude’s, we freaked out. We blew up stuff for days and lit
up the Southern sky at night.
When the fireworks were over and the grownups were finished playing rook, I’d head for Aunt Maude’s attic.
That’s where I always slept, with three or four of my ornery cousins, under piles of homemade quilts in a big old
feather bed. It was the best place on the planet to sleep—with occasional exceptions, of course. Like the time I
woke up in the middle of the night and realized nature was calling. Tossing and turning as the rain danced on the tin
roof overhead, I debated the risk. It was so cold in that unheated attic and so cozy under all those quilts! When I
couldn’t stand the discomfort any longer, I finally decided to brave the dark and run as fast as I could in my long
johns and boots to the outhouse. It seemed to me, a city boy, to be at least a mile away, but I made it.
Then I had to face the return trip.
That was the scariest part. Terrorized by the thought of unseen spiders, snakes, and other critters crawling around in
the pitch dark outhouse and tormented by the sounds of the night creatures outside, I tore back to the house in such
a panic that I trampled down the perfect rows of my Aunt Maude’s prized tomato patch.
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I didn’t mean to do it. But every monster that ever chased a 6-year-old in the dark was after me that night! My
only goal was to make it to the light on Aunt Maude’s back porch alive.
The next day my blunder became blatantly obvious. It looked like a tornado had beelined from the outhouse to
the back door. I’d torn up Aunt Maude’s precious tomato plants and she threatened to tear up my behind if I ever
did it again!
BREAKFASTS, BUCKSHOT, AND BANANA PUDDING
But not even booger bears or Aunt Maude’s wrath could dampen the excitement of days on the farm. As I
awakened in the mornings, the first breath of that brisk air would jerk me into consciousness just in time to see
the sunrise. The only heat in the house radiated from the fireplaces in the downstairs living room and dining
room, or from the kitchen where Aunt Maude was cooking on her old, wood-burning stove. Since I was the
smallest, survival for me meant getting warm first before my bigger cousins, brothers, and uncles got there and
pushed me out of the way. So, as soon as I opened my eyes, the race was on.
Making my way to the kitchen fire, I was greeted by the delicious aroma of sizzling country ham and eggs, and
giant biscuits rising in the oven. My momma, grandmother, and aunts had already been awake for hours cooking
up a big spread for breakfast. Everything in the meal came straight from Aunt Maude’s farm. We devoured fresh
eggs from their chickens, country ham from their hogs, and butter they had churned the night before. With ice
cold milk from their cows, we washed down homemade biscuits topped with red-eye gravy or sorghum syrup
made from their sugar-cane crop.
Then all the men went hunting for the day. I carried my BB gun until I was 12. After that I went to work mowing
lawns at 25 cents apiece. That doesn’t sound like much now but in 1957 it was enough to help me earn the $16 I
needed to buy a 20-gauge shotgun. I never really shot any game but I did enjoy the special camaraderie and
bonding time with my dad, brothers, uncles, and cousins. As I grew older, my family endlessly teased me because
I never fired my shotgun. I put up with it for years. Then, one unforgettable day when I was
