Lizard Tales (24 page)

I turned and ran toward the pasture, blew through the gate, and sprinted as fast as my legs would move toward the house. I could hear the deafening screams behind me, urging me to turn around and come back, trying to fill my mind with thoughts that I was not worthy to cross the pasture. I ran into the man’s arms, speechless, with tears careening down my cheeks.

He simply said, “Welcome home, son. Welcome home.”

He stepped in front of me and raised His hands toward heaven, and I could see blood flowing from them. I fell to my knees and saw blood flowing from His feet. He said, “This is my child, and his name is forever written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. His sins have been paid for by the blood that flows from my body. He is now and forever sealed and a son in my Father’s house.”

He held up His hands again and said, “Father, your son has come home. The one sheep was again found, and snatched from the mouths of the wolves. He is scarred and battered, but he is home and now he is whole.”

As I looked up I saw my wife by my side praying, tears
streaming down her face. My children were speechless, and there was a glow emanating from each of them. My wife looked at me and said, “Ronnie, we are finally all gonna go home together.”

Most prolific moments are just that: a moment. Not mine. My prolific moment has taken thirty-four years to develop. When my moment happened, I wasn’t standing in the line of life suddenly having an epiphany; thoughts did not just pass through my mind aimlessly, sparking a wonder of revelation in a second of discovery. I have had to fight for every foot of my existence; I have bled for every minute of every vision I’ve had; I have shed a dry tear for every failure, and I couldn’t begin to describe the bittersweet smell of understanding in my life.

My battlefield has always been in my own mind, with victory at neither end. My life is lived for the existence of others: those to whom I owe everything but whom I always seem to disappoint. I cannot change what I have lived; I cannot return to the battlefield of yesterday and alter the fight. I must stand upon the foundation I have laid, held together for the most part by those who surround me—for the cracks are great and the stability is attacked daily by the harsh waters of time and memory.

So I struggle on the battlefield, tired and sore from raging poundings, broken and limp from the relentless beatings. But I struggle still. I never surrender, never stop, never succumb—and never, ever walk away.

This field is where I will live out my days that the sword has sharpened with knowledge, the body has protected with will, and my eyes have adorned with fire and an
unquenchable burn. The fire burns through every pore of my body, the flame keeps us aglow and forces that next step.

If only the sword had been sharper when I began this quest; if only the map had more detail and the path had been more vividly lit; or if I had a guide to lead me around the obstacles instead of falling hopelessly into each one. Of course, if I had these things, I would not be myself. I chose this path. I took each step—some with careful thought, others with a blinding speed, my eyes wide shut. But each step belongs to me and to no one else.

So the battle is mine. I cannot control the war, but I can hold the field, relentlessly stand firm, and protect the borders. Fear is now my ally. I have learned to twist it into hope.

I will fight on until my body decays and my breath is stolen. At that time I pray my battle will have been successful and that those for whom I fought will have to fight no more. They may have found it a horror to live by my side, but I found it an honor to die by theirs. Their fields will be covered in flowers of concrete so that they will never wilt but will, instead, reap a harvest of protection for those wandering soldiers who have lost their will to fight, their ability to lead, or their grasp on truth.

This is my epiphany, and the years of battle my prolific moment. And though it will never be defining, it will also never be relinquished.

So now, two years later, I help run the eastern chapter of Dirt Church. We stop into fields, homes, and workplaces to preach the Gospel and bring one sheep at a time back across that pasture. We go into the hills, with the protection of our God, and snatch victory from the well-clamped claws of the enemy’s grip. And this is our message:

God made dirt … and dirt should not hurt. Live the message and preach the blessings.

—Lizard Lick Dirt Church and Revelation Ron

[One Last Word]

G
od put us here, fans keep us here. Above all else I wanna thank my Savior and Redeemer Jesus Christ for granting me the courage to live this life, the fortitude to endure its trials, the encouragement to weather the tribulations, and the
love
he shows by accepting me as his child even when I don’t acknowledge him as my father.

To a true human angel, my mother, for never giving up on me and for teaching me that love isn’t love until you give it away. You always tried to protect me, usually from myself, but you never wavered in your belief in me, and I am forever indebted to you for all the years you spent fighting on your knees for my salvation and sanity. Without you, the only work I would have ever published would have been my epitaph. Momma, I never knew where I was going, but I always knew I was welcome to come Home To.

Pops, for just being Pops and never giving a darn. Life was always an adventure because of you, and I hope I grow to be the dad you are.

To my brother, Jason. Even though we view life through different lenses, we have walked many a mile side by side, and you’ll always be my brother. This book reflects your journey, too.

To my little sister, Sandy, for your willingness to stand alone when you thought you were right, and to stand up for yourself—especially to me—lighting a new path on which to walk.

To my Amy, you have endured many years of harsh storms for small bouts of sunshine with me. The path has been rocky, and I know at times the chaos seemed endless. The foundation we built our lives on is filled with cracks because of my stubbornness and pride. But you never left my side, and many times you held me up when my knees were too weak to stand, and you stood in front of me when my mind was too weak to fight. You are what I thank God for every day above all else. You are the perfect inspiration for this book, and your love has allowed me to write these tales. The foundation is cracked, the building is aged, the yard is overgrown, but the love that abides in this house overflows from every corner. You will always be my Lil Firecracker.

To my beautiful daughter Alexa, you are why I love the rain, and though we never see eye to eye and I will always be that uncool, out-of-touch dad, I will gladly trade my life for yours any day. You are my firstborn, my proudest achievement, and my greatest success. You will always be Lexi Lou, and you will always be Daddy’s little girl.

To my Cowboy Alex, you inspire me to want to be a better dad, a kinder person, a gentler father, and a best friend every day. I wrote these stories wondering what tales you will have to tell me in the years to come, and I stand in awe of your faith and your magic, both in your hands and in your heart. Gooder men there may be, greater men there will never be than you.

To chunky monkey, my lil’ Gabey Baby, you’re my running back, and when you’re not cutting through defensive lines, you’re scoring touchdowns with everyone you meet. If people in this world had one-tenth of your attitude, determination, and love, there would never be a war fought or
a heart broke. You truly inspire me, son, and it will always be Team Shirley.

To Maggie Mae Manhattan, you’re the culmination of a lifetime of mistakes and decades of wrong turns, and living proof that perfection can come from such things. I don’t know what I did to deserve such a princess, but your name carries such meaning and your smile carries light into the darkest night. You are an inspiration to the uninspired and proof that the path we choose does make all the difference.

To my grandma Myrtie Harris, who taught me how to fish and fight but also showed me how to love. I will be seeing you soon. Hold the gates open.

To Brian King: Friends come and go, but brothers always stick together—till the end, Kingpin.

To Bobby Brantley, for walking this road with me, even in the harsh storms. Thanks for not running for shelter.

To Johnny Perry: You had the greatest grip in the world but couldn’t hold back the hands of destiny; but in your death, you gave me new life. I have been able to accomplish all this because of you.

To Brooks Ray: Thanks for just being “Bubba” to me.

To my crew at Lizard Lick Towing and Recovery: Brian, Patty, Steve, Bumpy, Brandon, Ricky, for busting your tails so we could make this happen, and for putting up with me in crunch time. You are the reason we have gotten to where we are and the reason we are a success in this field.

To each and every one of my lien holders, for having the faith not only to add me, but to keep me as part of their collection arsenal.

To the repossession industry, for letting me prove myself in such a competitive field and make “You have been
licked” the reason debtors hate us, lien holders love us, and repo agents all over the world want to be just like us.

To truTV for taking the chance on us and allowing us to Lick the entire world. This book is a product of your support.

To my newfound brother DeeJay Silver—Holler and Hair Products.

Thank you to Mark Schlabach and Nena Medonia for making this book a reality. I appreciate your hard work and dedication.

Thanks to my manager, Mrs. Carri at NVRDUL, who is tougher than Tarzan feet, quicker than a cheetah on Amtrak, slicker than snot and mashed bananas, and the greatest rattlesnake killer to ever come outta the state of Texas. This book would have never found daylight without your help.

And to everyone else who has played any part in my life, I thank you.