We preachers don’t like to admit it, especially at this time of year, but football is what it’s all about. And if we would permit it, football can teach us church folks some lessons we need to learn. To start off, just read some of the following quotes about teamwork:

All right, all you women out there, I’m on to you now. You keep all the good stuff for yourselves.

While we Neanderthals are out chasing little white golf balls, sweating in the heat of the summer, you’re sitting in massaging chairs at the air-conditioned spa getting pedicures. Well, you can’t fool us anymore.

This will probably turn into another series since there is much on this family to be learned. I was disappointed to find that although many people have this family in their tree, few have any documentation or sources. The family is fairly well documented in Coweta County and I thought I’d dig into some of that documentation.

The pun is horrific, but I’ll write it anyway: Ferrell Mowell’s moving story is very moving.

On August 30, the old house in which he grew up was pushed, shoved, and pulled from its foundation on North Jeff Davis Dr., Fayetteville, to a rescued-house office park about a mile away on Ga. Highway 85 South. I hope you read Ferrell’s narrative.

Nearly everybody in the country has heard about the E. coli outbreak responsible for more than 170 illnesses and at least one death in 25 states, all attributed to eating fresh spinach.

I think it’s safe to say that I am now officially through with blind dates.

After all, I am usually the only one blind on the date because chances are that the other person has some kind of acquaintance with me through the media. It is, I have decided, an unfair advantage.

Heaven Birthdays are so much better than the ones we huff and puff to put together here on earth. Heaven just celebrated my Mother’s 95th birthday on Sept. 21. I can only imagine. I remember one of her last ones here on earth: she was in her wheel chair, made up pretty by sister’s makeup, wearing a beautiful dress, and made as much as she could about the gifts and cake. Not too long though she was back in her room at the nursing home and all the children had left.

It was a tough loss to take. Our church, Christ the King, is still new to the world of local church league softball athletics. While we have fielded a few teams, we have never had a winning season. In fact, while we have consistently improved, we have been pretty much in the cellar at the end of every season.

She entered the glade riding in an open, horse-drawn carriage. With a light flick of the reins, the white palomino eight hands high turned and came to a stop with a stomp of its massive hooves – just 30 feet from the lucky attendees.

I received sort of an odd lot of responses from last week’s column, as you can see by the title above. And, since I have already started on the Byrams, I would like to continue their story in future columns. Many of them remained and are buried in Coweta County. Others headed for Carroll County and points west ... very west!

Grandparents’ Day?

I wouldn’t have thought of it had not the ladies at Curves invited all the grandmas in the place to bring pictures of their grandchildren.

Temperatures soar in Iraq and U.S. soldiers suit up and admirably do their duty, trying to quell the seemingly unending insurgence and periods of civil unrest and merely survive until their tour of duty is up.

So, this is how my first on-screen kiss came to be.

I was painting my kitchen cabinets, a task thrust upon on me because I could not adequately explain my vision of Country French distressed to others nor was I willing to pay the exorbitant price for their vision of what I knew was not what I wanted.

The most favorite passage of Scripture is Psalm 23. Probably because it has such pathos, such personal impact, and so very much comfort. It’s requested at more funerals than any other passage.

Five years later and no further attacks on U.S. soil. Who would have ever dreamed that, following the horrors inflicted on this nation on Sept. 11, 2001, we would experience five terror-free years?

It's a conspiracy against the American people, I tell you, a conspiracy plain and simple to keep us all fat.

It’s happening in some grocery stores around this state — right in front of the most helpless of us — our children. Yes, sir. It's true, and most of us are going about our daily lives, oblivious to the insidious goings-on around us.

When I am lucky enough to be able to get away and do some hands-on research in the courthouses around here, I always try to share what I find. Original court records are scarce on the Internet and you never know when someone from California or Texas might be able to use the court documents you have.

Last week we visited the history of Haralson in Coweta County, and a little church there.

Over the years, as any homeowner knows, buildings need updating and expansion. The people of Mt. Pilgrim Lutheran added a fellowship hall, a kitchen, and restrooms. In recent years, central heat and air have been installed. Floors have been refurbished, a new roof put on, and a handicapped ramp built. Most striking to a visitor are the classic stained glass windows in each wall.

Listen up, Fayette County! You’ve got a problem. And it may be bigger than you could have realized.

You now know from the front page of this edition that Georgia Environmental Protection Division cannot account for a single annual report on waste products accepted by the treatment plant on Ga. Highway 92 just inside Fulton County since Philip Services Corp. bought the place in 1997.

When I point out our obligation to present a united front to enemies of America, to withhold aid and comfort from them, to support our troops and our President in time of war, I hear different versions of “You don’t get it” along with claims to freedom of speech and even an obligation to oppose a president when we disagree.

Ever so often, life gives you magic.

That’s what happened to me when I met an important childhood hero.

Reg Murphy, one of the most esteemed newspaper men of the last half century, grew up in my hometown of Gainesville. Dreaming of being a journalist one day, I avidly followed his career. At the impressive age of 34, he became the editor of the influential Atlanta Constitution. Importantly, he had been the protege of the legendary editor Ralph McGill, who nurtured Murphy to become his successor.

The sign reads, “Open at noon.” Yet, there I was one day last week, a few minutes before high noon, along with others lined up to buy some of the most luscious, spherical orbs of delight at Millers Orchard. Scuppernongs, man, that’s what it’s all about at this slice of the calendar. Neither peaches nor peanuts can satisfy. But scuppernongs can. And Harold and Sara Miller’s are some of the best (their country grove is located across from the congested soccer fields east of Fayetteville on Georgia 54).

I read in the paper that the old sanctuary of Sharpsburg Baptist Church has been demolished.

Portions of the building have stood since 1878 but, with the continuing deterioration of the building and with safety being a major factor, the congregation built a new building and, after valiant but unsuccessful efforts to save the old church, it finally was laid to rest.

It took seven years, but last week The Wife finally told me something I didn’t think I’d ever hear. No, she didn’t tell me to get out. It was something far worse.

As I struggled and plowed my way through these many Tidwell families over the past months, I took some comfort in a message Phil Tidwell left on one of the Internet message boards. Phil is probably one of the best and most thorough Tidwell researchers I know. He has been doing this for many, many years and said something to the effect that these south Atlanta area Tidwells had such large families, named their children similar names and lived so close together, that it was difficult even for their descendants to get them straight.

In this line of work you see the best and the worst, the ordinary and the extraordinary. You travel from boardrooms to living rooms, from roadside tragedies to hillside wonders. You stand witness to forces that tear people apart, but you also witness the unrivaled glory of the human spirit.

My New Year’s resolution from last year was to learn how to knit. I barely squeaked under the deadline, since I only remembered at Thanksgiving what the resolution even was, giving me a scant month to learn how to knit.

I had yet to recover from being subjected to the ridiculousness of a New York City diner that sold out of grits two mornings in a row when I encountered a more traumatic travesty – a Southern town that sold out of buttermilk.

Watoto is no longer just an African word meaning “the children.” Today the word encompasses a global effort to care for orphans. The epicenter for the movement is Kampala, Uganda. The initial movers and shakers are Gary and Marilyn Skinner.

The beauty of living in Fayette County is that the county has one foot in the big city and the other in the country; one foot in the here and now, the other in the past.