The Frac Hand He showed up greener than springtime grass Boots too clean Heart beatin' too fast Didn’t know iron from elbow or hand Just a guy with a hammer and a head full of sand Them old boys barked and them old boys swore Dust in their teeth Boots worn to the core "Hit it, boy. Harder. Swing till it sings." So he swung and he prayed on them broke-down things By noon he was blistered By sundown he bled Still he swung that hammer Like it owed him his bread No "good job" came No pat on the back Just more busted iron and lines to stack An old roughneck, chaw drippin’ slow Watched him struggle like a calf in the snow Then one morning, with Hank Williams in the air He spit in the dust and said a small prayer "Didn't think you'd last, but maybe you can Keep swingin’, boy You might make Hand" He didn’t know then what them words really meant Didn’t know pride has a price And sweat pays the rent Respect ain’t given for being polite You earn it with...
On Why the Sun Rises Every Morning This morning, I sat out on the porch with a cup of coffee, the dog snoozing at my feet, and just enough peace to feel like I might be getting away with something. The sun was rising slow over the hills like it had all the time in the world, and I figured, if that old sun can show up every single day without complaining, maybe we can too. See, the sun doesn’t get up because it wants to. It gets up because that’s what it does. Day after day, shine or storm. No round of applause, no pat on the back, just good old-fashioned dependability. And I reckon that’s a pretty good way to live. There’ll be days, kiddo, when your bones feel heavy, or your heart does. Days when you’d rather stay curled up and let the world spin without you. But showing up anyway, that’s how you grow into someone folks can count on. That’s how you earn the kind of respect that doesn’t need to shout. Not every sunrise is spectacular. Some are foggy, some are plain. But they’re al...