Dear Lord,
You know.
You’ve always known.
You always will know.
You’ve helped me know as much as I’ve been willing to learn.
But I do not learn easily—because I am stubborn, and at times, lazy.
Every glimpse of your glory illuminates the ignorance I try to hide.
Every glimpse forces me to rethink what I thought I knew.
Over and over.
The more I see, the more I realize how much I cannot see.
What I truly need is simple:
to trust that you will reveal what I need to know, when I need to know it.
Rescue me from my own ignorance, and help me understand more.
Amen.
It took years, but disillusionment with politics and political parties eventually led me to become a full-fledged independent. That makes me an odd duck in today’s political world—but that’s nothing new. I’ve always been an odd duck, and I’ve come to accept that.
Despite my best efforts to fit in, something beyond my understanding has always pulled me out of the herd. For years, I was deeply engaged in politics, mentoring young legislators and warning them about the dangers of straying too far from their political base. That’s sound advice—if safety is your primary goal.
There is strength in numbers. Predators prey on the isolated.
And yet, for reasons I still struggle to define, I’ve never been able to follow my own advice.
Anyone who has read my memoir, Picking, Politicking, and Pontificating, will recognize the pattern. Despite being surrounded by friends, family and colleagues, I have spent much of my life alone—grappling with one dilemma after another.
Only later did I come to understand the value of those lonely hours—spent in prayer, in reflection, in quiet desperation.
What once felt like despair, I now see as preparation.
That loneliness began early.
At 14, just days after witnessing my father’s death in a sawmill accident, I found myself completely unmoored. I had only known him for five years, but in that short time, he became everything a young boy needed—a steady, positive presence in an otherwise chaotic life.
And then he was gone.
Alone in my room, I was overwhelmed—by grief, anger and resentment.
I had been around religion all my life, but in that moment, it felt hollow.
So I lashed out.
“Why are you so cruel to me?”
“Why can’t I just have a normal life?”
I waited for an answer.
There was none.
Eventually, I exhausted myself.
The anger faded.
The bitterness followed.
What remained was something quieter—acceptance.
I realized there would be no immediate answers. The only thing left was to move forward, to play the hand I had been dealt.
And so I offered one final prayer:
“Lord, I don’t understand you. I’m not even sure you’re there. But if you are, I’ll accept whatever you have for me. Just show me the way—because I can’t find it on my own.”
Still—silence.
But something had changed.
Without realizing it, I had surrendered.
Completely.
And though I didn’t know it at the time, that surrender would shape everything that followed.
That moment was not the most dramatic or emotional of my life—but it was the most important.
Since then, that quiet surrender has been tested again and again. And each time I answered the call, my faith deepened.
Looking back, the life I’ve lived has far exceeded anything that 14-year-old boy could have imagined.
I didn’t get the “normal” life I once begged for.
And that’s just as well.
If there’s one thing I can say about being an odd duck—it’s never boring.
So why share this on a political website?
Because faith is what led me into politics, guided me through it, and ultimately led me out.
That covenant I made as a broken teenager still stands. It is the reason I cannot simply ignore the political chaos around us—even as I refuse to be consumed by it.
I no longer seek to win arguments, pick sides or predict outcomes.
I seek something simpler—and far more difficult:
To think independently.
To speak honestly.
To remain grounded.
Religion remains a powerful force in Alabama politics—alongside power, greed, contempt and arrogance.
If I have anything to offer, it is perspective.
Not as a partisan.
Not as a strategist.
But as what I have always been—
An odd duck,
with an eye for black swans.
