I was born and raised on a big farm in a little bitty town on a long dirt road that led to a precious church, where my Gran had an assigned seat because the women sat on one side and the men on the other. That farm house was right in the middle of that 200 acres and that back porch, well, that back porch was where my favorite days were spent on an old porch swing with my Gran by my side. All I had to do was look to the left to see that big steeple. I was supposed to learn all my life lessons sitting on a pew with my Bible in hand. But, not me. My days were spend running to the right, which led right down that long dirt road straight to a cemetery where I could talk to anyone I wanted all day long. No matter how far away I get, I can still smell the jasmine and honeysuckle that filled the air as I learned the real lessons about life. The facts of my life are that I have lived many lifetimes in my 52 years. I just don’t have a headstone to engrave my story about each one. Therefore, my unfinished story will be right here when those are ready to travel the gravel road less taken.