c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-26)
After days of being inactive at my desk in the home office, I had slipped into a reflective mood. Pondering events throughout my childhood, and beyond. This look back across the years brought memories that were buried in antiquity to the fore. Finally, I reflected on being the eldest son of a Christian pastor. This heritage had always provided a note of contrast, as one who wandered from the chosen path. I carried a measure of guilt in every wanton act of self-satisfaction. This legacy was one I could not shed, no matter how far from the teachings of my youth I strayed.
Lyrics for an Appalachian hymn of sorts began to form in my head. And I sat at the keyboard as they traveled mystically, through my fingers, to the screen.
Grace
“Hellfire is hot, I heard the preacher say
A hard reckoning, on display
I held the Bible, while praying along
I knew that God’s grand glory was strong
Hell is real, that lesson hit home
I saw Beelzebub upon his throne
A deep, dark dungeon where I may enter in
But not before salvation cleanses my sin
By grace, revived
By grace, still alive
I’ve done my share of things to regret
A measure of misdeeds that I’d like to forget
Sleepless nights spent on bawdy affairs
Drinking whiskey till I fell down the stairs
I’ve had plenty of reasons to ride
Far away from the incoming tide
The only refuge is one with the Lord
Away from conquests my soul can’t afford
By grace, revived
By grace, still alive
Every failing brings me close to the cliff
On the edge of a damnation guilt-trip
In the saddle, headed toward my demise
The reaper comes in a friendly disguise
I’ve been tricked before, and put off the path
Wandering and lost, without my treasure map
But the word gives a clue to direction
I turn back to holy protection
By grace, revived
By grace, still alive
I don’t deserve this chance to repent
I know the end will come with judgement
But in the scriptures, there is a plan
To overcome, the weakness of man
I’ve been proud, and also bold
Not afraid to chase silver and gold
Yet the yield of that race is no prize
I’ve come to see with opened eyes
By grace, revived
By grace, still alive
As a child, I heard those tales from afar
About apostles and the healing of scars
The Son of God in Mary’s womb
Manna from heaven and a rising from the tomb
I used to blink at those stories and lament
Until realizing that my brittle bones were bent
The breath of life had become too slight
When reaching the cool edge of night
By grace, revived
By grace, still alive
Now I know that the truth is revealed
For all who struggle, there is an appeal
An open door through which to escape
From the wages of sin and decay
That beggar’s bonus is one given without cost
Only the love of that man on the cross
I cannot earn the right to be made pure
But in believing, my hope is assured
By grace, revived
By grace, still alive
The flesh is weak, this has been defined
A coil of cares that burden the mind
With a desire that does not suffice
An empty vessel of fleeting delights
I seek the mansion prepared on high
When Armageddon is drawing nigh
Not a single act done here has remained
I am free from the crimson stain
By grace, revived
By grace, still alive
Cowboys sit tall, and curse the heat
That was my choice until becoming complete
I turned quickly from the ways of a fool
On bended knees, instead of a barstool
The church was once a spot that caused me to grin
Until the preacher said, ‘Boy, come on in!’
By entering that place of worship and love
I found a better path to the father, above
By grace, revived
By grace, still alive
If you accept this rhyme of my own
I hope you’ll not seek eternity, alone
Read the gospel and receive its worth
Find your way to resurrection and rebirth
Don’t think of me as anything else
Than a true seeker, of heavenly wealth
I am a backslider, still striving to flee
Into the arms of eternity
By grace, revived
By grace, still alive...”
T. Randall Squire was struck by this introspective confession of sin and sadness. He called my phone on a midweek morning, as I was still having coffee.
“Boy, I gotta say yer a damn riddle to me! One minute I get a feelin’ y’all are a down-home hillbilly, and the next, ya sound like some sort of artistic freak. And then this churchy vibe comes up, I just don’t know what to expect! What kind of thing are ya tryin’ to do here? Is this feelin’ sorry fer yerself, or maybe havin’ a crisis of faith? What gives, pardner?”
I clutched my stomach, which was empty as I had not yet made anything for breakfast.
“Sir, as the kids like to say, it’s complicated. I’ve got all of that and more rambling around in my subconscious mind. You might say, a taste for thrills, and a touch of shame for perpetually going off the rails...”
My contact at the record label huffed while taking a break from his cigar.
“Rodney, we’ve all messed up now and then, it ain’t a thing to worry yerself with. Everybody has a good side and a bad side. Some just tilt those scales more in one direction or another!”
I had to agree. But felt differently about the complexities of a human personality.
“See, I’ve got that ingrained into my DNA so deeply that it affects everything I do. Sometimes when looking into a mirror, I can catch a glimpse of all those generations that went before. It’s all in the eyes. Issac, Andrew Jackson, Kromer Columbus, McGarvey, Rhoderick, all of them are looking back at me from the other side of that reflective glass. Except I didn’t stay with the program. My turn came, and I burned the candle at both ends. I sold my birthright. I squandered my soul, so to speak...”
Country Squire wheezed and coughed while listening.
“Dang it boy, settle down! Yer way too twisted up on this story. Though I do appreciate ya writin’ a little something fer the religious types out there, they buy our recordings too! Y’all know that kinda stuff sells just like the drinkin’ songs. It’s all part of the mix!”
My entertainment cohort seemed to be missing the emotions attached to what I had composed. But instead of attempting to broaden my explanation, I let the subject drop.
“Thanks for your support, sir. You keep listening, and I’ll stay vigilant with my quill!”
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