Smokehouse Spirituality
At the epicenter of Stillwater Farm stands a real smokehouse. Not a metaphor. Not a logo. A small wooden house with a firebox, a stack, and a patient purpose. And somehow, in this season of my life, it has become the place where all the threads of my “next” are tying themselves together.
The smokehouse gathers the animals of the pasture and the produce of the garden. It draws near the orchard, the vines, the ponds, the porch, the curing house, and the little farmhouse kitchen. All of it wrapped up in what I have come to call homeplace.
So why this? And why now?
Because after years of preaching in sanctuaries, organizing programs, and running at the speed of large church calendars, I have come to believe that some of the most important sermons are smoked slowly and shared around a table. I have stepped into a season where the pace has changed, but the calling has not. If anything, the calling has become clearer: to tend family, to tend soil, to tend animals, to tend community, and to tend souls — all at the same time.
The smokehouse reminds me that the best things in life cannot be rushed. Meat must cure and age. Wood must smolder and smoke. Friendships must deepen and broaden. Faith must season and act. A good life, like a good country ham, takes time and attention.
So I have this aim.
Each week I will share a written, video, or podcast piece — not hurried, not hollow, but seasoned with the gentle smoke of the things I care about most that maybe you care about too. These reflections will be shaped by good soil and Scripture, by Iberico pigs rooting beneath pecan trees, by smoke rising slow into East Texas sky, and by the long memory of the same land now holding the sixth generation of our family because great, great, great grandparents 100 years ago bought a piece of ground and planted hope and wholesome values related to homeplace and family.
These notes will be about grace that works its way into calloused hands.
About grit that keeps a fire going in the firebox no matter the weather.
About grub that gathers neighbors at tables on the porch.
About soil that must be stewarded, not used up.
About souls that need tending, not neglect.
And about what it means — in an age of hurry and hunger for more stuff — to become a good ancestor and caretaker of the creation God has shared with us.
You will not receive noise. You will receive something aged a bit, and I hope, full of flavor. For I do intend to uplift the simple rules of do no harm but take no bull, do good and call out bad, stay in love with God and who and what God loves.
Each week I will also share a one-liner saying or two to carry with you into the days ahead.
This Week’s Saying from the Smokehouse:
Think long. Live rooted. Leave more than you take.
As you read, watch, ponder and muse, I invite you to resist the short-term, me-centered, self-sufficient myth our culture keeps selling like soft wood. Together we will learn to think in seasons, not headlines; in generations, not quarters; in covenant, not convenience.
If that kind of thinking sounds like home to you, pull up a chair on the porch at the table. Let’s visit awhile.
