My fragility is a testimony of Who you are.

 -“Jar of Clay”    Aaron Tate/Caedmon’s Call

When it comes down to it, there’s little we can do by ourselves.

When it comes down to it, we can get a lots done working with others.

But the only way eternal differences are made are when we work with God and allow Him to mold us.

Pyrenees dogs guarding their goat herd. McDonald Farm north of Pitkin Hwy 463

Doing What You Were Born to Do

This morning I sprayed herbicide around our seedling longleaf pines.

I took “Flapper” our three-legged basset hound with me into the woods.

She immediately ran (as fast as she could) into the swamp and the next two hours resounded with the beautiful music of a baying hound.

(I thought of one of my Skynyrd songs,  “Swamp Music.”)

The rabbits in Crooked Bayou Swamp aren’t in much danger from Flapper. One day I watched a swamp rabbit wait patiently for Flap to catch up before sprinting off to continue their game.

This morning, as her baying echoed off the trees, I thought:  That dog is doing what she was born to do.

Basset hounds are born to roam, hunt, and trail game.  Even scientists don’t fully understand how precise the nose of a hound is. They don’t have to be taught to trail rabbits.  It’s what they were born to do.

When Flapper was a young pup, she bounded out of my truck bed as we sped down the road I grew up on.  A rabbit had darted across Clayton Iles Road and she couldn’t resist.  I thought it’d killed her.  (Basset hounds are not the smartest dogs in the kennel.)

She was simply doing what she was born to do.

I recall the first wood duck our beloved yellow lab, Ivory, retrieved.  Clint and I stood in flooded timber near Bundick Creek.  Ivory crashed into the water, grasped the duck in her mouth, and swam to her master Clint.

I told Clint, “That dog’s doing what she was born to do.”   

For the rest of her life, she created joy doing what she was born to do.  She had joy in doing it and anyone who watched her tasted her job.

Dogs have much to teach us.

Doing what they were born to do.

I asked myself three questions this morning as I listened and worked:

1.  What was I born to do?*

2. Am I doing what I was born to do?

3.   What should change so I can do what I was born to do?

I’d like to hear from you on this.

* Another good question: how do I know if something is “what I was born to do?”   You’ll do it regardless of pay/recognition.  I kept journals for nearly thirty years before I ever had a published book.  I am called to write.  If I never had another book or article, I’d keep my journals. (I’ve just started Journal 58.)

You’ll do “what you were born to do” with joy.  It will pour out of your life with a joy that is evident to others.  At times, our joyful work may become laborious, but a few days/weeks away from it will renew that joy.

It will be a “labor of love.”  You are compelled to do it.  Couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

Here are my three short answers as of now.

1.  I was born to encourage.  It’s who I am, what I do.  It’s my calling.

2.  I have honestly tried in each of my careers (teacher/coach, principal, camp manager, author/speaker, husband/father) to be an encourager.  I know I can do better and want to grow in this area.

3.  I want to eliminate any energy-draining activities and emotions in my life that hinder or block my being an encourager.  As DeDe and I seek God’s direction in longer term missions, I don’t know where we’ll be or our assignment, but I know it will involve the work of encouragement.

It’s what this dog was born to do.

Lord, help me do it better.

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Waiting on a train.”  -Jimmie Rodgers

Historic train poster for the Sunset Limited. Photographed in Houston Amtrak station.

If you’ve been following my social media this week,  you know I’ve been on a adventure.

Monday afternoon I caught Amtrak’s Sunset Limited in Lake Charles and rode it to Los Angeles (arriving on Wednesday morning).

Then I boarded the Coast Starlight which snaked along the Pacific Coast to San Francisco. After that twelve hour ride (arriving on the Bay at midnight) I rode the street cars all night studying the city.  More on that later!

After an airport “tongue bath” I’m boarding a plane for my return to Louisiana.

This trip was about research.  (I can hear y’all laughing.)

In my current work in progress, the historical novel,  As You Were,   Elizabeth Reed Miller makes an impulsive flying plane trip to see her husband Harry as his division ships out from SF to war in the Pacific.  (As You Were is the sequel to A Spent Bullet.)

One of my fellow historians, Fennell Guillot, told of making this same trip during the war.  This lit a fire in me to make the trip and see it myself.

To see it through the eyes of a 21 year old Louisiana schoolteacher stubborn enough to ride a train 2000 miles to see her husband for a few hours.  A girl who’s never been past Shreveport or Lake Charles.

West Texas mountain near El Paso. Taken from the train May 8, 2012

It’s May 2, 1941. Join us on this trip.

Since you’re part of this book,  I’d like your input:  what in the world would make a young sensible woman make such a trip?

Here is the dialogue where Elizabeth breaks the news of the trip to her mother:

“Elizabeth, why in the world would you do a crazy thing like that?”

“I’ve got to see Harry one more time, and there’s something I need to give him.”

“What is it?”

“I had a dream. I have to go.”

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May is a great month for birds.

This morning was foggy with humidity you could stir with a stick, but it didn’t phase the birds.

They slept in a few minutes and began their rituals slightly later.

The bluebirds won the morning battle of the birds.  A quartet of them serenaded us as we walked.

Arriving back at home, our resident mockingbird was in full form.  There’s no other bird quite like it.   Saucy, dive-bombing cats, singing whenever and wherever it pleases, it may be my favorite.

Mockingbird: the king of birds in any Louisiana yard

I’ve often wondered how a grown man who hadn’t heard a mockingbird would react to its unique singing and mimic.

Behind the mockingbird’s solo,  a mourning dove coos softly in the front field.

As a domestic addition to the concert, a neighbor’s crow greets the morning.

At bedtime last night I sat alone writing.  I heard a chimney sweep flutter down to the covered chimney.

Removing the plywood, I caught the small bird and felt its heart beating rapidly in my hand.  Don’t worry, buddy. I’m fixing to let you go on your first flight.  I turn on the porch light, open my hand and release the bird.  In an instant, it disappears into the dark, it’s life of flight now in chapter one.

Lord, you made so many good things I wish to be grateful for.

May I never forget that birds are one of your best creations.

My fifth book, The Mockingbird's Song, begins with a encouraging lesson from a singing mockingbird on a dark night of the soul.

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The cross at Dry Creek's Prayer Garden

In the Garden

It’s always been one of my favorite places.

The prayer garden at Dry Creek Camp.

It was evidently one of Harvey Jones’s also.

He wanted his ashes spread there.

His memorial service was yesterday.  It was a celebration of a richly lived life.  Harvey loved his Lord, his wife Sissy, and his family and it was a time of worship and smiles.

And he loved Dry Creek Camp.

When he fell in love with the camp, he brought his entire church—First Baptist Sulphur—with him.

Today is a warm Louisiana day.  Harvey’s family—who have come to spread his ashes walk down the prayer garden trail, led by his lifelong partner, Sissy.  She’s using a cane but her step and spirit are sure.

Sissy Jones with Tom Bruce of Sulphur. She taught Tom in the second grade.

Their only son, Steve, his wife Julie’ and grandchildren Spencer and Brooke walk beside her.

Harvey’s younger brother Bill is a clone of Harvey.  It’s like seeing Harvey twenty years ago when I first met him.  Bill smiles at the tall pines, pond, and the cypress trees lining it.  “I understand why my brother loved this place.”

We pause there and Todd, our camp manager, shares about what Harvey and Sissy have meant to the camp.

Then everyone stares.  What’s next?  We’ve never spread ashes before.

Someone mentions the reflection cross that is the center point of the entire area. Sissy says, “That’s the place.”

Prayer garden cross at dusk Wednesday, May 2, 2012

We all walk the levee, only stopping when a chicken snakes slithers into the underbrush.  I think that Harvey would’ve chuckled at that.

As the family gathers around the cross, I remember the day when the prayer garden cross was born.  It was January 1993.  A Saturday work day.

We’d planted hundreds of trees on the camp grounds.  We ate lunch at the prayer garden and I asked the small group,  “What addition do you think would improve the prayer garden?”

A teen girl pointed across the pond.  “Why don’t you put a cross at that spot? It’d reflect in the water.”

We did and that cross—especially when lit at night—has touched many lives.

At this same cross, Steve Jones takes his father’s ashes and tenderly spreads them. Tears mixed with smiles mark this special time at this special place.

We pray and then Todd closes with the perfect sentence. “Mrs. Sissy, we’ve put Harvey’s ashes at the foot of the cross,  and he’s at the foot of Jesus.”

We walk back up the hill.

It’s a day I won’t forget.

I go back to the song I most associate with the prayer garden:

He speaks and the sound of His voice

Is so sweet the birds hush their singing

And the melody that He gives to me

Within my heart is singing.

And He walks with me

And He talks with me

And He tells me I am His own

And the joys we share

As we tarry there,

None other have ever known.

“In the Garden”

William Harvey Jones

Memorial services for William Harvey Jones of Alexandria, 77 years of age, will be held at Hixson Brothers Funeral Home of Alexandria on Tuesday, May 1, 2012 at 2 p.m. Visitation will be from 1 p.m. until time of service. Curt Iles will officiate. Mr. Jones passed away on Saturday, April 28, 2012, at Regency House.

He was a long time resident of Sulphur, LA and was a faithful Christian who loved his Lord and his family.

He retired from Conoco Refinery after 32 years of service. He was a member of First Baptist Church of Sulphur where he served as a deacon, served on several committees, was a member of Saints Alive Senior Adults, sang with the Agin’ Cajun Senior Adult Choir, a past member of the Silver Strings Ukelele Band, past member of Campers on Missions and served as a trustee of Dry Creek Baptist Camp. He was a member of Calvary Baptist Church in Alexandria.

He is survived by his wife of nearly 56 years, Irma Stevens Jones (Sissy), a son, Steven Charles Jones and wife, Julie’, three grandchildren, Barrett, Brooke, and Spencer Jones, all of Alexandria, and a brother Bill Jones and wife Sheridan of Houston TX. He was preceded in death by his parents, E. C. and Audrey Jones.

Memorials can be made to Dry Creek Baptist Camp, Box 580, Dry Creek, LA 70637.

To extend on-line condolences to the Jones family, please visit us at www.hixsonbrothers.com.

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Curt Iles writes from his hometown of Dry Creek, Louisiana. He is a life-long learner and lover of the people, culture, and history of piney woods Louisiana. Curt’s popular Creekbank Blog shares stories of encouragement for fellow folks on the journey of life. Learn more at www.creekbank.net

It’s true.  A good cur dog can whip a skunk any day of the week.

However, a smart cur dog won’t.

Can a three-legged basset hound whip a skunk? Ask "Flapper" Iles, Dry Creek's traveling dog.

It’s simple: you can win the fight and still lose.  I’ve seen dogs carry the scent of skunk for weeks and wallow in dust, mud, and cow manure trying to get rid of it.   If that dog could talk, I believe he’d say,  “I won but it wasn’t worth it.”

Conversely, if a fellow wants to he can get in a fistfight everyday.

There’s folks out there who’ll be glad to join you.

We make a choice daily.  All day long.  Will we get along with others or will we carry a chip on our soul.  (Or is it shoulder? or can it be both?)

I’ve always loved this line from a Jerry Jeff Walker song,

“He was the kind

To pay no mind

When he was bumped into.”

(“The Stranger: He was the Kind”   ‘Viva Terlingua’ album)

We make a choice on how’ll we react to the person who bumps into us (or cuts us off in traffic or blares their horn then gives the one half peace sign).  It’s a choice.

We must choose which mountains to die on.  And honestly many mountains we make last stands on aren’t worth the price.

We must decide what we’re willing to shed blood over.  Some epic causes and ideas are worth the blood.  Others aren’t.

Success, happiness, and purpose in life are tied up on wise decisions on the right battles.

Prayer for today

“Lord, as Saint Francis said,  ‘Make me an instrument of your peace.’  Now, I know myself and I’m prone to be prickly, defensive, and touchy.  Remove that from my heart.  Help me keep my eyes on you Jesus, the Prince of Peace.  If anyone ever knew what hill to die on, it was you. 

You wisely walked away from some fights but stood tall and steadfast on the one(s) that counted.

Teach me, Jesus.  I want to stand strong in you.

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Thoughts from a Foolish Chapter: Proverbs 26

 “Never argue with a fool.  Onlookers may not be able to tell the difference “ –Mark Twain*

Wisdom from Proverbs on Fools . . .

My mother-in-law, Juanita Terry, claimed this was some of the best wisdom she'd ever seen.

On the surface it appears contradictory.  One Proverb says to ignore fools and their foolish words.  The following advises a retort.

Proverbs 26:4-5 NASB
4   Do not answer a fool according to his folly,
     Or you will also be like him.
5  Answer a fool as his folly deserves,
     That he not be wise in his own eyes.

Proverbs 26:4-5 KJV
4    Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him.

5  Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own conceit.

I’ll be asking my two preacher sons (and all of you) to help me with the Hebrew on these verses.  Is there a difference on the use of ‘fool?’

Here’s my Dry Creek thinking on this:  There are two kinds of ‘fools’   Foolish Fools and Ignorant Fools.

 Verse 4 refers to Foolish Fools.  No matter of talking will convince them. (Don’t confuse me with the facts.)   If God wrote the answer in the sky, they’d say He spelled it wrong.

Leave them alone.  Don’t waste your breath.

 Verse 5 refers to Ignorant Fools.  (I’ve been this numerous times in my life.)  They just don’t know any better and open their mouths.

I recall an instance as a teenager.  The Iles family was having a wonderful evening meal.  I commented,  “They really shafted him.”

My dad laid his fork down,  “Now Curt, I don’t believe I’d use that.  The way I hear it used at work is not really good.”

Daddy never said another word.  I was embarrassed as all get-out but got his point. He had educated an Ignorant Fool.  I didn’t think of the implications of the full saying.

I’ve said lots of ignorant things since that day about forty years ago but I learned from the man I so admired. I don’t use that statement.  You may and I’m not judging.  I’m just sharing from my experience.

That’s what verse 5 is about.    We fools can learn from the wisdom of others.

 There are times to ignore foolish words.

There are other times a wise rebuttal can help.

Lord, give us wisdom to know the difference.

 Excellent thoughts on these two verses from a blog by Micheal Yates:

http://michaelyates.blogspot.com/2010/04/answering-fool-proverbs-264-5.html

*Never argue with a  fool. Onlookers may not be able to tell the difference” is normally attributed to Twain but variations abound.

My favorite: “Never argue with a pig. It’ll frustrate you and annoy the pig.”

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I hope you’re enjoying our thoughts on the short book of Philemon.  I ask for your comments and insights.  That is how we learn best!

In verse 1, Paul identifies himself as a “prisoner of Christ Jesus.”

This humble term identifies Paul and is the first floorboard in building his relationship with the letter’s recipient,  Philemon.

In verse 8 we’ll learn about the relationship problem this letter addresses.

Like any wise leader, Paul takes a breath in verses 1-7  to lay the groundwork for solving a problem.

Good leaders will also take some time to visit/discuss before they unload the problem.  In my piney woods culture, that is best done over a good cup of Louisiana coffee.  Whether it’s Community, Seaport, Folgers, Mello Joy, or heaven forbid Starbucks, the fellowship of the cup often lessens tension (in spite of the caffeine!) in relationships.

First century letters identified the writer and addressee at the front end.  As in verse 1-2:

To Philemon our dear friend and fellow worker— ² also to Apphia our sister and Archippus our fellow soldier—and to the church that meets in your home:

 ³ Grace and peace to you^[a] from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Notice Paul’s use of terms of endearment.  There is an attitude of love and respect permeating this entire letter.

Apphia is thought to be Philemon’s wife and Archippus is probably their son.  Some scholars believe Archippus may have been the actual/part owner of the escaped slave Onesimus.

Philemon and Onesimus

Archippus is also mentioned again at the conclusion of Colossians, the sister letter that travels in the same mailbag as the personal letter that we call the book of Philemon.

Colossians 4:17   Tell Archippus:  “See to it that you complete the work you have received in the Lord.”

I sense a gentle reminder that Arch needed a poke in the behind to finish something he’d agreed to.

In Philemon 1:2,  Paul calls Arch  “a fellow soldier.”   Once again, I believe this title is meant to encourage this younger brother to “soldier on.”   Keep going.  Don’t quit.

In verses 3 and 4, Paul uses tender terms that are found in most of his letters.

³ Grace and peace to you^[a] from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

He’s speaking a blessing/prayer over them.  Who have you given this type of blessing to lately?  Who has blessed you with their words?

  ⁴ I always thank my God as I remember you in my prayers, ⁵ because I hear about your love for all his holy people and your faith in the Lord Jesus.

Verse 4 is identical to Philippians 1:3.   I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.  Paul “smiles prayerfully” when he thinks of his friend back in Colossae.  Phil. 1:3 is the verse inscribed on the grave of my beloved grandfather,  Sid Plott.  I smile and thank God when I think about this Godly railroad man.

Verse 5 is a hearsay verse.  Paul’s heard from travelers that Philemon’s growing faith and love for Christian brothers and sisters.  We think of hearsay and gossip in a negative connotation.  Why don’t we spend time today sharing  “Godly gossip.”  The good news of how God is working around us in the lives of others.

⁶ I pray that your partnership with us in the faith may be effective in deepening your understanding of every good thing we share for the sake of Christ. ⁷ Your love has given me great joy and encouragement, because you, brother, have refreshed the hearts of the Lord’s people.

I like the conclusion of verse 7,  “refreshed the hearts of the Lord’s people.”  Our job, regardless of age or status, is to refresh.

Our job is to encourage.  To urge on.  To walk beside and speak words both of challenge and kindness.

Two days ago, I spent two hours with Jerry Masters.  He is a dear friend who pastors First Baptist Jennings.  A tall ex-college basketball player and Vietnam helicopter pilot, Jerry bleeds the love of Jesus in his words, actions, and smile.

Someone asked me about my day in Jennings and I said,  “Any day I spend with Jerry Masters is a good day.”

Who are the three major refreshers /encouragers in your life?

1. ___________

2. ___________

3. ___________

In the book of Philemon, Paul is building a sandwich.  He’s dealing with a meaty touchy problem: the reconciliation of a runaway slave and his owner.

Before getting to the first slice of thick ham, he puts down a piece of “light bread.”*

The first part of this sandwich reminds Philemon of the loving relationship of respect that he and Paul share.  That’s what the first seven verses are in Philemon.

In dealing with problems, make a sandwich.  Talk positively and lightly as you place the first piece of bread.   Liberally spoon on a good layer of mustard and mayo.

Then deal with the problem.  That is the meat of the sandwich.

At the end, flop another piece of light bread on top.  It seals the deal.

Paul does it in each of his letters.  It is often a prayer, personal greeting, reminder of gratitude.

The sandwich style of dealing with sandwiches stills works just as it did for the master chef in a Roman prisoner, the Apostle Paul.

*Southerners use the term “light bread.” Is there a “heavy bread”?

Tomorrow in Philemon 1:8, Paul cuts to the chase on the purpose of his letter.

The first piece of meat is laid on the bread.

Stay tuned.

Curt

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It’s imperative to listen . . . when a man writes from prison, or a dying man preaches his last sermon.

Paul wrote his letter to Philemon from his favorite writing office, a Roman prison cell.

Philemon and Onesimus It's all about second chances.

“God of new beginnings, here I am again.”

“I’m so thankful God is a God of second chances.”  – testimony at Dry Creek Bible Conference

“Fall down seven times , get up eight.”

Logan Skiles, a modern day Paul, preached one of his last sermons from Philemon.  It was August 30, 1995.  He would be dead from cancer within three weeks.

I notated Bro. Skiles’ words in my Bible,   “Don’t give up on anyone.”

"Don't give up on anyone." Notes from Logan Skiles' sermon 8-30-95

That is the theme of the shortest book of the Bible.

25 verses on second chances,

new starts,

forgiveness,

and redemption.

It’s about a wonderful word called reconciliation.

In verse 1, Paul begins his letter with a telling statement,   “Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus . . .”

In other greetings, Paul calls himself an apostle or servant.  In the sister book of Colossians (scholars believe both letters were written together and carried together to Colossae.) it’s “Paul, an apostle.”

But in Philemon, it’s a prisoner…

Paul realized who he was… a prisoner

Not of the Roman empire.

He knew whom he belonged to.

His ownership deed was clear.

He belonged to Jesus.  That’d been settled on the dusty road from Jerusalem to Damascus a  lifetime ago.

Charles Swindoll, in his wonderful new book,  Speaking Well, says a successful speaker must:

• 1. Know who he is.
• 2.   Accept who he is
• 3.  Be comfortable with who he is.

That’s a good list for anyone.

The Apostle Paul understood this.

“Paul,  a prisoner of Christ Jesus…”    He knows who he is and has comfortably accepted it.

My mother’s family were railroad people for generations.

I’ll put Paul’s confidence in “who he was “ in railroad terminology:

 1.  He knew what train he was on.

2.  He knew who was driving the train.

3. He knew where the train was going.

•  First,  he was on the Jesus train.  Everything about his life was tied up in his intimate relationship with Jesus.  Paul had went from a killer of Christian’s to the world’s best known advocate of the same.

•  Secondly, he knew who the engineer was.  It’s stated clearly in verse 1,  “Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus.”

Sounds pretty clear to be.  Paul was a passenger but not the driver.

•  Finally, he was sure where the train was going.  This is intertwined with knowing what train and who’s driving it.

Paul’s confidence in the train’s destination is found in his final recorded written words,

“The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom.”      II Timothy 4:18

The Roman chopping block wasn’t Paul’s final destination.  His train was heading to Heaven.

As we begin looking at these twenty-five verses one by one, let’s be clear.  It’s written by a man who had his act together.

It’s a letter about second chances and human persuasion.

Next we’ll examine Paul’s lesson in building rapport before making a request.

In verses 1-7, he lays a strong foundation before he “lowers the boom” on Philemon.

Building,

Curt Iles

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Tuesday, April 17

As they say, don’t try this at home.

The two teenage boys marched into my office.  One had a torn shirt and the other’s reddened eye would be black by tomorrow.

They were both breathing like mad bulls from their fistfight by the high school lockers.

They were now my charges in my charge in the principal’s office.  I shut the door, arranged three chairs and made sure I sat between them.

These students were not regular customers on discipline. Both were strong farm boys from hard-working families in our rural community.

I wondered what had precipitated this fight.  If I had to bet, it had something to do with a girl. Or maybe a subtle insult.  Or maybe someone egging it on and public peer pressure not allowing.

Regardless, they’d been in a fight and were in trouble.  This was long before the days of zero tolerance on fights.  There would be a price to pay.

Each one shared his side of the story  assuring me it was the other’s fault.  Slowly, their anger subsided and their fists unclenched.

Now, I don’t recommend this and I’d never do it on a girl fight.  (Those hair-pulling screaming brouhahas are an animal of another species. )  I got up from my chair.  “Guys, I need to check with Mrs. Simmons on one thing.  Y’all talk about your problem and I’ll be back to finish this up.”

I closed the door behind me and stood in the hallway. It was quiet behind the door but I resisted the urge to re-enter.

Carolyn Simmons, who’d seen the fighters escorted into the office shook her head.  “Are they working it out in there?”

I put my ear to the door.  “Sounds like it to me.”  The boy’s voices were muffled but in normal tones.

I waited about ten minutes and went back in, putting a stack of useless papers on my desk.

“Mr. Iles, I believe we’re going to be able to work this out.”

The other man-child nodded his head in sober agreement.  “It was stupid.”

I don’t remember what their punishment was.  I’ll ask them next time I see one of them at a T-ball ballgame.

They shook hands and promised this was the end of it.   The embarrassed look in their eyes and their good track record assured me that this was over.

It’s been twenty years since I sat in that principal’s chair.   I tried this approach from time to time with young men and never had two of them re-kindle a fight afterwards.

It’s a reminder that nearly every problem can be worked out when two people sit down in private and talk about it.

That’s why I love the book of Philemon.

Philemon and Onesimus

Ol’ Paul (as my father-in-law affectionately calls the Apostle) pulls out all the stops to get two estranged men together.

A runaway slave-thief with the tongue-twisting name of Onesimus. And his wronged owner Philemon.

Philemon. I’ve heard Baptist preachers mangle his name for half a century.  I believe it’s Fu-LEE-mon.

However you say their names and their two-thousand year old story, it’s one worth reading. It’s the shortest book in the Bible (tied with Jude at a soaking-wet 25 verses) but is a masterpiece on human relations and solving conflict.

Take a few moments today and read it.

You can even shut the principal’s office door while you do.

I’d like to hear from you.

What is your favorite story of solved conflict with communication?

What Philemon verse strikes you in the heart?

Mine is verse 12 , where “Ol’ Paul” says,  “I am sending him back to you, sending my very heart.”

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