Chuck Locklear's Blog

I am a student of history. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) programs promote fairness and full participation of all people, particularly those of historically marginalized communities, such as Native Americans.

A Storm Coming is the story of my ancestors. It’s about race, love, and redemption. It will transport readers to a culture they know little about and immerse them in an unexplored time period, as they experience the emotions of Jane and the Tuscarora people. Jane is my 7x great-grandmother. I am a member of the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina, the largest tribe east of the Mississippi with 55,000 members. A Storm Coming tells the story of America through the lens of a Native American woman.

Native American history is important for understanding how native people have survived and still thrive in the 21st century. Studying history helps us remember and celebrate our unique cultural identity. We are still here.

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The post Does DEI Matter? appeared first on Chuck Locklear.

I have a big confession. I didn’t know what an ARC was—or that I needed one.

Turns out, I do. An ARC is a sneak peek that allows your faithful readers to provide feedback. It stands for Advanced Reader Copy.

This is where you come in.

Read my attached ARC. Actually, it’s the first five pages. I only ask one thing: after reading my ARC, click “Write a Review,” then select the “Reviews” tab, and leave me some feedback. I hope you will say: “I was hooked from the start,” or “I fell in love with the fascinating characters.” But whatever you say will be great. It is not going on Amazon.

The post Big Confession! appeared first on Chuck Locklear.

Often the blessing we are waiting for requires us to stretch beyond our comfort zone. We all get comfortable with life like it is and change is uncertain. This week I counseled a young man from our church and I used one of my favorite Yogi Berra quotes, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

This young man is older than most people his age. He knew who Yogi Berra was… a baseball legend who died in 2015. Berra was a catcher and manager who appeared in 14 World Series with the Yankees and won 10 of them.

Interestingly, we remember Berra for countless expressions, which at first to make no sense. Until, you look deeper and, then, each holds a valuable lesson. You likely have heard many of them, not realizing that Berra was the sources. Here are four that I like:

“It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

“You can observe a lot by just watching.”

“It’s like déjà vu all over again.”

“You’ve got to be very careful if you don’t know where you are going, because you might get there.”

So, what is the meaning of the quote “When you come to a fork in the road, take it?”

Biography, Allen Barra, provides a wonderfully rationale for this statement. “While traveling to Berra’s house,” he said, “one may choose the left fork or the right fork and both are acceptable decisions because both efficiently lead to his house.” However, the quote was likely not original to Berra. More than 100 years ago, it was published in several newspapers as a joke based on two meanings of the word “fork,” one as a dining utensil. “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” “I will, if it is a silver one.” This made more sense then, when dining utensils were often made of silver. This is not true today.

I find two relevant means with this quote that work for us today. One, involves the value of taking decisive action. Often people mule over a decision endlessly, sometimes locked in place, unable to move forward, because of the uncertainty of what lies ahead, particularly if the wrong decision is made. There is value in making a decision and moving forward. Right or wrong, you won’t know if you are standing in place.

For me, however, there is a more important lesson. It is likely one that Berra did not intent. It is about getting out of our comfort zones and hearing the voice of God, saying try something new. We often do the appositive, we stay with the safe thing. We do what everyone around us is doing.

It is true that God mostly speaks to us through his Word, written in the Bible, but we are to be more than hearers of the Word. We must also be doers. This means applying what we hear to our lives. It means being open to trying something new, something different. If we listen, God will speak to us, often, in a small voice, prompting us in a certain direction. Okay God, this seems weird; it seems crazy, but I’ll try it.

Many times that still small voice has sent me to the exact place I need to be for a blessing, to receive the “good stuff,” waiting for me. It has sent me to the right place to help someone in need. It has given me the right words to brighten someone’s day. Riding my bike down a street, it has shown me the perfect house for my family. One I can afford it and meets my heart’s desire, a large backyard.  I don’t even have to go inside to make a purchase offer.

Getting out of my comfort zone has resulted in more abundant blessings than I could have hoped for or even imagined. Thank God for the courage to try something new. My advice, take the fork. The “good stuff” waits for you when you listen to God’s voice.

“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”

—John 10:27

Copyright © 2023 Chuck Locklear

Also, see Victorious.

The post Beyond Our Comfort Zone appeared first on Inspired 2 Hope.

The best way to learn a place

is to compare it to somewhere you know.

Here, we’re at the end of something,

and the beginning of something else entirely.

This place is a gift from Tarenhiawagen.

Upstream, the water boils with white froth. 

Downstream, the river slows and flattens,

swallowed in a green maw of low-lying forest.

Falling water thrums underneath my canoe.

Here, fish journey upstream to spawn

in the shallows of these rocks.

It is as far upstream as they are likely to go.

Suddenly, a splash of water hit me in the back of the head, followed by John’s voice saying, “Jane, are you still with me? This trip was your idea.”

With the battle on, I returned the favor, shooting water at him sitting in the back of the birchbark canoe. This continued until we were both wet.

“Wahoo, I give up. That water is cold. I was only trying to get your attention.”

“Yes, it was my idea. I wanted to see the fall line. If we are going to stay in this place, I want to see what makes it different from where I am from.” I turned, put my paddle into the water, and pulled against the current. “You caught me daydreaming, thinking about what has gotten us here.” After a few strokes of the paddle, I turned and looked at John. “Must you leave for the hunt so soon after we have arrived?”

“You know I must. It is the hunting season. The village needs meat, and I must go with your brother… and do my part.”

“But, is it wise for all the men to be gone with an attack so imminent?”

“We have spoken on this before. An attack is not imminent. The English will come from the east. They will attack King Hancock’s town at Catechna before they reach us. Catechna must be their goal; it is the seat of our power. If they destroy us there, the war will be over. But, they won’t. Our warriors will be ready.”

The post Traveling Upstream appeared first on Inspired 2 Hope.

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal.”

—Matthew 6:19, NKJV

I own the house in which my father was born in the Saddletree community of North Carolina. The house sits on ten acres of the family farm from which my ancestors derived their living, going back before the federal census of 1850. On a recent visit, I walked through the church cemetery and found a grave marker which read, “The King of Saddletree.” Interestingly, I can’t find anyone who knew there was a king of Saddletree. 

My grandparents got the farm from “Uncle John.” He had said, if they took care of him, he would give them the farm when he died.  He was true to his word.

My dad was Uncle John’s favorite. Though he was only five years old when Uncle John died, my dad had fond memories of him. Listening to him talk about Uncle John, I often wondered how he could have such strong memories about a man who died when my father was so young. After I had grandkids, I didn’t wonder any longer. My grandson, Shiloh, is five and I spoil him every chance I get. I’m confident that we are making memories that he will never forget.

Uncle John was not The King of Saddletree, but he was a local hero as one of nine notable members of the Lowry Gang.  Henry Berry Lowry was the most famous member of the Lumbee Indian Tribe. We celebrated him annually during the Lumbee Tribal Homecoming.

Henry Berry lived during the American Civil War. During that war, the Home Guard hunted down Native Americans and forced them to work in slave labor camps, building forts for the Confederacy. So, Henry Berry and many other young Native Americans started hiding out in the swamps, in which they were familiar. As a young man, Henry Berry hid in the bushes and watched helplessly as the Home Guard forced his father and brother William to dig their own graves. They then shot and killed both of them. Henry Berry vowed to avenge their deaths.  

The exploits of the Lowry Gang are a great source of pride among members of the Lumbee Tribe. Even the youngest children can recite these stories in detail. Such as the time Henry Berry’s wife, Rhoda, baked a gun in a cake which she delivered to the jail, allowing Henry Berry to escape. After the Civil War, Federal troops offered a reward of $12,000 for the capture of Henry Berry, dead or alive. He had become so famous that the outlaw Jesse James started telling people he robbed in Missouri that they had been robbed by Henry Berry Lowry

As a final act of insult to the sheriff, members of the gang stole the safe from the sheriff’s office and robbed the bank. In total, they escaped with $28,000. The last time Henry Berry was seen was on February 21, 1872 standing in the doorway of his cabin.  He then disappeared. No trace was ever found of him or the $28,000. Uncle John would have been 21 years old.

Over the years, many have searched Uncle John’s property for buried Lowry Gang treasure. My father would laugh when people came with metal detectors asking for permission to search. Rumors abound about where the gang buried the money, in the horse barn, under the pecan tree, or in the well. I often asked my dad where he would search. He would tell me with certainty where it was buried, but his stories changed each time.  

Uncle John may not have been the King of Saddletree. Still, it is an honor to own his house and a tribute to the bond between my father and Uncle John. It is true the $28,000 could be worth a lot if it were gold or silver coins, or it could be worth nothing if it were Confederate currency. Either way, it is a good reminder of the words of Jesus to not lay-up treasures on earth.

Who do you want to be the king of your life? The King of Saddletree or Jesus? Everyone gets a choice and I choose Jesus.

Copyright © 2020 Chuck Locklear

Also, see What Is Your Legacy?

The post The King of Saddletree appeared first on Inspired 2 Hope.

Today, I take you back three hundred years, to a fireside, as my ancestors considered whether God’s favor justified their actions.

Wheat dumplings simmered in the metal pot over a fire. Nourourhquotkan watched the flames deep in thought. Nourouhquotkan had taken the name John Pagett at the insistence of his clan leaders, who had urged everyone to take names of prestigious English colonists, thus, ensuring the respect of the English. He was the husband to Runehu’hu, which meant turtledove. He loved the sound that her name made as it rolled off the tongue, Rooneh-hoo’-hoo. However, to satisfy the ukuwana’?tha? (oodoo-wawnaw-ahk-tha-ahk) or clan mother, he took to calling her Jane.

John’s thoughts about the name Jane turned his thinking to the metal pot sitting directly on the open flame. He thought about how uneasy it made him that his people were becoming more and more reliant on trade with the English. The clay pots the Tuscarora had used previously could not rest directly on an open fire. True, the metal pots were superior, but this was just another indicator of the Tuscaroras’ need to trade deer skin to obtain these conveniences.

As John rested on his mat, he held a stone tobacco pipe in his mouth. He said to Jane, “Teethha Hancock is head of the bear clan. His actions are justified by God.” Teethha is the Tuscarora word for king.

John continued, “The English will not be satisfied until they have taken all our land and removed our bloodline from the earth.”

Jane shook her head. “This is nonsense. Your hatred for the English will only result in our destruction. Please do not drag us into the conflict with the English. The decisions made by this war captains will have far-reaching consequences for our people.”

Jane had a sense of foreboding that the coming events would lead to war in North Carolina. Jane feared that many of her mother’s clan would not survive, that some would end up as enslaved people. She did not know that this was her fate, and did not know that her own husband would not survive? She did know that her future was not certain.

Jane was not a Christian. It would be later in life that she would meet and marry Thomas Kersey and learn of the sacrifice of Jesus. On this night, she believed in Tarenhiawagen—the Master of Life and Ruler of Skyland. It was he who had led the Tuscarora from the Great Lakes east to their present home on the Neuse River on North Carolina’s coast. . . a place that he called Cautanoh. Thinking themselves favored by Tarenhiawagen made them believe they were superior to other people and justified their actions.

John could feel it in his heart that revenge on the English was justified by Tarenhiawagen or God. He was truly “righting a wrong.” The actions of the English were against God. I can hear him saying, “I wasn’t raised that way,” as he railed against the abuses of the English toward this people. How could he mingle with people whose lifestyles so blatantly ran afoul of how he’d been reared?

Like many of us, John conflated his righteousness with his upbringing—the lives of his forebears was the stick by which he measured his actions. This hit too close to home, as I considered his feeble measuring stick, which resembled my own legalistic stubbornness. The “right” things we do only yield a temporary good feeling and too often are tainted with a little pride and a bit of superiority.

I can hear the voice of Jesus speaking to me . . . speaking to us. Your genes don’t constitute your righteousness. It is my blood, not yours, that prepares you to sit at my table. These words offer a needed dose of humility.

For us, the only proper response is to be thankful with a humble heart. It is not our genes and we can’t be good enough. We are blessed with his favor because of God’s grace. Let’s reflect on that as we sit around the hearth drinking our morning coffee.

“He said to them, ‘You are the ones who justify yourselves in the eyes of others, but God knows your hearts. What people value highly is detestable in God’s sight.’”

Luke 16:15

Jesus, please grant us the foresight to resist self-righteousness, which only leads to our destruction. We are not justified by our goodness, but by you. Amen.

Copyright © 2023 Chuck Locklear

Also, see The Lost Colony of Roanoke.

The post God’s Favor appeared first on Inspired 2 Hope.

Hum, that’s odd. I looked around, noticing the details of my surroundings. A red fox ran from over the hill to the west. A doe and her fawn followed the fox. I put down the ax and walked over to pick up my musket. Instinctively, I primed the pan and half-cocked the weapon.

Chuck’s new book, A Storm Coming, won a Chaucer award, from Chanticleer Book Reviews. A retired educator, speaker, blogger, and pastor, he shares on @Chuck.Lizzy with the love of his life, Lizzy. Chuck is a member of the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolinia.

When I reached the top of the hill, Ben was running toward me as fast as his feet could go, while screaming and looking over his shoulder. I immediately saw why. The largest black bear I had ever seen ran behind him. I fully cocked the musket, aimed at the bear, waited until it was fifteen paces away, and pulled the trigger. The muzzle flashed. The animal ran a few more yards and fell flat on its face.

Finally, Ben came to his senses and stopped running. He turned, as I was trying to turn the bear over.

“Hey, come over here. I could use some help.”

Ben panted and fell over, clutching a bleeding leg.

I stopped what I was doing. “Let me look at that leg.” I tore a sleeve from my shirt and cleaned dirt from the wound. “Wait here. I got a whiskey flask.” I returned with the whiskey and poured some into the wound.

Ben screamed in pain.

I tore off my other shirt sleeve and wrapped it around Ben’s leg. “Could have been worse. You’ll be okay. What happened?”

“When I saw him, I slowly started backing away, moving toward my musket, but before I could get there, the bear charged. I took off running, but it caught me, knocking me to the ground. Trying to scare it away, I started yelling, but the damned thing bit into my leg. I couldn’t believe what was happening.”

I reached over to check the bandage on Ben’s leg. “When I saw you, you was runnin’ full out.”

“I was heading up the hill when the bear reappeared. Just when I knew I was done for, I heard a loud crack. I turned to see you standing there with a smoking musket. When I finally looked back, the bear was lying on the ground. You must have made a perfectly aimed shot, stopping him right in his tracks.”

“Good thing I keep my musket loaded.” I sat on the ground next to Ben, both of us looking at the bear in disbelief.

Neither one of us said anything for several moments.

Ben spoke first. “You saved my life!”

“Yeah, I guess now you owe me.”

The post Bear Attack appeared first on Inspired 2 Hope.

I remember…

The first time I saw it.

There are no words

To describe it well.

Parents, elders,

No one had prepared me.

I had heard the stories…

None adequate.

To understand,

One must experience it.

The English brought smallpox…

Few escaped it.

Now… I have felt it 

Yet, understand it less.

Maybe, It’s just illusion.

Its name…

Is death.

Chuck’s new book, A Storm Coming, won a Chaucer award, from Chanticleer Book Reviews. A retired educator, speaker, blogger, and pastor, he shares on @Chuck.Lizzy with the love of his life, Lizzy. Chuck is a member of the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolinia.

“Jane, what are you thinking?” Annwaraogon patted me on the cheek to get my attention. “It seems you’re lost in thought again.”

I put my hand over hers and pulled it to my lap. “I was thinking about loss… about missing my mother… about change.”

“I wish the pines… could calm my desperate feeling about what is coming.”

Annwaraogon stared beyond me, into the distance, deep in thought.

“So much change.” I listen to the wind whisper through the pine trees surrounding us. “I was just getting used to fall, and it will soon leave us. Though, I suspect winter will take my breath away with its beauty.”

I patted my aunt’s hand and gave it back to her. “I wish the pines had a story for me, and could calm my desperate feeling about what is coming.”

Also see On a Hillside.

The post Desperate Feeling appeared first on Inspired 2 Hope.

A nice breeze pushed away the sticky heat which sat on our shoulders as I led John out one of the town’s gates. Together, we walked up the hillside overlooking Mallard Creek. On the water, sunlight rippled like a cascade of shimmering stars. From here, we had an unobstructed view of the town. I turned to see John’s expression. He nodded, while grinning. Satisfied, I motioned for him to sit down with me.

Chuck’s new book, A Storm Coming, won a Chaucer award, from Chanticleer Book Reviews. A retired educator, speaker, blogger, and pastor, he shares on @Chuck.Lizzy with the love of his life, Lizzy. Chuck is a member of the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolinia.

As we sat, I asked, “What is your given name?”

“Nourouhquotkan, but please call me by my English name, John.”

I clutched at myself and shivered.

“Are you cold?” He took off his cloak and offered it.

“Oh, no, I am fine. So, John it is.” This was not going as I had hoped. Is there anything worthy about this man? “So, why did you give me the knife for a gift? You mentioned something about fighting.”

A pained stare crossed his face.

I winced. Oh, no, I’ve responded too harshly.

After a moment, John closed his eyes and shook his head as if to banish a memory. He opened his eyes and released a long breath, letting it whistle between his teeth. “I lost my sister not long ago. If only I would have been with her. She vanished without a trace. A search was made for her and the other missing children. We found nothing, leaving one answer; they had been taken by the English, for the slave trade.”

Before I could stop myself, I reached out to touch his shoulder. “The Tuscarora have many enemies, none of whom would strike us head on. Despite this, the capture of women and children by raiders sent from South Carolina has become all too common.” I searched his face and noted the pain in his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “South Carolina slave traders do not do the dirty work themselves. Instead, they arm our enemies, Yamasees and Catawbas, turning them loose on us. No town or village is safe.”

I could only nod in agreement.

“I am told that once captured, our women and children are shackled and marched the many long miles to Charles Town. Some are sold to local planters to work in their fields. Most, go on slave ships to England’s sugar islands, Barbados and Jamaica.”

This made me shake with rage, and my heart raced as if it would break out of my chest.

“I’ve lost hope of ever seeing her again. Hope hurts… when it is replaced by grief. It is a dull ache deep in one’s bones.”

I had experienced such grief with the loss of my mother. The ache had not faded, but I had made peace with it. Looking at him, I recognized tenderness in his tear stained face.

Embarrassed, John blotted away the tears.

Also, see What Matters Most

The post On a Hillside appeared first on Inspired 2 Hope.

I followed Sagaddio. “There is another concern I have just thought of.”

He stopped, giving me a playful nudge. “Only one?”

“Yes, one.”

He led me to his grandmother’s apartment, where I smelled fry bread. His grandmother smiled broadly as I sat down.

Chuck new book, A Storm Coming, won a Chaucer award, from Chanticleer Book Reviews. A retired educator, speaker, blogger, and pastor, he shares on @Chuck.Lizzy with the love of his life, Lizzy. Chuck is a member of the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolinia.

Sagaddio took a piece of frybread and began to eat. He offered a piece to me. I refused. My mind raced too fast to stop for food.

“I am not sure my aunt will see the urgency of the coming fight, until it is too late.”

Sagaddio shrugged and continued to eat.

“We need a plan to help her make this decision.”

“We?” He stopped and stared.

“Yes, you and me, I cannot do this alone.”

He crossed his arms. “What are you thinking?”

“We need to force a decision. Almost every day, the English do something that would cause us to take up arms, if it were a neighboring tribe. Yet, my aunt and King Blount are quick to look the other way with the English.”

“True. Even so, how can you change that?”

“If someone, maybe Core Tom, took action in response, to provoke the anger of the English, perhaps they would attack… taking the decision away from my aunt and King Blount.”

“I have wondered myself why Core Tom is waiting.”

“He is waiting for us to come alongside him. So, you and I will provide Core Tom the encouragement that he needs.”

“Do you mean lie?”

“Well, not exactly a lie. Let me think.” I picked up a piece of fry bread. We ate in silence, pondering the next step. After several moments, I broke the silence. “I have an idea.” Words came spilling out, like water from a rushing stream. “You know that there are many young warriors with the same opinion as you and me.”

I did not let Sagaddio respond. “What if I sent you to Core Tom with a message saying that King Blount will soon be forced to join in the fight against the English? It would not be a lie.”

“Not exactly be true either.”

“It would be barely stretching the truth. Besides, you will say the message comes from me, placing any blame at my feet.”

“It seems risky. I should say, no…” Sagaddio exhaled and shook his head. “except, I have never been able to refuse you. If you are sure, I will go.”

I could feel a smile growing on my face. “Yes… I am sure. Let me meet John, afterwards we will talk more.”

I left Sagaddio and met Annwaraogon as she hastened from her longhouse.

“I was looking for you. He is here, waiting in the council house.”

My stomach fluttered. “Give me a moment to prepare and I will go with you.”

Annwaraogon waited at the door. When I returned, she touched the beaded tiara I had placed over my long-braided hair, giving her approval. She smiled, and we walked to welcome our guest.

Also, see What Matters Most.

The post A Special Aunt appeared first on Inspired 2 Hope.