Monthly Archives: March 2016

by | March 31, 2016 · 9:22 pm

The World Outside the Box…

If we were to turn to our own way, He would have died in vain. Yet, he did not, for we must instead turn away from these bondages 20160325_194419~2of sin that drag us down.

Tonight I sat in a meeting next to a man that had lost his entire family in the span of 22 months. “I’m the last of my family,” he said somberly.

The words hit me hard. To some people, this would have been enough to make them give up, not the man sitting next to me. He went on to create a successful cleaning company and now stays busier than he wants to be some days.

Many people spend a lifetime seeking, searching, and living in a world they cannot understand. Unable to rise above their environment, they give up and succumb to what weighs them down. If we are to stand for something in our lifetime, we must struggle through the pain and apathy that kill so many dreams.

One by one, we lose those loved ones until one day, we too are no more.

Someone once said that we are nothing but two dates separated by a dash; it is all that remains.

Yet, to me and so many others, the dash in between is where all the living exists. It may be a short, straight line, but if we truly become who God made us to be, the line will be anything but straight and short. To live outside the box of your environmental boundaries, to set break free of the bondages that hold you and keep you from becoming all that God intended you to be, is what living is all about.

“How is that possible,” you ask?

The prophet Isaiah gave us the blueprint for salvation so many centuries before Christ arrived. All that is required is for us to believe in Him, confess with our mouths that Jesus Christ is the one true Son of God and that He died for our sins, on the third day arose and sits at the right hand of God the Father.

“How is that setting me free of my bondages, my addictions?”

Once you truly accept Jesus into your life, your body, mind and soul begin to change in ways that you had never before thought possible. For some, it’s instantaneous. But for most, it takes years for the transformation to be complete. Slowly, day by day, you will find the more precious gifts in life have no price tag: The morning dew on the blooming flower at sunrise: The call of the whippoorwill at dusk, as the fireflies begin their dance across the pasture: The brilliant sunset against a sky of clouds arranged such that their golden seat of God’s heavenly throne is all but complete.

My world is now anything but inside the box. I have chosen not to turn my own way, but His.

I now live in the world solely outside the box, walking in His pathway.

The dash is not a sprint, it’s a lifelong journey and living for God has a whole new meaning.

Yes, each day is another exciting spiritual journey that you never know where it will end.

Thanks be to God.

“But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, And by His stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; We have turned, every one, to his own way; And the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” -Isaiah 53:5-6

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by | March 28, 2016 · 9:29 pm

Tiny Petals of Wisdom…

“He who comes from above is above all; he who is of the earth is earthly and speaks of the earth. He who comes from heaven is above all.” -John 3:31

Sometimes when I look to the sky above there is an infinity of space that goes beyond our terrestrial realm; a blue so unbelievable that it’s limit must be only be bound by Heaven itself. It’s days like today that take your breath away when you look skyward. Part of me wondered if it was like another time in my life when the illusion of what was before me was really there.20160324_131427~2

It was the first time I had ever dove into an egg-shaped swimming pool and looked up to the surface from the bottom. For a moment, as I stood on the bottom of the hotel pool, my heart raced as the opening above me appeared tiny compared to what I had expected. Instinctively, I pushed off and raced for the safety of the surface only to find the optical illusion had created an unwarranted panic attack. However, unlike that day in the pool, today the feeling was quite the opposite; a sense of peace and calmness washed over my countenance.

All about me, tiny white petals floated to the earth as the soft breeze gently lifted them aloft. The warming rays of the sun illuminated their thin, frail figures as they drifted on currents of unseen tides, wave after wave until portions of the ground were like that of new fallen snow. Robins flitted too and fro seeking their early morning breakfast, some landing on the crisp green grass, unconcerned by my presence.

When asked how his day was going, dad would often respond, “The sky is blue, the grass is green and the birds are a singin’.” The sound of his voice still echoed in my mind as the beauty of the morning unfolded before me.

I sat alone, yet I wasn’t.

While dad was still with us, he was physically unable to travel very far due to his medical condition. That meant that he would never be able to visit the Trail. He would never again be able to sit on my porch and sip coffee while we watched the morning sun rise. It pained my heart to know that we would never have those moments together even while he was still with us here on earth.

Yet, today, unlike ever before, I felt comfort in knowing that in some way he was here.

Time, like the tides, rolls on. Each day another nuance that awakens something in us not realized before. Sometimes we understand that awakening; other times we brush it off as just something else to disregard. God feeds us in tiny portions so that we may comprehend all that there is to fathom. For us to push it aside is to fail to grasp the message he provides, if only we will listen.

Time passes and eventually so do we. As we walk in faith, our ability to hear His wisdom becomes like those loved ones speaking to us and at times, they become one.

He who comes from above is certainly above all and someday, if we have accepted Jesus Christ as our Savior, we can trust that we will be there as well.

Blessed be the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit…Amen.

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by | March 27, 2016 · 9:28 pm

Graveyard Calling…

It seems a lifetime has passed in the past week.IMG_20160322_193649

Only a week ago today, we had the showing for my father’s funeral.

A gray overcast sky remained above us all day; it fit our mood perfectly. I began my morning long before the sunrise. Through the night rain had fallen, so with trepidation, I faced the coming dawn. Dad had passed Friday and we were there in New Harmony preparing to take his body on its final journey.

The day before, Saturday, had been a long one with my drive beginning in darkness as I headed over the Blue Ridge to meet up with my sister and her family in Lenoir City. Driving over the mountains through the pre-dawn mist I reflected on my dad’s life. In many ways, my mind was like a snowstorm of memories and thoughts all flying about overhead. It was as if I was in a giant snow globe and someone had shaken my world, subsequently scattering all ideas into a blizzard of recollections. All I had to do in order to recall one was simply to stick out my tongue and catch the nearest falling snowflake.

Among the myriad of remembrances, I wondered if he was listening. “God would surely give me a sign if he was,” I thought to myself.

Outside my little car’s windows passed ancient mountain tops who had witnessed countless lives. My passing was nothing more than a blink of an eye in their time. The road descended downward toward the bridge ahead that spanned the deep ravine below, connecting the interstate to the other mountainside. Around me the clouds hung like blankets of silence, the glowing dawn just beginning to bring color to the blue-gray landscape. It was then, just past mile marker 445, a magnificent bald eagle soared over the roadway ahead. I had never seen a bald eagle in the mountains before and as the sun rose behind me, a gentle glow was painting the tops of the peaks before me and like a spotlight, the great raptor was illuminated. He flew from my right to left and soon our ways parted but the memory lingered in my mind.

“Was that from him,” I hesitated to believe? “Would that be it?’

Trying not to awaken anyone else in the house, I quietly sipped my bitter brew and studied the scriptures in the dimly lit kitchen I couldn’t help think of the scene from the day before, the eagle so close, so beautiful. We had stayed up late visiting the night before but here I sat. The others were still asleep, which allowed my solitary bleakness to compound upon itself. Alone, the darkness was bigger and our losses tend to be magnified; so it was with me. Outside the warm weather, the week before had been replaced by a bitterly cold rain. The bleakness of missing dad overwhelmed my thoughts again and again until I could only do one thing; go for a walk, regardless of the weather.

I slipped on my jean jacket and gloves then headed out. I wondered if they would be enough, but I had no choice; I had to go. Stepping outside, I was thankful the rain had at least paused for the moment. The air was crisp and fresh. The morning light was just beginning to fill the cloud filled skies above. Lights inside warm, cozy houses greeted me along my path, my destination not yet determined. Something called me toward the old homestead, the remains of the farm we once called home on the edge of town. Through the park where we played as children, the dark, ominous trees stood, vestiges of a time when the park was new; now giants towering above. Past the old farm I walked. It was nothing more than a pasture with the images of the home and outbuildings remaining in my mind, forever etched in place.

I kept heading south, the cold wind at my back.

The graveyard called.

Just past the house that was once Ms. Wolf’s, I heard the rooster crow. The sun had not yet found the horizon and already the cock was crowing. “Would this be my sign today,” I thought, ‘Would this be it?” My mind slipped back to the passages of Peter denying Christ. How painful it must have been for him to realize Christ’s own prophecy was fulfilled by the sound of the rooster crowing at the coming dawn. These were still fresh in my head as I made the turn at the gates of Maple Hill Cemetery.

There before me stood the daunting scene of weathered tombstones scattering the tree covered hillside. The sound of water rushing from the recent rains gurgled by the roadside as I began my ascent up the hill to the top, following the crude graveyard road. At the top, I turned left heading toward our family’s grave sites. All around me massive oaks still dark from their winter slumber stood watch. Their barren branches, like bony fingers reaching for my soul, made an eeriness about this place.  It was then I heard the hoot owls ahead of me, beyond the cemetery boundaries in the direction of the Old Dam.

“Was this my sign, was this it,” came the thought again?

Continuing on, I eventually reached the end of the cemetery and soon found myself standing looking down at grandpa and grandma Tron’s headstone; Victor and Mildred Tron. Their lives and memories are a part of who I am and will always be. I gently pulled the weeds away from their dates, then gently wiped off the face of the cold granite stone. Around me, the world was alive with birds of all manner singing the praises of the coming dawn. The hoot owls called again and the rooster crowed once more.

Compelled to spend more time here, I sat down on steps nearby where I could overlook Victor and Mildred. Farther down the hill by the old cedar was my cousin Michael; death called him home too soon. Beyond him was Uncle Bill; a saint to our family. I was there, sitting and reflecting while their souls had been gone for some time. In my solitude, I felt a calming peace come over me.

Then the sound of a woodpecker rang from behind me, over my left shoulder. The rooster and hoot owls called again as if to respond.

Serenity can come in the oddest of places and at the most unexpected times.

As I sat reflecting on the well-being of the rest of the family, my thoughts were interrupted by yet one more woodpecker tapping on a distant tree but in a different pitch than the first. Then oddly enough, the first woodpecker responded. The hoot owls called and the rooster crowed. All around the plethora of birds tweeted and sang. A smile began to creep across my countenance.

As I sat in the lonely graveyard, I listened as woodpecker after woodpecker joined the chorus, each adding their tap at alternating pitches, each as if playing their own notes. It was as if I sat in the middle of a flock of woodpeckers. The tapping began to ring true in my mind as another ringing of a similar sound returned from my childhood.

When I was a young lad, my dad worked in the main telephone office in Booneville, also known as the Central Office (CO). In that day, there was no digital switching equipment; everything was analog. When the phone lines would ring, the relays would chatter, making the sound that would be unique to that line. The chattering of those ancient relays sounded just like the woodpeckers that surrounded me. Phone line after phone line around me began to ring that morning.

It was at that moment I realized, dad was ringing the phones.

A smile came across my face as a tear ran down my cheek while I listened to the miracle taking place.

Yes, there was a calming like I had never known at that moment as the peace of knowing he was still with me. The thought overshadowed even the bitter cold that numbed by fingers.

Walking back to town, into the freezing north wind, I was never farther from being cold while my hands lost their feeling. Deep inside, my heart was overflowing with the warmth and the joy of the life eternal.

In my heart and in my mind, there was finally the answer, “That was it.”

Thanks be to God.

“In God is my salvation and my glory; The rock of my strength, And my refuge, is in God.” -Psalm 62:7

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by | March 6, 2016 · 9:23 pm

WWII: Painful Memories Everlasting…

Today I met an elderly lady that was another lost treasure of history and memories long forgotten by many; Gretchen was her name. Although approaching 80 years of age, she was as spry and energetic as anyone. Her mind was clear and sharp and her enthusiasm to share was overpowering.

Her family had survived the carpet bombings of the Allied Forces in the city of Dresden dresdenGermany in WWII. Like so many others on both sides of the war, they had lost everything they owned.

War is hell; any war.

When Gretchen and her family returned to the surface from their fallout shelter, there was nothing left of their home. Strewn before them was a maze of rubble and shattered memories. All they had left were the clothes on their backs and their lives. Neighbors and friends, all perished in a matter of minutes.

Knowing that the bombings would continue, they had to flee to safety. Their plan was to head north to a families farm near Juelich. They found a friend with a car and drove to the other side of the city where her Aunt, Uncle and their children lived. Her father told them to wait in the car, he would be right back as he dashed into a small grocery to find the rest of the family. The store stood in a row of buildings common to many older parts of German cities. As they sat patiently waiting in the car, the slow wail of the air-raid siren began to wail. As she retold the story, she imitated the sound. Her pitch and voice perfectly echoed the mournful sound of the alarms. She explained to us that the slow siren meant they had time to seek shelter. When the siren began to increase its cadence, the bombers would be nearly overhead.

“Wooooooooo-eeeeeeeeeew,” she moaned, her eyes glossing over as she spoke. There was an eerie echo in her voice and for a second, I could hear them too. Death was approaching once more.

Before they could unload from the car, the siren went into the fast pace wail of impending doom. They scurried for the store, but there was no time; the bombers were already overhead. They dove for the nearest shelter in the store where her father had disappeared moments earlier in search of his brother and the rest of their family.

Germans had wisely made the shelters beneath the buildings connected in case one was bombed, there would still be a way out. These connecting portals were blocked off with wood partitions in order to protect one from the other. She described how they had just reached the safety of the basement below the grocery and someone was already talking to her Uncle through the partition. Yes, they had found them. For a brief moment, she felt joy in knowing they were also safe. In the next moment, she described the excruciating sound of the impact of the bomb that literally threw them to the ground and extinguished the candles.

For what seemed an eternity, she could not hear. Only the smell of smoke and the vibration of other bombs exploding resonated through their bodies as they lay helpless to the death that fell from the sky. Slowly, the sound of cries of anguish began to melt back into her consciousness. Everyone in their part of the basement would be safe. Sadly, there were no more voices from the other side of the partition; only the distant drone of planes as they flew away.

Her father had never reached his brother nor their extended family. He would lead the rescue team as they dug out the destroyed building next to the grocery to try to save anyone that had still lived. They found her Uncle and the rest of the family all next to the partition, trickles of crimson drool leaked from the corners of each of their mouths as they sat in their deathly slumber; all had perished. Had the partition not been there, the force of the blast would have certainly killed Gretchen and the rest of her family. Gretchen and the rest of her family emerged from the rubble finding their escape car demolished. Their hope of safety was in Juelich, which was over 30 miles away.

With no other choice of survival, Ruth, her mother, and three sisters set off on foot. Her father remained behind to help in the rescue effort like so many other men who weren’t selected to serve in the army for one reason or other. They became the hope of survival for so many buried beneath their own homes and businesses.

She couldn’t recall the entire journey except for an accident that occurred, which caused her to fall and break her nose. She recalled the pain and being unable to breathe that night. Fear of dying surrounded them like the darkness that enveloped the destroyed landscape. She recalled her fear of dying being an everyday occurrence. They finally found a doctor who came and cleaned up her injury enough that she could once again breathe freely. They continued on foot for a couple more days and then got a ride from a kind farmer who was headed in the same direction. They eventually made it to safety and their grandparents home. Her father would join them later upon his return from the hell that Cologne had become.

She finished and looked up. Tear rimmed eyes still portrayed the pain from so long ago.

“There is so much more, but it was so long ago,” she swallowed before continuing on, “You see, God was our only hope.”

No matter when, how or why we find suffering in our lives, it is part of who we are. If we have faith, we know that God uses these to make us stronger. But when suffering becomes more than we can bear, we must call on the Lord. He is our hope, our salvation and our life eternal.

We only have to seek Him.

No matter the hell you are going through, there is hope. Like Gretchen, seek God and He will listen to your pleas.

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.” -Jeremiah 29:11-13

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by | March 5, 2016 · 10:01 pm

Go Gentle Into the Frozen Abyss…

 

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”-Joshua 1:9

There are days in our lives that have a way of becoming memorable. Those days that make an indelible impression upon our beings; building character and proving to ourselves just what is possible when we are pushed to a point of no return.

Yesterday was one of those days that it seemed as if everything that could go wrong did.

It began early on when I found that the bitterly cold weather we had a few weeks back had weakened a below-ground valve behind the Refour House. As I rounded the corner of the building, water was shooting three feet out of the recessed fixture into the yard. “Great,” I thought, “so much for spreading the new pile of compost today.”

That was number one: the leaking valve.

I eventually found the main valve for the leaking line in the large underground control vault. There, nearly six feet below the surface were a myriad of valves and pipes, none of which were labeled. In addition, there was nearly a foot of water already in the bottom of the vault. “Odd,” I questioned, “hopefully this isn’t a sign of something else.” Next, it was a matter of finding out which valve shut off the line to the leak. So, methodically I began turning off one valve after another. Whether it was a premonition of things to come or not, the handle of the first valve I grabbed crumbled in by grasp. It had corroded into red, rusty dust. It was not a good feeling. As I continued working my way down the maze of plumbing one of the main line brass fixtures hissed and squirted water, but then stopped. “Oh great, what else could go wrong,” I silently mused to myself. I cautiously continued on until I happened upon the correct valve and turned off the water to the leaking line. In order to speed up things, I figured I’d jump on the golf cart and zip down to the far end of the Trail. When I opened up the garage and turned on the golf cart, I noticed the battery level was nearly dead. Knowing I had put it on the charger the night before, there was definitely something wrong. I plugged the charger back into the slot on the cart; nothing.

Great, this would be number two: the golf cart was not charging.

A few hours later after returning from the hardware store where I found everything I needed to fix the water issue, my wife arrived, “This must be the day for bad news,” she chuckled.

“Great, what now,” I said, my shoulders sinking as I felt the weight of the day growing.

“We’ve had a death or two at the chicken coop,” she replied in a solemn tone, “possibly as many as three.”

I shook my head and headed out for the valve issue, “One thing at a time,” I silently said beneath my breath.

We were now up to bad thing number three; dead chickens.

“Bad things come in threes, right,” my mind concluded as I began repairing the broken water line.

Well, one thing and then another and soon I had a water line repaired. The battery charger confirmed good at the golf cart shop. Finally, some confidence began to return. However, life had taught me many lessons and one very important lesson was that one should never become too over confident. Call it Lutheranism, call it Midwestern, I almost felt a little guilty at my slight joy of success.

Lessons are often learned for a reason.

The next day, after allowing the glue on the valve fitting to dry over night, I climbed down into the vault for one last time, or so I had hoped and turned the water line back on. There was the sound of rushing water within the pipes and soon it was silent. No further leaks or drips in the vault, all seemed well.

“So far so good,” I said under my breath, as I headed back down to the opposite end of the trail to check the valve for any signs of water; nothing, all clear.

“Not bad,” I smiled inwardly. “Time for a quick cup of coffee and then back to my compost pile,” my thoughts confirmed.

After my brief respite, I headed back out. The weather on the horizon looked daunting. Dark clouds were forming in the mountains and headed our way. The air had the feel of icy precipitation to it. There were already reports of snow in Asheville. As I rounded the corner of the building, my mind froze on the image before me. The vault, the main control room for the entire Trail was no overflowing with a river of water.

“It can’t be,” I thought, trying to force the image out of my consciousness. “The hiss, the water in the bottom, the signs were all there,” I thought as I ran back inside emptying my pockets as I ran. I reached the office door where my wife was working and yelled, “Quick, come with me, we’ve got an emergency.”

“What now she responded,” as she jumped up to follow.

We both raced outside and once again met the torrent pouring out of the underground vault.

“What in the world,” she screamed in disbelief. “How do we turn it off?”

“There is only one place I know of,” I replied, “down there,” I said pointing into the swirling, muddy abyss.

In many ways, it is easy to become dismayed and overwhelmed, drowning in our own self-doubt and anxiety. But when we meet the challenge without giving our actions a second thought, when we tackle the obstacle that is impeding our progress head on without reluctance, we overcome those insecurities and become one with our destiny.

So, without hesitation, I stepped down into the icy water. As I moved deeper into the frigid liquid, I prayed to God to give me strength and protection. It was as if I was suddenly enveloped in a protective layer of skin. I could sense the freezing water, I knew that time was of the essence, yet there was a certain calm.

Around me was a world of browns, grays and earth tones. Death was everywhere as the landscape had yet to come back to life from its winter slumber.

I reached for shutoff valves and their handles that were unfortunately beyond my grasp. They were deeper than I could reach while keeping my head above water. My breath was growing short and I could barely stand, let alone function much more. I had to emerge from the bitterly cold water and take a break before going any further.

As I stood gasping for breath while leaning against the wall of the building, tiny snowflakes began to fall around us. My body was numb as I watched the deluge of water continue unabated.

“Is there another place we can turn it off,” my concerned wife said, now frantic as she watched my body begin to shiver uncontrollably.

“No, this is it.”

I headed back toward the vault, “I’ve…got… to to try again,” I shuddered as I sank back down.

As I submerged back down and once more tried to find a valve within reach. The pressure of the intense cold water soon had me crawling back out.

Pausing, my mind raced back to the previous day and to the location of the pipe that had hissed at me. There below that point was the main valve, but it was nearly at the bottom of the vault.

I only had one choice at this point.

When I was in high school, we decided one day to dive in the old rock pits south of Ft. Myers. There was a hole so deep that when you swam over its untold depth, it was almost a blue-black. Many had tried to reach the bottom unsuccessfully. However, after a few days of practice, we had finally built up our courage and strength to feel that we might finally be able to achieve the impossible. I remember the four of us taking those last few breaths before going down.

None of us knew the dangers of deep water diving.

Not one of us had any clue as to what we faced.

So with that last hyperventilating gulp, we dove into the dark abyss. I can recall one by one, my friends peeled off and headed back up, unable to continue down. Unwavering in my quest, I continued to kick. My legs were strong and my lungs at their peak. Running countless miles had prepared my body for this moment.

“Go gentle into that good night,” my mind whispered as the darkness seemed endless. I reached my hand before me not knowing what lay ahead.

Just before reaching the bottom, my lungs began to quiver for air. There wasn’t much time left. It was then I hit the white sandy bottom. There have submerged in the sand was an ancient beer bottle. I turned, hit the bottom with my legs, and shoved off for the surface kicking with everything I had. Before breaking the surface, I had already begun to go into oxygen debt convulsions. It was just as I burst through the top that I had no choice but to suck in. Thanks be to God that it was air and not water.

Thankfully, whether we realized it or not that day, God was with us.

“To be strong and of courage, for He is with us always,” is often hard to remember when disaster faces us head on. So many years ago, there was no urgency in that day, there was no dire threat of impending doom, there was only a choice I had made to take a risk in order to explore a forbidden depth; a place we feared as much as we wondered about. Once again, unwelcome, dark water awaited me, but unlike before, this was no choice in this matter.

Back down into the black hole, I climbed. I looked to my wife once more and before going 20160303_132913under said, “Call someone if I don’t come back up.”

“Could something down there suck you under,” she questioned scared and frantic?

“I won’t’ know until I’m down there,” I replied and took one last breath then dove.

There have been times that I’ve snorkeled in muddy, disgusting water, but never had I been in water that was trying to suck the air out of my lungs through my body. As my hands frantically reached for the pipes and followed them like a blind person reading Braille, my mind worked out the image before me. Continuing to pray as I worked, there was a calmness about me I cannot explain.

20160303_132921Down, down I went, feeling pipes and valves as I along the way toward the ultimate goal, the main valve. The air in my chest didn’t seem to matter anymore as a special numbness began to overwhelm my consciousness.

 

“Go gentle into that good night,” my mind whispered once again, an echo from the past.

Water rushed past my frozen fingers; turned the handle.

Water still rushing.

Followed the pipe further; turned another handle; nothing.

My hands walked along the plumbing trying to make sense of the maze of fixtures. Somewhere a voice said, “Stop, there, now.” My nearly frozen digits had discovered a handle. “Turn it,” the voice said, and I did.

The water stopped flowing.

“Must find the surface.”

I don’t recall taking the first breath of air.

I don’t recall how I got my legs up and out of the hole in the metal plate that covered the vault.

All I can remember is crawling onto the cold, wet ground and collapsing. There was no cold, no numbness, only swirling white feathers falling down from heaven.

Slowly, my faculties returned, as did the pain of exposure to my limbs and digits. My wife and I worked quickly as a team to strip the wet clothing and to find towels enough to get my body dry and warm before hypothermia set in.

The numbers of all the things that had gone wrong seemed to disappear as warmth reclaimed my soul.

There are days that make impressions upon our minds that we will take with us the rest of our lives. There are places we once feared to tread, but nevermore shall we when we go fearlessly into that dark night.

Yes, rage, rage against the dying of the light, and go fearlessly into that dark night.

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” -Dylan Thomas

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by | March 2, 2016 · 10:01 pm

The End of Your Rope…

“But He knows the way that I take; When He has tested me, I shall come forth as gold. My foot has held fast to His steps; I have kept His way and not turned aside.”-Job 23:10-11

Tonight as I sat in the men’s Bible study group, I turned our book to a page with a scene of imagesG2YCTXXKcowboys driving cattle and the picture of a lareat in the top right-hand corner of the page. As I looked at the coiled rope, my mind drifted back to my farm. Once again, I could feel the rough strands of the formed rope, the heat from the threads as they slid through the grasp of my leather gloves as the 500 lb. bull began to run away from me. He escaped our pasture and was happily grazing in the neighbors green grass when I found him. In the past, he had little inclination to flee me and in fact seemed quite docile for an Angus. However, when the loop of the lasso landed perfectly around his neck, he suddenly turned into a raging beast hell bent on leaving me as far behind as quickly as possible. . The thought of him taking off and the fact that I wasn’t riding a horse or anything of greater mass hadn’t developed in my preparations to restrain him, sadly enough. In other words, “What was I thinking?”

As much as I tried to cinch the rope, there was no stopping the force on the other end of the rope. Equations of Physics flashed through my brain, F=ma, momentum of an opposite and greater force cannot be restrained by a lesser force and so on

In other words, I realized I was literally nearing the end of my rope.

Many people talk about their lives flashing before their eyes in the last seconds of a life threatening situation; mine only wanted to resolve how to not lose the calf on the other end of my tether. “For once he was free, there might not be any getting him back,” I thought to myself. As I fought for control of the vanishing line, my eyes scanned for anything of size, a tree, a stump, a rock, anything that might provide me something to leverage against the tempest in flight; nothing other than a sapling or two were nearby. The tree line was well beyond my reach. Fortunately, I had driven the old 77 Chevy to the top of the pasture. Digging the heels of my boots in as the rope continued to slip, I strained to work my body and bull toward the pickup.

Time was running out.

In life, we often find that we continue on with the same old day-after-day routines. Fearful of stepping out of our comfort zones, strapped by a mortgage, a car payment and many other bills that are a result of raising a family, we feel as if life is a raging bull at the end of our rope, pulling us helplessly along. Courage to begin digging in your heels against the beast is the first step. However, to fully halt the runaway train, you have to finally say, “No more,” and put an end to the madness. You have to tie it off and end the struggle.

To leave it all behind is one of the most difficult decisions in life I have ever had to make. I knew that if I had continued, the end would not have been pretty. So frequently was I waking up on the wrong side of the road driving home from working the night shift that I began to fear for others more than for myself. So I prayed the prayer that I knew God would answer, but couldn’t believe it would have been answered in the manner in which it was.

So we stepped out into our leap of faith.

Are there days I wonder if it was the right thing to do to my family? Yes.

Are there days I wonder if I can make it? Yes.

Are there days I have self-doubt? Yes.

Yet through it all, I try to remember the verse from Job, “My foot has held fast to His steps; I have kept His way and not turned aside.”

How far can we go? Are we at the end of our rope? How much time do we have left?

bullcalfA beast on the other end of my rope had given me the premonition of sage advice I seek tonight. Therein I realized, time was running out and there would only be so much of it left before it would be too late to change, too late to end the madness, too late to save the ones I loved.

With only inches to go before the lariat ran out, I found the back bumper of my old truck and wrapped enough of it around the metal to halt the rampage. From the other end of the rope came a violent jolt. The truck lurched backward but stopped.

We both stood panting.

I had barely made it, just barely.

The brief pause allowed me a sparse few more inches, enough to make one more wrap of the rope around the thick metal. Sweat ran into my eyes stinging and blurring my vision.

The world around us seems to continue to spiral out of control. So many are lost in sin, lost in their own realities of an imaginary world to the point they cannot seem to stop. We are running out of time to reach them. Yes, we are nearing the end of our rope. We must seek that concrete base to which we can tie off and hold fast, we must help them and those around us find that steel bumper of the old Chevy or that rock of faith; Jesus Christ.

Time is running out. What are you waiting for?

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