Author Archives: Timothy

About Timothy

Timothy W. Tron currently lives near Collettsville, North Carolina, with his wife, Sheryl, and son, Jonathan. He was born in Evansville, Indiana, and spent the next sixteen years in southern Indiana, living in mostly rural areas around the historic small towns of New Harmony and Newburgh. There he established his love for the country, which would eventually lead him back to his roots after graduating college. Along the way, he rediscovered his long-lost joy for writing and soon found God leading him to begin authoring a book, based loosely on the history of his ancestors.
by | July 23, 2016 · 10:09 pm

The Heart of a Child…

“But Jesus said, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”-Matthew 19:14

For some of us, it takes a lifetime to find our place, and then we have but only a short time with to share with those around us; or beloved, our children. We waste our youth chasing foolish dreams of riches and pleasures of this world only to eventually realize what mattered most have gone before us. As we seek to make the world a better place for everyone, it is our narrow view of the grand picture from where we operate. Only with time and age do we sometimes find that slender vision expands and encompasses a world far greater in scale than we could have ever imagined in our wildest youthful dreams.

However, there are a few who find that grander purpose long before their time. Jesus knew that some would seek lampuntomyfeethim, and when they did, he wanted any, and all obstacles removed from their path, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them…,” Some unknowingly seek His face without ever knowing Him, as God directs them. From their hospital beds in wards full of other children, they lie in wait for the most insignificant touch, the mere glimpse of a smile, anything to brighten their gloom; they seek Him without having to be told, as only the most precious can, “for of such, is the kingdom of heaven…”. An innocence so pure of heart, not even the whitest of white snows can compare. Their hearts commune with the Father, as the touch of angels wings, brush the tears from their tiny, rose colored cheeks. If they are lucky, the image of His presence will remain into adulthood, beyond all the worldly experiences that face them should they eventually live to walk from that supposed place of healing. Then, their path becomes one of God’s will, should they choose it.

Yet, as we face our own mortal ends, the question often arises, am I ready?

Jesus shared with his disciples what the soul of man would be like once he obtained that eternal home when he compared heaven’s inhabitants to the heart of the child when he said, “…For of such, is the kingdom of heaven.” No longer will the earthly bounds, pleasures, and hatreds confine the spirit. No longer will the pangs of hunger distract you from being one with the Father. No more pains and sorrows to burden your being, so that your spirit will soar with the angels on high. There is nothing less magnificent than the picture of a heavenly home of child-like hearted people, all free to be themselves without fears of attack, reprisals, darkness or gloom; it will be heaven for sure.

She rattled on from one topic to the next, a nervous rant. The child was from a severely broken family, so much so, that she was staying in a foster home for the weekend until things could settle down. She sat with me at the oven while we waited for the bread to bake for the tour that was making its way down the Trail. Her foster mother had brought her along for the afternoon, if nothing else, just to get her out of the house. God had a purpose for her visit, this much I knew. As she talked, there was no mention of faith anywhere in her life. From one family member to the next, the child described those that had a positive influence, and those that had not. As she became more comfortable, she began to share the darkest moments in her life; her father’s death four years ago at the age of 37. “He died on July 21,…I was only ten years old,” she said looking down, as she pulled her hair back away from her face with one hand. “His four-year death anniversary was just two days ago.”

“That must be hard,” I replied.

“He died in my arms,” she said, “something I’ll never forget.”

“You’re not supposed to,” I tried to say in a comforting tone. “God want’s you to remember and use it on your journey through life.”

“Oh, I will, …never forget,” she said quickly, as she tried to perk up not allowing herself to go down into that dark abyss.

“Do you know David Smith,” she asked.

“No.”

“He’s my therapist.”

It was then I realized she had been down much farther than I imagined, and to what extent I had no idea. This shattered broken young woman was doing the best she knew how to pull her life together. “Comfort her with the Word,” came the voice.

“You know, there’s a scripture not far from 7, 21?”

Her attention returned from mourning, “Huh,?”

“John 7:37, On the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. 38 He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.”

“Wow, how do you do that, memorize all those scriptures.”

“Not nearly enough,” I responded. “You know something, I lost my father too.”

She turned and looked.

“Do you know the scripture, John 3:16,” I asked before continuing?

“I just learned it the other day,” she quipped.

“Tell me.”

She stood now, looking down at me in a puzzled face.

Trying to encourage her I began, “For God so loved the…”

She continued to look with a blank stare, unable to retrieve the words. “the world, that He gave His only begotten Son so that whosoever believeth in Him may not perish, but have everlasting life.”

“Oh yeah, that one.” She responded when I had finished.

“My dad died almost two verses later.”

That made no sense, as she wrinkled up her nose.

“His name was John, and he died on 3, 18.” I then quoted John 3:18 for her. “You see, if you believe, you won’t be condemned, but if you choose not to, you are condemned already.”

About that time, the tour group was heading our way, and we were running out of time.

“Oh, I do know one….a scripture,” she said proudly as she sat back down. “It’s the one about the light and the lamp unto my feet. I think it’s like, Psalm 119 something.”

“Yes, I think you’re right,” I said, scanning the Bible app on my phone. Shortly after, I found Psalm 119; 105 and read it aloud to her, “Your word is a lamp to my feet And a light to my path.”

“Very good,” I exclaimed proudly. “There is hope,” I thought silently.

“I don’t know all of those like you,” she replied.

“But you’ve got a great start,” I smiled as my heart panged for her.

She smiled back, as the spirit of a child emerged. The tour group was now turning the corner, and our sharing was over. As I looked back on the evenings events, my thoughts turned to all those that are seeking. There are so many who need our prayers. Many are hurting either physically or spiritually, but we must be even more vigilant to lift those children up who are fighting to find a pathway in this world; a world so broken and bleak, there is little hope for them unless they are shown the way, the truth, and the light.

“May the Word be the lamp unto their feet and a light for all their paths,” this much I pray.

Thanks be to God.

 

 

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by | July 17, 2016 · 9:37 pm

God Be With Us Till We Meet Again…

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes..”-Romans 1:16

They come for many reasons.

Today was another first.trail8272015

On another Sunday, I was called to be at the Trail. Last week, a congregation held their church service inside the Church in the Cave exhibit. Today it was a group from the Concord area coming to tour. Although it was a Sunday visit, it didn’t diminish my feelings for being at the Trail on what is most people’s day of worship. To me, it was another way of honoring God, and so, where two or more or gathered, there He would also be; and so it was.

When the group first booked their reservation, they were within our limits of just one tour guide, but over time, the party grew until it was clear by this morning, that I too would get to lead a tour once again; meaning, we would have two separate groups. Brother Barry, our original guide for the original smaller group, had just returned from the valleys, so I was anxious to hear him lead once more and to provide insight only one having been to that faraway place could divulge. So when we began the introduction, I asked that Barry lead that segment for both groups, which he was glad to do. His introduction was so overwhelming, so complete, my heart questioned if I was going to be able to be up to today’s task in the shadows of such a magnificent guide. Silently, as we moved from the topographical map to the movie room, I lifted up a prayer asking for wisdom and guidance for the right words. God would hear my plea and soon, I would be back in the moment.

As we left the movie room to embark on the Trail, Barry asked the visitors who were some of his good friends from the area along with some of John Bradshaw’s family, the host of “It is Written,” to follow me. My heart leaped with fear and humility. Barry had offered his beloved and esteemed guests to my care, and now the honor was placed on my lap. Again I prayed, “Lord, please be with us and help me to allow your Word to be most evident.” In the blink of an eye, there was a surge of energy pulsing through my mind as all of the history and scripture began to surface in my head. Again, He was listening.

We walked through time, …as time stood still.

Moment by moment, God allowed me to share the history of the people of the valleys, the Vaudois. From my sharing of the possible first encounter with the disciples, while standing in the Barbas College to the singing of hymns in the Church in the Cave, my dedicated group of visitors began to learn about the past and their host. Slowly, monument by monument, my heart poured out to them as the story came alive in my mind and the scriptures continued to intertwine the words from my mouth.

Concerned about the time, I was hesitant to share my testimony once we entered the Ciabas Church, but once more God spoke, and I listened. There my story of faith, realization, and discovery allowed for me to tell the tale of how my own understanding of the Waldensians came to be. There I had to ask the question, “If you were never told of Jesus, as I was never told about being Waldensian as a child through adulthood, how might your world be different today?” Then to carry it a step forward, “How can you go into the world and expect those around you who have never heard of Christ, to act any differently?” It was then I explained how many of my own family had fallen away from their ancestral faith. They had never known of it, so what was there any different in their lives to change them? What did they have to stand for? And yet, they had everything to lose. Would they have been different had they known all along? Would they have made the same decisions in life? Had we been told, at least we could have had a choice. Likewise, those who received the invitation to accept Christ, they also have a choice to make once they are asked. Once our conscious mind is awakened, God gives us the free will to select which path we will take.

It is up to us to choose.

The centuries passed and before we knew it, our tour groups were reunited at the Community Oven. My day began just after sunrise, rekindling the fire in the massive stone structure in preparation for the baking of the bread. As weary as my body was, there was no hint of it in that instance. My wife and son met us at the oven, and together we shared the bread with our guests. My heart leaped with pride as I watched Tron’s carrying on the family tradition, alongside our brother in Christ, Barry, under the shelter of the maple tree near the end of the Trail; a nearly perfect ending to the end of a picture perfect day.

As my dad use to remark on such days, “The sky is blue, the grass is green, and the birds are all singing; …beautiful, just beautiful.”

Yet, there was one more special treat that God had in store.

As the tour came to the conclusion, we all made our way back to the Visitor’s Center. Barry and my family had to leave, but most of our guests remained to eat their lunch. Meanwhile, I stayed off to the side cleaning up and providing support as needed. When they finished, the group came toward the front of the Center to say goodbye.

They all gathered before me, united as together as a family would do before bidding farewell. It was then one of them made the announcement that they all wanted to say goodbye to me. They then began to sing the hymn, “God Be With You Till We Meet Again.” My heart leaped once again. In an instance, I was a small boy once more, back in New Harmony hearing my grandma and my Aunts singing in church, their sweet voices united in one accord. Before I knew it, tears began streaming down my cheeks as they concluded in sweet, blissful acapella harmony. It was another precious gift from God; another first.

The words were gone; I was speechless.

One after another, I shook their hand’s goodbye, trying to apologize through my tear filled eyes.

We concluded with a picture on the front steps, me and my new found family; brothers and sisters in Christ.

Yes, we said goodbye, until we meet again. What a sweet heavenly day that will be.

As one lady reminded me as she left, there are so many without the very thing we are blessed to have because of what Christ has done for us; Hope.

Yes, today I was blessed once more.

There is hope.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 11, 2016 · 9:33 pm

What is your life?…

“whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.”-James 4:14

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Dark vestiges of time lie dormant below the mist that forms above them. Silently the satin wisps pass from one peak to the next, vanishing before our eyes as we watch in awe the scenery before us which no cinematography could hope to capture. I silently pray that God will allow my mind’s eye to see this beautiful picture before me as long as I live, never ceasing to remember. It is too precious to lose. Alive and breathing, the earth savors the coming darkness. The day has been complete, now it is time for mankind to sleep, retiring to his safe abode as the beasts of the night come to life, devouring their prey and completing the circle of life.

We are but a moment in this story; a fraction of a segment in time, we are but more than a vapor that appears then silently fades into oblivion before it can be recognized. As fleeting as the clouds that pass overhead, so does the fog caresses the mountain peaks below, each separated by nothing, yet so far apart, they cannot touch. As the evening turns to darkness, layer upon layer the earth’s breath rises until showers of flying dew drops kiss our faces as they shoot up the face of the mountain, rising to meet their sisters above, becoming one in a dance of majesty and spiritual joy. Our fragile flesh desperately tries to understand all that passes before it until our minds become numb with the exhilaration of the moment at hand. We lick our lips and cherish the taste of wetness of clouds that have come to ask us to dance.

The ethereal visions before us are fleeting at best. The ground upon which we trod may appear as solid as the granite, but it too will someday pass away and become nothing. We are only the dust from which we have come and will return. Our ashes will scatter upon the winds, becoming one with the fluid shapes that swirl around us as we sat watching those fallen clouds once more rise to meet their heavenly brethren. Likewise, someday, we too will meet our Father in heaven, when we rise upon His coming, as the dead in Christ will rise first. In our sin, we all have fallen, but when we become one with Jesus, we are then able to ride those unseen currents that will take us one day to walk with our Lord. As he gave His life for our transgressions, He ascended to sit at the right hand of the Father where he awaits.

As our spirits become wisps of air, our bodies will be made whole, and our reunion with those gone on before will become complete.

The clouds may pass away, as will we too someday, but when we know Christ, our reunion will be no less glorious, and that will be the everlasting, everlasting that no human securities can fathom; our Heavenly home above.

None of us know what will happen tomorrow, our life is more fleeting than a vapor, yet we can trust that if we know Him, we shall someday walk at His side in Glory.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 9, 2016 · 9:32 pm

Among the Branches…

“He sends the springs into the valleys; They flow among the hills. 11 They give drink to every beast of the field; The wild donkeys quench their thirst. 12 By them, the birds of the heavens have their home; They sing among the branches. 13 He waters the hills from His upper chambers; The earth is satisfied with the fruit of Your works.” – Psalm 104:10-13

The morning light was still creeping through the foliage that lined the riverbank as we stepped foot into the chilly waters of the Johns River. It was our first family outing in a long, long time. Each of us found an extra spring in our step as we hurriedly unloaded the kayaks. The morning clouds had disappeared as blue skies welcomed us overhead. Off in the distant, before I could even finish changing from my hiking boots to my river shoes, the echoes of the Whippoorwill called. Instantly, my mind was transported back to the days of my childhood. Those evenings near the banks of the Wabash River, we would often hear that night bird’s cry as the shadows ebbed closer to the Sycamore just off Grandma Tron’s front porch. Yet, here he was calling in the morning hour, “Odd,” I thought to myself. The Wabash and the evening Whippoorwill were a lifetime away, yet the smell of the watercourse nearby reminded me of the present adventure, so I finished skayakinglipping on my shoes and quickly walked to the water’s edge.

Looking back, the night bird singing in the morning would only be fitting to what we would find as the day progressed, as the comfort He afforded us on our journey would appear almost surreal. We had only planned to just float the river and eat a picnic lunch. All that transpired beyond that was nothing we had never envisioned. As they always say, “If you want to make God laugh, make a plan.”

We are still very much learning the ropes of kayaking, and today’s journey would be another first; a two-hour trek. Unlike that river of memory, the Wabash, the Johns River flows from its beginnings in the Pisgah National Forest high up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. There in the wilderness, each bend, each turn of the waterway revealed another picturesque scene that made you want to stop moving and soak it all in; yet the flow of the life-giving fluid continued. The cascading sounds of white water blended with the gurgle of the paddle as we dipped them serenely into the clear mountain water. All around us birds too numerous to count, called out their chirps, whistles and songs as the symphony of nature treated us to a special performance. Each new turn, each new vista exposed granite walls towering above as our craft silently slipped past, like the time beneath our course.

Rapids after rapids, we found excitement in our journey. Gone were the endless days of moving, countless hours of driving between homes. Gone were the frustrations of living in the tiny house with one bathroom. Gone were the thoughts of countless hours of preparation, before dawn fires in the oven, late night clean up following festivals, and all the tensions that arose between. It was as if God was satisfied with the fruit of our labors and was sharing this day with us. Yes, we were more than thankful.

If that was not enough, He had more plans in store.

We had not finished eating our picnic lunch when, in true Godly fashion, several of our former JAM Band members would unknowingly, and independently find their way to where we were spending the afternoon following our morning float. It was more than humbling to see friends that had become like an extended family find their way into the wilderness, each showing up in staggered arrivals. Once again, as it is with all true friends, we picked up where we had left off in what seemed like years since we had last seen one another. There was so much to tell, share and discuss. Six of the ten band members were present, simply out of the blue, all in one place. To believe it was possible even if we tried would have been nearly unthinkable; yet, here they were. The children have all grown and are all now young men and women. In my eyes, they were all children once again, laughing and enjoying just being together once more. It was a thing of beauty.

Like the river, you try to absorb as much as you can, but there is never enough time.

Before we knew it, our short time together required another goodbye; those painful farewells you try to avoid.

The flow of life continues unabated.

We so desperately want to sometimes stop the current and hold onto the moment, like the breath of life we take to dive below the waters, we must consider those precious moments and store them away somewhere in our memory to recall later, and pray they are never forgotten.

We had made our way to the streams that flowed amongst the hills. There they provided nourishment for all the wild beasts of the field. But the nourishment was more than physical. In all that we do, our souls sometimes need to be replenished with the happiness that keeps our spirits afloat. Sometimes, we must find the time to drift along with the current, if even for a few minutes and let the world pass us by as we listen to Him. He may not speak, he may not move, yet sometimes the message is to just sit back, relax and enjoy His presence and the presence of those we love.

Today we found peace and happiness once more as we basked in the presence of the Lord along with our loved ones.

It was surely a beautiful day.

The flow of life continues, and we cherish each bend in the river.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 27, 2016 · 10:07 pm

Deliverance Through Prayer…

The prisoners had succumbed to the elements long before their hope for survival began to diminish. As hundreds of men died daily, their guards watched in vain as the extreme drought in their region of Georgia dried up all creeks and wells. Livestock were being set free to keep them alive in hopes that they would find some source of sustenance on their own. The war between the states was far away, yet in Andersonville, hell on earth was real. As Union soldiers lay dying, calling out in their last breaths for mother, a few firm believers gathered to seek God in prayer. They asked for His deliverance from the torture and despair, they had nothing left to lose except life itself. In the distance, sounds of what many thoughtprovidencespring were cannons began to rumble later that night. The winds started whipping the sparse flaps of the tent city within the crude walls of the Confederate prison as the rogue storm cell passed over. Suddenly, a crash and roar of thunder rolled many out of their pallets shaking the ground as the bolt of lightning struck just inside the outer prison wall, just inside no-man’s land. At that moment, water began gurgling forth from the ground and by morning, the trickle had become a flowing stream. There as the sunrise began to make a glow on the horizon, grown men sat by the brook crying as they held their withered, parched hands below the life giving fluid and raised it to their blistered lips, soaking in the blessing one gulp at a time.

Many never lived to see that sunrise.

The other evening, I saw where a former colleague of mine had a birthday. Curious as to how he was doing, I reached out to him. He replied and we began catching up. As time passed and we began to share our feelings on life and where we were in our walk with God, I could quickly feel my old self come back through the description of my friend’s words. Trapped in the prison we had created of our own doing, he was as once was I held captive. His chains were a mortgage and a company that literally kept you from escaping from one shift to another; his was as was mine, the dreaded third shift. The fear of leaving it all behind holds you within that cell until eventually you either are terminated against your will or you die without experiencing the life you always wanted to live; his and mine were to serve the Lord. To many, termination was an answer to prayer. Others would find their freedom and escape but at a cost. Many had chosen a journey deeper into the secular world, the price they would pay would be severe. Yet, some would awaken to the fact that the life they were living was void of faith or prevented them from serving God. It was these few who would eventually say, “Enough is enough,” and begin to pray to God for deliverance, as did those prisoners in Andersonville. Miraculously, those prayers would be answered, time and time again.

In the Bible Jesus told us, “For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”

As every veteran knows, no matter the branch of the military in which you serve, the object of the Drill Sergeant is to break each recruit down, strip them of their identity until they are a shell of a human. Then, once they have stripped them of “who” they are, they begin to refill the void with the soldier they want you to be. In other words, you are programmed to perform in the way in which supports that branch of the military. When we truly give our lives to Christ, we essentially must do the same thing as those young recruits; stripping away our former selves until there is nothing left of our previous inequities to keep us from following him with every ounce of our being.

An elderly man sat next to me in the Paddock Mall one day, back in 1982. We were both waiting for our wives to finish shopping and like most guys, we would rather sit and wait outside the store than stand idly inside. He told me his name was Roy, and before I knew it, he began telling me the story of his survival in a Korean prisoner of war camp. Roy told of how they would strip them naked in the dead of winter and put them in cages like animals and then hose them down with fire hoses. He said there were many times he didn’t remember being dragged from the cell; wet, cold, frozen. Roy talked about how he survived life-threatening injuries. They would put rats in the window sills in order to grow maggots. Once the gruesome larvae were the right size, they would place them into the gaping wound of their fellow prisoners so that they could eat away the dead flesh before gangrene could set in. Roy rolled up his pant leg to show me the indentation from the wound, where once muscle had been before the injury. He continued to share with me how he survived to see their liberation, but barely. He was released from the Army and given all his back pay that had accrued while being a POW. Roy was told by the Army doctor’s that he only had a few months to live, so depleted was his body from the lack of nutrition and injuries. Figuring he was going to die, he left for Florida, bought an old barge and began drifting from one island to the next in the Marathon chain. Roy looked at me and said, “It was then that I talked to God and asked him toimagesE0DYW4ZT do with me what he would. I didn’t care if He called me home or not. Each day I would wake up and catch fish or shrimp and each day I would thank Him for another day.” Roy then shared how eventually, after a year or so, he realized he wasn’t going to die. The day he walked in the front door of the supply shack at the marina instead of the back door where he had always gone before, he knew his life was going to change. The old man that had always waited on him through the rear entry didn’t recognize him at all. Roy had shaved his beard and cut his long hair before stepping inside; he was a new man. God would take Roy down many roads, but there we sat that day as he shared his testimony.

When we turn our lives over to God, all things are possible; we too can become new men and women. Roy realized that he had nothing left to lose, giving all he had was easy. Unlike my friend, Roy’s life was at what he thought was its end. The soldier’s in Andersonville also had their backs against the wall to where they too had nothing left to lose, but to seek God. However, when we have so much, so many worldly possessions, it becomes hard for many to seek Him. In that instance, we can find it even harder to walk away from it all. Satan wants us to cling onto the things of this world so our choices become difficult if not impossible; cars, TV’s, houses, beach-front-condos, club memberships, hefty mortgages, and so on become our chains.

As people age, we begin to look around us and ask ourselves what we can offer those we love most when we’re gone. Those things of this world tarnish, age, and rot. The things that matter most are those that continue on long after we’re gone. Those everlasting impressions we make on our children, grand-children, and fellow Christians are what matter most. Those impressions can become the wake-up call so many need to hear, so that someday, they too may make that choice to serve God. Hopefully, they won’t wait until their backs are against the wall.

The Union Army prisoners held in Andersonville prison would name the water from the spring that saved their lives, Providence Springs. The water still flows today inside the memorial park in Andersonville, Georgia; a testament to what is possible when we give it all over to Him.

When we are stripped of everything, either by force or by choice, we can then be free to make the decision that can change our lives and make us new, “For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”

Today chose to lose your life for His sake, and the life you will find will be eternal.

Do so today, there may not be a tomorrow.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 25, 2016 · 9:03 pm

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by | June 18, 2016 · 9:36 pm

Front Porch of Life…

“ 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. 12 Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. 13 And you will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart”-Jeremiah 29:11-1320160612_180149

After the day’s toil has passed, the supper dishes have been put away, and the dirt washed from our bodies, we often found ourselves poised on the precipice of our world, watching the final touches of God’s hand paint the western sky with a beauty so bold, no mortal brushstroke will ever compare, from comfort of our humble front porch.

Upon the boards that I nailed into place with my own hands, we looked out upon years of sacrifice and labor. From nothingness, we had created a home. From the wilderness, we had built a homestead. Often armed with nothing more than a shovel and hammer, we built what we thought would be our dream home. Beyond the gurgling waterfall of the Koi pond, lay the greenery in summer of the front yard that ran over across the drive into the fenced pasture. There, grazing lazily in the setting rays of the sun, our beef cattle would stand as if posing for the Master’s hand. Just knowing they were there to call upon should we have a time of need or food was a comfort. I can still hear my Uncle John exclaim the day we sat on the swing looking out upon the vista, “Timmy, your cows are looking mighty fat and slick,” which was one of ultimate praise in cattlemen’s terms. My Uncle John and I shared the love of being in the country as did many other guests who came to see us.

There were many more visits from family that often culminated at the end of long days there on that front porch. Many times we would talk long past sunset, gently swaying back in forth in the rockers or swing. There we would reminisce and share stories of long ago. Memories would flood our minds, and those of other such places would surface. My grandma Tron’s favorite sharing place was also in her swing. There on the edge of the quaint little town of New Harmony, with a pace so slow you could barely feel the motion, we would sit and solve life’s mysteries or struggles. There sitting across from grandpa, who had more often than not, fallen off to sleep, we’d learn about stories in the Bible and lessons learned in life. There from her swing we could look out past the great sycamore trees into the pasture next door where dairy cows would graze. It was where I learned that the pace of life doesn’t have to drive you crazy if only you would allow yourself the time to slow down and experience God’s blessings that were all around you.

Of course, we weren’t the only ones that had enjoyed the view from our front porch. There were the odd visitor or intruder. From the geese that had chased the children up from the pond to the kittens that would pounce and roll, to the ponies that decided grass wasn’t as much fun to romp and play on as the wood of the front porch. Just imagine the clatter of hooves resonating from within the house compared to that of little children scampering in play. It was any wonder I could sleep on those days while working the night shift, yet I sometimes found a way.

As the years went by, we added more landscaping and walkways which only increased the feeling of being more of an estate than a farm. Yet, in the coolness of the evenings, that space became our sanctuary in the wilderness where we could reflect on all that we had done and what was to come. Beyond the dark western tree line was the unknown; the future. On that porch, I had watched my children grow. Many late evenings or early mornings I would find comfort in the swing, as I would wrap their tiny bodies in blankets and rock them gently while singing hymns, often falling asleep myself as we became one with the world around us. I would awaken with a start to the motionless swing and realize we were at peace. Those are moments I will always cherish.

There on the outdoor abode my children played and viewed the world around them from the safety of that gentle loft, high above the terrestrial surface below. There they would be emboldened to go out and explore finding all sorts of bugs, toads, and critters that they would unearth in their daily forays into the unknown and bring back to their home base, the porch. As time progressed, we watched them grow into the young adults; the once daunting height of that porch had become little more than a mere step to them. In my mind, I had figured that eventually I would even be watching my own life’s sunset from that place, but it was not meant to be. God had another plan.

What I had created within the boundaries of my own mind was nothing in that of the Master’s plan, it was only a stepping stone. Two days ago, at 3:59 pm, the place that I had built to last our lifetime became someone else’s dream home. Two days ago, the step we had taken to answer the calling from God became a reality.

Today, I awoke to the feeling of being somewhere between the Red Sea and the River Jordan. We have left all we have known and worked for in our previous life behind. We have died to our former selves in order to answer the call. Now, we wait to see where He has us to go. Where will our promised land be? Where is our river to cross?

These and many more questions face us each day, but each day, I open the pages to the only place I know where the answer can be found; my Bible.

Seek and ye shall find, knock, and the door will be opened.

All we have to do is leave our porch and answer Him.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 5, 2016 · 9:38 pm

New Sacred Ground…

“In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread Till you return to the ground, For out of it you were taken; For dust you are, And to dust you shall return.”- Genesis 3:19

They come for many reasons.

For each person, the journey is different as the unique story which made their life.

Today was unlike any other I’ve known to date at the Trail. The call came in while we were still in route back 20151012_090530from the farm yesterday. Our trip had been shortened by events that caused us to return earlier than expected. I was thankful in a way. The work had been hot, non-stop, grueling, and dirty; cleaning out twenty plus years of accumulation in our farm’s barn. In addition, we mowed, bush hogged and weedeated to add to the toil. So when we piled into the sweltering truck (yes, there was no working A/C) we were somewhat thankful to be returning. It wasn’t with complete satisfaction that we were leaving, still knowing there was much more to be done, but we would be back in a couple days to try to finish. Nobody ever said God’s work was easy.

The request had been from guests staying at the B&B in Glen Alpine if they could spread the ashes of their family members who were of Waldensian ancestry at the Trail of Faith. We were honored to be able to accommodate their wishes for their loved ones. It had been as the founding fathers of the Trail had one day hoped, that their creation of a place that would someday become more than a history lesson; that it would someday be a place people would consider sacred enough to connect it to the real valleys. Today was another one of those confirming moments.

When I pulled up to the closed front gate with a couple minutes to spare, the family was already parked and patiently waiting. Some had already begun searching for suitable places where to present their final resting place for their beloved. The skies overhead appeared threatening. They had called for rain, but for now, it waited. God was surely with us.

As I began unlocking and opening up various parts of the exhibits, they began sharing with me the history and story behind those who had passed. The photograph of the deceased they showed me was like so many taken in the days of black and white film. Both of the parents were dressed in their Sunday finest. They looked at me from that distant past, as if to say, “We’re gone, but with you even now.”

There were a son and daughter with their respective families in attendance. Each had a unique perspective and what was even more enlightening, was that they had been to the very valleys where their families had lived. As they shared with me the tales of travel and touring, I couldn’t help think of brother Barry and his wife Sharyn, who were there at this very moment walking those same trails and high peaks that this family was now conveying with me from their memory. As we moved from one exhibit to the next, their voices would speak of the exact place that existed and what they experienced during those visits. Through their voices, in my minds eye I could feel our altitude extend to those of the Alps and in my mind, we were there. The overcast sky added to the feeling of being in another place and time.

Each day I live vicariously through Sharyn’s email updates but my hunger to be there in those Waldensian valleys grows with each passing moment Today’s visitors only added to that fever to travel. It was almost as if God was telling me how much more there was yet to come after the ordeal of our current move. But the parallel goes beyond a relocation of a terrestrial homestead; yes, there is so much more to come in that Heavenly home. In all that we do, there is so much to learn so that when we are of the moment, we can drink in ever more so that the precious time allowed becomes amplified. Yes, there is so much more to come after this life. In many ways, it is precisely how our faith develops with our walk with Christ. The more we understand, the more we can comprehend not only in the Word but from every experience in our journey. Our hunger for God’s word should be just as fervent

They thanked me for the time and faith with which I shared, but the day’s blessing was when I told them how I wasn’t even supposed to be there if my itinerary had gone as planned. It was another Godly moment, and another one of His plans come to fruition in more ways than we could ever imagine. Yes, in many respects, their visit was a confirmation but in more than one aspect. They had found a resting place suitable for their loved ones, but what is more, we found a special connection to a place so very far away, to a place that I have yet to trod upon that sacred ground. Now, from this day forward, as each day awaits me at the Trail, I can feel as if part of that real valley is with me through the new ground spread from the ashes of a life well lived in a place that I can only hope to someday see in person.

One step at a time, one day at a time, we continue on. When our time is right, the Master calls us home but until then, if we follow Him, our pathway will be lit by His lamp and with that light, our lives become so much greater and brighter.

Tomorrow, we continue on our path to reach a new home.

One step and one leap of faith we carry on.

Prayers for strength, wisdom, traveling mercies, good health, and guidance in the days to come.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 2, 2016 · 9:11 pm

The Dark Road We Travel…

“Who among you fears the Lord? Who obeys the voice of His Servant? Who walks in darkness And has no light? Let him trust in the name of the Lord And rely upon his God.” – Isaiah 50:10

 

The dark clouds loomed over the mountain as I turned onto the back road, taking the one less traveled. As I made the sharp right turn, I could see the storm brewing ahead. The map had indicated a quicker route to my destination, well below the highlands, so I knew in advance that there would be many twists and turns. Initially, it was nothing more than an overcast scenic drive until rain began to fall lightly. As my little car and I traversed farther and deeper down into the depths of the valley, the light above continued to fade until it was nearly night. To add to the deprivation, rain began to fall harder. I crossed over an ancient bridge and then it was as if I had passed through a time warp. The pavement gave way to a dirt road that was quickly turning into a muddy slush. It was then I noticed that the world around me seemed to slow to a crawl. Instinctively I began to look for signs of life, something to show me that my sense of time warp was only that; just a feeling.darkroad

Suddenly, the darkness became more prevalent and thoughts of horrible movies depicting people of this region as monsters began to surface in my head.

“No, don’t give in,” I told myself as the path ahead began to grow more tortuous, “Trust in God.” The water was now falling in torrents from the sky, and my wipers were doing all they could to splash a path on my windshield big enough for me to catch glimpses of the deteriorating roadway ahead.

The creek that ran alongside the roadbed was swollen and in places, massive rocks stood protruding out from the wall of the mountain. Dark, sullen trees towered above the walls of boulders, all blanketing the road like a tunnel. For a split second, I looked down at my phone, and it was literally dead, no connection, nothing. “If something were to happen to you, it might be weeks before they would ever find your body,” said the voice in my head as I watched a dilapidated shack pass as my little vehicle and I continued on

“Darkness and death surround you. Surely this is the psalmist wrote about,” I mused inwardly.

Around another couple turns it looked as if my sense of time change had been correct. The house that abruptly appeared around the bend seemed to confirm that I had gone back in time several centuries. Its outer shell was weathered, barely clinging to the shards of paint that had one time made it look new; a time long, long ago. Vines and weeds nearly obscured the base of the home from sight making it seem as if it floated in space and time. I carefully made the hairpin turn around the old house and then I noticed her watching. Up in the gable end of the weathered abode was an open window. The rain had abated enough to be able to see the ghostly figure of a person sitting and watching through the thin, threadbare curtain that danced in the breeze. From the whisper of the image of the old woman that sat in the darkness watching me pass I could only imagine the stories that lay hidden; the life left untold. If one were to stop, would they be accepted? If one were to stop, would they ever emerge back into the real world or would they become one with this isolated people? If one were to stop, would their body ever be found? Again and again, darkness kept trying to pull me down, but I fought on.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff comfort me.”

darkhomeAlthough the old house was covered with wooden siding, it caused me think of those stone houses in the pictures of the Cottien Alps. “This could just as easily have been like the valleys from where my ancestors came,” was the next thought. There were places there, like here, where stone structures were tucked back in places where no human would be expected to live, yet there they existed, even today. From there it wasn’t too hard to imagine how those French and Savoy troops marching up into those dark, foreboding valleys to persecute the Waldensians might have felt when they reached gorges and passes deeper and darker than this. The fear that must have run through their minds would have been compounded by the forces who awaited them. God had knowingly put a people in a place where they would be protected. Yet, there I was in the safety of my car but could still sense a hint of fear. How much better would the early settlers of this region of North Carolina and those invaders of the Waldensian valleys, have felt when facing unfriendly natives? Although outnumbered, both those indigenous Alpine mountain people of old and those native Americans would have known their land like the back of their hand granting them a certain advantage. Switchback after switchback, the images only became more and more primitive. It felt as if any moment, I would make one last turn and my headlights would find a solitary figure standing in the middle of the road, waiting for me.

The pathway soon opened up, and I came to a “T” in the road. There was no sign, no GPS, only my memory of the map I had seen earlier. As I paused thinking of which way to turn, my mind again reflected on all the tasks that I had unsettled earlier in the morning before leaving for this trip. There was no way for anyone to get hold of me so if there were a question that needed to be answered, it would have to wait. The whirlwind of duties, tasks, and to-do lists came to a screeching halt.

As the wiper kept time, back and forth, I quietly sat in the car at the empty intersection somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains. There was no one coming from behind, no cars passing before me; I was alone in the wilderness. The scriptures tell us when we seek Him, we will find Him, and He will listen. So, as the rain poured down, the rivulets of water washed beneath the tires, I bowed my head and prayed to God.

The raindrops on the rooftop made a calming pitter-patter as my thoughts went to the Lord.

There were so many that needed healing, so many that needed comfort in their hour of loss, and all those things that I had left undone. “God will take care of it all in His time,” I told myself. My prayers were lifted up to Him. Yes, I turned to Him in prayer, seeking Him and found Him and He listened.

I finally closed with an Amen and began to drive off in the direction that felt right, the path that He said to take.

So I listened and obeyed. I vowed to trust in the Lord and to let Him work out all the details.

“He’s delaying you on purpose,” I told myself, “slowly, surely, and certainly in His time, it will shall be done.”

As I finally reached a semblance of civilization farther down the mountain, the phone began to reconnect to its communication signals and a flood of updates arrived. One of the updates was about an unsettled problem that I had left undone, the one that I had left it up to God to work out; it had actually been resolved due to a cancellation which allowed my request to be entered. It needed a miracle to happen. In Godly fashion, He prevailed once more.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of our lives and hopefully, yes, hopefully if we listen and choose correctly, someday we shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Thanks be to God

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by | May 24, 2016 · 8:57 pm

The Lost Soul and the Rose…

“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. 12 Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. 13 And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.” – Jeremiah 29:11-13

My mother’s favorite was yellow.20160524_193631

Tonight, while in prayer asking God for guidance, the image of the rose came to mind.

“Then you will go call upon Me, and go pray to Me, and I will listen to you…”

In many ways, our walk with God is a lot like a rose. We start off in our budding faith, not yet blossomed and soon, once we grow, the beauty begins to unfold, one petal at a time.

Sipping on my morning coffee, I was still trying to clear the cobwebs from my head when I reached the end of the driveway and turned left toward the eastern sunrise. The note had read, “We need Milk!,” so I was off to the grocery for a pre-Church Sunday morning run. The birds were cheerfully greeting the new dawn, and the chill was refreshing.

It was then I noticed him, suddenly appearing before me.

“Morning,” came my voice, more of a reaction to my surprise than an actual greeting.

“Morning,” he replied as we both turned toward the rising sun, each now walking in the same direction, but on opposite sides of the street.

My first instinct was to turn around and start over. “No, that will just show fear,” came the voice from inside. So I stayed the course. It was not yet 7:00 AM and the street was as barren as my thoughts at that moment. In his right hand, he carried a burgundy Members only jacket, wadded up in a roll as if it had been his pillow from the night before. In his left, he prodded each step with what appeared to be a five-foot long quarter inch piece of white PVC pipe; his makeshift walking stick.

“Visiting family,” I asked, wondering why he had appeared from behind my neighbor’s house.

“You might say that,” he nodded.

The folds of my mind wandered along each petal as I sought beauty when there was none. “Surely he had seen me before I saw him. He’ll be asking for something next,” my mind fought the urge to question but gave in once again.

“And you will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart…”

We continued to walk uphill toward the tree line at the end of the road where the trail began, each man walking along his own side of the road, each man as distant in life but both now walking the same path.

“Are you from the area?”

“You might say that,” he reflected in a distant voice. Then he surprised me by leading the next question, “By the way, my name’s Jeremy.”

“My name’s Timothy…as in first and second,” I said, now humbled by his demeanor. For some reason, I felt a little less threatened. Yet, just a few steps ahead stood the dark passage of the narrow trail only wide enough for one person at a time.

I momentarily looked toward the sunrise and breathed a silent prayer, “Lord, please be with me, comfort me and shield me from all evil.”

“I know the thoughts I think toward you, thoughts of peace and not of evil…”

“Do you smoke,” he asked next.

“Here it comes,” I thought, “the begging for money to buy cigarettes.”

“No, never have,” I replied boldly.

There was no further question. The silence that followed allowed the flood of negative thoughts to come rolling back into my head. In the uneasy moment, I spoke before he might ask the question I expected, “You know, Jeremiah is one of my favorite books of the Bible.”

In fact, the verse had recently resurfaced to my consciousness when Mark, the leader of the Waldensian Church Men’s Breakfast Bible study, had mentioned it in his presentation. A few years before, my friend and pastor, Thomas Simpson had given it to me as a guiding principle for what I was going through at the time; it became my hope, my future.

“Jeremy is short for Jeremiah, which is my real name,” he replied.

“You know what,” somewhat relieved. “In fact, Jeremiah 29:11 is one of my favorite verses.”

We both stopped and looked at one another. Before us, the darkness of the night still hung in the air under the dark trees that stood along the pathway.

“The moment of truth,” I whispered under my breath, as I ducked my head under the first branch and led the way. I envisioned the feeling of pain across the back of my neck as he would soon swing the PVC pipe against my head. With a crack, my skull would be split open, and my body would be found lying upon the exposed roots of the forest floor later that morning. Once more I thought of God’s protection and waited for whatever was to come.

The misty drops of the morning dew gathered along the rim of the precious rose, it’s succulent image played in my mind as we two strangers trod upon the darkened forest floor. The path as tortuous as the edge of the delicate flower.

“How does it go,” came the voice from behind.

The fear of the unknown vanished as quickly as the imagery of doubt and along with it, the scripture for which I had just referenced. In vain my mind stretched from one end of the spectrum to the next in an attempt to revive the words; nothing.

We both emerged from the woods onto the pavement next to the grocery store. The sunlight caused us to squint as we emerged from the darkness.

“I…I…can’t get it,” was my struggled reply.

“Give me a start,” he begged.

Again, my mind raced, but all I could grasp was simply the meaning, like the fragrance of the rose to the unseen eyes.

“I apologize, but I just can’t recall it at the moment.” My heart was broken, for once again I felt I had failed God. Once more, my chance to witness to another soul in need had been lost, but I didn’t give in. Digging deep into the recess of the innermost parts of the roses beauty I found the essence for what it stood, “I can’t start it, but it goes something like this…” As I summarized the scripture, he listened in rapt attention. His journey had been momentarily lifted by the flawed but persistent believer. I explained its overall meaning that if we follow God faithfully with all our heart and soul that we would be rewarded.

“Like with riches and gold,” he smiled.

“No, not quite,” I replied, “but you’ve got the idea.”

I turned to go my way as did he. As I began to walk away, I glanced back, and he had vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

Like the rose, our opportunities to witness to those in need are like the rose’s beauty; fleeting and momentary. If we truly want to admire the grandeur of the Master’s hand, we must exalt His name on high and praise Him together in all that we do.

Yellow was her favorite, but a rose is a beauty to behold as the witness is to the lost soul, regardless of color.

Thanks be to God.

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