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by Timothy | April 28, 2019 · 8:41 pm

The Next Step…

Looking down, past the brown tops of my hiking boots, the abyss below opens up into a vast expanse of space. Blue-green vestiges spread beneath the view of their void occasionally obscured by clouds passing below. My feet are precariously placed upon a solitary outcropping of rock. From whence I stand, it is as if the whole world can be seen. The next step, if I were to choose, would be off into nothing; thin air, an empty void of obvious surface for which to step. Somewhere behind me, the faint voice of reason shouts, too far to hear clearly, for they have yet to catch me. I close my eyes and listen once more for the still small voice.

“I will never leave nor forsake you…”

He spoke to me as a father. Inside, the change was only known by my soul, as my own spirit had been infused with his Spirit. Outward, the metamorphosis had taken time but was still a work in progress. Yet, the call had been perfectly clear. The door had been opened, and it was now or never.

Eyes still shut, I step forward to where there was no place to step.

The shouts from behind are closer now, which turn to screams. There is no turning back once the foot has left the safety of the known, for once we leave it behind, there is no turning back.

They dropped their nets, never to return to those fishing boats. The father watched as his sons walked away from the family business, simply to follow a man that was merely a prophetic voice at that point, one that had suddenly come on the scene as a teacher of some new way of thinking. Gone, as if they had stepped off a cliff, never to be seen again. He tore at his clothes, wrenching in agony at their seeming abandonment of his life’s work. “How could they?” “What spell did this stranger cast upon his children?”

Again, standing at the abyss, my faith sustains me. There is no need to rush, no need to make haste, for to do so would only result in miscalculated belief. “Trust and Obey,” says the song, “for there is no other way.” As I stand and watch, the onrushing mist begins to part, ever so slightly. Through the fog, there appear distant edifices, dark and obscured, they are not yet visible. Their images undiscernible, but not mistaken for another. There is a firmness in what they represent; something solid and not imagined; real and not pretend. They cannot be touched from where I stand; but rather, can only be seen. To step to them before it is time would be fatal for the journey. Waiting, patiently, my heart drops as the clouds thicken and those distant images are once more obscured; gone before they could be imagined more clearly. Yet, the heart knows they are there. It is only a matter of time that once again, the clouds will part, and they will be visible once again; patience in the waiting.

The still small voice speaks, and we who believe listen.

Some might think them only pure coincidence, but to the believer, we know better. Each week, as the clouds continue to hide the pathway before my footsteps, there is that continued voice, speaking, whispering the prophetic words of things to come. Each new revelation begins to paint the blank canvas with what might be; where the Lord is leading. Again, the words, “Trust and Obey,” surface in one’s thoughts. Below your feet, there is no clear path, only the emptiness of

the unknown. Patiently you wait, not wanting to step before it is obviously the “time.” Each week, yet another revelation confirming the news from what was previously known. The past folds its story together, also confirming that this was not just chance, but obviously the work of the Master’s hand. Like the Red Sea coming back together after the Israelites had passed, crashing in upon itself with a thunderous roar, so too are doors behind slamming shut.

There is no turning back.

Onward you must press. Looking back only causes the heart to lament on things that were meant to be. Yes, it is difficult. Loved ones are some of those precious memories that you must leave. Their presence will no longer be in your immediate life, but rather, removed to a distant place where only the occasional visit may allow. Gone are all of those things in life you had worked so hard to achieve, all of those countless hours spent in toil for something that now seems to matter little. Yet, in truth, all the hard work and toil were the fire that forged the metal within.

Perspective begins to become your greatest gift, seeing what once led you astray, away from God. Now, with new eyes, you can see what once was hidden. Those moments, those dear precious seconds that you put aside for the sake of that “goal,” come into focus. The distant mountain comes back into view and once more, you can see it; a granite monolith, shrouded in greens and blues, standing firm where it had always existed, yet now knew to your own vision. The wind shifts and you can smell the earth, rock, and life that lives upon its surface. Suddenly you are struck with an awareness that shudders your body to the core; you have come alive; you who once were lost are now found; yea who once were dead, are now alive in the Spirit.

The cry of the nearby raptor echoes off the canyon walls below. The voice whispers once more, and another peak ahead appears. The late morning sun brings the entire scene before you now aglow with warmth, like God wrapping you in his bosom, comforting your soul. The energy of the moment flows from your head to your toes; the tingling unmistaken, like tiny pinpricks that make your body laugh with joy. Momentarily, there is no pain, nor weight of the world, no heartache, only unblemished joy.

In your heart, you smile for the coming days will soon reveal what He has prepared.

They had just left Jerusalem. It had been a heart wrenching, painful arduous Passover.

There was no turning back.

There had been so much hope, but in the end, so much tragedy. Yet, even now, as they walked toward the small village of Emmaus, they were confounded by the recent news of the empty tomb. “What could it mean,” they asked and speculated. So intense and sad was their discussion; they barely noticed the stranger joining them as they walked and talked.

“And it came to pass, that, while they communed together and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near, and went with them. But their eyes were holden that they should not know him. And he said unto them, What manner of communications are these that ye have one to another, as ye walk, and are sad?”-Luke 24:15-17

They were stopped in their tracks with disbelief. Cleopas, one of the two answered him saying, “Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem, and hast not known the things which are come to pass there in these days?”

“What things,” he replied?

They then went on to explain how Jesus, a prophet mighty in deed and word to God and all people, was brought to be put to death by the chief priests and rulers; to be crucified. Their eyes now brimming with tears as they spoke to the stranger, who had yet to be revealed to them.

“He was to be the redeemer for all Israel,” Cleopas said pulling at his garment.

The other continued when Cleopas could no longer speak, “It has now been three days since his burial, just today, and now this morning we hear the news that cannot be believed.”

Cleopas clearing his throat broke in, “Yes, certain women, also of our company made the most amazing discovery at the tomb, finding the stone had been rolled away and the grave was empty.”

The other broke in now, with an elevated voice of hope, “And they said that there was an angel told them that he was not here, but that he was alive!”

Jesus stood listening, finally nodding in response and said as he began walking toward Emmaus with them, “O fools, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken: Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory? And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself.”

The seven miles seemed like seconds when the two realized they were almost at their destination. The pair had been so enthralled by all their traveling companion had to tell them about the prophecies of old about Jesus, they forgot the time. The stranger felt as if he knew them. So reluctant were they to end their fellowship, and fearing that the stranger was traveling farther, they offered for him to remain with them for the night. It was often dangerous to travel after dark, and so being kind hosts, they made sure their new friend was to be protected. Jesus obliged, and minutes turned to hours once more. They soon found themselves seated at the table preparing to begin the evening meal. Giving their guest the honor of breaking the bread, they watched with gracious anticipation, not realizing what was about to happen.

As Jesus took the bread, broke it, and then handed it to the guests, their eyes were then opened…and he vanished.

Soon, the path will be made clear. Soon the direction you are to choose will be obvious; there will be no mistake. When you are handed that precious bread of the body of Christ, you will feel it touch your skin, you will see Him standing before you, and then, yes, then your eyes will be opened. Your heart will quicken, and eternity will flow through your veins as you become a child of God, born not of the blood, not of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

How often have we been seated with the very thing in life that has provided for us and given us the very essence of grace and neglected to realize it? How often have we taken what Christ did for us for granted? Have you been blind to the truth; God sent his only Son to earth, to become flesh and blood, to suffer and die for our sins? He then arose on the third day to sit at the right hand of the Father. He has prepared the path for you; awaken and take his hand and receive that precious bread of life.

Soon, yes, soon, the door will open, and the pathway will be waiting.

The next step is up to you.

The voice whispers once more, “I will never leave nor forsake you…”

Thanks be to God.

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Tagged as crucifixtion, disciples, faith, god, Jesus, leap of faith, Luke 24, Moses, passover, Red Sea, ressurection, road to Emmaus, step, tomb

by Timothy | February 10, 2019 · 8:39 pm

An Affliction of Conviction

by Timothy W. Tron

The cold gray light of dawn had yet to reach the brink of my window sill. Somewhere over the mountain, the light had yet to reach this side of the morn. Like waves crashing upon the rocks of a distant shore, I could hear, but I could not hear. The words of the young man from the day before returned; thoughts of music and farming combining as one. As he spoke, my mind reflected on the scripture references: ashes to ashes, dust to dust, as we are one with the earth from whence, we came.

I placed my materials at the judge’s table well in advance of the start of the days Fiddler’s Convention. As I returned with a fresh cup of coffee, a young man settled into my left, he too being a judge for the morning’s event.

“William Ritter,” he said as we shook hands.

11th Annual Appalachian State Fiddler’s Convention

To his left, another judge began to sit down. They had known one another from other encounters and began to strike up a conversation of coming events, dances, and such. I casually listened as I watched folks of all ages filtering into the Lynnville Falls ballroom of the Plemmons Student Center at Appalachian State University where we were part of the 11^th annual Fiddler’s Convention. Our morning was to start with the youth guitar competition. Voices filled the chamber as I serenely sipped the bitter brew. Eventually, the keywords struck my ear that seemed to be a bit at odds, “Heirloom seeds and music.”

“Did I hear you correctly,” my attention now turned fully to the bearded young man sitting next to me?

During the course of their conversation, I had come to understand that they had connections through Warren Wilson College, where sustainable agriculture was taught and practiced. William had mentioned speaking at one of the events they had been talking about on the subject of heirloom seeds, music, and their connection.

“Tell me more,” I asked, now fully vested in understanding his perspective; my own had already been retrieved and ready to compare. He shared how we too often take for granted those seeds that which are passed down from one generation to the next, and how much richer and sweeter those fruits and vegetables taste when compared to generic, run of the mill seeds purchased at your local farm supply store.

Nodding my head in agreement, I fully understood where he was going. He went on to say how old-time music is much the same, how society doesn’t appreciate the traditional music and how it is passed down from one generation to the next; it too having a much richer and sweeter disposition upon the soul than other forms of music.

“It is our affliction,” I said to him. He paused in reflection, thinking deeply about what I had said. You could tell he wanted to dig deeper, but before we could embark further, the emcee for our judging event called the program into order, and the participants began to perform, one after another. In our short, but rewarding time together, William and I found a common thread and bond.

Reflecting back to that moment, there had been so much more to convey that had sprung forth from that beginning. Like a seed being planted, those purposeful words of heirloom seeds and music, so too was our faith passed down from one generation to the next. Either one of which, that may be dropped, perpetuates a loss to the coming generations; their ancestral ties to the truth become endangered. Someone once said, “We are one generation away from apostasy.”

As surely as I awoke this morning, I knew in my heart that God had planted me next to William Ritter for a purpose yesterday. Inside of me, there was a renewed sense of being and what the Lord had called me to do. The words, “Afflicted to be Convicted,” came to mind. I sat up in bed, searching for pen and paper in the dark before the words left me.

My life had been one of working the land, while soothing music reconnected my spirit to God. A vision of the past began to take hold. In it, there stood a figure in the cold light of day, there were no shadows, only the gray, bleakness of late winter. The boy picked up a handful of the dark earth and crumbled the rich soil through his fingertips. As tiny remnants of dirt slipped through his hand, he pulled his fist close to his face and inhaled, smelling the deep aroma of rich humus. His mind drifted back to the garden just outside Grandma Tron’s tiny kitchen window.

It was early spring, and it was the dark of the moon. Easter was near. The family had been called in for the celebration of Good Friday. The cherry trees would soon be blossoming at the Roofless Church. Whenever the family gathered, they also came to work together. A Tron was not content to just sit; they had to keep busy. It was time for putting in the potato sets for the year’s garden, and Grandma had the troops fully deployed. Most of the blooms on the trees and bushes had yet to come forth; summer was still a distant thought, but we knew if Grandma had said it was time to plant, then it was time to plant. The dirt was cool to the touch as his hands dug one hole after another, placing the sets carefully so that the eyes were facing up. Behind him, a cousin was following, laying straw into the bed, covering the seedlings, as yet, another cousin followed the other, pulling the soil back over both, tucking them into bed for their eventual resurrection. Grandma worked alongside us, whistling old hymns in the sweetest refrains. We often tried to mimic her, but our lips could never sustain the sweetness to which she carried her melodies. One after another, their gentle refrains blessed our ears, calming our youthful spirits. It was back-breaking work, but the reward, spending time with grandma, and then to be rewarded with a fresh plate of her fried potatoes, was well worth any toil.

He looked at his dirt-stained hands, the soil blackened beneath his nails; the sense of accomplishment and family; a feeling he would not soon release. The unnamed melodies forever planted within his soul; the bond of earth and song were inseparable. The two were in his blood forever part of who he was.

God had created man from the earth, breathing life into his nostrils, so that he could have life. “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.⁸And the Lord God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.”-Gen.2:7-8 After the sin, man was cursed to work the land, by sweat and toil; yet, again, it was who he was. “And unto Adam he said, Because thou hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife, and hast eaten of the tree, of which I commanded thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat of it: cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life;¹⁸Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field;¹⁹In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”-Gen.3:17-19

God had intended for us to work the land from that point forward, but not only the land, our humanity as well. His only Son provided us with the path to eternal life through our salvation, but only such that we had been entrusted with the planting of those seeds of faith. Without them, the future generations would be lost to sin, and eternal death. It is our conviction of purpose to plant those seeds. Although we as sowers may never reap the harvest, it is up to us to carry on the Word of God unto the world, for these were Christ’s own words, “¹⁸And Jesus came and spoke unto them, saying, “All power is given unto Me in Heaven and on earth.¹⁹Go ye therefore and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,²⁰teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you. And lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” Amen.”-Mat.28:18-20

Chatham County JAM Students performing on stage at Reno Sharpe’s Store, Chatham County, NC. May, 2010.

As my fingertips glide across the keys, music connects me to another realm whereby God speaks through me in spite of me. The connection is undeniable. “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord.”-Col.3:16

Like that feeling of dark soil slipping through our fingertips, its smell reaching our senses, reminding us of our irrefutable connection to the earth, and God’s love. “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” Seeds of faith, the far-reaching ability to touch our hearts through music, and the ground upon which we trod; we are never far from the graces of God.

Long ago, the seeds of faith were planted in my soul. Grandma gently watered them with beautiful melodies of faith, which to this day, bring grace to my heart. We may pass from this life to the next one day, but until we do, we too shall break the ground and plant the seeds for those to come; lest they fall to the wayside and darkness prevail.

Preserve those heirloom seeds, music, and faith, if not for yourself, do it for those you love.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Let our affliction become our conviction in all that we do.

Thanks be to God.

Filed under Farming, Inspirational, Music, Religion

Tagged as affliction, Appalachian State, Appalachian State Fiddler's Convention, bible, Blueridge Mountains, Boone, Chloe Lang, Colossians, Conviction, Dark of the Moon, faith, garden, Genesis, god, heirloom, Indiana, JAM Band, Jesus Christ, Junior Appalachian Musicians, Matthew 28, music, NC., New Harmony, Roofless Church, soil, The Great Commission, William Ritter

by Timothy | December 2, 2018 · 5:36 pm

The Old Jacket…

Today, in an effort to keep my current wardrobe from becoming too worn from work on the Retreat, I dug through some of the bundles of items tucked away in storage, landing upon my old farm coat. My hand reached into the well-worn pockets of yesteryear landing upon an odd feeling shape. Retrieving the metal objects, the curious figure of T-post wire wrappings came into view. The edges of the coat had frayed, the cuffs torn in places where the barbed wire so often would catch. Many nights, out in the freezing cold, or daytime blistering summer heat, invariably a tree would fall across a fence, and its immediate repair would be required. The jacket had been my comfort from those bone-chilling nights.

Cattle always had a sense of finding a “hole” in the fence line. Anytime the call came in, “You’ve got cows out,” the dagger would hit home and the job of finding the livestock, getting them back in, and then repairing the breach in the wire would begin. Each time, the anxiety of fighting time, fearing the loss of one’s livelihood from the possibility of an animal getting hurt or killed by a car always pressed in upon me. In all, it was not something that I missed of my former life. Yet, it was those times of dread, those tribulations that produced the character of who I am today. Knowing that those things that once created turmoil today provide me contentment in the darkest of times. In a manner of speaking, I fear less of what is to come than I once did, knowing from whence I came.

When the seemingly impossible task looms ahead, do we cringe in fear or do we, as so often referenced to in the Bible, gird up our loins, with faith as our shield, and boldly march forward into the fray? Would we find ourselves, as the Apostle Paul, reflecting back on our lives and finding contentment in all; all being our deepest lows, and our highest peaks?

“Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound, everywhere and in all things, I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.”-Phil. 4:11-12

Pastor Joe’s sermon today spoke to the very thing that I had found myself lacking; contentment.

The past four years, since beginning my journey in Christ, there has not been one day where I have not been challenged; often beyond what I thought possible. To cover the entire length of time and the events therein would take more than a couple pages of manuscript. But to summarize, it began with moving an entire farm of 20+ years and selling a house with land. To add to the complexity, since God never makes anything easier than we expect, my learning curve for becoming the Director of the Trail of Faith only compounded the level of stress, as many would call it. Looking back, it was the moment when we literally stood on that far distant shore and began our journey across; our River of Jordan, if you will.

To imagine the immensity of it all, simply consider what it would take to uproot your family, farm, and life and leave the world you once knew behind, to cross that proverbial river to a new life where nothing was certain. As if blinded, like Saul, and then having one’s eyes reopened, our life began anew in a strange world, in a foreign town, in a job that was anything but simple. Through it all, the ever-present thought was with me, “If it is God’s will, then it shall be done.” The peace of mind that simple saying brought was the saving grace that kept my life sane. In all the struggles, in all the blood, sweat, and back-breaking days of labor to make it happen, my heart was always content to be doing, “The Will of God.”

Again, to rewind and revisit that entire stretch of time would require a story worthy of another novel; perhaps in time. Yet, one of the highlights, or challenges, if you will, that signified all that was yet to come was the final night of working with my previous employer, Genband. For the last two weeks, I had requested to work remotely. Happy to keep me on as long as possible, and because I had a fantastic Director, they approved my offer. From my perspective, it was purely selfish, in the fact that we needed the extra income since I had left that previous life, and as such, there was no severance package. When you leave, you leave it all. Now it wasn’t simply working remotely that made those two weeks a challenge; rather, it was also the fact that at the same time, I was working days in my new position at the Trail of Faith, I was working nights with Genband. The learning curve at the Trail was much more than had been anticipated. To compound the issue, my new employer at the Trail had literally dismissed all the former office help, so that in addition to my new role as Director, I was now left learning how to run the books and manage the office, which had previously been done by two separate individuals, on my own. Mind you, this is not a complaint, rather a reflection of the difficulty presented in those last few days of working two jobs, but more technically, four roles to be exact. Through it all, I remained content that this was God’s will.

When the last week of the final two-week period arrived, as you might imagine, I was physically running on fumes. To add to the level of pain, I had barely four hours sleep in the last three days. My spiritual life had become ablaze with all that was possible. It felt as if there was no night in the day, in that every waking moment something Godly was transpiring. So, when I prepared for my last night of work with Genband as the Emergency Recover (ER) Manager, I literally planned to simply log in, receive the customary hand-offs and then let my team run with it, as I dozed off and on through the night.

Before logging in that night, I went to the altar of a nearby church and prayed. In that prayer, I asked God for strength and guidance, to help me make it through the night and beyond. The next day at the Trail I had two tours booked, and there was nobody to lead them but me. In other words, I needed all the help I could get.

As God would have it; easy was not in the plan.

In ER, we supported equipment not only made by Genband but nearly everything that had once been made by our previous owner, Nortel. This meant thousands of pieces of equipment around the world would have their support go through my team who were located in the Research Triangle Park (RTP), NC; 24x7x365. Yes, we supported the world.

About an hour after our customary start, one of my engineers announced that he heard the smoke alarm going off. At first, I thought he was joking. Soon, others came back acknowledging that he was not joking. Knowing that our ER Teams rarely adhered to the alarms, they kept on working. Not long after, security came through and told everyone to get out; this was not a test, there was really a fire.

In all my 25+ years working in or around the original building in which my team was housed that night back in the RTP, there had never been a fire in any of our buildings; never. Yes, there had been minor alarms, smoldering wires possibly at worst, but never, again, I repeat, never a full-blown fire that caused the overhead sprinkler to engage; but that night was the first.

That was when the world seemed to begin to spin out of control.

During the course of a night, my position was to direct calls, handoff tasks to my team, or reach out to our next levels of support around the world. Meanwhile, I would run conference calls and work on equipment when there wasn’t another engineer available. It was at that moment, as my team told me they would try to reconnect when possible, the realization of what my night would become hit me. If I had not been working remotely, our team would not have been able to perform their job. If God had not put me in this new place, we would have dropped the ball, and our company would have been held liable by hundreds of companies that had our support written into their contract.

Through the entire course of 25+ years, my background through the Telecom Industry had led me from one end of support, research, and beyond. My technical background covered all that was possible in the realm of communications; wireline, wireless, optical, and data. If anyone could run our team solo, I was one of the few individuals capable. At this point, it may sound as if I’m bragging, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. My point is merely to emphasize that this was more than a coincidence, this was the hand of God at work.

From the moment my team evacuated the building to safety and then tried to regain connectivity from home, it was apparent things would get worse before they would get better. Because of the configuration of our equipment, my team could not get logged back in because of the equipment to connect with was in the office that was on fire; yet mine was not, it became apparent that the role of supporting the world relied on me. Again, the words returned, “If it is God’s will, then it shall be done.” Eventually, a couple of my engineers would find a workaround that was possible and were able to connect, but it was a far cry from having a full team.

We often joked that it was taboo to use the word “Quiet.” I’ve met other support agencies that had that same thought process. For as soon as someone boasted, “Hey, it sure is quiet tonight,” all hell would break loose. As you might expect by now, the night of the fire was as if someone had shouted from the blazing rooftop, “Hey, it sure is quiet.” Calls rolled in, and it was all I could do to “Rack-em and stack-em,” as we would say. There was no time to worry about hunger or exhaustion, but as the sunrise began to filter through the windows of the shack where I was living, the duration of the night’s toll began to weigh on me. As the day shift ER Manager logged in and was briefed about the night’s events and why he couldn’t come into the office, the expanse of work that had been accomplished in one night began to weigh on my mind. One-by-one, I handed off the jobs to the incoming staff who were slowly getting logged in using the workaround that my team had found through the course of the night. With each greeting, there was not time for bittersweet goodbyes. They had to hit the ground running, so we barely had a chance to say our farewells.

When the last of the handoffs and calls were closed on my end, I stopped and prayed.

This was truly the work of God, “But why,” I asked?

“Someday, it will become apparent,” was the reply.

From working nights for nearly ten years, I had learned that when you are exhausted and need to stay awake, it was important not to eat. You could drink water or liquids, but once you ate a meal, the game was over; you would have to crash and sleep. So, after my head was able to clear enough to think about what was next, I realized that it was about time to open the Trail for business. Knowing there wasn’t time for a nap, I took a shower after putting on a fresh pot of coffee. From that point forward, the day became a blur. Each time I felt my body beginning to weaken, I would lift up a prayer for strength, and each time, the feeling of electricity running through my body would flow through my being; each time there was a renewal of the spirit.

By the end of the day, after two wonderful tours and once the Trail was closed, I returned to the shack. There, I made a meal and waited for my family to arrive. They had made another run back to the previous farm to carry more household goods to our new life. I knew that I couldn’t go to sleep and peacefully rest until they arrived. Fighting fatigue beyond belief, it was when the sound of their car pulling up in the drive that I began eating.

Once I went to bed, I didn’t get up for another 16 hours.

Why had there been such a challenging end to a previous life? Why had the struggle been so great? In the end, it was as if God was showing me what it was to “suffer need.” When we reach the end of our physical life here on earth, we see many of our loved ones face those last few days in extreme pain. As we watch and pray for their relief, we learn that to cross over from this life to the next is not easy.

Jesus was tortured beyond belief, dying a painful death on the cross. His ending was anything but easy. It was as if the whole world had been consumed by fire, and in the end, the veil was torn in two on that day. Unlike certain death, we can trust that when we accept Christ into our lives, we and face the end with a promise, that when we pass from this life to the next, we shall live forever more. Yes, to cross that River of Jordan and to reach that far distant shore will be the greatest beginning to an ending we shall know.

Yes, although what we might face in our not so distant future may seem overwhelming, we can take comfort in knowing that we are not alone. We may suffer, we may be sated, we may be abased, we may have plenty, but in all things may we find true contentment. For as someone once said, true contentment is to, “Live above your circumstances.”

The struggles of the past, be they understood or not, teach us how to persevere in the future. God uses each circumstance to teach us what we are capable of, building our character and in the end, giving us hope.

May the challenge you face allow you to seek God in greater affections than ever before.

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

The old jacket still fits, even though it may not be presentable to wear in public; yet, it says more of who I am than one might know. To live above our circumstances is what life should be about, and in the end, always giving thanks to God for all that is.

Be content in all that you have.

Thanks be to God.

Filed under Farming, Inspirational

Tagged as contentment, Phillipians

by Timothy | November 25, 2018 · 7:41 pm

Lest We Forget…

“In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” – 1 Thess. 5:18

There was a whisper in my ear this morning as I headed out for my weekly walk to church. “Pay attention to all that surrounds you,” said the still small voice. Fresh from pouring over the lesson plan for our Men’s Bible Study group at church, thankfulness was heavy upon my mind. Just days following Thanksgiving, the reminder of being so blessed with all that we have still rang true in my head.

The night’s crisp, chill was still blanketing the lower reaches of the hollers through which my path did trod. Crossing over the footbridge, the water beneath steamed when compared to the air above, making a mist rise before the trail. There was a surreal, gentleness beckoning. My eye was captured by the brightness of the carpet moss which blanketed the forest floor. Pausing to inhale the breathtaking beauty before me, the suns rays slid across the upper reaches of the mountain, finding their golden fingertips caressing the world in which I stood. Transfixed, my eyes followed the moss-laden tree nearby. My thoughts returned to being thankful for all that was and was to be.

From where I stood, the dark, foreboding tree glowed with an awakening of the dawn. The mist from the stream behind it rose meeting the sun’s rays, like a majestic dragon exhaling gusts of breath. Beyond, like soldiers standing arrayed in solitary posts, the remaining forest hid in the soft, gray air. Each one, coming to view as thine eye hath sought them, like the thanks that we often have to struggle to recall. The first is easy; the most recent, the greatest need met. Yet, then there are those that weren’t as significant; yet, they were obtainable. When we continue to look, more stoic images appear those nearly forgotten blessings; more answers to prayer, more promises that God had provided. In our simple minds, we are unable to keep pace with the graces we are so often provided. When we go to Him in prayer and give thanks, we may start easily, but when we really focus, like those hidden trees in the distance, they soon come into focus.

We’ve all heard the old cliché, “You can’t see the forest for the trees.”

When we go to the Lord in prayer and give thanks, it’s often like that; standing in a forest. We start with those memories that are immediately before us; the imposing trunks that stand out. If we continue, we can remember another event or blessing to which we were awarded. Someone once said that if we truly knelt in prayer to give thanks, we might not rise again from our knees for days. It is with a devotion so tempered in gratitude to which we must seek each day.

Charles Spurgeon, the great evangelist, once said, “Thankfulness makes much of little.” When we stop to take note of our lives, like pausing deep in the woods in the early morn, we can begin to appreciate all that has been awarded us in our lives; even the most insignificant can be a hidden blessing to which we must give thanks. The depths of our graciousness should be no less than the path of righteousness upon which we trod. Through that dark wooded abode we travel, some only seeking the path before them, while others look beyond that which is before to that which is to come.

The prophet Nathan had a vision given to him by God, which he revealed to King David, “And when thy days be fulfilled, and thou shalt sleep with thy fathers, I will set up thy seed after thee, which shall proceed out of thy bowels, and I will establish his kingdom. He shall build an house for my name, and I will stablish the throne of his kingdom forever. I will be his father, and he shall be my son. If he commit iniquity, I will chasten him with the rod of men, and with the stripes of the children of men: But my mercy shall not depart away from him, as I took it from Saul, whom I put away before thee. And thine house and thy kingdom shall be established for ever before thee: thy throne shall be established forever. According to all these words, and according to all this vision, so did Nathan speak unto David.”

We should be reminded by Nathan’s revelation to David, that we must also give thanks to those things we are to come, not to just those that have already happened. When we go to Him in prayer, like the winding pathway of life, we cannot see all that is before. The twist and turns obscure the distance. When we fully trust in our Savior, we are promised that He will answer our prayers in time; not always our own, but always in His time. As such, as Nathan spoke to David, he was not only conveying to him the things that would be done by his son Solomon, but he was foretelling the prophecy of Jesus Christ. In essence, Nathan was assuring his King, that his prayers for a temple would be granted, but not in his time. As we learn later, the true temple, the one that which Christ indwelleth today, is no longer a building as David had wanted. The last physical Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70AD. Yet, the temple is still alive and well today, as we, those who have accepted Christ into their lives are now the new temple; if only you would accept Him into your life and believe, confessing to Him your sins, so that they may be forgiven.

Yes, it is only as simple as pausing within the morning mist of the sun-kissed mountains to hear and see all that we should give thanks to God.

If only we might listen, lest we forget; giving thanks to all that was and was to be.

Thanks be to God.

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as 2 Samuel, Bible Study, Charles Spurgeon, church, dream, forest, god, Jesus Christ, King David, Nathan, sun kissed, Thessalonians, trees, vision, woods

by Timothy | November 20, 2018 · 8:05 pm

The Coat of Many Colors

Introduction:

Joseph’s coat of many colors came to my attention yesterday while working on the fireplace in my Spiritual Retreat. As I work, I like to listen to music. My selection for the day was classic country. Dolly Parton’s like-named song was playing through the speakers, and the thought of my Action Research project for Learning Theory class came to mind. When Dolly proudly wore her coat of many colors to school, made from rags her mother had carefully sewn together by hand, the other children teased her to the point she felt ashamed. In other words, they bullied her. Trying to fight back, she tried to explain how her mother had told her the story of Joseph while she painstakingly worked on the coat each night. Unable to convey the full context of the story from Genesis 37 to her peers, they continued to mock and deride her. It was no use; they just couldn’t understand.

As in the story of Joseph, his father, Jacob, gave him a coat of many colors. This was the story Dolly’s mother had told her about while making the special coat. Joseph was Jacob’s favorite son since he had been born in his old age. Giving him the coat of many colors was viewed as giving him the birthright, which was against tradition. Normally, the birthright went to the firstborn son. This act of giving the coat to Joseph enraged his brothers to the point that, “They could not speak peaceably to him.” – Genesis 37:4[1] In other words, they began to chide him with hurtful rhetoric, much like Dolly experienced; however, this was harassment was driving the opposite end of the socioeconomic spectrum; that of jealousy.

Not only do we see how peer pressure can cause children to become introverted[2], but we can also see how appearances and dress too often dictate what is the social norm for the school culture. Sadly, this ethos can be influenced by negative factors such as Gangster Rap, social media, and overly aggressive video Games, such as Soldier of Fortune and Fortnight. When perceptions turn into actions, either verbal or physical, they have gone too far. In the story of Joseph, we find the extreme result that we fear most; when bullying becomes more than painful words.

Poverty is still prevalent in our school district. The poor of the Appalachians is unfortunately very much alive and well today. However, today they exist from diverse backgrounds; they are paradoxically the human coat of many colors. In my own classroom, I have seen bullying against the socioeconomic (both poor and rich), social status, and sexual orientation. All have come in a variety of forms and from often, the most unexpected antagonist.

Although these lyrics in Dolly’s song and the story of Joseph’s coat appear seemingly simple, if we look at them more deeply, we can find the effects of bullying on several layers (both victim and perpetrator), their triggers, and the culture they breed in our classrooms.

Triggers:

In an interview[3] about the story behind the song, Coat of Many Colors, Dolly Parton revealed that the song was indeed autobiographical; the small girl in the song was her. We find in the song how Dolly was hurt by the teasing of her fellow students. Some people may conclude that this is only a natural attitude; just children being children. Yet, when we take a closer look at their actions, we can see how this type of teasing can be construed as bullying. A new step between teasing and bullying has been identified as a ‘micro-aggression.’ It can best be described as this, “Trigger material is barely a whisper away from ‘trigger words’—many of which supply the content of ‘micro-aggressions,’ and all of them might readily be placed under the aegis of bullying.”[4]

However, even though she had been shamed, Dolly didn’t give up. Trying to overcome her attackers, Dolly took the high road and tried to convey to them a higher purpose in the coat’s meaning. As the lyrics tell us, “that a person is only poor if they choose to be.” This likely was a response to them accusing her family of living in poverty because of her coat made of rags. In high school, social status often dictates what click or circle of friends you keep. Even in Dolly’s childhood, children were already being taught, whether at home or through advertising, that it wasn’t popular to be poor. Rather, they were already trying to shed their rural traditions for the sake of “appearing” to be more city-fied. Today, we still see some of that, students trying to hide their poverty. A new status of being proud of your rural roots has risen in the past decade. Some students purposely where their square-toed boots to school, with camouflaged coats and hats to match. However, rural boots and belt buckles can lead to triggers for some students as well.

In my own classroom there is another trigger in our day that was not an issue in Dolly’s school; sexual self-identification. The rainbow colors of both Dolly’s and Joseph’s coat could easily be seen as a metaphor for the rainbow symbol used by the LGBTQ community today. Hate groups and related mentalities often seek out these representations as targets to whom they are repulsed, and subsequently attracted to attack. What is often said at home is ingrained into the child’s mind. Acting out these aggressions, as so often we find in bullying, the multi-colored coat could then easily be seen as a representation of something it was not intended; regardless, the actual intent of said clothing.

In Joseph’s situation, the coat represented their birthright being given to the “favorite son.” This trigger brought out the most vehement personalities of sibling rivalry.

Who’s to say that the students at Dolly’s school weren’t jealous too because of Dolly’s special coat? We could easily discern from the language of her song that the more she tried to tell them why it was special, it just added fuel to their fire, flaming their jealousy all the more. How many of those jealous students came from broken families and never had anyone love them enough to make something for them; especially a coat that took many hours to sew together? To cover for their own insecurities, they took it out on the poor, little pretty country girl who glowed in her new coat.

Another trigger that is often missed is that from cultural ignorance. In my class, there was an incident when one of my impoverished students, one that was known for struggling academically, said something to one of my other impoverished minority students. Each child was from poor families but had dramatically diverse ethnic backgrounds. The one non-ethnic male student made an off-handed statement to the other while working on a project together. The student was so ashamed, she wrote a note and gave it to me after class. It was a shining moment for her, in that although afraid to meet her bully head-on, she still had the courage to come forward. The male student who had said the remarks had only repeated words that he had heard in his home environment so many times, that he didn’t see them as hurtful. Sadly, being from some of the remote sections of the mountains doesn’t afford the opportunity to know people from other parts of the world, except through the lenses of their own rural backgrounds, which more often than not include stereotypical ideologies. After I had the opportunity to talk to the perpetrator about his language, he then understood how his words had been painfully received, and he was sorry. The victim eventually forgave him, but in her own time, and not as a result from any persuasion on my part. In a loving environment, forgiveness is possible when we set the example for others to follow.

Perpetrator (the Bully):

In both cases of Dolly and Joseph, we don’t actually know the bullies first-hand; rather, we only are aware of the consequences resulting from their actions. In each circumstance, we can make some valid assumptions based on what we know about how bullies are created and how their actions are perpetuated onto their victims.[5] As we learned in the video, bullies often take out their frustrations on easy targets. By the time most adolescents reach the secondary level of education, the bully has found the “Chronic Victim.” Both are rejected by their peers; the bully for being aggressive, the victim for being introverted and strange (the latter a more self-imposed extraction than the former). Looking at the social atmosphere from the outside, both victim and bully become connected due to their polar opposite personalities.

Personally, I can attest to this syndrome; opposites attract. Early in my own personal High School experience, I was very introverted and shy. This outcast of society mindset made me a target for bullies in school. Appearing as an easy target, they began to harass and torment me to the point I began to think of either escaping or retaliating, a common result of bullying. I eventually reached a breaking point one day when one of those bullies pushed me too far. I snapped and literally succumbed to a blinding rage that had built up inside of me for so long. At that moment, I had become like Ralphie, in the movie, “Christmas Story.”[6]

However, unlike Ralphie, who pummeled his bully, I simply hit my tormentor once, square in the face. The blow was so great that his head snapped back, then he fell forward into his plate of food on the table; out cold. I calmly walked back to my seat and sat down. It was then I began shaking from the adrenaline rush, realizing what I had done. Eventually, the bully recovered and then ran out of the lunchroom. I was horrified. I knew in my heart that at that point I was going to be called to the office and from there, all manner of trouble would ensue. The prospects of punishment from my actions began to consume me. Fearing for my academic life, I too left the lunchroom and hid out in the stairwells until the bell rang for classes to begin. Amazingly enough, I was never called to the office. None of the teachers monitoring the lunchroom reported the incident. Mind you, this was 40 years ago, back when paddling was still a valid course of corporal punishment. It was also very likely that the teaching staff attending to the lunchroom that day saw someone, the bully, finally get his just reward; one can only guess at this point.

Regardless, looking back, it was as if God had watched over me that day.

Not long after that incident, the bully began to change. He began to say hello to me in the hallways; being nice instead of intimidating. In fact, the other bullies in the school that had previously targeted me now treated me with a renewed sense of respect; not something I had looked for, but rather, something that was a result of something which I am not proud of, even today. That former bully, a year later, became a friend, and in a positive way. It was as if that moment had also transformed his life. It was much like that point in Joseph’s life when he looked up from the bottom of the well, realizing he could have easily been killed by his brothers, he realized that his life was about to change for the worse. However, as we know the rest of the story, through his forgiveness, he eventually was reunited with his brothers in dramatic fashion; one of best tear-filled scenes of the Old Testament.

Unfortunately, not all victim’s incidents turn into happy endings. Eventually, both victim and bully reach a breaking point. The bully releases their frustrations out on their victims. Meanwhile, the victim has nowhere to release their anger but inward. This combustion of emotions leads to greater “breaking points,” which we have seen turn into deadly consequences in recent years (most of the school shootings were a result of bullying victims acting out their aggressions.)

In my own classroom, I’ve seen bullies of varying degrees. One that I came to know was haunted by the loss of his father. As part of literacy in Math exercise, I had students write a Glide-Reflection of their lives. We were covering the unit on Transformations. As part of the assignment, the students were asked to write about something in their life that they lived through, that when they looked back (reflected), the could see where they were changed. The bully wrote about losing his father only a couple years before entering high school. When I read it, the stories of how he acted out against other students and teachers in other classes began to become understandable. As time would go on, I would notice days that he would appear agitated. On these days, I would pull him aside and take him out into the hallway where we would “Go for a Walk.” These are the moments that students often think they are in trouble, but after we walk out the door and I tell them they aren’t in trouble, rather, we need to walk and talk, they are instantly relieved and sometimes become emotional. It was the latter with this young man the day we took a walk after I had read his story. From that day forward, I was able to address his aggression from a different perspective. Often giving him someone to open up too allowed his frustrations to be released instead of having them build up and then vent them on another victim. We began to see a change in his attitude, and eventually, his academics began to improve.

Victim:

The victim in all of these stories, Dolly, Joseph, the minority student in my class, and myself, eventually, partially, if not fully given the time, come to understand why they were being harassed. In Joseph’s case, he finds himself at the bottom of a dry well. From the very start, he had to have felt uncomfortable when their anger began to seethe over into their language toward him. He fueled their flames, even more, when he told them of his dream, in which their sheaths made obeisance to his own sheath in the field.[7] It was at that point that their anger reached critical mass. We might ask ourselves, “Was Joseph blind to their anger?” “Was he perhaps afflicted with some form of behavior deficit, like Asperger’s or ADHD,” or was he simply so trusting in God, that he feared nothing to the point he cared little if they were mad or not? Had he reached the point of giving up, like the video, “How to Make a Bully (from Scratch)” depicted?

Consider Joseph’s plight further when he was sold into bondage and carried away into a strange land (Egypt) to become a slave to Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh, a captain of the guard. The essence of the victim hitting bottom could have easily been expected at this point. He could have given up. Yet, unlike what is expected of the typical victim, that of reaching a critical point of snapping, we see an unexpected twist. “And his master saw that the Lord was with him and that the Lord made all that he did to prosper in his hand.” – Genesis 39:3.

In the case of Dolly, we don’t know if she continued to be bullied by the other students or if someone stepped in to stop it. We know that although she was victimized not only for her socioeconomic status, the color of her coat, and the fact that she was loved by her mother, she did not give up. Like many victims, she fought back by trying to explain the reason why she proudly wore her coat of many colors. Yet, like most situations of being bullied, they had no intention of listening to what she said; it wasn’t the point. Their feelings of insecurity were taken out on the poor, country girl who was loved enough for someone to hand-sew together a coat made of many pieces of cloth.

Psalms 82:4 tells us, “Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked.”

In my classroom, the poor minority student I had mentioned previously that had been inadvertently bullied by the other impoverished student was not left without being supported in her reporting of the incident. She had been aware of the harassment and wasn’t going to take it. As was necessary, and prudent, in my school’s administrative process, I made a discipline referral for the bullying student. Before turning in the paperwork, I met with both students separately and talked to them. As expected, the male was unaware of what he said. Yet, we followed through with the punishment to be consistent (our certainty) with our severity. Each student understood that what happened was avoidable, but each child had learned from the incident, knowing that Mr. Tron was going to stand up for them, and reach out to them when they made mistakes in an effort to help them grow and to feel loved.

Reflections:

From Joseph’s story, we might examine how a child caught in the downward spiral of being bullied might recover once they are removed from the caustic environment. In other words, Joseph began to blossom and flourish to his potential once he was removed from the impact of being bullied.

Sadly, the bullies in Dolly’s school likely had lives torn to shreds, like the rags of Dolly’s coat had once been. Unlike Dolly, they had no one to sew their lives back together. Lost in a loveless home environment, they became bitter at the world and sought to take out their pain upon an easy target.

In Joseph’s story, we explore the context of bullying within the family and how it is not just an academic institutional problem. In Joseph’s case, we see the extreme of a mindset that not only physically acts out on their victim but further perpetuates their aggression on their victim by seeking to destroy his life and his father’s connection to his most beloved son. In so doing, they unknowingly are doing the will of God, placing Joseph in a place that will eventually save their family from starvation. Unlike many victims of bullying, Joseph’s story ends in triumph rather than tragedy.

In my own experience, I was fortunate. The effects of bullying are complex, “How bullying impacts a child is holistic.”[8] My life could have turned out differently in many aspects; had that incident been reported, had the bully been seriously injured, or if the bully not changed. At the time, it made me painfully aware that I was not in a healthy environment. Although the bully changed, my home life did not. Eventually, I would move to a strange land, like Joseph, where I too would begin to blossom. The removal from the caustic environment, which was most of my own making, would allow me to start over. I was and am blessed beyond measure.

In my own classroom, when my co-teacher and I identify the bullying activity, we address it from both perspectives. We support the victim and offer them the guidance they need to recover. We also seek to prevent them from feeling as if they might experience the issue again by creating an environment of safety and love. In the same token, we also reach out to the bully, not only to correct the behavior but find the source of the aggression and disarm it before it grows into something that cannot be controlled. In both cases, we offer a new seating arrangement if it is necessary. If counseling is needed, then we offer those resources. If simply showing love to both parties, then we do that as well.

The Response in Our Classrooms:

As teachers, being made aware of the effects of bullying, we can become the intervention for our students before they hit rock bottom, and before they reach that deadly snapping point. When we notice bullying, we can seek out each party, reaching each student, both bully, and victim, and provide the element which they both have so often been neglected: Love. To reach beyond the curriculum, we teach and seek to know the person behind the face sitting in that seat each day can make all the difference.

Often, those victims of bullying seek refuge. Our classrooms can become that safe-haven; a place they know they can find shelter from the storm of life. The cycle of being bullied can be broken, if only we seek measures to stop its continuation. It is imperative that we not only make ourselves aware of this monstrous epidemic but also educate our peers and those around us. As it has been said, “It takes a village to educate a child,”[9] we must also come together as an academic community to halt this disorder for once and for all.

My path in life has led me back to the place that I once struggled socially; high school. From having been a survivor of bullying, in some respects, I have a keen awareness of those “micro-aggressions” as Dr. Martocci pointed out. However, my role now is not that of a victim, but that of being the light to those who live in a world of darkness. As the Apostle Paul wrote to the church in Ephesians, “For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light.”- Eph. 5:8.

In my own classroom, being cognizant of all aspects of bullying, I’ve sought out the approach of loving both parties: bully and victim. Correcting the problem while show compassion for each has led to quick resolutions and an attitude of respect. My students know where I stand and appreciate that they are protected and loved.

My passion is my position in life; to serve. In that capacity, I now seek to be the light to those who are facing the darkness of persecution from aggressors, be that at home, school, or anywhere in between. In essence, God has put me in a place to help those in need.

Summary:

In summary, bullying, if allowed to go uncorrected, can have devasting, if not deadly, results. “Inability to develop socially and emotionally is affected by the bullying and impacts the child’s life in a holistic way, which is expressed in this quote, ‘It is the impact on the target and not the intent of the aggressor that matters.’”1 In today’s “Zero Tolerance,”[10] environment, my personal experience would have resulted in me having a minimum of three days Out of School Suspension (OSS). The results from that type of punishment would have had an extremely negative, and possibly tragic, rippling effect on not only my academic world but my home life as well.

In the stories of the coat of many colors, the victims had a wide range of targets upon which bullies could prey. Sadly, in many cases, our children in today’s world are the coats. There is no one simple fix for a problem that has become pervasive throughout all levels of our society, from the home to the workplace, and everywhere in between. What we should be concerned with most is how to break the cycle. The creator of “How a Bully is Made (from Scratch), probably said it best when they said that we must show both the bully and victim love; something they have lacked. Jesus tells his disciple in the Bible when asked, “What is the greatest commandment,” “Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.³⁸This is the first and great commandment.³⁹And the second is like, unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”- Matthew 22:37-39

As educators, we face a myriad of issues daily in our classrooms. Our primary focus is to educate our students. To do this, we must provide an environment that is not only safe, which allows for the Deficiency Needs of Maslow to be met[11], but also one that is free from all outside influences and distractions, which includes the effects of bullying. Beyond the curriculum we present, we must seek to understand and appreciate the background behind each soul that sits behind a desk in our rooms. There, before us, each day is the future of our society. We must learn to read, like a quarterback behind the center reading the defensive configuration before him, our students and be ready to act when we see inconsistencies in behavior. When we intervene, we halt the progress of the illness that could become a greater tragedy if left unattended. It is up to us, the teacher, to show love to all of our students, regardless of how much they test us. When we truly walk as Christ, we love unconditionally, and for that, there is no conqueror.

Thanks be to God.

Coat Of Many Colors

by Dolly Parton

Back through the years I go wanderin’ once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us

And how my momma put the rags to use

There were rags of many colors
But every piece was small
And I didn’t have a coat
And it was way down in the fall

Momma sewed the rags together
Sewin’ every piece with love
She made my coat of many colors
That I was so proud of

As she sewed, she told a story
From The Bible, she had read
About a coat of many colors
Joseph wore and then she said

“Perhaps this coat will bring you
Good luck and happiness”
And I just couldn’t wait to wear it
And momma blessed it with a kiss

My coat of many colors
That my momma made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly

Although we had no money
Oh, I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me

So with patches on my britches
And holes in both my shoes
In my coat of many colors
I hurried off to school

Just to find the others laughing
And making fun of me
And my coat of many colors
My momma made for me

And oh I couldn’t understand it
For I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love
My momma sewed in every stitch

And I told ’em all the story
Momma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colors
Was worth more than all their clothes

But they didn’t understand it
And I tried to make them see
That one is only poor
Only if they choose to be

Now I know we had no money
But I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
Made just for me

References:

Unknown, “The Effects of Bullying on School Age Children,” https://effectsofbullyingonschoolage.weebly.com/index.html

Laura Martocci, Ph.D. (Dec. 8, 2015). Trigger Warnings, Micro-aggressions and Bullying. Psychology Today, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/you-can-t-sit-us/201512/trigger-warnings-micro-aggressions-and-bullying

Today Show, (2015) Dolly Parton On ‘Coat of Many Colors’: ‘I’ve Been Very Blessed’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9oE9qohieM

Unknown (2014) “How to Make a Bully (from Scratch), Conscious Discipline, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzftHNh7xP8

Jean Shepherd (1983) “Christmas Story,” Directed by Bob Clark.

Holy Bible, KJV, Bible Gateway, https://www.biblegateway.com/

Reva Smith, (Mar. 6, 2013), Today’s Parent, “It take a village to educate a child.”, https://www.todaysparent.com/family/it-takes-a-village-to-educate-a-child/

Robert E. Slavin (2015) “Educational Psychology, Theory, and Practice,” Johns Hopkins University, Pearson,11^th Edition. Pg. 345.

“Coat of Many Colors,” Dolly Parton, https://search.azlyrics.com/search.php?q=coat+of+many+colors

Curwin, R. E., & Mender, A. N. (1999). “Zero tolerance for zero tolerance.” Phi Delta ICappan, 81(2), 1 19-120

[1] Holy Bible, KJV, https://www.biblegateway.com/

[2] Unknown, “The Effects of Bullying on School Age Children”, https://effectsofbullyingonschoolage.weebly.com/index.html

[3] Today Show, (2015) Dolly Parton On ‘Coat of Many Colors’: ‘I’ve Been Very Blessed’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9oE9qohieM

[4] Larua Martocci, Ph.D. (Dec. 8, 2015). Trigger Warnings, Micro-aggressions and Bullying. Psychology Today, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/you-can-t-sit-us/201512/trigger-warnings-micro-aggressions-and-bullying

[5] Unknown (2014) “How to Make a Bully (from Scratch), Conscious Discipline, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzftHNh7xP8

[6] Jean Shepherd (1983) “Christmas Story,” Directed by Bob Clark

[7] Holy Bible, KJV, Bible Gateway, https://www.biblegateway.com/

[8]Unknown, “The Effects of Bullying on School Age Children”, https://effectsofbullyingonschoolage.weebly.com/index.html

[9] Reva Smith, (2013), Today’s Parent, “It take a village to educate a child.”, https://www.todaysparent.com/family/it-takes-a-village-to-educate-a-child/

[10] Curwin, R. E., & Mender, A. N. (1999). Zero tolerance for

zero tolerance. Phi Delta ICappan, 81(2), 1 19-120

[11] Robert E. Slavin (2015) “Educational Psychology, Theory, and Practice,” Johns Hopkins University, Pearson,11^th Edition. Pg. 345.

Filed under Inspirational, Teaching

Tagged as aggression, appalachian, bible, birthright, Bullying, classroom, Coat of Many Colors, Dolly Parton, Egypt, Genesis, god, harrassment, High School, Jacob, Jesus, Joseph, LGBTQ, love, micro-aggressions, poverty, shame, Teaching

by Timothy | November 3, 2018 · 9:02 pm

Let the Rabbits Run: A Tribute to J.W. Parsons

As they sat in the little out-building dimly lit by a single incandescent bulb overhead, J.W. leaned back in the old metal legged kitchen chair smiling broadly as the student before him began pulling the first few strains of sound from the instrument under his chin. It would be the first of nearly a dozen lessons. His now white hair protruded boldly from beneath the cap on his head. As he listened to the young man play, he talked to the elder sitting next to him on the upturned white 5-gallon bucket. Reno Sharpe had come along this evening with the young man, a friendly escort of sorts. They talked of old friends and days gone by while the student would painfully try to repeat what the master fiddler had just shown him. There were no music books, no sheets from which to read; no, this was learning as in the old days, by ear.

John Wesley Parsons was his full name, but everyone knew him simply as J.W. It was said that he could fix anything with strings on it; from fishing poles to rehairing a bow. The room around them that night doubled as a slaughterhouse. J.W. raised hogs on the side, along with a host of other jobs. In the summertime, he sold minnows and watermelon. There were butcher saws and knives gleaming in the shadowy room. It was appropriate for the beginner fiddler, so badly were the sounds coming from his bow, akin to killing a song if you will, and not in a good way, that J.W. would remark, “Boy, are you married?”

“Yes-sir,” he stopped making the painful sounds to look up from his violin to answer.

“You gotta out-building you can practice in?”

“No sir, but I’m starting to work on one now.”

“Well, you better gitter built if you wanna stayed married.”

To that, both he and Reno laughed heartily. The young man joined in knowing full well what they meant.

It was just one of many evenings the three would spend together over the course of several weeks that fall.

J.W. was quick to tell the two men that night that he literally taught Charlie Daniels how to play the fiddle. It was a true story, yet it is doubtful that Mr. Daniels would ever attest to it. To J.W., that was his claim to fame. In truth, his real legacy would come later, but not through a single entity such as Mr. Daniels. J.W.’s legacy would be a gift to many.

One evening, J.W. brought his guitar along. The student had now progressed enough that he was able to follow along to the rhythm of the guitar. The master fiddler was slowly working his prodigy into someone that would benefit from this experience for a lifetime. J.W.’s own background was from years of mastery learned through countless hours of sawing the bow across the strings. In wartime, he played with bands that would tour all over the Far East; Japan, Korea, and other Pacific Rim islands. J.W. would eventually come home to settle back down on the farm and raise a family. There he found like many old-time fiddlers, they could earn more money playing for Pea Pickin’s or Corn Shuckin’s on the weekend than they could at a regular paying job. That being the case, and money being tight, he became known far and wide for being a master fiddler.

As he sat his fiddle down that evening, he said to the two men, now his tiny audience, as he picked up the old Martin guitar beside him, “You always want a good guitar player backing you up. And when you get one, make him stand right beside you. You got to have him right beside ya like he was’n a glued to your side. Otherwise, you won’t be able to hear em. If you get off, it makes the whole band get off, and that’s a bad, bad thang.”

The student would reflect back on the many things learned in that tiny studio. Not all of the things taught were just from the notes flowing through the wood and strings, but rather, from the knowledge of the elder passing onto the student the lessons of life and what it was to live in a time when the music of this sort was in much greater demand and appreciation. In today’s education, too often the human aspect of the interaction between student and teacher is overlooked. Sitting around the hearth on cold winter nights, the old-timer’s in the Appalachians would pass down not only the songs but the stories and traditions of the culture that made them distinct from others. It made the music they made all that more special.

On that memorable evening, J.W. sat down all four legs of his chair and began tuning his guitar. His large fingers adeptly turned the tuning pegs as he bent his head to listen. There was no tuner needed so well adapted were his ears to the sounds of the instruments in his hands. To try to watch his fingers position themselves on the tiny neck of the fiddle, it was sometimes impossible to discern which string he was actually playing. Because of his large working hands, the fingers were nearly always positioned to cover two strings, which made his double stops (purposely playing two strings at once) perfect. Even though the fiddle looked out of place in those rough, hewn hands, the beautiful strains of his waltzes were some of the sweetest melodies many had ever known.

That particular evening, his mood seemed different.

Before continuing, he told the two men in a solemn tone, “What I’m about to play you I don’t want you telling anyone about. I don’t normally sing in front of people,” he would go on to say.

Knowing or not, the young man had always brought along his video recorder in order to tape each lesson. From those he would practice the week, carrying the master with him as a manner of speaking. This night was no different. Instead of interrupting, he let J.W. continue so as not to stop what they were about to see. “If it was really something to be kept secret, he could always go back and erase it if necessary,” he thought to himself.

“This here’s a song about an old man and his dog. I call it the Rabbit Song.”

He began playing and singing like we had not seen before. His voice was a good as any country singer they had known on the radio. The song was from the heart. As he played and sang, J.W. closed his eyes as of if he was being transported to another place and time.

“These hills have been my home, come eighty years next Monday,

Since sixty-five it’s just been this old dog and me.

My woman was called home to be with the Lord in Glory.

My life has been a good one but my journey’s end I see.

Seems like the rabbits run much faster than they used too.

Every year the hillsides get harder to climb.

Seems like the autumn turns too quickly into winter.

Won’t be long and me and this old dog will say goodbye.”

The same young man sat in the cozy little barbershop behind Max’s house. It was Thursday night, and Max was open for business. Earlier in the week, Max had found the young man had an old fiddle on display in his house. It was one his wife had bought at an auction back when they were in college. It was merely intended for decoration since neither one of them could play it. That evening Max, curious as he was about most things couldn’t take it any longer when he paused clipping away with the scissors, and gently touching his customer’s shoulder, and leaning in to say, “I happened to see a fiddle sitting in your dining room at your house last week when I was doing that work for you. Do you play?”

“No sir, that was something my wife bought a long time ago at an auction when we were in college. It’s broken up on the neck and can’t be tuned unless it can be repaired,” he replied. Then the next few words he was about to speak would alter the course of the young man’s life, “But I’ve always wanted to learn how to play a stringed instrument.”

It was almost as if Max had been waiting to hear those exact words. Before he had barely got the words out of his mouth, Max had an answer. “I know a man that can repair your fiddle and teach you how to play it too.”

“Really,” the young man said in almost disbelief?

Grabbing the local phone directory, he opened it up to the ‘P’s, “Yep, sure do, his name is J.W. Parsons.”

Pointing to the J.W.’s name, they wrote down the number. Then the conversation turned to all the music that had been a part of Max’s life and how he and J.W. had made music so many times. Those were precious memories. The world began to spin seemingly out of control for the young man that night, as so many things that could have been began to become possibilities. It is sometimes said that truth is stranger than fiction. It seemed that night as if the young man had stepped back into time, hearing about lives from another century.

As J.W. played for the audience of two that night, his student and Reno, he sang to them a song that was nearly as prophetic as it was sad.

“Instead of sleeping over in the corner by the fireplace,

That old dog would run and hunt all day.

Not too long ago, we were out amongst the corn rows,

Making the memories that are on my mind today.

Seems like the rabbits run much faster than they used too.

Every year the hillsides get harder to climb.

Seems like the autumn turns too quickly into winter.

Won’t be long and me and this old dog will say goodbye.”

He ended the song and solemnly sat down the guitar at his side as the two men cheered his beautiful rendition. His humbleness overwhelming them as he repeated, “Now don’t tell no one I ever sang that, you hear.” They shook their heads in disbelief and approved. It was the gentlemen’s agreement; they had given their word.

From there, J.W. would eventually introduce the young man to other venues and people, whereby eventually, those off-key notes would form melodies that would entertain crowds of enthusiastic onlookers, but never to the same level of the master’s hand. The style of which he had learned from the old Pea Pickin’ fiddler, J.W. Parson, was one of a kind; a mix of bluegrass with a hint of old-time mountain music. From that point forward, the legacy of J.W. Parsons would be passed down as that young man would go on to become the first Director of the Chatham County Junior Appalachian Musician’s Program (JAM). There, he and many others would teach young children from the ages of 8 to 16, how to play the songs and instruments of the old-time music. The method used in the program was exactly the same J.W. would use, sharing the sounds of the music along with the stories that made it special; and learning by ear.

Years would go by, and like pages on a well-worn book, the edges of recollection would begin to fade. Sadly, in his later years, J.W.’s memory would begin to slip. It was painful to watch the master fiddler slowly lose the precious gift he had known most of his life. Around him, especially his loved ones, people watched the man they loved and called Papa, slowly fade from them. His friends would fight back the tears as they would see him one more time and know this was only the shell of the man they had once known.

One might attribute the loss of his memory to the accident that took his loving wife, “Mara-Lou,” as he called her. They had been in a wreck and gone to the hospital afterward, but the doctors told her everything had checked out. They went home, even though she was still in pain. Sadly, she passed away during the night from her injuries. J.W. was never quite the same afterward.

The Bible tells us in Philippians, 3:13 “Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before,” One could say, God, moved J.W. past the painful loss of his beloved, comforting him in his final years with a sense of peace. Looking back, it was as if God knew the pain he suffered from losing his life-long partner. In taking away his memory, he might have lost his musical talent, but he was also afforded a few years of peaceful grace before he left this world. We often only comprehend what we can see. Beneath that placid façade of bleakness, we witnessed, who’s to say J.W. couldn’t already see the joy that would fill his soul on that beautiful reunion day when he and Mara-Lou would meet again on the far distant shore of Jordan?

The memory of the Rabbit Song would return to that young man J.W. taught so long ago every time he saw him in those final years.

That young man, of course, would be me.

As he had asked, I never mentioned the song or that it had been played. Reno passed long before J.W., so it was a memory only I carried with me.

Not many years after J.W.’s passing, I mentioned to Wendy about the song. It was the first time I had told anyone. She replied, “I’d like to get a copy of that from you someday.”

Someday will come. My walk in faith has buried so many things in storage. Unlike the things we carry, the memory of that special evening has not been lost.

As time goes by, the children from that JAM program are growing up and moving onto other parts of their own lives. Many of them had heard the story of the Rabbit Song, but few know the rest of the story. As they grow up and continue playing the music learned from the student of J.W., it is as if a part of J.W. Parsons continues on. His legacy still surviving into the next generation beyond our own. Those students are now becoming teachers as well, carrying on the tradition of learning by ear, playing in the old-time way.

Yes, the rabbits seem to run much faster than they used too. These Blueridge mountains seem harder to climb.In the corner sits my fiddle, lovingly signed on the back by J.W. Parsons.

As the weather turns cooler, it takes me back to that little old shack behind J.W.’s home where we sat underneath the light of that autumn moon. It’s time to rosin up the bow and play that fiddle hard, cause J.W.’s memory will not be lost, his legacy will linger on.

Filed under Inspirational, Music

Tagged as Army, Charlie Daniels, corn shuckin, Far East, fiddler, Goldston, guitar, J.W. Parsons, JAM Program, Japan, Junior Appalachian Muscians, Korea, Max Burns, NC., pea pickin, Rabbit Song, Reno Sharpe, WWII

by Timothy | October 22, 2018 · 8:15 pm

The LORD Is My Shepherd

The crisp cool air hit his flesh, biting into the fingertips that grasped the walking stick. The wind on the peaks had yet to cause anything more than a stirring of the fading leaves here in the holler through which he trod. A fateful night of harsh wins left the trail littered with pine cones and limbs. Up ahead, a fallen flock of trees lay across the path, like obstacles in a steeplechase, over which he must straddle. Onward, like the current in the stream that flowed nearby, his body moved; silent and steady. In his mind, the words of the 23^rd Psalm swirled like falling leaves upon the gentle breeze. Their parallel to the model prayer of which Jesus taught his disciples teased his curiosity. Lost in thought, he ambled on, as memories as clear as the crystal waters that gurgled in his ears echoed their distant reply.

“The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

“Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.”

The air that day had been as crisp, with a matching breeze. The brilliance of the sky was only enhanced by the majestic snow-capped peaks which reached to heights of which he had never seen; at least not from the foot of the mountain. With a small satchel upon his back, he began his unknowing ascent upon the footpath that had been well worn from centuries of pedestrian traffic. To be in the presence of such imagery caused him to pause often and stand in awe. Likewise, the reverence for which he watched became increasingly intense with each footstep upward. Like climbing to the Father, our approach to God the Father, each new day living in Christ, we come nearer to Him. In that manner, we humbly enter into his glory, and by his Grace, we are saved. It is at that point we can boldly say, He is my shepherd.

The burdens of the week began to drift back into the man’s train of thought. Instinctively, he began to prioritize the list, then stopped. “I shall not want,” he said to himself, “God’s got this.” He reminded himself once again that he was trying to do it all. “I must decrease so that He may increase,” he whispered into the chilly air, his breath drifting ahead of his pace.

Once we are aware, the awakening of our spirit allows to know him and He us. In that manner, we can then know that He will care for us as a shepherd to his flock. There shall no need of want. No worries shall cause our brow to cross. All we will ever need will be provided if we only trust in Him.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul.”

Give us this day our daily bread.

As the man returned to his journey up the Germanesca Valley, he recalled standing along the rushing waters of the mighty torrent that tore through the rocks. Like the sound of a roaring freight train, the angry waters thundered past into each falling abyss below. Thirsty, he longed for a drink. Around the next bend in the terrain, a waterfall fell from up above into the pearl blue basin. There, in the foreground of that thundering cascade swirled a beautiful pool of still waters. They beckoned him to come and sup. Bending down, the reflection of a bearded image stared back. He was not the young man he often thought of; rather, this man was aged, but his features showed an internal strength. Cupping his hands, he pulled up toward his face the fresh ice, cold water from the colorless liquid. He drank deeply, as the sweet water poured down his throat, overflowing his chin, it began quenching the deepest desires. He felt a fullness at that point, unlike ever before. The words came to mind, “He who drinks of this water will never thirst again.” The chill of the frigid water touched the core of his body as if his soul had drunk from the well; his spirit was likewise fed; “Restoreth my soul,” he said.

“He leads me down paths of righteousness for his namesake.”

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.

It was at this point that the man ran into another traveling companion that had ventured upon the same trail. His name was Stanley. He was the Pastor at a church in the Michigan area. He too was here with the same group with which the man was traveling. “Are you thinking about going further,” he asked.

Looking up at the distant peak, they both questioned the challenge that intrigued them both.

“Yes, but you know that the bus leaves at 4:00 pm,” the man replied. They both looked back up at the seemingly impossible climb.

Deep down inside, each man could hear the voice of one calling.

“How about we set ourselves a time limit, and when we reach that point, we have to agree to turn around; regardless,” the man said to the younger traveling companion.

“Okay,” Stanley quickly replied, “you got it.”

“We have to both agree that no matter what, no matter how beautiful it gets, we can’t keep going.”

“Agreed, the young pastor smiled broadly.”

Shaking hands, they took off and began the arduous climb.

Each winding turn in the goat trail that led upward kept turning back pages of scripture. It was as if God were rewinding each page of his life with the turn of each fragile page of the Word of God. Hand in hand he had lived his life with God watching over him, sometimes unknowing, other times purposeful; always led by the hand of the Lord. He literally had been led down God’s path of righteousness, but not of his own accord.

“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 they comfort me.”

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

When the two men had finally reached the peak. There was little time to commune with God. Sitting down, they both knew that this may the only time in this life that they might have the opportunity to reach this point on earth. Praying, they both sought His Majesties presence such that they would feel the Master’s place at their table. Around them, a gentle breeze blew, as raptors soared before them, floating effortlessly upon the unseen currents, slowly drifting past where they sat. Like a parade of God’s creatures great and small, the display of His creation came alive. Not far from their vantage point, wild mountain goats pranced in the snow, while nearby mountain ferrets chased one another in play.

Once they caught their breath, turning, their eyes followed the long dark chasm from which they had emerged. From this valley that had climbed. Below, in the shadows of the massive peaks upon which they now sat, the farthest reaches of the sunlight strained to find the earth. Where there was light, there was no darkness. Yet, even in the light of the midday sun, there were shadows upon the land. Like stains of memories returned, so many countless lives lost; blood scattered upon those very valley floors from whence they trod. Now, far beneath the soil, their memories not forgotten as the word from which the men quoted had remained alive; preserved by those martyrs of ancient times; the ancient Waldensians.

“He preparest a table before me in the presence of thine enemies.”

“And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”

Death was merely a shadow, and as such, they feared it not, for to live as Christ was as death, each a gain either way. The rod and staff of God had provided for them even in the darkest of times. When the soldiers came to eradicate them from their homes, they fled to this point, there where the two men sat, and beyond. To the upper reaches of the earth, where if not for safety, to be closer to my God and thee. There the angels carried many to their final resting place.

The pair sat solemn silence. The awe-inspiring scene before the two men left them speechless. Here, the closeness to God was unmistakable. As they dined on the meager fare from which they carried, clouds chased their images upon the nearby snow-capped peaks as the multitude of waterfalls spoke in hushed whispers.

The vantage point from above, so close to Him, so far from that terrestrial countenance that resided in the shadows of the peaks from which they had now climbed. Their apex but merely temporary achievement, but for that which they truly awaited was one far above this point.

There was nothing more one could say, so divine was the beauty before them.

“He anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over.”

Each man finished and sat in repose; their thoughts inward and upward.

“Stanley,” the man said turning to his newfound traveling companion, “we may never make it here again. This may be the only time in our earthly life that we see the world from this vantage point. Let us give thanks to God for all that we have and for this opportunity to share our meal in his presence.” Stanley nodded in agreement. It was then they both knelt in prayer and praised His holy name as one.

Silently and stoically they stood, walking back to the direction from whence they came. Back down to the lower reaches of that distant valley. There was little to say at that point. No words could encompass what they had just felt.

The man rounded the bend in the road, to the place where he had crossed the river many times. The water today was gray and angry. Its reflection was cold and forbidding. Inside, his heart he had been warmed by the memory of that journey now so seemingly far away. For a moment he wondered about Stanley and where it might be in life. Like strangers upon the road who travel along for a while, their union would become a memory for life; a shared point in time. Until that day when we shall all be called to Glory, then we shall reunite with those momentary acquaintances once more and dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Yes, as the psalmist wrote, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.”

“For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen”

Matthew 6:9-13, The Model Prayer

“Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.

¹⁰Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.

¹¹Give us this day our daily bread.

¹²And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

¹³And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.”

23^rd Psalm

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

²He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

³He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

⁴Yea, 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 they comfort me.

⁵Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

⁶Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

Filed under Inspirational, Religious Experience

Tagged as 23rd Psalm, Cottien Alps, Germanesca Valley, god, grace, hiking, Holy Spirit, Italy, Jesus Christ, John 17, Johns River, Matthew 6, mountain goats, mountain peaks, mountains, snow, Stanley, The Lord's Prayer, Waldensian, waterfalls

by Timothy | October 7, 2018 · 9:02 pm

Let the Cool Winds Blow

The wild turkeys met me on my walk down to the Retreat this evening. Trying not to disturb them to the point of flight, I slowed my pace and gave them plenty of time to meander up the opposite side of the holler from where I stood. Their darks back glistened in the warmth of the overly warm October evening. The sunlight was merely filtering through the shadowy wood. They reminded me of my Angus cattle standing in the July sun, their backs gleaming as healthy, shiny black. “Your cattle are mighty fat and slick,” Uncle John would say, enduring me with one of the kindest compliments anyone had ever said or noticed about my farming. Like the vestiges of beings from another place and time, the flock ascended out of sight; slowly, stealthily. Not one of them called out. Silently, like soldiers retreating to safety away from a larger enemy force. Once they had passed, I continued the descent down to the site of many days of toil this past summer. At times, the shade made the sweltering days bearable, but just barely. Back then, it was July. It was supposed to be hot.

This evening, all but a hint of coolness yet escaped these early fall days. The elders speak of frost has usually come by the tenth, but at this point, there will be doubtful anything close to that this coming week. The streams and river seem to bemoan the fact that autumn has stayed away; an extended vacation from us that we all wish she would end. Leaves, wanting to show their true colors, yet cling to the production of chlorophyll, gasping for a break, their edges turning brown for want of rest.

From within, there beckons a break from the sultry weather. My soul seeks the chill of the brisk morning air; yet, there is none to be had. My physical body thirsts but cannot be quenched.

Thirsty, I turn to the only well from which a soul can find sustenance; the Word.

In my search for something to quench my thirst, He spoke to me before the sunrise this morning. “Prepare,” were His words. Opening the pages to my Bible, I turned first to Luke 12:12, “For the Holy Ghost shall teach you in the same hour what ye ought to say.”

“Okay,” I thought, “that’s not far from what I almost always ask before standing in front of a room full of High School students.” Not giving it too much thought, I set out on my weekly walk to church. The sky was overcast, and the air was still. The thermometer on the porch read 72 degrees. “Arrgh,” I moaned to myself, “when will it end?”

Not long after, when I arrived at the General Store, Scott was just finishing opening. “I thought Jennifer was working today,” I asked. He smiled, then looked at the calendar, “Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be off today.” Then he laughed and turned back, “I’m leaving as soon as she gets here,” he smiled. We talked a bit more about how she was doing. She had asked that I lift her up in prayer a few weeks ago, so it was with concern for her that we spoke. Not long after, she came in. Her foot still in the boot. She had broken it a about a week or so ago. Scott was about to leave and said, “It shouldn’t be busy today,”

“Oh great,” she replied, “you just jinxed me.”

My mind flew back to the nights in Emergency Recovery, and how we would fear the onslaught of calls if anyone would use the “Q” word, we called it. “Quiet,” of course was what we were referring too since it never failed if someone said it, we would be overwhelmed with outages the remainder of the evening. After she finished getting settled in, I shared with her the reminiscence of that statement. And then she asked the question, “What made you leave your engineering career behind.”

It was then as if God had opened up the opportunity to share my testimony, I began to tell her the story of how I had answered the call to serve. Being mindful as we talked, to watch for customers, step after step was revealed. Each turn of events I kept reminding her, that God was in it. Each new twist had God’s purpose in mind. By the time I had caught her up to the present, the first customer finally appeared. Call it God’s timing, call it divine intervention, I left Jennifer this morning with my usual, “Have a Blessed day,” as she answered back, “You too,” as she attended to the needs of another customer.

As I sat down at the picnic table to study my scripture before departing off on the rest of my walk to church, the thought came to me, “The next time you speak at a church, you should share your testimony instead of telling about the history of your people.”

But then, the next verse came, 1 Timothy, chapter 1, “Neither give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which minister questions, rather than godly edifying which is in faith: so do.”

It was as if God had set me down into the well, as my head began to swim with a new perception of what could be said, should the opportunity present itself someday. “You should use this verse to clarify the fact that what you share about your ancient Waldensian ancestors is not to be the focus; the genealogy of your people,” He said. “Rather, you should direct their attention to how these people were used as an instrument of God. Because of them, the way, truth, and the light are here with you today.”

“Of course,” my thoughts echoed.

Because of their dedication and faith, the Ancient Waldensian people were able to preserve the Word of God. Their impact made it possible such that even today, miracles can be made manifest when we seek the only source of water that can quench the unquenchable thirst, the Word of God. Although we certainly appreciate their martyrdom, we should not allow it to hinder our real intent. Through the blood of countless martyrs over centuries that would turn into a millennium, their memorization, faith, and dedication became the signature of who they were. They themselves would come to plant the seeds of the Reformation through the blood of their own sacrifice. Like the early Apostles, they realized that they too had to spread the gospel. In the end, it’s not about the endless genealogies, rather, it is about the edification of faith in Jesus Christ that we want to receive. His word is the vessel through which we can be endued with the Holy Spirit. This precious gift, this Comforter which He hath sent, is with us even now, if only we would embrace Him and open the cover from which his word is bound. For some, it is within; memorized for safe keeping in the heart. While others have never had a Bible to read. Our eternal life rests upon our realization that through this precious word, we can understand what it is, and what must be done to receive eternal life. We cannot bring someone to Christ, but rather, through our witnessing, through our actions, and through our sharing of His Word, we can bring to fruition what He started so long ago. Jesus told his disciples, “My meat is to do the will of the Father,” and so it should be with each of us who calls him or herself a Christian.

I know not when, or where my next destiny shall be to stand before others to share the gospels. In some manner of speaking, I still do not know what will be said, but I know without a doubt, at that time, he will provide me with the words with which to speak.

The well of water will rise from within, and with it, the thirst of many shall hopefully be quenched. Salvation is our only key to eternal life, and through the blood of Christ, we have that hope.

Let not the heat of the season deter us from continuing in our quest to save those who are lost. We have one life to live. Let us not live it in vain.

When a brother or sister receives that gift of life, salvation through Jesus, it is as if the Holy Spirit will become a cool breeze unto our soul. Once more we can breathe deeply that refreshing, satisfying water of life.

Let the cool winds blow Lord, let them blow once more.

Thanks be to God.

Filed under Inspirational

Tagged as 1 Timothy, Blue Ridge Mountains, Christian, heat, holler, hot, Jesus Christ, July, Luke, meat, October, spiritual retreat, wild turkeys

by Timothy | September 23, 2018 · 7:44 pm

What Could Be…

We’ve often heard or used the phrase, “Dead-end job.” Whereby, we are referring to an occupation that has no future; no room for growth or lateral movement. Stairs that lead to nowhere are a lot like that. A normal flight of stairs are meant to take us from one level of a building to the next. This past weekend, after cutting and placing stringers for the Spiritual Retreat in place, and then setting the treads down, I sat at the top of the newly erected staircase and looked out at the vast, empty space that awaited on the second floor. My thoughts reflected back to when I had harvested the trees on this very spot a year ago. The stringers from which the stairs are made came from one of those tall pines, some of which still stand tall nearby. That was just one step of many to get to this point. There have been buckets of sweat, copious amounts of blood, and many a restless night’s sleep due to pain between then and now. For the moment, there is no money for flooring for either the lower or upper levels. The wood that had been cut has mostly been used or will be used on other framing aspects. It does not bother me for I know that in time, He will provide. Therefore, my perch only afforded me a vantage point of “What Could Be.”

Sitting at a desk behind stacks of papers to grade or bent over working on the engine of a car as sweat pours into our eyes stinging our vision, we often find ourselves asking the question, “Is this all there is in life?” Or perhaps another, “Where can we go from here?” Likewise, our spiritual life can come to a similar crossroads. All our lives we have spent laboring to build a comfortable world around us; acquiring material wealth, pleasant homes, fancy cars, all to find in the end, we often need very little of all that we have spent a lifetime to amass. In time of solitude, we are often left in moments of recollection, finding that memories are probably the most cherished possession we own. When we look back, we cannot see where we are going. In reflection, we find ourselves sorrowed in that moment. To look back is to see only where we’ve been, not where we are headed, there is a sense of loss; a passing of time that we cannot recover.

Time; once it is gone, it is gone forever.

However, living in the past can only bring sorrow and regret. To turn around and face the future brings new life, a chance to start over for some. Yes, there is a place for which we all should strive to reach, an obtainable goal that was made possible to each of by the most precious sacrifice ever known to mankind: Jesus Christ. We cannot know the Father until we come to know the Son, Jesus. “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.,” Jesus told his disciples (John 14:6). To gain the glories of heaven, we must first accept Christ into our lives; there is no other way.

Too often, we imagine that we have properly prepared for what is to come. You know the person I’m speaking of, the one who can tell you that they have spent their entire life going to church, they believe they have achieved salvation simply by being in the building, by going through all the rituals necessary; following the letter of the law. When asked further how they know they are going to heaven, you find the wheels begin to fall off their spiritual wagon. Just because you park your vehicle in the garage doesn’t mean it’s a car. Doing deeds or works to obtain heaven is not how we receive His amazing Grace. No, my friend, that is not salvation, that is religion. Religion cannot get you into Heaven, only by the Grace of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ can you be saved and obtain salvation from your sins. By the water and the Spirit, we are saved, and those who receive Him shall have eternal life.

In Genesis 11, mankind built a city and a tower known as Babel. The people were extremely proud of their accomplishment, so much so, that God came down to observe their amazing feat. What he found was that man had believed himself to become an equal with God. They had literally built what they believed was a stairway to heaven. God immediately realize the error of their ways, “and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.” Not only was this a false foundation of achievement, but it was also a structure dedicated to idolatrous worship. The offspring of Noah had once again, as the wicked before the flood, fallen away, taking up the worship of idols, even to the point of dedicating the massive building to a multitude of gods. The peak of the monument was capped with an altar dedicated to the god Bel-Merodach, along with all the signs of the Zodiac.

Many Man-Caves are places men often build in their homes or in outbuildings where they can escape from the world, or as some say, “Get away,” from the rest of the family. Here, they decorate the walls and surroundings with all manner of icons that make them feel happy or comfortable; neon beer signs, sports team logos, and many more images that portray that to which they have become a fan. To become a fan, one must follow a team or sports figure to the point you become “fanatical” about them, hence the term fan. If we look at it from the perspective of the tower of Babel, they have essentially erected their own altar to Bel-Merodach. In essence, their decorations become their worship to other gods as did those in Babel.

Thankfully, the focus of my building, even though someone recently asked if it were to become my Man-Cave, is not of things of this world; rather, it is “What is to come.” As I sat atop the stairs to nowhere, it was apparent that they were only the precursor to, “What will be.” From this point forward, one cannot say what is next other than I know in my heart that from here, my purpose is to serve Him in all that I do. Even in the construction, this mindset has enveloped my every action. Someone asked, “Did you build it all by yourself.” Other than my son and Leroy stopping by occasionally to give me a hand, for the most part, literally the answer would be yes. But in truth, all along, He has been here with me. Even now, as I sit in the twilight hours of day typing by the temporary lights hanging on nails, His Spirit is with me. So, no, truly I’ve never been alone.

The dead-end job for me ended five years ago when I chose to leave everything behind and step into the journey of serving the Lord. That was the first step on the stairway. Since then I have lifted many an often-weary foot upon the next tread. Each time, my view came from a high plane than before.

You must be careful when ascending the flight of stairs. One wrong step can send you tumbling to the bottom or worse, end up in serious harm. Just as physical injury can result from a fall; likewise, if our footsteps in faith are not grounded in the Word of God, we can find ourselves falling away, succumbing to the secular desires of the flesh. It is only with only one sure step at a time that we can advance safely. As my friend Jimmy Clark said today, “God will only give us so much insight, knowledge into the future at a time.” Those footsteps upon the stairwell are very much one in the same.

And you may ask, “Where would that insight, that knowledge come from?”

There is mainly one place that I can direct anyone to answer that question, and that is, “The Bible.” Yes, He may speak to us at times or give us visions, but most assuredly, the most definite place to find guidance from the Father is in the Word of God.

One word at a time.

One step at a time.

Let not your stairway lead to nowhere my friend.

Heaven awaits.

All you have to do is repent of your sins, confess with your mouth, and believe with your heart, and then simply ask, and ye shall receive.

Don’t hesitate.

Tomorrow is too late.

All I can do is share with you how. The rest is up to you and Jesus.

Don’t delay.

My prayer is that everyone who reads this will find Jesus if you have not already done so, and in the end, receive their salvation.

I love you, as the Father hath loved me.

Thanks be to God.