Category Archives: Inspirational

by | September 16, 2018 · 8:28 pm

Pitter-Patter of Raindrops…

The pitter-patter of raindrops on the deck outside the porch called to me. Donning my camouflage rubber boots, rain vest, and all-weather wide-brimmed hat, I grabbed my walking staff and headed for the woods. The skies were dark even in the middle of the day. All around us the radar indicated dark green, the sign of heavy rain. The remnants of Hurricane Florence were finally upon us.

The worst was yet to come.

East of us folks had already dealt with this storm for over two days. Massive flooding and torrential rains were continuing. Here in the mountains, we were just getting started.

As my footsteps carried me deeper into the forest, overhead the canopy gave me shelter. Large drops would occasionally splatter on my brim bringing a refreshing sprinkle to my chin. The creek was already swollen but not remarkedly so. The treetops swayed by winds gusting sporadically, which would yield another gentle shower.

My footsteps carried me on, like the water flowing past. My mind became adrift.

Those early memories began to flood my mind.

The rain had been falling for days. The Wabash was up again, and for some reason, our family had decided to go exploring the ever-mysterious “Battle Ground,” as we had always known it. As kids, we never knew the truth of its name. The stories that had been handed down over the centuries were from stories created by artifacts found when grandpa had plowed the field for planting. It was when the bottom plow pulled up broken shards of pottery and spear points, the sounds of those ancient tribesmen footsteps could be heard once more. It was a low land piece of pasture that bordered the banks of the Wabash River in Posey County on the edge of the farm where we called home. The swollen river had claimed much of the lower reaches along its estuaries, so the family simply wanted to see if it too were under water.

When we arrived, the water was a milky, brown. It swirled about the trees like ancient warriors seeking a hiding spot from which to shoot their arrows. My father had me safely perched upon his shoulders. From my vantage point, I could see the rest of the family. They waded about in the murky water as if seeking something they had lost; yet, nothing was found. The ground they had known was now engulfed by flood waters, taking with them anything which was exposed. My little body squirmed as my legs burned to seek that spinning fluidness.

“Let me walk,” my mind can recall me saying to my father.

“No, it’s too deep,” he would answer.

The torment upon his weary shoulders must have caused him to give in, because the next thing I remember, I was walking in the coldness. The water sent shivers up my spine. His hand firmly grasping my own. The few steps taken had been enough to quench my desire, for not long after, I was back up on top of my father’s shoulders. Inside, a sick, chill lingered. At that point, all I could think about was being back inside Grandma’s kitchen by the warm wood stove.

Not many days after that walk, my little body would succumb to pneumonia. It was then I learned about solitariness. Alone in the plastic oxygen tent in the children’s ward of Deaconess Hospital my frail, child body would slowly battle that near-fatal illness. There alone for what seemed like days, I would yearn for anyone to come speak to me. The tears of loneliness often were what cried me to sleep. Early one morning or evening, I know not which, only that the light of day was fading, there appeared a figure at the foot of my bed. I never made out his form through the unclear plastic, only that someone was with me. In his presence, the emptiness that had been before seemed to evaporate. A warmth of love washed over my soul as if another spirit had enveloped my little being. From that point forward, I never felt alone again.

Since that time, back when I was barely two years old, He has comforted me in my darkest hours again, and again. Even when I tried my best to run from Him, He never left my side.

The feeling of the Holy Spirit had wrapped his arms around me, and once more, this evening on my walk, I was reminded of that special time in my life.

Many people walk through their entire lives and never find comfort. They seek what they cannot find in places which cannot fill their void of emptiness. It is as if they continue to flounder in a fluidness from whence they cannot escape. Like water, we can either choose to sink or swim. It is our choice. Our spiritual life is no different; we have a choice.

Jesus told his disciples, “And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.”

My friends, take the life-line he has given you. Don’t think you can go it alone. Everyone that asketh shall receive, if only you will ask.

Water is an amazing property. When we drink it, we are made well. Too much of it and we can drown. Spiritually, we can be Baptized in it and made anew, once we have found salvation in Jesus Christ. There is no other substance on earth that can compare or replace what it can do for us. Like Jesus, there is nothing to which can compare or replace Him.

This evening, the pitter patter of raindrops fall around me, and once more I am made whole.

Come what may, even tonight should the tempest unfold upon us, His mercy shall give us comfort; even in our darkest hour.

Thanks be to God.

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by | September 9, 2018 · 8:03 pm

The Roof is Finally Done

Outside the sounds of the gurgling brook waft up the moss-laden wood-scape. Inside, surrounded by bare wood walls, it has begun; the inspirational retreat.

In true Tron fashion, before the building is yet finished, the first remnants of a writing desk took shape in the form of two sawhorses and a sheet of plywood. The overcast sky made for a cool, refreshing atmosphere, a welcome respite from the abundant heat we had sweltering these last few days of summer. Even here in the mountains, the dog days of summer can linger even into September. As the muted sunlight filtered through windowless walls, God’s inspiration began to flow through my fingertips and onto the keyboard. The first story written within the walls of the Spiritual Retreat was simply called, “Wisdom from a Tree.” It was only fitting, and definitely not intended, as a title seeing as the very trees cut down for the building site now exist as part of the structure under which I sat.

Many friends and followers had asked last week if I had finished the roof. My initial plan had been to take a picture when finished and post it to one of the social media sites, but alas, there was no good camera angle to do it justice; thus, there was no “Aha” moment, that the roof was completed. This morning the inspiration arrived in the form of a tree, and so, in the course of the day it only seemed befitting to settle into the safety of the new shelter to begin doing within for what it was intended; serving the Lord.

There is a gentle peace about this dwelling.

There are no doors or windows to keep the insects at bay. Mosquitos and gnats flutter to and fro in front of the computer screen. Bugs spray glistens from my forearms. The smell of fresh cut lumber fills the air. There is still lots of construction to be done before the glow of the fireplace flickers off the stonework surrounding it, but in my mind, I’m almost there. His Spirit is with me even now.

One can seek solace in many places throughout this world, but eventually, there must be a base from which all of who you are flows. At last, for now, it feels like this is my earthly home.

Thanks be to God.

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by | · 4:44 pm

Wisdom from a Tree…

There is a lot to be learned from a tree.

A long time ago, my fourth grade Art teacher, Mrs. Bradshaw, encouraged my choice of subject matter by saying, “Drawing people and trees have a lot in common.” She would go on to nurture my yet to blossom talent into something that, as of yet, may someday come to honor God more fully. But beyond that intended encouragement, her words would stay with me for decades to cross into other patterns of thought.

This past Sunday morning, as part of my weekly walking to church ritual, I stopped once again at the Collettsville General store to pause and take in God’s word. A gentle breeze blew across the picnic table before me, rustling the pages of the Bible, “Whispers of the Holy Spirit,” my mind mused. The unseen hand turned the thin paper until it landed upon a scripture in the gospel of Matthew. Glancing at the words before me, I read, “Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles? Even so, every good tree bringeth forth good fruit but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire.”

No sooner had those lines entered my mind, to my left, the cries of a forlorn hawk echoed off the mountain walls. Turning to see from whence he called, my attention was drawn to a majestic old tree. In the upper reaches of that giant oak sat the raptor. He glanced in my direction as if to say, Good Morning,” Below him, my artistic mind began to trace the tree down to its curious, twisting trunk whereby was entwined about by a massive vine. Its strength is drawn partly from the earth, but ever more, it sucked the life from its host, the oak. Alone, the vine would have weighed more than several men could lift, yet the tree seemed unphased by its presence; healthy and vibrant were its limbs and branches.

“How much greater would this tree have been had it not been encumbered by such a growth,” were the thoughts that rang in my head? “Or better yet, had this vine somehow created the curious twist and turns of that shape that lone it might have never known?”

Now two thoughts were churning about in my mind; the fruit of a tree and the trials of such a growth prohibiting what might be considered a normal existence for said tree.

All our lives, we toil and labor to obtain what is good and right. As we age, we find that what was once important no longer matters. When we come to Christ and are saved, we become a new person, and all that once was gold no longer glitters. We become changed, and with those changes, we can see how the fruits of those once labors of a lost being were misdirected. Now, with a new heart and soul, we can focus on producing fruit that is beneficial not only for our immediate family and friends but far beyond our horizons. We become that good tree of which Jesus spoke.

Yet, many suffer from ailments, both physical and mental, through which they must battle. Their lives are less than perfect. For some, the sin to which they are chained seems as if they may never break free. The vine of Satan’s grasp has them in its hold. They might walk each day in the world appearing to others as if they are quite normal, but beneath the surface, they are in utter turmoil. Their branches may appear healthy, strong, and abundant. Beneath the soil of their flesh, they fight to maintain their integrity. When they go home each night, it seems as if the world around them falls into greater chaos, an entropy if you will. The only fruit they produce only causes strife and ill will to others. With all their might, they strive to make things right, but alone, they cannot right the wrongs. “An evil tree cannot bear good fruit.” Some give up and end their struggles the only way they know how; by escape through alcohol or drugs, or worse, by taking their own life. That evil tree is cast into the fire, and with it, the life that once was is no longer. Sadly, many in our world face this dire ending.

But there is an answer. There is a cure for this darkness.

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek and ye shall find: Knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.”

Jesus Christ is the answer.

Like a lumberjack, he comes to our call when we ask, wielding a mighty chainsaw, cutting us free from our bonds of sin and strife. “The truth shall set you free,” says the scripture, and like the spinning teeth of the chainsaw blade, the Holy Spirit enters our soul, cutting to the very marrow of our existence, splitting us asunder from that corruption which once held us captive.

When we accept Christ into our lives, we are made a new person. That evil tree is cut down and cast into the fire, but unlike with those that are lost, in the place of this once evil tree, a new tree is planted, one that is good. From henceforth, it begins to grow, unencumbered by the clutches of Satan’s vines of addiction, it begins to flourish. The fruit grows ripe and sweet. The world around them can witness the change, and to them, this metamorphosis becomes a testimony in and of itself.

The breeze turned the page before me one last time. The conclusion became apparent. There before me, God spoke once again.

“Wherefore by their fruits, ye shall know them.”

Jesus told us that it would be obvious to see those who had received Him by how their actions and labors would appear. The twist and turns of that ancient tree would become ever more glorious in that their story, their testimony, would produce a heavenly fruit; the sweet nectar of the Holy Spirit.

Although that massive oak makes a beautiful image with the vine that intertwines amongst its gentle limbs, how much greater might it be should a woodsman happen by with his chainsaw someday and cut it loose? As you go through your work week, watch and listen to those around you. They may appear the picture-perfect co-worker or friend, but don’t be afraid to wield your chainsaw, the Word of God, and be ready to set them free from the vines of this world.

In the end, they will thank you.

And in all we do, let us be thankful for his Holy Word.

Thanks be to God.

“Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire. Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.” – Matthew 7:16-20

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by | August 19, 2018 · 10:17 pm

A Level Head…

As we gathered at 8 AM to begin work this past Saturday on the Spiritual Retreat, we began with prayer. We asked God to protect us and to give us strength, guidance, and wisdom as we worked. We also asked that this building be used to serve Him in whatever capacity so that in our work we would be serving God.

The overcast skies were constantly looming ever closer. The weatherman had predicted 100% chance of rain, so when I found myself barely able to make out the markings on the saw before the dawn’s first light, I was even more thankful that it had not yet begun to rain. Each night this past week, after a full day at school, I would drive home, change clothes, and dash out to the work site to continue building as long as the last vestiges of light would allow. Even so, the necessary pieces of framing were still not fully in place by the time the work crew showed up for the first group effort. Once we were all assembled, there was Jim, a neighbor and Airline Pilot; Leroy, my neighbor, mentor, and retired Scout Executive; John “Fletch” Church, another friend and Paralegal, and lastly my son, Jonathan; all brothers and son in Christ. Our intended focus that day was to try to get the plywood sheathing on the roof. However, it was not to be.

In all things, my focus is to always give thanks. Even when things don’t go as planned, there is a certain level of gratitude which must be appreciated. Looking back, the things we accomplished Saturday were things that would have been nearly impossible for one person to do alone; at least not easily and in a timely manner. This group of men had been the answer to the unforeseen problems that would arise, but God knew.

In all we do, there is always a purpose.

And in the work, there was learning.

One of the many things that had yet to be done was to put up the rafter collar ties. Since we had the manpower, three of us stood on the second-floor working; Leroy on the ladder and Fletch and I holding up the two ends of the collar while I nailed them. Leroy was carefully balancing himself on the ladder while holding a four-foot level as we carefully put each rough cut 2×6 in place. At one point, the ladder shifted, and he became unsteady. Shifting his footing, the level slipped out of his hand and came crashing down onto the left side of my head. Most of the impact was to my ear. My initial reaction was, “Well, now that felt good.”

The bells were still ringing in my head when Leroy asked, “Did that hurt?”

“Just a little,” was my reply.

We both laughed. In truth, it stung pretty good, “But hey,” I thought to myself, “At least I’m still conscious.”

However, as I looked up at Leroy, the look on his face was that of concern. Leroy had been like a father figure to me since we had met. The first day we walked into his home, which is now ours, there had been a feeling; something special that I could recognize but didn’t know what it was. The realtor lady, who would later become a sister in Christ to us, Melonie Reid-Murphy, was showing us Leroy and his wife Annette’s home for the first time. Like in the movie, “War Room,” there was something baked into that home. Later, we would learn that when they were building the house, Leroy and Annette went around and wrote scriptures on the 2×4’s. When we would meet for our most unusual, pre-purchase interview, we instantly felt like we had known each other for years. It was then Leroy became my mentor in many avenues of life, but most importantly, was the one of faith.

So, as Leroy looked down at me from the top of the ladder with that look, I knew there was something more.

“Your cut,” he said, somberly, “Your ear is bleeding,” he continued.

Instantly, I could sense his feeling of responsibility wash over me. Trying to abate any of his self-imposed guilt, I replied, “Ok, it’s just another one to go with all the others,” and laughed it off.

“Maybe we could get Jesus to touch it and heal it,” Fletch chimed in about that time.

Instantly, my mind raced to the scriptures. Amongst the ringing still dissipating, like echoes off the distant mountainside, there was no recollection of such an act that I could recall. “Had Jesus healed the servant,” I asked out loud. Both Leroy and John shook their heads yes.  The scene in the Garden of Gethsemane was playing out in my head, but for some reason, the healing had slipped through my comprehension all these years. “Later I will have to look that up,” I thought to myself as we carried on.

Since everyone had other commitments, as is normal for a Saturday, we finished around noon and parted our ways, myself being thankful not only for the help but the fellowship as well.

However, as if it were confirmation of God’s presence that morning, Fletch messaged me the scripture later in the afternoon to which my thoughts had been silently seeking that morning, Luke 22:50-51, “And one of them smote the servant of the high priest, and cut off his right ear. And Jesus answered and said, Suffer ye thus far. And he touched his ear, and healed him.”

As my eyes read, and then reread the passage, the scene began to play out before me. Jesus, standing in the long shadows of the early morning, long before dawn watched as the light of their torches approached. Judas would lead the mob as they approached. The disciples would suddenly jump awake, a bitter irony from their unnatural drowsiness of the night which had forsaken Christ. Yet, now, they were ready to take up arms to protect him, lest they should lose him forever. In his haste, one of them, as the gospel of Luke recalls, would draw his sword and cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant. We know from other accounts that it was likely Peter who wielded the sword.

At this point, the servant’s assumptions of all that had been said were confirmed. The searing pain of any injury to the ear seems to be magnified, as I had recently known. Although mine was a small scratch, this was an entire ear sliced from his scalp. One can only imagine the thoughts that thundered through the victim’s head as blood began to flow down his face. In that moment, Jesus responded in true Christ fashion, “Suffer ye thus far,” and reached out and touched where the ear had been.

In an instant, the pain stopped. All those watching stood stunned. The torchlight danced around them as everyone was surely silent at that moment.

The servant, who now stood looking down at his former ear, still lying covered in blood upon the ground, felt a tremor of the Holy Spirit ripple through his body. With his right hand, he reached up and felt another ear in the former’s place. All the accusations had in one moment been confirmed by the act of Peter, but before the soldiers could retaliate, Jesus had altered the course of yet another soul. The servant had heard of the rumors of healings and miracles that the man they had come to arrest had performed, but he had never witnessed one in person. Now, he was one would had been healed.

As the servant stood stunned and confused, the scene played on before him. The conflict of what was had now been forever changed, but did it reach his heart?

Paul tells us in the book of Acts, the account to the chief of the Jews in Rome how those who have their minds set against believing we forever be trapped in that prison of anguish, “ Saying, Go unto this people, and say, Hearing ye shall hear, and shall not understand; and seeing ye shall see, and not perceive: For the heart of this people is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes have they closed; lest they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.”

As the soldiers and priests escorted Jesus away in restraints, the servant continued to stand immobile, frozen in place as a witness to a crime. The remaining disciples would sneak off into the remaining shadows of the morning to hide. His heart sank at the realization as the error of his ways became known. As he awakened to the reality before him, tears began to fill his eyes.

I asked our preacher this morning what he thought of the servant’s reaction might have been. He agreed that as the rest of the mob would have been set upon arresting Jesus, and like them, the servant’s mind couldn’t have been changed. The thought rumbled through my head like the thunder through the valley as we sat in the sanctuary during this morning’s service.

As the last words of the sermon ended, God whispered into my ear the answer I had been seeking.

With the ears of which he had been born, the servant of the High Priest would have never known or heard the truth. As Paul said, “Their ears were dull of hearing,” meaning, they had their minds set on only believing one story and nothing else. To the Jews, Jesus was just another troublemaker, another Zealot to deal with. When Peter cut off the servant’s ear, he was stripped of his former self. Jesus Christ simply touched him and made him whole, and when he did, the servant of the High Priest was able to receive the truth, and in so, found Christ.

Yes, with a new ear, he could hear, and in the end, found salvation in Christ.

The ringing had finally stopped in my ear and in my heart, I was thankful for a minor slip of a level the day before.

God had answered prayers this past Saturday in many more ways than one. There was no serious injury and, in the end,, we served Him in all that we did.

They say iron sharpens iron, and true fellowship is a gift in and of itself.

Most importantly, let us not forget, “lest they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.”

Let Jesus touch you today, and in the end, you will be healed.

Thanks be to God.

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by | August 12, 2018 · 9:29 pm

God’s Scaffolding

“ And your children shall wander in the wilderness forty years, and bear your whoredoms, until your carcases be wasted in the wilderness.34 After the number of the days in which ye searched the land, even forty days, each day for a year, shall ye bear your iniquities, even forty years, and ye shall know my breach of promise.35 I the Lord have said, I will surely do it unto all this evil congregation, that are gathered together against me: in this wilderness they shall be consumed, and there they shall die.” – Numbers 14:33-35

There I stood in the construction site of my Spiritual Retreat, looking up at the single 2×4 which was to support the ridge board, the peak of the building. Above, the canopy opened to the blue sky above. Around me lay the work of many days toil. The pinnacle of the job was about to be reached. An eagerness to push on no matter the consequence burned within; yet, something whispered in my ear to wait. In my younger years, I might have ignored that voice, but now, in these later years, I’ve learned to listen when He speaks.

Stepping back, I reluctantly looked from one end of the ridge board to the other; a mere fourteen feet. Yet, there was not another soul to help me on this day. There was no one that could lift the other end of the board to hold it in place while we sandwiched it between the two opposing rafters. Could there be some sort of makeshift rigging that would hold it? Could I manage to strap it to the overhanging suspension cable that I had used to lift the walls in place? All of these questions began to flood my thoughts as if something else were trying to drown out God’s reasoning. Before any decision could be made, I climbed back down to the ground floor and sat down to rest and ponder.

Another story from another time began to drift across my countenance.

Before the children of Israel would cross the Jordan into the promised land, they sent twelve spies across to survey and bring back a report, knowing that the promised land was already inhabited. Of the twelve that were sent, ten of them that returned told of peoples so massive in number and size that it would be impossible for them to defeat them. Two had a different story to tell, Caleb and Joshua. They shared the fruits of that promised land and the benefits God had waiting for them if they would only believe and have faith that He was with them. This only angered the people to the point they sought to stone those bearing the good news. God was provoked to the point that he wanted to kill them all, but Aaron and Moses pleaded with him, asking for mercy. In the end, they would be sent back into the wilderness to wander for forty years, one year for each day that they had searched the promised land.

They had been so close, but because of their unbelief in God’s power and ability to protect them, they were sent away where “in this wilderness, they shall be consumed.”  Had they listened to all that God had done for them, had they realized what they accomplished up to that point was all because of Him, they would have succeeded. Instead, they listened to their earthly hearts, spurning God and in the end, dying before reaching what was so close.

Looking at the sheer height of the peak of the Spiritual Retreat, a mere seventeen feet above the floor, I knew that to continue might be more than a simple structural failure; I could easily be seriously injured, or worse, killed. Thinking about what the story of the Israelites was telling me, it was obvious that I needed to regroup and think about what had got me this far. Preparation for reaching to the peak of the roof was necessary, and it was not just going to be a couple pieces of wood. No, the majority of the floor joists for the loft and second-floor storage would be required. Sweat ran down my face as I sat drinking another bottle of water, realizing that to succeed, the proper planning and groundwork would be necessary; otherwise, a failure that could be more than a few splintered pieces of lumber could result. I did not want to become one that would wander in the desert for another forty years, or similarly, find myself unable to continue because of a severe injury.

As I worked to begin building the necessary scaffolding, God began teaching me another lesson; one of how he is preparing me for the mission field.

Often, in our earnest to serve Him, once that light has been turned on in our hearts, we eagerly seek to find a mission with which to serve. Some rush to those places of need so dire that even a box of candy and an article of clothing bring people running toward you. Now, don’t get me wrong because all missions are serving God’s purpose in some way. It is the essence of what it means to serve as in the great commission that Jesus commanded that is and should be, at the heart of these journeys. Sadly, they (the feel-good missions I call them) are often misunderstood, and in many cases, ill-prepared participants are sent out into a place that they can little effect, nor change with a box of candy and an article of clothing. These organized church teams that travel to third world countries are bringing momentary hope, but once they leave and jump back onto their planes, returning to their upscale homes and lives, they leave behind utter despair and agony for those who met them with smiling faces and open arms. Their speaking of God’s plan and hope diminishes as their shadows fade into the horizon. To truly serve those lost people in places so ravished with hunger and disease, we must bring to them as Jesus did the woman at the well, the water that needs to bucket, the gift of life that springs forth from a source that will never run dry; Jesus Christ. We must be prepared to know the Word of God to the point we are capable of bringing others to Christ in our own community first, even before going to other lands as strangers to speak through interpreters.

We must prepare our scaffolding well so that we do not fail.

As I watch friends and fellow believers go out into the mission fields, I watch them as they grow and prepare. Men like Chance Walters, Tim Cunnup, Jeffrey Canada, Will Graham, Marty Jacumin, Ted Alexander, and many more, all learning and growing in Christ, each serving the world in their individual ministries. Each of them began at home in planning the groundwork for their mission fields. Each found a place to which they were called, and each leads a life of reaching toward returning. Each of these men and many more bring salvation and hope to a world in which there is often little.

As I painfully, and slowly lifted each scaffolding board into place, it was with great elation as I finally nailed the first pair of rafters in place a full day later. It was then that the culmination of the joy of serving Him this past summer had reached its zenith. The Spiritual Retreat will become the headquarters of my own mission. From this point forward, from this little building nestled in a holler in the woods, God will use me, his vessel, to reach those near and far away lands. And if it be His will, I hope to reach those lost souls that are seeking something beyond what they are capable of reaching on their own; the gift of salvation through God’s only Son, Jesus Christ.

God has a plan for each of us. When we do his will, we serve a greater good than our own. My prayer is that for each of you to seek Him, to find Him, and when you do, that you listen to that still small voice, for it has much to say. Don’t sit still once he has opened your mind and heart to his understanding, but before ye go forth to share the good news, prepare for the journey. Yes, prepare and plan as if your life depended upon it; for those who you seek to reach, their eternal life will depend upon you.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 26, 2018 · 9:47 pm

Charity is Love

 “And God hath set some in the church, first apostles, secondarily prophets, thirdly teachers, after that miracles, then gifts of healings, helps, governments, diversities of tongues. Are all apostles? are all prophets? are all teachers? are all workers of miracles? Have all the gifts of healing? do all speak with tongues? do all interpret? But covet earnestly the best gifts: and yet shew I unto you a more excellent way.”-1 Cor.12:28-31

Tonight, I had to just get out and walk, taking in the view from the mountaintop. Grandfather was already tucked in for a midsummer’s eve slumber as the distant clouds barely allowed the setting sun the opportunity to cast its last golden rays upon his brow. There was nary a breeze, as the tops of the foxtails barely moved. My own forehead was damp from perspiration; the climb was not easy. Leaning against my walking staff, it couldn’t go unnoticed the lacerations and scars on my arms from work done these past few weeks on the building I’m calling the spiritual retreat. The thought of how we all serve God in a multitude of capacities passed through my head like the approaching clouds.

We cannot all be apostles, prophets, or teachers. Some are called to serve with what ability they were given; for some that means laying blocks, digging footings, and working in construction. At the present time, these latter talents are working heavily upon my soul, for they not only challenge our mind but more so, our bodies. When we are unaccustomed to the hard labor of such work, we are presented with the daunting reality of not being physically able to handle what lies before. If we choose to accept that challenge and answer the calling, we then step into what becomes a metamorphosis of both body and soul.

Like we are asked to do so many times in Jesus teachings, we become changed when we die to our former selves. When the course is one so difficult that it becomes a labor of blood, sweat, and tears, we are changed even more quickly. That once tight belt has become so loose, that new holes to latch with are required. Before long, even those have become loose. Braces for pulled tendons slowly fall by the wayside. Scars replace the bloody bandages as new cuts and bruises make their mark. The body slowly becomes adapted as muscles grow, allowing the work to seem less cumbersome.

At the same time, as we walk in our faith, we likewise struggle to understand the scriptures to their full potential. We read and understandeth not, we hear and don’t listen; yet, with time something changes. Stumbling as we walk along our path of faith, we slowly find those perceptions and understandings beginning to grow like our bodies; each adapting until we become metamorphosed into a new being. What once was only lines in a book become the words to which enlighten our innermost being, our spirit within our soul. When we become one with Christ, we allow the Holy Spirit to indwell, and it is then that we begin our true sanctification.

But we mustn’t become ahead of ourselves.

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”-1 Cor.13:1-7

As Paul wrote to the Church in Corinth, he was addressing the nature that we are all one body of Christ, each with our own added gifts. We should not see ourselves as better than anyone else no matter what we are capable of doing. We should not get “puffed up,” as he put it. As in my case, it is more of the reverse, for seeing, and feeling, how difficult and arduous it is to work with block and stone, I have even more respect and admiration for those that do it for a livelihood, not that I didn’t before, for it is now a heightened awareness. Likewise, is my respect and awe for the list of others whom Paul addressed as the people of whom we should covet their gifts. But then alas, we come back to the warning of doing just that. Even though there are those who seem to be perfect in what they do, the most eloquent speakers, the most admirable leader, we should not seek that gift of which they possess; rather, there is something much more miraculous of which Paul was speaking; charity.

The Greek translation for charity is, “agape,” which also means love. In this case, it refers to a man’s love for other mankind. Knowing that the charity of which he speaks is actually love, the words, “And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity,” then make more sense. For as Christ told us, the greatest commandment of all is to “love one another as I have loved thee.”

Yes, we should know that no matter how excellent we appear to the masses, there is nothing greater to achieve.  “But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.”-1 Cor.13:10-13

In the end, no matter what our calling, the words that ring most true to me are these, “Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things,” with regard to God the Father. No matter if you are swinging a pick in a muddy ditch as a laborer, scraping grimy plates as a dishwasher, or changing diapers in a nursing home, we beareth all for the Lord. Some serve in their daily capacity knowingly, never asking for praise, but doing as they are called. In the end, we are still all one body of Christ.

Tomorrow morning, the body may feel every swing the hammer from today, but when we rise, we are granted another day, another chance to share the love of Jesus with someone else. Our wounds will heal. Our aches and pains will eventually subside. Cast off the feeling of doubt, shout out loud, “Satan get behind thee,” and boldly step out the door. Once more we fight our way back into the trenches, doing His will, working toward helping others to see the light and the charity of which we seek to share.

Faith, hope and love; and lastly, let us not forget charity.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 22, 2018 · 10:11 pm

To Know Christ is to Know the Truth

“I’ve always thought that the most powerful weapon in the world was the bomb and that’s why I gave it to my people, but I’ve come to the conclusion that the most powerful weapon in the world is not the bomb but it’s the truth.” – Andrei Sakharov

Every day, we are confronted with a multitude of information that puts us at odds with our ability to focus on the word of God; the truth. This comes in one of two variations. First and probably the most obvious, are those of distractions which are in the form of outside influences. They can come from a variety of sources; devices, media, radio, podcasts, and etc. The other, and sometimes not as obvious are the things of this world, the very objects we use to serve Him become so tremendously immense in nature that they overpower our Spirit-led intentions. We become consumed by the weight of their responsibilities. Under the load of this forbearance we find ourselves struggling to keep God in our minds, let alone to hinder that departure from our hearts where we have placed Him; our last bastion of safety within; sheltered from all else.

In an effort to maintain our sanity, we must filter the cloud of noise; purging the false, or more popularly referred to as, “fake news,” from the truth. In my grandfather’s milk barn, there was the room where he kept the Separator, as it was known. In my mind, I can still picture the stainless-steel piece of equipment that stood about chest high. Grandpa Tron would pour in the whole milk, that which was straight from the cow, and it would spin the cream away from the milk, where it could then be collected and used to make the other by-products of the dairy; cheese, butter, and etc… It was obvious when the Separator was done. Unfortunately, cleansing the input into our mental pallet is not as easy.

In a documentary in the early 1990’s Bill Moyer, an ordained minister in 1954, and a reporter for CBS and NBC News, presented a vision of the future as part of a special documentary, “A World of Ideas,” whereby he predicted we would soon be living in the “Age of Information.” However prophetic his words were at that time, albeit too soon for what was really to come in 1990; we now live in that time. From the traditional nightly news to the other end of the spectrum where anyone with a keyboard and access to social media can output information, be it true or false, we face a world of a constant barrage of data. More and more, unlike in what now seems ancient times, there is little to no references given, no facts to back up said purported info. There are sound-bytes thrown like frisbees, tossed into the mix sometimes simply to cause a sensation; their aim is to go viral, another operative of many that dwell in this spectrum.

What say you then of what Christ would say to those Jews who were on the fence of becoming believers, “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” -John 8:32

To know the truth is to be the truth. “If it were only that simple,” you might respond.

Winston Churchill, “Truth is the most valuable thing in the world, often it is protected by a bodyguard of lies.”

Today, we struggle to resolve fact from fiction, not only in the obvious manner in which we often think, but also what is relevant to our purpose in Christ.

Churches and denominations across the globe face an attack from a force not of this world, trying to sway their leaders and congregations into softening their stand for the truth. Giving into the world was not an option in the Apostle Paul’s time.  As he spoke to the church in Corinth, he was brutally honest when he told them, “For I think that God hath set forth us the apostles last, as it were appointed to death: for we are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels, and to men. We are fools for Christ’s sake, but ye are wise in Christ; we are weak, but ye are strong; ye are honorable, but we are despised. Even unto this present hour we both hunger, and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and have no certain dwelling place; And labor, working with our own hands: being reviled, we bless; being persecuted, we suffer it: Being defamed, we entreat: we are made as the filth of the world, and are the offscouring of all things unto this day.”

Paul was making an ironic statement about the apostle’s sake. These words are something which could be taken totally out of context in today’s world and often are literally used against unknowing Christians, being misquoted to advance other ideologies. The lies once more surrounding the truth. Paul and the apostles were anything but fools in Christ although, they were despised and hated by the Jews of their time. They were always under attack of defamation of character and literal persecution. Yet, as they would leave a town, either after a miraculous healing or near-death torture, they would, as my new-found friend Jimmy Clark would say, “Rejoice in their labors of the Holy Spirit.” Jimmy had been part of a mission team to South Africa a few years back. There, they were scheduled to visit a prison where the mission team was to speak to some of the prisoners as part of their mission work. On their walk to the prison facility, Jimmy said he was overcome with a message that God had given to him; so much so, that he asked the others if he might be able to share his vision when they arrived, to which they agreed. He described walking back to the hotel from the prison after his sermon as it being one of the greatest feelings in his life, his rejoicing in the Spirit had begun.

Our path isn’t always lit with the best of lighting.

As we strive to walk down the pathway which we feel God hath set before us, we must feel like the psalmist when he wrote the words to the 23rd Psalm, “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.” No matter where you are in the world, no matter where you are in your walk of faith, if you have begun, you still encounter the world in which you live. Through this manner of perspective, we must give insight as to the physical and emotional challenges that being of the flesh entails.

Although your journey may be obvious, there will be at times where you will face avalanches of problems and trials. Nothing ever comes easy when you finally find yourself walking in faith. As one of my good friends and missionary Jeffrey Canada said to me once, “You know you are going in the right direction, with regard to faith, when you feel a that significant headwind in your face.” Just as Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, we are buffeted, and nothing is for certain. Sometimes it feels as if you can barely hang on, when another wave crashes over the bow of your ship, swamping you once more. Slowly, your grab on to the railing and pull yourself up. Taking a deep breathe you stand to your feet and take another step forward.

Do we give up?

Do we quit?

No, for we must not be vanquished. “For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us. We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed; Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.”-2 Corinthians 4:6-10

He, Jesus Christ, is the way, the truth, the light.

Yet, in all the struggles and tests of our faith, we must not forget that once we come to know Him and truly serve, we can put our trust in Him. In this hope, for it is not a simply a mystery, we have a guarantee of life eternal, that of which we cannot begin to comprehend in our earthly realm of consciousness. “But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”-1 Corinthians 2:9

To know Christ is to know Truth.

Confess your sins to Him, seek Him, knock and the door shall be opened. “That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.”-Romans 10:9

Finally, when we are left with little hope, when we have been knocked to our knees for what seems the last time, remember the words of Christ, shortly before leaving this earthly realm, when he spoke these words to his disciples, “Sanctify them through thy truth: thy word is truth.”

Know that through all we face, all the trials, persecutions and adversarial relations, there is one thing we can count on; the Word of God, for it, is the ultimatum of truths, and for this, we shall ever be thankful.

Thanks be to God.

 

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by | July 8, 2018 · 8:17 pm

Water Divining: A Good Dousing…

The first time I ever heard of “Water Divining” was at my paternal grandparents’ house in New Harmony, Indiana, many years ago as a child. Actually, the name “Divine” wasn’t mentioned, not that I recall; the learning of that terminology would come later. I don’t remember how it got started or who all was present, except for maybe my cousin Peggy Sue, but when my grandmother called out to the yard full of grandkids, “Who wants to learn how to Witch for water,” she had our undivided attention?

From her vantage point, seated on the weather-worn front porch in the faded white porch swing gently rocking to and fro, she often gave directions or enlightenment to us grandchildren. Her motion in the swing was barely noticeable, so much that, when you sat with her you needn’t bother trying to push. Her motion was so soft that any intrusion into the fluidness was a disruption of serenity.  After we gathered at the corner of the porch under the shade of the majestic Sycamore tree for further instruction, there was the first flurry of questions.

“What is “Witching” for water mean, Grandma,” one of my other cousins would ask?

“Are we gonna turn into witches,” quipped another?

“It means to find water,” grandma calmly replied.

“Like in the kitchen sink,” said another.

“No, like under the ground,” she responded, not cracking a smile.

“Does that mean we have to dig,” said another somewhat elated that we would be allowed to dig a hole in the yard?

“No, there won’t be any digging needed.”

Our fledgling minds were at a standstill. How were we going to find water under the earth if we couldn’t dig? We didn’t have X-ray vision like Superman; or did we?

Before we could drift too far, she began.

First, she told us to go and fetch a branch from the Weeping Willow tree that was in the right corner of the front yard. “Get a branch with a fork in it,” she called to as we raced off to the tree.

It wasn’t one of our climbing favorites, not like the Golden Raintree, but it was fun to run beneath and let the flowing branches tickle your ears as you ran through the curtain of foliage. Looking back, it was as if God was tickling our ears, not the itching of ears that we would seek later in life.

We grabbed as much of a low hanging limb as possible, breaking off a piece and then racing back to grandma for further instructions. As I recall, my stick didn’t have a fork. Her initial detail hadn’t registered in my young mind since the only fork of which I was familiar was from the dinner table. So, after grandma held up to fingers in the sign of a “V,” at which point she said, “with a “V” in it, like Victory in Jesus.” At which point, she began whistling, as she so often did, the sweet refrain while we rushed back to the tree for another try.

When we had all finally gathered green willow sticks with V’s in them, we regrouped back at the porch. Not looking at us as she continued rocking, snapping green beans, she continued our education, “Ok, now take a side of each fork, one in each hand.” Looking at one another as we struggled to grasp the concept, we all finally managed to grab our makeshift fork by its two prongs. Then she looked up from beneath her horn-rimmed glasses and checked for our understanding. “No, not quite,” she said looking at the studious group. “Peg, come here and let me show you.” She took Peg’s branch and grabbed the fork with her hands facing up, then twisted her wrists inward until her hands were then facing down. Meanwhile, the stick had now gone through some sort of torque because the base of the “Y” was now our pointer but oddly tilted upward.

“See how I did it,” she asked?

After a couple of corrections and reproofs, we all seemed ready.

“Now what,” Peg said?

“Now you start walking around until the end of your stick starts to pull downward.”

“Really,” we all shouted?

“Truly,” she answered, and went back to snapping and whistling.

We began running around the yard like a wild bunch of spring heifers turned into a new meadow, our sticks bouncing up and down like yo-yos.

“Hold on,” came the call from the porch. “You need to walk slowly. How else are you going to feel the pull?”

From that point forward, it was as if we were trying to make magic.

We walked, crisscrossing the yard to-and-fro, but nothing. Occasionally someone might think they had a bite on their line as if fishing for water, but mostly nothing. Some cousins gave up and went back to what they had been doing before the lesson, but those of us who were older knew that if grandma had told us we could find water with a stick, then it must be true; so, we kept on. Feeling as if I might have better luck in the backyard, I slowly edged my way past the front porch and was about to turn past the corner of the house when all of a sudden I felt it.

The stick moved in my hand. It was as if someone had grabbed the other end and pulled it downward and to the left. At first, it scared me so much I gave a shout, “Hey, it’s working!” The others came running. Backing up a few feet, I again moved in the same direction, and as I did, we all watched, myself included, as the end of my branch twisted in my hands and pulled downward toward the corner of the house, like a fish pulling one’s line on a fishing pole.

“WOW, it’s amazing,” they all exclaimed as everyone tried their own sticks once more. Sadly, as the others tried, none of them could make their sticks work quite like mine. Amazed at this new discovery, we regrouped back to grandma who all the while had kept slowly working on her pile of beans and had just finished as had we.

“Did you see that grandma, Timmy got his to work?”

“Yes, I did, she smiled looking down at us from her motherly perch.”

“Is he a witch,” asked another cousin?

“No,” she chuckled in reply.

“Is it magic grandma,” I asked?

“Some may think so my son, but I believe it is a gift from God.”

They all looked at me in awe. Suddenly a strange feeling washed over me like I was weird or something. Before the others could react, grandma cut in, “I expected as much since your father could do this as well.”

“Why can’t we do it too,” called another cousin?

“There are a lot of reasons. Perhaps you weren’t holding your stick correctly, or perhaps your limb wasn’t green enough. There are a lot of reasons why. But mostly, not everyone is blessed, or gifted in the same manner,” she answered. “Each of you will find your own talents or gifts in life. Timothy Wayne has just found one of his.”

Then she continued, directing her attention back to me, “As long as you live, you may use this gift to help others. Because it is a special gift from God, you should never make anyone pay you to find water for them. If you begin charging people for this gift, then it will become a curse. Do you understand?”

I shook my head yes.

Her words lingered in my memory ever since.

Years later, I would use the gift only a handful of times, never charging for fear of misusing the talent. One of the most memorable was when a friend of mine in Chatham County, Gary Hart, asked me to douse his well. He was building a new home in what used to be his father’s cow pasture. Finding a Dogwood tree with the proper size forked branch, I grabbed it as grandma had taught us so many years before and began to crisscross his land. Not long into my search the stick was nearly ripped out of my hand sideways. I retreated, somewhat startled at the strength of the pull, then began again, heading straight toward the spot. This time the limb was pulled out of my hands as I passed over the location. Gary, still somewhat skeptical, looked on. At my encouragement, I had him try. He too had the stick move and was suddenly a believer. He had his well put in at that spot and had over 75 gallons per minute.

As stated earlier, I never put a lot of stock in the ability other than it came in handy at times. However, the Bible warns us of such abilities. Many times, dousing is mentioned as a gateway into the demonic word, since only a spirit can control the divining rod, as some people claim. When we allow the spirits of the earth to come into our being, we are welcoming in Satan. As the book of Hosea reads, “My people consult a wooden idol, and a diviner’s rod speaks to them. A spirit of prostitution leads them astray; they are unfaithful to their God.”-Hosea 4:12

Then there are the many listings of the word “divination,” which more relevantly refer to things divine in nature, or the act of being prophetic. Regardless, whatever acts we perform, be they supernatural or not, we should be mindful of the power that is working in us and be careful not to follow the temptation to profit from them, lest we fall under the order or prostitution or whoredom, as mentioned in Hosea. To prevent ourselves from being lured into the demonic world, we should always pray that we only be filled with the Holy Spirit and face whatever gifts we have been given with this in mind. In other words, use that with which we have been endowed to serve God.

On a more positive note, there are times when we see magnificent displays of God at work concerning the rod and water, like in Exodus, “The Lord answered Moses, “Go out in front of the people. Take with you some of the elders of Israel and take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. 6 I will stand there before you by the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it for the people to drink.”-Exodus 17:5-6

When we fill ourselves with the Holy Spirit and walk in the Lord, we have nothing to fear. For as we live, we walk in His way. As the 23rd Psalm tells us, “He prepareth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies, my cup runneth over.” When we overflow with the Holy Spirit within us, there is no room for evil; and thus, using a rod to find water will no more hurt us than using a bowling ball to knock down pins.

Whatever you prefer to call it, dousing, divining, or witching, my thoughts will always go back to that innocent time of my life when we learned our life lessons from that battered old front porch on the edge of town. Grandma’s lessons were Christ-centered, and for that, I will always be grateful. I know in my heart, somewhere under the shade of a majestic Sycamore tree, just on the edge of heaven, the old porch swing creaks as she rocks back and forth, waiting; waiting for us to enter in.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 3, 2018 · 10:11 pm

The Work of Our Hands…

“ May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;
establish the work of our hands for us—
yes, establish the work of our hands.”-Psalms 90:17

The hands are worn and strewn with scars of toil. Yet, there is no remorse, no pity to have bestowed upon thy servant, for the struggle through which he now slaves is but a mere pittance when compared to what is in store for him on that final day. Before him, the makings of a building begin to take shape. To some, it will be just a shelter, a place out of the way, but to the weary of heart, it will be a refuge from the storm. In his heart, God has spoken, telling him that from this place His work shall be done.

For nearly four years, there has been no rest. Wave after wave of tribulation has poured over his bow. His decision to leave everything behind to serve the Lord was complete. There was no turning back. Those in the secular realm scoffed behind his back, saying it would never last. At times he thought his vessel might be capsized, but each time, there was a way out, God’s grace shown upon his journey. There were dark days so bleak that the only hope of his salvation and life eternal were all that kept him going. Illness crept in, dragging him down further until there was but a thin thread of silver lining around that dark cloud which seemed to never go away; God’s mercy was always there.

He was never alone. There was always a presence, angels unaware if you will; those who kept watch over him and his family, day and night. Many prayed on behalf of him and his family. When prayers were lifted up, there was always a reply, all in God’s time.

Day after day, he kept swimming to that far distant shore, never giving in, never surrendering to the forces that tried to pull him under. His purpose had yet to be fulfilled. His legs never ceasing to kick against the current, he kept paddling on. As the Apostle Paul would write, “However, I consider my life worth nothing to me; my only aim is to finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the good news of God’s grace.”

The sweltering heat beat down like a heavy woolen blanket, nearly suffocating each breath. His arm would swell from the heavy twelve-inch block, but he would not be undone. His fingertips would break open and bleed from the rough cinder block surfaces; yet, he would not cease. Stone after stone, the foundation walls began to take shape. Like the steps we take each day in our walk of faith, we build one upon the next. If we build our faith upon a solid rock foundation, we can rest assured the storms of life will not wash it away. If our faith be true, we never falter. It is so easy to give up and turn back, but we must not be discouraged. We work for no human masters; no terrestrial beings will loom over us in eternity. Yes, it is our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ we serve.

 “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters,  since you  know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”                                – Colossians 3:23-24

Although he labors, he knows that it is not an end to the means. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.”-Eph. 2:8-9 No, he is not working his way to heaven; rather, this work is necessary to create a space in which his future endeavors will be serving God. It will become a place that will serve as a spiritual retreat, his prayer closet, his mountaintop repose. From here, the gifts of which God has bestowed upon him shall then once again begin to shine as in days of old.

Once we dive into that river we must cross, we die to our former selves. Leaving everything behind sometimes means giving up those things that might have been chains keeping us tied to sin. They might have seemed well and good from the outside, but within, we were slaves to their bondage. Once we reach that distant shore, we now can see how they were misguided. Now with eyes anew, we can see how those blessings might be better used to serve our Master and to show others the pathway to Christ.

Yes, this is a labor of love; love to his Lord and Savior.

We all have a purpose for which we know not. We must strive to reach that distant shore no matter when or where we begin in life. We must never lose focus of who and what we’ve become when we receive our salvation. We must always be mindful. Others are watching, and for perhaps a brief moment, we might be the light that leads them to their own transformation into Christianity, to receive Christ in their life; of this, we can only hope and pray.

How sweet are the words of which Paul wrote in his final days to Timothy, his faithful brother in Christ, “6 For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time for my departure is near. 7 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 8 Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”-2 Timothy 4:6-8

Yes, there is a crown of glory awaiting all who seek Him.

We will continue our toil, no matter the consequence until that fateful day when we finally are welcomed into those pearly gates with the words, “Welcome good and faithful servant. Well done my son, well done.”

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 25, 2018 · 10:21 pm

To Wait Upon the Lord…

“But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”-Isaiah 40:31

For once, he waited upon the weather; yet, it did not come. It unknowingly gave him time to pause and wait upon the Lord.

Technology had afforded him the foresight to know that storms were brewing in the distance, so he planned accordingly rather than going ahead. In his younger days, he would have gone ahead, not knowing, not caring, for if it were God’s will, then it shall be done.

One can never put man’s inventions before the designs of God. Proverbs 19:21 tells us, “There are many devices in a man’s heart; nevertheless, the counsel of the LORD, that shall stand.”

One hot, steamy Chatham County summer, he had started building a log cabin. It was not from a kit, it was not a prefabricated log assembly; no, it was from scratch. Finding a Coleman canvas eight-man tent at a yard sale, he set up camp and worked each day from sun up to sun down. He could go for days without seeing another soul. As he worked, his mind thought about his life and all that had transpired. The world in which he now lived was more of one with the land than ever before. It was as if he could feel a rhythm in the earth around him, one that God had created but man had ignored in the making of a world of his own. It was on one of those sultry afternoons when the work slowed because of the oppressive heat that the rhythm took on another tone; a dark rumble from beneath the soil rattled his awareness. Before he could gather his thoughts to take shelter, the flashes of lightning began to flash around him. Just over the hill, a black cloud pursued as the winds began to pick up tempo, so did his preparations to take cover. As he ran down the hill through the woods, the crashes of lightning hitting the earth were like mortar shells erupting all around him.

His heartbeat in his ears and nothing more.

Upon reaching the safety of his tent, he opened a flap at the opposite end to allow the pressure in the room to equalize. From his vantage point upon the bed made of cedar saplings lashed together, he watched with fascination and fear as the thunderbolts struck closer and closer, the earth-shaking tremors of resonance into his bones. He grasped the edges of the bed and prepared for the worst. The trees bent nearly double outside his little window. The rain was a sheet of water now, as the tent sides began to push in; yet, standing firm. Closing his eyes, he prayed that if it be God’s will to die, that it be quick; otherwise, he prayed that he be allowed to live to serve Him more.

When he opened his eyes, the trees had shifted to the opposite direction as the sound of a massive locomotive passed overhead. For a moment he could imagine himself lying between the steel rails of the train track as the roar of the steam engine passed overhead. In a matter of minutes, the dark clouds had dispersed, and the storm was gone. A mile down the road, it looked as if a bulldozer had gone through the woods, completely leveling massive trees, including the beautiful old oak in front of Jerry Moses’ home. He had survived and rode out the storm on nothing more than a bed made of cedar saplings and in a canvas tent; it has surely been God’s will.

For if it be God’s will, then it shall be done.

Fast forward, the same man, now standing on the edge of the Germanesca valley, high in the Cottien Alps. Around him, multiple waterfalls cascade down from tremendous heights. He is with a hiking companion, who like himself, had not planned on going this far today. The wind begins picking up the roar of the waterfalls, spiraling them around as they became a voice unto their own. They had not checked the weather reports for the day, but there seemed little to fear. The sky was an azure blue as far as the mind’s eye could see. There were no plans to go as far as they had. What seemed as a short leisurely hike had now become a mission; to reach the summit before their allotted time expired. The hiking companion was his junior by nearly 30 years, yet they were both feeling the effects of the altitude. As he paused, it was as if he waited upon the Lord to strengthen his legs. They had started at nearly 4,000 feet in altitude, and before they reached the summit, they would climb another 5,000 feet. He would need more than just his own power to make this journey. Silently he prayed asking God to give him the energy, and fortitude to make it to the top. Before he could finish, there was a surge of electricity that seemed to flow through his core, down through his legs to his feet. Suddenly, it was as if he could no longer feel the growing weariness in his thighs that moments before had made him question this endeavor. From there, it was if he had mounted on wings of eagles as they passed one group after another making their way up the mountain. They eventually made it to the top where they openly confessed thanks to having lunch with God. It was if Heaven’s door was within reach.

He had waited upon the Lord, and his strength had been renewed.

When he rolled out of bed today, before knowing the storms were coming, his body ached. Even though he had taken Sunday off from his labors, his body was worn from the daily toil in the summer heat. Once more he was building another structure, but unlike the cabin before, this one would be much larger and much more challenging. Add to that being nearly 30 years older, it was as if the odds were stacked against him. Although he was up for the task, his aging frame was having second thoughts. His right wrist had already suffered a strain and needed to be kept in a brace while he worked. Both hands had fingertips worn raw from the concrete blocks he was laying since the gloves he wore had long since been worn out. In essence, he needed more than just one day to recover, but the clock was ticking.

Thankfully, the pause of the morning was just enough to give him a chance to feel God’s grace once again. Once the errands had been run, he resumed his work and pushed through until he could go no further. He could walk and not faint, but he was certainly close.

As he covered all the items to be kept in the dry, he looked back and saw that three of the four masonry foundation walls were complete.

It was not the mountaintop, but he was getting closer each day.

Moments later, the rumble of thunder shook the valley below, and within minutes, the flood of the summer rains came cascading down. Like a sigh of relief, he rested once more as the strains of raindrops pattering against the window panes soothing his weary soul.

One step closer, one day more, we reach for the summit of that far distant shore.

In all we do, let us serve Him so that in all we do, God’s will shall be done.

Thanks be to God.

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