Category Archives: Inspirational

by | June 17, 2018 · 1:44 pm

One Stone Upon the Next

One Stone Upon the Next

By Timothy W. Tron

 

“Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock. And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock.” – Matthew 7:24

Block upon block, stone upon stone, the process can be extremely laborious when working with masonry. It would be all the more easy to throw up a building built with any other foundation, like a pole barn for example. But for a long-lasting, secure underpinning, one must work with the bedrock of building materials. It can be very taxing upon the body, especially when you don’t lay block or stone for a living. Slowly, one block, one brick at a time, the wall begins to take shape. As I step back and wonder if it will ever get done, a message from the past floods into my mind. It’s the voice of my father speaking in my ear, “Once you get it down, you’re done, and you’ll never have to do it again. It may take a while, but you’ll get there.”

Walking in faith is likewise never easy. One step at a time, another scripture memorized, another theological lesson learned and soon, like a stone wall, your pathway begins to take shape. We are continually and will forever be tempted in our earthly bodies by the world in which we live. Yet, we can stand firm, like that rock wall, withstanding the floods and winds of storms that crash against us.

Many years ago, there was another time when I worked with masonry. Then, as now, the feel of the mud, the right consistency, the flow of buttering the stone, then finding it in place, all come back like something ingrained in who I am. The more I worked with it, the more it felt natural. Eventually, I would learn that it was more than just a feeling, it was part of my heritage.

It was no wonder that our ancestors from the Waldensian Valleys where renowned masons. The word Waldensian simply meant, “People of the Valleys.” The valleys consisted of a 25 square mile area of the northwest corner of Italy, known today as the Cottien Alps.  Living at an altitude where there was always more stone that timber, the natural selection for building material became stone. The ancient villages with the slate rooftops and stone walls speak to a life of living in hardships but being prepared for them as well. The harsh winters required a dwelling place that could withstand the rigors of months of snow and freezing cold temperatures.

Waldensian Community Oven, Trail of Faith, Valdese, NC.

For centuries, they continued to build their homes, barns, and landscaping using the stone that God had provided. Likewise, their faith was based upon the granite bedrock from which they drew strength. They had received the word of God from the Apostles, and as such, held it dear to their hearts. They had become known as the “People of the Bible,” because of their memorization of scripture. Families would commit entire books to memory so that when a community came together, they could recite the entire Bible by heart. For nearly a thousand years, they had been persecuted by the Holy Roman Catholic Church. Their crime was sharing the gospels outside the church walls and possessing the Word of God. For to know the Word to the point it is within you, there is nothing else you can do but to do as the Bible says, “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

Yet, they never wavered. The people of the valleys kept the light of Christ alive until the day would come that they could build the bridge that would carry it beyond the valleys into the rest of the world. Their evangelism would spread to all of Europe. From there, and over many centuries, until the Reformers would pick up the mantle and carry forward from that point.

When these Waldensians came to America, where they founded what would become known as Valdese, North Carolina,  they brought with them their inherent talents, one of which was being natural masons. At first, they seemed turned away from who they were in more ways than one. Having no longer been persecuted, it was easy for many of them to eventually join a denomination that didn’t demand the same attention to faith as their ancestors that had died by the sword. So too were they eager to leave behind the toil of working with stone, and instead, tried to build homes made only of wood. Before long, when they finally had time to regroup and reflect more on who and what they were, many went back to working with stone. From there, many churches and WPA projects in and around Burke County were either built or enhanced by these ancient stone smiths from the valleys. But even more dramatic was that some would return to that ancient faith and find more compatible churches to attend. Like myself finding an inherent talent that I didn’t know existed, these Christians of old would return to what felt natural, as they had always done, worshipping God based on the spirit and truth, the Word of God.

Abernathy Methodist Church, Rutherford College, NC.

It was this worshipping God as Christ had asked that determined their course in destiny. “Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock.”

The Waldensians place in the history of Christianity was that of an Ark, of sorts, for the Word of God, a place where God prepared a people in a place that would allow them to protect this word and preserve it until a time when the rest of the world was ready to receive it.

When Andrew took his brother Simon to see Jesus, the first thing Jesus said to him was, “Thou art Simon, son of Jonah, that shall be called Cephas.” The Greek word for Cephas meant stone, or even more precise, a little stone. It was this little stone that Christ would build his church upon, which he himself was the cornerstone; one stone upon the next.

It would seem a bitter irony that a man from Lyon France, a wealthy merchant, would sell everything he had to turn to an Apostolic way of life after hearing a traveling troubadour sing about a people from the valleys who lived out their faith as in Apostolic times. Once he heard this tale, he was determined to live and preach the word of God from that point forward. Yet, if he had used his real name, his family would have been persecuted and killed, again because it was against the law of the church-state to do so. So, to hide his identity, he became “Peter Waldo.” The name simply meant a little stone from the valleys. This “Peter of the valleys,” would go on to lead many in Lyon to Christ and would eventually have to flee to safety to the same valleys from which he took his name. Some historians would tell you that this was the beginning of the Waldensians, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Knowing that they could not destroy the people of the valleys by force, for they had tried and failed so many times, eventually, the Catholic Church would use the Peter Waldo tale to sway people away from the truth. When Satan gets a foot in the door, he not only takes an inch but will always take a mile.

Sadly, the story is perpetuated even unto today; some by people who are ignorant of the truth while others purposely continue the lie to diminish the true connection of those ancient people of the valleys to the disciples. Without a doubt, the ancient Waldensians can be traced back to the time of the Apostles, even though their persecutors tried to eliminate or destroy any proof thereof. A good starting point for anyone wanting to research the truth can be found in Ted Alexander’s book, “The Waldenses, of Whom the World Was Not Worthy.” Even with the persecutor’s attempts to hide and slander the truth, one can still search into ancient documents today and find clear evidence of Apostolic ties.

It is no wonder that with the ancient Waldenses connection to the Apostles, many denominations seek them out as their forefathers of faith. The Peter Waldo story was and is still today created to perpetuate a false story which is to diminish this fact, that the ancient Waldensians were the link to the original word of God having received it from the Apostles. If it were not so, the Catholic Church could, and does claim to be the sole inheritor of these rights. Ironically, what the Catholic Church tried to kill never died. Their persecutions of these simple valley people became the voice of martyrs, whose blood planted the seeds of the Reformation.

As we have seen, and hopefully now you too can understand, how those ancient people of the valleys persevered for centuries when they held their faith close to their heart. When the flames of persecution lessened, so did their vigilance. Today, we face the same lessons. When we give in to the world around us, we weaken our diligence to fight the devil. We must not fall away from our focus on the word, for as it is written in Ephesians 6:12, “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”

We can never forget the past, should we be tempted to repeat it. To diminish the truth is to void Christ of all that he did to be the salvation for all mankind. It is up to us to carry on the truth, for it is written, “The father seeketh those who worship him in spirit and in truth.”

Do not let the light of Christ go out. Carry on the work of those distant forefathers and speak boldly to others.

Remember, one stone upon the next is all it takes.

Their salvation is in your hands.

Lux Lucet in Tenebris. The light shines in the darkness.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | May 26, 2018 · 8:41 pm

Take Up Thy Bed and Walk…

Tonight, as I rested by the waterfall listening to God, the world around me began to weep. The raindrops fell upon the canopy high above where I sat. There was such serenity in that place, communing with God that I couldn’t leave. As the storms clouds gathered and the thunder began to roll, it was apparent that I should return home, but I couldn’t make myself go. Jesus’s love had surrounded me, wrapping me in His arms, that omnipotent, all-knowing, unconditional love like no other. A brilliant light lit the sky above, and the sound of the thunderbolt striking nearby rattled the rocks upon which I sat. It was then that it felt as if our time together would be ended.

There was a flashback to the days when my father would drive me back to my mother’s house. They had been separated since my first Birthday, so it was nothing new. Yet, each time when we rolled into that driveway, a sick, feeling of despair would flood over my soul. As my earthly father and I would say our goodbyes, I would try not to look at him for fear that I would see the teardrops in his eyes, and then I too would begin to cry.

It never got any easier.

The years passed by and we drifted apart, both my earthly father and my heavenly Father. Neither stopped loving me, no matter how far I strayed.

He lay upon the hospital bed, weary and nearly gone. Miraculously he had rebounded the day before when we had received the phone call to all of the family to gather one last time. It was our last goodbye, one last chance to say to my father on this side of glory what we could. He had come to know the Lord in tremendous ways the last two years of his life. God had given him a second chance. That in itself is a story alone. But that day, as he lay there nearly motionless, trying to fight with every ounce of his being to stay awake one more minute, I knew in my heart that he would be with God soon. So, when it was time to leave, we didn’t turn into that driveway like so many times before. Instead, I bent over with tears in my eyes, and whispered in his ear, “I know that someday will meet on that far distant shore. If you get there before I do, give them all a hug for me. When it’s my time, I’ll meet you at the Eastern Gate. Know that when I walk out of here, I can never look back, but know that I will love you forever and ever.”

I slowly kissed him on the forehead goodbye, and then stood up, turned and walked out, not looking back for fear that I wouldn’t be able to leave.

Tonight, that was the feeling that had returned once more.

At that moment, it was as if heavens Angels began to weep. As each tiny droplet eventually rolled off of the leaf it first landed upon, it then cascaded down finally reaching the forest floor below. The sound of them falling, caressing the woods made a gentle, soothing sound. Before me the pool of water below the falls was silent, its deep shadows showing no sign of life. Then, one raindrop fell into the crystal, clear water, and it was stirred, as if by the toe of some angelic being.

At that moment, it was as if God had spoken and the scripture of the impotent man lying by the pool burst into my mind. The Greek word for “impotent” is akratés,  which means lacking self-control, powerless, inclined to excess. Our fleshly bodies are so often consumed by the earthly desires that we are made powerless by them. We become obsessed to the point, we fall away from God’s graces; yet, He never loves us less. When we finally awaken to this fact, it is as if we have risen from a deep slumber, we are groggy and unsure of our next step. When we accept Christ into our lives, we are made anew, dying to our former selves, and those lusts of this world begin to lose their flavor, as salt loses its taste. We cast aside those addictions and soon find that we, like the man by the pool, are told to, “Rise, take up thy bed and walk.” When we stand, we realize that we are made whole. It is up to use to walk in His way, in His light from that point forward. Suddenly, the cobwebs are cleared from our heads and like never before, we can see more clearly.

The awakening has begun.

We have been spiritually healed. As Jesus said to the man by the pool, “Wilt thou be made whole?”

With each day, though we may never reach full sanctification, we can seek him. With each new day, when we fill ourselves with God, dying to our former selves, we find new tastes, brighter colors, and voices in the world around us we never heard before. It is those miniature glimpses of the new world in which we will be made one with God, heaven on earth, we find a new love for Him. We become so enamored with His love that we desire it. As the Apostle Paul wrote, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”

As the deluge fell from the sky above, I begrudgingly made my way back home, leaving that place where God had enveloped me in his love. Unlike before, there was not a final farewell. For someday, when we are all called home, it shall be not a day of sorrow, but a day of glorious rejoicing. It is this, the greatest commandment, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.”

The raindrops fell upon the pathway before me as I waded past the deep undergrowth of ferns. The cool, dampness upon my shirt did not dissuade me the least. My lungs drank in the rich, moist air with one lungful after another as the Holy Spirit soared within my soul. The rain was merely teardrops of ecstasy as the Angels in heaven rejoiced.

His love for us all is cause for celebration, on earth as in heaven.

Seek Him with all your heart, your mind, and soul, and you will be filled with his eternal love.

Thanks be to God.

“The impotent man answered him, Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool: but while I am coming, another steppeth down before me. Jesus saith unto him, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk. And immediately the man was made whole, and took up his bed, and walked: and on the same day was the Sabbath.”-John 5:7-9

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | May 17, 2018 · 9:15 pm

One Soweth, and Another Reapeth…

“Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest? behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest. And he that reapeth receiveth wages, and gathereth fruit unto life eternal: that both he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice together. And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and another reapeth. I sent you to reap that whereon ye bestowed no labour: other men laboured, and ye are entered into their labours.” – John 4:35-38

 

It had been a long day at school, so it was not by choice that I sat waiting for the salesperson to work on our order at the wireless store. I tried to remain positive and tell myself that God had put me there for a purpose. At that present time, it wasn’t obvious; at least not yet.

We had put off switching to a new wireless carrier for some time, but it had finally gotten to the point if we wanted to communicate as needed, we were going to have to use the service that provided the best coverage for the area in which we lived and worked.  The young man that waited on me was very kind and extremely courteous. As he began the process of transferring data from one device to the other, we started talking about where I worked and found that we had mutual connections. It wasn’t long before it became apparent, he was a believer too. In fact, after we shared some personal testimony, he told me that he had given his two weeks’ notice just moments before I stepped foot in the door to answer his calling to become a youth pastor at a nearby church.

It was then I began to feel the presence of the Holy Spirit ripple across my forearms.

Suddenly, his phone rang, and he had to excuse himself from our conversation.

About that time message appeared on my old phone which we had not yet ported over to the new service. The news was from a distant relative, one that I’ve never met in person. A few years back, I had shared with him part of our Waldensian ancestry and how we came to be. He seemed interested, but not beyond just wanting to hear about those ancient names. The story beyond, from whence we came didn’t seem to intrigue him; at least not from my vantage point. Once I provided him the information, we only remained in contact through shared “likes” on social media.  However, from what I saw from his posts, his life once was devoured by pleasures of the flesh. He found his comfort at the end of a bottle, so the pictures said. But the message at that moment that came to me as I sat in the cell phone store in Boone was that God had found a way to reach him.

As I read with eyes of joy, he told a friend who had inquired about his post, “I haven’t touched a drop in over a year.” He then went on to say how he was regularly attending a church in his community. My heart leaped for joy, and I stood up, rejoicing out loud. The questions raced through my mind, “Had I somehow planted a seed?” “Did God use that seemingly insignificant contact years ago to begin working on my distant cousin?” Those and many more rushed through my mind as my new friend got off the phone smiling at my exuberant demeanor.

“I guess that was good news,” he said pointing at my phone.

“Oh, yes, more than I can explain,” pausing to gain understanding of what had all just transpired.

Then the words of Jesus came rushing in, “And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and another reapeth.”

In all things, no matter how small, nor how insignificant, God has a purpose. As I stood there in that small store, I had found another soul that had recently taken another leap of faith. As we talked the thought of another time and place when my just being somewhere was God using me, and again, it felt the same. Yet, now as I stood there, another soul had found something greater than that which is in the world.

With each tiny seed we plant, we may not reap the harvest, but it is God that will bring the crop to fruition. It is not us that will change that being. It is not our doing that will cause another to turn to Christ; it is God, and God alone.

In all that we do, there is a purpose.

Last Saturday, as we sat watching the Western Piedmont Community College graduates ascend the short stairway to the stage, the feeling of a proud parent swelled our chests. In what seemed like yesterday, I was holding him in my arms for the first time, watching the helpless lifeform, totally dependent upon his mother and father to survive. Our son now stood in his graduation regalia receiving his diploma, then leaving the stage, returned to his seat. His independence is a culmination of 18 years of love, care, and patience. What God hath given life unto us, we have taken that responsibility and nurtured him into adulthood. “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required,” reads Luke 12:48 And so with eyes brimming with moisture, we know that soon he will leave us. It is only natural.

We had planted the seed. It is up to him to continue to allow it to grow. But the seed had begun to ripen much earlier.

For those many years of his life, we have taught him how to live in faith. At the tender age of 10 years, he found Christ. His salvation came in a little model Church at the Denton Bluegrass Festival. Every year, Doyle Lawson would offer those who wanted to attend, a church service at the close of his festival. One of his good friends, brother Dale Tilley, would most often be the preacher. And so it was this Mother’s Day weekend when we sat in the row just behind Doyle’s band, that we heard brother Tilley bring another spirit-filled sermon to a weary group of bluegrass campers. After brother Dale Tilley had nearly finished his altar call, my weekend was just about to get even better. Without any idea what was about to happen, my boy leaned over to me and whispered the words into my ear that I will never forget, “I want to be saved.”

My heart leaped for joy.

Upon his request to wait until everyone had left, I motioned to brother Tilley that we needed to talk, and as everyone ushered themselves out, the door closed and we were alone. Brother Tilley directed us through the process as we knelt in prayer and supplication. There on that ancient wooden floor of the little white clapboard country church, my son spoke the words and prayed the prayer to ask Christ to come into his life. With tears in my eyes, we stood up to leave. It was just brother Tilley, my son and I. As we reached the back doors of the church, we opened them to find that we were not alone. There under a clear, blue Carolina sky stood Doyle Lawson and his entire band.  The entire entourage was still standing in a row on the steps of the church, they had paused from their busy schedule, waiting to celebrate my son’s decision.

The tears ran down my cheeks as I watched entertainers turned Christians welcome another one into their fold.

It is a day I will never forget.

The seed had been planted, but another reaped the harvest, but we rejoiced together.

God has a purpose in everything we do. What will become of the young man at the cell phone store? I may never know, but it really doesn’t matter; God knows.

One day, when we reach that far distant shore, there will be a welcoming into the fold. We’ll find the angels of the Lord standing in a row, pausing for each of us, ushering us into those heavenly gates. On that day, the answers to the questions we never knew will become obvious.

What a day it will be.

Thanks be to God.

2 Comments

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | April 29, 2018 · 8:44 pm

Peace in the Valley…

Yeah, though sleep death doth linger in my lungs, I once more find my pathway diverging. Tomorrow holds what it may, so I only know what today has brought thus far.

All around me was silence.

Outside the window, spring had barely begun. The trees were just beginning to blossom forth the tender cusps of leaf. There was the occasional creak of the beautiful wood floor that ran the length of the sanctuary.

The church bell chimed breaking the stillness in the air.

Just a few weeks ago, the Reverend Billy Graham’s body had lain in state just feet away from where I sat in the Chatlos Memorial Chapel. In its place now was a long, low table with an exquisite floral arrangement in the center. It was my time to commune with God. The flower in the middle of that grand table caused me to pause.

My mind drifted back to the little country farmhouse on the edge of New Harmony. My grandma Tron’s dimly lit kitchen was quiet. The fading evening light whispered in through the open window. Outside, the kitchen garden spewed forth all manner of color and aroma. Its bouquet of love poured through the threadbare curtains as they danced in the gentle breeze. There was an uneasy silence in the room, save for the only drop of color to be seen; the single white flower placed with care in the cup in the center of the worn table. Outside, the voices of the family coming in from the main staple garden drifted ahead of their beings. Through Ms. Wolf’s gate, then across the pasture, they would trounce, the little ones dancing ahead, chasing butterflies as they ran. Behind them, the elders would come, either carrying buckets of ripe vegetables or pulling wagon loads of produce ready to be canned. Their return was a time of rejoicing and thankfulness. Before long, the empty room would burst forth with laughter, hands of labor, and conversations of so many thoughts and trials.

The light over the ancient table would come on at the flip of the wall switch, and the room would explode with a golden hue. The sagging would floor, precariously covered with well-worn linoleum, would creak under the weight of those entering; none would notice so known was its sound.

As the work was done, the harvest was stored, the bodies would slowly leave. Once the baths were taken and little ones put to rest, the few older parents remaining would gather around the old kitchen table and slowly say goodnight.

In the end, grandma, the last of our family’s eldest, would pause and open the Bible.  Grandpa had gone on to glory many years before. Now it was just her each evening. There under the dim kitchen light, she would read the scriptures that so vividly etched out her life. Looking up, her tired eyes would rest upon that single budding lily. Even now, I can see her smile.

Outside the window, the whippoorwill call would signal the end of another day. From inside the kitchen, the sweet sounds of grandma gently whistling, “Peace in the Valley,” could be heard, joining the nocturnal call of the bird of night.

Nothing could be more serene.

Once more, I was awakened from my vision by the church chimes reminding me it was time to leave.

My commune with God had come to an end for the moment.

In my heart, there is a feeling that I will return.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Farming, Inspirational

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | April 28, 2018 · 7:33 pm

Breathtaking Review of “The Light in the Darkness” by Peter Younghusband

What follows is one of the most beautifully written and thoughtful reviews I have ever had. Peter Younghusband, of Australia,  is one of the best reviewers I’ve had the pleasure to meet and to have review my work. He fully appreciates and understands how this God-inspired work will hopefully inspire others to seek Him. I gladly proclaim Peter as a brother in Christ.

Enjoy,

Brilliant, Powerful, Epic, Divinely Inspired! It is definitely the most spirit-filled novel I have ever Read! Highly Impressive!

This sequel has been highly anticipated and I am so glad has finally here! It was such a joy to read Bruecke to Heaven again in preparation for this. I would suggest anyone do this as this second novel follows so well from the previous. After its cliffhanger ending, you are instantly immersed in the continuing events of the Tron family and other characters.

If any reader considers that Julia, Rebecca, Peter, Marik, Berg, Arktos, Jacob, Anna, Jean Paul, Albert, have been through enough, well, Tron does not let them off lightly in this novel. In fact, everything is upped and intensified. The darkness of the demonic forces is wrapped around them tighter than in the previous novel and they are further challenged in their faith and relationship with God. But God is faithful and they are strengthened by God’s intervention in direct and indirect ways. Their bruecke (bridge) to heaven remains intact and is even strengthened further.

Tron sets up five plots arcs running concurrently. There is Arktos, Peter, Marik, Berg, Galack, Jakob and Anna on one quest, while Jean Paul and Albert on another. Julia, her daughters and the rest of the Vaudois community are still surviving in the upper levels of the mountains deciding to train and send out evangelists with the Word. We have Dabria and Lucier on their spiritual quest and later in the novel, Lucier is mandated to continue on his own then we have a new character, a hermit and his she-wolf, Lukos, tending to the physical and spiritual needs of a character from the first novel that readers will have to guess his identity until this is revealed later in the novel. This plagued me until I worked it out and was pleasantly surprised!. All these plot arcs deepen the mystery and suspense, action and adventure and totally absorb you. In each of the arcs, you wonder what is going to happen next. You become more endeared to these characters and share their emotions with them as if you are there.

Speaking of Lukos, the she-wolf, Tron has her as a side plot and if read just on its own, he proves himself as a competent author of animal fiction. This was one of the many highlights of this novel. I loved Lukos and the relationship she had with her master, the hermit, and as the novel progressed, with the one that the hermit was healing back to health. Lukos plays an important role throughout this novel and she becomes just another of the many characters that you become endeared to. Tron has developed this animal and her recognition of the spiritual and human realm very well without coming across as if Lukos is more than an animal.

This novel is so much more infused with spiritual aspects and the Spirit of God than the previous. When I read of the spiritual warfare that Tron portrays here, it is surreal in the sense that we do not experience it in real life to this extent but it does show that it is attainable and available to us now as it has always been. Tron simply shows that it is due to having a pure heart towards God, in submission and trust in Him alone. But more importantly, through the Tron family characters, namely Arktos, Jakob, Jean Paul, Tron shows such a simple and proven way to do this and that is to live out our faith, exercise it if you will. It is just as the Word says,

“22 But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. 23 For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man observing his natural face in a mirror; 24 for he observes himself, goes away and immediately forgets what kind of man he was. 25 But he who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues in it, and is not a forgetful hearer but a doer of the work, this one will be blessed in what he does. [James 1:22-25 New King James Version (NKJV)]”

Another aspect that Tron shows in this spiritual warfare is that these same characters do not rely on their own strength but on God and God alone, and He responds not just by His power, but by His Spirit in many signs and wonders and the infilling and flow of His Presence and Power when they are in prayer, seeking His guidance and direction or when involved in attacks from the many forms of the demonic. Another aspect that supports this is when Arktos admits that he has placed all his hope in an artefact (glowing stone) infused with spiritual power and is surprised when God does not use it when Arktos commands the stone to express its power upon his command.

“He continued to pray something would change or at least give them a sign, for he had put all his hopes on this stone providing them with the power to slay as many of the Viscount’s guard as possible, yet nothing happened.
It was then, as the last thought had passed, like a cloud overhead, when he realised his error.
Puting his hopes in the stone…..and not God.
He had once again been putting his faith in something other than God the Father. He asked for forgiveness, knowing too well the scriptures that warned of such foolishness, the multitudes who awaited Moses descent from the mount were proof of that.”

And once he had accepted God’s forgiveness, God acted on Arktos’s plan and delivered them from their adversary.

Tron delivers this with enough action and adventure, suspense and thrills while being extremely entertaining and does not detract from the lessons of spiritual warfare he wants to deliver in this narrative. I pray that readers will not compartmentalize these, leaving them in the confines of this novel and character traits but realise that this is how we need to be living.

When I look at the various forms of the demonic that the various members of the Tron family were confronted with, it all boils down to this same factor mentioned above, being submitted to God, trusting in Him and obedient to His Word, practising a lifestyle of prayer, being doers of the Word by living out their faith and applying the principles that God has structured the Bible in how to live. And yet there are specific principles used for each to defeat this evil and its perpetrators throughout this novel and its predecessor such as:

-quoting specific Bible (verses) appropriate to the situation at hand,
-putting on the Armour of God (Ephesians 6: 10-20),
-singing songs based on the Psalms and others while under the Anointing of the Spirit (as Jakob did),
-playing musical instruments (again as Jakob did with the Lyra while under the anointing of the Spirit).
-walking in the Spirit. Physically as well as spiritually. Many examples of this through Jakob, Arktos, Jean Paul, Lucier. However, the most noted are Jakob and Arktos. They both had overcome their human frailty, their fears and looked past their physical senses. They acted solely in total obedience to God’s prompting and guidance.

Tron is very competent at describing and showing what this demonic looks like as the reader experiences all the evilness that accompanies it. His description is not short, shallow or implied. It is in your face, and explicit. It is shown through Shamus, and Pope Lucius III, the former being possessed by the spirit of a fallen angel, Semyaza, while the latter is oppressed by the demonic and fueled by his own greed and pride.

Shining through all this as well as its predecessor is the Sovereignty of God. Tron is encouraging us to consider this in every aspect of our lives as we live out His Word. God is Sovereign and any outcome is His if we are living according to His precepts and direction and are in His will. He has everything under control despite our wavering faith, sense of hopelessness, or our finite vision (not physical only) that is incapable of seeing the whole picture of our circumstances and its future. Just as in our lives, God will not leave nor forsake us and when He gives us a quest, mission or task, He will not allow the enemy to thwart our attempts. Tron has portrayed this truth almost as if all these Biblical principles are fabricated as part of a purely fantasy novel.

After reading both novels this is the impressions I have experienced:

-I have been entertained immensely,

-My faith and relationship with God has been strengthened and uplifted,

-Tron has not deviated from established Biblical doctrine, and his content will not, lead a non-believer astray or promote false doctrine,

-He writing and content honours God and portrays God as He is from the many character traits outlined in the Bible (Deliverer, Provider, Redeemer, Sovereign, Healer, Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Omniscience, Warrior, Conqueror,

-His writing does not encourage worship of the created (eg angels, man, animals) but of the Creator (God) instead.

-it promotes the power and practice of prayer as a lifestyle and to an unadulterated relationship with God

Christians know the power of the Word and of the Spirit in transforming the spirit of unregenerate man. Tron shows this very powerfully in the conversion of Lucier. It is one of the most descriptive conversions I have read for a while. Then seeing him have a heart after God reminds me very much of the Psalmist, David, including Lucier’s Godly remorse at his adultery and how he dealt with this spiritually. His remorse is tender, sincere, heartfelt and it is tangible as you read it. It is not directed at himself but at God and it reminded me so much like David the Psalmist felt when he wrote to God in Psalm 51:4,

“Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight”

It struck me as how it should be and needs to be whenever a Christian falls into sin, no matter what type.

Julia’s reaction to Lucier’s confession is just as tender, sincere and heartfelt. Both of their reactions to this sin is devoid of any of the usual human emotions we experience today that can become stumbling blocks to being restored to God. But then again, this situation described by Tron shows the work of the Spirit in the hearts and minds of these two and their submission and obedience to Him.

I have not singled out this situation as the only time such reactions towards human shortcomings and sin are in these novels. It is an example that shows how we can have such a humble, tender, submitted and pure relationship with God when we fall to sin or allow our humanness to take over. It is described by Tron as not idealistic or unrealistic. It resonated with me and was very relatable. And so it should be to all who read this novel.

Once this novel took off after the first chapter, I was totally absorbed and on the edge of my seat, figuratively speaking, and I was exhausted many times throughout. Despite the frustration of having to stop reading to either return from lunch or to and from work, this was a blessing as it gave me time to reflect on the spiritual side of the many topics that uplifted me, encouraged me to know Jesus better and to have a tender heart towards Him. I must confess, the relationship Tron described between the Vaudois characters towards each other and them towards God, convicted me and I found myself having some conversations with God regarding this.

There is definitely the power and presence of God in this novel. I said similar in my review of Bruecke to Heaven:

“I knew when I read the description of this book that I would be blessed and that this book is unique and special. This book has not let me down. I finished this speechless due to being in awe of everything related to it. Truly, this book is inspired by God and many times, I could feel His presence with me. I have had that with only a few books. I will never forget this book. It really does have a profound effect on how you see God and how you have experienced Him. It has made me want more of Him and a desire to increase my faith and always be in His will.”

I can apply the same here in this novel.

When I finished this novel, I posted this on Facebook and Goodreads,

“Words cannot express how brilliant, how powerful, how epic, how divinely inspired this novel is! It is definitely the most spirit-filled novel I have ever read.”

I said that the first novel, Bruecke to Heaven, was special and unique, but now this novel takes it to the next level and this series is so unique, so special, it has impacted me like no other novel! Spiritually uplifting like no other Christian novel has!

This is one highly impressive novel. But then if it reflects the power of God, His Word and the character of God, then we can expect nothing less!

Truly, an unforgettable novel and one that has impacted me like no other, together with its predecessor, Bruecke to Heaven.

Highly recommended.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Religion, Religious Fiction

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | April 16, 2018 · 9:21 pm

Living Water…

All around me the soft, gentle foliage blanketed the shoreline of the turbulent river below. The setting sun cast an orange hue into the water, such that the folds of rushing waters against the rocks made a metallic sheen of golden tones. Like ancient Aztec gold flowing down the steps of the might pyramids, the waters below me churned in molten swathes of lava-like folds, one over the other.

For a moment, my thoughts raced back to the tour of the chocolate factory in Hershey Pennsylvania in my youth. Before the trip, I didn’t like chocolate. In fact, I purposely sought food without it, such was my disdain. However, that day we walked through the factory watching swathes of liquid chocolate flow past us in unspeakable volumes, the air became aromatically filled with the rich fragrance of the dark brown substance. By the time you exited the tour, your mind was craving chocolate to the point, you had to taste it now, even if you really didn’t like it before. There, in the massive atrium of the Hershey courtyard, I asked the unspeakable that day, “Yes, please order me a hot fudge Sundae, with chocolate on top.” To this day, it was the freshest, most precious tasting substance I had yet to savor at that point in life. There was nothing that had compared before. All other chocolate had been stale compared to the taste of something this fresh; or at least in my mind’s eye, that was the reasoning at that moment.

As the waters twisted and turned, before me this evening, the sweet taste of chocolate no longer tempted my taste buds. The beauty of that scene was far more savoring than anything that could be eaten. Instead, my eyes drank in the colors which wrapped through the fluid source of life below and brought surreal enlightenment to all the surrounding imagery. It was as if God was beaming through the waters of the John’s River straight into my soul.

Weary from his journey, he came near the parcel of land that Jacob had given Joseph. There, he sat upon the well thus, for his disciples had gone into town to buy meat. It was a very warm, especially since it was nearing noon. It was then that Samarian women came seeking water. Momentarily surprised to find a Jew sitting on the edge of the well, she paused and looked upon the stranger unsure of how to proceed. Jesus, having been looking down at his dirty feet, dusty and tired from the day’s journey, felt her presence and looked up and said, “Give me to drink.”

Startled and confused at the request, she replied, “How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria? For the Jews have nothing to do with the Samaritans.”

He repeated himself again, saying, “Give me to drink, woman.”

Perplexed, she only stood, again unsure how to respond. Jesus then continued, “If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.”

 The woman then saith unto him, “Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence then hast thou that living water? Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle?”

Jesus did not hesitate but answered and said unto her, “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst, but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”

The woman, now feeling the Holy Spirit coming unto her, saith unto him, “Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw.”

As I sat watching the turbid waters boil, the essence of his living water rose in my heart. There must have been no greater joy in this world than to hear Christ Jesus stand before you and tell you, face to face, “The water that I shall give you will be like a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”

Then, as now, although we cannot draw these mighty forces of fluidness with a mere bucket, they can be as powerful as those waters that Elisha caused to raise the axe head from below its depths. As his servant had been working cutting the wood as we are told in 2 Kings 6:5, the head of the axe had sheared, causing the valuable metal end to fly into the midst of the river. Fearing the wrath of the man from whom he borrowed the tool, he immediately begged Elisha to help. The prophet walked calmly to the water’s edge. There, he stooped over and picked up a simple stick and began to turn it into the clear spring below. Before their eyes, the waters began to boil, and within a minute, the axe head was floating before them, raised from its watery grave, to once again be present before their very eyes. Pulled from the midst of the lost to the saved, the servant was overjoyed to have the valuable piece of equipment returned.

Like the lost Samarian woman, she too had been like the axe head, lost in a watery grave, forever toiling to return from the well with yet another bucket to provide sustenance for her family; yet, it was never enough. It could never satisfy their cravings. Without help from something beyond this world, she would forever be looking for that which she could not find. Yet, why would this Jew help her, a Samaritan, for they had no dealings with her kind?

That night, as I slept, there came to me in a dream, the same scene of the river.

However, as I was watching myself from a distance, I could see myself paddling down the stream, away from where I sat, in the direction that it became narrower and narrower. With time, the world around the river became more developed. By the end of the vision, the entire landscape had been replaced with concrete barriers, stone walls, and all manner of man-made edifices. Gone were the pure, natural settings that God had created. In their place, man had made the world in his image; to his desires. The only remnant left of what was before, was the simple stream, still flowing, still reflecting the golden skyline of the setting sun.

In that image, I paddled away from where my vision was fixed, slowly fading away toward the sunset in the tiny canal of water. Sadly, this was all that was left of the beautiful scene upon which I had sat earlier. The water, having seemed to be the most bold and metallic substance before me, now had become the softest, must subtle of all images within the dark world. The water reflecting the sun was the only light to the otherwise sullen, sinful gray landscape. What once seemed powerful and mighty, now seemed silken and serene; a precious commodity.

All that had been was now gone, and all there was of hope, was the tiny thread of light.

Buoyed by the thread, one, who was filled from within by its essence, kept afloat and continued his search to help those that could still be saved.

To the ends of the earth we should go to find them, and when we do, give them Him to drink.

Drink of the living water and yea shall never thirst no more.

He is the water of life, and in Him, you shall be saved.

In all these things we do, we do for Him.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Nature, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | April 7, 2018 · 10:31 pm

A Small World…

“And he sat down, and called the twelve, and saith unto them, If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of all, and servant of all.” -Mark 9:35

The cold rain fell from the dark sky. It wasn’t nightfall, but it might as well have been. As I pulled within eyesight of the Ruritan’s

building, I could see the line extended out past the overhang of the entrance. People were literally standing in the rain. I had seen the signs earlier that morning for the Chicken Dumpling Dinner starting at 4:30, but here it was only 4:38, and there was already a line out the door. I nearly turned around but something said to just buy some time, so I pulled into the General Store. I needed to drop off some newspapers anyhow so it wouldn’t be that far off of my to-do list.

Barney and Otis were at their usual spots, Otis by the bench and Barney curled up in the flower pot by the door. The store’s overhang protected the dogs as they passed the dreary day in stride. There was lots of activity for the little town. “More than usual,” I thought to myself.

I stepped inside and placed the April copy of the Blueridge Christian News in the place where papers were to go; they had run out of the previous month, a blessing for sure. Trina, the store’s proprietor, was busy with several customers, so I didn’t want to bother her. Instead, I walked over to the wall where there were several old-timey photos of Collettsville back in the hay days, before the flood that nearly erased all existence from the valley back in 40. As I scanned the images, I started looking at the huge map that covered most of the wall. There were the names and places that the elders of the church often spoke about, Edgemont, Mortimer. Then I started to notice all the schools listed, most with a “col.” after the name. There seemed to be more schools than churches. Then I tried to find the name of the roads on which they sat and realized there was no Hwy. 321. Confused, I looked for a key for the map, and then it dawned on me, the date of its publication was 1931. This map was from the pre-flood days of antiquity.

“Another item of interest I must return to someday,” I mused as I looked out the window to see if the line had dissipated; it had not. As the customers began to leave the store, I was finally afforded the chance to speak to Trina about the papers being in the right spot. She assured me that they were fine and that they had run out.

“Several folks have been in picking them up,” she reported with a smile.

“That’s great,” I replied, then continued, “I thought I’d drop them off while I wait for the line to go down.”

“Oh wow,” she responded, “We were lucky, and somebody brought us ours,” she said pointing at the styrofoam to-go containers behind the counter.

“Good for you.” I looked out the window again to see if I could get in now without having to wait in the rain.

“They’re having a fundraiser for the little girl with cancer.”

At the sound of her answer to the question I had not asked, my heart sank.

“There’s probably a lot of folks coming from out of town that normally don’t come which is why it’s so busy.”

All I could do was shake my head yes. I thought of little Sam Holt back in Goldston and how I had come to know his family through the JAM program. When he was diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor, many thought we’d never see him grow to become a young man, but the community of Goldston came together, not only in fundraising but as a community of believers in prayer.

Sam is still with us today, thanks be to God.

“Looks like I can make it now without getting too wet. Have a blessed evening I called back,” as I headed out the door.

“You too,” she said, waving.

The parking lot was full, so I parked over by the old medical center and walked. The front door of the Ruritan building was open with a few more people still filing out the door, but at least now the line was well within the shelter of the porch roof. Back in the day in Goldston, I would have already seen or spoken with several people I would have known, but now, in this new place, I rarely know anyone. So I stood, scanning all the faces within, thinking of all the stories and testimonies that awaited to be told. There was nary an empty seat.

At this point, I still didn’t know who the little girl was we were raising money to help. The thing that stood out was the number of people wanting to come to her aid. Not only were there people there to eat, but there was the army of volunteers working to provide the food, serve the tables, clean up, and to take the money. As the door swung open wider to allow guests to leave, a familiar face appeared who happened to be standing in the line; finally, someone I knew. It was one of my Facebook friends that had come out of a connection back to Chatham County, through his cousin Sam Cooper; John Fletcher Church and his good friend, Anna.

The first and last time we had met in person was when they came to the last Lay Speaking engagement I had given in Sugar Grove, NC. There we formally introduced ourselves and John told me that most of his friends just call him “Fletch.” It was an honor to know someone that I had only seen on Facebook had shown up to hear me speak. But when I find myself thinking in those terms, I try to remind myself, that it is God writing through me, and that it would be God speaking through me that they come to hear. In all that we do, we should always know that when we truly serve the Lord, we do all for him and not for self. Thus, when I decided to give every family a copy of my book, “Bruecke to Heaven,” as part of my presentation that day, it was almost amusing when I ran out before I got to my new friend.  We both laughed. In my mind, I knew it was God’s way of saying, “You’ll be seeing him again.” It was then I said, “I guess I owe you a book.”

So, when we shook hands in our brief reunion of sorts nearly standing in the rain in front of the Ruritan building in Collettsville, the first thing I said was, “Great to see you and yes, I’ve got your book.”

As we made our way to our seats, it was heartening to find some of the members of the church I attend, Rocky Springs Baptist Church, seated and enjoying their meal. Their patriarch, Ray was there, a man that had been diagnosed a year ago with stage four lung cancer. His story alone is one of faith, miracles, and the healing power of prayer. We spoke briefly, as we often do at these type of functions, and then I moved on to try to catch back up with Fletch who was now also trying to find empty seats.

Once we were finally seated and squeezed around the table, Fletch’s friend Anna asked the rest of the table if they wouldn’t mind if we said grace. They all were more than happy to oblige. From the corner of my eye, I could see hands reaching out to hold others. It was then I began to see the world of connections open for my new friends. It seemed that nearly everyone in the place had been part of their lives at one point, yet they had never lived in Collettsville, which made it all the more surreal.

It all began innocently enough when Anna asked the lady across from her if she used to drive Brownies to a camp in a station wagon. The lady was still chewing her Chicken and Dumplings when Anna asked, so it took her a minute to swallow. You could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she thought back through the many years. “Well, actually I drove Girl Scouts, she finally said, and that would have been when I was at Zion U.C.C.”

“Are you, Mrs. Lloyd,” Anna continued.

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Anna replied almost dropping her fork. She was immediately transported back in time to when she was a young girl in 2nd grade. Mrs. Lloyd had only driven her once to a day camp for Girl Scouts, but they had brought Brownies along for the experience. You could see them both connect back to a time when their lives were much different. The elderly lady explained how she would drive them to camps in that old station wagon. From that point on, there were so many things to catch up with, children to share, and a lifetime of living.

As people passed by, either Fletch or Anna would wave to people they hadn’t seen or spoken too in years, each barely recognizing one another.

As Anna was sharing with Mrs. Lloyd, the lady next to her spoke up that she thought she remembered Anna from somewhere. It wasn’t long before Fletch’s friend had rediscovered Mrs. Eunice Watson, a former EC teacher at Patterson Elementary School. The myriad of tiny one-room schoolhouses came to mind on the map that I had seen earlier in the store as they continued to recall their shared work experiences. It was as if God had given me a glimpse of what was to come.

Then a lady, who was obviously related to the elderly lady Anna had made the connection too, sat down next to me. Her plate had been there for some time, untouched. She began to eat as she shared with Mrs. Lloyd how she had done all she could do to help.

At this point, I noticed Fletch intensely gazing at the lady that had sat next to me. He finally broke his silence when he called to her, “Mary?”

She looked up, again almost as stunned as Mrs. Lloyd had been when Anna had reconnected with her.

“Yes,” she paused.

“Well, my apologies for seeming like I was staring, but I thought I knew you.”

“John,” she replied, smiling broadly.

“That I am,” he grinned from ear to ear.

“I thought I knew who you were, but I wasn’t sure,” she said laughing. Later I would learn that it had been two years since they had worked together and not seen each other since.

Meanwhile, Anna, Mrs. Watson, and Mrs. Lloyd were still racing through the years of life.

Again, my mind drifted off to Goldston and all the families lives that were connected either through their church, their school, or their neighborhoods. Then in my new world, the school at which I teach, and how when we come together as one, we make all the more difference, not just in one life that might need help, but in all of those that become part of the greater being.

Mary and John went on to share with me their work at the LEOS in Lenoir, where homeless people were being taken in and the ministry they serve in that mission. They told me of the early days and how they had met while working the night shift for LEOS in the old high school gym and all the trials through which they had struggled. Mary went on to tell me about the problems they now face, most homeless either being addicts or alcoholics. “We still try to help those that really need the help, especially families that are in need.”

About that time another couple women sat our table, Jennifer, and Ginny, and once again, they called out to John; more connections, more people who knew each other in a community that went beyond the four walls of the Ruritan’s building.

Fletch turned to me at one point and said, “A small world,” he said, half chuckling, “That would be another great story.”

I nodded, “Yes, it would.”

At that point, the room became a buzz of conversations and fellowship. Each story that was told had a connection to another, and with time, a shared memory was created, all for a cause that would ease the medical burdens of a young girl’s family. We may not know Johanna, or we may not know her family; we may not know the stranger who we give a warm bed on a bitterly cold night, or we may not know the child that receives the gift box in a time of need, but in the end, when we come together as a family of faith, we become greater than we might ever know individually.

Jesus had taught his disciples that we cannot stand alone, but our calling is to serve those around us, to be the least of these. “Tend my sheep,” he told Peter upon his last response to being loved. Then Jesus went on to help them to understand their position in His ministry as it was written in the gospel of Mark, “And he sat down, and called the twelve, and saith unto them, If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of all, and servant of all.”

When we put ourselves last, we put Him first, and in the end, serving as Christ is all that we should endeavor in this life. For this earth, God’s creation, it but a tiny existence in all of the heavens unto which we are born. In the massive scale of the universe, we are but a tiny speck; yes, a small world. For, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.”

Tonight, we dined for a cause, to serve another. In essence, tonight, we broke bread with one another, and in so doing, shared the body of Christ.

Yes, we might live in a small world, but we serve a great God.

Thanks be to God.

For more information on donations for Johanna Hayes Cancer Fund, please contact Craig Styron, Principal of Collettsville School, at (828) 754-6913, or email at cstryon@caldwellschools.com You can also follow her story on Jo’s Journey Facebook page.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | April 3, 2018 · 10:00 pm

A Visitor from Afar

“And Elisha prayed, and said, Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see. And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.” – 2 Kings 6:17

He looked down at his worn, weathered hands as he told his story. His voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and as cracked as those calloused palms to which he spoke. “They would not listen,” he recalled, the clear blue eyes glazed over as he looked into the distant past. “We tried to warn them, but it was of no use.” He shook his head as he looked up at me, wanting to say more but emotion had gripped his throat. He lowered his head and ran his fingers through his course gray-speckled hair, relenting to the pain within until he could speak once more.

When he had finally recovered, his demeanor had changed. Like that of an ancient warrior who had finally prepared for battle, he had returned to the front to continue the fight and tell the rest of the story.

“We had known that they were coming, but we didn’t know when. I was with my brother in the upper pastures. It was late spring, and our sheep were hungry for any new growth. A couple weeks earlier, all the men had met one evening to discuss what we would do if they came. We knew that God was with us, but we also knew from the past, that we would need to do more than to kneel and pray when their swords began to swing. There were arguments on both sides of the faith, but eventually, we of the warrior clans ruled out. We wanted to believe that God would lead us, and we always will, but then again, we knew in the ancient times, God also fought on the side of the Israelites, and we as them, believed in our Heavenly Father; now so probably more than then. So when we heard the rumble of the hoof beats echoing up the canyon walls, we knew it was time. I raced along the ridgelines trying to watch as I flew through rock and tree, trying not to slip to the depths below. As we raced back to our farms and villages, the ancient men of faith felt their hearts in their ears. The pounding of blood pulsed through our veins as the spirit drew neigh. We had been told that overwhelming forces would come, but we feared not, for in the days of Elisha, Gideon, David, and all the other biblical kings of old who needed God to help them win, we too knew that without Him, we would surely meet Him sooner than later.

In the distance, I could see some of the families already beginning to flee to the upper reaches of the valleys. Their belongings and animals in tow. There was something about the sight of family and friends fleeing for their lives that made your insides turn into fire. We no longer felt our legs as we were at once lifted from the ground and seemingly placed into our positions of defense awaiting the onslaught of deranged armies. Their purpose had been prepared by those who had lied about the truth, swaying even the most ardent believer into thinking that they were doing the Lord’s work by attacking these meager hunters and farmers. We would find out later that we had been described as devil worshippers, practicing occult rituals, holding worship of our own accord and slandering God’s Word to make it fit our demonic worship. Those lies stung as bad as the flames that would consume most of our kin, the lucky ones that had been captured.

The rest of us would live to find a worse fate.

That day could never be erased from my mind, as we stopped one advance after another. They came like swarms of locusts, too many for the few of us to shoot with arrow and spear. We turned to rolling boulders from above to both crush them and to block the passes through which they had been attempting to pass; some only wide enough for one or two men to pass through at a time. By nightfall, we had secured our border, but with only a handful of men, the new dawn would bring more soldiers from below. Our families had for now made some good time, but the climb to the nearby peaks was slow and grueling. The elderly moved at their own speed, not fearing what was to come, but instead, welcoming it, for they had already asked for the Lord to deliver them.

Knowing that they needed more time, we stayed to buy them at least one more day’s travel. That night I watched as the stars came out and all of God’s creation was on display for us. The pitch-black sky was the perfect backdrop for the multitude of stars that lit the heavens above. The night air was cold, for it was still spring. Pockets of snow still clung to the shadowed sides of the mountains. The woolen overcoat I had carried was barely enough to keep me warm. We dared not light fires for fear of being discovered and giving away our positions, so we huddled close to one another and did the best we could, falling asleep praying to God above.

I felt as if we had barely fallen asleep when the glow of the coming morn began to light the eastern horizon. The sun had barely touched the skyline when we heard the sound of footsteps echoing again up the valley. Our hearts began to beat in time as we knew we were the only thing between our loved ones and death. Before we picked up the sword and shield to begin possibly our last day on earth, we gathered together in prayer.”

“Brother,” the old man said to me as his eyes began to well up once again, “I can tell you I had never known anyone or anybody that had prayed a prayer before that day that came true as it did that day. I must say to you before you think it, that this must just be an exaggeration, but I tell you as the Father in Heaven above sits on the throne of God, it is true. That day we prayed as one, and we said this, “God, please Lord if it be your will, give us the strength to do what is right, to save our loved ones, to defeat this force. God we know we cannot do this alone, for as in those days of Elisha, we need you now, oh Lord we need you. We beseech you, God, to send us down angels from on high to aid us in this battle if it be your desire. We seek your guidance, we seek your love, we seek you in all that we do from the very day we are born until the day we die. Lord hear our pleas, for we are the keepers of your word, from the beginning until this day, Thanks be to God, Amen.”

“We turned from that moment and took up our positions, the few of us that remained.

As we knelt behind rock and crevice waiting and watching until they were within range, the clouds began to cast shadows on the lower vestiges of the valleys. We could see the winds swirling them over the peaks behind us. Some of our younger men began to pray out loud, asking for the safety of those family members still trying to reach those distant summits before the storms hit. Distant thunderclaps shook the ground as dark, ominous clouds began to shroud the peaks that heretofore shone like brilliant golden statues in the morning sunlight.

It was then as if God had truly stood with us, that the unbelievable happened.

Shrouds of blinding ice and rain began to rush past us, like embodied beings of another realm. Lightning strobed in sequenced flashes, striking objects below our cover, shaking the earth until we thought we too might be thrown into the hell that had become the onslaught of man and beast below. Screams of horror and death could barely be heard over that of the wind, like a horrific banshee of hades, all had been obscured from anything we could determine to be human. There was no describing the scene below us, other than we could only determine in blinding sequences of scenes; men, beast, and other, intertwined in a battle that no mortal could withstand.

Time passed, and the sound of our own heartbeats in our ears drummed to the sound of the throng of echoes which combined into a siren of prayers which had been answered. I grasped onto the granite boulder before me to make sure I was still alive, so surreal was everything else around me at the moment.

We don’t know what day if it were the same or more than one, but eventually, the squalls ended, and we could rise from our places of battle refuge.

Below us on the mountain, there were only vague remnants of what had been a sizeable army. Pieces of shields, fragments of weaponry, and human remains all littered the landscape. It was as if a mighty beast had torn them asunder, limb from body, head from torso; the death was complete; not one had survived.”

The old man looked up at me and smiled for the first time.

“You see,” he nodded as he spoke, “God be with us.”

I sat in silence and in awe.

For a moment, I could feel his hand upon my knee as he wanted to say more, and then he was gone.

The day had been long and my brief rest in the chair had turned into a nap. Little did I know that it was more than just a peaceful rest I would encounter. Outside in the nearby woods, a woodpecker tapped out his vibrant melody.

I had not expected it nor known he was coming, but it was a blessing to have been visited from afar once more.

May God be with us.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | March 24, 2018 · 9:45 pm

Winter of our Content

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,
And whose hope is the Lord.
8 For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters,
Which spreads out its roots by the river,
And will not fear[b] when heat comes;
But its leaf will be green,
And will not be anxious in the year of drought,
Nor will cease from yielding fruit.” – Jeremiah 17:7-9

Sitting on the bank of the river, below me swirls the cold waters of winter. The fluid motion spins by, never stopping, never ceasing its continual movement. Like time passing, there but for a moment then gone. Around where I sit there is only the stark, gray reminder of winter. Life has not yet returned to the branches of yonder bough; death in slumber.

It has been a long week.

My mind ponders as the countless days pass, from one seeming earthly struggle to the next, one never ceasing, nor stopping to give pause. All around me, others seem to be facing similar earthly challenges and trials; cancer, sickness, and stress. Like the tributary before me, they come in waves, sometimes flooding all that we are. We become overwhelmed with what we must do in order to survive from day to day until there is nothing left of who we are. All that was the light seems all but extinguished. Too often, in our weakness, we feel we must carry it all on our own. It is in these moments, we as Christians must remind ourselves and those around us, we are not alone. As the Apostle Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, “We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed…” Yes, we are not alone, if only we will allow the Holy Spirit to walk with us.

As these thoughts flow through my head, there passes within the never-ending stream, a dark figure; a solitary oak leaf. It tumbles helplessly along. Its greenery long since faded into the bitter winds of autumn. Now, caught in the chaotic turbulence, it is helpless to choose its path; rather, the substance of which it is now part controls its destiny.

Sometimes, in my moments of weakness, I feel like the leaf.

There was a time when it too was part of the greenness of life; that of the tree that stood beside the stream. There, the life was good. It had no worries, but the waters below beckoned. Knowing not what it missed, the solitary leaf yearned for the mystery of what flowed beneath. On the tree, the leaf had sustenance from the roots that supped the life-giving force. There was no fear in the time of draught, no fear of the world around it. But as we often find in our youth, we are not content with the sanctuary in which we were raised. Like a taboo darkness, the leaf wanted to be free of this safety of which it was reared. When the strong storm winds blew, the leaf wished for its release so that it might be free. One night, when the flashes of lightning thrashed around the sturdy tree, the leaf was finally granted the sole desire; it was set free.

Torn from what seemed like its bondage, it was loosed into the world.

From whence it came it departed and was never to return. Soon the leaf too late realized that without the nourishment of the father tree, there was no hope, no life eternal. Lost, the foliage joined the others who also were blown as the gusts of unseen forces tossed them to and fro. His greenery soon turned to a golden hue, brilliant as the sun; the last rays of hope escaping. In his mistaken glory, he pranced about joyously celebrating the new life of earthly gratification. However, after a couple days, brown stains began to appear on his body. Before he knew it, the leaf’s brown spots connected. To his horror, his flesh had turned to the color of the soil. The countless days of life abundant, those living in the home that taught the precepts of faith now were gone, forgotten as the lost ones ran from all that they had known seeking the fleshly desires of the earth. For it is written, “That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.” The leaf too late found, like those around him, had been mistaken and given up on what that had been promised. Lost in their sin, they now gave up and scattered neither knowing whence they were going, nor whence they came. In their desire to be of the earth, they had unknowingly succumbed to the desires of their flesh. “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; Who can know it?” Many of the leaf’s friends, those that had joined in his revelries had now succumbed to the earth, lying in repose as their bodies began to decay, becoming one with the earth from which they came; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Yet, the lone leaf had not forgotten the bidding, that it had wished so long ago.

Haplessly, the leaf was finally blown one morning into the waters below the tree from which it once called home. At first, the leaf fought to remain afloat, fearing to sink below the surface. But eventually, its dried skin became full of the cold wetness and began to sink. As he floated down, the world above began to fade, and he could feel his life beginning to pass. As that former life began to ebb, the water began to swirl him around. The light of the sun sparkled upon the waters, casting colors of every hue about him as the current pushed him on. Suddenly, he was no longer alone, but part of a greater body of being than ever before. There was a renewed sense of hope, a life-force from within, the fluidness of the spirit, began to flow. As the leaf became one with the water, he was made anew. Together, the leaf and the crystal waters were made one. His Baptism had been complete, and now, he was one with the Father. As he floated along, he no longer cared to whence he may go, only that he may do the will of the Father who hath sent him. For once, the leaf had found the glory for which he had so long ago sought but could not know; truly to be one with the Father.

And so there he was, passing before me as I sat that evening, as the sun slowly sat beyond the Blue Ridge Mountains. The leaf eventually tumbled and tossed along in the current until it faded from my view into the shadowed bend of the yon waters.

Somewhere in the distance a night bird called.

Soon spring would come, but for now, the winter of our content has arrived.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | March 10, 2018 · 6:52 pm

The Beast We Face…

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”-Eph. 6:12

As the distant separates the miles, the golden rays of fading sunlight cast their last hopes upon the sullen clouds that lie amongst the foot of the mountains. There is nere a day that remaineth the same. What man can say he hath known the works of the Almighty when he can scarcely recall one from another, twixt the hours of time that passeth understanding.

His charge, one of Keeper; to watch over those in his domain and protect them from the darkness. As the fog of ancient tomes drifts across the driven land, he is called to another such place; a memory gone by, faded from view as the vines envelop the work of one long passed. The natural world reclaiming her own. He is there to see what is needed to bring the old place back to the living. With him travels another soul, one he cannot see, but he can sense its presence. It is a gentle, kind spirit like himself; but strong in ways he cannot match. They are connected as father and son, a bond that goeth deeper than the flesh which covereth mere bone and sinew. Together, their force is nigh to the Master they serve, but neither would dare compare to their creator, for each dwelleth only to serve Him more.

As they arrive, their first visit is to an outbuilding lying on the edge of the estate, just inside the front gate. Farther up the drive on the hill sits the dark, somber decaying mansion. Once this place was an exuberant, alive institution where all manner of animals, food, and life thrived. The building in which they now stood was once a stable and maintenance shed. Now, the rusty veins of disrepair peek through swollen arms of branches and vines that have devoured its once formidable shell. As the Keeper walks beneath the sagging overhead door, the smell from within causes the hair to stand up along his spine.

Beneath the myriad of branch and leaf, there is something of a dire will that lurks. An evil being lies waiting. It has recompensed its own soul for a void it can never fill; a wickedness beyond compare. The gentle spirit is alarmed, and at once is put on guard. Both Keeper and gentle being begin to back away, but before they can reach the light of day, the swift sound of earthly flesh sliding across the antiquity of concrete splits fear into, cleaving sanity from flight, as the beast seeks to devour the good son. A sense of cunning overwhelmed the Keeper as the serpent sought a weakness from which to attack. It was as if it had known they were coming and was welcoming their offering, their sacrifice of body and soul. A feeling of pain, horror, and unfathomable power surges through the Keeper as he suffers the feeling of the gentle spirit being torn asunder. But there was no sign of physical attack. The gentle one stood prepared for battle, but there was only the feeling of the onslaught.

Each being stood waiting, each with heightened senses. Their enemy, nothing of this world nor principality, circles; watching, waiting.

Then without warning, it strikes the gentle one from behind, out of nowhere the beast sprung, its massive coils instantly engulfing the young being. There was no time to scream, so quick were its Satanic sinews entwined about his body. Incredulously, there was nothing they can do to stop it; nothing of this world.

Lightning pulses through the Keeper’s veins as he is blinded by rage. His heart falters as he falls to his knees. At once, the prayer of supplication is lifted to the Master’s realm, and as quickly, there is an answer.

The sound of rushing wind blasts past the Keeper’s ears, until he cannot restrain his body in place. As he feels the world around him begin to summersault, head over heel, all countenance of space and time passes. His eyes are closed in the transition until there is calm. A feeling of warmth surrounds him, and slowly he peers through squinted eyelids to see himself bathed in sunlight upon a freshly mown lawn. Looking up, he sees the previously decaying manor, now aglow in the setting sun. It’s alcoves, and trim are perfectly painted and shining like new. He turns to see all manner of life and activity as servants, workers, and guests come and go in their daily rituals. Below him, he watches as a young man of slender build leads a team of horses into what was before, the overgrown stables. The man disappeared from view. At the same time, from behind him, the Keeper hears the sound of an elder speaking to one of the workers, “Have you seen Jackson?”

The Keeper turns to see the well-dressed elder speaking to one of his servants. The former is dressed in tan pants with a matching vest. His girth protrudes beyond his belt line as it appears his wealth is more than just in the land around him. The black man to whom he speaks is dressed in the worn clothes that belie his position. His likewise worn hat, sits comfortably on his nearly bald but graying head, shading his eyes from the fading light of day.

“Nassuh,” replies the servant, “Last I seed him he was walkin da horses to da stables. I’se can git him if you need-ssuh?”

“No Eugene,” the elder replied, “I just wanted to see if he was about ready for supper or not.”

“Yessuh, I’se can run down to da stables and let him know if yuuz want?”

“Well, on second thought Eugene, that might be a splendid idea.”

“Yessuh, I’se be right back.”

And with that, the black man ran toward the Keeper, not straying nor altering his path as he headed straight toward him. The Keeper put his hands up to block the servant’s charge fearing that the collision would send them both reeling, but before he could blink, the man had passed through his person and was gone on heading down the hill. Not quite understanding what had just transpired, he stood, turning to watch the black man disappear past the manicured hedges that lined the drive between the manor and the farmland beyond.

He blinked and once again, he had to refocus his eyesight. The darkness of the room caught him off guard. The smell of sweat, leather, and tack filled his nostrils. The doors of the barn opened, and the whinny of the horses broke the silence.

“Easy ladies,” the young man called. “Why you girls acting so skittish?”

As the Keeper watched the young man work, he opened the stall doors for each Percheron, placing the gentle giants each into their own paddocks. The horses pranced, for something was causing them to stir. The Keeper thought it must be his own presence that created their disdain. But as the thought passed, so did the sound of that earthly scrape along the floor. The darkness had found its way into the realm, and he was not alone. The youth was unaware, but there was little the Keeper could do. For some reason, there was no way for him to call to the boy. His voice was void of his mouth. The demon slid along the corner post and cunningly wrapped itself around the beam as it climbed aloft. The thirty-foot-long python was an enigma. It had survived the train wreck when the men who had claimed it from the jungles lost it in transit to one of the city zoos. They had no idea that those who had extracted it from the South American jungle never lived to see it board the train north. Their skeletal remains long ago excreted from the beast as their souls became one with its darkness. The rescuers who were the first on the scene of the twisted train never found the brakeman or engineer. They too succumbed to the beast. The warmth of the summer had buoyed its life force until it now found itself savoring its next meal below. The yellow slitted eyes watched the boy as he worked, waiting for the opportunity to feed.

Unaware, the youth continued to try to ease the tension of the horses, but to no avail. He had backed his way out of one of the stalls when he felt the strand of straw drop from above. Just as he brushed it off his shoulder, he looked up to see what might have caused the disturbance. Before he could react, the beast sprung its massive coil onto the man. Horses screamed in unison as the lad was knocked to the floor. His hands fought against the massive sinews that intertwined his body. The youth fought to find any form of breath as the evil began to squeeze each time he exhaled until his ribs began to crack beneath the strain. His desperate hand found the wooden handled of the nearby ax he had used earlier in the day to break off a piece of rope. In a last futile act, he swung toward the lethal muscle that now engulfed his body, swinging blindly, he struck again and again. The blood of the sinister beast began to flood the stall below, but only increased the fervor for which its coils tightened about the boy. Bones began to crush as the heartbeat of the innocent began to slowly ebb.

The Keeper watched in revulsive fear as he saw all that transpired, helpless to stop the horror before him. He fell once again to his knees and wept as the sound of the human body was slowly drawn into the gaping mouth of the slithering demon. The last thing he heard was a whimpering voice cry out its last breath, “Mother.”

In an instant, something inside that paddock changed. The feeling of a spirit of evil grew. The damned had devoured the precious son, their only child, the one that was to become the heir to all that was, and now, nothing remained lest the beast allowed it. For once the soul of the boy was exchanged from one to the other, its evil and intellect were magnified tenfold. All of the envy and hate the lad had contained for the contempt of his parents forcing him to carry on the work of the plantation now transferred into the dark being. The bitterness was like sweet essence to the beast as it supped upon the hatred like honey from the comb.

About that time, the door of the barn opened, and the loyal servant peered into the darkness.

“Jackson, my boy, is you in here?” The black man shaded his eyes from the bright light from the outside trying to obtain a focus into the dank cell of death before him. He had seen the boy grow from childhood into a young man. He had come to know the boy as if he were his own. The horses continued to cry as the smell of blood spewed utter fear into their nostrils.

The Eugene timidly pushed the door aside and stepped in, pulling the cap from his forehead. The Keeper wanted to call to him, but again, it was not his time, nor could he speak. The coils of the evil one now silently slid into the shadows awaiting its next victim.

The old man wearied of the silence and called again, raising his hand to the fearful horses trying to calm them as he walked further into the lair of the darkness.

“Jackson, is you here?” He reached the paddock door and started to turn, but the sheen of red on the floor caught his eye, and his breath was taken away. At that instant, before he could think to run for the door, the feeling of cold death, wrapped around his body from above, and like his master before, Eugene began to fight for his life. Heavy, black cold flesh wrapped about his body, tightening until the air escaped his lungs. As his life force ebbed, the years of toil and arduous labor for his Master began to surface, like a black tide. The demon drank it forth, as venom is extracted from the wound, pulling it further from within the servant’s soul. The long years of utter despair culminating to an anger that fed the pulsating muscles that rippled along the beast’s frame as he finished the last breath of the old man. There was nothing left of the faithful servant, as he too joined the combined souls within the evil. The Keeper watched in utter horror as the insatiable appetite of the beast grew. He culled the darkness from each victim before their souls had passed, retaining each as an energy upon which it grew. Before he could manage to escape the macabre scene, each magnificent horse was eventually drawn down into the ever-growing beast’s coils, until they too had become one with its dark powers.

From that day forward, man, beast, and life of the plantation began to disappear as the evil grew with each soul it recompensed. Dawn after dawn, there were fewer who breathed the air of the day, while the night was filled with screams of horror and fear.

The Keeper now understood what he faced. For this was no earthly being with which he fought.

Again, the sound of rushing wind churned in the air about him, and he had returned to the sodden space from which he had left. The beast was still there, as was the gentle being, both neither had diminished nor had their battle continued, for it was as if they had been frozen in time. No matter the length of his recent escape, it was as if it were only a blink of an eye that he had returned. The Keeper called out to the son and warned him of what it was to which they now fought. From within, both instinctively called upon the only one with whom they knew could save them in this darkest hours. Meanwhile, the coils of the beast continued to attempt to suffocate the life from the gentle one.

Dropping to his knees, the Keeper began to seek God in ultimate prayer, bowing his hands upon the earth.

The darkness heard him and lurched for the chance to devour them both at once, sending its tail around the Keeper, pulling him into the maze of death.

As the serpent surged, the sudden force of energy from beneath its coils shocked the beast, stunning his advance. Pausing, it couldn’t understand what had happened, so the beast pulled at the Keeper again, this time forcing all the guile within to his surface, throwing the massive coils into one colossal force which no terrestrial being could withstand.

Once more, the power from above stunned the beast until its deathly grip lessened.

At this moment, the Keeper and the gentle one stood, shedding the grip of evil and turning, they both now faced the beast.

Eyes of blood red, with a screaming rage, the demon surged once more, massive jaws agape as the fangs dripped with deadly venom, at the two beings of faith.

The horrific screams squealed into the air, reaching a pitch that caused any living thing to cower in fear. The beast retracted as its flesh began to sizzle and burn away from the power that now flowed through the pair; Keeper and son.

The demon, feeling its skin begin to fall away, revealing bleeding sinews and bone, lurched again, only to find the force against it growing stronger.

The screams continued until the smell of burning flesh overpowered the dying sounds of the evil beast.

It was hours later as the sunrise began to break across the new day, the charred remains of the demon could be found before the weary Keeper and his son.

Exhausted, worn and spent. Each dropped to the soil below and gave thanks to the Lord.

Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed at the coming day.

Once more, the darkness had been defeated, as the Keeper added another dwelling to his charge.

As we go through this life, we face demons of this world that seem unstoppable. Alone, we cannot defeat them as stated in Ephesians, “principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world.” As Paul writes to Ephesians, he shares with them that we must “put on” the armor of God. The Greek word for “put on” is also “enduo,” as if to clothe or put on a garment. If we go back to Luke 24:49, we see again where he tells his disciples to go back to Jerusalem and wait, “And, behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you: but tarry ye in the city of Jerusalem, until ye be endued with power from on high.” In other words, Jesus was telling his disciples, that first before you go out into the world to evangelize, yea first must receive the Holy Spirit. In this story, we are allowed to visualize ourselves within the Keeper. Some may see this as being one with the Holy Spirit. If we are one with the Holy Spirit, then we can assume the “Gentle One” in the story would then be the Word. Either way, we are not alone in our battles, if we choose to accept Christ into our lives. Without Him, we cannot defeat the powers of darkness. But the good news is, we know how the story ends, we have victory in Jesus. We may not win the battle, but through Christ, we have won the war.

May the Lord’s will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

Hallowed be thy name.

Thanks be to God.

“Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God: Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints; And for me, that utterance may be given unto me, that I may open my mouth boldly, to make known the mystery of the gospel, For which I am an ambassador in bonds: that therein I may speak boldly, as I ought to speak.” -Eph. 6:13-20

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Pure Fiction

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,