Category Archives: Inspirational

by | December 25, 2016 · 9:10 pm

The Tail of a Tale…

Along many trails and paths, I have crossed in my time. Along each trek, there is a special anticipation of what is just around the next bend, a longing to push onward. Someone once said to me that you could only see as far as the next point on the horizon, and once you make it to that point, you can see a little bit farther, to the next point if you will. Some days are like that, finding myself having reached a point that was once a distant speck from that far away vantage point. In that instance, seeing and knowing become one.

11e139 05002d04e03a86804e01040c3048d2 01ea 2e01ed 5c41ee 5151ec 5251f0 3bc1e1 5f11e9 a261e4 a851ec a8c1f0 6d11f3 4901f4 4cb1da 4f51ca 7891db 4fc1ec 6681f0 95c1ef 6a41ec 3ca1ca 22a1a0 4951de 2df1e9 4761dd 7ea1d7 97c1d4 8711dd a471e9 daa1ea 0

Today, our family cat whom we call “Sky,” journeyed along with me on my walk. Unlike the day before, he was more reluctant than usual. Before we had come to the point of leaving the forest into the first opening of the trail he stopped and decided to stay behind. Knowing I was going at a faster pace than the previous day, I was fine with that and figured since I was returning on the same trail, that I would catch him on the way home.

Overhead, the clouds loomed low obscuring the distant peaks of Grandfather, shrouding him in a blanket of white. All around me, the drops of rain danced on the fallen leaves which abound on the forest floor. My breath was labored, and I soon found that I had not healed from the recent chest cold as my progress slowed to a crawl. It was much later than I had planned by the time I returned to the point Sky and I had parted ways.

He was nowhere to be found.

“He’s a cat,” I told myself, “and he will surely find his way back home.”

So I slowly and weakly made my way up the trail and back to the house, sweating and breathing much too heavily for what was my normal routine. Sitting heavily, but thankfully in the porch chair, I began to remove my boots, grateful to be back home. But there was someone missing; Sky was still not home.

“He’ll find his way,” again I reassured myself.

My thoughts flashed back to another time on a winter’s day. We had been blasted with a wave of blizzards in the Midwest. The landscape looked like the frozen tundra, not southern Indiana. It became an adventure just to go out and walk the fence rows, and ditch banks, places that were once of little interest took on a whole new image as giant fissures and massive snow banks turned a once boring landscape into a winter play land. On one such day, I took out with the family dog, Missy, on an afternoon exploration. We had gone over a mile along fence rows and ditches, exploring tunnels and all manner of ice formations when we happened upon a bubbling creek. Missy was a beautiful Collie-Shepherd mix that loved to explore as much as her owner, so we were having the time of our lives when suddenly are adventure took a turn for the worse. The snap of the steel on her leg scared me as much as it did her. I hadn’t realized the creek we were wading in was also the trapping line for the local farmer who was also collecting pelts to help subsidize his income. My dog’s screams and yelps tore through my heart as I raced to free her from the pain.

Again, my mind flashed back to another time in my life when I was much younger and caught in a similar predicament. It was the back alley of our little town of New Harmony. I had befriended a stray dog, and I was throwing a ball for him in the alleyway behind my grandparents family diner, The Heritage Trail Restaurant. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the dog began screaming for help. His back leg had gotten caught in the street drain. Unthinking, I reached for him wanting to help pull him out. The dog acted on instinct and reached for anything that he could use to leverage his body from the clutches of steel; my hand. The shredding of my pinky was instantaneous and blinding in pain. The dog bolted around the corner leaving me shaken and scared. Blood immediately began running down my arm as I tried to wrap it up in my sweatshirt. Fearful I would get in trouble for playing with a stray, I never told anyone. I snuck in the back door of the restaurant and cleaned up the wound in the abandoned dish sink. It was late afternoon, and everyone was on break and away from their posts, which is why I wasn’t found out. I was lucky I never contracted rabies or any other disease. God once again watched over me when I needed Him most.

All that flashed through my head as I headed toward Missy trying to soothe her before I reached to her with my hands, even if they were gloved. Fortunately, having learned my lesson, I first reached toward her with a stick. She was nothing like the stray and wanted only for me to help her leg as she stopped and stood still as if she knew what had to be done. Pulling the jaws of steel apart long enough for her to retract her injured limb, it was in the blink of an eye, and she was free. Sadly I watched as she limped on three legs, trying to hold the injured limb above the snow and hop. Knowing we had a long way to get back home, I couldn’t let her go on that way and picked her up. She weighed at least 50lbs. at the time. I wasn’t much more and maybe weighed all of 100lbs myself. Slowly and painfully, I carried that dog until my arms were like lead. We had traveled within 100 yards of the house when I finally collapsed from exhaustion. Missy sat for a minute with me in the snow, me panting and her curious. She licked my face and then much to my amazement, jumped up and ran the rest of the way back to the house ahead of me. There was no sign of any injury or hurt leg after all. I had been hornswoggled by a dog.

This evening, as darkness began to creep up the holler, there was still no Sky back at the house. Others became worried and urged me to please find him.

Fearful that he might not make it home before dark, I headed back down the trail calling for him as I went. The light of day was fading quickly. My path made it all the way to the stables and back, but still no cat. Slowly as I passed our initial point of separation, I began calling and listening. My mind remembered Missy and how I had been humorously tricked before but now it seemed the cat was truly missing. A few more steps and calling I saw the white blur in the darkness before me dash in my direction; it was Sky. My heart warmed at his sight.

He was still not far from where we had been earlier in the day, and he was more than happy to have me pick him up and hold him close.

I carried him all the way back to the house and gladly placed him on top of his little home on our porch.

We were both happy to be back.

I had seen once before and now, knew from the past what to expect. Yes, I had gone farther in many aspects, but knowing from whence we came is just as important. In all that we do, we are never alone; God is with certainly with us, watching and smiling.

As darkness surrounded our little home in the mountains, Sky gladly curled up in his house, and I in mine, safe and sound for another day.

Thanks be to God.

 

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational

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

by | December 10, 2016 · 11:59 pm

Every Season has a Meaning…

“He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for My sake will find it.”-Matt 10:39

The mountains are shrouded by a thick blanket of clouds today. Grandfather remains hidden like an ancient being wrapped up in his winter blankets; protected from all harm, safe but unseen. Water drips from the leaves as the river now runs with fully bodied spirit over the rapids that just a few weeks ago barely made a trickling sound.

Shards of dark earth lie in rows of the fields of upturned soil. The gentle rain flows deep into the crevices, soothing the parched earth that seldom finds the touch of rain. All around us somber earth tones match the mood of the sky above; winter is now upon us in full season.

sod

In my mind’s eye, I’m standing down the hill from the old farmhouse, looking back up the hill from whence I came. Images that were never apparent until now suddenly reveal themselves. Unlike the front of the home, from behind we can see all of the genuineness of the life of those who live within; the clothesline where the wash will be hung, the burning barrel where the trash will be burnt, and finally the back porch where everything from the deep freezer to the canning table sits, awaiting the next growing season. Here, the real work of life goes on, out of sight. Like the soil, until the blade of the bottom plow chisels into the

The Old Farmhouse outside New Harmony, Indiana, 1965.

The Old Farmhouse outside New Harmony, Indiana, 1965.

earth, causing an upheaval of sediment, the true work of the earth cannot be seen. The dirt folds over like the corners of the grandma’s quilt on the bed, rolling up the root-side of the dirt, exposing it to the elements. Meanwhile, the sod below begins to decay adding nutrients and building more compost for the future.

One layer must die so that the other may live.

We too are like these things, the soil and the farmhouse. What truly makes us who we are is what we are within; the part of us that cannot be seen from the outside. To reveal ourselves is to have the bottom plow cut us deep within and fold over our barriers we have created. Many fear revealing their true nature and only do so in short burst of often uncomfortable circumstances that they wish they could have prevented. Sin makes this possible, and since we are all sinners, each of us has this inner being with which we battle daily.  In essence, we are comprised of a triune being; body, soul, and spirit. (1Thess.5:23) The world and Satan try to affect us from the outside in, while God works on us from the inside out. He infuses us through our spirit. From the inside out we are changed when we truly accept Jesus Christ into our lives. Like the back of the farm house where the real work takes place, out of sight, inside us is where the actual work has to start. We have to choose to allow the Holy Spirit to come into our lives, so that from within, we will be filled with a new light, which then will begin to permeate into our soul, and eventually our body. The longer we walk with Christ, the more our whole being changes; our tastes, our likes, and how we physically seek pleasures in this world, knowing what is to come is even greater. One is never finished in this manner, as we are always a work in progress.

Like the soil, we must die to our former selves in order to live for Him. “He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for My sake will find it.”-Matt 10:39 We cannot have the sinful pleasures of this world and still try to obtain sanctification. One cannot stand with one foot in sin and one in Christ. He is a jealous God and wants us all or nothing. So, we continually battle an enemy that never stops trying to make us fall. Hopefully, in time or by chance someone shares the opportunity to find and accept Christ into your life, it is then that you will come into the season of change.

For every season there is meaning and purpose.

The prayers we lifted for the life-giving rain have been answered. The fires are all out, and once more the forest begins to heal. Like the sod that has been turned for preparation for the next year’s growing season, we too have to decide in that season when to begin the life we lead.

Are you ready to get to work?

Eternity awaits your decision.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Religion, Uncategorized

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

by | November 30, 2016 · 9:54 pm

Just a Few Old Memories…

My little body could barely see over the dash of that ancient truck as we rattled across the pasture that cold frosty morning, checking the cows in my grandpa’s herd. Trees stood like stark skeletons along the fence lines guarding against the frozen winds. The ground was covered with a heavy frost that pitter pattered curious mounds of fluffiness from one edge of the field to the next. Below the dusting of white lay grass still green from the summer growing season. It was early winter, and several of the fall calves were struggling with the recent span of bitter weather we’d been having. Grandpa headed the nose of the old Ford slowly into the midst of the herd. As I peered through the side window by breath fogged up the glass causing the cattle beyond to appear as ghostlike images. We were surrounded. The tires made crunching noises on the frozen grass as we carefully pulled ahead. Fearing he might hit one of those massive red and white Hereford bodies, my little hands grabbed the dusty dash bracing myself. To my amazement, the cows parted like clouds passing the peak of a mountain, steady and sure. Mommas with babies in tow, all bemoaning their plight as they slowly moved aside, watched us as we passed. Awestruck with their size, it perplexed me how they could be so easily persuaded to move without any force. Unbeknownst to me, they knew my grandpa and his vehicle well enough that just the sound of him rumbling down the gravel road to the gate would be enough to draw them closer seeking sweet feed or hay. Now, in their midst, surrounding my the heavy breaths seen with each 20140501_181720puff, there was no fear on either side of our consciousness, their or ours.

The familiarity of each was comforting. Like old friends, we felt at ease with one another.

Inside the warm cab of the truck, the smell of leather, sweat, and accumulated oil-covered, diesel-laden rags made for a memory of its own. When the aroma of the cattle surrounded us, the two melded into one forming a panoramic odor unlike any other. The multitude of riches that embraced the senses were too wonderful to forget, the visual, aromatic, and audible.

Grandpa would point to this or that cow and tell me about them, as if quoting from a playbook of their lives and how he might have to do this or that to one of them, none of which made any sense to a four-year-old. All I could understand was that we were “Working the Cows,” as grandma would say, as she proudly shooed us out the back door of their farmhouse as she began to clean up from breakfast and then began preparing the day’s meals. “You men go work the cows, and I’ll have dinner ready for yuins when you get back.” She spoke “Wabash” as we said of folks in that area of southern Indiana. We would eventually return later in the day to rich, tasty smells of freshly baked bread and cakes, along with delectable foods that only now come back to my memory; blessings long passed.

When grandpa had planting or harvesting that would keep him in the fields for hours and days-on-end, grandma would find ways to entertain us. It wasn’t past her to dig up a few fishing worms, throw them into an old Folgers Coffee can, grab a cane pole and then tell me, “Son, let’s go fishing.” We’d walk together hand-in-hand down the lane in front of that old farmhouse to the big pond at the end of what seemed an endless trail. Together, we’d sit on that old wooden dock, bait the hooks, catch the fish, and then joyfully bring back the same coffee can full of bluegill.

One overly productive fishing expedition, Grandma, said we could eat the fish or feed them to the cats. Our coffee can was overflowing with our catch. I looked around at the plethora of cats. None of the feral beasts had ever allowed me to pet them nor to make friends with them. Now all of a sudden, they seemed so helpless. A voice inside me spoke, and immediately I felt the urge to provide for those poor old hungry barn cats, so we opted for feeding the needy instead of worrying about trying to filet the tiny fish. Before the fish hit the ground, the cats had emerged from their hiding spots, blanketing the catch of the day. Within a couple of minutes, the entire feast was devoured. Not one crumb or scale was left behind. My joy was in that moment, watching those cats savor the morsels we had brought home while having had the fun of catching them. Our work had a purpose, and each action was accounted for in the results that awaited.

Lesson after lesson of life played out before me on that farm.

Years later, on the other side of life’s fence, I can look back and see how God had prepared me for the journey. Each snapshot of those moments was special. They taught me everything from interactions with other beings to the frugality of existence. The sheer isolation made you appreciate anything that came to life either live or inanimate. From the round river rock pebbles that made the gravel road to the tall blades of grass in the pasture that grew like a forest in the summer, there was a world of exploration and fascination to keep a young boy entertained for days on end.

But the fondest of all were the times Grandma would read to my from her Bible, often in the evening after the meal was done. Those precious words and stories made me want to know more about this Son of Man called Jesus. I would beg for more, even as I was being tucked into bed for the night, as Grandma kissed me goodnight. There safe and sound in that warm feather bed, I’d drift off to sleep, like in the warmth of the cab of that truck with Grandpa, all cozy and warm. There was a feeling that God was wrapping his arms around me and that there was nothing at all in the world to fear.

Sleep came easily.

Thanks be to God.

 

Leave a Comment

Filed under Farming, Inspirational

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

by | November 19, 2016 · 10:47 pm

What Paradise Lost, Heaven hath Gained…#singforSophie

Alone I walked, contemplating all that had transpired.

The canopy overhead was quickly changing from its autumn wardrobe to the haunting skeleton of winter. In the distance, a cold front approached. A sense of foreboding loomed, causing me to seek my daily walk sooner, than later. I pulled my collar up against the chill and hurried my pace.

A single leaf drifted toward my face as I walked, then danced ahead as if skipping along in thought. I stopped walking and watched the wondrous image to see where it might land. Its flight led my eyes to the rocky cliff along the trail. Granite boulders covered with moss and lichens formed the backdrop that towered far above where I stood. Intertwined in the rock were roots and vines, like the veins of a being, resting for time immemorial. “How long they had been there? How long would they be there after we are gone,” were the thoughts that passed through my head as I pondered at that moment.

Our lives often seem fleeting as the fallen leaves when compared to those of stone walls.

The Word tells us that we are nothing more than like the grass of the field, the flowers will fade away, and the grass will surely die. “…because, All flesh is as grass, And all the glory of man[b] as the flower of the grass. The grass withers, And its flower falls away,25 But the word of the Lord endures forever.” – 1Peter 1:24-25

The flowers of the field are a beauty to behold, but nothing can prepare us for when those precious blooms are picked before their prime.

Even though the distance is far, the thought is ever present of one such precious bloom being picked; a recent tragic loss of life.

Last week, an automobile accident in Indiana saw three generations of the one family perish. The Reinhart family, in one fatal night, lost their father David, grandmother, Ruth Ann, and daughter, Sophie. I had heard about this tragedy through my cousin Jeff, who had not only been friends with the father since childhood but likewise, his daughters had been close friends with Jeff’s. Sophie was a star of the Castle High School marching band and school choral group, “The Castle Sensations.” They had been returning late from a band competition in Indianapolis when the Reinhart’s car hit a deer. Fearing the car might not make it any farther, David pulled off the road to assess the damage. The next thing was the sound of squealing tires, lights, and the explosion of the impact.  A drunk driver crashed into their car, in what became a multi-car pileup on the interstate; a horrific tragedy, and an unbelievable loss to the small communities of Paradise, Newburgh and the surrounding area of Indiana.

We never want to hear the news, nor get that phone call of events like this, yet it happens.

Many ask, “Why does God allow things like this happen to good people?”

Often, the answer that sometimes helps is, “Because it strengthens those who are left behind.” But there are times when that answer just doesn’t seem justifiable, especially when there is one too young to carry the burden remaining.

When my cousin Mike passed, we had all gathered around grandma’s kitchen table and were struggling to make sense of it all. Mike had just turned 21 and was a more than just a towering figure to the rest of us kids, but he was also someone we looked up to as our leader, our rock to whom we could turn. Now, there we all sat, trying to understand the how and why of it all. Her hand emerged from behind the crowd surrounding that ancient kitchen table, leaning into the center and placed a yellow lily sitting in a clear glass of water into the middle. My cousin Peggy asked, “What is that for grandma?” We all turned to look at her. There was but a shimmer of a tear in her eyes as she replied solemnly, “When you walk into a field of flowers, don’t you always pick the prettiest one?”

“Yes,” Peggy replied, in a hesitant, wondering tone.

“God needed another beautiful flower for the Master’s bouquet.”

All of our eyes turned toward the new single centerpiece of that table and thought of all the fond memories of Michael. It was a moment I will never forget. It was as if she had asked God to speak to each of us, comforting us each by our own memories; peace enveloped that tiny kitchen so long ago as Jesus helped us through another dark time. Grandma prayed over us all as Jesus touched our hearts.

In all of the sorrow of that horrific wreck on that dark, lonely road in Indiana, there was a single shining light. One flicker of hope for the family that had in an instant suffered so greatly, a lone survivor. Dave’s other daughter who was riding with them miraculously endured the disaster with only minor injuries. In the coming days, weeks, and years, that young daughter’s faith, as well as the rest of the family, will be tested. They will have to learn what substance is hoped for, in the evidence of the things that cannot be seen. The surviving daughter will relive that night for the rest of her life, that night where in the blink of an eye, her world became a living nightmare. They will have to lean on the everlasting cross, for in Him, they will find the strength and comfort to carry on.

“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things unseen.”- Hebrews 11:1

All of this turns through my mind as my trail twists and turns through the ever-changing forest. “Why God, do you not let me walk in peace,” I asked, looking into the clear blue skies? A flurry of leaves swirl above me, then rush ahead disappearing into the darkness. 

A child, her sister, and their mother are left to carry on in a world that’s been altered from what seemed like the path that God had chosen. Ripped from its foundation, their very existence has been skewed so that now, they have to face a reality that seems anything but real.

My pathway passes the rapids on the Johns River where I stop to pause once more.

Then came the voice, “What Paradise has lost, Heaven has gained.”

God calls us home at the most unexpected times. Those that heard the beautiful, gracious young lady sing in person can easily see Sophie joining the angelic choir as her father and grandmother proudly look on; it has to be, it just does.

The heaviness for those mourning the loss of loved ones is felt in my heart as I watch the water pass over the rocks in gushing, white torrents.

Life is like the river.

Time is constantly passing like the current, with moments of upheaval and dire consequences when the world collides against those granite edifices creating chaos. In theses chaotic moments, we find our faith with both hands and embrace it tightly to our chests. When they slowly ebb back to normal, we return to the gentle currents where we seemingly pass from day-to-day unthinking; yet, constantly, time is passing on, like the current. Around a bend the water finds a swirling pool where the rush of life comes to a halt, peace and calmness follow. God’s purpose even in the time of great upheaval can find serenity and healing. Eventually, the water and life continue, time passing on, as the current flows onward.

What we lose on earth, heaven finds as a reward. We can find comfort in knowing that there is an even greater joy when we reach that golden shore. There waiting for us will be an angel dressed in white singing for all the ages.

These things we can only pray, for all those affected, for all those hurting; God is there for each of you.

These things we pray in God’s Holy Name,

Amen.

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. 2 In My Father’s house are many mansions;[a] if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.[b] 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. 4 And where I go you know, and the way you know.” -John 14:1-4

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

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

by | November 12, 2016 · 8:51 pm

Finding Our Purpose…

20161111_162129“And the Lord appeared to him the same night and said, “I am the God of your father Abraham; do not fear, for I am with you. I will bless you and multiply your descendants for My servant Abraham’s sake.” – Genesis 26:24

It began in a land far, far away, in a time long before our existence was ever imagined; our purpose in this life.

On a rare family trip, one sunny November afternoon, we once more found ourselves exploring the beauty of our new home here in the mountains of North Carolina. As our footsteps tread upon the stones interlaced with roots like sinews of a sleeping leviathan, my thoughts wandered back to how wonderfully made was this world in which we live. For the short time we are here on earth, God prepares us each day for our heavenly home if only we stop and listen. Those spectacular, but brief, moments when we taste, see, or hear ecstasy on earth, it is but a moment in time compared to what awaits. For us to understand, is as if we might fathom our purpose here on earth.

The air upon the mountain top often allows for one to contemplate many things, but none so sobering as to why we are, and where we are, in our journey with God. To stand and span the vista surrounding you can easily impress upon you the vastness of all that surrounds us when few look beyond the four walls of their self-induced prison cell of existence.

It has been said to understand the will of God is to be one with God, something very few people ever come close to realizing. It is as if we spend out lifetime searching for that purpose by which we seek. The inspirational speakers of our day demand we set goals, both long term, and short term; yet, when we walk in His presence, these terrestrial benchmarks matter little. If we truly look back at our lives and wonder when we were fully in control of our destiny, we might be fooled into thinking we have been the master’s of our own ship, but that would certainly be, at least in my case, a ship of fools. Exacting our own gifts to do what we are capable of is to ignore our God given abilities, that alone, we are nothing. In our seeking to be independent of our dependence upon our Creator, we are lulled into an imaginary existence of superiority, being an equal to God; a deadly belief if there ever was one. Like a child wanting to be an adult, many think they can satisfy all their own needs by their own hand. Yet, all that they obtain is never enough. So, the cycle of want and desire become and endless loop, pulling the soul into an abyss from which there is no escape. It is as if we yearn to age before our time only to find ourselves seeking ways back to our youth; a never ending cycle of longing and desire for that which we had, but never fully appreciated.

Some stop in time to finally see the futility and ask, “Why?” If they are blessed to have heard and accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior, then the choice is clear.

There is but one true purpose.

When we awaken to that realization, of one true purpose, and that is to serve Him, then everything else pails in comparison. Those flash-in-the-pan inspirational speakers with their sound bites and tips on how to succeed are nothing but the sound of dry bones rattling in Ezekiel’s desert. All those goals and incremental steps to control our future are merely like the mist floating across the river, appearing for a time then vanishing with the wind.

In fact, long before we are born, God has already begun preparing our paths, making the multitude of variables that will seemingly fall into place on the very day you need them to occur, appear as if by some strange circumstance, your dream came true. For many, those prayers answered had begun before their knock was placed upon the door.

We might kid ourselves into thinking we understand our place and our purpose, but in reality, we are merely speculating.  Just when we think we’ve got it figured out, that door, the one that seemed so solid, so true, will close before your next breath and in the blink of an eye, the world you thought you were the master of becomes the past; a lesson learned.

As Isaac struggled to survive the famine and lead his family from one well to the next, God came to him, telling him that his purpose had been established long before he came into being. His very reason for living was already determined, but yet to be realized. Even so, he had to become the man God had intended him to be, regardless of his faults and shortcomings.

Walking back from our long hike in the thin, cool mountain air there was much for us to consider. For what we do is always on display for others to observe. If we are truly walking with Him on our journey, then we need only comprehend, even if we were to say nothing, that our walking along the narrow ledge of that mountain trail would be enough to speak volumes about who we are and for which we stand. When we stumble, He is there to catch us. When we fall, He is there to pick us up. When we allow his light shine for all to see, He is there to glorify all.

In all that we do, may our walk along life’s pathway be one that glorifies our heavenly Father, so that on that final day of visitation, we may pleasing in his eye.

One may never fully understand why God has placed them upon their path or their purpose in life, but if we accept that just our being there, walking that narrow trail, is simply enough, then we can better accept our fate, our lot in life.

Life on the mountain is a blessing each day.

In all that we do, give thanks to God.

Thanks be to God!

1 Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

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

by | October 11, 2016 · 8:30 pm

Another Door Opens…

“Truly my soul silently waits for God; From Him comes my salvation.” – Psalm 62:1

Sometimes it’s hard to know where to begin.

My footsteps echoed down the hallway as I made my way to the classroom. The sun had just begun to warm the horizon of the nearby mountain top as my key turned the lock to my new office; my home away from home. The thought rolled over in my mind like the key in the lock, “Could I have ever imagined being here a year ago?”

0 f1b4 05002d04e03a86804e01040c3015c1ead1481eb61341eb41201f9310c2064 f829df1542618 6f a66182 9f616e279215a346e16432c0169259c16e32dd1692e1c

Back then, my mindset was one of total commitment to the Trail in order to serve the Lord, acting as the Director at the Trail of Faith. It was more than a simple adjustment to a new career. It was a total change of life, giving it all over to God. Yet, doors open, and doors close; so it was with the Trail.

Sometimes we are called to serve, not once but again and again, like the refining of a precious metal.

God was not content for me to remain at the Trail, for it was only a stepping stone in this life’s journey.

Through the days of job searching, the scriptures kept reinforcing my faith. As I silently waited for God to answer prayer, I knew it was only a matter of time before His salvation would be at hand. The morning I received the scripture and message from brother Bill Neal reading, “Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.” -Psalm 34:19 and his timely word, “Your challenge is about to end,” it was clear, God was working diligently beyond what mere mortal eyes could see. That morning I prayed that if today was the day, let their be a sign, a message, anything that would confirm that mornings Word.

I prayed and patiently waited.

That same afternoon I received a phone call to be interviewed for the position of Math teacher at Watauga High School.

It was my first interview after nearly three weeks of searching.

One thing after another kept trying to derail the opportunity, but with each delay, there was the sense that God was working it out. In the end, nothing could stand in His way.

He never fails to provide for His children.

My workplace is now a room with 32 other desks, all facing mine. Every day, it is my job to educate over seventy students at Watauga High School in the fundamentals of Math. Each day I stand before over seventy young people who need more than just another adult telling them what to do; rather, they need a shining light to guide them through this difficult age. Yes, where one door closed, God had already planned another one to open. The Emergency Hire for my position was no coincidence, no happen-chance circumstance; God had a plan.

Each day before I begin, I pray that the Lord give not only myself but also all of the staff at our school, strength, guidance, and wisdom; in this, I am not alone.

Now, more than ever before, the image I present, not necessarily just the words I speak, are ever more significant. As we learn about the nuts and bolts of mathematics, I interject stories of life and lessons learned, hoping to add something much greater than just a lesson about numbers.

This is my new calling to continue to serve.

This is my new home.

Thanks be to God.

5 Comments

Filed under Inspirational

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

by | October 7, 2016 · 9:18 pm

The Hand of the Lord Upon Us….

“Now, Lord, look on their threats, and grant to Your servants that with all boldness they may speak Your word,”- Acts 4:29

He told my sister and me to follow him, that there was something strange he had to show us. Wetornado made our way down into a room that faced a large rectangular shaft in the stone wall. There was no grate covering the opening, which was about shoulder height tall. The hole spanned six feet across with an aperture large enough for a good size man to squeeze through. The outer lip of the hole was lined with rough shaped stones. Their surfaces facing the interior of the hole were worn smooth as if this once was a source of water or fluid that slowly eroded the ancient surface.

Our guide explained to us that this was where onlookers could stand and safely watch the demons emerge, without fear of being pulled into the hole. There was a convenient mark on the floor where he stood.

“You don’t want to go beyond this point,” he said stretching a crooked finger toward the crack in the stone floor where the toe of his sandaled foot stopped. “Don’t step one inch closer than this,” he demanded, with a glare in his eye. That stare caught my attention. “They can’t pull you back into the hole from here. If you go past this line, then your soul becomes theirs.”

Something about his gaze felt comforting as if we had been acquainted before.

Our focus returned toward the shaft as a soft breeze brushed past my cheek. A chill filled the room, and my skin began to crawl. Something was coming; …the darkness approached.

My thought’s returned to our guide as goosebumps rose on my arm. The man’s voice sounded so familiar. My mind couldn’t let it go.

Yet, the darkness crept closer still.

Turning my gaze from the abyss back to the man pointing out the dangers, I suddenly realized the stranger, was no stranger at all.

He was our late father.

My heart leaped.

The last time we were together, I kissed him goodbye and walked out of the hospital leaving him to God’s care. We were to meet again on heaven’s shore. I wanted to rejoice and hug him in that moment, but that’s not why we were there. The euphoria was quickly replaced with that of sounds emanating from the shaft that caused the hair to stand up on the back of my neck.  Haunting screams of horror jerked my focus back to the gaping hole. There wasn’t a feeling of reunion in our meeting, but rather, a sense of warning instead. There was no time for pleasantries. Just as he had finished speaking, as if on cue, shadows begin to ebb from the orifice, like hands stretching out for someone to hold, they sought our grasp, reaching, enticing, calling us closer. My sister’s eyes widened in horror as the ghoulish images played out before us as if they were taunting us to move closer. Their macabre dance continue for only a brief time then slowly the beasts of hell slithered back into the darkness from whence they came. Their cries of anguish echoed in the hollow of the space from where they had disappeared.

We stood frozen as we listened in horror to their voices retreat.

Darkness, echoes and then silence.

Something inside me suddenly told me to go after them.

There was no sense of fear, no foreboding of danger in my being. Without hesitation, I walked over and began to climb into the opening of the tomb.

“What are you doing,” my sister screamed!

“Get him out of there,” my father called, as they both grabbed at my feet trying to stop my advance into the chamber beyond. Before they could obtain a firm hold, I was submerged into the blackness beyond. All feeling of dread had left me. It was almost as if my fear had been replaced by a rage that repelled the demonic force within the tomb. But it was more than a rage; it was if there was a hand on my soul protecting me. As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit corridor, I could sense the shadows retreating, fearful of my presence. Feeling empowered by the force within, I continued onward. The ceiling was only a couple feet from the surface that my body scooted along, which then eventually opened up into a taller hallway. Cobwebs and dust portrayed an abandoned dwelling left to decay. Looking for a way out, my eyes caught the rays of muted light passing through cracks in the boards along one wall. Pushing my way through the brittle wood, a large room opened up in front of me. Carefully, I stepped down onto what looked like a rooftop, covered only with tar paper.

“Hmm, no roofing shingles,” came the thought as I timidly walked out far enough that I could look back from where I had come. It was then the realization hit me from where I had just emerged; the old farmhouse of my paternal grandparents, Victor and Mildred Tron. It never occurred to me that there had been a room on this side of the house, yet here I stood, looking back. The black surface of the floor had no dimension. It was as if my footsteps walked upon a void that reflected no light, only absorbed it or trapped it below its surface, held prisoner for all of eternity. The groans of those trapped below caused a vibration that pulsated into the soles of my shoes, sending shivers up my spine.

“This is no normal floor,” I thought to myself, “am I standing on hell?”

“God,” I called out turning my gaze to heaven, “Why have you brought me here?”

Overhead there was a sparse rafter system, one that didn’t look strong enough to hold much of a snow, let alone a windstorm. The pieces of wood of that upper framework were pieced together in a haphazard fashion, fastened together at odd angles forming a peculiar dome shaped visage. Had I been in my right mind, I would have been fearful of the entire room’s collapse or being devoured from below by the inequities which I walked upon. Again there was still no sense of doom, no feeling of pending disaster; nothing but a feeling of confidence.

Before I could make sense of where or why I was there, my body was suddenly transported into an RV park in another place and time. Once again danger loomed as neighbors screamed pointing in the direction of the trailer where I had appeared. A massive black funnel cloud as far as my eyes could see, from one end of the horizon to the other, bore down upon us. Those who were faint-hearted were frozen with fear and couldn’t move but rather collapsed into heaps of angst and gnashing of teeth.

Panic was in the air.

Once more, there was a power within that drove the fear from me as the smoke is driven from the fire. One man who had been running from the cloud of death stopped for a moment beside me. He was bent over gasping for breath with his hands on his knees. As the color began to return to his face, he looked up at me with a puzzled face.

“Why aren’t you getting out of here mister? Don’t you know if you stay you will die?”

“No, I’m not,” I calmly replied.

“What the hell do you mean,” his face squinted in question, “can’t you see that,” his weary arm stretched out behind him as if he didn’t even want to face it.

“It’s not coming this way.”

“Like hell it’s not,” he screamed, “all the reports have it coming this way and if you can’t see that,” he now stood and turned pointing with both arms, “Then something must be wrong with you.” He shook his head in utter disbelief and slowly took off, joining the river of people that flowed past on the street next to me.

I turned to face the bleak reality of what he had feared and saw the dark cloud, yet there was still no urgency in my being.

“There is nothing to fear,” I said speaking to the treacherous, twisting serpent cloud roaring in the near distance. “You are not coming here, for He has told me so.”

As I stood watching, the cloud didn’t approach any closer, but rather, continued to swirl and pound the earth in the distance. The deafening roar shook the earth like a thundering herd of wild horses. Furniture, pieces of homes, and shreds of all manner of life spun about in the futile darkness and slowly, ever so slowly crept away, like a scolded dog that had been chastised for misbehaving.

As I watched it fade, the boldness within continued to comfort me.

When I awoke the next morning, there was a serene sense of security, a calmness of being.

That morning my scripture lesson began with the book of Ezekiel, and there before me were the words that said it all. Like Ezekiel before his vision, God placed his hand upon him, and comforted him-“ and the hand of the Lord was upon him there.”

Yes, it was perfectly clear now.

His message was pure and simple; be bold and fear not, for I am with you always.

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Phil 4: 13

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Uncategorized

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

by | September 12, 2016 · 9:34 pm

A Tree, A River, and the Word…

treebyriver

““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 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 17:7-8

There are the long spells of time when all is well with my soul, and nothing seems to cause me to take pause. But then out of the blue, it’s as if I’ve been woken up from a long sleep, and suddenly there’s the sinking feeling that there is a looming appointment that’s been forgotten; panic and dread begin to well up inside like a cauldron of hopelessness. These anxious moments are my days and nights lately. Like a lone survivor of a shipwreck looking for the matches to light the signal fire, I scramble to find comfort in the Word. The Bible is closer now than ever before and the scriptures more significant. When those days of fighting between despair and trust come to a close, the trails near our new home have become my bastion of solitude.

There is a peacefulness to the forest.

I can recall my youth, growing up amongst the cornfields of Indiana, looking out my window knowing there was another place that beckoned; a place where mountains and dark wooded vistas wrapped themselves around clear flowing brooks. Back then I didn’t understand or know why I felt the calling. All I could see then was a sea of green cornstalks, occasionally broken by a tree line. The flatness was so apparent it now takes my breath away just to think of it. Sullenly, on my last visit for my father’s funeral, my heart ached as I watched the gray, dormant land pass by the windows of the car. There was an endless feeling of loss that panged me then, but it came not just from the loved one dying, but more than that, it was from knowing that I had spent a childhood amongst this. Part of me had known death before it was ever realized. A vast somber landscape that forces one to search for hope, and escape, any way you can to be saved from something so overpoweringly sad that it makes you wonder how you ever survived to this day. In that place, the most insignificant speck of color became the focus; your pleasure was measured by simple things. To that extent, you are made aware of beauty when it is placed before you, and you soaked it in like one drinking from the well for the first time.

From the somber landscape of Indiana to the mountains here in North Carolina, my life has been a journey I could have never imagined. This is my world now; beauty like Eden, so precious and stirring you cannot help to be moved. Yet, like the bends in the river, my life has taken a turn that we never expected once again.

We could dwell on the why, the how, or the what of it all. But like Lott and his family, the angels told them not to look back lest they become pillars of salt. So we force ourselves to go onward, measuring our steps ever so painfully. Again, reaching for the Word can provide comfort when there is none, allowing for the eyes to look up and see the world around instead of looking down and pondering our fate.

Making scripture come alive was something I had found so pleasing in this past year. So with that in mind, I sought the tree mentioned in Jeremiah, the one that stands beside the stream. My strength comes from Him, like the living water through which the tree survives even in the hardest times. Back to the forest and trails that have become my comforter, I returned once more.

On the days when nobody at home wants to go with me, I then seek out my friend and hiking buddy next door, Leroy. Like a child again, I wander up to the door of his house seeking out my brother in Christ. I knock and jokingly greet his wife Annette with, “Can Leroy come out to play?”

“Sure, ‘c’mon in and I’ll get them,” she replies with that big wide Texas grin as she swings the door open. “Yes, he can come out to play,” she laughs.

With a sheepish grin, he emerges around the corner grabbing his walking staff and hat, “Where too,” he quips?

“Wherever the good Lord takes us,” I smile in reply. “Today we have to hurry, I want to catch the river before the light is gone,” I say pointing to my sketchbook in hand. “I’ve got a tree in mind that matches scripture that has been on my mind a lot lately.”

“Great, let’s get going then,” he responds, and with that, we were off to the nearest trailhead as we wave goodbye to Annette.

As our feet find the path below, we quickly jump into the day’s events and happenings. Before we know it, we’re standing on the banks as the golden light of the sunset begins to paint the river a copper glow, as Leroy described it. The trees are standing firm overhead as the shadows start to overwhelm the forest beyond. Over and over again, the scripture from Jeremiah had been resurfacing in my mind as my recent job loss has created a turmoil in my life like never before.

As we scanned the scene before us, we both saw it at the same time and realized, there it is; the one that spreads its roots out by the river, the one that will not fear when the heat comes, the one whose leaves will remain green and not be anxious when the dry weather comes.

Two artists standing in admiration of God’s beauty, and knowing His word was with us, makes me even now feel blessed in so many ways. The Lord puts us in places with people for reasons we cannot fathom or understand. We are asked only to do His will and obey. When we do, we will be rewarded with innumerable sanctifications.

In awe and silence, I quickly sketched and captured as much of the image as possible before the light of day was gone. Leroy and I had shared once more the feeling of the Holy Spirit coming alive as the Word became truth before our eyes. We shall not be anxious in times of drought, for we will find sustenance in Him, and we will continue to be fruitful in all that we do.

Another walk, another trail, and the journey continues.

These are the Words of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

“I will lift up my eyes to the hills— From whence comes my help? My help comes from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.”-Psalm 121:1-2

2 Comments

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

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

by | September 4, 2016 · 10:30 pm

Saying Goodbye…

“This is what the Lord says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls….” – Jeremiah 6:1620160228_154502~2

If you haven’t heard by now, I was released from the Trail of Faith this past week. They said that the board had decided to take a different direction for the Trail and as a result, eliminated the Director position

My heart sank.

Selling the farm, the animals, the constant moving for the past year, first from the farm to Valdese and then from the storage to the temporary house, then from the temporary house into the new house; a year of moving that has yet to be completed.

We had yet to settle down when the news came.

Standing at another crossroads in my life, I can choose to look back, or I can choose to look forward, the choice is mine. I can turn to my left or right, but in whatever decision I make, there is one thing that must remain constant, one thing that I must not forget; the very reason for where I am at today; my faith in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Had we known then what we know now would have made the same choice to take that leap of faith? Would we have sold everything to follow the calling? Should we have asked those who had dealt with the Trail what their track record was for turnover? We can look back and ask those questions which seem obvious in answer, but the truth is, when we are compelled to answer the call, it matters little what the outcome of our journey becomes. More importantly, our eyes should be fixed on the ultimate goal, the heavenly victory.

Does it hurt?

Of course, it does; yet if we think of it as a stepping stone; just another piece of the puzzle in God’s big plan, then the reward that awaits behind the door that has yet to be revealed will be far greater than the one that just closed. Our most significant triumphs have yet to be revealed as we continue to follow the path He has chosen for us.

Yet the pain continues. What bothers me most is not the hurt inside, but rather, the pain is for all those that I had shared my testimony with; those that I had truly divulged my heart and soul, assuring them that when they visited the Trail, they would indeed be blessed as we would share the Word of God with them through the story of the people of the valleys. Now, in the midst of this painful loss, I will not be able to guarantee their receiving what I had so fervently promised. Many will only receive the same old history lesson as before, while a few might get lucky and get one of our more passionate guides, like brother Barry. Yet, I know in his mind he might be missing me as much as I will be missing him in my absence. We had become brothers in arms, so to speak. Barry and many more have been hurt by the decision, but like true Christian soldiers, we all will carry on one way or another.

What I will miss most is hard to say.

There were countless moments of the Holy Spirit coming down upon us at any point in a tour. There were the prayers over those in need, those hurting and wanting healing, and many other inspirational stories that continued flowing like a beautiful, sweet river of love from our Heavenly Father. Gone will be those moments when you saw the look in the eyes of your guest as they understood the sacrifices of those gone before and how God had sent them to hear the story for the first time. Many would go away with a greater appreciation for the Word, and that was my greatest wish of all; that each person regardless of denomination, background or heritage, would leave the Trail knowing that “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory…”

As much as I wanted to call it my mission, God obviously has other ideas. To Him, this was just part of the plan for which I was called.

My journey has just begun.

Once more I find myself on my knees praying for peace, wisdom, guidance and strength.

Where will I be in a month from now; Heavenly only knows?

As the Bible tells us, when God closes a door, He has another one opened and waiting for us. Our job is to find that door and walk through it. I’ve been given one month’s severance pay; hopefully, time enough to figure where that other door awaits.

As brother Patrick told me this week with regard to the next door, “The greatest triumph is yet to come.”

Yes, the future is uncertain in human terms, but in Godly perspective, the best is yet to come.

In all I do, I will always continue to say, “Thanks be to God.”

For if it is God’s will, then it shall be done, and so here is a link to my resume in case you know of someone hiring….link to resume

10 Comments

Filed under Inspirational

Tagged as , , , , , , , , ,

by | August 28, 2016 · 9:34 pm

The Day The Music Almost Died…

“Deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls;20160828_074017
All Your waves and billows have gone over me.
8 The Lord will command His lovingkindness in the daytime,
And in the night His song shall be with me—
A prayer to the God of my life.”-Psalms 42:7-8

Music is as soothing as it is spiritual. A universal voice that transcends age, race, and time.

There is something about the sound of the crashing throes of a waterfall cascading over rocks that reveal to us the voice of God. While we are subject to our human condition, we can but for a brief moment experience what the Almighty has in store for us on that glorious day when we meet Him in heaven above.

The essence of our soul is moved and caressed by the soothing noise, and if we hesitate long enough, we can allow the Spirit to touch us within, the “Deep calls unto deep.” Like waves crashing against the rocks at the seashore, void of growth or obstructions, we too can be cleansed of our stresses and toils. “All your waves and billows have gone over me.” Waterfalls are the epitome of the multitude of angelic choirs where the combined sound of their magnificent congregation unite as one, their harmonies becoming a single voice, the voice of God. The depths of the bass so deep, it resonates our very being, the ringing of the highest soprano reaching beyond our ability to comprehend in this earthly domain, and every harmony between spread across a spectrum so vast it cannot be seen from shore to shore. There is so much beyond our comprehension we cannot begin to fathom its complexity, so melodies become a door, the opening through which God can speak.

Music is the voice of God.

Martin Luther, in addition to being one of the founding fathers of the Reformation, was also very musically gifted. He was known as the “Nightingale of Wittenberg.” Hymns were so essential to his ministry that he said this about music with regard to our soul and being something to lift us up rather than to bring us down, “In the midst of life we are in death’ shall become ‘In the midst of death we are in life.” Luther felt that music could even allow God to break through even the most hardened heart.

Once in a while, we are given the gift of music, should we choose to accept it. Some do and with it, change not only their own lives but those around them. It is no wonder that those who possess this ability also find other gifts and talents. “For to everyone who has, more will be given, and he will have abundance; but from him who does not have, even what he has will be taken away.”-Matt 28:29

The soul of a man, born upon the wings of wood, wire, and song, became more than just that which carried them through the darkest of times. Long before and after Luther, many found comfort in the tunes that were passed down from one generation to the next. The spirit through which they endured hardships was buoyed by the sound of voices drifting up in the smoke over campfires and fireplaces in the hidden hollers of this land. Their story kept alive through those tales put to ballad became the very essence of what created the name of this town that I am now visiting; Nashville.

From within the Museum of Country Music, display after display, memories, and tokens of lives lived in front of audiences that only wanted to hear the strains of that ancient spirit keep their own flames of past thoughts alive spoke to us from the past. Words that touched the heart enough to pull us up from the sorrows and pains of everyday life; these are the ones that stood apart from the rest. These strains became the classics that stood the test of time when again and again, mankind’s own greed tried to circumvent what was pure and true. Even today, this battle between good and evil persists; humanity will never learn.

As we made our way through the streets of the big city, we happened upon the essence of the dark side; that which was never meant to be. The evolution of commercialization of sound has created a breeding ground for all manner of inequities. Like the children of Israel that had gone astray, the sin and idol worship of what was meant to be sacred has now turned into the Sodom and Gamora of its day; Honky Tonk Row. The overpowering secular nature of humanity is on display as men and women parade around in drunken debauchery seeking that which cannot fulfill. Their carnal nature on exhibition, nothing hidden as the voices inside these dens of inequity attempt to reach an audience that is only there to take, not to give. The few who survive this world of utter decadence may someday surface to fame and glory, only to find that which they gave up, their very soul, is now lost. Few, yes very few survive unscathed, all are touched by their journey. Walking away as fast as we could, we all felt as if we wanted to shower away this image from our minds.

This was not the world of music we had known. Ours was a more pristine image of a simpler time now seemingly gone. Like those grainy films of Balcomb Lunsford, we wanted to live in the past. This harsh, dog-eat-dog reality was something my children had never seen in person. Yes, this was more of a wake-up call than we had planned. Part of our perception of the world of music died there on those streets; innocence had passed.

But the soul of the music never dies.

Deep calls unto deep inside, where only the Spirit of the Lord can reach, our flame continues to burn. The world outside cannot diminish the blessings within.

Somewhere, far, far away, hidden away below the protection of a mountainside, perhaps near a remote hidden waterfall, a lone fiddler sits playing the strains of ancient songs, simply and purely for the satisfaction of a terrestrial audience of none. The sweet refrains of the instrument unite with those of the heavenly discord and together they rise into the air as one.

God’s moment of glory, for an audience of the heavenly multitude.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Music, Uncategorized

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