Category Archives: Inspirational

by | January 18, 2016 · 10:00 pm

What’s Within…

We’ve hunkered down for the long cold spell ahead, or at least for the next couple images4DDAQKHDweeks. We are facing some of the harshest weather we’ll likely see all winter. Instinctively, we find comfort in the minute details, the planning, research and review of the past and future events.  Today, my daughter and I spent most of the day in the tiny office of the Trail doing just that. Sheltered by the warmth of the heater nearby, we worked independently of one another on separate projects. Every now and then we’d come up for air and share in the moment, sometimes joking, sometimes peeking at the other’s work.

Outside, the wind chill made the air feel like single digit temperatures.

Many places around the world share these cold, bone-chilling climates, we are not alone.

This time of year, in Triberg Germany, the ancient customs of long, bitter winters have created a global niche; the Coo-Coo Clock capital of the world. Forced to remain indoors for long periods of time in their tiny mountain chalets, the woodworkers of old would turn their talents inward, creating tiny cogs, wheels, and artifacts that would make amazingly entertaining timepieces. Through their one-of-a-kind artistry, their mountain traits, customs, and lifestyles would be portrayed in what they produced; all because they sought to stay warm within their remote mountaintop homes.

Outside I could see the wind blowing the tree branches. Part of me could almost feel the chill run up my spine. I shivered inwardly and returned to my work.

Inside, there was more than the physical warmth, it was a feeling of being with someone you loved, as any parent knows, the unconditional love of a father for his son or daughter. For a few moments today, we were back in the studio of my barn, painting, and drawing on our own artwork. Nearby, the old woodstove provided the woodsy aroma of fire along with the heat that kept the freezing winds outside at bay. My favorite painting music would be softly playing in the background; Alan Jackson, Gibson Brothers, Balsam Range, Mountain Heart, Dailey and Vincent and many more. Outside, in the barnyard, the cows would be working on the latest hay bale, and then finding a warm, comfortable spot to lie down and ruminate. A rooster would crow now and then to remind us of the world beyond as the wind might rattle a loose piece of tin to confirm.

Up in the studio, we’d lost track of time until either our stomachs would remind us of the hour or the day would turn into twilight and we’d have to find the lamps to turn in order to see. Someone would grab another log and pitch into the stove, maintaining the red-hot furnace in the corner of the room. We’d take little breaks and warm our backsides to the heat, waiting until you couldn’t stand it any longer then jumping away before your skin caught fire; a warmth that would reach down into your bones.

There was a gentleness to those memories; too far and few between to come to expect.  Rather, those were once in a great while treasures that were separated by long painful stretches of third shift work that tore my body and mind to pieces, leaving shards of my being along the rocky path. Sometimes, the mere thought of those precious memories were all that kept me going.

Thankfully, the long, arduous, painful stretches of third-shift are over. Once again, we are slowly finding time to be together to revisit those almost forgotten feelings of kindred spirit. Once again, I’m able to be the father that I almost wasn’t.

The Bible speaks of how we are to teach our children in the way, “You shall teach them to your children, speaking of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way when you lie down, and when you rise up.” -Deut. 11:19 But if when we are absent, they are left to seek Him of their own accord. Too many times, they become the victims of our best intentions; to make more money so that we can shower them with all their needs.

Sadly, we lose sight of what they need most, which is precisely what we fail to give them; ourselves.

We still await the sale of that farm and our precious studio loft in the barn.

Meanwhile, we take with us the most precious piece of that experience, …ourselves.

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by | January 17, 2016 · 11:07 pm

For Randy…

Fifty-three.

Those were the years that spanned my friend’s life.12573029_10156478826155083_6433158367040704776_n

Too soon he left us, too soon we had to say our final farewell; at least on this side of heaven.

We have only the moment now in which to live. None of us are guaranteed a tomorrow.

As I reflect back on the few times that I was blessed to be in Randy’s presence, I can recall the joy he shared and how you came away feeling better, no matter the circumstance.

It was very evident early on, Randy was a brother in Christ.

I first met Randall “Randy” Lee Shumaker at the Denton Bluegrass Festival one blustery May. He welcomed me into a circle of pickers and from there our friendship continued to grow. We often sat during late evenings around the campfire sharing stories, or around the table sharing meals; fellowship like none other. I learned that he had been diagnosed with cancer in 2008 and had only been given a few months to live. It seems from that point on, Randy chose to live each day as if it were his last.

It is not uncommon at bluegrass festivals to hear a jam session last until the sun begins to rise. Randy jammed long and hard the first few years at the festival, long past my bedtime. I would rise early and find Randy up ahead of me, trying to catch the first rays of the sunrise coming up over a nearby pond. Sometimes, I’d awake to find him already returning from the fishing hole or up and gone, never wasting a minute of his day. I was also aware as time progressed, so did his cancer and so did his fervent attempt to ward off the inevitable.

Randy and I kept in touch off and on apart from the bluegrass festival. He was a devoted father and grandfather. He was part of the Second Chance Bluegrass Band and had written a beautiful song, Bend in the Road, which had been inspired by another band member that had died of cancer and a book of the same name by Dr. David Jeremiah. Randy and the band performed it at a contest held at the festival one year and one first place. As I watched the video once more after his passing, I couldn’t help feel that Randy knew that someday, we’d be watching him sing about himself. During that day’s performance, they also sang a inspiring version of, “There is a God.” As I sat and listened again and again, part of me felt Randy was already there watching and smiling in acknowledgment; yes, there certainly is.

God gives gifts to some of us; some more than others. What we choose to do with those are up to us, but sometimes you find someone that shares them and themselves so openly, so warmly that you can’t help feel good about knowing them; this was by brother in Christ.

I remember vividly one bright morning at the festival. Randy had been through a rough night. Sleep was difficult, even in his own bed at home, but the camper bed was making life miserable. However, he chose not to dwell on the negative but rather pushed on, through the pain. When I met him that morning, he was up early, demanding more of what might be his last trip. He greeted me cheerfully with a “Great is the day the Lord hath made,” to which we both replied, “Let us be glad and rejoice in it.” We both laughed and shook hands.

He shared with me that he had debated coming that year but knew there might not be another.

Sadly, my family and I weren’t able to return this past year. Sadly, I didn’t get to see my friend one last time, at least not on this side of Glory.

From a distance, I watched as time progressed and he began to weaken. The final days were hardest of all to watch. There was a poignant moment when a post arrived on FB. His son Caleb was sworn in by the local Police department, in Randy’s own home complete with the mayor and police chief in attendance, something that obviously took a lot of planning and change of procedures, but then again, this was for a man that touched so many lives in a positive way that it was not unimaginable; this was the Randy I knew. This was just more confirmation of what so many already had realized.

Randy taught me many things but one thing he shared most of all, live each day to its fullest in your walk with God.

Too soon my friend, too soon.

Warm up the band, get that mansion for Ms. Kelly ready, for someday we’ll meet you just inside the Eastern gate.

Love you brother.

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by | · 9:59 pm

Our Labor, His Will…

The ice cold, gray rain fell in sheets. Water gathered in pools forming tiny rivulets of motion on theimagesZ6SJD673 black tar of the parking lot that reflected the gray skies above. I continued to work, my hands wet and numb now, my breath visible in the chill of the air. My jacket had long ago soaked through, but at least, my feet were still dry. Inside me, there burnt a drive to finally put this seemingly endless task away; dismantling the Christmas lights and storing them for the year.

I had never intended to work in the rain but merely to get as much done before the storms came this early Friday morning. So, when the first few drops began to fall, I was taking apart the towers and thought, “I’ll just finish this and stop before it becomes a downpour.” As I finished taking apart the last tower, there was just one more thing, then one more and before I knew it, the sky opened up and I continued on.

There was a fire within that drove me onward; to labor in His will.

A distant memory bounced into my head about that time, another memory from the long forgotten past bubbled up, another wet, soggy day like this, only much warmer.

My step-mother always enjoyed buying matching outfits for everyone in the family, whether we were going on vacation, to my father’s work picnic, or just for a special occasion, she liked all our clothing to be the same, including mine. It had to be some inner desire of hers to hear someone exclaim when they noticed, “Hey, look, they’re all dressed the same. They must be a family!”

So one overcast, balmy afternoon following one of those such occasions, we showed up at one of my dad’s friend’s house to visit. We had been somewhere else and had “Dressed” for the occasion, all of us in white shorts with matching button up shirts. One thing led to another, and we soon found ourselves fishing in the friend’s stocked ponds. My family never missed an opportunity to go fishing. Before heading out with fishing poles and tackle in hand, I can still hear my step-mother’s last words, “Don’t get those shorts dirty.”

Yeah right!

We had just barely got our lines cast into the dark, mysterious deep when the rain began. We might have stopped had it not been for a quick hit or two. Once my father got a nibble on his line, we could rest assure we wouldn’t leave until we had a fish in hand, and so it was this particular day. At first, it was a light, touching rain, one that you could easily ignore for the sake of watching your bobber. However, this rain soon began a deluge that began to create streams of water that found the curvature of your spine and then followed it down, down, down into places you’d rather not find cold water running.

The longer we fought the urge to run for cover, the wetter we became. There reaches a point in life when you are so consumed by the heat of the moment that the world around you doesn’t matter; it’s as if your body is put on hold. Soaked to the bone, we were helplessly giddy with our moment under the falling skies. Meanwhile, the banks of the lake had become slick and that’s when we began to fall, one after another. First one of my sisters slid on her bottom while reaching for a hung line, then myself then pretty soon there wasn’t one of us that had not smeared mud, fish entrails, worm guts or grass stains on those pretty white shorts. To make matters worse, we were soaked through and through, from head to toe; nothing was spared of moisture.

I don’t recall how we were received other than the fact it was not a happy reunion when we got back to the house.

So when my friend Heather pulled up and tentatively rolled her window down, squinting against the pouring rain, I realized I had worked past a point of normalcy. It hadn’t hit me until I paused to talk to her just how cold my legs had become. My knees were as numb as my hands, and to stand still while talking made them feel as if they would lock up at any time. In order to keep from falling down I had to shift back and forth to try to regain some sense of circulation in my lower extremities.

After she left, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel with regard to being finished.

“Should I stop or go on,” I thought to myself?

“If you quit now, you’ll go inside and realize how cold, wet and tired you are and you won’t get anything else done the rest of the day,” I answered. So, I pushed onward.

Later, another friend, Dwayne, arrived just as I was struggling with some of the larger pieces; his timing was impeccable. He jumped out of his dry truck and dug right in. I explained to him how I hadn’t intended on working in the rain, but that I was close to finishing. Now, I had someone to talk with as we worked; the time flew by more quickly as the rain continued to fall.

It’s funny how moments in time appear in your thoughts when you are going through difficult times; flashbacks of your own history, times not forgotten.

Yes, there was another cold rainy day, but for some reason, the one from my past seemed much colder.

We were building our first home in Chatham County. We wanted to get as much wired pulled as we could one particular day when it began to pour a cold, hard rain. We worked through the chill as our clothing became soaked. Unfortunately, I didn’t have adequate shoes of jacket that day and my feet were as numb as my hands; I was frozen down to my core. When we finally stopped, I could literally force water to gush out of my clothes as they were wrung out when we reached the safety of the tiny cabin. There we lay our soaked outer garments on the woodstove. The air was filled with the hiss of instant steam as the clothes boiled at the touch of the red hot stove. The radiant heat from the fire, the steam and the beans cooking on the stove made a special ambiance one cannot appropriately describe; it was special coziness to that tiny abode that felt ancient and good. We sat on the bed, loft and few chairs warming ourselves and eating ham and beans that had awaited us on the cooktop, warming us back up, reinvigorating our bodies and souls.

Yes, my stomach was starting to remind me the pre-dawn breakfast was long gone.

We pushed as far as hunger pangs and freezing cold would allow. Later, from the shelter inside the visitor center, I could look out the windows and see with satisfaction how much that had been accomplished this frigid, raw morning. It would have been easy to write it off and postpone the work until another day; yet, now the task was almost complete.

The temperature outside had been barely 38 degrees for the high and the rain lasted the remainder of the day.

The sense of accomplishment inside overshadowed the bluish hue of my nearly frozen skin. After changing into some dry clothing and eating lunch, the warmth and fullness allowed exhaustion to finally reach me.

I know there are harder days ahead, but knowing from where we’ve come can sometimes make what we are going through more bearable, if nothing else, just by the sheer knowing, “If we could live through that, then we can do this too.’

So, it goes. Another day passes and another unthinkable challenge has passed, with success and with having learned a little more about ourselves. Our labor can be His will, and in that we can rejoice.

“I know that nothing is better for them than to rejoice, and to do good in their lives, 13 and also that every man should eat and drink and enjoy the good of all his labor—it is the gift of God.

14 I know that whatever God does, It shall be forever. Nothing can be added to it, And nothing taken from it. God does it, that men should fear before Him. 15 That which is has already been, And what is to be has already been; And God requires an account of what is past.” Eccl. 3:12-15

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by | January 11, 2016 · 8:34 pm

In Our Midst…

Another day of sharing, growing and belief in all that we do.jesus

There was barely time to reflect on the previous week when another one began. There is no greater joy in ministry than when you get time to fellowship with others of like minds. Yes, there are other times when you are helping others different than ourselves, those who need our help to know the way, the truth and the light; they are important. But then there are times when you can speak as freely and deeply as you want with others and for a few moments, life passes by more quickly than is necessary.

Today was another one of those.

However, before I can expound upon today, let me share with you something of note that happened last week, something that was yet another one of those God-moments.

We had planned on working as a group taking down Christmas lights early on in the week but due to weather and illnesses, most of our staff was unable to be there. As foul weather rolled in, we hunkered down and worked on the things we had put off until this time of year. Like the old time settlers, we turn our focus inward taking on tasks that make us grow mentally and prepare for the future. I had begun working on a proof paper, something that I could take and share with those who may question our ability to reference our Waldensian connection back to the time of the Apostles. The research and study are as much fun as they are challenging. Not only do I get to dig back into archives centuries old, but I also get to reference points in scripture that correlate to those ancient events; a win, win either way. The investigative research and study hours flew by and before I realized it, Thursday was staring us in the face.

Yes, it was time once more to get back to taking down and putting away the lights.

However, many of our volunteers were still down with ailments. So, when Thursday morning arrived, there was only going to be three of us able to perform the work necessary for at least four grown men. Desperate for help, a thought came to mind of a young man that had contacted me on FB about possibly being part of the Trail when he graduated college. Knowing he had just graduated and moved back to the area, I messaged him with a plea for assistance early Thursday morning and sent up a small prayer for help; I had nothing to lose.

We began our work and were just about to try to tackle the most difficult part with one man down when suddenly, into the drive pulled the new grad, Chilo. I thanked the Lord for answering prayer. As Chilo walked up, I thanked him for coming and shook his hand. He replied, “Good to see you once more.” We were in the heat of battle, so to speak, so I let the comment go without question as we rushed to our positions and began lowering the heavy towers. From there, we worked as a team, as if we had known one another for many years, and continued to fellowship as we went. Lunchtime arrived and our stomachs were yelling for attention, so Chilo and I took our reprieve at the local pizza parlor. As we sated our hunger, Chilo asked what brought me to the Trail of Faith. I asked had he not heard the testimony, “No,” he replied. So I began sharing the story of prayers answered, the trail of faith of my own, one that began with the spiritual awakening. As I watched the clock, I realized we would have to get back to the Trail, so we reconvened the story while we continued to work on bringing down more archways along the pathway of the Trail. There I began to share with him the point of the story where I had begun to evangelize through my book. In the back of my mind, I had still continued to search for the “why” or “how” of his initial statement of, “Glad to see you once more.” As if we needed confirmation, there suddenly in the parking lot looking lost was stood a young man. I paused our conversation and walked toward him to ask him if I might help him. He had not driven up, like I said, he had just appeared. As I approached him, he turned toward me and I somehow felt I knew him from someplace before. He said he was just looking around and thought he’d stop in. I asked him if we had met before. He looked at me with a puzzled face and then smiled, “Why yes,” he replied, “at the book signing you had at the library here in town two years ago.

My mind raced back and recalled the young man. He had asked many questions as if he was searching that day for something greater than just the story I shared. At this point, most people are asked to enter through the visitor center and encouraged to take the guided or self-guided tour. However, there was a feeling of this moment, this person, this exact time in my testimony he had appeared as if on cue.

God doesn’t mess around.

Knowing how the Trail has become a calling for many, some without knowing, I began to ask him if he had ever seen the inside of the church. As we all walked toward the temple, I began to ask him if he might need prayer today. He nodded that he might. I unlocked the doors and then began to share a bit of what the church and our ancient faith was about. We took our seats in the front of the church. I explained to him how there was something missing and asked him to look around and see what it might be. Both he and Chilo searched and then realized, there was no cross. I then began to explain what the most important thing to those ancient people of the valleys, yes, the very thing they lived and died to protect; the Word of God.

I then looked at our visitor and asked him if there was anything troubling him, anything in his life that might need prayer. He began to choke up as he began speaking in a hushed tone about his mother who was ailing. He had lost his job and was forced to move back in with his parents. It was obvious God had sent him for a purpose this day. We then combined together to say a prayer, all three of us, who a mere 24 hours before would have no idea we would be there in the church this day, praying together in unison.

We closed our prayer and walked out of the church, saying our goodbyes, but welcoming him back whenever he felt the need.

Suddenly the afternoon took on a whole new light.

It was then, the question of why Chilo had introduced himself as saying, “Good to see you once more,” came back to mind. I asked him, how he could say that and where we might have met. He replied that it was during the Waldensian festival three years ago when I had been evangelizing through my book.

Sometimes you know God is watching and then sometimes you know he is surely in our midst; yes, it was one of those moments. Both men had been with me at a point in my life exactly when we had been interrupted in my testimony, by not only one but two witnesses to my story.

Yes, we serve an awesome God!

From there on, it was if Chilo and I had found an ancient tie, one that distance, space or ancestry could not break; our faith in Jesus Christ. While we may not have agreed 100% on all things, we felt a common bond and by the end of the afternoon, I found I kept having to urge him to keep track of his time for fear he was forgetting as did I, for I had a doctor’s appointment that I nearly forgot had it not been for my dear wife calling to remind me.

Yes, time evaporated, leaving us with only memories of our existence with one another.

Today, the fellowship was the same. I met pastor McDevitt of Morganton First Church of God for lunch and it was one of those experiences where you become so wrapped in the conversation that the food’s importance in front of you diminishes to the point it becomes an obstacle. I love those times with brothers and sisters in Christ that allow your heart to open up and something is moved, ideas are formed and future bonds are created. It’s a walk I’ve come to be blessed with more and more.

Godly fellowship can make time disappear, yet our faith is emboldened and we grow together in our walk with God. I am eternally thankful for the position the Lord has placed me and know that time will pass, but as we grow and age, there are many things that build character and strengthen our faith; these are the things we must continue to embrace and lift up each day, sharing with those around us as much as our lives will allow.

Another day, another walk on the Trail.

Thanks be to God in all that we do.

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by | January 5, 2016 · 6:22 pm

Ten Men…

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“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things not seen.” – Hebrews 11:1

They had come to visit, the entire team of ten men, all my former GENBAND Emergency Recovery teammates. For whatever reason, I was somewhat nervous and just as they pulled into the parking lot of the rental cabin, nature called. Quickly, I dashed into the bathroom and prepared to sit but found that someone had not flushed the commode. Disgusted, I pushed the handle and carefully found my seat. Soon after, again to my disgust, I found the previous occupant did not replace the toilet paper roll. My guests soon heard my pleas for help upon entering the house and promptly delivered a roll through a hole in the door where the handle should have been; yes, this was a dream and all things were seemingly possible.

The next scene found us sitting around the table sharing with one another supposedly over a meal. Each man had a new haircut and each man, in unison, agreed that they were all going to be in a wreck that very day. Remember, this is a dream. Apparently, each of them had also had a dream of such and were all totally convinced it would be true.

Yes, dreaming within a dream is okay…I guess.

Inwardly I dismissed it. I shook my head as they conveyed their fears and as they did, I attempted to alleviate them by stating it would probably be nothing more than a parking lot fender-bender. In my mind, I could see me inadvertently driving my car into their rental van just to satisfy their mysticism.

The conversation returned to idle chatter and my mind drifted off.

In the next moment, I was driving down a country road through the mountains. Our vehicle was headed up a steep grade, nothing out of the ordinary when suddenly out of the blue, a motorcycle rider passed. His speed was beyond what you might consider safe, especially since we were nearing a peak. When driving in unknown areas on winding roads, it behooves you to have some idea of which way the roadway will turn, especially at the crest of a hill. You don’t want to be caught airborne without being able to turn. So, as we neared the top of the ridge, I held my breath as I watched the motorcyclists go airborne, then he disappeared. I sped up to follow, flooring the van as we too approached the peak. That’s when the world around me immediately transformed into a vista of beauty. An expanse of mountain ranges spread out before us. Beautiful blue-green peaks and valleys lay before us. Our altitude had increased to that of a low-flying aircraft; yes, our mountain had grown.

Far ahead, the lone madman on the motorcycle sped farther and farther away, disappearing momentarily through the clouds below us as he approached the valley floor.

As we headed down the mountainside, I pushed on the accelerator even more. My own speed accelerated until the trees passing out the side windows became a blur. Somehow it didn’t matter; fear was not within me. Way up ahead, the road passed through a valley and over a small river.

A small river with no bridge.

Somehow, the lack of surface over the water didn’t matter. At the speed we were traveling, we would easily clear the ravine. Just then, on the other side of the river, deer began crossing the highway; first one, then another. As I watched more and more came, deer, then zebras then odd colored beasts of the field, all crossing and leaping hesitantly on the road and then jumping the nearby roadside and running off into the nearby woods.

By now, the road below me was a blur and my speed was beyond understanding. There was no fear, only my focus of the impending potential impact of the animals ahead.

From here, I realized the motorcyclist had jumped the river and cleared the crossing animals and was well as I could see him as he vanished over on the next ridge. He was gone, but the impending danger had not. The animals crossing the road ahead beyond the river was an immediate disaster waiting to happen; the river, no bridge, the animals in the road; bad, all bad.

I could sense the feeling of trepidation as I closed my eyes just before we hit the edge of the river. It was then, in disbelief, I realized the vehicle in which I was traveling had left the ground and was now attempting to clear the watery grave below. It was as if I was watching a scene from the Duke’s of Hazard as the General Lee flew mysteriously through the air each episode. From a vantage point outside the van, I could see that the river had greatly swollen and was beyond flood stage. In an instant, it had gone from a simple lazy waterway into a burgeoning fury of rushing, muddy water.

I realized we were in trouble.

The bank on the opposite side had been washed away and exposed massive boulders lining the bank. It was obvious our flying van was not going to clear the abyss below. From a distance I watched as we were about to crash and just before impact, I was back in the seat, behind the wheel.

Then nothing.

God had been in control. I had given it all over to Him and then at the last minute, I panicked and hesitated. Thoughts of Peter on the water and Jesus calling to him to just believe came to mind.  “So He said, “Come.” And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he walked on the water to go to Jesus. 30 But when he saw that the wind was boisterous,[a] he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out, saying, “Lord, save me!”” My human-ness had blinded me to the beauty of what is possible when we allow God to drive.

Yet, the dream wasn’t over, there was more.

After the impact, the next thing I realized, I was overhearing an elderly lady talking in the next aisle over from me about the wreck and how it was amazing that they had survived. It appeared I was standing in a pharmacy waiting on something. The lady carried on about the flooded river and how it had never before gone to that level of flood stage. Her conversation prattled on in the background as the pharmacist walked up to me. He was dressed in the typical white smock. His hair was dark, but badly thinning on top revealing his balding head. Through his glasses, he was perusing through the stack of papers in his hand. As he spoke to me while still looking down at his disheveled paperwork, he was saying that he would need ten signatures. I shook my head to clear out the cobwebs.

He looked up from his papers. “Are you okay,” he asked?

“Uh, yea…sure,” I responded trying to understand what was happening.

“The insurance requires you to initial each prescription for the men in your party.”

My eyes followed the tiny print on the prescription form, a piece of paper about the size of an index card. There was the line for initials, so I began to sign. “They must be okay,” I thought as I signed the forms, “otherwise, I wouldn’t be signing their prescriptions?”

It was about then the alarm for 0600 hrs went off beside my bed.

Darkness all around me as I sat up in bed.

“Good morning,” I whispered and began my day.

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by | December 29, 2015 · 9:10 pm

More than a Place…We Need a Cause…

As each day passes, there is an image that is beginning to take form before me. swordofGodSometimes I see it in my dreams, vaguely, shrouded in a mist, hidden from full view. I awaken and it is gone before I can write it down. Yet, day by day, ever so slowly I hear a voice saying, “People need the Trail to be more than just a history lesson, people are looking for a Trail of FAITH!” The letters we receive asking for prayer, the people asking for more than just a history lesson and those who show up at the Trail seeking spiritual guidance. Yes, slowly, I can see the Trail of Faith more than just a place, yes, something more.

Then today, as I drove back once more from Chatham County, I was blessed to hear an interview with a young couple who were literally on the front lines of the war against Satan. They were serving  in Iraq as counselors to children who had been ravaged by the war on ISIS. As they spoke it was clear they were living in the moment of what many, including myself, only feeblly attempt to grasp on Sunday morning, the true meaning of discipleship. In all that they said, they were also very humble in their faith and realized that God was with them, because had He not been, there were many times that they narrowly escaped death. When asked what they needed most, they promptly responded with, “Prayer.” They knew that thousands of prayers lifted up daily were part of the reason they were able to do what they do. Their mission was definitely not without cause. Yes, that was it; the missionary’s whose work gives them a purpose, a Cause.

Then it hit me.

The Trail of Faith is begging to become a Cause of its own, a Mission that people seek today.

Why, how is that possible you ask? Don’t we have to go to third world countries to go on a mission?

Week after week I see the same pattern unfold. The same old church story, the same old routine of attending the place with the same old people, is losing its flavor. The world is turning away and leaving behind its youth, we must find more relevant ways to engage them; they are demanding a cause without knowing it. In order to keep them engaged and away from the distractions, there has to be a concerted effort to pull them into something that they can feel taking shape, something that they can be a part of and something that they can make a difference in the world through. Yes, we have to find a path through which these brilliant minds of our next generation can be more than just good, they have to become brilliant icons of our hope for tomorrow.

There is so much work to do in order to prepare.

One cannot go into battle with a dull sword. One cannot walk into the fray without ammunition, yet if we simply tell them to go and do, they will be shredded by the enemy. Darkness will consume their light before they have started, so we must work diligently to create the next wave of disciples for Christ, an army of evangelizing fanatics who want nothing more than to share the love of Christ across the face of our planet, bringing hope to the downtrodden and those left for emotional dead.

Where do we start?

Just as the Trail of Faith was built for those that could not travel to the valleys to see first-hand the place where the birth of the Church in the Wilderness began, we also have to provide our novice evangelists a place to practice before they go into the greater world. Here at the Trail, we can build more than a base of educated Christians; rather, we can build a host of believers who are empowered to go out and be more than just those who sit within a four-walled institution and wait for their Word to be fed to them each Sunday. We must create those who must feed themselves daily on the bread of life so that they are encouraged to inspire others to do likewise. Through their sharing of the Word at the Trail through the story of the people of the valleys, they will gain confidence. With each step they will become stronger until the boundaries that kept them shackled will be loosed.

Each day God sends opportunities to the Trail and each day, when we don’t engage them, they are lost forever. We have many times prayed over those hurting, those needing healing and those who have found themselves intimately closer to God. You see, we are being pulled to lead and where He goes, we must follow.

Yes, there is much to do, and we can begin now. The enemy will not wait and the longer we delay, the greater the challenge we face. Darkness believes the battle is won, but we have not yet begun to fight. Oh wake up sleeping nation and arise, for the battle is at hand, victory awaits.

There is victory in Jesus, and for that we must all strive to bring into our everyday mantra; to live in Christ, to die in Christ, either way, is gain.

Go forth and prepare, the time is now; we must because, there must be a cause greater than our own and He is the way, the truth, and the light forever more.

“ Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Amen.” – Matthew 28:19-20

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by | December 27, 2015 · 10:13 pm

One Step at a Time…

“So they shall wash their hands and their feet lest they die. And it shall be a statute forever to them—to him and his descendants throughout their generations.” – Exodus 30:21

Throughout the Bible, care of the feet is often mentioned, many times in the form of foot washing.images0A1XNR8J Jesus made it a point at the Last Supper to wash the feet of his disciples, as both a physical and spiritual message to all. To place himself at the point of greatest submission showed his willingness to serve others. “So when He had washed their feet, taken His garments, and sat down again, He said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you?”-John 13:12 Yet, he would soon go beyond simple washing of feet, for he would soon lay down his life for us all, cleansing all of our sins, washed clean by His blood on the cross. The feet was the only the beginning of his message to his disciples. Care for their feet was also of utmost importance for without the ability to travel, those early disciples would not have been able to go out to evangelize His Word; care of the body would become the vessel through which Christ’s mission would carry on. Many miles would pass under their feet before the groundwork of Christianity would become solid enough for it to last. Even so, there were times when the darkness sought to extinguish the light. And so, today, like days of old, we must be prepared to walk the many miles it takes to do our part in this great commission, sometimes literally.

These past few months I have walked more than any time before in my life.

In a sense, it should have been obvious that I had traveled many miles. According to my health app on my device, I’ve averaged over four miles per day for the past four months. There was a time when I ran that much or more each day per year, so the distance wasn’t as disturbing as much as the wearing away of the soles of my shoes. Another indication that I have been quite active was the loss of weight. I didn’t purposely intend to get back to the weight I weighed in the Air Force at the age of 26, yet it just happened. But now, unlike ever before, there is a new found purpose in my daily routine, a mission and a reason for taking the next step.

As in Jesus day, we must put one foot in front of the other in order to serve.

This would explain the holes in my walking shoes.

There have been days when I felt as if I couldn’t take another step. Exhaustion nearly consuming my body, I would be forced to sit and wait. The throbbing from the soles of my feet to the top of my head would pulsate through my core. Closing my eyes, I would lift up the work to God and pray for renewed energy. More than once, before I realized the change, I would be rejuvenated and back up and running. There were other times when I felt the drain of long hours, sickness and lack of sleep begin to take their toll, and again, God would send us a reason to exalt Him again and the weary body would fall away, His spirit moving through me would elevate my being, raising me up so that I may no longer suffer the terrestrial anguish I had felt moments before. (Psalms 34:3).

Yes, it felt as if the hand of God was picking me up and brushing me off, as if to say, “Get back in there and keep swinging kid.”

Sometime this past week I had read something that spoke about the time after the last of the Apostles had died and what a demoralizing time for Christians it might have been. Yet, by faith they carried on, knowing as they had been taught, that seeing without believing was the faith that would be required of the new church; and so it still goes today. We cannot carry on this privilege of bearing the mantle of our Saviour without taking the steps necessary to perform the works that come with the grace of our salvation. Once you’ve accepted Christ, admitted your sins and become one with Him, it is not the end of your mission; it is only the beginning of your new journey.

One step at a time, one day at a time your journey must continue.

Christ prepared His disciples for the journey they couldn’t understand nor comprehend every day he spent with them, up until the very night before. Allow yourself to reflect on all that Christ may have done in your life that you may have taken for granted; a simple foot washing of sorts. He prepared each of us for the task ahead and no one has been given more than they can handle. It is His will, if we will only accept Him.81ujDDklUpL._UX695_

How many pairs of shoes will you wear out this year serving the Lord?

One day, one step at a time is all He asks.

Tomorrow morning I will lace up my new walking shoes and continue on; one more day, one more step. A new year awaits. What are you waiting for?

If you have not accepted Christ in your life, I encourage you to do so today, do so right now. Say this humble prayer with me as we lift you up as Christ did those disciples so long ago.

“Lord Jesus, I need You. Thank You for dying on the cross for my sins. I open the door of my life and receive You as my Savior and Lord. Thank You for forgiving my sins and giving me eternal life. Take control of my life. Make me the kind of person You want me to be.” (seeMcDowell,1999,p.759).

John 3:16, Romans 10:9-13

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by | December 26, 2015 · 11:01 pm

Swirling Water…

The muddy waters of the Catawba river swirled beneath us, traveling in inundating pools of ferocity, twisting and BOB%20FLOODS%20OHOP%20CREEK%20DIRT%20in%20WATER%20(OP)%20NOV.%207,%2006%20020turning past trees never before submerged, now victims of the flood; torrential rains having overrun the banks of the river, now consuming all in its path. Massive logs lay helpless against bridge abutments, caught, unable to escape the pressure from the onslaught. Above, we watch the mighty power of untold strength battling mammoth structures of nature, each winning in their own way; some immediately while others eroding those of greater magnitude until they too become victim to the constant force. As we ride along the pathway, safe above the brown waters below, my mind drifts back to another time, another flood; more brown swirling waters.

My tiny feet couldn’t reach the water below, yet it called to me. “Down” I would say in my mind to my father has he held me safely above the darkness below us. The banks of the Wabash had once again overflowed near our hometown of New Harmony. For some reason, even though I was not yet two I can still recall the memory. Eventually, I would squirm and fight enough to allow him to let me wade in the cold darkness. The chill would run through my body and soon afterward, the fever would begin. They say that memories which last far into our past are those etched into our core through trauma. Soon after, I would come down with double pneumonia. Later I would learn of having the sickness both at one and two years of age, seemingly a year apart. This was probably the latter since the hospital memories correspond with what I would have experienced as mobility, or the lack thereof. The most difficult time would have nothing to do with the illness, but rather the solitary isolation; loneliness.

Hours upon hours, I could recall sitting in the subdued green hospital room in my oxygen tent, waiting; waiting for anyone to walk in and speak to me. In between waking and sleeping, the time seemed to crawl. The most vivid memory I have from that experience was that one day a nurse must have felt sorry for me and took me from the room and into the common room where there was one black and white TV playing. Folks were sitting around watching the TV when I was rolled into the room in my wheelchair. “Now you stay here and watch some TV and don’t get out of this chair,” she said ever so sweetly. I was beside myself; free from that room and around other people. I must have seemed overjoyed. The nurse had evidently tied me in with a towel or sheet, because when she left the room, another little boy nearby came and asked if I wanted to play with him on the floor. I must have smiled broadly at this request because before I knew it he disappeared behind my chair and I was suddenly set free. We were on the floor playing with his toys when I heard the voice of the nurse, “How in the world did you get out of that chair,” she would ask, the sweetness had evaporated from her voice and sterness I feared was in its place. Knowing the culprit was likely my new found friend, she quickly placed me back in my wheelchair and I was rolled back to my room, back to the confines of the clear plastic prison. “Life has to be better than this,” I must have thought. Back into the realm of dreams and fantastic tales I would be forced to go, as the artist in me was painfully being born. By the grace of God, I would survive.

Years later, my wife and friends would find ourselves swimming in Ginny Springs, near High Falls Florida. The water in the individual springs was crystal clear and beautiful to experience. However, in order to save time from getting from one spring to another, we chose to float down the Santa Fe River. What we didn’t realize at the time was that the river was above flood stage. In that part of Florida, the water takes on an almost coffee color from the tannic acid it extracts from the trees it passes through. As we swam into the flow of the Santa Fe, we literally couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces. The current was too strong to turn back once we had entered the flow, so we stuck to the surface for safety, allowing the current to carry us along. These waters were also home to alligators, so our fears were not without merit. We soon reached the entry point of the next spring and quickly crossed the barrier which helped keep the darkness out of the crystal clear spring waters. Looking back, it might have been foolish to take such a risk, but it was something you didn’t think about until it was over. Thankfully, none of us on that journey were injured or maimed for life. Thankfully we had a brief encounter with the unknown, the darkness beyond the safety of our realm of existence. This time, there was no detrimental consequences; nothing more than a distant memory of wading in dirty water as a kid. However, like those experiences as a child, one innocent event leads to another until we are forever changed by the results of our actions, either immediately or slowly, painfully afterward.

Today as we rode along the muddy, raging torrent below, I was thankful yet again for the chance to be alive to see God’s hand at work, either immediately or slowly.

His time; God’s time, is not our own. The mysteries of His universe we will never know, but we can be thankful for what we do know and how he has molded us into the person we are today; either immediately or painfully slow.

Thanks be to God.

“And He said, “To you it has been given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God, but to the rest it is given in parables, that ‘Seeing they may not see, And hearing they may not understand.’” – Luke 8:10

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by | December 5, 2015 · 10:55 am

Can’t Spell Holiday without Holy….

 

lightsAs many rush through this season of joy and giving, we often hear the moniker, “Don’t forget the reason for the Season,” referring to Jesus Christ’s birth. Yet, as many seek to find ways to share and give, many forget that in order to fully “Feel” the reason for the Season; you must first have the Holy Spirit.

Too often in this drive-thru dinner, black Friday sales, head-long-rush to make all the parties, fill all the expected duties we forget the most important thing, sharing the Holy Spirit with those whom we encounter, everywhere and anywhere. Did you ever ask yourself why you were frantically dashing to and fro, finding yourself wore down to a frazzle at the end of each day, each one becoming darker sooner? Is there no end? Did you ever feel a gigantic let down after all the presents are opened on Christmas morning, especially when the little ones ask, “Did we get them all?”

Last night at the Trail of Faith, we shared with many the Word of God while experiencing the joy of electrical illumination. While it took us several weeks and lots of work to get the 100,000 plus lights up, there is still the day-to-day work of making sure they all stay on. As I would look out the window to make sure none of the lights would trip a breaker and that all were dutifully remaining lit, I had to think how much brighter the light within may shine if only we open ourselves to witness as we are expected. Matthew 28:19, the Great Commission, tells us to go out and build disciples for Christ unto all nations. How much more do we need to know? Sharing the Word is our opportunity to spread the true light, the Word of God. This light has no breaker, other than our self-imposed restrictions causing us to fear opening our mouths to speak the gospel to strangers. How much more beautiful would this time of year be than to know you gave the most precious gift of all, Salvation?

As we carry on these next few weeks take time to paus. Yes, take time to mention to someone, “Have you felt the Holy in the Holiday yet?” Use it as a springboard to share the gospel and maybe, just maybe bring a little more brightness to someone’s day.

“Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” – Matthew 28:19

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by | November 30, 2015 · 9:41 pm

He Who Endures…Shall Be Saved…

“Then they will deliver you up to tribulation and kill you, and you will be hated by all nations for My name’s sake.  10 And then many will be offended, will betray one another, and will hate one another.  11 Then many false prophets will rise up and deceive many.  12 And because lawlessness will abound, the love of many will grow cold.  13 But he who endures to the end shall be saved.  14 And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in all the world as a witness to all the nations, and then the end will come.” – Matthew 24:11-14

I step out, no longer hiding behind the façade of a life that kept me in the shadows. Now, all will know what and who I serve. There is no shame in who I serve, nor why I do this, but there are many that will seek to destroy all we do. Today I took another step closer to the mission for which I was called. One more step toward the evangelistic journey that God continues to lead me toward. From here, I cannot see the future. From here, I cannot tell whether I will walk or crawl to the finish if I’m to ever make it. The only comfort I can find, in this walk toward a darkness that seems to grow deeper with each passing day is that I am not alone. Those of us who seek the truth do so with united purpose. If we hold on until the end, salvation awaits. What we do, we do for Him, so that all the world will know the truth; the whole truth.

This was my first night off in almost a week. The rest was welcome.

In this time repose, I was able to watch a possible distant relative, Valeria Tron, perform on videos recorded in her home country of Italy. A missionary friend had introduced us on FB knowing that we were likely related since she was from the same valley as my ancestors. She had recently awarded a very prestigious honor, none of which I could understand. So, tonight I took some much needed time to watch her perform. There is such a passion and intensity to her singing, although I cannot understand the words, her music is beautiful. I noticed she had like our Tron Family Band page, and then I wondered how he and my own family might sound someday if we were ever able to make music together. From what little I watched, it appears she sings the mournful, soulful traditional folk ballads like I would prefer, even though their rhythm is something new to me; another distant delight to find someday.

I was about to quit out of FB when I noticed our dear friend Jessica Lang had posted a new video of her picking out Salt Creek with some beta strings from D’Addairio. As I watched the talented young lady pick out the melody perfectly, adding her own breaks within the song, I couldn’t be prouder of how much she has grown musically and blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

Yes, time marches on.

Outside a cold rain falls.

It’s that time of year for the Trail where we are open until 9 pm each night thru 12241337_999839180055337_6872093815838088611_nChristmas. We are manning the Christmas Lights at the Trail with help from volunteers, some of which are there now allowing me the time to regroup and fulfill some of my own wishes; to write. There are times I wonder if I will ever pick up a paint brush again. Musically, I’ve been able to add a moment here and there to the schedule. In all, there is little time for the creative juices to flow. Times like these I have to hope there is a reservoir filling, saving up for when there is time to flow.

And time marches on.

The darkness envelopes the world around us as the drops of water fall from the sky, the abyss from above.

As the evening draws to a close, we prepare for tomorrow. Another day, we know not what awaits but we can prepare as we read the Word. For in this book, we can find truth when the world around us seeks to sway us away from the goal, the finish line.

We seek the finish, for, in the end, we know our salvation awaits.

For now, we must take one cherished moment whenever we find them.

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