Category Archives: Inspirational

by | March 16, 2014 · 10:34 pm

Whirlwind of Life…

ElishaLast week, two consecutive days in a row I had dreams awake me only minutes after falling asleep. Both were similar but yet different; let me explain. The first day I dreamt that I was looking out from beneath the covers of the bed. The heavy blanket I had pulled over my head made it so there was barely a crack of light shining in my eyes which revealed objects lying next to the bed. There was a great roar and suddenly, I realized the objects were brooms and mops. I watched in suspended disbelief as the brooms and mops were, so quickly, so instantaneously pulled skyward that they broke in half as they flew away. I could feel myself being pulled by the same force while lying in the bed. It was at that moment that I awoke with a start, as if the breath had been sucked out of my lungs as I gasped for air when coming too.

I looked at my watch and I had only been asleep for ten minutes.

The next day, I had just lain down to sleep when I saw myself walking down a lane toward the pastures where my grandfather kept his dairy cattle. Overhead, the sky grew darker the farther I walked until it the day was nearly night. There came another great roar, like that of a mighty steam locomotive. As I looked ahead of me, I could see all manner of debris being sucked into the clouds above. The grasses swirled frantically as branches and rocks whirled about me. I once more felt myself being pulled heavenward and again, I awoke with a start, as if the breath of life had been sucked from my chest.

I looked at the clock and again, it had only been a few minutes since falling asleep.

Needless to say, after two days of this in a row, I was hesitant to go back to sleep on the third day for fear I might not awaken and finally be pulled into the heavens by the great whirlwind that seemed to be coming for me. I recalled the scripture of when Elijah was taken to heaven by God, so favored was he. I certainly don’t claim to be any sort of stature near or even slightly favoring Elijah, yet this scripture was firmly in my head as I carried on the rest of the week. My ponderings reminded me that anyone of us could be taken home at any time; our time is not our own for when the Lord calls us home, we must follow.

As the week wore on, the daily labors of working thirds took their toll on me, so demanding was the schedule and so heavy was the workload, that I soon nearly forgot about the dreams, until I saw the episode on a sports channel later on Saturday which was retelling the story of the 2008 SEC men’s 2008SECbasketball tournament in Atlanta. It was during that championship weekend that a tornado literally hit downtown Atlanta and the Georgia Dome where the tournament was being played. Miraculously, had a Georgia player not hit a three point shot at the buzzer of the regulation play, thus tying the game, the crowds would have departed just as the tornado hit downtown Atlanta. There was no telling the loss of life or injuries that might have taken place had the guard not hit the last second shot. Rather, due to the tie created by the buzzer-beater basket, there was a subsequent overtime, which kept the near capacity crowd in place and inside the safety of the dome. Afterward, as the documentary revealed, many people came to grips with the understanding of what could have been but was not; all due to a miracle.

To many, including myself, it was an act of God.

We go through our everyday lives, often losing sight of what’s most important, too caught up in keeping the proverbial “Wheels on the Road”, to understand the brief second, that once in a lifetime shot can change who and what we are and are to become, in as little as the blink of an eye. For this, we must give thanks to God for watching over us and when we do fall victim catastrophic events, we must find the will to carry on, for if we are survivors, there was a reason why.

Not everyone was meant to be taken to heaven in a whirlwind, but sometimes, we need to be reminded that it’s possible.

Are you ready for your final ride to Glory?

“Then it happened, as they continued on and talked, that suddenly a chariot of fire appeared with horses of fire, and separated the two of them; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven.” – 2 Kings 2:11

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by | February 27, 2014 · 7:54 am

Artifacts of Bygone Days…

IMG_20140226_112459[1]An artifact of a time when travel was at a speed that allowed for contemplation of life and patience of the soul.

I was reminded of Faulkner’s “The Light in August” when I found the old saddle in the barn this week. The scene where the reader is taken on a slow methodical wagon ride across the bleak Mississippi landscape, its flatness only interrupted by a bend in the road ahead. The painfully slow arduous mental journey allowed for plenty of self-reflection in its day. Today, we barely have time to think on most trips, with the heavy congestion of traffic and demanding roadways.

How much better off we might be if we could simply hitch our team to the wagon and head into town. Perhaps there would be less road rage and stress related health issues in our society than we see today.

What’s your wagon in life…

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by | January 17, 2014 · 8:50 pm

Epiphany Through the Fog of Time…

rainydayThe air hung heavy overhead like a cloud enveloping my mind. As I left work, I knew that I was but a whispered breath away from passing out from exhaustion, but this was my Friday, the last night’s work for the week so I would celebrate with a hot breakfast for the ride home. I had stayed longer at work that morning than was expected due to the strange feeling I had of needing to hang around and talk. When I left the building to go to my car, rain was falling in a thick mist adding to the chill of the gray morning air; sleep would come easily, but I first had to make it home safely.

By the time I had left the drive-thru with my warm breakfast in hand, the rain had subsided, but the overcast sky was dull and foreboding. To visit my favorite drive-thru meant taking the two lane road home; a dangerous option, but one that I took with the understanding my senses had to stay alert. There on the windy two-lane highway of 751 that threaded its way from one major highway to the next past farms and Jordan Lake, the scenery itself was enough to help keep your mind awake if not provide for a reminder of the seasonal world in which we live. I had just turned onto 751 when a log truck pulled out in front of me stabbing my waning energy with the likelihood of being stuck behind a slow moving vehicle. To someone who was well into the throes of sleep deprivation, getting stuck behind a slow moving object is like putting an anchor on your back and running a marathon. However, today was my lucky day, or so I thought for the truck quickly accelerated and I soon found myself losing ground to the heavy footed driver; for that I was thankful. I regained focus on the warm meal and melded with the music that was thumping along as the fields and forests passed by.

I was suddenly and quickly awakened from my trance by the red lights of the logging truck just ahead that had slowed. Not giving it much thought, I figured he or the car just ahead of him was taking a left and we’d soon be on our way; but we didn’t.

We came to a complete stop.

The rain had picked back up, and my windows were slightly fogged as was my mind. I could see the images ahead but like something unexpected when you emerge from a deep sleep, their juxtaposition and shapes don’t make sense, so they don’t register. I sat for a moment taking in the scene before me looking at dark shapes, objects blocking the road where there should be open lanes. Pools of liquid oozed from one pile of metal as fumes escaped. Nearby, the large dark object was still not making any sense. A man walked out, snapped a picture on his phone and returned from wherever he had come. It then dawned on me, the large dark object had wheels, and I was actually looking at the underneath side of a large transfer truck. Then like the slow dawn of a morning sunrise, the gravity of the situation hit me. I felt a pit in my stomach. There before me was a horrific car wreck, and from what I could see ahead of the logging truck in front of me, there was little chance the person that had been in the heap of metal still lying in the middle of the had survived. Something was odd about it all, for I didn’t see anyone walking around other than the lone photographer. I sat unthinking, feeling as sullen as the skies above. The rain pelted my window.  I turned the wipers back on to see cars beginning to turn around; we weren’t going home this way anytime soon. I felt the tug of exhaustion mixed with another feeling I couldn’t describe. I knew I had to turn around and take another route if I were going to make it home this day.

As I drove off, the farther the distance between me and the accident grew, so did the realization of what I had just witnessed. Emergency vehicles began to pass me going the opposite direction on their way to the scene. Totally unaware at the time, I soon realized, I had been one of the first people to arrive.  There hadn’t been anyone walking around because it had just happened.  That feeling I couldn’t recall earlier returned and a sensation of crushing despair flooded my soul.

My mind flashed back to the fateful night in New Harmony when a woman drove past the DOT barricades blocking the road that was a dead end which stopped on the banks of the Wabash river overlooking a small cliff. At that time, as a kid, we looked at it like the woman was just lost and had panicked; thus, flying off the end of the road and landing in the swollen river, where she and her car load of children drowned. It wasn’t until a recent reflection upon the event that I was profoundly struck with the realization that it was more than a possibility that she meant to do what she did. This would be years before another woman in South Carolina would do the same thing and attract national attention, when she climbed to safety from the sunken car leaving her own children behind to drown.

However, like the epiphany of the past in New Harmony where the truth pierces through the fog of time, so did the conclusion I could’ve possibly helped. Yet, I was in no shape with myself being on the verge of passing out at any moment. Then another burst of realization hit me, “Had I not stayed at work as long as I did, that pile of smoldering metal could have been me.” Once again, God had placed his hand upon my life, directing me, guiding my pathway for my journey was not yet complete. I said a prayer for the person or people who might have passed, for something inside told me a soul had departed from us back there on that rainy roadway.

The grayness of the day had now become one with the emotional landscape through which I drove. My mind floated from one past event to the next knowing a moment in time can make the difference between living and dying. God gave us free will, yet when we give our lives to him, we allow his presence to define who we are and how we live. I can’t help to believe that with this faith, we also allow his heavenly hand to reach down and direct our daily paths.

That night I had a dream.

littlechurchI had found a small country church, empty and abandoned. It was nothing fancy on the inside with an interior of pine paneling for walls and the typical red carpet underneath the modest wooden pews. I sat near a window and waited. Soon, as if I had expected them, there came a crowd of people dressed in what first appeared to be robes. As they drew nearer, I could see that they all had extremely pale complexions and snow white hair. Each of them wore suits of fine white linen. All but one were young men; the other being a stunningly beautiful young woman wearing a flowing white gown.. As they filed passed, I inquired to one of them as to where they were going. They told me they were going to a funeral, but they would return for me when they were finished. Something I don’t remember happened when they returned because I tried to speak in my dream, which caused me to shout out in my sleep, waking my wife who would have thrown me out of the bed if she were physically capable.  I don’t remember any more of the dream past that point.

The next morning I was still somewhat bothered by not only the accident but the dream as well. So, I decided that maybe it would help my catharsis if I sketched down what I could recall; the scene in my mind that would not go away.

751crash_sketchAs I began to draw the accident from the day before, another accident scene from my childhood came to mind. I could see the bus over the fiery figure underneath. The high school boy, Scott Knapp was his name, had pulled out on his motorcycle and crashed into the bus, getting trapped underneath. The bus was moved away from the flames, but the boy and his bike remained in the fireball on the road. We all watched from across the road, unaware at the time, there was a kid in that blazing inferno. After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. McKinney came running out of the school with an army blanket and ran to the fire, throwing the blanket on an object and pulling it free; it was the badly burned body Scott. I recall how he survived for a few days but eventually the 3rd degree burns were too much to overcome, and he died. I often wondered after that day if I had known he was still in the fire if I could have or would have done anything different.

I finished the sketch and realized I had drawn the perspective of standing in front of the logging truck that had blocked my view. I figured it was just my imagination, and left it at that. Days later, I spoke to another coworker about that morning, and we found the crash online. Just as I had feared, there had been a fatality. Mr. Harold Sugg of Pittsboro had died at the scene. Then, along with the description of the accident was the photograph. There in the 751crashnews photo was a picture exactly the same angle and direction from my drawing, the one I had done from memory.

I don’t know what all of this means, I don’t know what God is trying to say, but all I know is that I’m thankful to have had another day to hug my children and breathe a breath of fresh glorious air on this side of the green grass.

May your journey’s be fruitful and your travels safe, God Bless.

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by | December 30, 2013 · 11:25 pm

Reflection of Faith…

f7fbe5b871a811e3859712a851556c4a_8It is the time of reflection.

This past year like all those gone before seems to have been a blur, yet when I think about each event, each moment, there are pieces so many that they become like the sands upon a beach, too many to tell individually; they have all become my collective memory. Tonight as the sun fell into the horizon, we strung temporary lights in my daughter’s tree house so that we could clean out the seasons of debris, storms and corpses of beloved pets that found the refuge of the lofty manner their last resting place on earth. The artifacts we unearthed along the way provided me memories far beyond the past year and into the childhood days of my now preteen daughter. Given time, the tree house would have become like those pets, decayed, forgotten and melded into the wood to become one with the world around them; their beings long ago passed. As her childhood passes, so do the same fondness for playing in the old wooden structure built aloft in the trees just outside our bedroom window. Like each of us, with time we change and so do our passions for things of this world. However, as we age, we find that the things that matter most go beyond those earthly abodes we so often adore and hopefully we find what is most important in life.

While cleaning, we found leaves and old toys in all manner of dried and faded states scattered about the nearly forgotten play house. It had become an oasis for the pets of the farm, a safety zone where they could find shelter from the storms and the scent of their master whom they cherished to the bitter end. The outsides of the structure were painted by happy children, eager to decorate their new home away-from-home. Dinosaurs, trees and a single bright sun adorned the bare wood of the single room cabin in the bows of the stand of trees. The house was built so that the trees could still move and allow the structure to float on their braces underneath, thus giving it the ability to withstand even the most violent storms. Hence, to this day, there have been little signs of wear from being a home in the trees. Vines have begun to grow through the boards making the house even more one with its surroundings. It is not an air tight structure but was built to give the feel of such a dwelling. As we stood outside and admired the lights within it reminded me of the time I had just finished the cabin in the woods near our current home and would stand outside of it too at night, looking inward at the lamp light burning its soft warm glow through the windows and door into the black abyss. The same warmth and comfort from that light made you feel like this was home, and so it was once again. The creation of something from nothing, only to have the connection of creating life from death echoes back to ancient times.

The feeling it invokes brings to mind the following scripture:

“Most assuredly, I say to you, he who hears My word and believes in Him who sent Me has everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but has passed from death into life.” – John 5:23-25

My journey this past year began early in the throes of late December 2012 when I wrote in my journal about the path that was only about to begin; the one I had yet to travel and its pathway I had no idea where it would lead. I had put my manure spreader on the market and was selling it the next day in order to help pay for the publishing of the first book. I was literally turning farm equipment into a manuscript. I wrote sarcastically in my journal that night that my book may merely be a bunch of manure but like the spreader I was selling, I had to also spread the Word, so that the journey could begin. To be fair, I had to at least try; I had to begin an evangelistic mission of sorts, one I had never planned when I first put pen to paper and began writing the first book. But like all things Heaven sent, we seldom know where they will lead us until we find ourselves already there. That night I also began writing in my sequel, one year from today and once more, I went back and reread those words, the start of another journey, another turn in the roads of time for the characters in my first book, “Bruecke to Heaven”. Like me, they had no idea where they were going but put all of their faith in God, for they too had passed from death to life in order to believe in the Word. No longer are we confined by the law of sin, but rather we are given the choice to believe and to accept Christ into our lives, and for that I am eternally grateful.

The past year I have met and spoken to countless wonderful people, each with their own story, each leaving their impression upon me in one way or another. I have been places, seen things and performed acts I would have never imagined. Some of the most significant things were hearing of my children winning second place in the first ever Jr. Bocci tournament in Valdese as part of their annual Waldensian Celebration. Had it not been for the journey of the book, we might never have been there for them to enter. There was the time the woman was moved to tears during my radio interview on the Truth Radio Network after hearing my song and reading the cover of my book; her story involved recovering from cancer surgery and how the words from the cover had spoken to her. Then there were the countless times when speaking to someone for the first time, I could feel the Holy spirit move through me and into them, a sensation indescribable but its reaction on the one to whom I was speaking priceless. Another moment was seeing my book on the shelves of Barnes and Noble; something years earlier I would have never imagined and still find it humbling to see. I could only imagine what grandpa and grandma would say or even what Aunt June would feel knowing she had been responsible for getting the ball rolling. She never lived to read the book but passed the day of my first official public book signing; something I will never forget. Like life from death, I carry on the memories and the journey continues.

As we prepare the tree house for a new life, one with lights and a new purpose, we take with us the memories of those pets found absorbed into its floor, our family and all the trails that faith takes us and with it we must continue on into the darkness. We now have the light, the Word and we shall forever be changed.

May your new year involve something blessed, a tale of faith, a journey of life and a moment in time you will never forget.

God Bless, Have a Happy New Year and Lux Lucet in Tenebris for All!

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by | December 23, 2013 · 11:03 pm

The Birth of Hope…

imagesCANET9ZXThis past Sunday I had the privilege of filling for Tom Lee during the part of the service where he normally delivers what is called the, “Children’s Message”. Tom and his wife were blessed to be called away that morning to the birth of a new grandson named Jacob. Ironically, my message involved the birth of another child, yet this would not be the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ as you might be expecting. No, this was not a Christmas story you might come to anticipate this time of year, so first allow me to explain why I was lead to share this story.

Earlier in the week I had a unique dream which I wrote about in a previous blog, “Flames of the Spirit”. To summarize; in the dream I went back in time and met people rejoicing in the spirit and met an ancient being who told me that we had to carry on the special gift we’ve been given, passing it on from one generation to the next. To some degree I was perplexed by what the elder I met in the dream meant by his words, but the more the week went by, the more I understood what he had been telling me. Then a couple days later I saw a trailer for a movie to be released in 2014 and it all became clearer. The movie is called, “Noah” and stars Russell Crowe and Emma Watson.

Here is a link to the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OSaJE2rqxU

We all know the story of Noah, but not until recently did I understand how Noah fit into the family lineage of Enoch. Enoch as you may recall is only one of two people that were taken to Heaven without dying, Elijah being the other. Enoch was afforded a view of Heaven before leaving and was allowed to return to earth for 30 days in order to tell his son Methuselah what he learned so that mankind could record the events of the past, present and future. I’ve been studying the books of Enoch as part of the references I am using in my sequel to “Bruecke to Heaven”. As I mentioned earlier, this story had to do with another birth but this was not the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, but rather the birth of Noah.

So unusual and strange was Noah at birth that his father Lamech was alarmed, as were all that saw the imagesCAK6UHLKnewborn child. His skin was as white as snow and as red as a rose; his hair was as white as a white lamb’s wool. His eyes were the like sun’s rays that lit up the room and his face beamed as something from another world. The nursemaid held him up to show everyone and as she did, the newborn baby levitated from her hands into the air. Everyone was scared and afraid of the infant and cried out. Lamech was so bothered by the condition of the child that he immediately went to his father Methuselah and pleaded with him to go to his father Enoch and ask him if there had been any tampering or foul play by angels with his wife to cause this calamity.

You have to understand that this was a time when angels were known to visit earthlings and copulate with them, creating giants (Nephilim) and other creatures which began to defile mankind. So adamant was Lamech about it that Methuselah agreed and went to the ends of the earth and called out for his father, who by then was already in Heaven permanently. Remarkably, Enoch heard his son’s cries and answered him. He assured him that the baby was indeed the son of Lamech and his wife and that there was no interaction or tampering from angels to be worried about. However, he told him that the child was indeed special and chosen by God and that his name would be Noah. He went on to tell him that mankind had become so full of sin and unrighteousness that God had no choice but to destroy the world with a great flood; all would die except for Noah and his family.

Methuselah returned and told Lamech of the words of his father and how Enoch had said that from now until the end of time, even after the great flood, that mankind would continue to become more and more unrighteous until one day, there would finally come a generation that would arise up and defeat all sin and darkness.

Yes, eventually a generation would rise up and defeat all sin and darkness, halting the unrighteousness.

It was upon reading this that my dream came back to me and how the elder had been so clear about the wealth we possessed and how it was imperative that it be passed from one generation to the next without it being allowed to expire.

Then like a light switch turning on, it finally dawned on me that the wealth, treasure and inheritance the elder was speaking of was right in front of me; The Word of God and the story of his love for us all. For there to be that future generation, we have to pass on our inheritance and educate our children so that they too can carry on when we are gone, keeping the Word of God alive; our hope is our future just as is the birth of a new life.

untitledYes, it is the season of birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus, through whom we all inherit eternal life, if we only choose to accept him into our lives and continue to share the story and to continue to have hope of life eternal.

After all, it is most undoubtedly the best Christmas gift of all.

Merry Christmas.

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by | December 19, 2013 · 2:57 am

Flames of the Spirit…

imagesCAZ5RNSOIt’s not often that dreams stay with me after I wake up but I had one recently that was so vivid and profound that even a couple days later I am still able to recall most of it with clarity. The parts that especially have stayed with me involved a celebration and someone I met; for some reason, I had stepped back in time.

The first part of the dream had something to do with an outdoor event where people dressed in long robes and dresses that one might call, “Sack Cloths”. They had gathered as a multitude upon a tree-lined grassy lawn. The congregation was celebrating some event with songs and praises. I was encouraged to come closer and join in, so I did. Shortly afterward, out of nowhere, from over our heads came a large light beige colored canopy that began to descend over the throng. I got the feeling of being inside an enormous tepee, where the sheet wrapped completely around the crowd, but angled up toward the center as if suspended by a hand from above. Folds of the canopy lay upon the grass and completely enclosed us all from the outside. The material was light enough I could still see the sunlight filtering through it.

It was at this point that I became aware of there being two factions of belief in the crowd; those who accepted faith and our ancestry unconditionally and those who believed but had difficulty accepting everything and felt obligated to track the past one brutal line for line, word for word, tracing it back through time upon part of the canopy that now hovered overhead. The non-accepting partisans had their section of cloth partitioned off into an oblong section of the strange cloth where all of their precious writings were kept. They obviously knew what was coming and had their cloth cut out from the other material, but yet it was still held in place from where it had been cut. The separated cloth was suspended by a large hoop that the cloth was stretched over and was held in place in the massive overhead canopy by leather lashes which were stitched into the main cover. It made their special cloth appear like a door stitched into the floating canopy that was sewn shut.

All believers, accepting and non-accepting began to shout and hold their hands aloft, singing praises and imagesCAXMGPNSworshipping aloud, their voices becoming one. The noise became so strong that the cloth overhead began to rise off the ground. I could see light from underneath the bottom of the great sheet as our shouts lifted it higher. Suddenly, there appeared flames above us, flames that soon caught the overhead canopy on fire and it began to burn. The flames were mostly clear but flickers of yellow and blue sporadically appeared on the edges of the cloth being burnt. Blue sky could be seen through the holes where the fire had burnt and before long the flames had entirely consumed the cloth, allowing the sun and sky to shine on us once more. The oblong cloth stretched over the hoop had been unharmed by the flames and fell gently upon the green lawn below, where it was immediately examined and found to be safe from harm. A chorus of elated voices followed as everyone was overjoyed to find the history had been preserved. It was odd, but those who had been accepting and those who hadn’t had suddenly become one in spirit; the sensation of being divided had vanished like the cloth overhead. I had an urge to share with them how amazing this was but then a strange feeling came over me: I became aware that there was a reason I was here but that I wasn’t to tell anyone what I knew. For some reason I realized my knowledge would only cause trouble and change the course of history; a tragedy for all. So I kept quiet and continued to take it all in.

imagesCA1HVR49From this courtyard of celebration I was led past several small buildings until we reached the yard of a humble dwelling; its functionality greatly outweighed its aesthetics. In front of the home was an elder seated at a table made of roughhewn wooden slats. His white hair was bushy but shoulder length with a smattering of gray streaks throughout.  At first he looked as if he had black bushy eyebrows but once my eyes became accustom to the light, I realized he wore thick black rimmed glasses. His face was clean shaven but the lines of age had etched their mark leaving the corners of his mouth in a permanent frown. He motioned for me to join him and my guests soon left us. He introduced himself, but I didn’t catch his name. I only understood him to be an ancient relative whose message to me was of grave importance. He proceeded to tell me that it was vital for me to understand that monetary things of this world could not be taken with us to the other side. He explained that it was our duty to make what was left behind not easily accessible to those who might be considered our heirs lest it corrupt them and cause anguish. Rather, we had to invest our wealth in things that would continue to grow over time and would enrich the lives of those loved ones we left behind. Their ability to cash out these investments must be made unreachable and only the maturity of our investment be realized from something other than worldly possessions.

I was confused by his words and pondered it at great length. He realized my frustration and then confirmed the feeling I had felt moments earlier when he said, “You are here for a reason and cannot tell anyone, lest you cause great harm. Go and continue your journey and continue to share your story as before.”

I awoke and felt as if I had visited someone very dear, but his face was as unknown to me as was his name. I got up began to go about my day as normal and kept reflecting back on the dream. As the hours passed only certain aspects of the dream began to slip away yet the celebration, the face of the elder and his message stayed with me.

I began to think of the dream in context after hearing another family member talk about loved ones coming back to visit us after they had died and then it dawned on me what the dream had been about. I was no longer perplexed but thankful for the vision and realized the power of the Holy spirit like that of fire, consuming all that tries to smother it, eventually overwhelming all that attempt to block out it’s light revealing the truth and uniting our faith as one.

I might not ever know for sure who the elder was in the dream, but I have a pretty good idea…Lux Lucet in Tenebris.

What do you think?

“And again, when God brings his firstborn into the world, he says, “Let all God’s angels worship him.”[a] 7 In speaking of the angels he says, “He makes his angels spirits, and his servants flames of fire.”[b] 8 But about the Son he says, “Your throne, O God, will last for ever and ever; a scepter of justice will be the scepter of your kingdom.” – Hebrews 1:6-8

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by | December 11, 2013 · 2:14 am

Sled Hill

“The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”-John 10:10

As a child, I never understood why standing on top of Sled Hill and overlooking the trees, rooftops, and steeples in the tiny town of New Harmony made me feel as if I were somewhere else; somewhere in another place and time. Life would eventually lead me on a journey, led by the Master’s hand, to mountain tops beyond my wildest dreams, back to a beginning that no one knew. In those places, the grandeur of God’s majesty would take my breath away as He would open my mind to the Truth. It was as if back then, He was preparing me for the future, but it was beyond my comprehension, as it so often is. But before those magnificent peaks and that walk of faith came a humble beginning. Yet, even now in my mind’s eye, I can still see that view on a sunny day as clouds whisked overhead, throwing shadows that raced across the lush green pastures below that were sewn into a patchwork of squares that bordered the edge of town on the farm we knew as home. It was here on this hill, which to us was a mountain in those days, that the event of a lifetime would occur on a snowy day; quite unlike that bright sunny day, yet so full of wonder and awe that it would take a multitude of memories to contain it all.

Christmas was just around the corner, so everyone was anxious for our first snowfall of the season. The weather on that winter morn was gray and dull with clouds hanging so low it felt like you could reach up and touch them. The forecast was for a few inches of snow, but by noon, there was already a blanket of white so deep it covered everything around that old farmhouse there on the edge of town that sat just below Sled Hill. As the snowflakes fell like giant goose-down feathers, more and more family began to gather until the house couldn’t contain us all and at the suggestion of grandma, we lit out for Sled Hill with anything we could find that might act as a sled, including one real working sled. At that point, it was just us kids, out on an exploratory expedition. Looking back, grandma’s suggestion for us to go explore the sledding conditions were a perfect way to quiet the house and make more room for the adult family who had come to visit. For us kids, it was the perfect excuse to play in the snow. Either way, it would become soon become the stuff of legends.

I don’t know which of us tried to go down first, but by the time we reached halfway up the famous hill, the snow was so deep you couldn’t slide down easily without first making a trough. The initial attempts all met with crashes. It wasn’t until someone made a run nearly to the bottom of the hill that our luck began to change. It wasn’t long before the runs were stretching out into unbelievable lengths. Soon it was apparent that a report back to home base was necessary; this was going to be the sledding event of the century; Christmas had come early!

We went up and down that hill so many times that afternoon that we eventually became wore out and had to return back to the house for warmth and recuperation. If you knew us kids, you knew that for us to have to stop doing something that much fun was a clear indication of our exhaustion. As we retold of the excitement while sipping hot chocolate and eating grandma’s hot fresh homemade cookies, some of the adults had to go check it out for themselves. A few of us escorted them back to the hill, which was a good hike that went past the tractor barn, up the long lane that passed the garden at Ms. Wolfe’s house, past the backside of the Labyrinth, past the bullpens and eventually to the pasture gate at the far end. All along the lane were huge Catalpa trees that would provide an unending supply of fishing bait in the summertime from the worms that would fall off their leaves but now stood barren and dark as ominous figures that loomed overhead which stood as bulwarks against the snowstorm; one side becoming white as they too became part of the ever-increasing snow-scape. Once you reached the pasture gate, you had a good quarter mile to reach the base of the hill, that now stood silent and foreboding as the snow-covered sled run loomed white disappearing into the snowfall from above, becoming one in their obscurity of eyesight.

The report from our adult led expedition told of some of the best sledding conditions that they had ever seen in their lifetime. Our eyes nearly popped out of our heads at this exclamation. The wheels were soon put into motion for preparations for a night sled, something we children had never heard of nor thought of before. Grown men began to brainstorm, and the idea of putting torches along the sled run was thrown out. “And why not,” came a reply which soon put some of the creative minds in the family to work to build the home-made torches that soon lined the sled path before darkness had set in putting off a warming glow to the gleaming white ice that had begun to form on the trail to the top of the hill. I don’t know what we ate, nor when we ate, all I can recall to this day was sledding and sliding down the hill that loomed like a monolithic icicle in the night sky. The hill became so slick that the only way to get back to the top was to find footsteps on the side of the run that had been made before; otherwise, you’d find yourself sledding without a sled. By the end of the night, only the brave or fool hearty would slide from the top of the hill, so fast and slick was the ice. Those who did try found themselves becoming human torpedoes flying down the hill as their sleds raced ahead.

While we kids were climbing up and down the hill, a giant bonfire began to grow, where we would find ourselves warming our frozen extremities and finding hot dogs or other fire baked goodies to satisfy our hunger that had grown without our knowledge. As the faces of family and friends gathered around the blaze, we realized that when grandpa and grandma were also there gathered around that giant fire, this was the event of a lifetime. Grandpa would rarely venture out this time of night especially when he had the 3:00 AM milking coming, but this was no ordinary day or night. We continued on that night until arms and legs would no longer move and slowly we all left the snowfall and ice-covered hill behind. As the embers of the fire began to glow in the darkness, the last snowflakes fell into its warmth with a hiss. A tiny puff of smoke escaped and drifted above into the night sky, like our memories that drifted off with our sleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows that night.

In the event of a lifetime, a memory was made that affected so many its recollection brings forth memories from so many that if we were all gathered together, you might mistake our ages as children once again and hear the crunch of snow underfoot as our minds race down that hill once more.

There have been many Christmas seasons that have come and gone since that day. Many of those adults have gone on home to be with the Lord while others have grown and moved away. The old farmhouse was torn down and the farm drastically altered to adapt to changing times. The old milk barn is still there, but now it is the offices and warehouse for a flower farm. While one can stand at the road that once went by the house and look back to where the old front porch used to sit, it is only then, in the mind’s eye can we see from whence we came. Time is the thief that comes to steal and destroy, but we cannot allow it all to slip away.

Life is about living, our past and our mutual experiences and sometimes, those all combine into the unforgettable.

A life lived abundantly.

So it was and always shall be with our “Sled Hill.” Somewhere in your life, you too have had or will have a “Sled Hill.” When you do, or if you have, embrace those memories or that time with all you can, for it sometimes only comes around once in a lifetime.

Again, live life abundantly, and strive to make the most of every opportunity.

Thanks be to God.

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by | December 8, 2013 · 10:44 pm

A Message from a Celebration of 125 Years…

1463136_567113273363295_1249261911_nYesterday as we stepped back in time at the Farmer’s Alliance store in Siler City to honor their 125 years of operation and the anniversary of Ms. Nancy Tysor’s 50th year as store manager, I had to realize there was a message in the stories we heard over and over at the store that meant something about that simpler time so long ago when we moved at a different pace and took time to listen to the world around us. As we shared stories of our past I realized it has almost been a full year since losing my mother to cancer and here we were once more fast approaching another Christmas where one event seemed to crash into the next. With each day that passes the intensity of the season increases until we find ourselves in a fevered pitch of headlong pursuit from one event to the next. To some it is the season of “Deja vu”; having felt we’ve been here before and already done that. Yes, once more in the season of Advent, we find ourselves hearing the familiar stories of the birth of Jesus and singing all the old familiar songs. Yet, every year there is another nuance, another twist in the story that strikes a different chord in each of us. This year for me, it has been the delivery of the message to Mary that she would become the mother of God’s only Son. In the first chapter of the gospel of Luke the scripture reads, “The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.” Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be.”

Now I don’t know about you, but having an angel appear before me and speak to me I can safely say that I don’tMaryandGabriel think the first thing I would think about is, “What kind of greeting,” he might be using to introduce himself. My thoughts would be more of the overwhelmed type, where I would be trying to cope with the magnitude of the situation and to see if I was awake or only dreaming. Yet, we are told that Mary was greatly troubled at his words and questioned the purpose of his being there. Could it have been that she didn’t realize this was an angel sent by God? How many of us would recognize an angel if one were to appear before us and begin delivering to us an important message? How many of us would be even be still long enough for an angel to even have a chance to visit with us? Our world has become so chaotic with the overload of messages, news and constant noise that there is little time to find a quiet corner and reflect on what it is we are doing here and what God has planned for us in this wonderful life we lead. It is said that we often entertain angels unaware and for most of us, this is probably truer than we would like to give credit since we undoubtedly have passed them without even taking the time to notice.

However, in the time of Mary, faith was on a different level than what most of us know today. In that time, one can only imagine there were far less distractions of the day, but beyond just the lack of noise there was the knowledge of God on a realm where visiting with an angel was not uncommon. Faith was a way of life, not an afterthought in one’s hectic schedule. Prayer and devotion were second only to survival. So when we find Mary in the presence of Gabriel, she is not overwhelmed with the event, she’s not blown away, “Oh My GOSH, there’s an ANGEL!!!” Instead, Mary takes it in as calmly and matter-of-factly as iif someone were telling her something which she really didn’t want to hear; and by the way, “Was he just greeting her with a friendly or demanding tone?” If we put ourselves in Mary’s shoes, we could quite easily see how she was troubled by what she heard. Imagine being told you were favored by God and for that, you would have a child, out of marriage, from a virgin birth and He would be the Son of God. Talk about knocking your socks off!  Yet, even though the impact of the news was definitely life changing, it was the purest of faith that could accept this message and live with it. Anyone else would have either dismissed the message or been found as a disgrace to her family.  Although troubled and curious about Gabriel’s delivery tone, Mary realizes when Gabriel says, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you,” that she has nothing to fear, for God will bless her.

I know in my own life the past two months have been a flash, going from one event to the next until I’ve found life becoming a blur. Yesterday while attending the 125th year anniversary of the Farmer’s Alliance store I once more felt and heard the voices of lives lived in a different time all come back and share with us now; it was as if we had been visited by an angel. The celebration made me realize how much we miss those days of sitting and sharing with one another, listening to our friends and neighbors tell us about their lives and living. The music combined with the mood allowed us to step back to a simpler place and time where faith was more of our lives, where one could talk as easily about a calf down as they could about the birth of Jesus, neither would be considered out of place.

You see, yesterday made me realize, the message was as clear as it was to Mary only the tone was left up to us to interpret.

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by | October 19, 2013 · 10:04 pm

Sling Blade of Life

Armor10 Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11 Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. 12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. 13 Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. 14 Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, 15 and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. 16 In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17 Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.  – Ephesians 6:10-17

 

Today, we finally spent some much needed time at home. There is so much to catch up on here on the farm having spent most of the summer on the road or away from home. One of the first things that was past due was clearing some of the fence rows. I know there is more than I could do in a day, so we started with the one closest to the house. Knowing that most of my 2-cycle engine tools are in need of a small engine mechanic, I forewent the option of using a motorized blade for the good old fashioned “Sling Blade”. For those of you unfamiliar with a “Sling Blade”, it consists of a straight axe handle connected on one end to a blade that is about six inches in width and two feet in length. The blade is straight for about a foot, then curves in an arc at the end, providing a slicing side and a hook side. When sharpened and handled properly, one swing of this ominous tool can slice through a wrist size sapling in one fell swoop.

Back when we first bought the land that our farm now sits on, I cleared much of the tract from the home site to the pond with the Sling Blade, a stretch of about three hundred yards long and a hundred yards wide. Needless to say, I became very proficient with this weapon. Today, as I slung my blade at the weeds and thick brush that had grown up over a very abundant summer of rain, I found my technique still intact but the muscles that were needed to maintain this level of efficiency had long ago vanished. Nearing the end of the fence row we were working, I had to rest more and more until it was apparent, this would be all I could do for the day. Thankfully, I had two very useful helpers on hand, my son and daughter, each helping to carry the debris to the burn pile we were building. Back in the day, I use to haul all my own brush after cutting it. Today, I would have accomplished much less had I not had them with me. As time marches on, what we give up in strength  and ability, we sometimes accumulate in blessings like children who eventually make up the difference in what we once were and who we are now.

As we travel around the country spreading our faith and gospel, we tell the story and words of Jesus throughWarriorForGod song and the written word hoping to reach those who need to hear this story or be reminded of their walk with faith. As we grow in our faith, we hope the path we have chosen helps our children to see how they too can become stronger and greater in their faith. As with each swing of the Sling Blade, the body becomes stronger and more proficient; thus it is with the Word, each time it is visited or spoken, we also become stronger and more proficient at telling others. As with time, we eventually leave our children’s side and allow them to discover life on their own, whether it is in school or out in community. When they are away, we can rest in knowing that we have laid the foundation for them to build upon. However, when we hear of them coming home from someplace we had thought to have been a safe haven having experienced an influence we might have considered very undesirable, we have to sit up and take notice. The fact that they report to us, their parents, of this event having felt uncomfortable, for example, hearing the teacher’s poor choice of educational experience, we in some degree take comfort knowing we have in part done our job. We have given them the tool to use in life to understand what is acceptable in our beliefs and what is not. They have slung their blade and felt it hit its mark. Yet, as much as we try to witness to others and evangelize the Word of God, it brings me sadness to know that behind our backs, the ones we thought to be on our side, have been influenced by either the media or through other avenues to the point, the felt the educational tool they chose to show was okay in their opinion. In this manner, it tells me we have so far to go in what we do in order to spread Christianity.

Christians are under attack every day, not only from the world, but even from those within our own circles who have apparently been misguided by whatever influences. We cannot afford to stand still and assume every person who claims to be a Christian is fully understanding of the Word and has truly accepted Christ; it is these people whom can be as dangerous as the one who are out to end your faith or even worse, your life. Satan doesn’t stop at the door, if allowed, he will come on in and make himself at home, waiting for any opportunity to enter into your life and bring you down.

As time goes by, what we begin to lose, we must replace with those whom will someday take our place; our children. We cannot simply assume that they will learn to swing their blades of righteousness on their own but rather we must show them, teach them and pass along what it is to fulfill the path that God has given us through his only son, Jesus Christ, so that we may be forgiven for our sins, and be saved through his Grace, for it is by this Grace alone that we will get to Heaven and it is by Grace that we must live our lives.

Do you have a fence row in your life to clear and will you get your children to help?

Tomorrow is a new day, don’t let it pass without giving someone the opportunity to hear the Word of God and to know life eternal; it is our job.

 Sling that blade.

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by | September 10, 2013 · 9:38 pm

The Doctors’ Street…

The following article was written following a recent fieldtrip taken by the Goldston United Methodist Church’s writers’ group, “The InkSpots”. We were blessed to have had the unique opportunity to tour the Street family homestead and to hear the stories of healing and faith. We found a treasure trove of inspiration from which to write and hope that someday, this precious gem of history will be preserved for generations to come to visit and be likewise inspired. Thanks to our hosts, Al Simmons and Paul Paschal whom without, this journey would not have 5049398450_bd137a0d54_zbeen possible.

 

We turned off the main road onto the lane that led past a small pond to the homestead of the Street family. The structures were weathered and gray as one might expect from buildings that were over 100 years old. We were not there to learn as much about the buildings as we were to hear about the people that made them come alive with hope and relief. The family that lived here were as much about the spirituality of living as they were the physicality. The Streets, as they were named, would become known far and wide for their care and perseverance for their patients; this was the homestead of the Doctors’ Street.

2013-08-02 15.17.21Considering the age of the buildings, they were all in very good shape. There had evidently been many hands over the years that had maintained these aged edifices as well as preserving the story of the families that made them the historical structures for which they were known. Large oaks and cedars surrounded the buildings providing shade in areas of the fresh mown lawn. Here, often at the first light of dawn, the doctor would find the yard filled with wagons and in later years, cars, which had parked waiting for the good doctor to awaken. In other words, the grounds surrounding the office and home became the waiting room for patients who made the long trek during the night, being too ill to wait for morning.

The original structure of the doctor’s office was built in the late 1700s and used as a law office of a former governor of North Carolina. The law office would later be used by the first Doctor, Richard Street. The Richard returned from the civil war and took up medicine, practicing initially only in the former law office, and then eventually expanding the building adding on a back structure, shaped as a “T”, that would house additional rooms for examination, pharmaceuticals and an administrative office. It was not known if Richard had practiced medicine in the civil war, but there was an old medical saddle bag on display which was very worn that could have easily have been used on those ancient battlefields. What motivated the young Mr. Street to become a doctor one can only speculate. Having lived through the horrors of war, there were likely more than enough traumatic battlefield scenes which could have easily been the impetus for his lifelong pursuit.

Throughout the doctor’s office, there were large brown bottles of chemicals and compounds used to make medicines2013-08-02 15.02.27 that the doctor would administer to his patients. Likewise, there were volumes of ledgers, medical manuals and various reference materials. I quickly got the feel that Dr. Street was a beacon of hope in the darkness in a landscape of medical poverty. He not only applied his craft but continually strove to further his abilities to do so. When we read the signs outside of most modern medical facilities we read the term, “Medical Practice of…”. In the case of the late Dr. Street, this was not only a statement, but a fact made obvious by his self-imposed continuing education. He was not only the doctor, but also the pharmacist, specialist, surgeon and even eventual caretaker. From the act of bringing life into the world to the act of consoling the families of those patients that he could not save, the dust on the books of memories belied the stories within that a painful heart would have been driven to pursue excellence beyond the weathered walls in which he inhabited. We were made aware that often, his patients would stay for extended periods of time in his home either to recover or to prepare for eventual medical needs like giving birth. As I stood in one of the upstairs rooms of the home, I could almost sense the lives that entered and passed to and from this world in that room comforted by the man they called Doc.

In addition to continuing his self-education, Dr. Street also strove to educate his fellow medical peers by speaking and writing about the need for more “Diagnostic Medicine”. He felt that too many young doctors were coming out of medical school and going into specialized surgery rather than focusing on the diagnostic medical practice. More than once our host and descendent, Al Simmons, found reference in letters to the doctor of how his diagnosis of some rare ailment or disease would sometimes years later be confirmed. In other words, when Doc Street told you that you were sick, you could count on it.

Dr. Richard StreetIn the book cases filled with countless medical volumes, there were also several worn Bibles. My interest was piqued since I knew that many times the family genealogy would have been preserved in the “Family Bible”. Upon inspection of the Bibles on hand, I didn’t find any genealogy information but I did find line after line of scripture references, obviously favorites that someone had written for easy access, either for future reference or when a spiritual chord was struck. I was moved to find that the Street’s were as known for their strong Christian faith as they were for their medical practice. A local church even began in one of the front rooms of the house. This only confirmed my belief that this place was a haven of recovery and health for the whole being; an Eden in the wilderness.

Here I found the true meaning of “Practice”, with regard to medicine. Over the years, through countless struggles to preserve the health of those terminally ill, through tomes of medical literature the good doctor would pour until he had exhausted all known medical knowledge; he then would turn to the Almighty for prayer. Each painful loss only fueled his drive, his passion to prevent it from happening again. Each time, he would become better at what he did, continually striving to better himself, not only as a doctor, but also as a Christian. In essence, he practiced what he preached, and strove to become a better man while here on this earth for it.

As I watched my children observe, listen and record this visit to an underappreciated historical treasure and landmark, I could only hope that in some far away recess of their minds a spark was lit to pursue life in the same manner in which the good doctors had done.  Dr. Richard Street had made such an impact on his community and family that eventually not only his son, but his grandson would likewise follow in his footsteps, practicing medicine and making the world a better place. In life, we often struggle and toil in the moment, sometimes losing focus for what matters most. When our livelihood entails life itself, our perspective changes and suddenly the reality of mortality changes us making us either better or worse for it, depending upon our character. It was obvious from the archives and treasures left behind by the family of doctors that they had all been better for it, and so were we.

What began as a casual conversation with Paul Paschal and I before Christmas of last year turned out to be a discovery of healing and faith. I saw a lady in her seventies turn into a little girl once more and saw teenagers enthralled by the antiquity of a medical practice almost unheard of in today’s fast paced world. God leads us in paths we never can imagine, and last Friday was one such day I’ll not soon forget.

 

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