Category Archives: Religious Experience

by | February 15, 2022 · 6:19 am

We Do Nothing of Ourselves

“I have many things to say and to judge of you: but he that sent me is true; and I speak to the world those things which I have heard of him. They understood not that he spake to them of the Father. Then said Jesus unto them, When ye have lifted up the Son of man, then shall ye know that I am he, and that I do nothing of myself; but as my Father hath taught me, I speak these things. He that sent me is with me. The Father hath not left me alone; for I do always those things that please him.” – Jn. 8:26-29

As I write these words, again trying to put them to memory, the thought of the past week haunts me -sickness. Lying upon one’s bed for agonizing hours gives one too much time for reflection and agitation of not being capable of doing what is needed. Yet, it is in these suffering minutes of eternity that life’s focus once again becomes clearer.

What we do in this life, how we stand before those doing the same thing, making it through each day the best they can, makes all the difference. We can go about moaning and complaining, or we can go about letting the radiance of what gives us hope to shine through our aged, withered skin. Though our façade may be falling away, that twinkle in the eye, that gleam of spirit within, can give someone else a shimmer of hope in a world that might otherwise seem lost. But alone, we cannot make that happen. It is because, as Jesus said, “I do nothing of myself.”

Dr. Richard Hines Jr. walking with Aaron Israel, sharing the word of God.

How much more we all could take away from those few letters that formed his response? “I,” the Christ saying of himself, “do nothing of myself.” To hear the Son of God expel this sort of mindset, to hear he, who is God in the flesh, admit that alone, he is nothing, should give us all a shaking to our very marrow. The humility, to put one below his station, and to praise his heavenly Father in such a manner is to admittedly pronounce an even greater appreciation for who Jesus was and for his ministry here on earth.

To know that in his short three years of evangelism, those twelve men to whom most of his focus was upon left an indelible mark upon humanity. The story of Jesus alone was of an earth-shattering revelation, but alone, had the enemy had their way, it would have slowly died off like those Apostles. But because of their steadfast faith and with the power of the Holy Spirit, they were able to achieve far beyond what was humanly possible. This alone, to understand the early church’s fragility and the great danger it faced, is to understand the miraculous growth and creation of the faith we call today Christianity.

In today’s world, the thoughts of last week seem ages ago. Take into consideration what you were doing at this time three years ago if you can. Then, as you stretch your mind to recover those frames of time, imagine what it might have been like to have been walking along with Christ, to have seen all that would have transpired during his earthly ministry, and see if you could begin to recall each day, let alone just a week living in that moment. It must have been nearly mind-altering for those disciples to keep up, let alone retain just portions of what Jesus was trying to tell them. We see in scripture, again and again, as if Christ is repeating himself but using different metaphors or parables to enlighten them as to what is coming. Yet, although it’s easy for us to see, they never seem to grasp what Jesus is trying to convey to them. It isn’t until the cold, steel door of death slams shut do they finally realize the grim mortality of what it was Christ tried to say. It was in the silence of those three long days that their minds must have retraced every step of every dusty road they had traveled, trying to understand what had happened and if it was all for naught? How so like those three days are those when we are forced by illness or injury to lie in repose, held captive by our recovery as our mind is free to roam.

Do we ever consider what our past lives have been for and if we too had lived all for naught, but in a very different manner than those early disciples? Or maybe, you’re one of the few that have lived your life already living for God. What would you give to relive an hour in your memory’s history, to be with that dearest grandparent one more time, to hold that child that left this world too soon, or perhaps to hold the hand of that loved one that slipped away in a tragic accident? These are all the things we can understand, but to know what it was to walk with God, there were only twelve that knew that feeling. Imagine what they would have given to go back one more time? What would you give to spend a minute in the presence of Christ himself while he was fully human and fully God?

But they were blessed to have a second chance.

The grave could not hold the Son of God, and from the day of his resurrection to the day of his ascension, you can bet there wasn’t a moment with him that wasn’t cherished beyond measure by each of the surviving disciples. Yet, it couldn’t last forever.

There in that upper room, when the last of the forty days of His resurrection had come to an end, when they all waited for something Jesus had said would come, but again, they could not understand still. It was when the day of Pentecost came, and the tongues of fire came down from Heaven, landing upon each of them, empowering them beyond what was mortally possible. They left that chamber changed men, never to fear the world around them again. It was from this revelation that understanding that they could never go back, nor should they, for their future was preaching the story of Jesus Christ. It was from that blast of the Holy Spirit, a whirlwind of a revival, that the news, story, and faith of Christianity burst forth, spreading across continents, to finally circle the globe.

As we face a world that seems to spin a little more out of control every day, know that we needn’t look back for comfort anymore. We have also, like those Apostles, been given a second chance. Our hope is in the future. So, if you don’t know Jesus Christ, find someone that does and ask them to show you the way, the truth, and the light, and watch what happens to your world.

If nothing else, open the Bible to the book of Romans and read chapter 10, preferably starting at verse nine. Maybe then, you will finally read why Christ died for us, and perhaps then you will see why true believers do nothing of themselves.

Thanks be to God.

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by | August 25, 2019 · 8:20 pm

A Butterfly Cloud of Faith

We awoke this morning to a blissful 64 degrees here in the foothills of the Blueridge Mountains. It was indeed a long-awaited respite from the summer’s toils. Although the sky was overcast, the soothing temperatures allowed for a more leisurely feel to the walk to church. Along the way, the bountiful colors of the wildflowers began to catch my attention. “Had they been there all summer and I just missed them amid the turmoil of heat and fatigue,” I pondered as my walking stick continued to make the rhythmic knock upon the trail? At first the red of the Cardinal flower caught my eye, but the farther I walked and became aware, the more colors that began to reveal themselves until the full spectrum of the rainbow was pulsating within view; the Vincas, Violas, Orchids, and Lilies of all shapes, sizes, and varieties. Pausing to catch my mental breath, my mind began to drift back to another hike in a far distant land. The place where the 23rd Psalm seemed to come alive; the Germanesca Valley in Italy.

The Germanesca Valley on the trail approaching Col-du-Pis.

My heart began to race as my thoughts returned to the life-changing scenery we had experienced on our Alpine journey.

Like a wounded warrior returning from battle, my body fought to keep the path of descent. In our unencumbered ascent up the mountain, we had seen with beholding eyes unspeakable beauty, flowers of every color of the visible spectrum. We had just scaled up the Germanesca Valley in the Cottien Alps to a point not far from the summit of Col-du-Pis. The altitude was challenging alone, reaching slightly above 9,000 feet in elevation. The thin air caused us to breathe while we walked as if we were running at full speed.  Each new turn in the trail unfolded another revelation of God’s creation, one that we had heretofore never witnessed. But in our haste and unimagined divine adventure, we had not accounted for the human element which so often detains us, shackling us to man’s law; time. From unimaginable heights we now scurried, our bodies weakened by the lack of oxygen battled to keep pace with the spirit within. In our haste, we pressed the pace around another massive boulder only to find a spectacle beyond comprehension. Looking back, had we not been suffering from the consequences of poor planning, or rather, spontaneously inspired destinations, we might have taken the moment we were about to encounter more slowly, more diligently. We are often reminded in those fleeting few seconds before death that events you thought could never be captured return in one glorious review. What was thought lost returns with a voracious message of what was most important.

How many times had the disciples asked themselves the same thing? Had they only taken more time to appreciate the precious little time they were allotted to spend with the Son of Man, Jesus Christ, how much more would they have understood? Jesus had tried to make them realize again and again.

“Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand…. I am telling you now before it happens, so that when it does happen you will believe that I am who I am.” – John 13:7,19.

How many more questions they could have asked? How much more faith they might have found had they only known?

“Why weren’t they warned,” you ask?

Jesus foretold his death and resurrection on more than one occasion.  “Now Jesus was going up to Jerusalem. On the way, he took the Twelve aside and said to them, “We are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be delivered over to the chief priests and the teachers of the law. They will condemn him to death and will hand him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified. On the third day he will be raised to life!” – Matthew 20:17-19

Yet, they too were so pressed for time of this world, trying to make it day-to-day in circumstances under which they had little to no control. Albeit they were in the presence of Jesus, they too found it difficult, seeing so many miracles and hearing so much, that there was little time to take it all in and absorb it fully. After a while, their human bodies began to tire. The weariness of the journey was more than many could physically take; the emotional and spiritual strain alone of having one’s mind stretched beyond belief each day would be enough to cause a mental breakdown. Yet, Christ afforded them through his divine power the ability to understand, as he opened their minds as only God could do. “Who hath ears to hear, let him hear.And the disciples came, and said unto him, Why speakest thou unto them in parables? He answered and said unto them, Because it is given unto you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it is not given.”-Matthew 13:9-11

Enthralling scenes that no human could imagine took the disciples breaths away; again and again. They could never dream of what was just around the bend.

Just beyond the shadows of the granite edifice from around the curve in the path lay a patch of grasses covered with wildflowers, colors as vivid as the cloudless azure blue sky above. Yet, unlike anything we had yet to discover this day of miraculous discovery on the mountain, there was something unreal; something that pulsated from this patch of living color. As we neared, our shadows ran before us, touching the breathing spectrum of life. Without warning, the colors began to rise in place, as one. Our mere mortal eyes couldn’t understand what we were seeing; yet, we saw something beyond explanation. We inched closer and soon realized the cloud of flowers were hundreds of tiny butterflies, each matching the fauna of their selected petals below. As if their spirit could sense our breathlessness, before we could capture the image for all to see, the cloud of cuspid elegance dispersed into nothingness in a cloudburst of flight. Pausing, my traveling companion and I simply looked at one another in awe of God’s unending magnificence.

Numb from our weakened physical condition, we shook our heads and pressed on. Had we been less hurried, less concerned about our fear of missing the bus, would we have been able to capture the magnificent event? Would we have found the moment more impressive at that instant than we had otherwise seemed to feel considering our weariness and exhausted conditions? Each of us had witnessed something that would forever be part of something special, something that would allow us to forever change our perspective of life.

It would take many months for the scene to return to our minds in as an epiphany of revelation.

How do you describe the indescribable to someone?

How do you share a vision or testimony to someone that hasn’t shared the same path as yourself or has walked in a field of wildflowers?

More than likely, your answer is that it is nearly impossible. If the person you are sharing with has never had a similar experience in life or has never found themselves able to question their own spirituality, then they probably will not understand how to relate to what you are describing. Just as Jesus fought to make his disciples aware, against even the most obvious, in-your-face statements, they continued to be confused. Up until the very day of his capture and eventual crucifixion, they had yet to come to the understanding of all that he had said. It was until after his death and resurrection did they finally begin to fathom the trail of clues their Master had provided during their earthly time together.

Likewise, we must be aware of those around us that are either knew in faith are or those who have yet to accept Christ at all. They will look at you with ears unable to hear, with eyes unable to see, and with hearts often hardened from years of hearing the very words you might say to them. It isn’t until they have walked the trail of wildflowers and seen the cloud of flowers burst open into a prolific spectrum of colorful butterflies will they finally be able to comprehend your words. In the end, it isn’t us that can come into their hearts and minds, but Christ who must be the one. Alone we are only mouthpieces. It isn’t until Christ speaks through us in spite of us can we reach the lost souls of our world.

Yes, we can never do it alone, nor are we ever alone.

Open that back door and take a walk down the nearest trail and search for God in all that you do.

You will never be disappointed, and most importantly, you may find a miraculous beauty made by our Lord that will forever change who you are.

Thanks be to God.

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by | October 22, 2018 · 8:15 pm

The LORD Is My Shepherd

The crisp cool air hit his flesh, biting into the fingertips that grasped the walking stick. The wind on the peaks had yet to cause anything more than a stirring of the fading leaves here in the holler through which he trod. A fateful night of harsh wins left the trail littered with pine cones and limbs. Up ahead, a fallen flock of trees lay across the path, like obstacles in a steeplechase, over which he must straddle. Onward, like the current in the stream that flowed nearby, his body moved; silent and steady. In his mind, the words of the 23rd Psalm swirled like falling leaves upon the gentle breeze. Their parallel to the model prayer of which Jesus taught his disciples teased his curiosity. Lost in thought, he ambled on, as memories as clear as the crystal waters that gurgled in his ears echoed their distant reply.

“The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

“Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.”

The air that day had been as crisp, with a matching breeze. The brilliance of the sky was only enhanced by the majestic snow-capped peaks which reached to heights of which he had never seen; at least not from the foot of the mountain. With a small satchel upon his back, he began his unknowing ascent upon the footpath that had been well worn from centuries of pedestrian traffic. To be in the presence of such imagery caused him to pause often and stand in awe. Likewise, the reverence for which he watched became increasingly intense with each footstep upward. Like climbing to the Father, our approach to God the Father, each new day living in Christ, we come nearer to Him. In that manner, we humbly enter into his glory, and by his Grace, we are saved. It is at that point we can boldly say, He is my shepherd.

The burdens of the week began to drift back into the man’s train of thought. Instinctively, he began to prioritize the list, then stopped. “I shall not want,” he said to himself, “God’s got this.” He reminded himself once again that he was trying to do it all. “I must decrease so that He may increase,” he whispered into the chilly air, his breath drifting ahead of his pace.

Once we are aware, the awakening of our spirit allows to know him and He us. In that manner, we can then know that He will care for us as a shepherd to his flock. There shall no need of want. No worries shall cause our brow to cross. All we will ever need will be provided if we only trust in Him.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul.”

Give us this day our daily bread.

As the man returned to his journey up the Germanesca Valley, he recalled standing along the rushing waters of the mighty torrent that tore through the rocks. Like the sound of a roaring freight train, the angry waters thundered past into each falling abyss below. Thirsty, he longed for a drink. Around the next bend in the terrain, a waterfall fell from up above into the pearl blue basin. There, in the foreground of that thundering cascade swirled a beautiful pool of still waters. They beckoned him to come and sup. Bending down, the reflection of a bearded image stared back. He was not the young man he often thought of; rather, this man was aged, but his features showed an internal strength. Cupping his hands, he pulled up toward his face the fresh ice, cold water from the colorless liquid. He drank deeply, as the sweet water poured down his throat, overflowing his chin, it began quenching the deepest desires. He felt a fullness at that point, unlike ever before. The words came to mind, “He who drinks of this water will never thirst again.” The chill of the frigid water touched the core of his body as if his soul had drunk from the well; his spirit was likewise fed; “Restoreth my soul,” he said.

“He leads me down paths of righteousness for his namesake.”

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.

It was at this point that the man ran into another traveling companion that had ventured upon the same trail. His name was Stanley. He was the Pastor at a church in the Michigan area. He too was here with the same group with which the man was traveling. “Are you thinking about going further,” he asked.

Looking up at the distant peak, they both questioned the challenge that intrigued them both.

“Yes, but you know that the bus leaves at 4:00 pm,” the man replied. They both looked back up at the seemingly impossible climb.

Deep down inside, each man could hear the voice of one calling.

“How about we set ourselves a time limit, and when we reach that point, we have to agree to turn around; regardless,” the man said to the younger traveling companion.

“Okay,” Stanley quickly replied, “you got it.”

“We have to both agree that no matter what, no matter how beautiful it gets, we can’t keep going.”

“Agreed, the young pastor smiled broadly.”

Shaking hands, they took off and began the arduous climb.

Each winding turn in the goat trail that led upward kept turning back pages of scripture. It was as if God were rewinding each page of his life with the turn of each fragile page of the Word of God. Hand in hand he had lived his life with God watching over him, sometimes unknowing, other times purposeful; always led by the hand of the Lord. He literally had been led down God’s path of righteousness, but not of his own accord.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

When the two men had finally reached the peak. There was little time to commune with God. Sitting down, they both knew that this may the only time in this life that they might have the opportunity to reach this point on earth. Praying, they both sought His Majesties presence such that they would feel the Master’s place at their table. Around them, a gentle breeze blew, as raptors soared before them, floating effortlessly upon the unseen currents, slowly drifting past where they sat. Like a parade of God’s creatures great and small, the display of His creation came alive. Not far from their vantage point, wild mountain goats pranced in the snow, while nearby mountain ferrets chased one another in play.

Once they caught their breath, turning, their eyes followed the long dark chasm from which they had emerged. From this valley that had climbed. Below, in the shadows of the massive peaks upon which they now sat, the farthest reaches of the sunlight strained to find the earth. Where there was light, there was no darkness. Yet, even in the light of the midday sun, there were shadows upon the land. Like stains of memories returned, so many countless lives lost; blood scattered upon those very valley floors from whence they trod. Now, far beneath the soil, their memories not forgotten as the word from which the men quoted had remained alive; preserved by those martyrs of ancient times; the ancient Waldensians.

“He preparest a table before me in the presence of thine enemies.”

“And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”

Death was merely a shadow, and as such, they feared it not, for to live as Christ was as death, each a gain either way. The rod and staff of God had provided for them even in the darkest of times. When the soldiers came to eradicate them from their homes, they fled to this point, there where the two men sat, and beyond. To the upper reaches of the earth, where if not for safety, to be closer to my God and thee. There the angels carried many to their final resting place.

The pair sat solemn silence. The awe-inspiring scene before the two men left them speechless. Here, the closeness to God was unmistakable. As they dined on the meager fare from which they carried, clouds chased their images upon the nearby snow-capped peaks as the multitude of waterfalls spoke in hushed whispers.

The vantage point from above, so close to Him, so far from that terrestrial countenance that resided in the shadows of the peaks from which they had now climbed. Their apex but merely temporary achievement, but for that which they truly awaited was one far above this point.

There was nothing more one could say, so divine was the beauty before them.

“He anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over.”

Each man finished and sat in repose; their thoughts inward and upward.

“Stanley,” the man said turning to his newfound traveling companion, “we may never make it here again. This may be the only time in our earthly life that we see the world from this vantage point. Let us give thanks to God for all that we have and for this opportunity to share our meal in his presence.” Stanley nodded in agreement. It was then they both knelt in prayer and praised His holy name as one.

Silently and stoically they stood, walking back to the direction from whence they came. Back down to the lower reaches of that distant valley. There was little to say at that point. No words could encompass what they had just felt.

The man rounded the bend in the road, to the place where he had crossed the river many times. The water today was gray and angry. Its reflection was cold and forbidding. Inside, his heart he had been warmed by the memory of that journey now so seemingly far away. For a moment he wondered about Stanley and where it might be in life. Like strangers upon the road who travel along for a while, their union would become a memory for life; a shared point in time. Until that day when we shall all be called to Glory, then we shall reunite with those momentary acquaintances once more and dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Yes, as the psalmist wrote, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.”

“For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen”

 

Matthew 6:9-13, The Model Prayer

“Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.

10 Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.

11 Give us this day our daily bread.

12 And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

13 And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.”

 

23rd Psalm

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

 

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by | January 18, 2018 · 9:45 pm

A Silver Lining…

A Silver Lining

by Timothy W. Tron

“But the meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace.”-Psalm 37:11

For all that we do, we should seek to share the light within, so that someday we may stand before our creator and answer to what we did with our purpose in life. Somedays there are never-ending, uphill battles. We find ourselves consumed by seeming floods of overwhelming tasks, lists that are never completed, or papers that didn’t get graded. And then one day, out of nowhere, there comes that still small voice with a heart of gold that speaks to you, melting away everything else that has gone on before until it is the barest of essence, the beauty of the truth before you. It is in that instance, you realize God had placed you where you need to be.

It had been the end of a long week. Exams had finally taken place after countless delays due to inclement weather. As my footsteps took me back to my classroom, my mind was still reflecting on the unexpected witnessing that had just transpired. It was another memory for another line of keepsakes to collect, to place upon that shelf of life’s precious moments we someday will take down and hold carefully in the palms of our hands, turning over and over, exploring all the grace it had to offer. Nearing my classroom door, I realized my students had yet to be released after having taken their final exam. They instantly saw me and began telling me how each of them felt they did on the test. We were all relieved to have it over. Before we could finish saying goodbye, the bell rang and the instinct to flee set in. Before I knew it, the room had been fully evacuated save for a few stragglers. We said brief goodbyes, as my focus was on their last assignment to be turned in, one that I had futility reminded them as they barged for the exits, “Don’t forget to turn in your Dragon Flippers.” Part of our final review was a project we called, Dragon Flippers. Each student was given a chance to earn extra credit points toward their grade by completing the flip-page style folder, where we had the theme of the dreaded Math Dragon as part of the cover. The rubric required the cover of the review packet to have the image of a dragon and the words, “Math 2”. The artwork alone was the largest part of the points of the rubric, allowing my more artistic students a chance to finally shine.

Staring down at the small pile, it was obvious many of them hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to add more points this semester. There had been that long delay between when we started the review, and many had told me they had literally lost their packet. Yet, the ones that were in my “Turn-in” box were encouraging. Picking them up, it was then I realized I was not alone. Looking up ever so slightly out of the corner of my eye I noticed one last student who had remained behind. My eyes, still looking down at the completed projects in my own hand, followed their image to another one, but in the young man’s hands who now stood next to me.

“Oh, hello,” I said to him, a little surprised at him still being here. He had been one of the bright students from my fourth block class. He often would lag behind the others, never in a hurry, always with a pleasant goodbye. He was one of those whom we always think of when we speak of the ones that can make your day. The hallway was now that empty calm that follows the evacuation of students from school.

“I hope you did well on the exam?”

“Yes, Mr. Tron,” his hands were nervously holding his Dragon Flipper, “me too.” He smiled, looking down at what he held. He then presented his project to me and continued. His demeanor did not depict a sense of joy. There was a troubling mood that seemed to be covering something he wanted to say but was unsure of how to say it out loud. Before I could ask if something were wrong he quietly said it a serious tone, “I wanted to write you a letter, but I didn’t get time.” He handed over the work. Before me was the image of a young man standing with his back to you, looking into a mirror on a dresser before him. In the reflection of the mirror was the picture of the dragon, cleverly drawn looking back at the boy. His artwork was exceptional. As I admired his skill, he continued.

“I wanted to tell you what this meant,” he said, nodding toward the piece of work now in my hands. “You see, you taught me a lot more than math in your class this semester. I learned about life and about myself.”

At that moment, the sounds outside my room diminished to nothing. The world around us seemed to stand still. My eyesight found his staring back at me. As I fought back the rising surge of emotion in my throat he continued, “I followed your writings outside of class and was inspired by all that you said. You helped me understand that I was living not like I should and that the dragon was me.”

Inside, my heart was pounding. I could hear the words he said, but it didn’t make sense. Before me stood the meekest, quietest student, I had ever taught. He worked hard and only spoke up in class when he had questions. His work was never late, and he nearly had an A before he took the final exam, so how could anyone so seemingly perfect on the outside struggle so within? It didn’t add up. At some point, I had handed the packet back to him to explain. He then opened the cover and began to show me how and why. There before me at the top of the page, my eyes instantly fell upon the Bible verse, “Ephesians 6:10-18

“Can this get any more precious,” were the thoughts that raced through my head?

“You see, the dragon was me, and I had to learn how to control the beast within.”

In complete awe, my eyes took in the beautiful artwork the young man had carefully created.

There drawn as the rubric had asked, were the various armaments described in the scripture passage of Ephesians, “The breastplate of righteousness, the helmet of salvation, the shield of faith, the sword of the Word (or Spirit as he had written), and the belt of truth.” To him, these were all the implements of war that he had used to rage against the demon within his own being. Through my tear-rimmed eyes, he shared with me the remainder of the project. There was little I could add, nor could say at the moment, so choked up was I with compassion for the young man. In many respects, he was me at his age; yet, he seemed so much more advanced and in control of his destiny than I had been. The questions still poured out of my head faster than I could grasp.

“I also wanted to tell you goodbye. I will not be returning to school next semester. My family will be leaving the area, so this will be the last time I see you.”

I was speechless. The dragon within, the scripture of Ephesians, he had been inspired beyond my classroom; it was all so much to take in. I could feel the hand of God upon us both at that moment.

“The meek surely shall inherit the earth, for peace is upon his soul,” came the words to my mind.

Through my choked voice, all I could squeak out was, “You’ll have to stay in touch, you’ll just have to stay in touch.”

He pulled his backpack closer around his shoulders, then reached out his hand. We shook goodbye, and he walked out the door of room 3212 for the last time. With him, my prayers followed.

My mind was numb with the grace of God.

In teaching, we yearn for those, too few, precious moments when it has all come to fruition; those tender scenes when we receive thanks in ways we had never imagined. Knowing that as with any position of servitude, we aren’t here for the monetary gains. With each day that passes, we seek to find that cloud with the silver lining in a world of ever-increasing clouds.

Somedays, we find that perfect cloud, and like those fleeing images above, for a moment we find God’s grace among us.

In all that we do, may we continue to give God thanks.

Thanks be to God.

“Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God: Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints; And for me, that utterance may be given unto me, that I may open my mouth boldly, to make known the mystery of the gospel,
”-Ephesians 6:13-19

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by | December 23, 2017 · 8:25 am

The Gift…

It is the season of giving.

Yet, in all of the giving, we have often heard, “It is better to give than to receive.” The receiving is where we often struggle, at least I do.

It had been a long week at school. The culmination of events and teaching was the delicious meal provided by Daniel Boone Inn to our faculty and staff. Once the students had all departed, we sat down, and for what had seemed like an eternity, came together as one body, fellowshipping, sharing, and breaking bread together. It was a precious ending to a challenging semester. Afterward, my plans for the day were simple; just do a little Christmas shopping, as much as my meager teacher’s salary would allow, and then later that evening meet with brothers to study God’s word.

As I pulled the door closed behind me and I walked away from my classroom, a thought, or more rather, a command came to mind, “Go spend time alone with Him.” The image of the Christian bookstore down the road instantly flashed in my head, the warm lights, the inviting cushioned chairs, and rows and rows of biblical writings: God. For months I had been hoping to acquire a copy of the 1560 Geneva Bible. But a growing need to have a Bible that allowed me to further study and research the Word in preparation for speaking was becoming more important. So, as I walked out of Watauga High School for the beginning of my Christmas break, my afternoon of relaxation began.

The darkness seemed to come quicker. It was the day before the winter solstice, and as such, nightfall was sooner than I had recalled in recent weeks, or was it more like I was passing time in a manner to which I was unaccustomed? As I pulled into the parking lot of the Cornerstone Christian Bookstore, the warm, glowing lights from within painted a picture of a Thomas Kincaid painting, welcoming me in. From having visited the store many times before, I knew exactly where I wanted to go, but just stepping inside the doors, it was as if I had been welcomed home.

From that point forward, time seemed to slow to a crawl and then stopped.

There was the 1560 Geneva Bible, but the need, or He, pushed me to another aisle, to go where was my purpose that called. There was literally a KJV row, all to its own. “Unbelievable,” I mused to myself. The ancient voices smiled in my heart. As I opened one Bible after another to compare, I made it a point to use the gospel of John; it was important to compare apples, to apples.  Like a kid in a candy store, I was surrounded by a plethora of choices, all good, all exciting. Like no other time in the history of what I knew, I could literally stand amongst stacks of God’s Word, all with same words, but all different in their format. Like the students in our classrooms, all different, but all special in their own way. Beautiful covers that protected the insides were as luxurious as were those precious letters within. He was all around me, and I was with Him.

One by one other shoppers passed. At first their presence didn’t break through my focus, but eventually, that voice once more said, “I send you out into the world not to keep my Word a secret, but share, yes, share.” Like a sleeper awakening from a deep sleep, I began trying to talk to those passing shoppers. Cordially they responded, and each began a conversation as if we had known one another for some time, each of us there as one, because of Him.

Time was not in my immediate thoughts, but aware in the back of my mind of my upcoming meeting, I pulled out my phone and checked the time. The display read something, but it didn’t click. There was no focus now for where or what was later. It was as if He was erasing everything beyond the walls of the store; He wanted me all to his own, like a selfish lover, just He and I.

Another shopper, another conversation on the Word before me and soon, I began spilling the truth like hot, fresh coffee for a welcome friend. The lady to whom I spoke last had a connection to one of the men with whom I was about to go meet. In fact, the similarities in our unknown paths quickly made the hair begin to stand up on the back of my neck, and the chill bumps rise on my flesh. Even now in this writing, I can feel that moment once more. It was as if God had placed us there to meet for His purpose. She too was interested in the exact same version that I was beginning to settle on. However, there was only one with tabs, something else that was quickly growing on me.

To understand the significance of this choice, I would have to go back a full year, but suffice it to say, that same man that I was meeting of whom I’ve already spoken, had suggested it one year before. Yet, in my

procrastination to buy it, the name had slipped my mind. Searching my device for the name, for which I knew I had taken note, I couldn’t find it anywhere. So, with a faint feeling of confirmation, it had become my focus. When the lady said that her husband would use it to preach, I demanded she take it, for there was none other like it on the shelf. She insisted no, that there would certainly be another one possibly in their back room. I acquiesced, but begrudgingly, after all, it seemed God had crossed our paths for a reason.

I placed the beautiful new Bible back in its box and in a dream-like manner and walked toward the check-out counter to pay. All of this time, the price of the book had not seemed to register. It was much more than I had available in my budget for a gift. Then there was this unobtrusive thought that had preceded my visit, “You need to get a gift for yourself a reward, if you will, for making it through another semester.” Yet, the unselfish part of me quipped, “It was a gift for me, from me?” Questions that would normally surface seemed to have vanished as I now faced the counter and placed it in the hands of the cashier.

“Can I get my name engraved,” I asked. Years earlier I had purchased another Bible here, and the purchase included name engravings.

“Certainly,” she smiled.

“Do you happen to have another copy like this one, with tabs in the back,” I continued, “There was a lady over there that wanted one for her husband, but this was the only one we saw on the shelf.”

“I can check,” she said and stepped away returning shortly, “No, that was the only one.”

“Okay,” I looked down at the floor, and the words from the lady returned, “It is God’s will that you have it.”

Before she began ringing it up, she asked how I would like my name spelled on the cover. After she wrote down my response, she then continued putting the purchase into the computer. I pulled out my wallet and decided upon the piece of plastic this would fit. That faint feeling of guilt began to surface.

“Should I really be doing this?”

Before my logical side could answer the voice behind the counter said something and began to walk away with the Bible to the back to get it engraved. The words she used didn’t make sense. I stood there unsure of what to do next. I looked back down at the credit card that was pulled out, then back at the counter where the empty box lay. The world in that moment seemed to stop, there was no sound, no music, nothing.

The voice repeated in my head, “It’s taken care of.”

“Did she mean it was rung up? But I don’t recall handing her my credit card, or did I?”

That feeling of losing control mused with one of fear, apprehension of not understanding, all spiraled around me while I stood there dumbfounded at what to do next. People in line at the other register continued on like their world had never changed. Soon enough she returned and was carrying the empty box to the gift as she reached to continue the transaction on the screen before her. I presented my credit card toward her, and she said, “It’s been taken care of.”

“It,..it what,” I stammered in an odd questioning tone?

Time passed, her demeanor changed, and she became that Kindergarten teacher trying to reach a child who just doesn’t get it.

“Sir, your Bible has been paid for.” She smiled, and my heart melted

It was as if the hand of God reached down and lifted me up at that moment. Years of struggle, the voices of those ancient martyrs, the dark valleys through which we have trod, all came rushing back. I felt myself wanting to fall to my knees, but something kept me upright. I stumbled toward the side of the counter. “I must reach a chair soon,” I thought to myself, “or else I’m going to make a scene.” Pausing at the opening to the check-out, I gurgled through welling eyes and choked throat to the cashier, “I’ve..got…to…go…sit….down.” Before I could reach the chairs by the fireplace, tears were streaming down my face faster than I could wipe them away.

“This is not happening.”

“I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy,” were the words that came again and again. The questions flowed like the river from my eyes, but there were no answers.

“Get it together,” I told myself, “Come on kid, you’ve got to receive, …you’ve got to receive.”

We hear of people paying it forward. Those lines in the drive-through where you go to pay and someone behind you or in front of you had already paid for your meal. But this time, this was much more than a meal. This was many more times the value of any Happy Meal. This was beyond the food for the body; but rather, food for the soul.

One of my pastor friends once told me, “In our walk, we must also learn to receive as well as to give. We become a blessing to others, as well as to ourselves.”

But then again, in our walk of becoming Christians, we must also learn that part of our salvation in Christ is that we receive Him.

The greatest gift of all is receiving Jesus Christ into your heart.

There I sat, weeping uncontrollably as He once more came into my life.

“Yes, thank you God,” I whispered, as the gift was given.

Eventually, I regained control of my emotions enough to stand and recompose myself at the water fountain. Not wanting to make eye contact with anyone, I looked at anything inanimate, trying to keep my mind off of this moment as much as possible.

“Come on, get it together,” I kept telling myself.

There was movement to the side of me, and here she came, the cashier with the Bible in her hand. She didn’t speak, but held it out before me, and looked up. It was then I could see her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, “Here it is.” She placed it into the box and put the lid on, then handed it to me.

She began sobbing.

Once more I lost control as tears began streaming down my cheeks. We hugged and began thanking God together.

“This will be a wonderful Christmas,” she whispered through her crying.

“Thanks be to the Lord,” I tried to reply.

As we walked to the door, it was all I could do to recompose myself enough to find the entrance. As we said our goodbyes, the last thing I can recall saying was, “This is truly a Godsend.”

She answered, “Amen.”

As I walked into the coming night, it was apparent why He had sent me to the bookstore. It was never meant to be a gift from me.

It was a gift from God.

Thanks be to God.

“And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us and we beheld his Glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. John bared witness and cried, saying, “This is He of whom I spaketh, “There is one who has come after me, he was preferred before me, for He was before me. And of his fullness have all we received, and grace for grace.”-John 1: 14-15

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by | December 17, 2017 · 6:20 pm

Who will Rise Up for Me…

By Timothy W. Tron

“Who will rise up for me against the evildoers? or who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity?”-Psalm 94:16

(Dedicated to all those who lost their lives in Sutherland Springs, Texas.)

We heard the loud bang in the vestibule, but we didn’t give it a second thought, at least not until the doors that separated us from the outer room became ajar. From where I sat, I could see the guard’s leg lying on the floor. His foot had pushed the door barely open; it was then I realized something was dreadfully wrong. Before the words could come from my mouth, a madman burst in the door of the sanctuary opposite from where we sat. He was screaming obscenities while waving his AR-15 back and forth at faces frozen in fear as he marched toward the pulpit yelling, “Where was the mother f*!@*!er that had been f*!*!g his wife?” My heartbeat in my ears as I peaked over the pew from where our row had taken cover. From there I began looking for an angle from where I could take him out. He was moving too quickly for me to get a clear shot. Before we knew it, another one of our security team had done the job, taking out the active shooter from behind a column before he could advance any further and begin firing.

Fortunately, this had only been a drill.

We were taking part in a seminar on how to prepare for one of the most unfortunate events of our times; church shootings.

Each day we seem to awaken to more and more darkness in our world.

Before we began the program, we met in a separate room where our facilitator for the day was introduced. The mood was solemn. Before the presenter spoke, our host, quoted Psalm 94:16, “Who will rise up for me against the evildoers? or who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity?” He briefly discussed the reason we were there, which we all were very aware. The most recent mass shootings at the church in Texas had awakened many to the need to begin, or further strengthen their worship service security measures. Our facilitator was then introduced, and he gave some background references that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck; this was the real deal. Having had some military training, one would understand, for those that have also been there, that you know when someone is capable of walking the walk, not just talking the talk, and so it was with our teacher this day.

My mind thought of those ancient primitive church leaders who were persecuted for preserving the Word of God. After seeing thousands of their own slaughtered in one massacre after another, they realized that to survive to carry on their legacy and to continue the true faith, they must do as the Word says in many places; the faithful must use what God hath given them; the knowledge, the ability, and the power to persevere. Their decision was based on their full understanding of the Word. In a time when it was a matter of life or death, once again, the Word of God spoke to them; time after time. For instance, we can find in Psalm 144:1, “Of David. Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle;” Then again in the New Testament, Romans 13:4, “For he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.”

Several times in between the days of the Apostles, until the great awakening began in Europe, men like Joshua Janavel would take a stand and protect the Word with their lives using the sword. The persecutions of these primitive churches would increase as mankind passed the first millennium. By time Janavel came along, there had already been two-hundred years of slaughter and resistance. Janavel would become known as one of the greatest military leaders to come out of the Waldensian Valleys in the 17th century. He would lead his people against insurmountable odds, again and again, simply because he knew if God was with them, then who could stand against them. Their adversary, or rather, persecutor, was the Church of Rome. The church-state wanted full control of mankind’s soul and would stop at nothing to annihilate anyone who stood in their way, including those few renegade heretics in their country’s northern valleys who had received the Word directly from the Apostles.

Many during Janavel’s time and centuries before had succumbed to believing in taking the passivist role, and for that, they died. Had they all done the same, we might have never had the Word in its pure form that we have today. But because Janavel knew his Bible as well as he knew those valleys, he would go on to lead a tiny guerilla force against entire armies and survive. He would write of his methods and share them with other Waldenses, who also would overcome unthinkable odds. To this day, his tactics are still shared with Cadets in our own military, at the Army War College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

Janavel also believed that by fighting, he was doing God’s will. If one of his men cursed, he would force them to attend a Council of War, whereby they would be warned, that if it happened again, they could be put to death. This was the extreme belief Janavel held, in that God was using him and his people as vessels through which they were to do His will, not their own. So, before each battle, he would have his forces kneel in prayer, to ask for forgiveness of the lives they would take, but to also ask that God watch over them and protect them if it be His will. Because of Janavel and men like him, we can share the true Word and faith of Jesus Christ, without any adulterations, or misguided interpretations as the Church of Rome would have it.

Once more, we find ourselves on the verge of facing persecutions like in times of old. Around the world, this has already begun, and unfortunately, with time it will begin here as well. Our enemies are many, but we have been given the ability to protect our flocks, and a such, we should do all we can.

From that point forward in the lecture, my mind was back in Basic Training mode. The instruction was purely from a militaristic point of view, as it needed to be. To provide some insight as to the seriousness of the program, we were first all asked to unarm ourselves before beginning the exercise. The leader said that when we began, the simulation might become so real, that there would be some that might revert to their former training. He had known people to black out, allowing that trained instinct to take over, and as such, we needed to take the precaution to remove all live fire from the exercise; save for one person who was selected to be the guard, just in case.

For the remainder of the morning, we practiced one scenario after another, talked of tactics to take, and discussed options when using deadly force. In all, it was very surreal. As we were wrapping up, the facilitator said something that really hit home when he was describing the security team members you would need. He said, “You want to be sure you pick people who are true Christians, people that know where they are going, and those that are willing to give their lives to save others.” It was then that the cross and Jesus came back to the moment. When we step into our faith and honestly believe, we should no longer fear death; which was the teacher’s intent. “Those who fear dying, you do not want protecting your congregation,” he reminded us.

Once more, the solemnness overwhelmed us. Many sat staring off into the distance once the exercises had completed. Their minds reflecting on all that we heard and saw, but what was more disturbing, what was to come. Yet, when we walk in faith, we know that as times continue to the end of days, we already know what to expect, as scripture says in Mark 13:7, “And when you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed. This must take place, but the end is not yet.”

When my son and I signed up for the program, we didn’t realize we were actually taking part in a live exercise. We were not disappointed. However, we gained valuable insight as to what to expect and what we must try to anticipate in a world that is increasingly falling away from organization into chaos. We must continue to be the light in a dark world, no matter the cost.

In the end, if we know He is with us, who can be against us.

Thanks be to God.

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by | May 4, 2017 · 9:15 pm

Welcome Home, Dave, Welcome Home…

 Another soldier, and brother in Christ was called home today.

Brother Dave Murph went to that far distant shore. The first words he might have heard were, “Welcome home my son, I knew you’d come. Welcome home, you’re here for good. Look around, was it worth the wait? Welcome home, step through the gate.” These were the first few words of the chorus to the song recorded by Dave and the Gospel Plowboys called “Welcome Home”.

Tonight these poignant verses touch my heart deeply. One cannot help to sit and listen to this beautiful rendition of “Welcome Home,” by the Gospel Plowboys and think of Dave.

His passing has touched me in a way I can’t describe in mere words.

To know Dave was to know true faith.

Seeing him and the rest of the Gospel Plowboys for the first time, a few years back, in person at the Denton Bluegrass Festival was a treat in and of itself. I had heard them on recordings and videos on YouTube. I knew that someday our paths would cross. On that peaceful May evening, I heard the band like never before, in person. That is when I came to know the real David Murph and what his calling in life was meant to be. His witness there on stage that evening was nothing fake, no façade of an image for the sake of selling something, it wasn’t an act, it was the real deal. With his hand raised in testimony as he spoke, there was no rush for the need of getting to the show, for the sharing of God’s Word was what he felt in his heart and on his lips. Standing underneath the stage lights, their crisp white shirts stood in stark contrast to the blue of their Pointer Brand denim overalls and red matching ties. There was a statement in what they wore which matched as much who they were as much as what they were about. They were truly living for God.

It was that same moving evening that Dave had found me. It seemed we both had wanted to meet for some time. God had finally put us together, and from there a friendship grew. Our kinship was in Him, and through our personal commitments to follow God’s plan, we had crossed paths, and as such, we had a common goal; to share His Word in all we did; Dave through the music I loved, and myself through my writing. That weekend we met and talked about all that we shared and what Dave had hoped would someday be an article that we would hopefully submit to “Our State” magazine. In my interviews with the band, I learned how they would always pray on stage before starting their show or performance, regardless of where they were. One evening, at a Fiddler’s Convention Contest, they debated whether to pray before their competition. Knowing that they could be disqualified for praying beforehand, Dave told me, “It didn’t matter if we won or not, we were there to lift up God, and that’s just what we did.” That evening, they were never disqualified, never stopped, for after praying, they went on to play the winning songs that they became known for, and never looked back. It was who they were, there to serve Him.

However, that article we worked on that precious weekend was not meant to be. One thing after another kept putting off our editing and publication request. They performed near where we lived at the time at Cumnock Baptist Church. Looking back, I didn’t realize it would be the last time I would get to see Dave. We never know when or where we’ll be called home, but I know in my heart, Dave was ready. A few months later, I called Dave after seeing Rita, his devoted, lovely wife,  post an update on his health; it concerned me. When he answered the phone, we picked up right where we had left off; a friend is a friend no matter the distance or time. He shared with me his battle with his disease and how he knew God would lead him through whatever this world would put in his way. He wanted to know where I was in my life, so I talked with him of my own personal leap of faith. That day I was literally driving down the road on the way to start my new journey as the Director at the Trail of Faith. I told him how he had inspired me to go further in my faith, and for that, I was forever grateful. Once more, my friend was doing what God had intended for him to do, lift up others through his message. Although he was suffering and battling the disease that eventually claimed his life, he was not complaining, nor discouraged. He only wanted to get better so that he could continue the ministry God had placed before him. We said goodbye hoping to meet again soon, but it never happened. Dave went on to get well that particular time and eventually he and the Plowboys would make it to the Outer Banks Bluegrass Festival where I’m certain they found many more to whom they could share the faith. In the meantime, he and the Plowboys went on to record what would be Dave’s final album, titled, “The Gospel Plowboys – Welcome Home.”

The title cut says it all in a prophetic message that cannot be denied.

It wasn’t but just a few days ago that his wife Rita posted how he had become gravely ill. It didn’t seem right to know that a man my own age was so near death. It didn’t seem fair. He had so much more to give. But when the Father calls you home, you do not tarry, you do not delay.

As I walked home from Church last night, I could hear the sound of a lonesome whippoorwill calling. It was almost dark by the time I found the porch steps. The deep woods call of the lonely bird made me think of souls that had gone on and how in their journey to Heaven’s shore happens in the twinkling of an eye, leaving us sorrowful souls behind, alone in the dark to sing praises singularly until we too will one day be called home to sing in that Heavenly choir. Dave and our other bluegrass buddies like Randy Shumaker are surely there, jamming around that campfire along with so many who have already gone on, singing and rejoicing in the glow of God’s graces. They have so much to look forward to, and so much to share with us on the glorious day of reunion.

Somewhere I have the article that we started. I might find it and glean pieces from it that speak about Dave. Perhaps it will inspire me to write something, perhaps not; either way, there’s a wake in his passing that I cannot ignore.

A great man, a loving husband, a dear grandfather, and a brother in Christ has left us, and God has gained another angel.

See you soon Dave, until then, give God the glory and tell Him I said, Thanks.

Please lift up prayers for Rita and the rest of Dave’s family as they struggle through this time of loss and sorrow.

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by | April 15, 2017 · 5:58 pm

The Last Piece of Bread…

“30 Now it came to pass, as He sat at the table with them, that He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. 31 Then their eyes were opened and they knew Him; and He vanished from their sight.”-Luke 24:30

Sometimes we find ourselves rushing through this world, missing the blessings that exist before our very eyes. Then sometimes, we are lucky enough to catch that glimpse of something that appears to us which we seemingly cannot believe.

This past Thursday evening, I had just finished a day of testing my students in the last unit before Spring Break. The next day at school would be filled with fun activities that required very little in preparation. Outside the window, the sunshine and blue skies had beckoned all the day long. When my car finally pulled into our driveway, and I opened the door, the fresh air and sound of the woods enveloped me. There was something calling me. So as quickly as I could eat a bite, I found my walking stick, hat, and hiking shoes and set out the back door into the forest beyond.

My anticipation quickened my heartbeat matching those of my footsteps below.

When Mary reported back to the disciples that she had seen something at the tomb, Peter and John rushed out the door, their hearts beating nearly out of their chests. Their minds were ablaze with the impossibility; was He truly alive? Could Mary have been seeing things? Her fervent testimony left no doubt, so they ran onward. Their anticipation drove them faster. As they raced, memories of His teaching drifted back into their consciousness.

As my footsteps traveled along the cool, shadowed pathway, my mind wandered back to the previous week where a walk like this was a strain. I had been fighting a serious head cold, and it was nearly all I could do then to walk the new trail my friend Leroy wanted to show me. It was a wonderful walk along a continual waterfall that ran parallel to us. Opposite to the stream was a grove of Poplar trees. As we walked along, I couldn’t help trying to spy to see if there were any morels along the way. The undergrowth on the forest floor was nearly non-existent, which meant there was little hope of finding any of the precious little mushrooms during that day. From my experience hunting the elusive forest food, I knew that the lack of greenery usually meant it was too early I the season. Usually, they only grow in certain soils in particular weather just about this time each year. In other words, they are difficult to find.

Here I was a week later with the sun slowly setting. Time was running out. I hesitantly put the hopes of finding any morels this season to rest. It was more likely that it would be another year before we might be lucky enough to find them in the new area we call home; that’s just the way it would be.

John literally outran Peter, reaching the edge of the tomb. As he leaned against the round boulder that had the previous day covered the entrance to the crypt, he could smell the dampness of the inner chamber. His legs quivered with fear and excitement. “Was his Savior inside?” There was something that kept him from entering. Around the bend, he could hear the footsteps of Peter coming, yet he could not move. Was it fearing to find the brutally ravaged body of Christ that he dreaded to see once more? Was it the fear of a spirit he hastened to witness? It wasn’t until Peter rounded that curve and came into sight did his courage return.

Like so many of us that go into the world today to witness for Him, we fearfully stand outside the realm of those who need our words the most. We fall short of speaking to others the very thing they need most, the Truth. We cannot go it alone.

Onward I pushed, happy to be out in the sunshine and finally feeling more like myself. As I walked, I began lifting up prayers to God. Before long, I was being filled with his Holy Spirit. He was filling my mind with a multitude of things of which I couldn’t keep track. My cup was surely overflowing.

As the two disciples walked along the road to Emmaus, they were met with a stranger who joined them. They began speaking with him, and he opened their minds to all the scriptures. Even so doing, they did not realize it was Christ who was with them. They reached a point where they were to part with this new-found friend. Yet, so moved were they by his testimony that they kept him as the scriptures described, “But they constrained Him, saying, “Abide with us, for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent.” And He went in to stay with them.”

Just as their minds were overflowing with the words of Jesus, they had yet to fully realize the implications of what they were experiencing.

As my feet trod, one in front of the other, I was nearly singing His praises when I rounded the bend and began an uphill trek. Raindrops started to fall. There had been mention of a possible shower, but not today. I looked toward the distant mountain tops and saw scattered dark clouds. I hastened my footsteps yet again. As my focused changed from spirituality to the now, I realized the darkness growing about me.

Another turn, another bend, and then suddenly, there it was.

As those travelers on the road to Emmaus sat around the table with Jesus, talking and sharing, they still didn’t realize what was before them until their focus was brought to the “Here and Now,” when Jesus broke the bread. Now it came to pass, as He sat at the table with them, that He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. 31 Then their eyes were opened and they knew Him; and He vanished from their sight.”-

Once the bread was broken, their bodies, predictably hungry from their days walk, pushed aside for the moment, their amazement of what that had heard and spoke about during their miraculous journey. It was then, they suddenly realized in whose presence they were, and had been for the majority of their day.

There, in the middle of the rocky trail, barely covered by any soil, stood a single morel.

I shouted out loud, “THANK YOU LORD JESUS!”

Those seated around the table that evening, when he broke the bread and blessed it, were about to witness the unbelievable. When He handed each of them their own piece of bread, their eyes were opened as had their minds been earlier in the day. It was then they realized who He was, and in that instant, He vanished before their eyes.

Did they shout, “THANK YOU LORD JESUS?”

Did they pause as they held the very bread of which Christ had handed them?

There before me was something that grew in such a rare occurrence, it could be said to be Heaven sent. No, it was not Christ, and no, it was not something miraculous, but it was a blessing so unexpected, it took my breath away.

I hesitated before bending down to pick up the precious morsel, then looked to Heavens. The rain had paused, and a shaft of sunlight shone down through the canopy above. “Thank you, Lord, for this blessing,” I whispered out loud.  I know in my heart that at that very moment those disciples too felt the urge to call out to God and thank Him for His Son.

We are all so very blessed.

One can only imagine that moment, that very minute when those disciples were handed that piece of food, and then to have Him seated before them.

Manna was sent from God to keep His children alive as they wandered those long years through the desert. That manna became their bread of life. Jesus died for our sins, so that we may have eternal life. He became our bread of life so that we may have eternal life, if only we accept Him into our hearts. We confess with our mouths our sins we believe with our hearts. When we consume the bread of life, we are taking that which is perishable which represents that which is not, Christ.

A morel, in a way, is like manna from Heaven. It is something that we might eat, sustaining our bodies while allowing us to give thanks to Him for providing something that is so uniquely special, it can only be a gift from God.

One morel, one last piece of bread from the hand of God, each one a blessing to those who receive.

This Easter, let us be thankful for a God, who gave His Only Son so that we might have salvation and eternal life. We need only recognize Him, and accept Him into our hearts when we confess our sins.

Blessed be Thy Name,

Thanks Be to God.

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by | April 9, 2017 · 8:59 pm

The Promise of My Father…

“Behold, I send the Promise of My Father upon you; but tarry in the city of Jerusalem[i] until you are endued with power from on high.”-Luke 24:49

Nothing excites me more than when someone brings up the power of the Holy Spirit.

In my life, there has been nothing as real and as powerful as the feeling when one is endued with the power on high. It is understood that for some, this statement is only that, a statement of words that are indescribable since there is nothing for which they might perceive to compare it with. Now before I go any further, I want to reiterate with the utmost integrity, that this is not being boastful or prideful; it comes from the perspective as one awakening to a new feeling that until now, might have been missed or even overlooked. To understand what I mean, I must begin at the beginning. Then, and only then, we might come to have a basis for what it is to “Receive” the Holy Spirit.

In Jesus time, he repeatedly spoke to the disciples of how they would receive the Holy Spirit, the Helper, as he called it, who would be with them after he was gone. “But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all things that I said to you.”-John 14:26

Their eyes seemed to always be on the present, unable to grasp the prophecy to which Jesus was constantly alluding. Who can blame them? Here they were in the midst of the true Son of God, the Messiah, the miracle worker. Daily they witnessed the unbelievable, every day they saw gross deformities become healed, the demon possessed cleansed, and the dead arise from their deathbeds. How could they look beyond when there were so many amazing things happening right before them? It’s ironic that today, unlike those of the disciples, we are distracted by the plans of the coming day, the week ahead, the calendar, and all that must be done in the days’ time. We are so focused on what is next, we too often miss what is right before us, and this is where we begin to overlook the obvious, the miracles in our lives that appear and are gone before we take the time to reflect upon them. Unlike the disciples, we cannot focus on the present, when all we do is look ahead. They were the opposite, unable to look ahead due to what was before them.

Call it the irony of God.

What is the common thread between the two ironies; the presence of Jesus Christ of course?

When He is with us, we are relieved of our daily burdens. The future is a distant memory. Those distractions that kept us from our daily scripture slowly fade to dark as the light of the Word illuminates our hearts with the truth. Like those disciples, we have little concern for the future when all we need is here with us.

Yet, too many times, we slip in our walk of faith and fall back into that daily rut of trying to keep pace with the world around us. At this same time, we also miss the opportunity to accept and to recognize when we are in the presence of the Holy Spirit. We rush from one appointment, one event to the next and miss what often matters most. In these precious moments, we too often fail to accept the power from on high. When, and only when, our minds are one with God, can we fully embrace and receive Him. It is then when we are still and listening to that small voice, are we suddenly flooded from head to toe with a power so incredible, so electrifying, that one can barely keep their feet upon the very ground upon which they trod. It is then when we are overflowing with the Spirit that we find ourselves at a new and higher ground in our spiritual walk with God; greater than ever before.

Yet, this is not just something we can call upon, for it to happen. It is a power from on high, and as such, is only Heaven sent. That’s why Jesus told his disciples to go to Jerusalem and wait; wait for the Holy Spirit. They were instructed to call upon the Spirit, but to wait. Although their eyes had been opened to the scriptures, they still were required to wait for the Spirit.

One can have all the knowledge, knowing, and understanding of the entire Biblical encyclopedia but without the Holy Spirit, it is just that, only knowledge. The true power to go and do His will is when the two are combined as one: The Holy Spirit with the mind of the disciple. This is what Jesus had prepared his followers for once he was gone. He knew that without the Helper, they would be fearful of what they did not know, they would be hesitant to journey to those distant lands; therefore, they needed something that was greater than they were capable of conceiving, the Holy Spirit.

Walking with Jesus each day, we now have Him within us, as we carry the Word. With our understanding comes wisdom. Yet, it only takes us so far, we must also wait for that Spirit to be endued within each of us, lest we fall and stumble before we are ready to set out on our mission.

So now we are ready to speak of what it is to receive the Holy Spirit.

As we continue our daily walk in faith, we learn more and more about what it is to be a Christian or Christ-like. When we do, journey in our faith, we slowly awaken or become aware of things we might have overlooked that we now understand. Scriptures we once read as a matter-of-fact take on new meanings. The world around us becomes brighter, for in everything we see, we the Creator’s hand. Our senses become heightened to new realities we never understood. One of these is when we are filled with the Holy Spirit; whether we believe it or not.

Now for some, the realization, or the indwelling of the Spirit comes as a shock. For them, it is an instantaneous blast of heavenly power that is absolutely, positively, without-a-doubt, the Holy Spirit. Sometimes these people, in that moment of receiving the Spirit, lose their conscious minds and fall to the floor. In these cases, there is no mistaking when that person has received the Holy Spirit. I’ve witnessed these before and just to be there in their presence is as powerful as their receiving; it is a moving and emotional experience for all.

Then there are the subtler occasions when we have only been induced from without by the power so subtlety that one might mistake it for a chill, rather than the Spirit. Those moments when we see the unexplainable, like the light from spirits moving before a camera when there were just seconds before and saw nothing. Or the time when someone spoke a word, then the door blew open and a cold breeze wisped across your feet. Or the time when you felt the hand upon your shoulder pull you back, just as you were about to step off the curb just as the out of control car blew passed where you were about to step. When you turned to thank them, there was nobody there. These are the events that might escape our perception if we are not one with Him. Many explain them away as mere coincidence while others bring in the pagan beliefs of ghosts or hauntings. The realization of the truth escapes them. It is not until they call on His name, do they start to realize what it is to be overcome with the Spirit.

In time, we eventually awaken to the Holy Spirit. It is then, in those rare moments when we finally recognize that surge of voltage through our core, that shakes the nerve endings into a tingling sensation that almost lift us off the floor; these are the God knowing moments when your world changes forever; the enduing. Those who have felt it sometimes cannot explain it. Like Ezekiel trying to explain what he couldn’t understand in the vision of the Heavenly being, there are God things that are beyond our comprehension. We only can explain what we know, and in that manner, our words are sometimes not enough.

Many have felt the presence of the Lord, and in various forms. Their stories are a testimony to the power of believing.

A good friend and brother in Christ, Doug Stuart, experienced the power of the Spirit at a time when he needed it the most; his mother’s funeral. Doug was preparing to sing and speak at her service when he was suddenly overcome with doubt and fear. I’ve known Doug for several years, and to hear him say that he would be unable to speak or to perform would be unbelievable, yet there he was, moments away from failing his mother’s dying wishes. At that moment, he knew there was only one thing he could do; to pray to God for strength. It was then he described what it was to feel the power of the Holy Spirit come over him, like a gentle warmth of the Heavenly Father, wrapping him in love, lifting him up and giving him the strength to carry on. Yes, God was with my friend, and within my brother. He not only sang but spoke at length of his mother’s wonderful life. The son testifying for his mother, a love known like no other.

My cousin Davetta got the phone call from her mother telling her that my father had awakened out of the coma he had fallen within during one of the later hospital visits in his life. I remember that day as well. It was a miracle in and of itself. The doctors had said that they should call the family in since the end was near. Davetta said that she felt the power of the Holy Spirit come over her after that phone call. She remained lifted up from that feeling for the remainder of the day. The same thing happened when her Aunt had the same experience, she once again was endued from on high and was renewed with a feeling of Spirit so great that it literally changed each of those days in her life. She was blessed each time by the hand of the Lord.

Personally, I had felt the power of the Spirit before, but it was something that I didn’t understand or able to recognize. It wasn’t until I openly committed my life to following the Lord that I became aware of when the Spirit was with me. It started when I was serving at the Trail of Faith. Again, and again, there would be the tour where we would be witnessing about the story of the Waldensian people, when suddenly, never at the same place, never at the same time in the tour, the power of the Holy Spirit would come down upon myself and those around me. It wasn’t something that I singularly felt because those before me would speak, shout, or sometimes cry with joy. It was an utterly rapturous experience, time and time again. There was one tour in particular that I will never forget. Pastor Rick was there with his wife and a friend. We started out early that day because the visitor had to be heading back to Michigan. Something about the tour was different from the start. We began the tour at the map inside the Visitor’s Center, which was not uncommon. For special guests or tours, we often would begin the tour with a prayer. That day, the Holy Spirit came on us immediately. We continued feeling blessed already, but it wasn’t the end of the story. Sporadically as we made our way down the trail we would stop and pray, each time, once again, the Spirit came down. Each time it happened, the power grew greater. The final time, we stopped in the parking lot as they were about to depart and said a final prayer. It was then I felt as if I were being lifted off the ground, so great was the electric surge through my body. The hands of those I held could feel it through me as well. It was something to behold, and something that I’ll never soon forget.

However, this was not to be the last. God’s plan was not yet finished.

Before I knew it, the place I thought was to be the fulfillment of my calling turned out to be just a stepping stone.

Whenever, and wherever God leads, once you begin the journey, you must go. No matter the circumstance, no matter the location, there is purpose in everything we do.

So, when they day came that I found myself employed part-time at the Ski Slope in Blowing Rock, I had to shake my head in bewilderment. Somewhere in that place, there was a purpose for my being there other than to pay for affordable ski lift tickets for my children. Within a few hours of my second day, the purpose was unveiled, and eventually, I would find a brother in Christ in need. Week after week, we came to know one another and in that time, when we would spend extended lunch session studying scripture, there He was once more with us. In that dimly lit corner of the ski lodge, brother’s in arms became united in spirit, being filled from on high by the one true Spirit. We found purpose and another brother found his calling. More than once as we witnessed to each other, and soon, those around us, we both felt the power of the Holy Spirit moving in the one of the most unlikeliest of places.

In my journey, there is one thing I have discovered. You may never know when and where it will happen, but one thing is for sure, to witness to others is one of the best ways to make it happen.

As one of the last final commands by Jesus to his disciples was to fulfill the great commission, to go unto all foreign lands after having been endued with the Holy Spirit, making disciples for Christ. “But you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be witnesses to Me in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” – Acts 1:8

We too, are to go out into the world once we have truly received Christ into our hearts, and having been filled with the Holy Spirit. It is our purpose and our calling as Christians to go and witness the wondrous truth of God’s love and the victory we have over death when we follow the one who died for all our sins.

We have a choice. Allow the Holy Spirit to fill you to overflowing, and when you have received, go forth and share.

You’ll never look back.

Thanks be to God.

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by | February 21, 2017 · 9:21 pm

Strength to Carry On…

“For You have armed me with strength for the battle; You have subdued under me those who rose up against me.” -Psalm 18:39

Standing facing the biting cold, as ice pellets from the snow guns burn the flesh on my skin, I wait for the next person in line to come to me. My job; to check the lift ticket for an expiration time and date. My toes are so cold that the feeling has left them, now a numbness matches those of my fingers. “There must be a purpose for my being here,” comes the thought. “Why must I suffer so?” My mind drifts back to another time of struggle, another time of physical hardship.

The dark water swirls around him as he fights to remain afloat. The tiny frame of a boy’s body barely has enough flesh to cover his bones, let alone any fat to help keep him afloat. Tirelessly he battles the fluid that tries to pull him under while struggling to keep his chin above the surface. His thin arms barely have enough strength to continue, but the merit badge requires a full 30 minutes to tread water; so he battles on. He thinks of what he must do in order to succeed. He cannot fail, for failure is not an option in his young mind. From the edge of the dock, the lifeguard yells at him to keep kicking, “Use your cross stroke…don’t give up.” The voice sounds distant, as if in another world. His breath labors as a numbness begins to drift from his mind to his legs. The void below he no longer fears as a certain calmness flows across his consciousness. Above him, the blue sky seems endless as if there is no end to its height. In his last moments he feels his body drifting toward the eternal blueness beyond; then nothing except the gentle hands of those raising his nearly lifeless body from the void. He had made the time, but his tiny frame was nearly spent. He breathed in the air and faced the sky above as he lay on the dock listening to the waves rippling against the wood. Calmness overwhelmed him as peace enveloped his being; God was there.

The mind drifts onward; another place another time. Sweat trickles down his spine, tickling as it runs the length of his body. The heat creates wavering ripples of vision across the tarmac before him. He stands at parade rest along with the rest of his squadron. Attired in their dress blues, their presence underneath the blistering Texas sky is all the more picture perfect. No one can move a muscle lest they face infractions for the inspection. Today is the General’s Parade, the last of their training at the San Antonio facility where the Basic Training for Flight 61 has taken place over the last six weeks.

The young Airmen doesn’t flinch as gnats crawl in and out of his nose, stinging his eyes as they crawl about every orifice mercilessly. He pushes the feeling from his mind, welcoming the return of the numbness experienced once before in his life, a feeling of calmness when darkness whispers into one’s ear. He again begs the question, “Why am I here, and what is my purpose.” There is no response. There is no breeze. The breath of the asphalt overwhelms even the faintest hint of cool as the mind races to find something with which to grasp onto. A hope, a prayer, anything to relinquish it from the here and now. The conscious mind searches the depths of the soul for memories upon which to dwell. Fighting through the suffocating air, labored breath comes. He tries to focus, but blurred eyes find little comfort. “Lord take me away from here, give me relief, show me the way,” he whispers under his breath. His leg nearly buckles as he recalls the instructions not to lock your knees. He hesitantly, but carefully shakes it off. Two rows over another airman falls backward, passed out before he hit the pavement. The thud of his body hitting the ground leaves an eerie sound etched into their collective memories. Across the parade grounds, onlookers peered through veiled eyes as they searched for their loved ones, hoping the fallen were not theirs. A wisp of a breeze gently caresses the flag near the crowd, too far away for relief. Too far away to be felt. Comfort. Too far away; too far…away. “God will surely give me comfort.”

The images fade as the wind picks up.

The snow swirls around like sheets on a clothesline blowing in the wind on a summer’s day. One by one, through the whiteness they come, shuffling their skis as the inch toward the gate. I check them through blurred eyes; blurred not from sweat, but rather, from cold and blinding snow. There is a purpose in my being here. “He would not have it, if it were not so,” I tell myself. “In His time, it will become evident.”

Little did I know, it had already begun.

When we begin our walk with Christ, our journey can lead us anywhere at anytime. We have a purpose in life wherever we go once the journey begins.

And so it is.

Although I might never have envisioned myself working at a Ski Slope part-time, I have found that in everything we do, there is purpose when we serve a living God. There is so much more to tell, but all in due time.

All in due time.

Thanks be to God.

You can learn more about God’s plan for my journey at Mission to Ride.

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