Under the overcast, grey sky, a chilly wind blew across the John’s River. The water, a fluid tepid green, like the lifeblood of the forest, flowed past our church’s parking lot. We were setting up for another “Parking Lot Preaching,” at Rocky Springs Baptist Church. Yet, another one of the new “normals” since the start of the lock-down of social distancing by our State government. Each Sunday since the beginning of this COVID-19 crackdown on social gathering, we have had our church services outside. No two times are ever the same.
Rocky Springs Baptist Church alongside the John’s River, Collettsville, NC.
On the mountainside across from where we stood, the trees
were now all springing for the fresh greenery of new leaves. This past month,
we’ve been blessed to watch the progression of seasons unfold. As Pastor Joe
speaks, my eyes wander through the forest across the narrow body of water. Like
the many passages of scripture, each limb, root, and leaf reveal another
mystery yet to unfold. Slowly, like the buds giving way to leaves, our outside
church has evolved, becoming better each week. Below the fauna, under the
shadows of the overhanging undergrowth, a momma wild duck and her brood of
ducklings floated past. The signs of spring were showing their bountiful glory
even within the unprecedented times in which we were living.
Regardless of what mankind was experiencing, the earth was
returning to life.
I awoke this past Sunday morning with the feeling that our
outdoor services were like a string of Easter Sunrise services. Typically, once
a year, to celebrate the Resurrection of Christ, congregations shed the walls
of their church for that of an outdoor sanctuary. Once churches were allowed to
provide the safe-distancing option of staying in their cars during preaching,
we’ve been hosting the Sunday morning and Wednesday evening services
out-of-doors, under the open sky in our parking lot that adjoins the scenic
John’s River in Collettsville, NC. Although we’re not hosting the services at
dawn, there is always the nostalgic feeling of those pre-dawn preparations for
when we did. Probably more than anything, one gets a sense of worshipping God
within the element of his creation, the earth. To feel the chill of the crisp
morning air upon your countenance brings an absolute reality to the message.
The physicalness of holding the page of your Bible down, lest the wind, like a
silent hand, turn it for you, reminds us that we are not alone. “The wind
bloweth where it may, yet we cannot tell from whence it came, neither where it
goeth.”
As we live in the flesh, we experience life through our
terrestrial being. We are only capable of understanding what we have seen or
learned through what limited abilities with which we are born. To know any more
than that requires intellect. Even when Nicodemus inquired to Jesus under the
cover darkness how these things could be, Jesus replied with, “Art thou a
master of Israel, and knowest not these things? Verily, verily, I say unto
thee, We speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive
not our witness. If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how
shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?” [1]
It is our innate mental capacity that allows the Holy Spirit
to dwell within our human spirit. It is within this spiritual realm that we
rise above all other God’s creations. It is because of our ability to read the
message given over 2,000 years ago, and through it, that we may receive the
divine Spirit of God. When we find ourselves removed from the man-made
structures in which we usually spend our Sunday mornings, we are then brought
closer to the rest of our Creators magnificent works. Like those meals cooked
over the open fire, food seems to always taste better prepared outside.
Likewise, the bread of life when received out of doors is more delectable than
honey. Yes, the Word of God takes on a whole new perspective when one worships
under the canopy of clear blue skies rather than a painted ceiling.
The actor, Jonathan Roumie, who plays Jesus of Nazareth in the YouTube TV series, “The Chosen,” was interviewed about his role and how it affected him as a person. He replied that although he felt comfortable acting the part of the “human side” of Christ, that it was far beyond his abilities to convey the divine side of Jesus. Roumie said that he did his best to fulfill what he perceived of Christ’s human actions, but left it up to God to work through him to allow the viewers to see God through his character. In other words, Roumie could take care of the physical nature of his role of Jesus, but knew it was beyond him to act out what God was doing through the real Jesus Christ; that was up to the Holy Spirit.
Similarly, it was through the death of Christ in the flesh,
which took away the curse of Adam upon the world. Through the blood of Christ,
the door was opened once again for all of God’s children. Because of the
sacrificial lamb upon the cross, we can with, “boldness enter into the
holiest by the blood of Jesus, By a new and living way, which he hath
consecrated for us, through the veil, that is to say, his flesh;”
It was because of Christ’s flesh that we were saved, and it
is through our flesh that we experience the temptations to sin. The irony is
purely God. When we receive salvation, we are made anew, and we no longer seek
those fleshly rewards. When we are changed, we are then more capable of
connecting to God’s earthly creation, and to His living word. When we have
received Christ into our lives, we can see God’s handiwork more readily, and
because of it, we see with new eyes. When you see with open eyes, the world in
which we live changes. The colors of the flowers seem brighter, the sounds of
the forest birds more animated, and the sunsets appear more grandeur. In some small
way, we get a tiny glimpse of heaven on earth.
While we face challenging times like never before, we must
know that God has a purpose in everything.
Embrace that new normal and let God open your eyes to those
things which we have taken for granted too long. Seek, and ye shall find Him,
knock, and the door shall be opened. Enjoy those outdoor services while you
still can and look upon them with a renewed appreciation.
May each day be another sunrise upon the empty tomb.
This evening, the news of a famous retired basketball player
dying in a helicopter crash has caused many in our nation to take pause. He was
only 41. His life, one of a truly, gifted and amazing athlete, was followed by
wealth and fame. Sadly, it is now all gone. What will remain are the memories
and legacies to which he may have imparted; be they good or bad, as a two-edged
sword, we may never know.
Each morning we awaken, we are afforded another precious
gift; another day of life. We should never take one of them for granted, for we
never know when this may be our last.
Today I was afforded the blessing of meeting a friend at a
church on the mountain, one that he was looking at possibly joining in the future.
As I drove along the winding road, there was much to reflect upon. Overhead,
the skies were a crystalline clear as the John’s river’s icy waters. Their reflection
of earth’s outer sphere, like a deep cerulean blue, gave the rising sun
something with which to compete for the beauty and majesty. As my car drove up
the mountain, the sunrise cast long shadows behind me, forcing darkness in
pockets upon the eastward facing slopes; behind them, the veil of white lay
waiting. As I made the crest of the mountaintop, the morning’s first light made
the snow-covered forest come alive. Like a multitude of angels at Jesus’ birth,
so too were the trees enshrouded by the luminescence of an untold number of
diamond-like snowflakes.
Here and there around each bend, chimneys spewed forth slender
columns of woodsmoke, each rising like tendrils into that azure blueness above.
Each a signal of life within. Inside the humble cabins, the morning coffee had begun
to percolate as the fire cracked and popped. Somewhere nearby, bacon sizzled in
a cast-iron skillet. Some would be preparing for church while others would
simply be rising to live another day of life, one with the hope of a tomorrow
and the other just wishing there was one.
For every portion of living, there is a double-edged sword
with which we must contend. One side of the blade, as my friend put it, is
Mercy; the other side Justice. Life cannot have one without the other. Justice
without mercy is a formidable and a fearsome judgment to any who have received
it. Mercy without justice is like giving freedom without having any fear of retribution;
there is nothing for which to be freed if there is nothing for which to fear.
Yet, God hath given us a sword for which the balance between justice and mercy is
perfectly balanced. In fact, on the traditional broadsword, the center of the sword
is slightly raised, giving height to the intersection of the two opposing sides,
taking the high road, if you will.
Through God’s love for us, we are afforded the perfect
balance of Justice and Mercy. For with each gradual trial we weather, by His
Grace, we grow stronger in our faith. For if we find ourselves facing the
proverbial headwinds in our daily walk with Christ, we must know that we are
going in the right direction. For faith without trials is a faith untested. “Beloved,
think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though
some strange thing happened unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers
of Christ’s sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad
also with exceeding joy.”[1]
Just as each edge of the blade could be considered to stand
for justice and mercy, so too could they stand for Thoughts and Intent of the human
soul. “For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged
sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the
joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”[2]
Just as the word of God is quick and powerful, so too are
its intention. Like a playbook on how to live life, its instructions are clear,
succinct, and powerful. Yet, to the unbeliever, the words are only that, just
printing on the page. As God spoke through the prophet Jeremiah, “For I know
the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and
not of evil, to give you an expected end.”[3] He gave us Christ, with whom
we were spared eternal damnation and the expected end we deserved, with that
ultimate justice; his death was the punishment for our sins.
To the unbeliever, the Bible is nothing more than theory;
conjecture of good intentions.
As I was speaking to one of our department’s professors this
week, the difference between theory and application came to mind. While we are
immersed in the pursuit of education at our institutions of higher learning,
most of what we achieve is theory. It is not until we go out into the “Real”
world, get jobs, and start careers that we actually apply that theory. That application
becomes the tools of whatever industry we pursue, sometimes for the rest of our
lives. However, God has allowed me to return to the place from whence I began
so long ago. As I listened to the very well-meaning professor describe the
course layout, I found my mind jumping from the theory he was describing to the
applications I had used in my nearly two decades of working in the industry. From
that life of experience, from the applying of theory, I once more made the jump
back to the present and was able to interpret his descriptions, but far from
the conventional line of thought to which he was used to instructing.
For those of you who have learned or are trying to learn to
speak a foreign language, you can relate. You at first have to think of the foreign
word’s meaning in your mother tongue and then speak the foreign word. Slowly,
as you become more proficient, eventually, you can skip the literal translation
because you just know the foreign word, has finally become one of your own, no
longer foreign. So too is the word of God. Like many who are lost and haven’t
come to know or accept Christ into their lives, the words in the Bible are only
that; words. But Jesus told his followers that they would not be alone; that he
would send a Comforter. He also said that he would never leave us nor forsake
us. That Comforter, that being with whom he spoke, was to be the Holy Spirit.
Through the Holy Spirit, we are made anew, “And that he
died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves,
but unto him which died for them, and rose again. Wherefore henceforth know we
no man after the flesh: yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet
now henceforth know we him no more. Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a
new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. And
all things are of God, who hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ, and
hath given to us the ministry of reconciliation; To wit, that God was in
Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses unto
them; and hath committed unto us the word of reconciliation. Now then we are
ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in
Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.”[4]
From whence we came, is to which we shall return. For once
we have walked in the way, we are made anew, and from there, we can speak to
those who have yet to find the way, the truth, and the light. From our
experience in the application of the word, we have become wiser, and with this wisdom,
we are then able to help those who are lost. “If any of you lack wisdom, let
him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and unbraideth not; and it
shall be given him.”[5]From theory, as some may say, to become one with the Father through the
power of the Holy Spirit, we are changed. Walking in Christ, we are no longer
living in theory, but rather, in the application of what it was meant to be,
where Justice and Mercy meet in that high rounded middle of the blade, to which
nothing can prevail; neither spirit nor soul.
As the finger-like wafts of smoke rise into the morning sky
from their hand-hewn stone chimneys below, so soar the spirits of many who have
breathed their last. Don’t go another day without seeking out that friend, that
neighbor, or even that family member who might be lost. Seek them with all your
heart.
And remember, for, by the Grace of God, we go.
We are all but a heartbeat away from eternity.
Live each day as if it were the most precious gift. You
never know when it will be your last.
Once more, my life has returned to the open door, once discovered nearly half a century ago.
It was an unexpected, but welcome visit from one of our department’s professors. He had stopped by merely to say hello; a cordial inclusion if you will. Since starting my new position in life, many of my colleagues, with whom I serve, have had little time for fellowship with the end of the semester and then the Christmas break all occurring so quickly it seemed. Since we are still now in the stretch of time that precedes a new semester, there is finally time to learn about one another. There are no students, no final grades due, just a few staff members and faculty preparing for the coming days. The professor who had dropped in, who for now I will call Dr. Mo, seemed to be as curious about me as I was him. Our conversation traversed from pleasantries of the recent holidays to that of teaching, and life.
After I shared with him my recent application to Graduate School, we began to talk more in-depth about how classes in the Computer Science Department are structured. Before long, we were comparing various instructional methods, albeit his from a much higher plane of learning than what I had been accustomed. It was about this point when he asked me a very profound question, one that seemed vaguely familiar. “How do you explain to a student that programming a small piece of code or project is important?”
The question in fact, reminded of something one of my former High School students might say. It could easily be considered the bane of thought that all High School Math teachers hated to hear, probably the most irritating question heard, “When am I ever going to use this?” We knew that the question originated at home, because our students often told us that their parents were of the same mindset. So, the disdain for learning something that has apparently no useful value in life is not simply a secondary level education problem, from what I was hearing. It was something that permeates our culture no matter the level or institution.
Dr. Mo then asked, “How would you tell them it matters?”
The answer swirled around in my head amongst a hundred examples, all of which seemed to point to the obvious – sometimes the big picture is difficult to see when you are in the middle of the forest. Yes, the answer was there, but something else was speaking to me at the same time. “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.[1]
Suddenly, in my mind, that ancient door opened and I stood up.
We had so badly wanted to go see what all the ruckus had been about. For a couple days, machines and men had been working on the demolition of the now deceased widow Mrs. Wolfe’s home. Her husband, the late Dr. Wolfe, had died long before I was born, so we never knew much about who he was or how he came to be a Doctor. To us, his legacy was simply the sweet, old Mrs. Wolfe, who too, was now gone forever. One by one, the elders of our little farming community of New Harmony, Indiana were disappearing, and with them a way of life.
Word was that the historical society had purchased her home and that they were going to knock the stately old house down and rebuild something in the style of the rest of the other historic homes in town. The historical society and the common townspeople always seemed to be at odds. The former with their sophisticated overbearance of wanting to create a “Shangri La”, if you will, where people could come from far and wide to escape the stresses of life. Here in this Midwest utopia, they could learn of the Rappites, a failed social concept, and how they too merely meant to find a place where work and God could comingle. In the end, their demise became the inspiration for the more recent history seeking philanthropists’ desires. Meanwhile, the farmers of the area merely sought to feed their families. Slowly, we watched as our little agricultural town was gutted, the elitists eroding what once had been a thriving farming community. The destruction of Mrs. Wolfe’s home was simply another casualty in the unspoken class war.
Just the summer or so before, Mrs. Wolfe had asked my grandma if any of her grandchildren might be able to cut her grass. My grandma had quietly pulled me aside one afternoon asked me if I could help out her elderly neighbor. You see, to us grandkids, it was an honor to have grandma pull you aside to ask you to do anything for her. So, I was beside myself when I learned that grandma wanted me to help out her dear elderly neighbor. It was a sunny summer day when I pulled the aged push mower across the pasture. We never had a lot of contact with Mrs. Wolfe, but what little we did, we always came away feeling blessed. That particular day was no different. After the last strip of grass was mowed, I shut down the mower and went back to pick up the can of gasoline near the front porch. Mrs. Wolfe had come to the door and motioned me to come over. I peevishly walked up to her as she leaned out the heavy wooden front door. “Come here now,” she said smiling sweetly. “You take this,” she motioned waving the paper money at me.
“No m’aam,” I responded, “I didn’t’ do it for that.”
She wouldn’t have any of my righteous posturing, and her eyebrows furrowed, “Now you come here and take this,” she said, in a sterner voice. “You can take some of your cousins to town and get a treat at least.”
She knew my weakness, doing for others, and with that, I apprehensively walked up and took the money. It shocked me to see the entire $5.00 bill in my hand. It seemed like the most money I had ever seen at one time, and in those days, probably was. Shocked, I backed away, thanking her profusely as she closed the door smiling broadly.
“You tell your grandmother thank you for me,” she said loudly through the glass of the door.
“Yes m’aam,” I quipped, as I raced off to show grandma the newfound wealth. Grandma wasn’t happy about the money, but she eventually softened to our pleading, and we made that little jaunt to the dime store in town later that day for a sweet treat.
Now, just a couple years removed, our pleading convinced grandma to let us have our way once more, and we soon found ourselves exploring the piles of debris among what little was left of the former Wolfe estate. Nothing much remained, but save for piles of wood and one single door frame. As we found our way into what had one time been the living room, the one from which Mrs. Wolfe had handed me that vast sum of money, my heart became sad. Here our proud neighbors had once lived, content and stately in their home. They hadn’t imparted their societal wishes upon us, but rather chose to live in harmony with us, accepting us for who we were, and likewise, us them.
Slowly, I walked up to the remaining door frame, with door still intact. One of my cousins called from behind, “Be careful,” as my tender, young hand reached for the door knob. Slowly, I opened the barely standing door and from within what once was the coat closet, now sat a pile of rubble. We began to pick a few chards of wood and brick off the top and much to my surprise, below the soot and dust was a pile of brown, tweed cloth covered books. We began to look through them, like archeologists in an Egyptian burial tomb, shaking our heads at the hieroglyphic shapes on the pages. The writing inside books was a mystery. There were some recognizable words, but the majority of the book was written in some alien language, complete with crazy symbols and letters we had never seen before. We each grabbed a book and raced back to our humble farmhouse to show grandma. There, we reconvened as was common, around the worn Formica covered kitchen table. We even turned on the overhead light and with studious awe, and our best intellect, tried to decipher the ancient code.
We were as lost as a ball in high weeds.
Grandma was even at a loss for words. She simply said, “Maybe one of you someday can figure it out,” and she left it at that. It was at that moment she had planted the seed, knowingly or not. Later that day, I would vow to my cousins that someday I was going to learn how to read that book, no matter how long in life it would take.
“You do that,” my cousin Peggy replied sarcastically with her mischievous grin.
As I stood up from my chair, Dr. Mo watched as I walked over to the bookshelf. My weathered hand reached into the array of books and pulled out a single, tweed cloth covered book titled, “Applied Mechanics.”
“You see Dr. Mo,” I said to my guest as I slowly opened the book, “sometimes the answer takes a lifetime to learn.”
There, written inside the front cover in his own hand were the words, “property of John Wolfe.” I then shared with the professor of finding the book as a child and how I had taken the vow to someday learn how to read the funny writings inside. Those questions as to, “Why would we ever need this,” echoed in my mind as I spoke. Then, to show him the significance of the moment, I turned to the back of the book. There, carefully placed over 100 years earlier, Dr. Wolfe had placed something that was to encourage not only himself, but a young neighbor farm boy many decades later; a manually typed page, neatly folded in half, containing his test and quiz scores from the class for which the book was intended. The faded, barely visible date read, 1916-1917.
Turning to my new friend, I continued, “When we can show someone the significance of something in context, how it fits into the big picture, we can then begin to appreciate the little steps that it takes to get there.”
Dr. Mo smiled and nodded in confirmation.
I continued, “We may not be able to explain what we see at any given point in time. Sometimes, our experience is beyond what we are capable of describing. But with time, God provides us the wisdom to achieve a new level of comprehension. Like the prophet Ezekiel trying to describe the visions of Angels that some say more describe that of alien spaceships, he too could only use a language of which he was capable of understanding.”
I handed Dr. Mo the book so he could look at it more closely. He smiled and said, “This book is more than just a book.I t has a singular significance beyond all other books like it because of this personalization.”
“Yes,” I nodded, “indeed it does.”
And so, once more in life, I returned to that barely standing open door of the Wolfe’s ancient home. Grasping the handle, I opened it wide, without fear, for God was with me. There were no cries from leery cousins to warn me of the dangers, only the voice of God beckoning me on. “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”[2]
Step in with me Dr. Mo, step on in and let the light shine within.
Yesterday, as I sat and watched the thick cloud bank slowly envelope Grandfather, I was reminded of incoming tides upon ancient seas. The jetties and rocks of life, like those distant mountain peaks, were soon to be covered by the rising waters of time. Before long, he had vanished, obscured by a billowing blanket of gray, blue, and white. Grandfather Mountain was not gone, this I knew, for I had seen him. It was not necessary to hope for his existence because by seeing, we know that he is still there. Yet, we cannot foretell what the coming storms will unveil. In a manner of hours, or even days, we may see a changed mountain, one blanketed in a snowy, majestic white mantel of winter; this is the wish of many.
painting by Timothy W. Tron
With
wanted anticipation, some may see the impending storm and look forward to a
delay in the upcoming return to school. While others may fear what is to come
knowing regardless of the road conditions, they will be expected to be at their
posts or jobs. Likewise, those who walk in faith are much like those gladly
seeing the possibility of winter storms; the former seeks the hope of life
eternal by knowing that regardless of what the storms of life may bring, they
have the hope of salvation unto our final dwelling place on high. “For we
are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why
doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with
patience wait for it.”[1]
But
just as a child, torn from their home due to circumstances which have created
living conditions so dire that the state has to intervene, they seek hope to
eventually return home. Yet, what they don’t fully understand is that in order
for them to return home, their parents or guardians must change. The addiction
or bondage to the sins of the flesh must be broken. The downward spiral of
drugs, alcohol, otherworldly lusts has permeated their lives so deeply that
they often have lost sight of caring for their family, if not themselves. We’ve
all see the posted mug shots of convicted criminals and seen the effects of
meth, just to name one, on their physical being. Inside, there remains a
remnant of the human being they once were.
Somewhere
within, there is a flicker of a soul.
Like
those school children looking forward to the coming snowstorm, the Apostle Paul wrote of coming storms and
afflictions, “Giving no offence in any thing, that the ministry be not
blamed: But in all things approving ourselves as the ministers of God, in much
patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses, In stripes, in
imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in watchings, in fastings;”[2]His point being, that those storms of life, the daily challenges and trials,
only make us stronger Christians. Meanwhile, those of the world suffer greatly because
their faith is nonexistent. There is nothing to embolden. In their despair,
they seek earthly means to fill the void. The Apostle Peter wrote about them saying,
“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion,
walketh about, seeking whom he may devour: Whom resist stedfast in the
faith, knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that
are in the world.”[3]
Alone,
those lost parents cannot conquer the darkness that holds them captive. It is
by prayer and the hope of their children, the faith of which they often do not
know, that they can be lifted up. These thoughtless parents reckless abandon for
life is conveyed by those whose tender young hearts who are willing to still
have faith. In their undying hope that their parents will change, unto the day
they may return to a new home, those orphaned children never give up.
Similarly, we seek faith to eventually return to our heavenly home because this
world is not our home. Yet, we are not left as orphans to fend for ourselves,
for our heavenly father awaits. “That
at that time ye were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of
Israel, and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, and
without God in the world: But now in Christ Jesus ye who sometimes were far off
are made nigh by the blood of Christ.”[4]
Even
though the parents of those orphaned children may be so lost in their sin that
they don’t even realize the cause of their forced separation, nor do they know
how to free themselves from the enslavement of their fleshly additions and
afflictions, Christ gives us that answer. Through the power of the blood Jesus
Christ shed upon the cross, we may overcome the darkness that seeks to devour
our world and flood us with iniquities beyond our comprehension.
We
cannot achieve this freedom alone.
In
Hebrews 11:1, we are reminded that “…faith is the substance of things hoped
for, the evidence of things not seen.” Having held true to my faith in
these recent months, I can tell you from personal experience, the harder the
clouds of turmoil flooded my soul, the harder I fell to my knees. There were no
immediate replies. There was no blinding light that threw me off my horse and
into the road. There were often days of silence. Nothingness.
“But
nothing worth having is ever easy,” – Theodore Roosevelt
As
the scripture tells us, “But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with
patience wait for it.” From having seen prayers answered, it is then when
we start to understand how one can have “evidence of things unseen.”
Prayer is one of our most powerful spiritual tools. Daniel prayed five times a
day. When his enemies learned of his daily practice, they used it to entrap him
which landed him in the den of lions. Daniel didn’t fear but resorted to what
he knew best, prayer. His hope of release from the expected doom was his answer
to faithful prayer.
As
we approach a future that sometimes appears, if anything but bright, we can be
reminded that there is “hope.” As we awoke this morning and the clouds had
departed, Grandfather was there as the sunlight began to cast its golden rays
upon his face. His crown, a mantel of snowy white, now proudly unveiled for all
to see.
The
storm had been weathered.
There
will always be the dawning of a new day. Don’t let the darkness of the light
consume you. Although it may feel as the darkest hour is just before dawn,
don’t let fear overwhelm you like the storm clouds smothering Grandfather. Let
the light of Christ shine upon your life, and through you, such that those
around you are enlightened by the Holy Spirit within your own. Choose to be the
light in a dark world, like the beautiful snow-covered peaks of Grandfather
this morning, their light reflecting the sunrise, like golden shields of hope.
Tomorrow
is a new day. Rise with hope in your heart
and let your light shine for all to see.
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply
our hearts unto wisdom.”-Psalm 90:12
Outside the Retreat, the pitter-patter of raindrops falls
gently upon the rooftop. The sound is soothing to one’s soul and adds a sense
of tranquility to the ambiance within. Inside, the fire warms my body, removing
the damp chill from the outside. Reflectively, I sip on the hot drink while peering
into the red-hot coals. The flames dance around in their anguished throttled
roar while the occasional pop and hiss remind you that the scene before you is
real. My mind drifts, like the puffs of smoke up the chimney, thinking of friends
and colleagues of my former days.
Many faces come and go in the swirl of steam up the chimney,
like their lives, several now gone, passed on. Each individual remains with me,
each with their own story, each with a remnant of who they were left behind
with my own being. My good friend, Vance
Dunn, who recently passed, came to mind, as he so often does. He would have
dearly loved the opportunity to sit with me by the fire and discuss the many
thoughts that would bounce into our heads as we supped on our warm brews. On
one particular road trip, whereby we were headed to training as part of our Junior
Appalachian Musicians (JAM) affiliation, we spent the several hour drive to the
mountains doing just that; talking in-depth about everything and anything that
popped into the stream of our conscious thought. One specific conversation that
returned to me this morning was our animated discussion about vocabulary and
the word “regardless” versus “irregardless.”
Vance loved to latch onto something and then to pull it back
into the conversation, again and again. His observation, and probably the
meaning behind the reason for which the word that percolated to the top of our
discussion that day, was how many in the world of academia often try to sound
more important than they are by the use of grammar that is either incorrect or
absurdly unnecessary; thus, the word “irregardless.” Many
scholars maintain there is no such word as irregardless because regardless already means “without
regard.”[1]
Vance had an extreme disdain for professors or teachers who spoke down to their
students.
The Apostle Paul would write, “For if a man think himself
to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself.”[2]
Paul’s intention was to say more simply, “Don’t try to pretend to be something
you’re not.”
Now Vance had
every right with which to speak in such terms. Having been a scientist at NASA,
he dealt with and helped train many of their engineers and researchers over the
years. He had worked with many a person that felt their position in life was
enough to warrant them respect simply by their title. Yet, he would share with
me that those who walked humbly in that regard had far more impact on those
with whom they dealt than the former. Vance’s intellect was far beyond what I
could hope to ever achieve. In essence, he was, at least to me, a true genius.
He never tried to be superior when we talked, but rather, would humor me in
meaningful terms so that we would traverse life from one end of the spectrum to
the other, regardless of who was listening. Once we started, when time allowed,
we would literally carry on with our own geekish comical relief, much to the
disdain of those that were within earshot, for hours. He conveyed to me on this
day how “irregardless” wasn’t really a real word, but rather something people
would utter when they wanted to sound more intellectual. So, in our effectual
dialogue, we would carry on with statements like “Regardless of how
irregardless something truly is, you still can’t say irregardless unless you’re
holding something up to be something it isn’t, regardless of its actual
meaning,” and then we would roll with laughter until tears would fill our eyes.
Paul would go on
to write, “But let every man prove his own work and then shall he have
rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another.”[3]
Vance proved his
merit by serving his country both in the Army and then working for the
Aeronautical Space Agency. He would spend his career working for NASA and
eventually retire with his family to Chatham County, North Carolina, where he
and I would eventually meet. He often substitute taught in the school system,
filling in for those roles many would pass. Vance’s favorite predicament was
walking into a High School Calculus class and picking up wherever the teacher
left off. Mind you, this was years after he had touched a mathematical formula.
He would always tell me, “You can always solve anything if you work it back to
the root.” After studying for and eventually passing the NC High School Math
Praxis myself, his words would come back to me, again and again, regardless if
we hadn’t seen each other in years.
During our
conversations of faith, I never quite understood where Vance stood exactly. As
with most intellects, he preferred to remain aloof about his belief in God.
Yet, when it came down to it, I had the sense that he honestly believed but was
more skeptical of religion as a whole. As Ravi Zacharias put it, “We are not
Christians because of the abominations or denominations we belong to, but
whether you know Jesus Christ in your heart.” It was in these
theological interactions that I sometimes felt as if Vance was questioning me
not only for something to pursue intellectually but that he was actually
becoming aware of seeing someone moved by the Holy Spirit. In our walk of
faith, we should never fear witnessing to anyone regardless of their station in
life. As Paul would convey, “Let him that is taught in the word communicate
unto him that teacheth in all good things.”[4]
A few months ago,
before the wheels fell off my life, I was to speak at a church back in Chatham
County. It was a wonderful blessing in and of itself, to be asked to share a
sermon with the Cumnock Union Church, but was equally rewarding in seeing so
many brother and sisters in Christ once more. It was during this trip that God
spoke to me and said that I should stop by and see my friend Vance and his
family before heading home. So, after
sharing fellowship with the brethren at Cumnock, I then turned off the highway
and found myself winding through the little streets of Goldston, and eventually
pulling into the driveway of Vance’s family’s farm. There, one last time I sat
with my old friend and shared in past experiences. Denise, his daughter,
brought him out to the couch to sit and visit with me and it was then that I
was struck with the reality of what time and illness had done to my friend. He
had suffered in his last years from advancing Dementia and Alzheimer’s
diseases. We tried to revive a minuscule portion of days gone by, but in the
end, faith in God was all that remained, for my dear friend was not the man he
once was. The horrific disease had taken a brilliant mind away from the shell
of the man that sat before me. Inside, my heart was sobbing, but outwardly, I
was thanking God for this short time together. We said goodbye, and part of me
realized that this may be the last.
There had been
plans to return for some other possible speaking engagements, but once the
trials and afflictions began, there was nothing to do but try to survive, and
as such, those events fell by the wayside.
Not long ago, I
saw Denise’s post of Vance’s passing, and with it, my heart dropped. Gone was
the last chance to say one more goodbye. Gone was that last chance to jokingly
poke fun of so many that held themselves in such high regard, regardless if
they deserved it or not. But in the end, I know that Vance found God as
inspiring as he had hoped, for in the end, when he crossed into that eternal
home, he found intellect beyond his own and enough time to laugh and share with
those minds that would match his own.
Tonight, I am
thankful for all the lives that have crossed my path in life, and especially people
like my friend Vance. May we never forget them and let us pray that we carry
their legacy with us, sharing with all a part of who they were for others to
carry on.
Thanks be to God.
“If any of you
lack wisdom,
let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and
it shall be given him.”-James 1:5
This evening, Christmas Eve to be
exact, the fire in the hearth hisses and crackles at me. The warmth soothes my
weary bones, like the stones upon which the firelight flickers against, warming
them, bringing them back to life. Late this afternoon I took a break from
wiring the Retreat and took a much overdue walk. It was an early Christmas gift
to myself, you might say.
The sky was a perfect Carolina
blue with the sunlight filtering through the barren branches of the forest. My
body felt sluggish, not something I had remembered in recent times. From the
recent medical prognosis, it was apparent that I would never be as fast or as
strong as I once was physically. Those sub-five-minute miles will only be a
memory from now on (unless, of course, I’m driving in a car). In fact, as the
saying goes, “I’ll never be as good as I once was.” It wasn’t quite the gift I
had expected. As my weary legs finally carried me back to the Retreat, I was
thankful just to have been able to walk along the whispering creeks and waterfalls.
The family was still gone on some
last-minute Christmas Eve errands. So many spent the recent days hurrying and
fretting over preparations for the perfect day when family and friends will
fill their homes. I was thankful to be free of that burden and able to relax
for a change. Back inside my little cabin in the woods, I stoked the fire back
to a roar and sat back sipping on a hot brew As the burgeoning flames cracked
and popped, my mind pondered the recent scripture that would not leave my head;
from the book of Luke. It is probably the most quoted gospel this time of year.
From the point when Mary has received the direction of the Arch
Angel Gabriel, to the immaculate conception, there is a story within itself. “And the angel answered and said unto her, The
Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow
thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be
called the Son of God.”[1]
Like the
spark that lights the fire, the hand of God came upon Mary, and in that
instant, the being of God in the form of human flesh began to develop in her
fetus. The “Most High” overshadowed her. The Greek word for “overshadow” is
comprised of two words, which basically describe a cloud of energy that
enveloped Mary, at which point, Christ was literally conceived. To understand
in our simple humanness is more than a struggle. Yet, the indescribable doesn’t
stop there.
Later, when Mary and Joseph reach Bethlehem, as it was foretold,
Jesus would be born in a lowly manger, a trough from which animals eat.
Remember the prodigal son and how it was described that he fell so far that he literally
ate out of the same troughs as the pigs which he tended. Our Lord and Savior
was born in such a condition, in a feeding trough. And when Mary had wrapped
him in swaddling clothes, rags if you will, he was ready to receive the many
guests that would soon arrive.
Unbeknownst to Mary and Joseph, out in the neighboring fields of
Bethlehem, shepherds were standing watch over their flocks at night, when
another Angel came to them. Now before I jump into the scripture that you have
probably heard a thousand times, allow me to precede it with something that you
may have never thought of before.
As I have already alluded, this was not just a common birth. This
was literally God being born for the first time ever, in the form of human
flesh. It was a sentinel moment in the history of God. This was a moment in
eternity in which the significance, although entirely missed by the spiritual leaders
of the time, would so impact the entirety of Glory above that it would be as if
all of heaven’s Angels, for a moment, would stop everything and come to earth
to attend the birth of a Savior, the son of God. For the first time in all of
creation, God was coming to earth, to be born of a lowly handmaiden, in a
stable. Had those Pharisees and Jewish leaders understood the prophecies of
which they supposedly had learned so well, they too could have joined the
unimaginable moment with all of creation, but they would not. They would be
lost to the moment and forever because of their unbelief. What they would miss
would be the gift of a lifetime, of an eternity. God would come to earth to
live and die like one of his own creation’s so that he would feel our pain,
know our suffering so that when he would eventually defeat death, and his blood
would flow freely down the cross, we would know that God had given us the most
precious gift mankind would ever know; His Son.
Now, reread the scripture with that picture in your mind, “And
there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch
over their flock by night.And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of
the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said
unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which
shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a
Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall
find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly
there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and
saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the
shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this
thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.”[2]
Notice how the shepherds feared the initial Angel and how it
comforted them until they were somewhat at ease. It was then, once they had
been calmed that the enumerable multitude of Heavenly hosts appeared before
them. So great was the light that it could be seen beyond the local pastures of
Bethlehem. Luke would later recall, in separate writings, how many
philosophers, scientists, and spiritual leaders would recall seeing the bright
light in the sky and how each of them would separately interpret the scene. Imagine
the lowly shepherds, uneducated, poor, and of simple faith, and how their
hearts might have stopped but for a moment in awe at the sight before them; the
heavens filled with Angels on high. The angelic illumination was so bright that
the mere mortal shepherds would have nearly been blinded, without and within. They
literally had been moved beyond belief as can be seen by the following passage.
“And they came with haste, and found
Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made
known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told
them by the shepherds.”[3]
These men, who were in charge of other men’s flock, left their
post and ran into town. The mere fact that they abandoned their livelihood to
seek out the babe in swaddling clothes would tell you of their sheer panic. Adrenaline
rushing through their veins, they sought the length of the city for the
child. They didn’t stop until they found
him. When they finally reached the stable, covered in sweat, breathing heavily,
they hesitantly entered, knowing that this was no normal child for which they
were to admire. There before them, glowing underneath the watchful eye of his
mother, was the babe of whom the Angel had spoken. Mary had instinctively picked
up her baby to protect him when this mass of strangers began to enter the
stables. But to her disbelief, they now fell at her feet and began to worship
her child. They would eventually share with her and Joseph the reason for the
worship and awe of the infant child. From there, the shepherds would not stop.
They would leave the stable and go far and wide sharing their story.
Eventually, they would return and share with her the wonderful reactions and
praises for which the Christ child had heralded. Mary’s head had to be spinning
at all that had transpired in just a matter of months. She had gone from a
simple peasant to the mother of the Son of God. She had to be dreaming, she
might have told herself more than once. And as you can imagine, “But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.”[4]
Luke’s interview with Mary and her recanting this story, as it was likely
shared with her many times by those exact shepherds, so impacted Luke, a
physician, that he kept it just as it was told to him. In fact, all of the
story, from the immaculate conception to the birth is recounted through the
eyes of this glorious and wonderful physician, as he was known in his time.
That being said, you can now perhaps better understand the significance of the
timeline for which these events took place. Perhaps, even more, that you may
think about this precious gift we all have been given, even now, as the realm
for which God gave his only begotten Son so that any who should believe shall
be saved.
Tomorrow, if not already, you will hopefully have family
and friends over to open gifts and to celebrate Christmas. When the wrapping
paper is finally collected, and everyone has had time to contemplate their
gifts, both given and received, some may take time to reflect upon the reason
behind the most significant holiday on our calendar, at least to most people.
If allowed, ask them to listen for a moment, and share with them something special.
Share with them the greatest story ever told.
In life, we reach a point when we only reduce our
biological stability, perhaps maintaining for a while, but eventually, we will
slow a few more steps, rise a bit slower, and recall even less. Yet, through it
all, we should be thankful in our daily walk, no matter the struggles, and
remember that we have been given the most precious gift known to man. Nearly
2000 years ago, a present was wrapped in swaddling clothes and placed in a manger,
not under a tree. Those who were there to receive did not need to unwrap their
gift to know its importance.
Tomorrow, pause for a moment and give thanks to God above
for the greatest gift of all.
We stood in a
circle. Our right hands made into fists as our arms were extended into the
middle of the circle, like the hub of a human wheel, one placed upon the other
as each of us bowed our heads in prayer. The boys like to call the
configuration the “popcorn prayer,” a term they coined on their own. With the
first of the young men that began, the next would continue the prayer until it
came around the circle to the last person.
Crossnore Children’s Home
In the past, we
would have had a morning devotional before going to breakfast, followed by a
closing prayer. But this day was different, it was late Sunday afternoon. Unlike
the times before, today they asked that we all pray together before we said our
final goodbyes. In unison, they asked that I close us out by saying the last prayer.
It was one of the
most poignant moments of my life, humbling to the core; it was their last
request.
I had come to say
goodbye, a goodwill gesture that was sincerely from the heart. It had been a
tumultuous month, one that had left me more than tired. Several weeks earlier,
when I had shared with my supervisor that God was leading my life’s journey
away from Crossnore, I also asked that if they needed any extra help, I told
him that I would be willing to fill in if needed. He thanked me for that offer.
At Crossnore,
there is always a need.
And so, after many
sleep-deprived and beleaguered days, my footsteps carried me one last time from
one end of the Crossnore campus to the other. Those young men had left an
undeniable mark upon my heart. For many of the children at Crossnore, their
pasts are much like our own, better left behind. Many are at the home because
of no fault of their own, and with that, you immediately seek to find the
source of the mindset that acts out in ways that are not normal; because if
anything, the trauma through which they have survived are anything but normal.
It was because of this and much more that I couldn’t leave without at least
letting them know that I would miss them.
Along my path
that somber Sunday afternoon, the majestic oaks that had at one time provided
comforting shade during the hotter months, had now given way to become barren,
twisted towering bones, reaching to the azure blue sky above. They too, showed
empathy for my departure, like elders who had seen so many come and go, telling
me in their own way that they would forever be with me. The chilly winds blew
leaves across my path as I made it to the all teen boy’s cottage. Many would
prefer another assignment than to have to deal with young men at their age.
My own experience
was quite different.
From the outset,
once they realized I wasn’t going to be a push-over, we began to connect. One
might wonder if it had been the many years of working with the Scouts that
allowed me to understand them? Perhaps you might ask, was it because of the
time spent working with the Junior Appalachian Musician program? Or, maybe, you
might conjecture, it was teaching High School math to teens their age that
helped me cope? Whatever the reason one might attribute my connection to those
boys, I believe it was the hand of the Lord who had put me there for that
season, as short as it may have been. The reason I felt it was God, was because
it wasn’t until I asked to share the devotional with them that I could see
something new; a change in their demeanor toward my presence. It was when one
of the young men-(the one that had been there the longest, over 6 years to be
exact)- opened up to me, that their reactions began to make me take notice.
They said that because of his years of tenure at the home, he had become so
hardened that he would purposely keep you at bay, knowing that before long, you
too would fall by the wayside.
Who could blame
him?
He had seen so
many come and go. And up to that point, he could have just as well said the
same thing about me. But when he would purposely make it a point to greet me or
go out of his way to tell me to have a nice day, it became apparent that God
had moved him, through me, in spite of who I was. All of these thoughts swirled
around in my head like the fallen leaves upon the ground that cold, blustery
afternoon.
There had been so
much to contemplate. For if the walk had been days, there would have been
enough recent memories and experiences to occupy my thoughts the full breadth
of the journey.
Recently, one of
my new colleagues at the college asked, “How are you today?”
I replied, as I
so often do these days, “I am blessed, I hope you are?”
He then later
asked what I had meant by the word “Blessed.”
The question
stopped me in my tracks.
My mind flashed
back to the beginning of the summer and the terrible drought, and trials that
my life had encountered. Through the loss of a job, loss of income, loss of
medical coverage, to the near-fatal illness, to the days of unanswered prayers.
The doubts and troubles piled up like logs against the bridge when the river
rises. One by one, their pressure building until they either burst through or
until they are swept over the bridge by higher waters. My life had become that
bridge, inundated by the flooding trials that seemed to come, one after the
other, each one building upon the other. At one point, the bad news had become
so common that it became laughable. “Just how much more could one take and
still survive,” I began to ask? My life began to feel a little like Job in the
struggles, and a lot like Joseph at the bottom of the dry well; there was nowhere
to go but up.
Then, like once
before in my life when it seemed as if all hope was lost, God answered. I don’t
recall the exact day or time, but there was a sense that only a few may know or
understand. Like a warm wave cascading over your soul, the feeling of things
that are about to change washes over you, and it is then that you know deep in
your heart that it is going to be okay. It’s moments like that when Hebrews 11:1
makes perfect sense, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the
evidence of things not seen.”
My sweet
co-teacher, Mrs. Rush, said it best last year when she was trying to comfort me
about having to leave the school when she said, “God is going to answer your
prayers in a way that is going to be far greater than your wildest
expectations.” She continued, “The answer won’t come soon, but rather, it will
probably be at the last moment when you feel like all hope is gone. It is then
that He will finally give you an answer.”
She was as
prophetic as anyone I have ever known. Was God speaking through her? I don’t
know, but to this day, I have to believe he was.
To answer my
colleague, my mind dug through those countless days of anguish and despair, and
the words began to form. They had to pass through the filter of that prayer
with those boys in the Cottage as we all stood around in the circle and prayed.
The memory of what happened during that prayer still lingered in my soul.
From the bottom
of my feet, the sensation began. As God poured the words through my lips, the
Holy Spirit began to fill my body like a pitcher is filled from the bottom up.
The electricity began to rise through my legs, torso, and eventually put my arm
into the pile of hands. The words continued to speak as my entire body began to
tremble. Attempting to retain my composure, I pressed on, asking God for this
moment to never end. “They have to feel this,” my mind reflected while
scriptures began to flow from my heart and out my mouth. The warmth of tears
streaming down my face began to mix with the emotions in my voice until we
finally said, “Amen.”
As I stepped
back, wiping the tears from my eyes, the emotional toll was not just my own,
for it was apparent in their eyes as well. My head was spinning as I tried to
find a way to say goodbye. Once more, there was yet another reason to never
forget, as they asked for a hug. In my heart, the pain of saying goodbye was a
burden that must have shown. One of the boys raced to his room and brought out
one of his most cherished items, a UNC flag. In the spur of the moment, I asked
if we could have them all sign it, “As a memento,” I said. They all happily
agreed, and each one took great care to make sure their name was visible. In a
way, it was as if they wanted to make that indelible mark upon my heart; one,
like the permanent marker upon the flag, that would never fade away.
Those multitudes
of thoughts swirled around in my head as my colleague must have wondered why it
was so difficult to answer a simple question about what I meant by being ‘Blessed.’
It was as Jesus had said to Thomas at that moment when he finally realized that
he as standing in the presence of our risen Savoir. After putting his hand
through the hole in Jesus’ side, his head suddenly became faint. The room began
to spin. Stepping back, trying to regain his balance, he stared in awe at Son
of Man, God in the flesh, who had now defeated death. He was speechless. Jesus
said to him, “Because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are
they that have not seen, and yet have believed.”
Yes, blessed are we
that have not seen and yet have believed. But this was only one part of being
blessed to which Christ spoke The sermon on the mount was full of blessings,
enough to know that when we walk with Him, when we realize we have found our
path only because He has led us upon it, it is then we truly know that we are
blessed.
To my colleague,
I finally said that one should be thankful for being in a place to which they
had never realized they would be in life, by no cause or fault of their own.
He respectfully
nodded in response.
To live or die is
gain, and to know Him, Christ, our Savior, is to be blessed beyond measure.
To all things we
should be grateful, and most importantly,
Thanks be to God.
“And
seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his
disciples came unto him:
And he
opened his mouth, and taught them, saying,
Blessed
are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed
are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.
Blessed
are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed
are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be
filled.
Blessed
are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed
are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
Blessed
are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
Blessed
are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the
kingdom of heaven.
Blessed
are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner
of evil against you falsely, for my sake.”-Matthew 5:1-11
“For our light affliction,
which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal
weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the
things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the
things which are not seen are eternal.”- 2 Cor.4:17-18
The afternoon storms brought
blinding rain, blowing in gales of white sheets of water, tossing the canopy of
the forest like waves upon the ocean. From my vantage point on the porch, the
sounds of drops of water from that storm still find their path to the forest
floor, one leaf after another; a continuous soothing sound of liquid falling in
soft echoes. The remnants of the storm that had preceded this evenings chorus, the
tumult long ago swept away by the currents in the sky, now are only a mere
shadow of its former self. The fearful tempest had given way to the calming
collections of water cascading from the treetops in a never-ending cycle of
life. What once was a frightening scene had given way to one of peace.
Our lives can be much like this
very scene; the incomprehensible tempest that eventually gives way to a calm in
its wake. We try to wrap our minds around how out of control our lives can seem
at one moment, and then within a few hours or days, it is as if nothing ever
happened.
This past couple of weeks, my life
has been very much like today’s thunderstorm; a physically debilitating illness
so severe that there was no leaving the bed for several days for the sake of
the pain. Then afterward, a slow, wayward climb back to normalcy; a calming
effect of what life had once been; the new norm.
Sometimes our afflictions seem
anything but light.
The fever that began a couple Saturdays ago
was unusual in that there were no other signs of infection; no lymph nodes
swollen, no rashes, nothing to indicate a cause. Everyone suggested Rocky
Mountain Spotted fever, or even perhaps Lyme Disease. The doctors searched, one
blood test after another; nothing gave any indications other than the obvious
facts of white blood cell counts falling daily, and blood platelets
disappearing faster than my weary body could produce them. Finally, the Oncologists
provided insight as he stood before me with a medical chart in hand. Before he
began, my thoughts flashed to my friend and brother in Christ, and the battle
he still fights daily. Not long ago, that friend sat in an office much like the
one I was in at the time and heard the heart-wrenching news of finding out he
had Leukemia. He and his wife are always in my prayers, and Leukemia was something
that had definitely been on my mind. So, as I sat there listening, the doctor
was nearly giddy with the news, as he conveyed that my results did not indicate
cancer. We both smiled. The bad news was that the illness was pointing to some
type of insect-borne disease; the results of tests that would identify the
source wouldn’t be available for several more weeks. What friends and family
had suggested had yet to be ruled out. So, finally, with a prescription for an
antibiotic, I went home and began to recover within 24 hours of the first dose.
It had been a mere precaution from the Oncologists but proved to be precisely
what was needed; as the Oncologist would say later, there definitely been some
type of infection.
Tonight, as the calming sounds of
the raindrops comfort my weary body, the thought of the verse in Corinthians
makes more sense. The light afflictions of our daily lives, unlike those that
Christ suffered for our sake, are mere stepping stones to what our Savior has
waiting for us in eternity. Even the extreme fevers, which may only be for a
moment in time, when compared with the extent of our earthly life, are just
another trial through which we persevere. Sometimes we survive the tempest to
reach the evening that follows of complicit temperatures and pleasant sounds of
soothing raindrops softly falling in the forest. When we battle through the
spiritual wars in our life, much like the ferocity of thunderstorms, we are
left wondering if our boat will capsize and all will be lost. It is in these
tempests that we learn to lean on Him.
Day after day, we must remind
ourselves that we are not alone, nor does He want us to go it alone. As Paul
wrote, “When I am weakest, it is then He, my God, is the strongest.” For
myself, the most difficult part is remembering to lean on Him. So often we
allow our human nature to take over, and we strive to “make it happen.”
I hear friends tell me that they sometimes don’t think they can go another day,
that their job is just too demanding, that the workload is more than they can bear.
It is then that I ask, “Have you asked Him for help? Are you leaning on your
Savior, or are you trying to do it all alone?” I know from my own perspective,
I’m guilty of forgetting to ask Him for help and then finding out I’m once
again trying to do it on my own.
The old gospel song, “Learning to
Lean,” is a perfect example of how we must remind ourselves that we are not
alone, and it is our Savior’s desire that we reach out to him and ask for help.
What parent has not had their heart melt when a child reaches up to them with
open and arms and asks, “Can you help me?” God, our Father, is the same; loving
each of us unconditionally, regardless of our faults, our sins, and our past.
We are forgiven. All we have to do is confess our sins and ask Him to come into
our lives. With childlike faith, we must have a heart that is willing to lean
on Him. We battle against powers, principalities, and dark forces that are not
of this world, so why would you think you can do it by yourself?
Leaning trees on the John’s River, near Collettsville, NC. in the Blueridge Mountains.
As a teacher, you spend countless
hours during the course of the school year, foregoing sleep, family, and often
personal time for yourself. It is during the few weeks of the summer that
teachers can catch up and find time for themselves. Unlike what I might have
wanted or envisioned, this summer has been anything but relaxing. I’m not
complaining, for it has been a season of growth; finding my walk with God
becoming closer than ever before. It has been a time of finding a level of
patience that heretofore I didn’t know existed. In the waiting, searching for
the next door to open, I found a sense of peace within that was only possible
because of the grace that God had provided.
Were there moments when the
thought of no medical insurance, no job, and no hint of future employment would
crash into my mind and mentally take my breath away?
Yes, of course.
Did I allow those thoughts to drown me in depression and sorrow, feeling pity
for myself?
No, I didn’t.
Each time those fears surfaced, I
remembered what the Word had taught me, and I would take a deep breath and feel
the hand of God upon me. He builds a hedge of protection before and behind us
in all that we do. The scripture says, “If God is for us, who can be against
us?” When we truly walk with our Savior each and every day, we learn to
think of him being by our side. It is then that I have found that we find we
are never alone. People look at the Retreat and are often impressed by the magnitude
of a simple little building built by me; me a mere whisper of a man, barely
150lbs soaking wet. It is then that I remind them that I haven’t done it alone.
Other than the occasional help from friends and my son, the majority of it was
accomplished by just the two of us; God and me.
Now I know, and often when I say
this, I can see the skeptical look of most people arise, as you might be
thinking at this point. But let me give you just one moment when I learned
early on that He was with me.
The floor of the foundation was
covered with the first layer of plywood, and I had begun to put up the outer
walls. Before starting to build them, I first engineered a system of cables,
and pulleys such that I could use my tractor to help raise the enormous weight
of a wall. At this point, I can most assuredly tell you that God had given me
the insight on how to do this because alone, I would have never figured it out.
But that’s not the testimony I wanted to share; that is yet to come.
Once everything was in place, I
boldly built the first wall. It consisted of ten-foot-tall 2×6’s complete with
a front door and two windows, all consisting of full headers above each. The
headers alone probably weighed 300 lbs. When it was time to lift the wall, I
attempted to wedge a crowbar under the top plate in order to put the chain
around it. There was no budging it. Feeling defeated, I sat down on the far
corner and viewed the monstrosity of workmanship.
“Would it have to be taken apart
and done one piece at a time,” my mind questioned.
Then I remembered the most
important part of all that I was doing: “I hadn’t asked God for help.”
At that moment, I went to Him in
prayer, thanking him for all that we had done up to this point. There had been
so many other times when He gave me strength, wisdom, and encouragement. Like
never before, I needed him now. As my prayer was lifted up, there was that
feeling of energy flowing through my weary limbs, as I had felt so many times
before. I said “Amen,” and stood up, walked over to the wall and jammed the
crowbar underneath the top plate, as I had attempted to do before, but now was
successful. Quickly, I snaked the log chain around the top plate and then
connected its hook around the other part of the chain.
It was ready to lift.
Once more, knowing what had just
transpired, I asked God for his help in this, and that he help me get the wall
standing before the end of the day.
A few minutes later, the twenty-foot long wall was standing at a 45-degree angle. It spanned the entire length of the front of the building. As I had learned in construction many years ago, I had placed braces to keep it up, even though the chain held it, but in my excitement, I had missed that the block and tackle had jammed into the chain at the top. There was no more the tractor and cable system could do. Now it was up to me to inch the wall up vertically using the two braces, each held in place by a single nail. It was at this point that with every breath I prayed. Every inch, the wall began to rise. Because the block and tackle were preventing the wall from going any further up, it had to be disconnected. Now, not only was there nearly a ton of wall looming over my head, but there was nothing to keep it from crashing down on me; nothing but the hand of God. Feverishly I worked, praying, sweating, and putting all that my small frame could humanly muster, all the while, the power of the Holy Spirit flowed through my veins.
Suddenly, before I knew it, she
was standing tall.
I stepped back and looked. There
before me, the entire twenty-foot wall stood perfectly in place, perfectly
erect. The two braces were holding tight. To make sure it was finished, I
walked over and took the level to make sure it was right.
It was perfectly level.
I leaned the level against the
wall and stepped back.
“Amazing,” I breathed, “I can’t
believe I did that,” I thought to myself.
Did you hear it? Did you hear when
I once more allowed the natural man within, that fleshly part of our being that
wants to take all the credit? It’s so easy to forget. But there is always an
answer in the word for our stumbling blocks. James wrote, “Humble yourselves
in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up.”
Yet, for a split second, the
natural man resurfaced and entered the self-gratification he so often seeks. In
my haste, not only had I forgotten that “I” hadn’t done anything, but rather,
God had done it through me. The verse, “I can do all things through Christ
who strengtheneth me,” never rang so true at that moment. In my exuberance,
the thrill of seeing what we had done together, I had forgotten to nail the braces
to the floor to keep the wall from going any farther in the direction I had
been pushing it.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a breeze stirred the top of the trees. My sweat-stained shirt felt the coolness, which was a relief in the autumn heat. The leaves swirled slightly at the foot of the building and then in horror, I watched as the wall eerily, like a slow-motion film, began to tilt the opposite direction. It quickly picked up the speed until it became a crescendo of crashing lumber falling off the front of the building, crashing into the tractor and support structures below.
The once impressive display of
engineering was now a broken pile of wood and nails.
In that brief instant, I realized
what the error of my ways. In my moment of self-elation, I had merely thought
that it was “I” that had done something, rather than giving God the credit. In
the blink of an eye, it was all taken away. The testimony at that moment was no
longer about the success of the project, but rather, now it was about my failure;
yes, my affliction.
How many times has something gone
wrong in your life that you’ve had to start over? How many times has what
seemed a disaster eventually became a blessing? Time and time again, what
seemed to be a failure only allowed another door to open, and with it,
something more precious and valuable arose. It is then the line in the verse, “our
light affliction, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight
of glory,” comes into focus.
It took three days, and two more
men to help me correct the disaster and to redo what God and I had done in just
a few minutes. By reaching out to those other men for help, it allowed them to become
part of the Retreat construction, and in so doing, also gave them the
opportunity to feel God with us. From that point forward, the sharing of the
labor of love began to grow, and many more would eventually come to help when
time allowed.
In the end, what seemed a
momentary affliction worked a greater glory, one that wasn’t visible from the
start, but in the end, was something that would go deeper than the temporal; an
eternal blessing. Once more, I learned to lean a little more on my Savior.
When the storms of this world crash
into your life, hold on tight and pray. Yes, my friend, pray that God is with
you. No matter how dark the night, no matter how painful the fever, there is
always a dawning of a new day, and with it, the opportunity to rise from the
ashes. There is no sin too great that God cannot forgive. Christ died for all
men, even those who knew him not, so that we all, yes, all of us could have the
hope of eternal salvation.
The tiny droplets continue to fall;
one precious leaf after another until their weight gently caresses the forest
floor. The mist begins to cover the lower reaches of the valleys below. From
the mountain, the vastness of God’s creation exceeds our ability to comprehend,
but for a moment, we can inhale the beauty for which we have been created.
Let not the evil of this world encircle
you so tightly that there is no light from which you can reach too for help. The
pain will pass, the storm will give way, and in its wake, a peaceful assurance
will be waiting; your confirmation that God is with you, for now, and evermore.
“And whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effectual in the enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer: or whether we be comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation.”-2 Cor. 1:6
The morning brought about overcast skies; something that hadn’t been part of yesterday’s plan. Contemplations of getting up and finding new subjects to capture to use for future inspirational messages were quickly shrouded over by the gray skies above. From my vantage point, sitting on the picnic table at the Collettsville General store, I sat in humble submission to all that God was trying to reveal to my simple mind. Even knowing what I know about my walk in the Lord, it was evident, His plans were not my own, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.”-Isa. 55:8
Blueridge Mountains, Collettsville, NC.
The clouds loomed
so closely that one might have perceived it to be dusk; the birds flitting to
and fro cared little. Cars going by, crossing the bridge, had their headlights
on. For late June, it was a pleasantly cool morning. The John’s River flowing
past echoed a constant gentle whisper. Its voice was the blank canvas for all
other voices, bemoaning a solitude to any that might listen; a respite from the
worldly nature of mankind. If only one could sit each waking hour by such a place,
how much more complete would their earthly life be? If the curse had not been
placed upon the world, how much more awe-inspiring would this appear?
While contemplating all that was before me, the thought of
how much more this might mean to one that had known struggles, darkness, and
sorrow came to mind. Many of my friends, colleagues, and even myself included
are facing all manner of persecution and trials. To this end, my thoughts began
to reflect upon how much I wish each of them were here with me to see what I
can see. But even in our afflictions, we must keep mindful of how our Savior is
using this to mold us, make us stronger in our faith. As the Apostle Paul
wrote, “And whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and
salvation, which is effectual in the enduring of the same sufferings which we
also suffer: or whether we be comforted, it is for your consolation and
salvation.”
Like a soldier having survived the atrocities of war,
perhaps even death by his own hands, to then return into the normal society; he
cannot help but be changed, forever altered in his perception of the fine line
between civility and cruelty. For a moment he can be in the real world, and a
split second later, he’s back in the hell from whence his world was forever
altered; blood, gore, and mayhem the likes many of us may never know, nor shall
we want too. Likewise, a person can return from the depths of struggle and
despair so great, that once they do, they too are forever changed, never to
look again upon a normal life without understanding how many divine
circumstances have attributed to that fragile thread of what is deemed
normalcy. Each one of us is so close to the edge of the abyss of having
nothing; ever so close to losing it all, yet we doubtfully are aware. Those who
comprehend this perilous precipice have the perception of both edges of the
double sword. They are keenly aware and feel the sense of urgency unbeknownst
to those around them. This difference makes them often seem either distant –
when they choose to remain silent for fear of distancing those with whom they
wished to be with – or that they appear overzealous in their beliefs to the
point they unintentionally ostracize those they love. In essence, they push
away those very people who they seek to reach.
When we accept Christ into our lives, when we turn away from
the old ways and take on the new, we are also forever changed. “Therefore if
any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold,
all things are become new.”-2 Cor. 5:17 All of those things in the past are
forgotten; those old ways of sin, those old habits of which kept us in bondage
are gone. We are set free. At that moment, in that embrace of total immersion
into following Christ, we too can become separated from those around us who
either never realized our change, or who have yet to come to know Him as we
have come to know Him. Either way, we become a different person, one in which
we have died to our former selves, and being such, we no longer rely on the old
ways.
In that moment, when we are saved, we become a new being.
When we do, we face the same circumstances as those who have either lived
through traumatic life events or circumstances. We must be mindful of our
presence among those non-believers or even those who think they are Christian
but are not.
It is a precarious path we walk when we are changed.
Not only that, but our perception of this fallen world
changes as well. The world around us takes on a new light. Things once unseen
for the sake of chasing after the natural things of this world are now visible.
Our senses are like that of a babe, freshly receiving inputs from old receptors
but are now seen through new eyes. Gone are those filters of addiction and
worldly influences. We are cleansed by His blood, washed white as snow.
“Wherefore, he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise
from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.”-Eph.5:14 When we awaken
from that death, we open the door as if to a freshly fallen snowscape; pristine
as it had been from the beginning. In our sin, we were too lost to see what was
before us all along.
Lastly, when we become one with our Father, we no longer
have to question our ability to speak with Him. We know that he listens to all
that we lift up in prayer. Even in our
weakness, God will intercede for us in prayer, “Likewise the Spirit also
helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought:
but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be
uttered. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the
Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of
God. And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God,
to them who are the called according to his purpose.”-Rom.8:26-28
We understand that even on the
darkest of days, those in which thunder clouds are looming on the horizon,
there is still even reason to rejoice. Even when those countless prayers we
have lifted up go unanswered, we still know that He is listening. “I had
fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of
the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine
heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.”-Ps. 27:13-14
In the waiting, there is learning…and
always hope.
When we feel downtrodden in that
waiting, take heed and remember, He sends us his helper, the Comforter, “But
when the Comforter is come, whom I will send unto you from the Father, even the
Spirit of truth, which proceedeth from the Father, he shall testify of me.”-Jn
15:26
Yes, even on those days when you expected
sunshine and God sends showers, rejoice in all that is given. We only have one
earthly life to live. Let us not waste this time in despair, but rather, share
the gift of salvation to all those who will hear. Be mindful of your audience
and be not anxious. Some are meant to plant while others will reap; often will
we see both. The fields are ripe for harvest. Now is the time.
“But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with
patience wait for it. Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities:
for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself
maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that
searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh
intercession for the saints according to the will of God”-Romans 8:25-27
Through the lush vegetation, he pushed. Behind him, darkness
and danger had pursued him like demons from another realm. There had been many
near misses; moments when it felt as if the very life had been sucked from his
lungs. As he neared the edge of the jungle, the light from beyond beckoned,
like a welcoming host waving their guest home.
He was so close.
Each day as he had neared the edge of the dark realm, he could
feel the grip of death lessen. Each new day, there was an increased hope, like
that of a child expectant of the excitement of opening their gifts on Christmas
morning. At first, the feeling was barely noticeable, but as the sound of
release from beyond the infirmaries of bondage slipped away, he could feel a
growing anticipation of eagerness stir within his blood.
Yet, he could not see what was to come.
He thought back to the verse which echoed in his mind like
the raptor’s call off the nearby canyon walls, “But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for
it.” A chill passed through his bones as its meaning resonated with his
soul.
Evil had stalked him like a dark predator, walking in the
shadow of each footstep. The multitude of workload and stress it placed upon
his life was nearly to the point of an unbearable burden. Yet, he pushed on;
praying for strength, guidance, and wisdom every waking moment. There were
times when his foot would slip on the path, and the weight of those shackles
would throw him to the ground. Each time he would moan under his breath, gritting
his teeth, as he pushed upward, looking for what little ray of hope that flickered
through the somber canopy above. Questions clouded his mind as Satan attempted
to confuse him, trying to distract him long enough to make him lose his way and
give up. When the roar of tumult would overwhelm him, he would pause, bending over
and holding his knees as he sought air to breathe, like the fighter pausing
between rounds; then he would drag his weary frame back into the fray.
Each time he gained momentum, as if the clouds overhead had
parted and a slimmer of light would escape to the forest floor, the darkness
would slam him once more, like a mule kicking him in the stomach. Nauseating helplessness
would momentarily overwhelm his spirit as he would stumble backward; dazed,
confused, and humiliated by what all was said of his inescapable ineptitudes as
Satan tried to make him lose courage. The taunts would cut him to the core, as
if the prince of darkness knew what mattered most, and would use those words to
slice his soul to the very marrow of his existence. As he lay upon the sod,
barely breathing, the darkness would leave, feeling accomplished for what it
had done. Behind it, the man closed his eyes and prayed in a whispered breath, “God, I need you like never before. If this
is the path you want me to take, then show me the way. If this is not, then
show me the door to take, for I cannot do this, nor have I ever done this
without you.”
As the man’s face looked up from the earth, overhead a fluorescent
butterfly lit upon a branch of forest fern nearby. Amongst the deep recess of
the darkness, its radiance lifted his spirit momentarily, like the wings of
that insect, fluttering upward, then gently floating away. He could feel his on
soul rise upon the occasion and a temporary moment of repose warmed his being.
He closed his eyes and pressed it into his memory, for it was the only reprieve
from the oppression he had known it some time.
The days would turn into months.
Each new month brought the repeated episode of the man being
beaten down, again and again, until his health began to deteriorate. It seemed
as the darkness was winning. But the man had not lost faith, and in his faith,
there was eternal hope; a strength greater than the darkness could compete, for
the gates of hell could not prevail against it. Each day, his journey brought
him closer to the end, and each day, victory was nearer than before.
Satan knew he had won, but as he watched in earnest, he
could not stop the man from continuing to move onward, never stopping, never
giving up. He used every means possible to stop his progress, but nothing
seemed to dissuade the man from his point of focus. It was if he had another
life within that the darkness could not penetrate; a light within.
As the pathway neared the end, the man felt his spirit begin
to soar. Each new day, each new breath, the life he once thought had gone was
now returning, but unlike ever before; more clear, more vivid, more alive than
ever before. It was as if he had died and was born again.
Death had lost its grip, and his victory was with God,
through Christ Jesus.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the edge of the deep wood opened, and there before him lay the vastness of eternity. The glory, in all its splendor, was more than his mind could grasp. Tears filled his eyes as the expanse of beauty flooded through his eyes, warming his soul from without, to within. The marrow of his being had been infused with something greater than any feeling he had previously known, as if an agape love, charity for which no expression could be summoned, touched an inner precept that he had not known until now.
The words flooded his soul like
the voices of a thousand waterfalls, whispering a roar into his being, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
The man sat and wept as God welcomed him into the fold, for
his heart was now healed.
We may never know the journey someone is on in this life, nor
the tribulations through which they are struggling. We can each in our own way
be a ray of hope, a brilliant butterfly to their being with nothing more than a
smile, a warm welcome, or just simply a kind hello.
Seek to empathize with your neighbor, colleague, or family
member. Remember, “. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind
of the Spirit because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the
will of God.”
Smile, and be patient, for, in the
end, hope will guide you.
We may not see the next door, but
with hope, and faith, we will know that when it opens, it will be the will of
God.
