Tag Archives: Acts

To Er is Human

Er of Pamphylia was a troubled youth in his younger days. His father, Armenios, an honorable Roman citizen, died when Er was only seven years old. It was too soon for Er. His death left a hole in his heart. In his teens, he rebelled at everything, his family, school, and eventually, his friends. Hoping to die a heroic death, he joined the Roman army, eventually becoming part of the 9th Legion. Wars and battles left him empty inside. But something began to dawn on him. Through every bloody combat, every battle scar, every enemy that died beneath his blade, he came to a stark realization – he was still alive.

Yet, with each victory, the triumphs seemed to grow less important. Er remained a hollow shell. Eventually, he wondered to himself, “Is this all that there is to life?”

One day, Er received word that his mother was terminally ill, so he took a leave of absence and returned home to help her until she passed. She died early one spring morning by his side as they sat under the flowering apple trees in their family orchard, marveling at the abundance of bees. Er never forgot, feeling her grip on his hand lessen and release as her soul took flight with the winged creatures floating about them. It was then that he thought he needed a change. All the reasons for rebelling were gone. The hurt he felt as a child had been replaced by battlefield nightmares.

He needed a fresh start.

Er transferred from the 9th to an outpost in Philippi, where he became a guard at the prison. He met a beautiful young woman named Martha, married, and then started a family. It felt good to settle down. As time passed, the officers overseeing the prison from Rome noticed Er to be a reliable, trustworthy man. He quickly rose through the ranks until he reached that of Centurion, the head of the prison. But with each promotion, something still seemed missing in his life.

It was late one evening when Er was making the final rounds before the night shift that there was an enormous disturbance at the prison entrance. He rushed to the sound of an angry mob to find one of his officers, an Optio, who was second in rank to Er, speaking to Jewish leaders and magistrates from the city. Many people were shouting and yelling, some protesting, others screaming obscenities at their captives. It was then he noticed the pair. One was much older than the other, both naked except for their bloodied tunics, and their backs were raw and bleeding from recently beaten. Their legs and arms were already bound with shackles and chains.

Er tried to listen between the commotion as the Pharisees insisted that these men be confined. “The city’s leaders want these men off the street before their presence creates an even bigger problem. They will likely start a riot, and we can’t have that! If the Praetor were to find out that we allowed these men to start a revolution, we all would be dead men. Besides, we are committing them partly for their own safety and not just that of the city.”

“Right,” nodded the officer, unbelieving, slipping a slide glance in Er’s direction and then back to the mob.

“Who beat them,” the Optio questioned. There was a shamed silence as the Jewish leaders looked at one another momentarily, then back at the officer. “Let’s just say it was justified by Jewish law,” one of the elders responded harshly and without feeling. The Pharisee continued, “But let it be known that if these men escape, the Praetor would want the heads of the guards watching over them. This is how important it is that they be incarcerated. Are we clear?”

“Perfectly,” the Optio responded, showing signs of agitation at the ordeal.

Knowing that the two men had been mistreated for some odd Jewish litigation and that the Praetor’s threat held far more weight in his decision, he was forced to take them. Besides, they looked like they had already served their punishment far beyond its intent.

“Centurion, I’m glad you’re here. What should we do? There seems to be some controversy regarding their confinement?”

“Well, we don’t want anything to happen to them, seeing as they’re such threats to the city’s civility,” he said, winking at his second-hand man.

The Er paused, catching the officer’s eye with a formidable stare, “But Optio, for the sake of the gods, we can’t let them escape. It will cost someone their life. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir,” he said, saluting and then returning to the crowd summoning a couple of other soldiers to help him take them from the prison’s entrance. As the other guards took hold of their new prisoners, one turned to the Optio and asked, “Sir, where are we taking them?” He then turned and looked at Er.

Er replied to the soldier, “Since they are of such importance, I’ll lead the way. But, Optio, you stay here with some of the men and secure the entrance. And for the gods’ sake, get these people out of my jail.”

“Sir, yes sir,” the Optio said, saluting Er and returning to the mob.

“We’ll put them in the inner prison for the night,” Er said, turning to the other soldiers who were with him, holding onto the prisoner’s chains. “There’s too much at stake with the temperament of the city’s magistrates and these Jewish leaders.”

Er didn’t say what was really on his mind as the clink of the prisoner’s chains and the shuffle of their sandaled feet followed behind him as he led the way. He had yet to hear them speak. Slowing his pace, he stepped aside until they were beside him then he continued walking with them at their pace. The elder looked as if he had been a soldier once. The edges of his muscular frame seemed aged and worn, yet beneath that aging façade, he could sense something strong and unrelenting. Yet, an aura of peace seemed to envelop his being.

“You men aren’t from around here, are you?”

“No sir, we are not.”

“What’s your name?”

“My name is Paul, an Apostle of Jesus Christ.”

“And who is your friend?”

“His name is Silas. He’s also a brother in Christ.”

“Well, Paul, I would say welcome to you and Silas, but under the circumstances, there isn’t anything welcoming about this place.”

“It’s no problem, but I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name?”

“I’m Er of Pamphylia, the head jailer of Philippi.”

“Well, I’m honored to have met you, Er. God has brought us here for a reason, and with time, we shall know why. Until then, may the good Lord bless you.”

Er nodded in agreement to this last, but curiously he wondered about the other. How could a man who had already been severely beaten say that his god had brought him here to jail? Why were the authorities so adamant about imprisoning these seemingly harmless men? There were just too many inconsistencies.

Finally reaching the innermost holding chambers, Er directed his men to place Paul and his companion in one of the empty cells so that they wouldn’t be bothered by some of the city’s hardened criminals, the ones that really needed to be incarcerated. “Make them as comfortable as possible, but Paul, I must have you shackled and chained to the wall just to be safe. Trust me. It’s more for our mutual benefit. Should something happen to you, it would not only cost you your life, but it would cost me my job and my life as well. Now we wouldn’t want any of those things to happen. Do we?”

“Of course not, Centurion.”

After the soldiers were done, they closed and locked the door behind them. Er glanced back one more time before retreating to the outer reaches of the dungeon. He stopped. What he saw was unlike anything he had seen before. Both men were smiling and talking while seated on the cold dungeon floor, chains draped around them, connecting their iron shackles to the cold stone wall. Their demeanor was no different than if they had been sitting on a veranda enjoying their afternoon tea. Then as much as they were enjoying their conversation, they stopped abruptly and noticed his gaze. Immediately, both men smiled, looked at each other, and whispered something. Then they did something most unusual. Both men bowed their heads. There was no more movement, no more talk. Simple silence. “What was this?” Curious, he had to ask. “Hey, what are you doing? Is something wrong?”

Paul looked up and smiled, “Nothing is wrong, my friend. We are simply saying a prayer for you and your men.”

“But why?”

“We seek to help those who don’t know Jesus Christ to know his love. We pray for you and your men so that your hearts may be opened to that unconditional love of the Father.”

“I’ve heard of this, Jesus. I also know about the uproar he created when they claimed he arose from the grave.”

“That’s right, my friend, he died for the sins of the world, and then three days, he arose from the grave defeating death, and now he sits at the right hand of God the Father.”

“Well, thank you for the prayers. I guess we could all use them.” At this, Er motioned to his men to continue. The dimly lit cell didn’t dampen their voices. As the Centurion and his men distanced themselves through the various passages leading out of the inner dungeon, they could still hear Paul and Silas carrying on as if they had never been beaten or imprisoned. In fact, to Er, it almost felt as if they were just along for the ride and that something or someone else was in charge.

Knowing that he would get little sleep if he were to go home, Er decided to stay the night. He gave his men orders to be on double duty, overlapping their watches so that nobody would fall asleep lest something transpire and the two men escape.

Late into the night, Paul and Silas seemed to become more energized as time wore on. The other prisoners were perplexed at the two men who acted as if they weren’t chained against a dark, dank prison wall; but rather were leading a congregation in worship. Nevertheless, those other inmates’ spirits were lifted with a sense of hope – hope for something they didn’t understand – some force or compelling spirit seemed to invite them to join. The rats even felt the power that kept them hidden in the dark shadows instead of tormenting the convicts. It was nearly midnight when Paul and Silas broke out in song, their voices reaching even the outer reaches of the jail.

Er eventually retired to his office, taking a nap on his bunk in the corner. The distant echoes of voices singing, as crazy as it sounded, seemed to lull him into a sense of peace. Sleep overcame him as the voices began to drift away. Before he knew it, he was standing at the edge of an abyss. The crater was a mile or more deep, with a clear blue pool of water at the bottom. Surrounding the opening was an arid desert wasteland – nothing but sagebrush and the occasional cactus as far as the eye could see. Suddenly, the ground began to shake. Alarmed, he looked behind him to see a herd of cattle stampeding toward him. Their eyes were red, and their nostrils shot out flames of rage. There was no retreat, nowhere to run. He quickly had a decision to make – die beneath the hooves of the demonic beasts or die jumping into the pit.

Closing his eyes, he leaped into the void.

Er continued to feel the vibrations of the thundering herd. Yet, “How could this be,” his mind tried to reason. “He had leaped into the chasm. How could he feel the earth?” The ground  continued to shake violently as Er slowly began to wake up. It was then he realized it was no dream. Sitting up on the edge of his bed, he looked dismayed as the earth beneath him seemed to roll like the waves on a sea. The ceiling creaked as if it would collapse at any minute.

Someone yelled, “Earthquake.” Er rolled out of his bunk, slapped on his sword, and sprinted for the innermost part of the fortress. Door after door of the dimly lit prison was swung open wide. His mind raced. “The two most important inmates would certainly be long gone – this was the end.” Sure enough, as he reached the inner dungeon, still gasping for breath, there before him, the door of Paul and Silas’ cell stood wide open. They were nowhere in sight.

Fearing the worse, there was nothing left to do.

Drawing his sword, Er prepared to end his life. He held the saber with both hands before him, the blade’s tip against his chest, as he closed his eyes. The thought of all the countless battles he had survived flowed past like a river of blood, a life of meaningless struggle, his mother’s death. Then the image of Martha and their children – he would never see them again. Gripping the hilt tighter, he was just about to thrust the sword deep into his heart when he heard the voice of Paul cry out, “Stop….Don’t hurt yourself: we’re all here.”

Shocked to hear Paul’s voice, Er yelled for a light. One of his men rushed to his side with a torch in hand. What he saw next made his heart stop. Grabbing the torch, he swung it wide, scanning around him in a full circle. In the cells opposite Paul and Silas were the other prisoners still seated, all in shock. He turned back to the cell before him and looked with the torchlight; there sat Paul and Silas, happy, smiling. Their chains and shackles lay strewn about as if they had been shards of clay.

Er slowly walked in before them, trembling. He fell to his knees and, in a voice of a man that had just seen his life pass before him, said, “What must I do to be saved?”

Paul and Silas answered, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.” As Er thought about believing in Jesus, a vision appeared to him. He could see a dove in flight that landed in a beautiful flowering apple tree, like those he had shared with his mother on her last day. Suddenly, something inside him changed. There was a sense of peace in his soul unlike anything he had ever felt before. Gone were the worries of death. Gone were the fears of never seeing his family again. Yes, there washed over him a warmth, a love unlike he had ever known. Something inside him wanted to believe.

“Then quickly, we must go…to my house.”

Yelling orders to his men to secure the prison, Er retreated out a hidden back entrance to the jail, escaping, for now, he and his captives were both wanted men. Silently through Philippi’s dark alleys, they made their way until they had quietly, unnoticed, slipped into Er’s home. Once there, Er had his servants bring rags and bowls of hot water. Immediately, he began to cleanse and bandage their wounds himself. After providing them with new clothing, Er had the servants bring out platters of meat and fresh fruits, and then he begged Paul and Silas to continue to share the words that had immediately comforted him in the jail with the rest of his household.

So, as requested, Paul and Silas began to share the story of redemption through Christ Jesus, his persecution, death, resurrection, and ascension to the right hand of the Father. When they were through, not only was Er converted, but his entire household, family, and servants. What had seemed a tragedy became a cause for celebration.

But not before they settled with the Roman magistrates.

Soon, there came a knock at the outer gate of Er’s home. Hesitant to answer, he moved forward, knowing that if he died now, he would be with Jesus in eternity. All fear erased, he still felt somewhat apprehensive as he opened the front gate. Facing him were several of the other sergeants of the prison whom he all knew personally.

“Men, you must know I’m not giving them up without a fight.”

“Sir, we’re not here to fight or take them back into custody. They told us to tell you just to let them go. They are free.”

“What, how can this be?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, they said to release them immediately!”

“Hold on a minute. I’ll be right back.”

From there, he left the soldiers outside the gate while he returned to share the good news with Paul and Silas.

“The authorities have sent word that you are to be released. You are free,” Er shouted excitedly, hands in the air.

Paul’s face became angry at the news, quite opposite what Er had expected. Er’s countenance quickly fell, as did his arms by his side, seeing his new friend change so drastically.

“They have beaten us openly, not guilty of any crime, being Romans, and have cast us into prison; and now do they thrust us out secretly as if nothing happened? No, not at all, but let them come themselves and take us out themselves.”

Unbelieving, Er returned to his men and conveyed Paul’s message. They left confused but sure of their orders.

“Come now, let us go back to the prison so what is done can be properly undone,” Paul said to Er. They bid the family goodbye as they departed later that morning, heading back to the last place Er would have imagined going, to prison.

As requested, the sergeants told the Jewish leaders and magistrates Paul’s answer to their dismissal, and they quickly made haste back to the prison, where they immediately had Paul and Silas released. Their fear of what Rome would do to them if they discovered they had beaten and imprisoned one of their own surpassed their hatred for Paul.

But before Paul and Silas left Philippi, they went to the house of Lydia. There they spent time comforting others and letting it be known to them and all the other Christians of the city that they were safe and freed by the very hand of God. Later, Er and his family came by to say goodbye before they departed, thanking them for the precious gift of eternal life.

Through it all, Er had discovered there was more to life than living day-to-day. He now knew there was only one true God, and he was his child. Er would be eternally grateful to the two unexpected prisoners who showed up one dark night that changed his life forever. And for that, all he could say was, “Thanks be to God.”

2 Comments

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

A Level Head…

As we gathered at 8 AM to begin work this past Saturday on the Spiritual Retreat, we began with prayer. We asked God to protect us and to give us strength, guidance, and wisdom as we worked. We also asked that this building be used to serve Him in whatever capacity so that in our work we would be serving God.

The overcast skies were constantly looming ever closer. The weatherman had predicted 100% chance of rain, so when I found myself barely able to make out the markings on the saw before the dawn’s first light, I was even more thankful that it had not yet begun to rain. Each night this past week, after a full day at school, I would drive home, change clothes, and dash out to the work site to continue building as long as the last vestiges of light would allow. Even so, the necessary pieces of framing were still not fully in place by the time the work crew showed up for the first group effort. Once we were all assembled, there was Jim, a neighbor and Airline Pilot; Leroy, my neighbor, mentor, and retired Scout Executive; John “Fletch” Church, another friend and Paralegal, and lastly my son, Jonathan; all brothers and son in Christ. Our intended focus that day was to try to get the plywood sheathing on the roof. However, it was not to be.

In all things, my focus is to always give thanks. Even when things don’t go as planned, there is a certain level of gratitude which must be appreciated. Looking back, the things we accomplished Saturday were things that would have been nearly impossible for one person to do alone; at least not easily and in a timely manner. This group of men had been the answer to the unforeseen problems that would arise, but God knew.

In all we do, there is always a purpose.

And in the work, there was learning.

One of the many things that had yet to be done was to put up the rafter collar ties. Since we had the manpower, three of us stood on the second-floor working; Leroy on the ladder and Fletch and I holding up the two ends of the collar while I nailed them. Leroy was carefully balancing himself on the ladder while holding a four-foot level as we carefully put each rough cut 2×6 in place. At one point, the ladder shifted, and he became unsteady. Shifting his footing, the level slipped out of his hand and came crashing down onto the left side of my head. Most of the impact was to my ear. My initial reaction was, “Well, now that felt good.”

The bells were still ringing in my head when Leroy asked, “Did that hurt?”

“Just a little,” was my reply.

We both laughed. In truth, it stung pretty good, “But hey,” I thought to myself, “At least I’m still conscious.”

However, as I looked up at Leroy, the look on his face was that of concern. Leroy had been like a father figure to me since we had met. The first day we walked into his home, which is now ours, there had been a feeling; something special that I could recognize but didn’t know what it was. The realtor lady, who would later become a sister in Christ to us, Melonie Reid-Murphy, was showing us Leroy and his wife Annette’s home for the first time. Like in the movie, “War Room,” there was something baked into that home. Later, we would learn that when they were building the house, Leroy and Annette went around and wrote scriptures on the 2×4’s. When we would meet for our most unusual, pre-purchase interview, we instantly felt like we had known each other for years. It was then Leroy became my mentor in many avenues of life, but most importantly, was the one of faith.

So, as Leroy looked down at me from the top of the ladder with that look, I knew there was something more.

“Your cut,” he said, somberly, “Your ear is bleeding,” he continued.

Instantly, I could sense his feeling of responsibility wash over me. Trying to abate any of his self-imposed guilt, I replied, “Ok, it’s just another one to go with all the others,” and laughed it off.

“Maybe we could get Jesus to touch it and heal it,” Fletch chimed in about that time.

Instantly, my mind raced to the scriptures. Amongst the ringing still dissipating, like echoes off the distant mountainside, there was no recollection of such an act that I could recall. “Had Jesus healed the servant,” I asked out loud. Both Leroy and John shook their heads yes.  The scene in the Garden of Gethsemane was playing out in my head, but for some reason, the healing had slipped through my comprehension all these years. “Later I will have to look that up,” I thought to myself as we carried on.

Since everyone had other commitments, as is normal for a Saturday, we finished around noon and parted our ways, myself being thankful not only for the help but the fellowship as well.

However, as if it were confirmation of God’s presence that morning, Fletch messaged me the scripture later in the afternoon to which my thoughts had been silently seeking that morning, Luke 22:50-51, “And one of them smote the servant of the high priest, and cut off his right ear. And Jesus answered and said, Suffer ye thus far. And he touched his ear, and healed him.”

As my eyes read, and then reread the passage, the scene began to play out before me. Jesus, standing in the long shadows of the early morning, long before dawn watched as the light of their torches approached. Judas would lead the mob as they approached. The disciples would suddenly jump awake, a bitter irony from their unnatural drowsiness of the night which had forsaken Christ. Yet, now, they were ready to take up arms to protect him, lest they should lose him forever. In his haste, one of them, as the gospel of Luke recalls, would draw his sword and cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant. We know from other accounts that it was likely Peter who wielded the sword.

At this point, the servant’s assumptions of all that had been said were confirmed. The searing pain of any injury to the ear seems to be magnified, as I had recently known. Although mine was a small scratch, this was an entire ear sliced from his scalp. One can only imagine the thoughts that thundered through the victim’s head as blood began to flow down his face. In that moment, Jesus responded in true Christ fashion, “Suffer ye thus far,” and reached out and touched where the ear had been.

In an instant, the pain stopped. All those watching stood stunned. The torchlight danced around them as everyone was surely silent at that moment.

The servant, who now stood looking down at his former ear, still lying covered in blood upon the ground, felt a tremor of the Holy Spirit ripple through his body. With his right hand, he reached up and felt another ear in the former’s place. All the accusations had in one moment been confirmed by the act of Peter, but before the soldiers could retaliate, Jesus had altered the course of yet another soul. The servant had heard of the rumors of healings and miracles that the man they had come to arrest had performed, but he had never witnessed one in person. Now, he was one would had been healed.

As the servant stood stunned and confused, the scene played on before him. The conflict of what was had now been forever changed, but did it reach his heart?

Paul tells us in the book of Acts, the account to the chief of the Jews in Rome how those who have their minds set against believing we forever be trapped in that prison of anguish, “ Saying, Go unto this people, and say, Hearing ye shall hear, and shall not understand; and seeing ye shall see, and not perceive: For the heart of this people is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes have they closed; lest they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.”

As the soldiers and priests escorted Jesus away in restraints, the servant continued to stand immobile, frozen in place as a witness to a crime. The remaining disciples would sneak off into the remaining shadows of the morning to hide. His heart sank at the realization as the error of his ways became known. As he awakened to the reality before him, tears began to fill his eyes.

I asked our preacher this morning what he thought of the servant’s reaction might have been. He agreed that as the rest of the mob would have been set upon arresting Jesus, and like them, the servant’s mind couldn’t have been changed. The thought rumbled through my head like the thunder through the valley as we sat in the sanctuary during this morning’s service.

As the last words of the sermon ended, God whispered into my ear the answer I had been seeking.

With the ears of which he had been born, the servant of the High Priest would have never known or heard the truth. As Paul said, “Their ears were dull of hearing,” meaning, they had their minds set on only believing one story and nothing else. To the Jews, Jesus was just another troublemaker, another Zealot to deal with. When Peter cut off the servant’s ear, he was stripped of his former self. Jesus Christ simply touched him and made him whole, and when he did, the servant of the High Priest was able to receive the truth, and in so, found Christ.

Yes, with a new ear, he could hear, and in the end, found salvation in Christ.

The ringing had finally stopped in my ear and in my heart, I was thankful for a minor slip of a level the day before.

God had answered prayers this past Saturday in many more ways than one. There was no serious injury and, in the end,, we served Him in all that we did.

They say iron sharpens iron, and true fellowship is a gift in and of itself.

Most importantly, let us not forget, “lest they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.”

Let Jesus touch you today, and in the end, you will be healed.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational

Sevenfold and the Vehicle…

But none of these things move me; nor do I count my life dear to myself, so that I may finish my race with joy, and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God.” -Acts 20:24

Singularly I matter not.

Swirling over the rocks, like the eddies within a swollen river, we smash against all that prevails before our paths; blinding, racing fury, hurling down the mountainside. Alone, we are but a single drop of fluid but combined as one, we become a force to which incredulous powers are bestowed.

At times, my life feels like it has become one with the mountains.

There is no scene before the eyes from which I look anew each day that does not thrill within my heart. For if it were not one cascading tributary, then it shall be yet another, each providing inspiration, a renewal of spirit, an encouragement to the being within. Like the sweet strains of the melodic voice echoing from the fiddle string, uniting with one in the chorus of the evening calls of yonder whippoorwill. Below us, the sun sets in a spectacular display of God’s handiwork, painting the heavens in colors too numerous, too capricious for one to espouse. The tongues of fire leap from hidden shadows to dance in the sky above, as eyes follow the enchantment until bluebird pastels darken into a Prussian blue chasm, deep dark depths of the void above us, where distant stars twinkle like the frost covering the ground on a chilly sunrise.

Everywhere, the crisp new green leaves of spring sing their sweet songs. Whispers of ancient tones, while stem, bark, and root below seek the heart of a mountain beneath. Through the crevices of granite strands, rich forest loams, one after another savoring the earthen riches within until their sap is nourished and sent once more to rejuvenate those so far away, so close to the outer limits, yet, so reliant upon those below.

We are nothing alone, living in solitary remorse, we cannot be what we have been created to be; our purpose unfulfilled. Only when we come to the awareness of life, can we begin to understand all that there is and how thankful we must be for what we have been given. It is then, perhaps for some too late, that we finally find our purpose, our calling. It is then many come to the solemn conclusion, the race has yet begun. At that moment, in that awakening of the soul, we ultimately realize that we have been put where we are for more than one reason.

Often, when there seems to be an obstacle facing what lies in my path of everyday life, it is then I am aware that struggle is merely the vehicle to get me where God wants me to be, for a purpose unbeknownst to myself or anyone else. Sometimes it is made clear once that vehicle has reached its terminal point, what the purpose was; sometimes we may never know why. But when we do suddenly fathom the thought, “This is not the real reason I’m here, but that this issue is merely the means to get me to this point,” it is in that moment that we suddenly reach a new level of communication with our Heavenly Father, if only for an instant, we reach into the complexity of all that surrounds us. It is then that we, in the blink of an eye, find the Holy Spirit among us and then we can fully appreciate with open eyes, and arms, that which is about to happen.

Thus, was my recent experience.

One cannot begin to comprehend the magnitude of all that had transpired to lead up to the point that I heard myself exclaim out loud, “This is not the real reason I’m here. This is just the vehicle. Something else is about to happen. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it; no, this is just the vehicle to get me here.”

To understand the complexity of the problem would require more than this article could stand.  Yet, it cannot go without saying that the depth to which the problem prevented me from going forward was as if a granite boulder had been placed upon my shoulders and my legs had been set in chains. I had mentally struggled, made numerous phone calls, and spoke with multiple people who might be able to help; all were unable to find a solution. It was then, I knew something greater than myself was needed.

Coming down the mountain on my daily drive home, I literally called upon His name, and asked Him to take the steering wheel of my life, for it was beyond me to figure out. At that moment, there was silence; no radio, no words, just the sound of the car slipping down the winding road. Outside my window, the blue-green vista beckoned as the sun began its slow decent below the distant peaks.

Sevenfold,” came the voice.

I instantly knew what He meant.

Yes, there was comfort in knowing where He wanted me to go. Melanie’s store located in downtown Lenoir, named “Sevenfold,” is a place that makes you feel more than good when you walk through the doors. While she may not have a bustling tourist icon in one of those fancy mountain town locations, her humble store has a feel much more special; God is there.

I should swing by the bank, get my address changed, then if there is time, I’ll swing by Sevenfold,” I thought back to myself, keeping in mind what He had said.

Sevenfold,” came the voice once more.

Yes, yes,” I thought, shaking my head, “Yes, of course, I’ll go. For certain, yes, I’ll go.”

At the bank, I tried to use my own intellect to figure out the problem once more, and once more, He stopped me cold.

Sevenfold.”

Guess I’m still going to Sevenfold after all,” I thought to myself.

Moments later, as I walked through those old Walgreen’s glass and metal door, I was instantly filled with warmth. The home within the office building grew on you. One after another, tiny treasures lay about the store, including some of my own work. Combined, it made for a jewel in the rough, some place yet to be discovered by the world; a littles piece of heaven. Melanie was in the back of the store at the lunch counter holding court with two older black men, debating details about grass, or so I heard, when I walked up.

“Do you know that grass that they spray along the steep banks to keep the dirt from washing away. I think it starts with an “S,”” she said, squinting and smiling at me at the same time. I had met Melanie when she first showed us the house we now live in. She was a realtor back then. I don’t know if she had already begun her calling when we met, or if it was something that came later. All I know is that she was now fully upon her journey, and like so many of us was finding the fury of the wind in her face. In that, we knew she was on the right path.

“Centipede,” I answered, in more of a question than an answer?

“No, it’s not that,” she said, smiling.

“I said it was bluegrass,” said the younger of the two men, his name was Craig Perkins, the son of the Councilman, Ike Perkins. He seemed older when I first looked at him, but later found out he was about my own age. He skin was weathered, but his eyes were bright. I would also learn later that he too was an artist, and dabbled in various forms of mediums.

Once we got past the grass situation, I began to share my conundrum with the group. Melanie began to shake her head yes, “I’ve got this,” she answered. About that time, customers came walking in the front door. She scooted off to them while Craig said, “I’ve got an idea,” so he and I slipped out the door and across the street to track down someone he knew. We came back shortly afterward without success. When we walked back in, the thought hit me, “God wants you in the store, and in this, you will find that something else awaits; this issue is just the vehicle to get you here.”

“Thank you,” I said to Craig, “I appreciate your help, but I now know why I’m here. This is just the vehicle to get me here. Something else is about to happen.”

I actually had the nerve to say it out loud,” I mused within my aching head. The toll of the day’s mental struggle was building to a crescendo, and the pain was becoming a gentle throb at the base of my skull.

About that time, Melanie called us to the back of the store to the lunch counter. “I’ve got somebody coming that will take care of everything.”

“Wow,” I said shaking my head. I then began to share with her my revelation of the vehicle.

“She’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Not a problem, unless you have to be somewhere,” I answered back.

“No, we’re here as long as it takes.” She and Craig smiled back. We then began talking about what all had been going on and what was happening in her world. Her father had been in the hospital. It was then the phone rang. It was her daddy on the other side of the line. “He’s coming home from the hospital,” she whispered while holding the phone away from her mouth as she spoke, smiling gleefully.

“That’s great news,” Craig replied, “Tell him I said hello,” he followed up.

“Okay,” she assured him.

About that time, a lady came racing through the front doors holding various implements of writing and office materials; my angel had arrived. We quickly went through the details, which she knew every answer, every angle to cover, and in the blink of an eye, the problem that had seemed impossible to solve was done.

Yes, in the blink of an eye, the unsolvable was wiped away.

Then came the real reason we were there.

I don’t recall how, I don’t know why, but for some reason, the lady mentioned that her mother was an artist also. “Yea, she painted the mural on the bridge abutment at the park in Collettsville.”

“You mother is Mary Lou?”

“Yes.”

“And Ray your father has cancer?”

I paused. As the solemnness of the moment hit me. It hadn’t been that long ago that my own mother succumbed to her disease after a twenty-year battle. Ray’s battle was something I didn’t take lightly and here stood a daughter whom I never met. My mind was full of questions, but this was not the time.

“I pray for him and your mother almost every day,” I said to her, as I looked her in the eyes. I could sense she wanted to say more, but was holding something back; an emotion, a feeling that couldn’t be spoken.

“Thank you,” she responded. Her shoulders seem to sink a little as a shadow passed over her countenance; there was a hidden pain within.

I could feel the emotion welling up inside myself as well. From the corner of my eye, I could see Melanie was also becoming affected by what was transpiring. I knew at that moment that the lady before me did not go to church with her own mother and father. I had never seen her before, even on Easter Sunday. It was then I realized the vehicle’s purpose and why I was there.

“God put me here for a reason today…to meet you.”

As she smiled, not sure of what to say, I walked over and hugged her, “I’ll continue to pray for them and you,” I said.

From that point on, it was a blur.

There was something about a painting of a horse, whom the lady had owned, and a painting that Melanie had owned for a long time, but suddenly felt God telling her to give it to the lady. There was such a flurry of emotion it was all difficult to keep up with and understand. It was as if a tsunami of the Holy Spirit had flooded the store and we were awash in his glory.

Our heads were buzzing with thoughts, emotions, and joy.

After she and Melanie had gone outside to say goodbye, I sat on the stool looking at Craig who sat at the other end of the counter. I felt drained like I had just been through a boxing match; a fight with myself mostly, and had won. The headache was gone, and the weight had been lifted.

Craig sat there looking back at me. “God put us here for a reason Craig, he put us here for a reason,” I said in half sigh of relief.

“Amen,” he smiled, “Amen.”

Alone we are nothing, but with Him, we can do all things.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational

The Hand of the Lord Upon Us….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, the darkness crept closer still.

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

He was our late father.

My heart leaped.

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

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

Darkness, echoes and then silence.

Something inside me suddenly told me to go after them.

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

“What are you doing,” my sister screamed!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Panic was in the air.

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

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

“No, I’m not,” I calmly replied.

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

“It’s not coming this way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, it was perfectly clear now.

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

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

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Uncategorized