Tag Archives: angels

by | December 24, 2019 · 9:00 pm

The Gift in Swaddling Clothes

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.

Thanks be to God.

[1] Luke 1:35

[2] Luke 2:8-15

[3] Luke 2:16-18

[4] Luke 2:19

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by | July 3, 2018 · 10:11 pm

The Work of Our Hands…

“ May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;
establish the work of our hands for us—
yes, establish the work of our hands.”-Psalms 90:17

The hands are worn and strewn with scars of toil. Yet, there is no remorse, no pity to have bestowed upon thy servant, for the struggle through which he now slaves is but a mere pittance when compared to what is in store for him on that final day. Before him, the makings of a building begin to take shape. To some, it will be just a shelter, a place out of the way, but to the weary of heart, it will be a refuge from the storm. In his heart, God has spoken, telling him that from this place His work shall be done.

For nearly four years, there has been no rest. Wave after wave of tribulation has poured over his bow. His decision to leave everything behind to serve the Lord was complete. There was no turning back. Those in the secular realm scoffed behind his back, saying it would never last. At times he thought his vessel might be capsized, but each time, there was a way out, God’s grace shown upon his journey. There were dark days so bleak that the only hope of his salvation and life eternal were all that kept him going. Illness crept in, dragging him down further until there was but a thin thread of silver lining around that dark cloud which seemed to never go away; God’s mercy was always there.

He was never alone. There was always a presence, angels unaware if you will; those who kept watch over him and his family, day and night. Many prayed on behalf of him and his family. When prayers were lifted up, there was always a reply, all in God’s time.

Day after day, he kept swimming to that far distant shore, never giving in, never surrendering to the forces that tried to pull him under. His purpose had yet to be fulfilled. His legs never ceasing to kick against the current, he kept paddling on. As the Apostle Paul would write, “However, I consider my life worth nothing to me; my only aim is to finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the good news of God’s grace.”

The sweltering heat beat down like a heavy woolen blanket, nearly suffocating each breath. His arm would swell from the heavy twelve-inch block, but he would not be undone. His fingertips would break open and bleed from the rough cinder block surfaces; yet, he would not cease. Stone after stone, the foundation walls began to take shape. Like the steps we take each day in our walk of faith, we build one upon the next. If we build our faith upon a solid rock foundation, we can rest assured the storms of life will not wash it away. If our faith be true, we never falter. It is so easy to give up and turn back, but we must not be discouraged. We work for no human masters; no terrestrial beings will loom over us in eternity. Yes, it is our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ we serve.

 “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters,  since you  know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”                                – Colossians 3:23-24

Although he labors, he knows that it is not an end to the means. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.”-Eph. 2:8-9 No, he is not working his way to heaven; rather, this work is necessary to create a space in which his future endeavors will be serving God. It will become a place that will serve as a spiritual retreat, his prayer closet, his mountaintop repose. From here, the gifts of which God has bestowed upon him shall then once again begin to shine as in days of old.

Once we dive into that river we must cross, we die to our former selves. Leaving everything behind sometimes means giving up those things that might have been chains keeping us tied to sin. They might have seemed well and good from the outside, but within, we were slaves to their bondage. Once we reach that distant shore, we now can see how they were misguided. Now with eyes anew, we can see how those blessings might be better used to serve our Master and to show others the pathway to Christ.

Yes, this is a labor of love; love to his Lord and Savior.

We all have a purpose for which we know not. We must strive to reach that distant shore no matter when or where we begin in life. We must never lose focus of who and what we’ve become when we receive our salvation. We must always be mindful. Others are watching, and for perhaps a brief moment, we might be the light that leads them to their own transformation into Christianity, to receive Christ in their life; of this, we can only hope and pray.

How sweet are the words of which Paul wrote in his final days to Timothy, his faithful brother in Christ, “6 For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time for my departure is near. 7 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 8 Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”-2 Timothy 4:6-8

Yes, there is a crown of glory awaiting all who seek Him.

We will continue our toil, no matter the consequence until that fateful day when we finally are welcomed into those pearly gates with the words, “Welcome good and faithful servant. Well done my son, well done.”

Thanks be to God.

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by | April 3, 2018 · 10:00 pm

A Visitor from Afar

“And Elisha prayed, and said, Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see. And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.” – 2 Kings 6:17

He looked down at his worn, weathered hands as he told his story. His voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and as cracked as those calloused palms to which he spoke. “They would not listen,” he recalled, the clear blue eyes glazed over as he looked into the distant past. “We tried to warn them, but it was of no use.” He shook his head as he looked up at me, wanting to say more but emotion had gripped his throat. He lowered his head and ran his fingers through his course gray-speckled hair, relenting to the pain within until he could speak once more.

When he had finally recovered, his demeanor had changed. Like that of an ancient warrior who had finally prepared for battle, he had returned to the front to continue the fight and tell the rest of the story.

“We had known that they were coming, but we didn’t know when. I was with my brother in the upper pastures. It was late spring, and our sheep were hungry for any new growth. A couple weeks earlier, all the men had met one evening to discuss what we would do if they came. We knew that God was with us, but we also knew from the past, that we would need to do more than to kneel and pray when their swords began to swing. There were arguments on both sides of the faith, but eventually, we of the warrior clans ruled out. We wanted to believe that God would lead us, and we always will, but then again, we knew in the ancient times, God also fought on the side of the Israelites, and we as them, believed in our Heavenly Father; now so probably more than then. So when we heard the rumble of the hoof beats echoing up the canyon walls, we knew it was time. I raced along the ridgelines trying to watch as I flew through rock and tree, trying not to slip to the depths below. As we raced back to our farms and villages, the ancient men of faith felt their hearts in their ears. The pounding of blood pulsed through our veins as the spirit drew neigh. We had been told that overwhelming forces would come, but we feared not, for in the days of Elisha, Gideon, David, and all the other biblical kings of old who needed God to help them win, we too knew that without Him, we would surely meet Him sooner than later.

In the distance, I could see some of the families already beginning to flee to the upper reaches of the valleys. Their belongings and animals in tow. There was something about the sight of family and friends fleeing for their lives that made your insides turn into fire. We no longer felt our legs as we were at once lifted from the ground and seemingly placed into our positions of defense awaiting the onslaught of deranged armies. Their purpose had been prepared by those who had lied about the truth, swaying even the most ardent believer into thinking that they were doing the Lord’s work by attacking these meager hunters and farmers. We would find out later that we had been described as devil worshippers, practicing occult rituals, holding worship of our own accord and slandering God’s Word to make it fit our demonic worship. Those lies stung as bad as the flames that would consume most of our kin, the lucky ones that had been captured.

The rest of us would live to find a worse fate.

That day could never be erased from my mind, as we stopped one advance after another. They came like swarms of locusts, too many for the few of us to shoot with arrow and spear. We turned to rolling boulders from above to both crush them and to block the passes through which they had been attempting to pass; some only wide enough for one or two men to pass through at a time. By nightfall, we had secured our border, but with only a handful of men, the new dawn would bring more soldiers from below. Our families had for now made some good time, but the climb to the nearby peaks was slow and grueling. The elderly moved at their own speed, not fearing what was to come, but instead, welcoming it, for they had already asked for the Lord to deliver them.

Knowing that they needed more time, we stayed to buy them at least one more day’s travel. That night I watched as the stars came out and all of God’s creation was on display for us. The pitch-black sky was the perfect backdrop for the multitude of stars that lit the heavens above. The night air was cold, for it was still spring. Pockets of snow still clung to the shadowed sides of the mountains. The woolen overcoat I had carried was barely enough to keep me warm. We dared not light fires for fear of being discovered and giving away our positions, so we huddled close to one another and did the best we could, falling asleep praying to God above.

I felt as if we had barely fallen asleep when the glow of the coming morn began to light the eastern horizon. The sun had barely touched the skyline when we heard the sound of footsteps echoing again up the valley. Our hearts began to beat in time as we knew we were the only thing between our loved ones and death. Before we picked up the sword and shield to begin possibly our last day on earth, we gathered together in prayer.”

“Brother,” the old man said to me as his eyes began to well up once again, “I can tell you I had never known anyone or anybody that had prayed a prayer before that day that came true as it did that day. I must say to you before you think it, that this must just be an exaggeration, but I tell you as the Father in Heaven above sits on the throne of God, it is true. That day we prayed as one, and we said this, “God, please Lord if it be your will, give us the strength to do what is right, to save our loved ones, to defeat this force. God we know we cannot do this alone, for as in those days of Elisha, we need you now, oh Lord we need you. We beseech you, God, to send us down angels from on high to aid us in this battle if it be your desire. We seek your guidance, we seek your love, we seek you in all that we do from the very day we are born until the day we die. Lord hear our pleas, for we are the keepers of your word, from the beginning until this day, Thanks be to God, Amen.”

“We turned from that moment and took up our positions, the few of us that remained.

As we knelt behind rock and crevice waiting and watching until they were within range, the clouds began to cast shadows on the lower vestiges of the valleys. We could see the winds swirling them over the peaks behind us. Some of our younger men began to pray out loud, asking for the safety of those family members still trying to reach those distant summits before the storms hit. Distant thunderclaps shook the ground as dark, ominous clouds began to shroud the peaks that heretofore shone like brilliant golden statues in the morning sunlight.

It was then as if God had truly stood with us, that the unbelievable happened.

Shrouds of blinding ice and rain began to rush past us, like embodied beings of another realm. Lightning strobed in sequenced flashes, striking objects below our cover, shaking the earth until we thought we too might be thrown into the hell that had become the onslaught of man and beast below. Screams of horror and death could barely be heard over that of the wind, like a horrific banshee of hades, all had been obscured from anything we could determine to be human. There was no describing the scene below us, other than we could only determine in blinding sequences of scenes; men, beast, and other, intertwined in a battle that no mortal could withstand.

Time passed, and the sound of our own heartbeats in our ears drummed to the sound of the throng of echoes which combined into a siren of prayers which had been answered. I grasped onto the granite boulder before me to make sure I was still alive, so surreal was everything else around me at the moment.

We don’t know what day if it were the same or more than one, but eventually, the squalls ended, and we could rise from our places of battle refuge.

Below us on the mountain, there were only vague remnants of what had been a sizeable army. Pieces of shields, fragments of weaponry, and human remains all littered the landscape. It was as if a mighty beast had torn them asunder, limb from body, head from torso; the death was complete; not one had survived.”

The old man looked up at me and smiled for the first time.

“You see,” he nodded as he spoke, “God be with us.”

I sat in silence and in awe.

For a moment, I could feel his hand upon my knee as he wanted to say more, and then he was gone.

The day had been long and my brief rest in the chair had turned into a nap. Little did I know that it was more than just a peaceful rest I would encounter. Outside in the nearby woods, a woodpecker tapped out his vibrant melody.

I had not expected it nor known he was coming, but it was a blessing to have been visited from afar once more.

May God be with us.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 30, 2017 · 9:44 am

Misty Mountains…

“Land that drinks in the rain often falling on it and that produces a crop useful to those for whom it is farmed receive the blessing of God. But land that produces thorns and thistles is worthless and is in danger of being cursed. In the end it will be burned.” – Hebrews 6:7-8

This morning we awoke to a gentle rain falling outside our window. The birds call to one another as they bustle to and fro, carrying on as if nothing changes, their nests protected as they have built them to withstand far greater storms. The water, our life-giving source, soaks into the earth; grass and plants drinking in the coolness, their colors being revived.

Standing looking down at the reflection in the pools of water below the bridge, the clear blue sky of yesterday reflected back. Below the surface boulders, dark crevices, and fissures of time lay hidden. The medium, water, danced about, laughing against the rocks, its voice playing a melody to the ears, a chorus written by only the Master’s hand. Like the presence of God, water, our life source, can take may forms.

Our footsteps walked along well-worn paths, crisscrossed by a network of root, vines, and stones; constantly reaching upward, our climb was an ascent on a nearby peak. Walking in the surroundings of antiquity, time only passes to our awareness, a brief instant to our audience, the granite artifacts of eons gone by. Water has eroded their sharpness, smoothing them to a pleasing shape; soft and gentle. Along the stone surface, cracks and fissures are made; the footholds in time. Generations of life hath searched out the multitude of instances from which their web of limbs and root may find sustenance amongst the precious soil, so sparsely found here on the mountain.

Like those plants seeking life, we often find ourselves seeking the truth. Hidden amid the overload of worldly information, like the solid, formidable stone edifices we pass, our hands touching briefly the cool, firmness; a reality; a truth; we seek out this permanence in life. Yet, many cannot find their way. They have become blinded by the incessant tirade of the information with which we are flooded in each waking moment. The progress of mankind is measured by one’s ability to grasp the technology of the day. We place flat panels of information in every room. In the back of our minds, there has been placed a fear of losing touch, a fear of missing the headlines of the moment. We carry with us devices with which we can remain engaged, even when we cannot be near those screens of connectivity. Can we not live without this constant feeding of noise? Can we not leave it behind, and for once, return to the truth that lies before us since the creation? “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and I will bring you back from captivity…” “Knock, and the door shall be opened.”

Sitting upon the monolithic granite peak, we look out at the vastness that lay before us. In the nearby distance, the mountain they call Grandfather stands; close, dark, and vigilant. We can almost reach out and touch him, his closeness comforting. Before we can think, the scene before us begins to change. Around us, the void between fills with the fluidness of life. Clouds roll through, a mist of the life source we watched and listened to only minutes before now takes flight and passes us by; its destination unknown to us, directed by the Master’s touch. Wisps of whiteness, cool refreshing to our skin, blankets the world below. Closing your eyes, you can soak in the bliss. The whisper of sound surrounds us and tells us to release those burdens we have left behind. Blinkingly, we open our eyes to a new reality. Where once stood the solid image of Grandfather, there is nothingness; he is gone, obscured by the cloud in which we now sit. Surrounded by the whiteness of truth, we are closer to God’s face than before, treading where only Angels tread.

Sound, like the images before us, is gone.

Here there are no voices from man’s world to disrupt our blessing, only the closeness of Him.

There is only so much we can understand and which we can absorb through the senses with which we were given. Our comprehension is as it was intended. We are presented with the world from which we came, as ashes, we have been born, the breath of life given to us through our nostrils, the Spirit. We live as one with that which we are born to live, on God’s earth. Here we are only passing through so that someday, we shall share the heavenly abode with Him. Here, we are only temporary guests in a world in which He created.

In tiny glimpses, in what we can relate, we are shown the majesty of what awaits beyond. Moment by moment, we become more aware of what will await us in eternity, should we choose to do so. It is all up to us. We were given the free will with which to choose.

We can seek the truth, or allow the world to tell us what is granite stone and what is not.

The choice is ours.

Like water that can reflect a clear blue sky, or suddenly take the form of a white mist, shrouding even the most majestic mountain, His magnificence is beyond our human comprehension, as is our ability to know what lieth beyond heaven’s gates. We need not fear Him if we come to know Him, and in the end, it is up to us to choose.

Seek him with all your heart, knock and the door to eternity shall be opened.

Thanks be to God.

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by | November 9, 2016 · 8:00 am

Full Circle…

“that in the dispensation of the fullness of the times He might gather together in one all things in Christ, both[a] which are in heaven and which are on earth—in Him.” -Ephesians 1:10

All I can remember was the journey, the trip back in time.

The farther we traveled, the more mountainous became the terrain until it was obvious we had mountaingraveyard2reached a point high above the tree line. My guide was a younger man whose demeanor evoked a strength no mortal could match, but yet, he carried himself in such a manner that I felt more than comfortable in his presence. His clothes were those of an ancient warrior, tunic across his broad, massive chest, with a leather strap around his waist that could have held a broadsword at one time. His hair was long and black blowing in the high-altitude winds lapping at his shoulders. If I didn’t know better, I could sense him being something more than human, something of a higher power, yet not willing to use that force unless called upon.

I followed him past large dark foreboding boulders whose shadows gave me a chill and then onward past cliff faces where the depths beyond their fragile edges were bottomless blue vistas of certain death. Yet, as we traveled this pathway of terror, I did not fear for anything as he comforted me in a way his countenance embodied that of an angelic being. Effortlessly up the steep climb we hiked until we rounded a turn in the trail that came upon a cleared but hilly pasture. The ground was punctuated with objects strewn all around us. At a glance, I thought them to be large rocks. In this field stood a woman of later years, dressed as the warrior, in an ancient wardrobe unlike any I’d ever seen. Her age could not contain the inner beauty which shone through the physical years; yet when she spoke, her beauty was matched only by her wisdom. Although she evoked a loveliness, her face was shadowed from the sun so that I could never get a clear view; shrouded as if in secrecy.

My escort introduced me to her and then left us, vanishing before I could thank him for his efforts. 2014-05-06 20.31.20The woman then began to explain to me why I was here and what it was we were to do. It was then I realized the rocky cleft of a field was littered not with rocks but with aged tombstones, all wrapped in cloth, as if ready to be shipped away. The lady then explained that we were transporting all of these back to where I had come from, to return them to the present; this was my mission. She explained that we would be loading each of the headstones into a trailer. Then she asked what seemed to me to be an odd question. She wanted to know if I thought we should use a closed trailer, sealed off from the air or if I thought an open trailer, one that could breathe and have air flow through it would be better; for some reason, I chose the latter, unbeknownst to me why. She smiled and agreed that I had chosen well.

There were others there, yet they never became bright enough to shine more than mere shadows. These beings helped us load the heavy stones into the tractor trailer, and when we had finished, I too climbed in. Before I departed in the trailer with the tombstones, the woman spoke to me and said, “You are the first to have come full circle; thus, you’ve been chosen as their escort back in time,” and with that, the trailer was off, flying through the air. The clouds and sky shone below the wire mesh floor upon which I stood, speeding past as we flew. Above me, through the wire mesh ceiling, I could see more sky, filled with deep shades of Prussian blue dotted with the sparkling lights of distant stars. How long we flew and where or if we landed I don’t know.

I awoke and turned to look at the clock; too soon, too soon.

My life has become a passage in time where the clock becomes merely an observation, not a limitation. To understand it all, or to even attempt to grasp the reality from whence we have come to now is an attempt to grab the wisp of a cloud in the distant sunset; futile. The only thing that belies a steady keel of comfort is the Word and the truth therein.

As fall gently slips into winter, I sip from my mug the bitter, dark brew each morning by the light of the fire and embrace every sentence with reverent awe. Coming full circle in life at times with the voices of those gone on before is the sweetness for my drink.

These are my days as we walk down this new path. Every step another page in the journey.

My paradigm shift has brought me back to so many beginnings that only the recognition of God’s hand at work can fathom the interworking of this story.

Someday, when we are gathered around His throne, we’ll be able to understand the how and why. For now, we should not tarry but carry on, His mission for us is yet to be fulfilled.

These and many more blessings are just a few of things for which we can be thankful this November.

And as always, Thanks, Be to God!

 

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by | December 8, 2013 · 10:44 pm

A Message from a Celebration of 125 Years…

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

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

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

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

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

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by | March 31, 2013 · 9:14 pm

Physicality of Reality…

[From our recent trip to Stone Mountain State Park NC]

This is us, full of energy as we search for the trail that is supposed to go to the top of the mountain. Eventually we just followed a game trail to the top. We even found bear scat along the way.

This is us, full of energy as we search for the trail that is supposed to go to the top of the mountain. Eventually we just followed a game trail to the top. We even found bear scat along the way.

This morning we awoke to mountain lightly dusted with snow; like powdered sugar atop a muffin. For the most part, it didn’t last long except in those deep dark ravines; there it remained all day as a reminder of winter’s vestiges that refuse to release their icy grip. As we hiked along Widow Creek Falls the snow continued to fall in light flurries. It made it seem all the more dreamlike; the air crisp with little white flakes of angels wings drifting around us as we labored to ascend the summit of some unknown mountaintop. From a distance we could see Stone Mountain with its patches of smooth barren rock. These bare areas made it stand out in the amber light of the morning glow. Those patches shone brightly as their surfaces glistened from the icy moisture that ran in rivulets down their cold granite faces.

Our hill, entirely tree covered, was thick with leaves and dark loamy soil which padded our footsteps; this was ever more appreciated on the downward descent we would later take. Our summit, although tree covered, was seemingly taller than those around us. We gasped the crisp cold air in large gulps as our hearts beat madly in our chests; meanwhile, our eyes beheld a beauty only God could create.

As we sat on a log recovering from our fast pace ascent, I thought of the ancestors, those who had marched out of the Alps in the dead of winter, with -waist deep snow to trudge through while carrying all their belongings. They had been told to leave or die; this was their ultimatum. So they left to become refugees in Germany where they settled a town they called Walldorf. These were our Waldensian ancestors who inspired me to write the book, “Bruecke to Heaven”. They not only had to endure altitudes much higher than what we were experiencing, but they also had to survive a brutal winter march for hundreds of miles. Our hike up this

This is us after the grueling hike, glad that we only had one mountain to climb.

This is us after the grueling hike, glad that we only had one mountain to climb.

unknown mountain was labeled on our park map as six miles. I could tell you it felt like six miles straight up. I could not imagine having to sustain a march like the one we took for fun for hundreds of miles, in harsher weather and climatic conditions. I have to admit, that at times, I had to stop and take a break along with my children. We are all in pretty good shape, so if you know us,

you understand that we had taken a very aggressive patch up this slope. As the pounding of our heartbeats throbbed in our ears and the snowflakes gently fell, I had to amaze again at the sheer magnificence of those people who fought and struggled so heartily to survive. After all, I would not be here today if it weren’t for them.

As somebody said when I told them of our experience, they exclaimed that those ancient people definitely did something miraculous. That of course was nothing compared to what they had already done before their winter march, and for that, I had write the book.

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