Tag Archives: Blueridge Mountains

by Timothy | September 11, 2020 · 8:17 am

An Evening from the Porch

The evening sky was muted. A serenity had bequeathed the mountainside below the Cone Manor, a living museum that sits above Blowing Rock, NC., just off the Blueridge Parkway. After having just finished my run, it was the cool-down time. Dusk had fallen, and the last vestiges of the golden rays of sunlight had departed from the distant peaks. Now, the gray sullenness that precedes the nightfall enveloped the stately grounds. Gone were all of the holiday weekend visitors. In their vacuum, a welcome stillness permeated the air.

From where I stood on the front porch steps overlooking the vast forest, falling away unto the breath of the shimmering waters of the lake, a calm overtook me. It was as if the place were all my own.

In my mind, my thoughts wandered back to when the house had been occupied by its original inhabitants. Thinking unto myself as if I were one of them, “How might the evening unfold?” Supper now complete, one was free to walk out upon the front porch and purview one’s holdings. Inside, the muffled sounds of the kitchen staff clearing away the table could be heard. Outside, the calls of the night begin to waft upon the gentle breeze – whippoorwills and nightingales begin their evening symphonies.

It is then, in the moment, that you realize the difference between then and now.

There is no T.V. blaring the eternal, never ceasing sensationalized news story. There is no rampant shrill of amplified cacophony coming from various entertainment devices. There are no people with heads bent in apparent submissive prayer – their blue-lit faces reflecting the stolid control as their eyes glaze over from countless hours of overuse.

No, there is nothing here now but a sense of serenity.

Before all this, there was much more.

An evening stroll after dinner allowed for reflection of the day’s work. There, floating upon the mountain air, were the soft, gentle sounds of a piano. The melody of “Ada Plays – from Cold Mountain”[1] toils in my head – a simpler time, a gentler time. Later, as the light fails from the sky, one shall retire inside. There, sheltered from the chilly night air, a good book from the personal library might carry one until the bedtime hours approach. Perhaps a letter to a distant acquaintance is necessary, so you sit at your desk, under the flickering light of lamp or candle, and begin scribing pen to paper. You pause between dips of your pen’s head into the inkwell and reflect upon the words freshly poured out onto the page. The sullenness of time grips your heart like the dark reaches of the night, which fast approaches.

Outside your window, a hoot owl calls, and you are reminded of a carriage ride up to the top of Flat Top where you and this friend, to whom you now write, watched God paint another beautiful sunset. Your concentration is broken when the sweet, delectable smells of something baking in the kitchen reaches you. Suddenly, your stomach answers as a momentary frill of joy leaps as if to answer. Later, as you sip warm milk as your palette is being sated by the fresh, hot apple pie, you peruse through scriptures. The late evening snack just before bed refreshes your spirit as the words of the Holy Spirit begin to speak to you. The two combine in your soul, and for a moment, there is nothing in this world that could make you feel any closer to heaven. A warmth envelopes your being as if the hand of God has wrapped around you. The Psalmist words come to mind, “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.” The hoot owl calls once more as if to confirm those seemingly random thoughts. For a moment, you ponder the future and what it might hold for you and your family. As you lay your fork down beside the remaining crumbs on the fine china dessert plate, your eyes grow weary, and you momentarily nod off.

In the fog of a future time, you can see a world in turmoil. It is as if there is no peace in that far distant place. It is as if mankind has given in to all the lusts of the flesh. Your heart quickens, and God speaks to you, “But as for them whose heart walketh after the heart of their detestable things and their abominations, I will recompense their way upon their own heads, saith the Lord God.”

You awaken from the dream with a start. So troubled are you by the vision that you seek to find comfort before trying to resign to sleep for fear of where your thoughts may continue. Opening the book of Ezekiel, you find the rest of the scripture, “And I will give them one heart, and I will put a new spirit within you; and I will take the stony heart out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh: That they may walk in my statutes, and keep mine ordinances, and do them: and they shall be my people, and I will be their God.”[2] Your heart is calmed, and you close the well-worn pages of the Bible, retiring to your bed-chamber.

Just before falling asleep, you think to yourself, “How could anyone turn away from the Lord so much so that they would become detestable in their own abominations to the point that God would pour out his wrath upon them?” The white linen drapes gently move from the cold night’s air wafting through your open window. You pull the feather comforter up to your chin and exhale a contemplative, but comforting sigh. The warmth of the bedsheets warding off the crisp coolness of the coming fall reminds you of God’s love. “How much greater is He than we shall ever know,” are the last thoughts you whisper to yourself. Eyes heavy with sleep send you off, and you become one with a peaceful eternity.

While we may not live in a time where we can walk away from the bitter influences of mankind’s own self-demising attributes, be they through media, electronics, or the immediate world in which he lives, we can always seek shelter from the storm where we have always been able to go – to God. Seek out the simpler ways in life, and find time to turn off all that noise.

“And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him,…”[3]

The Cone Manor became the backdrop for a peaceful evening that I had not anticipated, yet was a welcome respite from recent times. Too often, we fail to stop and pause in this busy life. It is when we stop and wait for the Lord that we are most often blessed beyond measure.

Yesterday evening, I felt a calling, a still small voice, if you will, to go back up to that porch from whence this tale began and take a picture to go along with the story. The storms had passed, and there was the chance that I might be afforded an unforgettable scene from which to draw. Upon my arrival, lo, there on the porch, I found a young man scribing in a journal next to an open bible. He was seated in a foldable camp chair he had brought along. The Park Service had removed all the rocking chairs from the porch because of COVID. Curious, I asked as to what he was reading. He responded, ‘the Bible.”

“What book and chapter, I asked further?”

“The gospel of Luke,” he replied hesitantly.

“A great book indeed,” and from there, a conversation began. I soon learned that the young man was searching for answers. His faith journey had hit a point where he knew not which way to turn. It was then, I realized why the voice had said to come. Retrieving a camp chair of my own from the car and a snack, we spent the remainder of the evening until dark, sitting there on that antiquated porch. It was as if the previous tale had come to life. The color slowly faded from the sky as clouds waltzed past us, following the contour of the valleys below. There, two men, previously total strangers, became brothers through a shared faith. Questions were asked, and questions were answered. Like the Apostles to their own Disciples, the passing of one’s knowledge of God’s word onto the next generation transpired in a place fitting for its reception.

It was a blessing far more generous than one might envision on an evening such as this.

No matter the noise around you, seek Him, and he will find you.

Walk away into a place where that still small voice can find you once again.

Thanks be to God.

[1] “Ada Plays”, Gabriel Yared, from the movie Cold Mountain: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Q94_xysbTQ

[2] Ezekiel 11:20-21 KJV

[3] 1 King 19:11-13 KJV

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by Timothy | August 1, 2020 · 9:13 pm

A Soul in the Middle of Nowhere

They once called it “Nowhere” mountain. Today it’s known to the rest of the world as “Rich” mountain. The slow gradual climb slowly wears at your body, walking or running. The deceptive incline slowly takes you to a secluded overlook. There only the stone remnants of an ancient house’s foundation are all that exist. Leftover from another time, a bygone century. For a moment, above the distant mountain peaks, above the wayward meadows there is a feeling of freedom. The cattle in the fields dispersed amongst the shaded oaks and hemlocks, lowing in the fresh mountain air. Their voices bellow across the ridge. Once this was all that there was of a pioneer outpost, a home in the wilderness. It eventually became the property of the Cone’s. Today, it’s a place where one can go and find themselves a few moments of seclusion from a world that seems to fall out of control a little more each day.

A few days ago, I had found myself atop of Nowhere. Therein lies the story – it was part of my run.

Before I continue, let me say that this is not meant to be any shape or form of bragging. There are times that we must share something in our life that has become a testimony; thus, the sharing with you of how running (or the semblance thereof) has become part of my spiritual journey. Besides, my sister, a practicing Cardiac Nurse, recommended it would help strengthen my heart. Something with which my Cardiologist wholeheartedly agreed. Truly, if you saw me in action, you would know there was nothing to brag about.

Several weeks ago, the Lord convicted me to start running again. At the time, it was as if something inside me wanted to be done with this life. Between the never-ending accusations of our society from one extreme to the other, to the seemingly never-ending pandemic, fueled by every political conspiracy theory you can imagine, one begins to look with joy toward the next life. In a sense, pushing my body to the extremes will either make me a healthier warrior for the Lord or it will take me home to be with him quicker. The options are Pauline in nature, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”^[1] Herein lies the rub: many have not, nor have no idea what that “next life” is. They live day-to-day, battling from sunup to sundown without hope. Their lives have little to no direction. For them to find the way to life eternal on their own would be like finding a needle in a haystack. While we want to help them as much as possible, we can only plant the seeds. It is by God’s Grace that we are saved. As Jesus told his disciples, “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also: and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him.”^[2] Sadly, there are greater numbers of lost in our world than those who are awakened to God’s plan of salvation. For those who know Him, and have asked Him into their lives, there is that hope of life eternal. Jesus said, “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: but whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall save it.”^[3]

I don’t know the exact mileage of each week. I don’t keep track of the miles that my body has been pushed these recent days, but this much I can tell, there is a renewing of the soul. Slowly, my body shifts from the unhealthy cravings as before to now, those of wholesome, natural foods beckon my taste buds. As I had experienced once before, the feeling of how the body changes when it is exercised to the extreme is not new to me. Yet, the reserve with which I can now control my diet and temptations to imbibe in things that only go against not only your body’s health, but the spirit within – these have become the things to which I am now drawn, those things which enrich the body, soul, and spirit.

This journey is not about becoming the fastest. The goal these days is to merely push this terrestrial body to become the best it is capable of being, only so that my soul has a better home. I heard Ravi Zacharias mention a quote from the 19-century writer, George McDonald a couple of days ago. McDonald said in a roundabout way, that we do not “have” a soul, but rather, we are a soul. “We have a body,” he said, “but we are a soul.” Genesis says it best, “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul.”^[4] This new perspective has really made me rethink the way in which I had been approaching life.

In the act of pushing my body, I am then making a better dwelling place for my soul to live within. The nicer the home, the better the soul can feel. As Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, “ What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?”^[5] The more features the temple has, the more possibilities there are for the soul to flourish, and with it, the spirit. When our spirit is awakened, it then is able to welcome the Holy Spirit to dwell within us. Then, as we might prepare for an esteemed guest, we would too want our temple to be the most glorious that it can be. It is in this vein that my pursuit of the new day’s dawn, from the time, that the sun hits the horizon until long past its setting – my days are thus filled to serving Him.

Pain in this life is a constant reminder that we live in a fallen world. There is not a run that I take that I don’t have pain. My dad used to say, “The day that I wake up and feel no pain is the day that I know that I’ve died.” Today he no longer suffers. His body was healed when his soul was welcomed into that home above.

In my youth, I longed to train in the mountains; something I was never afforded. Now, in my advanced age, here I am, training in the mountains. There is no pain like that of running up a continual climb at elevations over 3,500 feet. To try to lessen the suffering, I learned a long time ago in those early training years, that if you could talk while you were running, then it would keep you at a pace that was optimal for practice runs. In that vein, my journey has brought me full circle. Since I run alone most days, there is only myself with whom to converse. As I’ve mentioned many times in other writings, today I work as unto the Lord, not unto man, and so it is with my exercise. So now, as I run up those steep grades, my practice of memorizing scripture is put to work, quoting out loud as I run. It is nothing spectacular. A word here, a breath there, and maybe after a few hundred feet a sentence is finished. This is how it goes.

The other day, as my practice of speaking scriptures as I ran continued, I happened past an older lady. She too was out enjoying the beautiful day before the afternoon storms came. As I passed her on my ascent up the mountain, she and I exchanged the usual pleasantry of, “Good morning.” On my way back down, she said something that gave me pause. Before I passed her, she smiled and said toward me, “Thank you for using your gifts.” All I could eke out was a simple, “Amen.” As I was still pondering her words in the back of my mind, I continued through my versus. Just as I was finishing John 1, I rounded a curve and broke out into a meadow filled with a plethora of golden wildflowers. My voice still trailed, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man.”^[6] Suddenly before me above the field of gold, the sky around me was like a throng of white stallions waiting to stampede, yet were held at bay by a mighty hand. In the center of those towering billows of white, was a crystal clear, azure blue sky reaching to the heavens. Yes, the heavens had opened and my eyes searched those ever-changing Cumulus formations for angels ascending and descending. It was at that moment I could feel the power of the Holy Spirit dwell within my soul. For a moment, there was no ground beneath my weary legs, there was no pain, there was only the glory of God.

Being afflicted through the sufferings of our daily life, and yes, in our daily exercise, are all part of how God shapes us. As Peter wrote, “But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.”^[7] In our youth, our bodies recover more quickly so that there is little time to dwell on the struggles through which we face. As we age, it takes longer to recover and to overcome those once trivial obstacles. Through the tribulations of life, our soul is refined as the sword in the fire. Through these trials, we are made stronger when we learn to lean on Him, and in so doing, find hope for tomorrow. “By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God. And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope…”^[8]

This morning, the water was still dripping from the trees. The abundance of storms had passed in the night leaving the air fresh, new, and alive. The sound of the bountiful life-giving fluid made it feel as if I was surrounded by a tropical rain forest. The effect it had upon my body felt good. Like a blanket of comfort, its warmth enveloped my being. My mind drifted back to the Garden of Eden and how it must have felt for Adam and Eve before their sin. It was at that moment that I realized that while we are affected by the world through our flesh (our body), it isn’t always negative. There are moments, as in that instance, where we are blessed by God through his marvelous creation. Through those beautiful sunrises, to the smile of a newborn child, we are given glimpses into his love and majesty; thereby, enriching our soul, allowing the spirit to be lifted. Yes, even when we happen onto the edge of a golden meadow while His words parse through our lips we are blessed. When we are one with Christ, we are then afforded to allow the Holy Ghost to dwell within, and in so doing, find beauty in places heretofore there was only sadness and despair. These precious moments in time uplift our soul, and like the afflictions, strengthen it.

Not all growth has to be painful, for, at the top of Nowhere, one can be afforded the most gratifying reward – to look upon the distant mountains and valleys and rejoice in God’s glory. As the air slowly returns to our weary lungs, as the heart beats blood to those body parts that are fatigued and ailing, we can be blessed by more than what this world of man will allow. It is up to us to sometimes go to the middle of nowhere and call upon His name.

“And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”^[9]

“He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”^[10]

“And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.”^[11]

As you go through each day, beware of the effects the world has upon you through your body. Live each day as if your soul depends on it.

Eternity is forever.

Thanks be to God.

^[1] Philippians 1:21 KJV

^[2] John 14:6-7 KJV

^[3] Luke 9:24 KJV

^[4] Genesis 2:7 KJV

^[5] 1 Corinthians 6:19 KJV

^[6] John 1:51 KJV

^[7] 1 Peter 5:10 KJV

^[8] Romands 5:2-4 KJV

^[9] Luke 11:9 KJV

^[10] Psalm 23:3 KJV

^[11] 1 Thessalonians 5:23 KJV

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by Timothy | April 20, 2020 · 9:52 pm

Open Your Eyes

“Having therefore, brethren, boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus, By a new and living way, which he hath consecrated for us, through the veil, that is to say, his flesh;”

– Heb. 10:19-20

Under the overcast, grey sky, a chilly wind blew across the John’s River. The water, a fluid tepid green, like the lifeblood of the forest, flowed past our church’s parking lot. We were setting up for another “Parking Lot Preaching,” at Rocky Springs Baptist Church. Yet, another one of the new “normals” since the start of the lock-down of social distancing by our State government. Each Sunday since the beginning of this COVID-19 crackdown on social gathering, we have had our church services outside. No two times are ever the same.

Rocky Springs Baptist Church alongside the John’s River, Collettsville, NC.

On the mountainside across from where we stood, the trees were now all springing for the fresh greenery of new leaves. This past month, we’ve been blessed to watch the progression of seasons unfold. As Pastor Joe speaks, my eyes wander through the forest across the narrow body of water. Like the many passages of scripture, each limb, root, and leaf reveal another mystery yet to unfold. Slowly, like the buds giving way to leaves, our outside church has evolved, becoming better each week. Below the fauna, under the shadows of the overhanging undergrowth, a momma wild duck and her brood of ducklings floated past. The signs of spring were showing their bountiful glory even within the unprecedented times in which we were living.

Regardless of what mankind was experiencing, the earth was returning to life.

I awoke this past Sunday morning with the feeling that our outdoor services were like a string of Easter Sunrise services. Typically, once a year, to celebrate the Resurrection of Christ, congregations shed the walls of their church for that of an outdoor sanctuary. Once churches were allowed to provide the safe-distancing option of staying in their cars during preaching, we’ve been hosting the Sunday morning and Wednesday evening services out-of-doors, under the open sky in our parking lot that adjoins the scenic John’s River in Collettsville, NC. Although we’re not hosting the services at dawn, there is always the nostalgic feeling of those pre-dawn preparations for when we did. Probably more than anything, one gets a sense of worshipping God within the element of his creation, the earth. To feel the chill of the crisp morning air upon your countenance brings an absolute reality to the message. The physicalness of holding the page of your Bible down, lest the wind, like a silent hand, turn it for you, reminds us that we are not alone. “The wind bloweth where it may, yet we cannot tell from whence it came, neither where it goeth.”

As we live in the flesh, we experience life through our terrestrial being. We are only capable of understanding what we have seen or learned through what limited abilities with which we are born. To know any more than that requires intellect. Even when Nicodemus inquired to Jesus under the cover darkness how these things could be, Jesus replied with, “Art thou a master of Israel, and knowest not these things? Verily, verily, I say unto thee, We speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness. If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?” [1]

It is our innate mental capacity that allows the Holy Spirit to dwell within our human spirit. It is within this spiritual realm that we rise above all other God’s creations. It is because of our ability to read the message given over 2,000 years ago, and through it, that we may receive the divine Spirit of God. When we find ourselves removed from the man-made structures in which we usually spend our Sunday mornings, we are then brought closer to the rest of our Creators magnificent works. Like those meals cooked over the open fire, food seems to always taste better prepared outside. Likewise, the bread of life when received out of doors is more delectable than honey. Yes, the Word of God takes on a whole new perspective when one worships under the canopy of clear blue skies rather than a painted ceiling.

The actor, Jonathan Roumie, who plays Jesus of Nazareth in the YouTube TV series, “The Chosen,” was interviewed about his role and how it affected him as a person. He replied that although he felt comfortable acting the part of the “human side” of Christ, that it was far beyond his abilities to convey the divine side of Jesus. Roumie said that he did his best to fulfill what he perceived of Christ’s human actions, but left it up to God to work through him to allow the viewers to see God through his character. In other words, Roumie could take care of the physical nature of his role of Jesus, but knew it was beyond him to act out what God was doing through the real Jesus Christ; that was up to the Holy Spirit.

Similarly, it was through the death of Christ in the flesh, which took away the curse of Adam upon the world. Through the blood of Christ, the door was opened once again for all of God’s children. Because of the sacrificial lamb upon the cross, we can with, “boldness enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus, By a new and living way, which he hath consecrated for us, through the veil, that is to say, his flesh;”

It was because of Christ’s flesh that we were saved, and it is through our flesh that we experience the temptations to sin. The irony is purely God. When we receive salvation, we are made anew, and we no longer seek those fleshly rewards. When we are changed, we are then more capable of connecting to God’s earthly creation, and to His living word. When we have received Christ into our lives, we can see God’s handiwork more readily, and because of it, we see with new eyes. When you see with open eyes, the world in which we live changes. The colors of the flowers seem brighter, the sounds of the forest birds more animated, and the sunsets appear more grandeur. In some small way, we get a tiny glimpse of heaven on earth.

While we face challenging times like never before, we must know that God has a purpose in everything.

Embrace that new normal and let God open your eyes to those things which we have taken for granted too long. Seek, and ye shall find Him, knock, and the door shall be opened. Enjoy those outdoor services while you still can and look upon them with a renewed appreciation.

May each day be another sunrise upon the empty tomb.

Rejoice because He lives.

Thanks be to God.

[1] John 3:10-12 KJV

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by Timothy | April 7, 2020 · 9:09 pm

This Too Shall Pass

Walking along the dirt road, the thud of the man’s walking stick kept time with the beat of his heart. Alongside him, beyond the forest ferns and blooming dogwoods, the river ran clear. Here and there, the rush of white-water pulsating through rocks and ledges as it flowed forever onward echoed the sound of time. These mountains were the home of Fetch’s family for as long as he could remember. They were the clan of Gragg, a remnant of those ancient forefathers known in their mother country as the Clan of MacGregor. They had emigrated from Scotland centuries before to escape the tyranny of England. No longer a young man, his memory spanned the deep hollers and ravines like the morning mist, each with a story of its own.

As the aging Gragg’s eye scanned the distant horizon, the mountainside was shrouded behind curious folds of clouds awash in pink and gold. Tiny birds flitted about as bats dove in the twilight air, creating an orchestra of life, ebbing forward and never ceasing.

Somewhere in the distant shadows, the sound of the Whippoorwill called. With it, an eeriness washed over his mind. A day or so before, he had sat upon the porch of the building he now called his “Retreat.” There, in the shade of the forest along the trickling brook, he sat sipping on some hot, bitter brew and reflected back to the year before when the porch had not yet been built. There had been so much that had passed between the here and now. Like the river that flowed nearby, its current like the movement of time, never stopping, always flowing onward.

When the shadows of the valley of darkness are all about, we cannot seek the end of the ravine fast enough. Yet, when we reach those heights of jubilation, we often fail to remember the struggle that it took to scale those monumental walls to reach our peaks in life.

The beat of the aged Sycamore kept time to Fletch’s legs as he pushed ahead. Somewhere the Whippoorwill called once more. Like a shift in time, his mind was pulled back to the century before, to a time of greater hardship, much worse than today. The death toll made that of the current crisis seem like child’s play; the 1918 Swine Flu Pandemic.

Just then, the sound of the song, “Wayfaring Stranger,” began to play through his head. The ancient sound of a mandolin tickled the notes to the melody as the sweetness caressed his soul, “I am a poor, wayfaring stranger. Traveling through this world below. There is no sickness, toil nor danger, in that fair land to which I go. I’m going home, to see my mother, I’m going home, no more to roam. I am just going over Jordan, I am just going over home.”

Wilson Poe Sr. had been a little boy when the sickness swept through North Carolina. Born in 1912, he shared the story with Gragg when he was a much younger man, traveling through the Piedmont regions of North Carolina. Poe recalled in his whisper of a voice, how the soldiers had brought it back with them when they returned from the Spanish-American War. The sickness didn’t target the elderly or children, but rather, it killed the working-age population. Wilson’s head bowed deep in thought as he told of how he lost both his parents, all his Aunts, and Uncles and all of his older brothers and sisters. The only family members that survived were him and his younger sister. They were forced to go live with their only surviving family members, their grandparents. Mr. Poe had been in his eighties when he told that story, somewhere around the mid-1990s. When old man Poe finally looked up from the floor, his eyes were rimmed with tears. He pointed to the bookshelf behind him to a framed image of a little boy and girl. Between them, oddly enough, stood a larger than life-size doll. At that moment, through the open window, the evening sound of a Whippoorwill wafted into the room. Fletch could never erase the memory.

Someone had found the story in a magazine and recognized the name. They looked up Wilson and his family and were thrilled to have been able to connect with a living treasure, once only thought to have existed in the pages of a book. Wilson kept the photo as a memento of his survival.

The melody continued to play, “I know dark clouds will hover or me, I know my pathway is rough and steep, but golden fields lie out before me where weary eyes no more to weep. I’m going home to see my father, I’m going home no more to roam. I am just going over Jordan, I am just going over home.”

Poe said that some photographer who had been covering the pandemic, caught him and his sister standing alongside the road. Wilson remembered how they had watched in disbelief as wagon after wagon carried away the dead. Fletch could only shake his head as the knot swelled up in his throat when Wilson said that he and his sister had cried until there were no more tears left to cry.

Gragg’s footsteps carried him nearer to the shadows of the granite walls, where the river turns, and the mountain laurel grows thicker. He could almost hear the relics of the past echoing off those stone walls. “God has a purpose in all that we do,” he reminded himself as his thoughts continued.

Oddly enough, it was just as well that someone else had found the precious memory. Mr. Poe would have never been able to keep the picture himself. Struggles seemed to follow him all of his life, like the wagon of the dead. His house caught fire one cold winter night and burnt down. His family lost everything but their lives. Up in smoke went all of their earthly possessions, including the family photos.

Fletch stopped. He stood upon the water’s edge, as the shadows of darkness began to envelop the crystal clear river before him. The remnants of the song concluded with, “I’ll soon be free from every trial; this form shall rest beneath the sod. I’ll drop the cross of self-denial and enter in that home with God. I’m going home to see my Savior; I’m going home no more to roam. I am just going over Jordan. I am just going over home.”

. “Yes, this world must come to its senses, and lay down their cross of self-denial,” Fletch mused to himself. “Second Chronicles chapter seven says it the best,” he continued talking to the trees leaning toward the water’s edge as if they appeared to wait for the rest of his quote. “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”

Looking across the river, there was nothing but the cold, granite walls reaching up to the sky

Fletch closed his eyes as if to look beyond what was there, seeking something more profound than what was merely temporal. Dark wagons under thunderous skies rolled past him. The tears of sorrow blended with the rain, each flowing down his soaked body into the mud, which had swallowed his feet. The hushed tones of mournful cries seemed to leech into the grain of the wagon boards, filling the cracks until there was none. Etching the pain of ones being until there was nothing left to fear. The vision then looked to the sky, as if to ask God why. The swirling gray cauldron above looked like someone wringing their hands in tormented anguish. The flash of shadowed lightning turned his head to look away. Then came the answer in the form of a deep growl of distant thunder that shook the ground.

Somewhere nearby, the flash of a photographer taking a picture of two traumatized children standing near the roadway, caused him to flinch. It was as if mankind was trying to mimic the almighty power from above. Forever etched onto his monochrome plate was the form of two souls whose lives would never be the same; generation forever altered by the course of events, not of their own doing.

Gragg sucked in a deep breath as if he had just surfaced from beneath the water.

There before him was the stone walls covered in thick laurels. The darkness permeated evermore as the moon had already risen high above the horizon behind him. “This too shall pass,” he could hear his Granny tell the children as they would sit and listen to her tell them tales of yesteryear, always with giving the sense of comfort of one having survived worse times.

Fletch turned around to go back to his holler from whence he came. As he did, the Whippoorwill sang once more. Its cry echoed again off the canyon edifices bringing a chill up his spine. Up above the moonlight now lit his path and reflected golden rays across the silvery waters of the river nearby. Although some would fear the darkness, Fletch knew he wasn’t alone.

Many had survived worse times than these, and yes, many had gone on home to cross that river of Jordan to a far better place. Someday he would too.

The Whippoorwill called once more, and the voice echoed again, “This too shall pass.”

Thanks be to God.

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by Timothy | February 23, 2020 · 9:03 pm

The Cup of Faith

“Brethren, be followers together of me, and mark them which walk so as ye have us for an ensample.”- Phil 3:17

It was an early Sunday morning. The air had the feeling as if it could snow at any minute. In an uncustomary manner, my morning devotional was actually upon the steps just outside the front door of our church, Rock Springs Baptist. There, I opened my Bible, journal, and thermos, pouring a hot cup of coffee to accompany my communion with the Lord. Before beginning, the steam from the coffee caught my attention. Swirling from the depths of my cup, the vapor rose, swirling as it ascended, like a spirit rising to meet our maker. On my walk, the bone-chilling air had eventually found its way into my very core. Taking a sip of the hot, bitter brew, I could feel the warmth invade my body, slowly recapturing that which had been nearly frozen.

It was then the similarity hit me; the steam; the Spirit, warmth of my body; us accepting Christ into our hearts.

A car passed and broke my focus for a moment. Taking another sip, I closed my eyes and prayed. The sound of the vehicle dissipated, and soon, the voice of the John’s river began to speak, which lay just beyond our church’s parking lot. The soothing sound and the warmth of my coffee began to erase all the toils, and struggles of the week as the hand of the Lord wrapped his arms around my being. As I exhaled, my breath made another pathway of steam into the air. It was then the thought of how much better coffee tasted when you were partaking of it out in the open, especially on a cold, winter morning. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more everything seemed to taste better when eaten or drank in the outdoors, where all that was man-made was removed, and you were one with the elements; purity begets purity.

Then my mind turned toward the devotionals on my Sunday morning hikes to church and how they always seemed more powerful, more meaningful than those of which I partook every morning before heading up the mountain while sitting in my home. It was as if the materials of man’s creation removed, allowing for a purer experience, a cleaner connection to the Almighty if you will.

There, I had done it; allowed myself to find something of God in merely drinking a hot cup of java on the front steps of the church.

Then my mind took a quantum leap, back, many years to my youth.

The ground was covered in snow. It was the dead of winter in Indiana, a place where Boy Scout Troops wouldn’t cancel a camping trip for the weather, regardless of the conditions. Fortunately, the camporee was at a camp where our tents were the heavy canvas permanent type built on wooden floors; surplus from a not so distant war. It was Friday night when we arrived. The routine was that we were to build a fire and then cook our supper while we made camp. From experience, we knew that in this weather, the fire was the key to everything; warmth, food, survival. Yet, everywhere we looked the snow had covered everything; not one stick of firewood was left untouched. Everything was either frozen or soaked with water. Knowing that we might face a challenge for which we may not fair too well, we began to build our wood in preparation for a valiant attempt, nonetheless. By good fortune, one of our patrol members found an old mouse nest in a hole in one of our tents’ floor. Thankfully, we shoved the dry tender in amongst all the other shoots of Sassafras, Cherry, and Pine, knowing that once the moisture burnt off, we would have the start of a roaring fire. One of the patrol leaders went to the cook box to find matches. When he returned, he held open the small cardboard box, with the little drawer, pulled out. The look on his face said it all. With a look of shock and dismay, we all quickly realized, there was just one match left. We gathered round, each of our young faces had a look of fear and anguish. One of the new scouts almost began to cry, “Oh no, we’re going to starve,” he stammered as tears welled up in his eyes.

“No, we’re not,” I bit back, the steam from my mouth shot into the air like a blowtorch. “You have to have faith. We’ve been through tough times before, and if anyone can make a fire with one match, it’s this patrol.” Ricky, the Scout Master’s son, who was also my good friend, stuck up for me at that moment, and reiterated what I had just conveyed.

“You gotta trust us man, if anyone can get a fire going, we can make it happen. We’re going to show them all, with one match, we’ll keep this fire going all weekend.”

There, he had done it; Ricky had unknowingly made the vow that we would all gladly have given our last breath to uphold. It was an unspoken word of truth and honor, nearly as revered as the Scout Law.

Delicately, like marooned sailors on a deserted island, we made all the preparations and double-checked each other’s work to make sure that the one match would work. Then, with a shaky hand, someone struck the match. The smell of sulfur and warmth filled the space before us. Immediately, we all gathered around, holding our hands as a shield to prevent any breeze from extinguishing our flame before it could take. Slowly, the flame touched the old mouse bed, and steaming smoke began to spread through our pile of tender.

“Nobody breath,” Ricky commanded.

We all stood, feet in shivering in the snowbank that we had created digging out the fire pit so that it would be clear of any moisture, and watched as the smoke seemed to almost disappear. The skeptical scout almost began to whimper once more. “Have faith,” I breathed again.

Then, as if prayers had been answered in unison, a flame nearly 12 inches tall leaped from the center of our woodpile. Smiles spread across our faces as we older scouts looked and nodded at one another. The younger scouts then realized they were with someone who would take care of them.

That weekend happened to get so cold, below zero, that they made us stay in the chow hall one night, for fear we might freeze to death in our cots. Meanwhile, we had stoked and prepared our fire, so that no matter how long we were gone, it would continue to keep a hot coal bed. We needn’t fear that the fire would spread since the ground was covered in almost a foot of snow. So, unlike other times when we would have to put out a fire when leaving our campsite, that particular weekend we were allowed to keep it going. Memory also recalls that the other patrols had not been so lucky when trying to strike their fires. More than one patrol visited us that weekend to warm themselves because of their own inabilities to keep a fire going. We learned a lot about ourselves in the process, not only that we had possessed a knowledge which provided for our own, but that we were able to pass on this to others while sharing with our neighbors.

I don’t remember anything else about that weekend, other than our parents came to stay with us the night we stayed in the chow hall. But the one thing I do recall, even to this day, was that by the time to pack up Sunday evening to head home, we had a fire that had never gone out. Meanwhile, other patrols had problems just getting theirs started, let alone able to keep them going.

We had struggled through adversity, but already in our young lives, having experienced hardship campouts before the one just mentioned had allowed us to have faith. It is the same in our walk with Christ. Those who are new to the faith struggle with knowing that the Father is with them always. By providing them examples of our own steadfast faith, we can give them the courage to face the struggles in their own walk.

The Apostle Paul had faced many trials and difficulties in his life once he turned to serving God instead of persecuting Christians. He was an encourager to others in the faith, and with confidence, not arrogance, as brother David said this morning, he told his disciples to ““Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ”[1] He had faith enough to know that if they were to become believers, that they would have to have faith in what he said and to know that through believing him, they too would come to know Christ.

Once they had faith, they would find the love of Christ working in them, warming them, imbuing them with the Holy Spirit, lighting the flame within and starting the fire. Like that hot cup of coffee and a cold winter day, God envelopes you with His Spirit and warms your very soul.

Each day, as I begin to climb the mountain, either figuratively or physically, I ask the Lord to help me find my way. Each day, he answers me in the most unexpected ways.

Nearby, the river speaks to me, and a song begins to play in my head:

“Once I stood at the foot of a great high mountain
That I wanted so much to climb
And on top of this mountain was a beautiful fountain
That flows with the water of life

I fell down on my knees at the foot of this mountain
I cried, “O Lord what must I do?
I want to climb this mountain, I want to drink from this fountain
That flows so clear in my view.”

Then I heard a sweet voice from the top of this mountain
Saying, “Child put your hand in mine.”
I started climbing slowly, “Watch your steps at the edges
And take one step at a time.”

I started climbing upward taking one step at a time
The higher I got the harder I climbed

I’m still climbing upward and my journey’s almost ended
I’m nearing the top and you ought to see the view
Oh the water flows freely, there’s enough to make you free
So friend, if you’re thirsty climb this mountain with me.”[2]

In the gospel of John, Jesus said on the last day of the feast, “If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink.”[3]

While these may or may not be my last days, the harder I climb, the more beautiful things I see and reveal, seeing with eyes anew. From walking in faith, although I will never achieve the level of the Apostle Paul, I can, with deep conviction share with others that with faith, all things are possible. In sharing that belief, may it light a spark within their own soul, one that will make within them a desire to seek Him.

With one spark, a fire can be built, and with it, the light of life can begin

That particular campout of which I shared earlier was one where our parents were invited to come spend a night camping with us. It was one of only two times that a parent of mine came to a campout. My mom, of all people, came to stay Saturday night. She, along with the other parents, stayed in the chow hall with the rest of our troop. Looking back, I wish I had done more to interact with her, but it was a treat just to hear her voice talking to the other adults and to know that someone who loved me was present. Now that she is gone, those few glimpses of the past are ever more precious.

She, along with the other parents, more than likely had no idea of our fire struggles, but rather, took it in stride that we had learned how to survive and were doing well enough. I don’t remember anything else about that weekend, but the one thing I do recall, even to this day, was that by the time to pack up Sunday evening to head home, we had a fire that had never gone out.

From all of this, we can surmise that we are a constant work in faith. We may never achieve the level of faith of an Apostle Paul, but we can share our testimony with others, and with that, provide them the knowledge that they are not alone. Through our faith, shall we lift up others, and in the end, give them hope of the Father.

Like steam from the coffee cup, the Holy Spirit will warm us through and through, and our walk of faith will continue to grow as we climb that final mountain and drink from the eternal fountain.

Thanks be to God.

[1] 1 Corinthians 11:1 KJV

[2] Ralph Stanley, Great High Mountain, lyrics © Bug Music, Z77ss, Z77ss Music

[3] John 7:37 KJV

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by Timothy | January 26, 2020 · 9:43 pm

Spirits in the Sky

This evening, the news of a famous retired basketball player dying in a helicopter crash has caused many in our nation to take pause. He was only 41. His life, one of a truly, gifted and amazing athlete, was followed by wealth and fame. Sadly, it is now all gone. What will remain are the memories and legacies to which he may have imparted; be they good or bad, as a two-edged sword, we may never know.

Each morning we awaken, we are afforded another precious gift; another day of life. We should never take one of them for granted, for we never know when this may be our last.

Today I was afforded the blessing of meeting a friend at a church on the mountain, one that he was looking at possibly joining in the future. As I drove along the winding road, there was much to reflect upon. Overhead, the skies were a crystalline clear as the John’s river’s icy waters. Their reflection of earth’s outer sphere, like a deep cerulean blue, gave the rising sun something with which to compete for the beauty and majesty. As my car drove up the mountain, the sunrise cast long shadows behind me, forcing darkness in pockets upon the eastward facing slopes; behind them, the veil of white lay waiting. As I made the crest of the mountaintop, the morning’s first light made the snow-covered forest come alive. Like a multitude of angels at Jesus’ birth, so too were the trees enshrouded by the luminescence of an untold number of diamond-like snowflakes.

Here and there around each bend, chimneys spewed forth slender columns of woodsmoke, each rising like tendrils into that azure blueness above. Each a signal of life within. Inside the humble cabins, the morning coffee had begun to percolate as the fire cracked and popped. Somewhere nearby, bacon sizzled in a cast-iron skillet. Some would be preparing for church while others would simply be rising to live another day of life, one with the hope of a tomorrow and the other just wishing there was one.

For every portion of living, there is a double-edged sword with which we must contend. One side of the blade, as my friend put it, is Mercy; the other side Justice. Life cannot have one without the other. Justice without mercy is a formidable and a fearsome judgment to any who have received it. Mercy without justice is like giving freedom without having any fear of retribution; there is nothing for which to be freed if there is nothing for which to fear. Yet, God hath given us a sword for which the balance between justice and mercy is perfectly balanced. In fact, on the traditional broadsword, the center of the sword is slightly raised, giving height to the intersection of the two opposing sides, taking the high road, if you will.

Through God’s love for us, we are afforded the perfect balance of Justice and Mercy. For with each gradual trial we weather, by His Grace, we grow stronger in our faith. For if we find ourselves facing the proverbial headwinds in our daily walk with Christ, we must know that we are going in the right direction. For faith without trials is a faith untested. “Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.”[1]

Just as each edge of the blade could be considered to stand for justice and mercy, so too could they stand for Thoughts and Intent of the human soul. “For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”[2]

Just as the word of God is quick and powerful, so too are its intention. Like a playbook on how to live life, its instructions are clear, succinct, and powerful. Yet, to the unbeliever, the words are only that, just printing on the page. As God spoke through the prophet Jeremiah, “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”[3] He gave us Christ, with whom we were spared eternal damnation and the expected end we deserved, with that ultimate justice; his death was the punishment for our sins.

To the unbeliever, the Bible is nothing more than theory; conjecture of good intentions.

As I was speaking to one of our department’s professors this week, the difference between theory and application came to mind. While we are immersed in the pursuit of education at our institutions of higher learning, most of what we achieve is theory. It is not until we go out into the “Real” world, get jobs, and start careers that we actually apply that theory. That application becomes the tools of whatever industry we pursue, sometimes for the rest of our lives. However, God has allowed me to return to the place from whence I began so long ago. As I listened to the very well-meaning professor describe the course layout, I found my mind jumping from the theory he was describing to the applications I had used in my nearly two decades of working in the industry. From that life of experience, from the applying of theory, I once more made the jump back to the present and was able to interpret his descriptions, but far from the conventional line of thought to which he was used to instructing.

For those of you who have learned or are trying to learn to speak a foreign language, you can relate. You at first have to think of the foreign word’s meaning in your mother tongue and then speak the foreign word. Slowly, as you become more proficient, eventually, you can skip the literal translation because you just know the foreign word, has finally become one of your own, no longer foreign. So too is the word of God. Like many who are lost and haven’t come to know or accept Christ into their lives, the words in the Bible are only that; words. But Jesus told his followers that they would not be alone; that he would send a Comforter. He also said that he would never leave us nor forsake us. That Comforter, that being with whom he spoke, was to be the Holy Spirit.

Through the Holy Spirit, we are made anew, “And that he died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them, and rose again. Wherefore henceforth know we no man after the flesh: yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now henceforth know we him no more. Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. And all things are of God, who hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ, and hath given to us the ministry of reconciliation; To wit, that God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses unto them; and hath committed unto us the word of reconciliation. Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.”[4]

From whence we came, is to which we shall return. For once we have walked in the way, we are made anew, and from there, we can speak to those who have yet to find the way, the truth, and the light. From our experience in the application of the word, we have become wiser, and with this wisdom, we are then able to help those who are lost. “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and unbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”[5] From theory, as some may say, to become one with the Father through the power of the Holy Spirit, we are changed. Walking in Christ, we are no longer living in theory, but rather, in the application of what it was meant to be, where Justice and Mercy meet in that high rounded middle of the blade, to which nothing can prevail; neither spirit nor soul.

As the finger-like wafts of smoke rise into the morning sky from their hand-hewn stone chimneys below, so soar the spirits of many who have breathed their last. Don’t go another day without seeking out that friend, that neighbor, or even that family member who might be lost. Seek them with all your heart.

And remember, for, by the Grace of God, we go.

We are all but a heartbeat away from eternity.

Live each day as if it were the most precious gift. You never know when it will be your last.

Thanks be to God.

[1] 1 Peter 4:12-13 KJV

[2] Hebrews 4:12 KJV

[3] Jeremiah 29:11 KJV

[4] 2 Corinthians 5:15-20 KJV

[5] James 1:5 KJV

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by Timothy | January 5, 2020 · 9:00 pm

There is Hope in the Storm

Yesterday, as I sat and watched the thick cloud bank slowly envelope Grandfather, I was reminded of incoming tides upon ancient seas. The jetties and rocks of life, like those distant mountain peaks, were soon to be covered by the rising waters of time. Before long, he had vanished, obscured by a billowing blanket of gray, blue, and white. Grandfather Mountain was not gone, this I knew, for I had seen him. It was not necessary to hope for his existence because by seeing, we know that he is still there. Yet, we cannot foretell what the coming storms will unveil. In a manner of hours, or even days, we may see a changed mountain, one blanketed in a snowy, majestic white mantel of winter; this is the wish of many.

With wanted anticipation, some may see the impending storm and look forward to a delay in the upcoming return to school. While others may fear what is to come knowing regardless of the road conditions, they will be expected to be at their posts or jobs. Likewise, those who walk in faith are much like those gladly seeing the possibility of winter storms; the former seeks the hope of life eternal by knowing that regardless of what the storms of life may bring, they have the hope of salvation unto our final dwelling place on high. “For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.”[1]

But just as a child, torn from their home due to circumstances which have created living conditions so dire that the state has to intervene, they seek hope to eventually return home. Yet, what they don’t fully understand is that in order for them to return home, their parents or guardians must change. The addiction or bondage to the sins of the flesh must be broken. The downward spiral of drugs, alcohol, otherworldly lusts has permeated their lives so deeply that they often have lost sight of caring for their family, if not themselves. We’ve all see the posted mug shots of convicted criminals and seen the effects of meth, just to name one, on their physical being. Inside, there remains a remnant of the human being they once were.

Somewhere within, there is a flicker of a soul.

Like those school children looking forward to the coming snowstorm, the Apostle Paul wrote of coming storms and afflictions, “Giving no offence in any thing, that the ministry be not blamed: But in all things approving ourselves as the ministers of God, in much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses, In stripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in watchings, in fastings;”[2] His point being, that those storms of life, the daily challenges and trials, only make us stronger Christians. Meanwhile, those of the world suffer greatly because their faith is nonexistent. There is nothing to embolden. In their despair, they seek earthly means to fill the void. The Apostle Peter wrote about them saying, “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour: Whom resist stedfast in the faith, knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that are in the world.”[3]

Alone, those lost parents cannot conquer the darkness that holds them captive. It is by prayer and the hope of their children, the faith of which they often do not know, that they can be lifted up. These thoughtless parents reckless abandon for life is conveyed by those whose tender young hearts who are willing to still have faith. In their undying hope that their parents will change, unto the day they may return to a new home, those orphaned children never give up. Similarly, we seek faith to eventually return to our heavenly home because this world is not our home. Yet, we are not left as orphans to fend for ourselves, for our heavenly father awaits. “That at that time ye were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God in the world: But now in Christ Jesus ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ.”[4]

Even though the parents of those orphaned children may be so lost in their sin that they don’t even realize the cause of their forced separation, nor do they know how to free themselves from the enslavement of their fleshly additions and afflictions, Christ gives us that answer. Through the power of the blood Jesus Christ shed upon the cross, we may overcome the darkness that seeks to devour our world and flood us with iniquities beyond our comprehension.

We cannot achieve this freedom alone.

In Hebrews 11:1, we are reminded that “…faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Having held true to my faith in these recent months, I can tell you from personal experience, the harder the clouds of turmoil flooded my soul, the harder I fell to my knees. There were no immediate replies. There was no blinding light that threw me off my horse and into the road. There were often days of silence. Nothingness.

“But nothing worth having is ever easy,” – Theodore Roosevelt

As the scripture tells us, “But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.” From having seen prayers answered, it is then when we start to understand how one can have “evidence of things unseen.” Prayer is one of our most powerful spiritual tools. Daniel prayed five times a day. When his enemies learned of his daily practice, they used it to entrap him which landed him in the den of lions. Daniel didn’t fear but resorted to what he knew best, prayer. His hope of release from the expected doom was his answer to faithful prayer.

As we approach a future that sometimes appears, if anything but bright, we can be reminded that there is “hope.” As we awoke this morning and the clouds had departed, Grandfather was there as the sunlight began to cast its golden rays upon his face. His crown, a mantel of snowy white, now proudly unveiled for all to see.

The storm had been weathered.

There will always be the dawning of a new day. Don’t let the darkness of the light consume you. Although it may feel as the darkest hour is just before dawn, don’t let fear overwhelm you like the storm clouds smothering Grandfather. Let the light of Christ shine upon your life, and through you, such that those around you are enlightened by the Holy Spirit within your own. Choose to be the light in a dark world, like the beautiful snow-covered peaks of Grandfather this morning, their light reflecting the sunrise, like golden shields of hope.

Tomorrow is a new day. Rise with hope in your heart and let your light shine for all to see.

Thanks be to God.

[1] Romans 8:24-25 (KJV)

[2] 2 Corinthians 6:3-5 (KJV)

[3] 1 Peter 5:8-9 (KJV)

[4] Ephesians 2:12 (KJV)

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by Timothy | August 25, 2019 · 8:20 pm

A Butterfly Cloud of Faith

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why weren’t they warned,” you ask?

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do you describe the indescribable to someone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks be to God.

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Tagged as bible, Blueridge Mountains, butterflies, cloudburst, Col-du-Pis, Cottien Alps, disciples, faith, fauna, flowers, Germanesca Valley, god, hiking, Holy Spirit, Italy, Jesus, Jesus Christ, red cardinal flower, summer, wildflowers

by Timothy | August 18, 2019 · 8:38 pm

The Road Taken…

Robert Frost so famously wrote in the final lines of his poem, “The Road Not Taken,” “…Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

Plunge Basin Trail, Linville Falls – Blueridge Parkway

As I stand at another crossroads of my own, God has prepared an unusual circumstance, in that both roads in my journey are “the one less traveled,” regardless of which one I choose. Unlike Frost’s divergence, where one path eventually proves morally significant over the other, with my choice, each has the potential to share the Word of God in the duties required. In other words, they both have the ability to become blessings to others, in that I will be serving the Lord on either journey; and that, yes, that fact truly makes all the difference.

As a matter of confirmation, I was afforded an opportunity to interview with a school the first part of this week. I had just got through sharing my testimony with a friend when the phone rang. Like Abraham at the altar, Isaac lying bound below his knife blade, the feeling of his muscles’ s tightening in his shoulders as he was about to drive the blade into his son; my path seemed perfectly clear, the decision to follow through with what God had provided was made, there was no turning back. But then, in my case, the phone rang. In Abraham’s, God sent an Angel of the Lord. The parallel, as it ran through my mind, literally made me laugh as I answered the call. The caller was from a school that I had applied for many months ago, so it was a bit of a surprise when they called Monday morning asking if I could come in Tuesday for the interview. Knowing that God has prepared one path already, I was a bit hesitant, but thought that at least I should perform my due diligence.

“Was this God seeing how committed I was to finally accepting the position at the Children’s Home, and then providing me an opportunity to go on to a job that would allow me to more easily provide for my family?” “Was this like Abraham, where he could see that I was going to follow through with it, no matter the cost?”

It was with these questions in mind that I drove to the school the next day for the interview. I felt wonderful, and it was a beautiful day; clear blue skies, low humidity, and a feeling inside that God was with me, no matter what. The interview went very well, and it seemed that I was always one step ahead on the panel’s questions. They told me before I left that they would have an answer within a couple days. By the next morning, Wednesday they had made a decision; one that didn’t include me.

In many ways, the news was a relief. I thanked God out loud, for it was as if He had chosen for me. He knows us better than we know ourselves, and that being the case, would understand how hard it would be for me to decide between the two. Comforted once more that God is in control, I returned to work on the Retreat; there was always one more thing to be done.

Thursday came, and once more, there was another knock on the door.

I opened the email, and there was another opportunity to interview with another potential employer that I had applied for many weeks earlier. They had moved my application to the next round of the selection process, which meant they were giving me 72 hours to perform the interview and submit it for review. Once again, making sure I performed my due diligence, I logged into the web site on Friday and began answering the question. Before beginning, I prayed that if this was God’s way of holding the best until last, then so be it, but that I was already more than well pleased with the choice He had provided. The questions were not of the customary type, but rather, asked things like, “How do you grow and maintain your walk with Christ?” “What was your personal testimony with regard to accepting Christ, and how have you continued that walk?” In each case, there was so much I wanted to share, but the challenge was a one-minute time limit on each response. Needless to say, it took a lot of effort to pare down all that I wanted to say and get it to fit into the concise timeframe required.

Thankfully, there was no limit on the amount of time given to think about each question, and as I peered out the vista before me, I began to reflect on all that had transpired this past summer and how it had been one of the most challenging periods of waiting for God to speak to me in my life. My setting for the interview was at the Lodge, a place in our community that literally sits on top of a mountain that provides a 360-degree long-range view of mountains, as far as the eye can see. From my mountain top vantage, there was the feeling of being literally closer to God. One question after another, my reflection kept reminding me that I had never been alone, even when I felt the loneliest. Looking back, those solitary moments were steppingstones to the answers that would play out. In the waiting, there was the feeling that God was working on something big; something that would make it clear there was much to do in order to make it possible. Because, with God, nothing is impossible.

Finally, after the last question, I hit the submit button.

It was done.

Have you ever completed something and wondered how well it went? Did you get the sudden feeling that there many things you hadn’t said that you could have? These questions and others began to form in my mind, but as they did, there was the comforting hand of God upon me, consoling me, assuring me that this was all that was needed. There was nothing left to be done.

Lowering my head in prayer, I began to thank God for the opportunity, regardless if I got the position or not. In my heart, it felt as if God was allowing me to see that He was covering all the bases. Should I finally, and ultimately land at the Children’s Home, I will have the comforting sense of satisfaction knowing that all the other doors of possible paths had been covered and provided. Each one, even though they chose another candidate, allowed me to see that He was listening and that he had put me where he needed me the most. In the end, although I initially felt like Abraham at the altar, I realized that God was just letting me know that there should be no other questions about his desire for me to be where he wants me to serve.

Talk about a feeling of God’s hand upon your very heart; there is no greater satisfaction in this world than knowing you are being cared for by the Almighty God.

In every step of this long summer’s journey, as my ability to provide for my family has diminished; when there was no more job, when we lost our medical insurance when health issues began to arise, God was with us. He was providing for us in each time of need; albeit finances, medical insurance, health, and strength.

The scripture from 2 Corinthians 4:17-18 keeps coming back to me. It can best summarize the recent course of events in, “For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.”

“I must decrease, so that he may increase,” said John the Baptist, and for my walk of faith, it is the same. “When we are at our weakest, he is strongest,” wrote the Apostle Paul, and it has never been clearer in my own life.

Where the next few days, weeks, or months will take me, I cannot say.

But one thing I do know, wherever He leads, I will follow.

And in that, we can most assuredly say, “Thanks be to God.”

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Tagged as 2 Corinthians, Apostle Paul, bible, blessings, Blueridge Mountains, blueridge parkway, faith, god, John the Baptist, linville falls, Robert Frost, scripture, Word of God

by Timothy | July 8, 2019 · 9:38 pm

Make a Way in the Wilderness

The old path had been obliterated by the multitude of floods sweeping through the valley. Over the course of the late winter and early spring, the rains had fallen heavily upon the mountain. The water had nowhere to go but down into the valleys below. Massive logs had been strewn this way and that, like straws spilled on a table, their remains were all that was left, like bones upon the shoreline of a distant war. Now, there were only piles of dark, entangled webs of roots and logs. Their bulk lay wherever the currents had subsided.

One such testament to the disasters of this past season had now blocked the old trail which was once where my weekly crossing of the river would lead. It had been over a year since my last venture. Like a blanket of comfort, vines and forest growth had already claimed their new patron as their own. To once more scale the opposite shore would require finding a new way, a new path; blazing a trail once more through the wilderness. It was as if God was speaking to me this past week when all the events had fallen into place such that there was finally time to seek out this new pathway. Much like many of our lives at this moment, you too might be waiting on that next door to open. You might feel like those prayers you have lifted over and over again are not reaching through your own ceiling. In this time of waiting, there is learning. In this season of pause, we must seek what we have yet to find in our faith.

One might ask, “Is it even worth the effort to reclaim that old path?” or if your congregation has lived through a natural disaster you might ask, “Is it worth the money to rebuild the church after the storm?” To those fallen on even the direst of life’s circumstances, the question may arise, “How can I even go on living?”

God tells us through his prophet Isaiah, when he states, “Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.”

We often cannot see beyond the next hill or bank of the river. God has put before us the opportunity to blaze new pathways, leaving the old behind. When we find our way is blocked by circumstances beyond our control, or have a tragedy strike, we must first seek Him. When we find God, we must then listen, for when we receive him, his indwelling will become our guidepost. When we learn to listen for that still small voice, we shouldn’t be surprised to find guidance and direction, and often in the most unlikely of places.

The afternoon thunderstorms had been heavy, so it was no surprise to find the river was up. The sandbar, covered with all manner of stone, was now under water; it being my gauge as to when it is safe to cross or not. Having already decided that this would be the day to find out if there was a way possible, I went ahead with the plan. A wiser man might have simply passed for another day; not I. The first few footsteps into the murky turbulence proved my intuition was correct, the current was tearing away at my footing. Scarcely had not one step been taken before the next was nearly washed out from underneath. The crossing was not going to be easy. Not to mention, the distant shore, now covered with a network of vines and briars, would be even more daunting. I had just begun, and it seemed as if all was lost. In the back of my mind, the question arose as to, “Why, why are you doing this?”

Many times, when we are in the midst of our trial, even though we may be within the darkness of the valley of the shadow of death, we are not alone; God is with us. As we take that next step, there are those in our lives watching, like the boats surrounding the ship upon which Jesus had fallen asleep. Each small vessel carried passengers who also wondered if this may be their doom, waiting for a sign from the boat upon which Christ had found passage. To their amazement, from a distance, they watched as Jesus rebuked his disciple’s unbelief, and then calmed the raging seas. Those too, who are with us each day, watching our demeanor and response to the hardships through which we travail, are likewise inspired by the sometimes seemingly insignificant details of decisions we make; regardless, if it is something we find as trivial or something as horrific as the loss of a family member through a tragedy, each event elicits a similar revelation.

So, as I fought the raging currents to reach the other shore, it was with admirable satisfaction that when I embarked upon scaling the steep embankment, there was already an opening made by the hand of God. The force of the flood had caused not only trees to be washed away, but also the shape of the briars and vines had been swept into uniform patterns, causing them to lay one upon the other, like matting upon the earth. I easily found footing and barely had to cut back but just a few thorny green briars, here and there, until the paved trail of the Collettsville Park was in sight. All of my apprehension and fear had already been taken care of by the Master’s hand. All that was asked of me was to try, to take that first step into the raging torrent and trust in Him.

“When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”-Isaiah 43:2

When we find ourselves in these times of trial and waiting, we must forge new forays into God’s Word, turning pages we might have never sought before. We are often taken aback at how direct the word may speak to us. Who hasn’t sought an answer from God, and in so doing, opened the Bible at random and found the very text to which your eye had cast upon answering you? But even in our doubt and struggle with waiting, we must keep every present in our mind that He will not leave us in our struggle. The wrath of destruction through which we survive, be it spiritual or physical, is not unnoticed by our Heavenly Father. When we pass through the storm, we will be blessed with the most loving promise, “Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies;”

In the silence, God is working on answering your prayers.

Be ever vigilant and patient. It takes time, at least from our humanly perspective, for rivers to emerge from deserts. From the driest and most arid of the human soul can the fruit of the Holy Spirit spring forth, bubbling up unto the presence for all to see; a testimony of having battled through hell and survived by the Grace of God to tell the story.

Step into that torrent, blaze that trail once more and never give up. Christ didn’t die for your sins for you to throw away your life.

You can make it. You have His promise.

Thanks be to God.

“Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies;”-Psalm 103:4

“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.”-Isaiah 43:19

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Tagged as Blueridge Mountains, Christ, Collettsville, comfort, Destruction, disaster, flood, god, Isaiah, loving kindness, NC., Psalm, tender mercies, tragedy, wilderness

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