Tag Archives: COVID-19

by | July 21, 2020 · 8:32 pm

The Doldrums of COVID

By Timothy W. Tron July, 2020

The feeling of being stuck in the doldrums has slowly washed over me lately. 

My body floated in the water effortlessly. Like a being upon the sea, only the clear blue morning skies above. Here and there were wisps of clouds barely enough moisture to collect to form a whiteness, yet they were there. It was as if time had stopped. My mind drifted to those ancient mariners who relied on the ocean winds to propel their sailing ships. A calm day was not a blessing. A robust sea with gathering storm clouds and gusts of ocean spray were signs of life. 

Likewise, our walk-in faith is like those ancient sailing vessels. When we are facing a headwind, we know we are going in the right direction. “Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.”[1] As the Apostle Paul would remind us, “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.”[2] It is when the winds cease, those opposing forces suddenly stop, that we should be concerned. For it is then, when you are no longer finding the world against you, that you should take stock and see if you are not going along with the whims and will of the evils that surround you. “And be not conformed to this world:..”[3] “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour:”[4]

Floating there in the pool, my mind’s eye could see the glistening mirrors of glass surrounding their vessel as the sun beat down on them like a mighty drum. This absolute stillness was their valley of death. The very breath of life hung in the balance. The maritime sailors of old, even in their mighty sailing ships, were at the mercy of the prevailing winds. It was as if without the hand of God pushing them, they were helpless. Their vessels might sit for days or even weeks in the area known today as the Intertropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ). It stretches from 5 degrees above to 5 degrees below the equator. As the broiling heat beat down upon them, their sails hung limp, lifeless – mirroring the direction their lives seemed to be heading. 

When there is nothing to occupy the mind, it becomes like a fertile field where our sinful fleshly desires and thoughts begin to take root. We’ve all heard the phrase, “An idle mind is the devil’s playground.” It is here, in the empty void of life that our wanton, wayward thoughts begin to fill the space where once an occupation, a job, or a study once filled. The news media, if we allow it, is happy to provide us more than enough constant chatter to overwhelm even the most ardent theologian. Then there is the social media, where a thread of distrust can become the next great conspiracy to add to the overflowing closet of skeletons in our mind. Those empty, lifeless ocean experiences were not only deadly because of the physical limitations. Here where the mind became one’s worst enemy, the mutinies were formed and men began to doubt not only themselves but their creator as well.

One description held by nautical experts is as follows, “Doldrums holds a distinct place in maritime history, having developed a reputation as a potentially deadly zone which could strand ships for weeks on end, causing them to run out of food and drinking water. In those days, with supplies running low, and scurvy setting in, delirium, starvation, and cabin fever could all set in – and getting through this mysterious patch of Atlantic Ocean quickly wasn’t just a matter of first or last place, but life and death.”[5]

Today, we seem to be in a similar predicament. Many of your friends, neighbors, and even family are facing perils that remain hidden until it’s too late. The isolation created by this perceived pandemic has in a sense, made us all drift into the doldrums – some say, the effect being more deadly than the cause. The ship in our world can take on various forms: our country, our daily lives, and even our soul. 

Our nation has become mired in turmoil and panic, held captive by those that want to seemingly halt our way of life using the foil of a pandemic with which to incite fear – cause it to stall until the point it falters, and some might even say, fail. In this epic of ever-growing restrictions and confinements, the feeling of being held captive in our own society begins to seep into our psyche. With each growing day, we find a new restriction dictated by “science” forcing us to obey or else. We find fear beginning to seep into the most educated minds to the point they seem consumed to follow the rules, whereas; heretofore, they were some of the most liberal types seeking rebellion of societal norms at every turn. Those that are held in esteemed positions begin to spread the fear in their implication of pursuing the “science” while disregarding those who might find a different mindset all together; one of fearing not. For many, they do not know what it is to find comfort in the arms of a Savior. Their lives, like so many who remain lost until the day of judgment, find themselves glued to the media, like a junkie waiting for the next hit, looking for the next “aha sound bite” that will send shockwaves through our culture, sending yet another wave of fear over our nation.

It is in these moments of doom and gloom we should seek the calm and peacefulness of the Comforter, the Word of God. Sadly, many find the darkness growing stronger rather than the day of jubilation when Christ’s return sounds the final trumpet. The torment permeates their being until it becomes real. 

The dread doesn’t stop there, at the curb of society, rather it penetrates our very nature. 

The imposed isolation has revealed cracks in even the most perceived solid of relationships. Some may feel that they are trapped in marriages whereby they have no recourse. For whatever reason, the days of intimacy have evaporated like those prevailing winds on the ocean. They quit counting the days of quarantine – the novelty lost at sea. Now, their relationship is distant, cold, and anything but bliss. For some, these are the “worse” parts of the vow. Unrelenting to yield to divorce, praying that God will find a way to replace their spouse’s heart of stone, they remain – trapped and disheartened – their life has become nothing more than a dead sea, upon which no breath of wind dare cast a ripple of hope.

Afflictions of the flesh can come in all shapes and sizes – drugs, alcohol, or sex. Each person has their own inner struggles. Once, when there was a society of normalcy, one might compare their daily grind to others. Yet, now, kept to themselves, the questions begin to creep inside the dark confines of the heart. The darkness feeds upon these. Allowed to grow, they become more than thoughts. They begin to manifest themselves into actions that might otherwise have abated had the flow of life been allow to continue. It is in the trials that we discover who we really are. For those without faith, it is as if all hope is lost. If we allow Satan to enter in, giving in to temptations, we deepen the despair by which those afflictions feed – like sharks circling our languishing ship, watching, waiting to whom they may devour, so is the devil. 

Others find that their spiritual lives have become stagnate as if God is not listening. They pray and seek Him day after day, but it’s as if they’ve been abandoned. What they miss is from where they are praying. Rather than fully relying on God, they are seeking help from the very thing that they have given into, “Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts.”[6]

When there is no answer we must wait. Yet, there is learning in the waiting. While we seek immediate answers, God’s timing is not our own. In the trials and tribulations, we are made stronger in our faith, whether we like it or not. It is much like when a baby chick is born. When it first begins to pip out of the shell, it is difficult to sit and watch. When you can’t take it any longer and begin to help the newborn by pulling the shell away. You suddenly find a wet, damp miserable little creature. Although your instinct was to simply help, part of the birthing process is to make it struggle through the shell which creates the muscles that it will need later to survive. Meanwhile, the chick you just “saved” begins to weaken, and in most cases, will die from fatigue for lack of muscle tissue. If we are left to never struggle in life, our spiritual muscle will become atrophied to the point, it is unable to support our being – it is then we too find a spiritual weakening unto the point of death.

When mankind faces the end, as in being distraught within the doldrums, it is then most often they finally seek God – when it is too late. Life passes before one’s eye in the blink of an eye. While an eternity may seem to pass when the flesh is suffering, it is a mere momentary heartbeat when the end arrives. The once seemingly immortality of youth gives way to the reality of age, and with it, time begins to race. As the heart yearns for those days of youth, that are gone forever, it is then too late many realize their choices were in vain. The rust and tarnished life has led them only to a bitter end to where they cannot escape. It is then they realize, their doldrums began long before any pandemic started.

Yet, we can find hope beyond the ITCZ, and this time of COVID.

Our hope is in the one that gives us spiritual strength. Our hope is in the one that gives light to the darkness. Our hope is in the one that can free us from all earthly desires and shackles of the flesh. Yes, our hope is in Jesus Christ, our Lord, and Savior.

Where once there was delirium and despair, there can be life once more. The breath of life, the winds of change are coming and soon, the trumpet will sound. Soon the creaking of the ancient ship’s masts will begin to bend under the gales that will take us to that far distant shore.

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you…”[7]

Thanks be to God.

[1] Psalms 34:19 KJV

[2] 1 Peter 4:12-13 KJV

[3] Romans 12:2 KJV

[4] 1 Peter 5:8 KJV

[5] Internet: https://archive.theoceanrace.com/en/news/10308_Seven-things-you-need-to-know-about-the-Doldrums.html

[6] James 4:3 KJV

[7] Matthew 7:7 KJV

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by | May 24, 2020 · 5:55 pm

The Just and the Unjust

It becomes obvious, as my mind reflects on what to write about this morning, that I have unintentionally surrounded myself in the comfort of rocky, and coarse elements from nature. Sitting in the Retreat and listening to the birds of the morning, my eye wanders to the things that are near. From the roughhewn lumber sawn at the local sawmill to the river rock that encompasses the fireplace in the Retreat, there is a sense of “raw” earth which exudes from this place. The trees were harvested from where the building now sits and were masterfully sawed by Tony Moretz. The rocks were provided by the Gragg family’s section of the John’s River. Through all the harvesting and collection, there was the journey of life and interaction with those that helped to obtain the resources to make it all possible. Each one a story of their own. While the building is not the polished brass or pure, waxed floors of the highest cathedrals, the Retreat is a place of humble submission. In my heart, I like to think that it’s a place not far removed from God’s creation. Here, in this forest abode, there is a deeper connection with the One above, less of the man-made interferences we so often seek. It is in this vein that this story begins to unfold.

The scripture from Matthew struck a chord with me earlier this week, “He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust.”

A long time ago, in the other life, we were walking through an antique store in Cameron, NC. I overheard some folks cutting up and enjoying one another’s fellowship when they mentioned the scripture from Matthew. It had been a time during a lengthy drought. My pastures were dying and the cattle were beginning to suffer. The garden had nearly all but dried up. It was during a time such as that when the comment struck a chord with me. One man said to the others, “You know the Bible says that it rains on the just and the unjust?” The others murmured their agreement, knowing where this was probably headed, when he continued, “I wish it would JUST rain.” At which point, the others joined in laughing and continuing to have a good time.

As the memories of that dry-spell comment rang in my head, the weather outside was still wet. It was the fourth day in a row of heavy downpours. It was obviously the opposite extreme to that faded memory. Yet, the words of the scripture echoed once more, “It rains on the just and the unjust.” It was then that I stopped and thought about the verse and what it meant to our times under the Quarantine-life of COVID-19. In this time, so many find that their lives have been centered on the things of this world. Their idols, albeit justified in their minds, however, they wish, from sports stars to music entertainers, had all been taken away. Now, in the vacuum, many find their lives empty, void of meaning. All along, they had been living a life of earthly treasures but hadn’t stopped to take notice until now. The suicide hotlines are flooded and reports of suicides during the last four weeks have equaled that of a year’s worth of deaths previously. Sadly, some preachers even go as far to find wisdom in the data of the Corona Virus media reports instead of their Bibles. In so doing, they purposely prevent their parishioners from receiving the very thing that they need most; the Spiritual interactions of fellowship and worship; the very thing people need most at times like this. I could go on speaking of negativity, but the tragedy remains the same, many seek what can never bring them true happiness. The question came to mind, “Do I allow myself to be brought down by the long, cloudy days, or do I make the best of what I have?”

One such day last week fit the bill – pouring rain with dark overcast skies. Through the course of the day, as the hard, driving rain continued to fall outside, inside I continued to work from home at my new-found career. The position at App State is a blessing in and of itself, and in that, there is a testimony that can be shared. But, in addition, there were the peripheral things of the day that made it bright. That day’s evening meal was one of comfort food. Again, like those materials that comprise the structure of the Retreat, the food that brings a sigh to my spirit is that of good ‘ole’ country food. That evening the family and I sat down to a big pot of ham and beans, greens, and cornbread. For dessert, I had also baked oatmeal cookies from scratch. In a sense, I had returned to my roots; the things in life that make us who we are.

I was blessed in life to be raised by depression-era family members. Again, I could dwell on the negativity of my life, but to be able to look back and be thankful for the journey, regardless of how difficult or challenging it might have been, allows me the vision to look ahead with gratitude. Being reared by those who had little gave me the appreciation for those “roughhewn” things of life. While I’ve never had the “Best Things” of this world, I certainly have been blessed beyond measure in other things, those that mean the most; God and family. My faith is not polished and practiced of that of a seminary student, but rather that from which I have gleaned from the pages of the Word itself. Like those cornfields of my youth, when we would walk row after row behind the trailer being pulled by Grandpa’s tractor, gleaning missed cobs, I have studied the Bible for truth. It is in God’s word that one can find comfort and solace even in the lengthiest rain spell, or as now, the longest time of forced isolation known to our generation.

As a farmer, I can tell you that there is a breath of relief, a sigh of thanks that goes up when the rain begins to fall after the fields have been properly dressed with fertilizer, when the rows of corn are safely in the ground. Through the replenishing of the earth’s moisture it as if the farmer’s soul is also renewed. As it says in the 23rd Psalm, “My cup runneth over,” is an expression best displayed by the overflow pipes of a farm pond and the satisfaction within the farmer’s heart. Yes, even when the rain falls, there is a sense of reward and comfort on the farm where others find dread and gloom. It is a mindset that many fail to notice in the modern world. A connection to nature, and to our Creator, has been lost by so many in the pursuit to make life “better.”

Should we sit and dwell on wondering if we are the just or the unjust, or should we press onward as the Apostle Paul would say? In my heart, and my prayer for those in this world who are hurting, is that we would seek to press on. To find God, to bring him close and to find beauty in even those things that matter little to the world. In the coming day, try to spend time with a friend or family member that you haven’t heard from in a while. Reach out to those who continue to find need to self-quarantine. The worst thing we can do is to leave someone alone who might be feeling lost and hopeless when we ourselves have been blessed. Even if our own worlds are nothing but stones and roughhewn logs, we can still be a comfort to those around us if we choose to do so. It is up to each of us to be the light in a dark world.

While our blessings may be worthless by the world’s standards, they are priceless in the kingdom above.

Embrace love to thy neighbor and be thankful for the rain, just or unjust.

Thanks be to God.

“But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” – Mt, 5:44-45

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by | 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 | April 14, 2020 · 9:44 pm

The Weary Road

“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” – Galatians 6:9

This morning I awoke but felt as if there was no purpose in escaping the comfort of the warm covers. When my feet finally hit the chilly floor, my body felt as if it needed another night’s sleep. A weariness of the spirit seemed to weigh me down.

Low Water Bridge, Collettsville, NC. April 14, 2020

Yesterday’s work had been one grueling mental challenge that lasted the entire day, from before sunup to after sundown. It sometimes surprises me how tiring the mind can become, and in so doing, bring the body down with it. In these times of uncertainty and struggle, many are facing the same challenge, feeling their minds reaching a certain level of strain that begins to seem as if their entire world is starting to unwind. Combine that with that the fact that they are held captive in their own homes with people, whom many will call family, that are now beginning to weigh on their patience. Meanwhile, they struggle to find the new norm when attempting to keep the same level of workload with which their jobs demand, working remotely.

For some, the pressure has become more than they can bear.

Yet, in my struggles, there I was once again, striving to do it all on my own. We sometimes push ourselves beyond what we are capable of, both physically and mentally. As I was driving back from the office, having made one of my bi-weekly “Essential Needs” run, my body battled to remain awake. The intellectual demand had literally worn me out. In that solitude, driving down the beautiful mountainside on a sunny April day, it occurred to me the error of my ways. Like those awful storms that had awakened me at 3:00 AM, there was now no sign of them. The five inches of rain that had fallen on the mountain had all but vanished. Yet, when something falls, there is always a price to pay. Down the mountain, in our foothill village of Collettsville, the price was waiting to be paid. When we mess up in life, we must always learn to face the consequences, no matter how hard they are to look upon.

Once again, in my unintentional arrogance, the “I,” had tried to solve the problem alone. Had not the previous summer’s lessons been learned? Was I still ignorant of how God was with me, but it was up to me to ask for his help and guidance? Again, my mind reflected back to those times before of calling upon His name, and how each time, there was an answer. The next morning, again before starting, I prayed for God to forgive me for my previous day’s arrogance, and to give me strength, guidance, and wisdom. I then vowed to never again forget to seek Him in all that I do. To make sure, I pulled up Romans 12:2-3 to help me keep focus, “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. For I say, through the grace given unto me, to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; but to think soberly, according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith.”

Within an hour of starting that morning, the problem had been solved.

There is no better feeling of satisfaction than to know God is with you. The sense of accomplishment on our own is one thing, but to know something happened because of God working in your life is an entirely new level of triumph.

The song, “Victory in Jesus,” comes to mind, and says it best.

I heard about His healing,
Of His cleansing pow’r revealing.
How He made the lame to walk again
And caused the blind to see;
And then I cried, “Dear Jesus,
Come and heal my broken spirit,”
And somehow Jesus came and bro’t
To me the victory.

Chorus
O victory in Jesus,
My Savior, forever.
He sought me and bought me
With His redeeming blood;
He loved me ere I knew Him
And all my love is due Him,
He plunged me to victory,
Beneath the cleansing flood.[1]

Later, I took a walk along the river. The low-water bridge across the John’s River that is my route into Collettsville had been inundated by yesterday’s flash flood. Piled on top of the bridge chest-high in the storm’s wake was all manner of wood, debris, and full-grown trees. Below, in the shadow of the bridge, the water now ran full-throated, clouded and murky from the deluge. Continuing onward, with my walking stick in hand, I carefully climbed to the top of the massive heap of rubble. My mind flashed back to the previous day’s struggle and how the tabs along the top of my page were like those countless limbs and trees now underfoot. One-by-one, they were caught in the fight to flow onward, until they created the gigantic roadblock. Had my struggle continued without stopping and regrouping, and finally seeking God’s divine intervention, I would have never solved the crisis. My attempt to unravel the challenge would have only ended like the massive pile of debris upon which I stood, at an impasse with no way around it.

Thankfully, the words find purpose, “be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.” Yes, God doesn’t want our lives to wind up like a useless pile of trash. When we seek him, our lives become filled with a purpose, an intentional reason for being. When we acknowledge that He has paid the price for our sins and that we are redeemed by his blood, we can afford to be plunged beneath the cleansing flood and come up victors.

Yes, there’s victory in Jesus.

Try never to forget, you are not alone.

Seek Him with all your heart and knock and the door shall be opened.

Leave the “I,” behind, and learn to lean upon the everlasting.

Thanks be to God.

[1] Words and Music by E.M. Bartlett
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by | 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 | March 22, 2020 · 7:31 pm

The Voice of Melody

The voices of the distant past return.

Like haunted echoes through the canyon walls, their cries of mourning and anguish retell the story of old. There in the northwest corner of Italy, they were forced into isolation. They were hunted like animals, labeled as heretics: their crime, merely sharing and evangelizing the Word of God. In that foregone time, the troops could be seen coming from afar. Standing on the abyss of the mountain tops, the faithful ancient Waldensians, or people of the valleys, knew their only hope of survival, other than having faith, was to retreat to the upper mountain passes; to the places where even Angels feared to tread. There, in those high, Alpine meadows and caves, they survived. Their legacy, the very Word of God. For through their faithfulness, they had planted the seeds of the reformation.

Today, those voices are once again crying out. Unlike before, their torment is not from man, but rather, from an unseen enemy, a virus. The sickness has permeated their region to the point that the government has called for a total lockdown; nobody can be on the streets without justification. Even vending machine use is forbidden. Again, the people of the valleys, the descendants of the ancient Waldensians, face a darkness that slowly invades their land. Like armies of death marching to seek and destroy, they find once more their hope of survival is that of finding refuge in those high, solitary lands. The remote valleys once more become the perfect setting for isolation and self-quarantine. Having lived through past invasions, plagues, and economic strife, their heritage has taught them to be complacent with impoverished life. Yet, we must decrease so that he may increase, as the Apostle Paul would say.

Forced isolation caused those ancient people to learn how to cope with less. While eeking out a meager existence just to survive, they turned inward to find solace in the scriptures, and in those pages, found hope. Their fears had been diminished by knowing that their trials were only preparing them for a more magnificent journey someday. In those dimly lit stone caverns, they found comfort in the gifts that their Creator had bestowed upon them. Using these blessings, they would use them to pass on their faith, culture, and heritage. Today, one can find a more significant percentage of those ancient Waldensian descendants with all manner of creative talents than in typical societies. It is no wonder that their time in isolation had proved beneficial in not only keeping them alive but also it afforded them the time to enrich their souls.

Last night, as we passed the time in our own home, thousands of miles from those battling to survive in Northern Italy, I was reminded of how when we turn our thoughts to our brethren, our real gifts begin to be seen for what they were intended; to lift those up around us and to be the light for our world. As my eyes scanned through various social media platforms, a message began to emerge.

Musical artists of all ages began to stream live free music. From the stage of the Grand Ole Opry, Marty Stuart, Vince Gill, and Brad Paisley played and sang to an empty Ryman Auditorium. Meanwhile, across our country, various bands played in front of phone cameras to professional-grade videography. In some cases, husband and wife duets performed for the world after having put their children to bed. It was an evening of sharing and uplifting songs. As the performers played, they all spoke in like tone; prayers for our country and for those people facing the uncertainty of tomorrow. Unlike traditional performances, the platform of social media allowed people to give instant feedback to their entertainers. Those of us watching could see a much-needed catharsis taking place as people would praise the singers and lift family members up in prayer.

In all my years, I had never witnessed anything like it.

But it didn’t stop with music. Poets were reading their works to the public to enlighten others. Individuals were sharing inspirational words of encouragement and scriptures. It was as if the world of social media had turned off the news and found themselves once more.

Then, this morning, after I had begun my morning coffee and finished my devotional, I once more wondered what the rest of the world was doing for Sunday morning worship. Once more, scanning through the pages of social media, I was once again blessed to find all manner of preachers, congregations, and individuals finding creative ways to share the Word of God. In my heart, there was a renewed feeling of hope. Gone was the negativity of the new media, and in its place, the true spirit of our country began to emerge, a voice of love, faith, and determination.

Bear the puppy.

Today, as my own family found time for a walk together with the newest family member, Bear the puppy, a sense of purpose, a restoration of hope began to return. In my mind, I tried to drink in the moment. Just being in their presence was enough.

Sadly, there are those in our world that don’t have the ability to receive help from all of those bands on social media. Some have no family with which they can find solace. Many sit alone in the solitary confines of a dark room waiting, listening to the sound of their own heartbeat. Some wishing that it would end.

Reading over the scriptures this evening, I asked God to send a message; to show me the scripture that would help to give hope to the world. It was then the voice said to look upon Isaiah. It was then the words over the recreation of the Church at Ciabas on the Trail of Faith came to me.  The inscription reads, “Le Petit de Sion,” meaning, “God will surely find comfort on Zion,” taken from Isaiah 51:3.

Turning to the scriptures, I read once more, “Hearken ye to me, ye that follow after righteousness, ye that seek the LORD; look unto the rock whence ye were hewn, and to the hole from the pit whence ye are digged…For the LORD shall comfort Zion: he will comfort all her waste places: and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the LORD; o and gladness shall be found therein thanking, and the voice of melody.”

I was reminded of those ancient people of the valleys. They didn’t allow their solitude to destroy their faith. Their heartiness, their ability to live and survive at high altitudes of long periods, as if hewn from the granite upon which they trod, came to mind. Much like the spirit of the American people today, beneath the ambiguity and divisiveness that some would want to portray, we are a hearty people. When we are pushed into a corner, the true American spirit begins to return; one of faith, hope, and charity. Satan wants nothing better than to see us fight over rolls of toilet paper and to hate our neighbor. The fear and despair that Satan preaches can only be spread by those who have no hope of tomorrow. It is up to us who know the truth, those of us who share a belief that God has a purpose in all that we do, to share our faith and hope of tomorrow with those around us. We must be reminded that although we face an unseen enemy, it is no different than any other day we face the same enemy, except it usually isn’t called a virus, it is called sin.

This next week, I urge each of us to lift up your family, your brethren, and your neighbor. Seek to use the gifts God has bestowed upon you to bring light to someone’s dark world. Make someone’s wilderness an Eden; their desert a garden of the Lord. There, when you share with those souls abandoned to dark rooms of despair, you will find hearts floating in the air, and the smile of gratitude spread across their faces. In that moment, when the happiness begins to shine in their hearts once more, listen for the voice of melody, and you will know God has spoken through you.

Yes, gladness, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody will return.

Thanks be to God.

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