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Letting Go

In life, when we look to God for answers, sometimes the answers don’t come from our own thoughts but rather are provided for us through other means.

During our weekly hikes, there is always conversation that enlightens and inspires. But yesterday, as our journey led us along the cascading sounds of Hebron Falls, the words of my friend floated into my heart like those whispering echoes of droplets spraying against the rocks below. My hiking buddy Richard, who will turn 86 in just three months, was reflecting on how God was redirecting, changing the course of his life. He then described the feeling of slowly being stripped of all those things that had seemed so important, leaving him with a focus unlike ever before. As he spoke, he described the feeling of riding a horse bare-back – no harness, no saddle, just he and the horse.

Hebron Falls, Boone Fork Trail, BlueRidge Parkway, NC.

In my mind, I could see my daughter so many years ago, riding her pony up the hill on our farm back in Chatham County. She and her steed were flying against the backdrop of the fencing that ran along the driveway. With her arms outstretched, head slightly leaning back, she was free, flying along at the top speed of her pony Sugar. The sight of them momentarily took my breath away – the instincts of a parent, momentarily froze as we say that silent prayer of protection. Together, they imparted into my soul what it was to fully trust and that sense of freedom to which it provided.

Richard’s description yesterday of being freed from all bondage of this world’s distractions, although I’m not certain that he meant distractions but possibly earthly connections, resonated within me something that I wanted to reconsider and perhaps write about. While these thoughts were bouncing around in my head, another one of God’s wonders happened.

This morning when reading as part of my daily devotional, a passage from C.S. Lewis came up. It was as if God had been listening and wanted to chime in and add to our conversation.

To shrink back from all that can be called Nature into negative spirituality is as if we ran away from horses instead of learning to ride. There is in our present pilgrim condition plenty of room (more room than most of us like) for abstinence and renunciation and mortifying our natural desires. But behind all asceticism the thought should be, ‘Who will trust us with the true wealth if we cannot be trusted even with the wealth that perishes?’ Who will trust me with a spiritual body if I cannot control even an earthly body? These small and perishable bodies we now have were given to us as ponies are given to schoolboys. We must learn to manage: not that we may some day be free of horses altogether but that some day we may ride bare-back, confident and rejoicing, those greater mounts, those winged, shining and world- shaking horses which perhaps even now expect us with impatience, pawing and snorting in the King’s stables. Not that the gallop would be of any value unless it were a gallop with the King; but how else— since He has retained His own charger—should we accompany Him?[1]

It seems as if we can never cease to learn that God has intended for us to continually strive to understand and adapt to how we are to better serve him in this life. Learning to intentionally remove, or as in more often is the case, finding that He, through divine intervention, is slowly removing the unnecessary baggage to which we cling, we come to a greater realization of our purpose in this life. Giving it all to God literally can bring the feeling of riding a horse at full-gallop, bare-back, at the mercy of that which we cannot control.

We are saved by God’s grace, not by anything we can do of ourselves. It is through this undeserving grace that we may have eternal life. Our natural tendency is to grab onto things of this world through which we think we find comfort. When we realize that those worldly things are merely false idols, we naturally want to turn away from everything. It is this shrinking away from those things to which we are lured into sin that we must learn to control and willingly, with God’s help, learn to refuse. It is this strength within, this fortitude of character, to which we can then learn to strengthen our soul. By this conditioning of the soul, our spirit becomes enriched so that we become better horsemen, if you will. This preparation is a lifelong endeavor, enabling us to then, when our time on earth has ended, to join our Lord and Savior, at those stables on high, where together, we will ride in spiritual bodies, majestic steeds unlike any we would have known here on earth.

It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body.”- 1 Cor.15:44

My friend, as you read this text, my prayer for you is that God will speak into your life and open your eyes to the pathway that leads to life eternal. May you find that the Lord, once you seek Him, and he will begin to change your life. I pray that those things which once occupied all of your time and energy, those negative things to which brought no reward other than their earthly pleasures or momentary satisfaction, will begin to fall away and that in so doing, you find a greater purpose with which to live.

Prayer and supplication are the beginnings of drawing closer to the Lord. Do not make the mistake of turning away from all things spiritual when the going gets difficult. Learn to control your spiritual body so that it will continue to grow and become better horsemen of that figurative pony.

Your heavenly steed patiently awaits.

The King of all kings and his charger are ready to ride. The decision is yours to make.

Thanks be to God.


[1] Miracles: A Preliminary Study. Copyright 1947 C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. Copyright renewed © 1947

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Letting Go…

Letting go is sometimes harder than we ever imagined.

Mother’s Day without your mother is one thing. There were many years that mom and I couldn’t be together for special days like today; that’s when the phone call would suffice. But when they are finally gone; gone on to heaven, part of you misses them while the other part knows they are with you more than before.

Those are the days that are sometimes hard to let go.20160508_152134

Then there was today.

As our little blue Honda made it around curve after curve, mountains and valleys below passed by; a never ending change of scenery of green, blues and vistas that stretched as far as the eye could see. Sometimes the guard rail provided a slight comfort while other times there was nothing but an abyss of trees and rocks below. My grip was firm upon the handle above the window as I tried not to show any anxiety. I didn’t want to take away any of her confidence in doing what I knew she could do. My feet firmly planted in the floorboard on the passenger side; meanwhile, my daughter, Mary, having just achieved her learner’s permit, was behind the wheel.

The countless miles that I had behind the wheel along these same mountain passes, often wishing I had the opportunity to gaze out the window as the beautiful panorama unfolded just outside our vehicle, now was at hand; yet, it wasn’t quite what I had envisioned. She was very cautious and patient, heeding my gentle instructions as we glided along on the winding downhills. The squeal of tires only caused me to remember a time my friend Gil and I had tried to see how many times we could squeal the tires around the switchbacks that led to Helen Georgia, causing our wives in the backseat to nearly lose their lunch. In that moment of reflection, I calmly advised her that she might want to slow down.

As our old car moaned going up the steep grades, she patiently urged the engine on. We had stopped once and already overheated on the first climb up through the Linville Gorge area. So, she was overly fearful from that point on of us possibly breaking down. Then to add more angst to our journey, one of the break pads decided to begin rubbing making an annoying whine off and on. Needless to say, we felt as if we were holding our collective breaths by the time we reached the sanctity of Valle Crucis, one of our destinations. We pulled into the shady parking spot behind the Mast General Store and quickly exited the car. I knelt to the ground and thanked God for safe delivery. An elderly man standing nearby walking his dog began laughing, apparently aware of the scene taking place before him; the teenager getting out of the driver’s seat and the relieved father kneeling in prayer.

As the tension of the drive wore off, we each found our place of repose where we could enjoy our cold drinks and snacks, mine being the porch swing at the back of the old store. Sitting there, swaying back and forth, I closed my eyes and reflected back upon the recent days.

There was a lot to be thankful for.

We had made another successful moving/mowing run back to the farm. For some reason, mom was on my mind a lot during the drive back. In fact, at one point I found myself asking God why he had decided to take both my parents. My own children never got to know them, yet there was so little opportunity for them to even come visit.

So much seemed so unfair.

I tried to push the negative thoughts aside, knowing that God had a plan. Besides, they both were in a much better place than they had left; that was at least the comfort I tried to find in their passing.

As we faced the setting sun driving west down I40, there was definitely the peace of mind knowing she no longer suffered. Mary was sitting in the front passenger seat not paying any attention when we began to pass a white SUV. The arms of the driver held the steering wheel with both hands; hands that in fact looked a lot like moms. As we edged on by her, I glanced over just as we were side-by-side and for a brief moment, there she was; mom. She was smiling facing the sunset happily driving to her next destination. I blinked and couldn’t believe my eyes. I tried to say something to my daughter, but the words wouldn’t come. Before I knew it, the little white car was quickly falling behind us, as we were being pushed by the quicker traffic in the fast lane. I so badly wanted to get over and slow back to her position to get one more look but with the trailer behind us in tow, it was impossible. As I watched her car slowly fade into the line of traffic behind us through my rearview mirror, the thought of thanks came to mind.

Yes, I was thankful to have had the chance to see her smiling face once more, if even for a split second.

The old swing creaked, the birds sang their songs and the green grass swayed in the gentle breeze. I took another sip of my cold A&W Root Beer and smiled as I looked out upon the valley below the clear blue sky.

God was with us and for that, there was a peace of mind that wrapped around me like the comfort of that well-worn quilt I so loved to use on cold winter nights.

There are times to let go, and then there are times we must savor the letting go.

These are the moments we cherish forever.

Thanks be to God.

“Walk in wisdom toward those who are outside, redeeming the time. Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer each one.” – Colossians 4:5-6

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Listening with Open Hearts…

Listen to counsel and receive instruction, That you may be wise in your latter days.”-Proverbs 19:20

Listening.

Something I seek to do more of these days. images4NIA922Q

Yes, hearing those around us speak and sometimes not speak; sometimes the latter being louder than the former.

This past week there were stories so tragic, so heart wrenching that they brought tears to my eyes as my brethren shared them with me. More than once I found myself biting my lower lip in order to retain my composure, often failing to do so in the end. Each one imprinting upon my soul another unforgettable memory; an indelible mark upon my soul.

As we listen, we allow those who are suffering and mourning to share and heal. Yet, sometimes the empathy we want to evoke is more painful that even our own mental capacities can bear. A young mother of two losing her husband, a firefighter, was just one instance. The incomprehensible phone call at one in the morning describing the name of your son having died in a wreck yet another. Wiping away the horror of the reality of the tragic news not being a dream and then realizing there was more than one person by that name in your family, then being unsure, having to ask the question again and again, “Which one, which one?” Then the unexplainable and unbearably painful task of telling a loved one of their precious loss; to a mother, a daughter and her children.

There are days in my life that I wonder why God puts the best people in what seems to be harm’s way. Why do the good die young? Why does God allow evil to remain?

I recalled my grandmother’s words at the wake of my dear cousin Michael, only 21 years of age when he died the horrific death of flowerjarelectrocution. As we sat around her kitchen table, somber, mourning and heartbroken, she sat a single flower in a glass of water in the middle of the table. We watched, not knowing, just looking at an action that seemed methodical in nature not realizing there was a purpose. She looked at the flower a moment and then looked up and then at each of us young children and said these words, “Sometimes God has to pick the prettiest flower in the meadow to use in the master’s bouquet.” Somewhere from above, we could feel Michael smiling down upon us at that moment. Suddenly, we felt a little better.

And still, I continued to listen.

There were stories of tragedies so painful that they haunt their keepers years later. A mother recalled how they had rushed to the scene of the incident to find their son passed. The mystery still surrounding the death, the uncertainty and the cause wrapping themselves around the pain until they are nearly impossible to separate. The brother whose soul is tormented by questioning himself, “If only I had been there with him, if only.” The dreams and visions that followed were almost as difficult to hear as the initial loss. With time, one would think the memories would fade, but when the edge of the sword is sharpened through the pain, the lessons learned are not soon forgotten. With each miraculous tale, there was another thread of hope beginning to emerge, as if a light burning from the darkest recesses of our minds.

And still I listened more.

Through one tale after another, I keep an ear open and want to so badly lift the burden from their shoulders, the darkness from their hearts and the despair from their souls. Yet, to try to do it alone is impossible, for there is only One who is capable and to Him we must call in these times of utter anguish and pain. There is only one that is the light unto men, for we were all once darkness, but now we are light.

Time and time again, I hear good people being dragged through the hell of this world until there seems no hope, no reason to carry on. Yet, I try to remind them, the sword cannot be folded on the Master’s anvil without the heat of the forge, burning, searing the metal of our beings until we can withstand the pounding of His hammer as he reshapes us into the new persons we must become. When we give our lives over to Christ, we must die to our former selves and allow ourselves to be remolded, remade in His image. It is never easy, and it will take everything you have within you to make the transformation.

Imagine as Christ died on the cross, the ultimate physical ravages his body underwent before death welcomed Him into the grave. Yes, death was only temporary, for He was lifted up again in resurrection and now sits at the right hand of the Father Almighty, unto which we all may seek if we only accept Him into our lives and confess with our mouths and believe with our hearts that He died for our sins.

If we knock, the door shall open.

If we listen, He shall speak.

Listening with an open heart and mind.

This is what I seek to do.

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Incredibly Close, Too Close…

The other day I realized there is still something buried deep inside my psychic that hasn’t gone away.movie1_

I don’t recall what day it was, but  I just happen to catch a few minutes of a movie that came out in 2011, “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close.” As I watched, I realized that the character Tom Hanks played, Thomas Schell, dies in the September 11 attacks on the World Trade Centers. I was fine watching the movie up until a certain scene, then I had to stop.

Oskar, Thomas’s son, comes home from school after they are let out early due to the attacks. The door man tells him that his father had a meeting and is not home yet. When Oskar gets inside the apartment, he realizes both his parents are not home.  However, there is a message on the answering machine, which is the voice of Oskar’s father. I listened as Thomas tells Oskar that he is still at the meeting and that they are telling everyone there to stay where they are, that everything would be alright.

For some reason, something inside of me clicked and I felt nauseous; I couldn’t watch anymore of the movie.

I don’t know if it was hearing the voice of the boy’s father on the answering machine that brought back the pain of scenes from that day so long ago or not. I had heard documentaries where they replayed voices of victims of the attacks making final desperate calls to loved ones. For some reason, the scene of the young boy approaching the answering machine in the home, untouched by the world outside, with the voice of someone who was trying to reassure them that everything was fine seemed to strike a chord. I know that in the end, the title of the movie must have played out in his message when he surely would have described what was happening around him as, “Extremely loud and incredibly close.” I can only imagine what hell the people that died in those towers that day must have gone through.

I once stood as many people have doen,  on the upper deck of one of the two towers, several years before 9/11. Asmovie3_ I stood overlooking the skyline of New York City on a surprisingly clear day, I saw in the distance a small private plane flying by. For some reason the thought occurred to me, “What would I do if a plane ran into the building?” I stood there trying to envision the hell that might ensue. “Would there be a way to escape down the building through flames, or would they just air lift us off the roof,” were some of the thoughts that passed in that moment. I momentarily felt a chill go up my spine for that was something that was unthinkable.  I felt ashamed for thinking such thoughts and just let it go, not telling anyone.  The year was 1996.

Five years later, I was sitting holding my daughter in my arms; gently movie2_rocking her while I gave her a bottle of formula. I had just come home from working the nightshift and the T.V. was airing the morning news. I planned to go to bed for the day after Mary finished her bottle, when suddenly the news broke in with the scene of one of the towers already smoking. The rest of the morning was a blur, other than finally seeing both towers collapse, something I will never forget.

I guess, deep inside, we were all changed that day; no matter how much we want to admit it. I know there is a part of me, a thread of life that can be tugged in such a way that it becomes almost unbearable.  9/11 is one of my threads.

Is it yours?

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