Tag Archives: faith

by | January 30, 2017 · 8:49 pm

Mission to R.I.D.E.

“ 7 Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. 8 For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.” -Matthew 7:7-8

After leaving a friend’s home recently after having dinner with them, we had discussed the possibility of my joining a mission team to the Waldensian Valleys located in the northwest corner of Italy. I was overwhelmed with a sense of purpose once again. This was not to be misconstrued with my everyday purpose in life; standing before the next generation and doing my best to implore before them the necessary morals and standards to base their lives upon, albeit through the discourse of Mathematics. No, this sense of purpose was of a higher power, from God. To be more specific, it was the answer to my question I had asked Him in the recent past. “When you are ready for me to go, let me know,” was my question to God about going to the Waldensian Valleys. Suddenly, out of the blue, He has called for me to go. However, as before, the human nature of my mind wants to step in the way, especially when the question of funds arises. I know deep in my heart that if it is meant to be, then there won’t be any doubt, regardless of funds or no funds. So after leaving their house, I purposely asked in prayer that if He truly wanted me to go, to speak to me directly. The next morning, Matthew 7:7-8 was waiting for me in my daily scripture reading, “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find…”

“Yes,” he had answered.

On our way home, before the prayer, the thought of “how” nagged at me in the back of my mind. Suddenly, the idea of the “GoFundMe” project came to me. Would it work? Would I have a purpose needful enough to spark the imagination of other enough for them to donate to my cause? Deep in my soul, there is a voice speaking to me that tells me once my feet land upon that soil of those ancient martyrs, my life will never be the same. Like the Englishmen, Charles Beckwith, who would eventually relocated to the valleys to serve,  I know beforehand the potential impact that standing in places that heretofore I could only imagine, would be cause for great joy and weeping, simultaneously. Tour after tour at the Trail of Faith, I shared with those who could not go, like myself.  God again and again, spoke through me and allowed me to bring the Trail of Faith, which was modeled after the original monuments and historic buildings of the valleys, to come alive. Many visitors, and myself,  were often moved by the Holy Spirit. Now, to go to the very place where my heart was preparing for not only those guests but for my own testimony, would be a mission of more than just self-inspiration and revitalization. There is the hope that in this journey, there will be an evangelistic fire that will erupt from which many will be touched. How, where, and by what means this will happen I can only conjecture at this point.

To try to explain the nature of this mission in one word is not possible. Brother Barry exclaimed that it was many things in one, and thus was born the acronym, R.I.D.E. (R-Research, I-Inspiration, D-Devotional, E-Education). As God prepares my heart and mind for what is to come, there are also those miracles that one cannot predict, only God is capable of knowing. So it goes, with what little I can predict, the RIDE will by His will become reality.

In all of this, there is so much that I have already learned. Learning to receive was and continues to be for me one of the most difficult attributes to practice. “Ask and ye shall receive, knock and the door will be opened…”; easier said than done. But when one thinks on this as God’s will, there is no hesitation to knock nor ask.

Another night I wearily prepare for much-needed rest, and another night, I lift up this need to God in prayer and ask that if it is to be. If that comes through GoFundMe, then so be it. However it happens, I can peacefully rest assure that it is in His hands.

Thanks be to God.

If you would like to help fund this mission project, please click here, Mission to R.I.D.E. and Thank You in advance.

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by | December 31, 2016 · 10:08 pm

Trust and Obey…

 

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“Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea And a path through the mighty waters, “Do not remember the former things, Nor consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing, Now it shall spring forth; Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness And rivers in the desert.” – Isaiah 43:16,18-19

 

“Trust and obey, there’s no other way,” goes the old hymn. The word “Trust,” is something that is probably the more difficult of the two commands mentioned in the song. Its definition, “reliance on the veracity, integrity, or other virtues of someone or something; religious faith,” from Old Norse traust “help, confidence, protection, support.”[1] Trust is a word that confides in our ability to depend upon something greater than ourselves, and as such, is often difficult to understand or appreciate when it comes to fruition.

In the last year, I have been witness to everything from loss of loved ones to the utterly inexplicable. I’ve felt the presence and heard the voice of heavenly beings, more than once. In that timeframe, the path upon which seemed to be my true calling suddenly took an unexpected turn, altering the course of everything I had come to know and trust, into a wilderness where only faith could sustain a being. Again and again, I sought protection and support from the only place I knew; the Word of God.

He never let me down.

Living between one’s past and the future allows for reflection and projection, something else I experienced in the span of 2016. While still moving a farm from one place to another, we continued to settle into the life that was new, serving at the Trail of Faith. There at the Trail I found more and more calling to help those in need, those seeking God, and guidance from a place that was so aptly named. There I learned how to pray over those making their pilgrimages to a place they had only read about. Some had studied up to the point they came wanting to gain a better perspective, to walk the literal trail of faith. Each time, each new visitor, I found God teaching and leading me in ways I had never thought possible. There were the discoveries of new friendships and with those, a new feeling of trust in knowing that serving Him was the right path.

Then in the midst of what seemed to be the perfect path, my father became gravely ill. Once again I was reminded of those Godly circumstances that provided me the ability to see him before he passed. There is no greater gift than knowing God had given you the chance to hug your mother one last time, or to kiss your father goodbye, but each step of the way, that was my blessing. As I walked out of that hospital room, I knew we’d not see each other until we reach that Glory land above, and so it was. On our way home from the funeral, my sister and I received confirmation that all was right when we saw the most unbelievable, color-filled, double rainbow like none we had ever seen before in our lives.

Another blessing, another circumstance unexplained.

Even while those daily life lessons were being served, both good and sorrowful, He was at work on the next road into a wilderness not yet imagined. Every time my family would ask questions as to how, when, and where, I would ask them to patient and wait, for in time, all of their concerns would be answered. It was in these moments, soon after their questions, I found myself alone with Him, praying and listening for more.

There were times of darkness that filled us with doubt. In the waiting, there was learning. It was all part of the path that was chosen; each subject to the other.

Yet, each time He spoke, I listened. Each time I asked, He answered.

There were was the day we didn’t have enough money to buy food until the next paycheck, and with only a half-a-gallon of milk left in the fridge at the house, I silently asked God for help as I went to the Trail to open up that morning. There was nobody else that new our dire straits; nobody else had been told how close we were to going hungry; nobody. As I opened the door, there sitting on the podium as I walked in was a single white envelope with my name scratched on it, almost illegible. I picked it up, curiously and opened it. Tears filled my eyes as I dropped to my knees.

There inside was $40 cash.

God once more answered prayer.

“Knock and the door will be opened, ask and yea shall receive.”

This was just one of many Godsends that we experienced as we learned to trust and obey. Brothers and sisters from all over came to our time aid in our time of need, again and again. This in itself was difficult to understand and accept. We had to learn a whole new paradigm of life, how to receive.

Continually each day, prayers would be lifted up for guidance. One specific prayer that seemed to go unanswered was for Him to find someone to buy our old farmstead. But like all things asked for, one must consider God’s time. For us, in what seemed an eternity but in reality was blinding speed, our home of over twenty years finally sold. It was a bittersweet memory, even now. Looking back, it was when things began to move faster than one could conceive; at God-speed.

In a blinding fury, we cleaned, mowed, and moved the last vestiges of a lifetime in a matter of two weeks. We had moved from the reflection to the immediate. As things began to move along, we still didn’t know where we would finally end up living.

Prayers continued to be lifted up, for we still were housed in a temporary shelter, we affectionately called, “The Shack.”

Then one day we found ourselves driving toward the area of West Lenoir, I wondered why. Deep inside it felt right even though it didn’t seem logical at the time. After all, we had been through; I knew it was a God thing. Again, His will would be done in time. There, through one unbelievable circumstance after another, we found a new home that would soon be our next step in the journey. There too we found new friends that would someday become our neighbors, as well as a brother and sister in Christ.

Something else I learned through the course of the year, unbelievable circumstances are more easily called “Miracles.” In all honesty, we are afraid to use the “M” word for fear of non-believers accusing us of believing in fantasy. “If they could only see what I’ve seen,” I think to myself, “then it wouldn’t be such a stretch of the imagination.”

After the sale of our farm and the purchase of our new home, we had moved from the reflection into the projection of time.

Then came the closing of the door we never saw coming. The loss of funding for my position at the Trail, and then the search for the next “What.” For nearly ten years of my last 23 years at Nortel/Genband, I had feared losing my job and to have to find a new one. We never thought it would happen after we had given everything up to live for our new life.

But alas, here we were.

Faith took on a whole new level of trust.

Once more, when it seemed like all would be lost, the unbelievable transpired. After three weeks of looking for jobs, filling out an untold number of applications, there had not been one phone call, not one interview. One morning I awoke to scripture that read, “Today will be the end of your suffering, your trials will cease today.” That afternoon came the first phone call. Then in a matter of 24 hours, God speed once again took over. Before I knew it, I had two job offers and was quickly hired as a High School Math Teacher in Boone, NC. His plan had been fulfilled.  The realization dawned on me that the move to our new home’s location allowed for a commute to the new job that was manageable instead of inconceivable. God’s hand was in it every step of the way.

In the beginning, the story seemed like I was moving to a place where I could share God’s word from the mountain; the mountain being the Trail. Before I knew it, I was serving Him from the mountain top, but in a way, I had never imagined.  

Every day, new doors open to places I never saw coming. Each day I pray for strength, guidance, and wisdom. Every day God answers prayer.

God will make rivers through the deserts and roads through the wilderness if only we trust in Him.

It has been a year of untold highs and lows, but in the end, it has been a year of serving our Lord, and for that, I couldn’t ask for more.

Thanks be to God.

[1] “Online Etymology Dictionary – http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=trust

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by | October 7, 2016 · 9:18 pm

The Hand of the Lord Upon Us….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, the darkness crept closer still.

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

He was our late father.

My heart leaped.

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

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

Darkness, echoes and then silence.

Something inside me suddenly told me to go after them.

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

“What are you doing,” my sister screamed!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Panic was in the air.

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

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

“No, I’m not,” I calmly replied.

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

“It’s not coming this way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, it was perfectly clear now.

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

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

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by | September 4, 2016 · 10:30 pm

Saying Goodbye…

“This is what the Lord says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls….” – Jeremiah 6:1620160228_154502~2

If you haven’t heard by now, I was released from the Trail of Faith this past week. They said that the board had decided to take a different direction for the Trail and as a result, eliminated the Director position

My heart sank.

Selling the farm, the animals, the constant moving for the past year, first from the farm to Valdese and then from the storage to the temporary house, then from the temporary house into the new house; a year of moving that has yet to be completed.

We had yet to settle down when the news came.

Standing at another crossroads in my life, I can choose to look back, or I can choose to look forward, the choice is mine. I can turn to my left or right, but in whatever decision I make, there is one thing that must remain constant, one thing that I must not forget; the very reason for where I am at today; my faith in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Had we known then what we know now would have made the same choice to take that leap of faith? Would we have sold everything to follow the calling? Should we have asked those who had dealt with the Trail what their track record was for turnover? We can look back and ask those questions which seem obvious in answer, but the truth is, when we are compelled to answer the call, it matters little what the outcome of our journey becomes. More importantly, our eyes should be fixed on the ultimate goal, the heavenly victory.

Does it hurt?

Of course, it does; yet if we think of it as a stepping stone; just another piece of the puzzle in God’s big plan, then the reward that awaits behind the door that has yet to be revealed will be far greater than the one that just closed. Our most significant triumphs have yet to be revealed as we continue to follow the path He has chosen for us.

Yet the pain continues. What bothers me most is not the hurt inside, but rather, the pain is for all those that I had shared my testimony with; those that I had truly divulged my heart and soul, assuring them that when they visited the Trail, they would indeed be blessed as we would share the Word of God with them through the story of the people of the valleys. Now, in the midst of this painful loss, I will not be able to guarantee their receiving what I had so fervently promised. Many will only receive the same old history lesson as before, while a few might get lucky and get one of our more passionate guides, like brother Barry. Yet, I know in his mind he might be missing me as much as I will be missing him in my absence. We had become brothers in arms, so to speak. Barry and many more have been hurt by the decision, but like true Christian soldiers, we all will carry on one way or another.

What I will miss most is hard to say.

There were countless moments of the Holy Spirit coming down upon us at any point in a tour. There were the prayers over those in need, those hurting and wanting healing, and many other inspirational stories that continued flowing like a beautiful, sweet river of love from our Heavenly Father. Gone will be those moments when you saw the look in the eyes of your guest as they understood the sacrifices of those gone before and how God had sent them to hear the story for the first time. Many would go away with a greater appreciation for the Word, and that was my greatest wish of all; that each person regardless of denomination, background or heritage, would leave the Trail knowing that “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory…”

As much as I wanted to call it my mission, God obviously has other ideas. To Him, this was just part of the plan for which I was called.

My journey has just begun.

Once more I find myself on my knees praying for peace, wisdom, guidance and strength.

Where will I be in a month from now; Heavenly only knows?

As the Bible tells us, when God closes a door, He has another one opened and waiting for us. Our job is to find that door and walk through it. I’ve been given one month’s severance pay; hopefully, time enough to figure where that other door awaits.

As brother Patrick told me this week with regard to the next door, “The greatest triumph is yet to come.”

Yes, the future is uncertain in human terms, but in Godly perspective, the best is yet to come.

In all I do, I will always continue to say, “Thanks be to God.”

For if it is God’s will, then it shall be done, and so here is a link to my resume in case you know of someone hiring….link to resume

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by | July 17, 2016 · 9:37 pm

God Be With Us Till We Meet Again…

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes..”-Romans 1:16

They come for many reasons.

Today was another first.trail8272015

On another Sunday, I was called to be at the Trail. Last week, a congregation held their church service inside the Church in the Cave exhibit. Today it was a group from the Concord area coming to tour. Although it was a Sunday visit, it didn’t diminish my feelings for being at the Trail on what is most people’s day of worship. To me, it was another way of honoring God, and so, where two or more or gathered, there He would also be; and so it was.

When the group first booked their reservation, they were within our limits of just one tour guide, but over time, the party grew until it was clear by this morning, that I too would get to lead a tour once again; meaning, we would have two separate groups. Brother Barry, our original guide for the original smaller group, had just returned from the valleys, so I was anxious to hear him lead once more and to provide insight only one having been to that faraway place could divulge. So when we began the introduction, I asked that Barry lead that segment for both groups, which he was glad to do. His introduction was so overwhelming, so complete, my heart questioned if I was going to be able to be up to today’s task in the shadows of such a magnificent guide. Silently, as we moved from the topographical map to the movie room, I lifted up a prayer asking for wisdom and guidance for the right words. God would hear my plea and soon, I would be back in the moment.

As we left the movie room to embark on the Trail, Barry asked the visitors who were some of his good friends from the area along with some of John Bradshaw’s family, the host of “It is Written,” to follow me. My heart leaped with fear and humility. Barry had offered his beloved and esteemed guests to my care, and now the honor was placed on my lap. Again I prayed, “Lord, please be with us and help me to allow your Word to be most evident.” In the blink of an eye, there was a surge of energy pulsing through my mind as all of the history and scripture began to surface in my head. Again, He was listening.

We walked through time, …as time stood still.

Moment by moment, God allowed me to share the history of the people of the valleys, the Vaudois. From my sharing of the possible first encounter with the disciples, while standing in the Barbas College to the singing of hymns in the Church in the Cave, my dedicated group of visitors began to learn about the past and their host. Slowly, monument by monument, my heart poured out to them as the story came alive in my mind and the scriptures continued to intertwine the words from my mouth.

Concerned about the time, I was hesitant to share my testimony once we entered the Ciabas Church, but once more God spoke, and I listened. There my story of faith, realization, and discovery allowed for me to tell the tale of how my own understanding of the Waldensians came to be. There I had to ask the question, “If you were never told of Jesus, as I was never told about being Waldensian as a child through adulthood, how might your world be different today?” Then to carry it a step forward, “How can you go into the world and expect those around you who have never heard of Christ, to act any differently?” It was then I explained how many of my own family had fallen away from their ancestral faith. They had never known of it, so what was there any different in their lives to change them? What did they have to stand for? And yet, they had everything to lose. Would they have been different had they known all along? Would they have made the same decisions in life? Had we been told, at least we could have had a choice. Likewise, those who received the invitation to accept Christ, they also have a choice to make once they are asked. Once our conscious mind is awakened, God gives us the free will to select which path we will take.

It is up to us to choose.

The centuries passed and before we knew it, our tour groups were reunited at the Community Oven. My day began just after sunrise, rekindling the fire in the massive stone structure in preparation for the baking of the bread. As weary as my body was, there was no hint of it in that instance. My wife and son met us at the oven, and together we shared the bread with our guests. My heart leaped with pride as I watched Tron’s carrying on the family tradition, alongside our brother in Christ, Barry, under the shelter of the maple tree near the end of the Trail; a nearly perfect ending to the end of a picture perfect day.

As my dad use to remark on such days, “The sky is blue, the grass is green, and the birds are all singing; …beautiful, just beautiful.”

Yet, there was one more special treat that God had in store.

As the tour came to the conclusion, we all made our way back to the Visitor’s Center. Barry and my family had to leave, but most of our guests remained to eat their lunch. Meanwhile, I stayed off to the side cleaning up and providing support as needed. When they finished, the group came toward the front of the Center to say goodbye.

They all gathered before me, united as together as a family would do before bidding farewell. It was then one of them made the announcement that they all wanted to say goodbye to me. They then began to sing the hymn, “God Be With You Till We Meet Again.” My heart leaped once again. In an instance, I was a small boy once more, back in New Harmony hearing my grandma and my Aunts singing in church, their sweet voices united in one accord. Before I knew it, tears began streaming down my cheeks as they concluded in sweet, blissful acapella harmony. It was another precious gift from God; another first.

The words were gone; I was speechless.

One after another, I shook their hand’s goodbye, trying to apologize through my tear filled eyes.

We concluded with a picture on the front steps, me and my new found family; brothers and sisters in Christ.

Yes, we said goodbye, until we meet again. What a sweet heavenly day that will be.

As one lady reminded me as she left, there are so many without the very thing we are blessed to have because of what Christ has done for us; Hope.

Yes, today I was blessed once more.

There is hope.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 11, 2016 · 9:33 pm

What is your life?…

“whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.”-James 4:14

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Dark vestiges of time lie dormant below the mist that forms above them. Silently the satin wisps pass from one peak to the next, vanishing before our eyes as we watch in awe the scenery before us which no cinematography could hope to capture. I silently pray that God will allow my mind’s eye to see this beautiful picture before me as long as I live, never ceasing to remember. It is too precious to lose. Alive and breathing, the earth savors the coming darkness. The day has been complete, now it is time for mankind to sleep, retiring to his safe abode as the beasts of the night come to life, devouring their prey and completing the circle of life.

We are but a moment in this story; a fraction of a segment in time, we are but more than a vapor that appears then silently fades into oblivion before it can be recognized. As fleeting as the clouds that pass overhead, so does the fog caresses the mountain peaks below, each separated by nothing, yet so far apart, they cannot touch. As the evening turns to darkness, layer upon layer the earth’s breath rises until showers of flying dew drops kiss our faces as they shoot up the face of the mountain, rising to meet their sisters above, becoming one in a dance of majesty and spiritual joy. Our fragile flesh desperately tries to understand all that passes before it until our minds become numb with the exhilaration of the moment at hand. We lick our lips and cherish the taste of wetness of clouds that have come to ask us to dance.

The ethereal visions before us are fleeting at best. The ground upon which we trod may appear as solid as the granite, but it too will someday pass away and become nothing. We are only the dust from which we have come and will return. Our ashes will scatter upon the winds, becoming one with the fluid shapes that swirl around us as we sat watching those fallen clouds once more rise to meet their heavenly brethren. Likewise, someday, we too will meet our Father in heaven, when we rise upon His coming, as the dead in Christ will rise first. In our sin, we all have fallen, but when we become one with Jesus, we are then able to ride those unseen currents that will take us one day to walk with our Lord. As he gave His life for our transgressions, He ascended to sit at the right hand of the Father where he awaits.

As our spirits become wisps of air, our bodies will be made whole, and our reunion with those gone on before will become complete.

The clouds may pass away, as will we too someday, but when we know Christ, our reunion will be no less glorious, and that will be the everlasting, everlasting that no human securities can fathom; our Heavenly home above.

None of us know what will happen tomorrow, our life is more fleeting than a vapor, yet we can trust that if we know Him, we shall someday walk at His side in Glory.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 25, 2016 · 9:03 pm

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by | June 5, 2016 · 9:38 pm

New Sacred Ground…

“In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread Till you return to the ground, For out of it you were taken; For dust you are, And to dust you shall return.”- Genesis 3:19

They come for many reasons.

For each person, the journey is different as the unique story which made their life.

Today was unlike any other I’ve known to date at the Trail. The call came in while we were still in route back 20151012_090530from the farm yesterday. Our trip had been shortened by events that caused us to return earlier than expected. I was thankful in a way. The work had been hot, non-stop, grueling, and dirty; cleaning out twenty plus years of accumulation in our farm’s barn. In addition, we mowed, bush hogged and weedeated to add to the toil. So when we piled into the sweltering truck (yes, there was no working A/C) we were somewhat thankful to be returning. It wasn’t with complete satisfaction that we were leaving, still knowing there was much more to be done, but we would be back in a couple days to try to finish. Nobody ever said God’s work was easy.

The request had been from guests staying at the B&B in Glen Alpine if they could spread the ashes of their family members who were of Waldensian ancestry at the Trail of Faith. We were honored to be able to accommodate their wishes for their loved ones. It had been as the founding fathers of the Trail had one day hoped, that their creation of a place that would someday become more than a history lesson; that it would someday be a place people would consider sacred enough to connect it to the real valleys. Today was another one of those confirming moments.

When I pulled up to the closed front gate with a couple minutes to spare, the family was already parked and patiently waiting. Some had already begun searching for suitable places where to present their final resting place for their beloved. The skies overhead appeared threatening. They had called for rain, but for now, it waited. God was surely with us.

As I began unlocking and opening up various parts of the exhibits, they began sharing with me the history and story behind those who had passed. The photograph of the deceased they showed me was like so many taken in the days of black and white film. Both of the parents were dressed in their Sunday finest. They looked at me from that distant past, as if to say, “We’re gone, but with you even now.”

There were a son and daughter with their respective families in attendance. Each had a unique perspective and what was even more enlightening, was that they had been to the very valleys where their families had lived. As they shared with me the tales of travel and touring, I couldn’t help think of brother Barry and his wife Sharyn, who were there at this very moment walking those same trails and high peaks that this family was now conveying with me from their memory. As we moved from one exhibit to the next, their voices would speak of the exact place that existed and what they experienced during those visits. Through their voices, in my minds eye I could feel our altitude extend to those of the Alps and in my mind, we were there. The overcast sky added to the feeling of being in another place and time.

Each day I live vicariously through Sharyn’s email updates but my hunger to be there in those Waldensian valleys grows with each passing moment Today’s visitors only added to that fever to travel. It was almost as if God was telling me how much more there was yet to come after the ordeal of our current move. But the parallel goes beyond a relocation of a terrestrial homestead; yes, there is so much more to come in that Heavenly home. In all that we do, there is so much to learn so that when we are of the moment, we can drink in ever more so that the precious time allowed becomes amplified. Yes, there is so much more to come after this life. In many ways, it is precisely how our faith develops with our walk with Christ. The more we understand, the more we can comprehend not only in the Word but from every experience in our journey. Our hunger for God’s word should be just as fervent

They thanked me for the time and faith with which I shared, but the day’s blessing was when I told them how I wasn’t even supposed to be there if my itinerary had gone as planned. It was another Godly moment, and another one of His plans come to fruition in more ways than we could ever imagine. Yes, in many respects, their visit was a confirmation but in more than one aspect. They had found a resting place suitable for their loved ones, but what is more, we found a special connection to a place so very far away, to a place that I have yet to trod upon that sacred ground. Now, from this day forward, as each day awaits me at the Trail, I can feel as if part of that real valley is with me through the new ground spread from the ashes of a life well lived in a place that I can only hope to someday see in person.

One step at a time, one day at a time, we continue on. When our time is right, the Master calls us home but until then, if we follow Him, our pathway will be lit by His lamp and with that light, our lives become so much greater and brighter.

Tomorrow, we continue on our path to reach a new home.

One step and one leap of faith we carry on.

Prayers for strength, wisdom, traveling mercies, good health, and guidance in the days to come.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 2, 2016 · 9:11 pm

The Dark Road We Travel…

“Who among you fears the Lord? Who obeys the voice of His Servant? Who walks in darkness And has no light? Let him trust in the name of the Lord And rely upon his God.” – Isaiah 50:10

 

The dark clouds loomed over the mountain as I turned onto the back road, taking the one less traveled. As I made the sharp right turn, I could see the storm brewing ahead. The map had indicated a quicker route to my destination, well below the highlands, so I knew in advance that there would be many twists and turns. Initially, it was nothing more than an overcast scenic drive until rain began to fall lightly. As my little car and I traversed farther and deeper down into the depths of the valley, the light above continued to fade until it was nearly night. To add to the deprivation, rain began to fall harder. I crossed over an ancient bridge and then it was as if I had passed through a time warp. The pavement gave way to a dirt road that was quickly turning into a muddy slush. It was then I noticed that the world around me seemed to slow to a crawl. Instinctively I began to look for signs of life, something to show me that my sense of time warp was only that; just a feeling.darkroad

Suddenly, the darkness became more prevalent and thoughts of horrible movies depicting people of this region as monsters began to surface in my head.

“No, don’t give in,” I told myself as the path ahead began to grow more tortuous, “Trust in God.” The water was now falling in torrents from the sky, and my wipers were doing all they could to splash a path on my windshield big enough for me to catch glimpses of the deteriorating roadway ahead.

The creek that ran alongside the roadbed was swollen and in places, massive rocks stood protruding out from the wall of the mountain. Dark, sullen trees towered above the walls of boulders, all blanketing the road like a tunnel. For a split second, I looked down at my phone, and it was literally dead, no connection, nothing. “If something were to happen to you, it might be weeks before they would ever find your body,” said the voice in my head as I watched a dilapidated shack pass as my little vehicle and I continued on

“Darkness and death surround you. Surely this is the psalmist wrote about,” I mused inwardly.

Around another couple turns it looked as if my sense of time change had been correct. The house that abruptly appeared around the bend seemed to confirm that I had gone back in time several centuries. Its outer shell was weathered, barely clinging to the shards of paint that had one time made it look new; a time long, long ago. Vines and weeds nearly obscured the base of the home from sight making it seem as if it floated in space and time. I carefully made the hairpin turn around the old house and then I noticed her watching. Up in the gable end of the weathered abode was an open window. The rain had abated enough to be able to see the ghostly figure of a person sitting and watching through the thin, threadbare curtain that danced in the breeze. From the whisper of the image of the old woman that sat in the darkness watching me pass I could only imagine the stories that lay hidden; the life left untold. If one were to stop, would they be accepted? If one were to stop, would they ever emerge back into the real world or would they become one with this isolated people? If one were to stop, would their body ever be found? Again and again, darkness kept trying to pull me down, but I fought on.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff comfort me.”

darkhomeAlthough the old house was covered with wooden siding, it caused me think of those stone houses in the pictures of the Cottien Alps. “This could just as easily have been like the valleys from where my ancestors came,” was the next thought. There were places there, like here, where stone structures were tucked back in places where no human would be expected to live, yet there they existed, even today. From there it wasn’t too hard to imagine how those French and Savoy troops marching up into those dark, foreboding valleys to persecute the Waldensians might have felt when they reached gorges and passes deeper and darker than this. The fear that must have run through their minds would have been compounded by the forces who awaited them. God had knowingly put a people in a place where they would be protected. Yet, there I was in the safety of my car but could still sense a hint of fear. How much better would the early settlers of this region of North Carolina and those invaders of the Waldensian valleys, have felt when facing unfriendly natives? Although outnumbered, both those indigenous Alpine mountain people of old and those native Americans would have known their land like the back of their hand granting them a certain advantage. Switchback after switchback, the images only became more and more primitive. It felt as if any moment, I would make one last turn and my headlights would find a solitary figure standing in the middle of the road, waiting for me.

The pathway soon opened up, and I came to a “T” in the road. There was no sign, no GPS, only my memory of the map I had seen earlier. As I paused thinking of which way to turn, my mind again reflected on all the tasks that I had unsettled earlier in the morning before leaving for this trip. There was no way for anyone to get hold of me so if there were a question that needed to be answered, it would have to wait. The whirlwind of duties, tasks, and to-do lists came to a screeching halt.

As the wiper kept time, back and forth, I quietly sat in the car at the empty intersection somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains. There was no one coming from behind, no cars passing before me; I was alone in the wilderness. The scriptures tell us when we seek Him, we will find Him, and He will listen. So, as the rain poured down, the rivulets of water washed beneath the tires, I bowed my head and prayed to God.

The raindrops on the rooftop made a calming pitter-patter as my thoughts went to the Lord.

There were so many that needed healing, so many that needed comfort in their hour of loss, and all those things that I had left undone. “God will take care of it all in His time,” I told myself. My prayers were lifted up to Him. Yes, I turned to Him in prayer, seeking Him and found Him and He listened.

I finally closed with an Amen and began to drive off in the direction that felt right, the path that He said to take.

So I listened and obeyed. I vowed to trust in the Lord and to let Him work out all the details.

“He’s delaying you on purpose,” I told myself, “slowly, surely, and certainly in His time, it will shall be done.”

As I finally reached a semblance of civilization farther down the mountain, the phone began to reconnect to its communication signals and a flood of updates arrived. One of the updates was about an unsettled problem that I had left undone, the one that I had left it up to God to work out; it had actually been resolved due to a cancellation which allowed my request to be entered. It needed a miracle to happen. In Godly fashion, He prevailed once more.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of our lives and hopefully, yes, hopefully if we listen and choose correctly, someday we shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Thanks be to God

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by | May 24, 2016 · 8:57 pm

The Lost Soul and the Rose…

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. 12 Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. 13 And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.” – Jeremiah 29:11-13

My mother’s favorite was yellow.20160524_193631

Tonight, while in prayer asking God for guidance, the image of the rose came to mind.

“Then you will go call upon Me, and go pray to Me, and I will listen to you…”

In many ways, our walk with God is a lot like a rose. We start off in our budding faith, not yet blossomed and soon, once we grow, the beauty begins to unfold, one petal at a time.

Sipping on my morning coffee, I was still trying to clear the cobwebs from my head when I reached the end of the driveway and turned left toward the eastern sunrise. The note had read, “We need Milk!,” so I was off to the grocery for a pre-Church Sunday morning run. The birds were cheerfully greeting the new dawn, and the chill was refreshing.

It was then I noticed him, suddenly appearing before me.

“Morning,” came my voice, more of a reaction to my surprise than an actual greeting.

“Morning,” he replied as we both turned toward the rising sun, each now walking in the same direction, but on opposite sides of the street.

My first instinct was to turn around and start over. “No, that will just show fear,” came the voice from inside. So I stayed the course. It was not yet 7:00 AM and the street was as barren as my thoughts at that moment. In his right hand, he carried a burgundy Members only jacket, wadded up in a roll as if it had been his pillow from the night before. In his left, he prodded each step with what appeared to be a five-foot long quarter inch piece of white PVC pipe; his makeshift walking stick.

“Visiting family,” I asked, wondering why he had appeared from behind my neighbor’s house.

“You might say that,” he nodded.

The folds of my mind wandered along each petal as I sought beauty when there was none. “Surely he had seen me before I saw him. He’ll be asking for something next,” my mind fought the urge to question but gave in once again.

“And you will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart…”

We continued to walk uphill toward the tree line at the end of the road where the trail began, each man walking along his own side of the road, each man as distant in life but both now walking the same path.

“Are you from the area?”

“You might say that,” he reflected in a distant voice. Then he surprised me by leading the next question, “By the way, my name’s Jeremy.”

“My name’s Timothy…as in first and second,” I said, now humbled by his demeanor. For some reason, I felt a little less threatened. Yet, just a few steps ahead stood the dark passage of the narrow trail only wide enough for one person at a time.

I momentarily looked toward the sunrise and breathed a silent prayer, “Lord, please be with me, comfort me and shield me from all evil.”

“I know the thoughts I think toward you, thoughts of peace and not of evil…”

“Do you smoke,” he asked next.

“Here it comes,” I thought, “the begging for money to buy cigarettes.”

“No, never have,” I replied boldly.

There was no further question. The silence that followed allowed the flood of negative thoughts to come rolling back into my head. In the uneasy moment, I spoke before he might ask the question I expected, “You know, Jeremiah is one of my favorite books of the Bible.”

In fact, the verse had recently resurfaced to my consciousness when Mark, the leader of the Waldensian Church Men’s Breakfast Bible study, had mentioned it in his presentation. A few years before, my friend and pastor, Thomas Simpson had given it to me as a guiding principle for what I was going through at the time; it became my hope, my future.

“Jeremy is short for Jeremiah, which is my real name,” he replied.

“You know what,” somewhat relieved. “In fact, Jeremiah 29:11 is one of my favorite verses.”

We both stopped and looked at one another. Before us, the darkness of the night still hung in the air under the dark trees that stood along the pathway.

“The moment of truth,” I whispered under my breath, as I ducked my head under the first branch and led the way. I envisioned the feeling of pain across the back of my neck as he would soon swing the PVC pipe against my head. With a crack, my skull would be split open, and my body would be found lying upon the exposed roots of the forest floor later that morning. Once more I thought of God’s protection and waited for whatever was to come.

The misty drops of the morning dew gathered along the rim of the precious rose, it’s succulent image played in my mind as we two strangers trod upon the darkened forest floor. The path as tortuous as the edge of the delicate flower.

“How does it go,” came the voice from behind.

The fear of the unknown vanished as quickly as the imagery of doubt and along with it, the scripture for which I had just referenced. In vain my mind stretched from one end of the spectrum to the next in an attempt to revive the words; nothing.

We both emerged from the woods onto the pavement next to the grocery store. The sunlight caused us to squint as we emerged from the darkness.

“I…I…can’t get it,” was my struggled reply.

“Give me a start,” he begged.

Again, my mind raced, but all I could grasp was simply the meaning, like the fragrance of the rose to the unseen eyes.

“I apologize, but I just can’t recall it at the moment.” My heart was broken, for once again I felt I had failed God. Once more, my chance to witness to another soul in need had been lost, but I didn’t give in. Digging deep into the recess of the innermost parts of the roses beauty I found the essence for what it stood, “I can’t start it, but it goes something like this…” As I summarized the scripture, he listened in rapt attention. His journey had been momentarily lifted by the flawed but persistent believer. I explained its overall meaning that if we follow God faithfully with all our heart and soul that we would be rewarded.

“Like with riches and gold,” he smiled.

“No, not quite,” I replied, “but you’ve got the idea.”

I turned to go my way as did he. As I began to walk away, I glanced back, and he had vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

Like the rose, our opportunities to witness to those in need are like the rose’s beauty; fleeting and momentary. If we truly want to admire the grandeur of the Master’s hand, we must exalt His name on high and praise Him together in all that we do.

Yellow was her favorite, but a rose is a beauty to behold as the witness is to the lost soul, regardless of color.

Thanks be to God.

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