Tag Archives: faith

by | May 15, 2016 · 10:29 pm

Faith in Flight…

“And it shall come to pass afterward That I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh; Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, Your old men shall dream dreams, Your young men shall see visions.” – Joel 2:28

Major Dowd and his crew rushed into our Avionics Shop early one morning barely giving the on duty NCO to call the room to order. “Never mind men, at ease,” he hurriedly commanded.

I was standing at the test bench going over some equipment that had come in during the previous night’s routine airplanemaintenance. He looked in my direction, “Grab your flight bag, you’re coming with me Airman.” A lump instantly grew in my throat the size of a watermelon. It seemed the only time a maintenance crew member got to fly was when there was a plane so broken, that the only way to reproduce the problem was to take her, the aircraft, into flight. Before I could reply, “Yes sir,” MSgt Hall spoke up, “I better go too sir.” He looked at me and winked then turned back to the Major, “She’s been giving us a fit on the ground so it will take two of us.”

“That’ll be fine,” the Major replied, “Meet me on the flight-line in 30 minutes and we’ll take her up.”

“Yes sir,” we both replied.

The Major and his entourage turned and departed. Sergeant Hall turned around and grinned that Missippi toothy smile at me, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.”

All I could do was shake my head and bite my lip. Yes, I was in the Air Force, but the truth was, I hated flying.

Growing up, I had repeated dreams of flying in the most unconventional manner. It seemed each time I would take flight as if I were swimming in the air. However, instead of flapping my arms, my altitude was always maintained by kicking my legs. Many times my preferred dream aircraft was an old tire swing. Unfortunately, in almost every dream, it would end in a downward death spiral, one that I could not control. Each time I would wake up on impact, breathless but still recalling the thrill of the flight, if only a few seconds afterward.

Later in life, I would continue to dream, but not as often of flying. My dreams would turn to things that pertained to my life and what sometimes might lie ahead. When writing, I would turn to God and pray for an answer to where my plot line might need to go. I would wait for a sign or a word. Many times, the answer would come to me in a dream or vision. Today, I still draw my inspiration from dreams, and so it was with this story.

That particular day the Major came into our shop, we loaded into the SINCSAC’s plane. It would eventually be the same plane General Schwarzkopf would command from during the beginning of Desert Storm and during the Gulf War. Needless to say, this was mainly the reason for the Major’s hasty visit to our shop that morning and our immediate orders for in-flight repair; it was a crucial plane.

We climbed into the command quarters of the prestigious aircraft and took a quick survey. The aft section of the plane contained a comfortable sleeping quarters and conference room fit for any General. There was even a full-blown kitchen with a menu of steak and lobster; nothing was spared for the top brass. The flight crew showed us to our seats. Unlike any other KC-135, these were plush commander-in-chief type seats, complete with covered head and armrests. The sergeant and I buckled into the nicest seating we’d ever know and prepared for the flight from hell.

We knew in advance that there was a problem with porpoising. Porpoising was the gentle arcing of a plane during autopilot. Plus or minus fifty feet was within specifications, which is what she had tested on the ground. Yet, the flight crew was reporting severe porpoising, nothing like we were saying we found; thus the surprise flight. As the plane climbed to altitude, we were well over the base were I was stationed at Warner Robbins Georgia. Below, through the pilots window, we watched as all of Georgia spread out before us prior to Major Dowd issuing the command, “Ready gentlemen,” he said to his crewmen. It was then I noticed the flight engineer grab the edge of the command center wall.

Something bad was about to happen, I could just sense it.

When God calls us, we often run and hide. We find our hell becomes the world we are creating in order to avoid his call. We find our lives slowly beginning to spiral down, down, down. We push away until all is lost.

“Many are called, but few are chosen.”

My mind raced back to those childhood dreams and the death spirals. I pushed them away and listened as the Major then spoke to Sergeant Hall and myself as he looked back toward our seats, “I’m going to engage the autopilot now, you may want to brace yourselves. You’ll see what we mean when we say it’s out of specs.”

My hell was about to become real. Had I run until it was too late? Was this my wake up call?

Initially, there was only a minor jolt. “Hmm, not so bad I thought,” as I looked over at Sergeant Hall. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “I don’t see any problem either.”

Then before our thoughts could allude any further separation from the truth, there was the feeling of your stomach climbing into your mouth as we looked out the front window to the horror of only the ground below in our sight. We had begun a complete nose-dive. In fact, we seemed to be headed straight for a Kamikaze strike upon my mobile home below, sitting in the on-base Trailer Park.

“God, is this it,” I thought to myself as I looked at Sergeant Hall who was beginning to turn green.

In the next instance, there was nothing but blue sky in the windshield as our stomachs went from our throats down to our ankles.

There was an immediate sensation that I was about to lose my breakfast.

“How embarrassing,” were the stifled thoughts as I watched Hall scramble to unleash his seatbelt. He was beginning to turn green himself.

The plane continued the death spiral to near stall climb, over and over. Meanwhile, Hall inched is way over to the equipment rack. Nearby, the flight engineer took his seat. Later I would learn that flight engineer’s prided themselves on standing the entire flight; all but this one of course.

We had learned in Tech. School that the one thing you never, ever wanted to do to the autopilot equipment was to bang on it, ESPECIALLY while in flight. Our equipment was created in the 1950s and as such, contained tubes. They had not yet transitioned to digital flight components. Part of the reason they had not been upgraded was because of the ability of the amplifiers to withstand nuclear pulses. So, if you jarred one of the primary controllers tubes hard enough, you could send the plane into an unpredictable attitude. Meaning, we could turn upside down and crash!

It was then I watched in horror as Sergeant Hall began beating upon the main control amp in desperation to release us from the prison the Major had purposely imposed upon us in order to gain an understanding that the plane was definitely still broken. It was then the thought passed through my mind, “Would the Major really try to kill us all just to prove his point? Surely not,” I answered in a not so confirming reply.

I closed my eyes and prayed. Swirling death spirals returned to my mind. I prayed harder.

Sometimes, when all is lost, the only recourse we have left is prayer and our faith. When Waldensians, the people of the valleys of the Cottien Alps, were released from their prison cells the size of modern day wash machines, their emaciated bodies were then forced to march 128 miles to Switzerland during the middle of winter. They had been imprisoned for their refusal to abjure their faith. Three thousand left for their freedom. Over 400 died along the journey. They recalled to those Swiss waiting for them with open arms, as a heroes welcome, “Faith in God is all we had.”

So it is in the darkest hour, we often find, faith is all we have left.

The plane jerked, then jolted and suddenly the porpoising ceased; at least for the moment.

“That’s it,” Sergeant Hall quickly reported to the Major, “You’ve got a bad Op Amp.”

“But I thought you said you already replaced it,” replied Dowd.

“Sure enough,” Hall responded, the color now returning to his forehead. “Well, this one must have been defective. You know how this old stuff can act up.”

The Major smiled and nodded. “I’ll turn off the autopilot just to be safe and take us back home.”

We all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

God had once more answered prayer.

The sergeant looked at me and whistled a quiet reprieve out of view of the flight crew on the others side of the wall from the equipment rack, wiping his forehead with his forearm. We both knew we were lucky to be alive.

When we landed, the sergeant requested the entire system be replaced. We called that “Shotgun” maintenance, meaning that if you don’t know for sure what the problem is, you just take a shotgun’s blast approach and replace it all.

I was never so thankful to be back on the ground once again.

We recalled the adventure to the rest of the Avionics shop, and they all agreed it was the best move, but none could believe that Sergeant Hall had actually pounded on the Op Amp, and we survived.

Looking back, I know that all through my life, even in the darkest hour, God was always there. Even when I was not seeking Him, He was still there for me, with me and watching over me. As it says in the 139th Psalms, “O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thought afar off. You comprehend my path and my lying down, And are acquainted with all my ways.”

Nowadays, my flights are few and far between, both those imagined and real. But today, my walk with the Lord is ever more close as I seek Him in all that we do. Yes, those dreams of old were there to serve a purpose, and those to come will do likewise. All we have to do is to listen and He will direct our paths.

Thanks be to God.

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by | April 26, 2016 · 9:47 pm

You Never Know…

They come for many reasons.20160426_084100

Their paths are as varied as there are stars in the night sky.

He passed me as I walked along the road, picking up debris and clutter. It was early afternoon on a crystal clear April day, warmer than usual. He sat up high in his navy-blue Jeep Cherokee, a master of his vessel. The bulk of belongings stowed upon his roof where hidden from view by the royal blue tarp that flapped in the wind catching my attention as he drove by. Something said to me there was a story there; the voice couldn’t have been more prophetic.

As I rounded the corner and began my descent down the stairs to the Visitor Center, I heard the car door shut. From where I was walking, I didn’t see anyone pull in. “It has to be him,” the voice said. Sure enough, by the time I got to the bottom of the stairs and the corner of the building, he was almost at the front door. His small, stout body topped with a thick head of creamy white hair was eager to get started.

“Are you open,” he asked, smiling broadly as we approached the front door.

“Why sure,” I replied, opening the door to invite him in.

“Well, you’re about the only one in town, he joked, “must be a Monday thing around here.”

“Yes, it does seem to be that way sometimes,” I chuckled, thinking of the two places that came to mind.

He began his introduction by telling me his name, Fred Greene. He told me how he had just been through Greensboro and how his great grandfather was part of its founding, although they hadn’t used the “E” at the end of the town’s name in so doing. “They at least had a Greene Street,” he continued, “with the “E” on the end.”

I nodded and waited. I could tell there was more to come; there was something about him that looked weathered and traveled. His skin was deeply tanned from countless hours exposed to the sun. His vessel, the jeep, was just about as dry and aged in its appearance. There had been a day wax once existed on its paint, but that was a distant memory.

“I was traveling down the interstate on my way from Greensboro and saw your sign. I had never heard of the Trail of Faith, so I thought I would stop and see what you were all about.”

“That’s great,” I quickly replied.

“God leads me every day, and I never know where I will end up.”

I soon learned that he didn’t want to tour the Trail, but only wanted to hear what we were about; a scouting mission of sorts. I began to share with him a brief introduction to hopefully entice him into further discussion. He drank in everything I had to say and was wholefully accepting of every word.

We hadn’t gone far into the story of the Waldensian people when I could tell nature was calling.

“Is there a bathroom here I could use?”

“Sure, down the hall and to the left,” I pointed.

“Great, I’ll be right back,” he said before scurrying off.

Seconds later I could hear the door shut and knew he had found his immediate relief. Thinking he might be thirsty, I poured us a couple of cups of water, one for each of us. Not long after he emerged from the restroom. I offered him his cup of cold water, but he declined to say he had water in the jeep.

It had been a slow day, to say the least. There was enough time for me to begin touching up the sign at the entrance that morning. So when we sat down at the table, seated so I could keep watch of any incoming visitors, Fred began to share with me who he was and what he was about. I was interested to hear the rest of his story.

Every day at the Trail there seems to be another tale of life and inspiration that seems to find its way to us.

As he spoke, the elderly man before me could have easily stepped out of the Bible. His knowledge of scriptures was unbelievable as was his delivery. He used the words I had just spoke to tie in his own beliefs, and his endeavor to win people to Christ. As we talked about how the world had strayed from the truths within the Word, he continued to bring up a certain preacher, someone I had never heard of before. I kept listening and marveling at his ability to quote from memory, long passages of the Bible, feeding his story, one that at times felt somewhat practiced as if he had told many more people than just myself.

Later that day, I would speak to a pastor friend of mine about the visit and he reminded me that we can never be sure that we don’t entertain angels unaware, regardless if they appear sane or not.

When we finally got to the point of his delivery that I was supposed to be moved by the Holy Spirit, something seemed to fall flat. It was then he handed me the cards that displayed the face of the man he had been referring, over and over again, Reverend William Brandham. For a moment, my heart plummeted, like the free falling rock from the cliff’s edge as one’s foot slips. For a split second, your heart races and fear shoots through you to the point your breath is taken away. This was different, in that my heart was sickened at the same pace. Here was a man, knowledgeable, wise and every bit a Biblical scholar who followed someone that was to him, the prophet Elijah incarnate.

My wife would later tell me that maybe that was how those ancient Jews felt when they heard Jesus speak about another way to believe, a gospel they had never heard. It was beyond their ability to grasp this revolutionary way of thinking.

Fred went on to tell me about the miraculous healings and prophecies of Brandham during his lifetime. Later, after I was finally able to peel myself away from Fred, I would learn more about Brandham and his movement that eventually would become a near cult following. Brandham would die in a car crash in 1965 at the age of 56.

For some reason, I don’t think he saw that coming. Of course, I could be wrong.

Now don’t get me wrong, there could have been some truth in all of those wonderful healings that Brandham was purportedly performed. There may have been truth to some of the prophecies he would be attributed to having told. Yet, standing there that day and listening to Fred show me a picture of what was supposed to have been seven angels descending from heaven as reported in Time magazine, I couldn’t help feel a loss for someone that could have totally blown me away had he stuck to the truth, the true Word of God.

I didn’t need healing, prophecies nor miraculous performances by a long passed preacher to bring me to Christ. All I needed to hear were the words that Jesus spoke so long ago, “Knock and the door shall be opened, …ask and ye shall receive.”

Fred was another one of the blessings God sends to me every day at the Trail; one of those sweets from God’s box of chocolates. He may not have shared with me the gospel in the context in which I was accustomed, but he also taught me more valuable lessons than I could have ever found on my own.

This morning, at dawn, I went out looking for Fred. He had left the Trail yesterday heading down toward the falls to find a place to stay for the night. I found him parked by the Valdese Fire Department dispatch tower sound asleep. I felt bad that I had no place to offer him to stay. I wasn’t far from living in a jeep myself. When I found him, sleeping like a baby, I quietly placed a note on his windshield to join us for our Tuesday morning prayer breakfast at McDonalds.

Fred never showed.

Later in the day I saw him parked at McDonalds, seated outside at a table sharing his story and gospel with a couple of ladies.

Fred continues to follow God sharing his gospel the only way he knows. I can appreciate his servitude and am thankful to have crossed his path in life. Fred showed me what genuine commitment to giving it all away and following Christ really means, and for that I am thankful.

Fred was inspired long ago by a man many felt was a modern day prophet. So great was Fred’s conviction, he gave his life to serving as a fellow Christian; for that I am grateful.

In all we do, let us not forget, Thanks be to God.

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by | April 10, 2016 · 9:55 pm

Wood, Rocks and Faith…It Started With a Tree

It was in the fourth grade that I can first recall my life changing with regard to something said to me byIMG_20140422_101933 Mrs. Bradshaw our Art teacher. We had been working on drawing landscapes and for some reason trees began to grab my attention. The particular tree that most interested me at the time was the oak, with its twisting, turning bark and ever-reaching limbs. Mrs. Bradshaw became an inspiration in my life and an encourager for bringing out the gift in so many children.

As she peered over my shoulder, the words that stuck with me even unto today were simply, “You know Tim, drawing trees are a lot like drawing people. They are unique in their own way. If you can draw trees, you can certainly draw people.” Those words mystified my young mind.

Today, as I sat preparing to speak before the Faith Community Church about the “Go and Do Day,” I asked God to send me something, a word, a thought, an image; yes, anything that would help me start my presentation. The vision of the tree and Mrs. Bradshaw were the words He spoke to me.

The majestic oak, spreading its great limbs broadly across the landscape; a home to countless birds and animals was a lot like what Jesus described to the disciples as he foretold of his death. “In my Father’s house, there are many mansions…I go there to prepare a place for you.” The great oak, a house of so many mansions, yet its roots growing deep into the soil, curving and wrapping around all manner of dirt and rocks. Eventually, the tree is cut down and the wood is made into boards, beams and timbers. The stones are dug up and made into walls and walkways. Each piece becoming a structure, an inanimate object until that structure begins to come alive with a story. In a way, the tree and rocks live on. Like Adam whom God made from the dust and then breathed life into his nostrils, on the Trail, these structures come alive when we share the Word of God through the story of the Waldensian people, the people of the valleys.

The journey for each visitor to the Trail is personal. They each come for their own reasons.

As distinct as the tree is unto itself, so are the lives and twists of fate that lead them to seek the Trail. Like those branches that spread out across the landscape, like those roots meandering among the rocks in the soil, so do the events that lead them here. One lady said it would be difficult for her to explain all that had transpired to bring her to the Trail. She said the journey had begun literally years before and it was an amazing, and unbelievable tale. I then said, “Here at the Trail, we aren’t afraid to call those miracles.” She smiled and wiped away another tear and said, “yes, they were definitely miracles.” In fact, they had not called in advance but arrived miraculously on a day when we were able to provide them a guided tour. There had been an extra loaf of bread, the staff was all still there from the previous two tours and there was enough time; yes, yet another Godly moment.

Once more, out of the wood-fired oven made of rocks and wood, we shared bread and the Holy Spirit moved through us. Once more, through the rocks and wood placed one upon the other, the faith of our founders who held the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things unseen to be their vision, now allowed us to bring those seeking hope, faith and love a little closer to being one with the Father.

Through the structures on the Trail, the trees and rocks live on. Through the Trail of Faith, the story of conviction and perseverance lives on. Through our testimony of the Waldensians, we can then share the Word of God so that through the trees, the wood, and the witnessing the faith of Jesus Christ becomes possible.

The master’s hand continues to lead us on.

God had prepared a place and through His will, it all…shall ….be …..done.

Thanks be to God.

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by | March 6, 2016 · 9:23 pm

WWII: Painful Memories Everlasting…

Today I met an elderly lady that was another lost treasure of history and memories long forgotten by many; Gretchen was her name. Although approaching 80 years of age, she was as spry and energetic as anyone. Her mind was clear and sharp and her enthusiasm to share was overpowering.

Her family had survived the carpet bombings of the Allied Forces in the city of Dresden dresdenGermany in WWII. Like so many others on both sides of the war, they had lost everything they owned.

War is hell; any war.

When Gretchen and her family returned to the surface from their fallout shelter, there was nothing left of their home. Strewn before them was a maze of rubble and shattered memories. All they had left were the clothes on their backs and their lives. Neighbors and friends, all perished in a matter of minutes.

Knowing that the bombings would continue, they had to flee to safety. Their plan was to head north to a families farm near Juelich. They found a friend with a car and drove to the other side of the city where her Aunt, Uncle and their children lived. Her father told them to wait in the car, he would be right back as he dashed into a small grocery to find the rest of the family. The store stood in a row of buildings common to many older parts of German cities. As they sat patiently waiting in the car, the slow wail of the air-raid siren began to wail. As she retold the story, she imitated the sound. Her pitch and voice perfectly echoed the mournful sound of the alarms. She explained to us that the slow siren meant they had time to seek shelter. When the siren began to increase its cadence, the bombers would be nearly overhead.

“Wooooooooo-eeeeeeeeeew,” she moaned, her eyes glossing over as she spoke. There was an eerie echo in her voice and for a second, I could hear them too. Death was approaching once more.

Before they could unload from the car, the siren went into the fast pace wail of impending doom. They scurried for the store, but there was no time; the bombers were already overhead. They dove for the nearest shelter in the store where her father had disappeared moments earlier in search of his brother and the rest of their family.

Germans had wisely made the shelters beneath the buildings connected in case one was bombed, there would still be a way out. These connecting portals were blocked off with wood partitions in order to protect one from the other. She described how they had just reached the safety of the basement below the grocery and someone was already talking to her Uncle through the partition. Yes, they had found them. For a brief moment, she felt joy in knowing they were also safe. In the next moment, she described the excruciating sound of the impact of the bomb that literally threw them to the ground and extinguished the candles.

For what seemed an eternity, she could not hear. Only the smell of smoke and the vibration of other bombs exploding resonated through their bodies as they lay helpless to the death that fell from the sky. Slowly, the sound of cries of anguish began to melt back into her consciousness. Everyone in their part of the basement would be safe. Sadly, there were no more voices from the other side of the partition; only the distant drone of planes as they flew away.

Her father had never reached his brother nor their extended family. He would lead the rescue team as they dug out the destroyed building next to the grocery to try to save anyone that had still lived. They found her Uncle and the rest of the family all next to the partition, trickles of crimson drool leaked from the corners of each of their mouths as they sat in their deathly slumber; all had perished. Had the partition not been there, the force of the blast would have certainly killed Gretchen and the rest of her family. Gretchen and the rest of her family emerged from the rubble finding their escape car demolished. Their hope of safety was in Juelich, which was over 30 miles away.

With no other choice of survival, Ruth, her mother, and three sisters set off on foot. Her father remained behind to help in the rescue effort like so many other men who weren’t selected to serve in the army for one reason or other. They became the hope of survival for so many buried beneath their own homes and businesses.

She couldn’t recall the entire journey except for an accident that occurred, which caused her to fall and break her nose. She recalled the pain and being unable to breathe that night. Fear of dying surrounded them like the darkness that enveloped the destroyed landscape. She recalled her fear of dying being an everyday occurrence. They finally found a doctor who came and cleaned up her injury enough that she could once again breathe freely. They continued on foot for a couple more days and then got a ride from a kind farmer who was headed in the same direction. They eventually made it to safety and their grandparents home. Her father would join them later upon his return from the hell that Cologne had become.

She finished and looked up. Tear rimmed eyes still portrayed the pain from so long ago.

“There is so much more, but it was so long ago,” she swallowed before continuing on, “You see, God was our only hope.”

No matter when, how or why we find suffering in our lives, it is part of who we are. If we have faith, we know that God uses these to make us stronger. But when suffering becomes more than we can bear, we must call on the Lord. He is our hope, our salvation and our life eternal.

We only have to seek Him.

No matter the hell you are going through, there is hope. Like Gretchen, seek God and He will listen to your pleas.

“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. Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.” -Jeremiah 29:11-13

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by | March 5, 2016 · 10:01 pm

Go Gentle Into the Frozen Abyss…

 

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”-Joshua 1:9

There are days in our lives that have a way of becoming memorable. Those days that make an indelible impression upon our beings; building character and proving to ourselves just what is possible when we are pushed to a point of no return.

Yesterday was one of those days that it seemed as if everything that could go wrong did.

It began early on when I found that the bitterly cold weather we had a few weeks back had weakened a below-ground valve behind the Refour House. As I rounded the corner of the building, water was shooting three feet out of the recessed fixture into the yard. “Great,” I thought, “so much for spreading the new pile of compost today.”

That was number one: the leaking valve.

I eventually found the main valve for the leaking line in the large underground control vault. There, nearly six feet below the surface were a myriad of valves and pipes, none of which were labeled. In addition, there was nearly a foot of water already in the bottom of the vault. “Odd,” I questioned, “hopefully this isn’t a sign of something else.” Next, it was a matter of finding out which valve shut off the line to the leak. So, methodically I began turning off one valve after another. Whether it was a premonition of things to come or not, the handle of the first valve I grabbed crumbled in by grasp. It had corroded into red, rusty dust. It was not a good feeling. As I continued working my way down the maze of plumbing one of the main line brass fixtures hissed and squirted water, but then stopped. “Oh great, what else could go wrong,” I silently mused to myself. I cautiously continued on until I happened upon the correct valve and turned off the water to the leaking line. In order to speed up things, I figured I’d jump on the golf cart and zip down to the far end of the Trail. When I opened up the garage and turned on the golf cart, I noticed the battery level was nearly dead. Knowing I had put it on the charger the night before, there was definitely something wrong. I plugged the charger back into the slot on the cart; nothing.

Great, this would be number two: the golf cart was not charging.

A few hours later after returning from the hardware store where I found everything I needed to fix the water issue, my wife arrived, “This must be the day for bad news,” she chuckled.

“Great, what now,” I said, my shoulders sinking as I felt the weight of the day growing.

“We’ve had a death or two at the chicken coop,” she replied in a solemn tone, “possibly as many as three.”

I shook my head and headed out for the valve issue, “One thing at a time,” I silently said beneath my breath.

We were now up to bad thing number three; dead chickens.

“Bad things come in threes, right,” my mind concluded as I began repairing the broken water line.

Well, one thing and then another and soon I had a water line repaired. The battery charger confirmed good at the golf cart shop. Finally, some confidence began to return. However, life had taught me many lessons and one very important lesson was that one should never become too over confident. Call it Lutheranism, call it Midwestern, I almost felt a little guilty at my slight joy of success.

Lessons are often learned for a reason.

The next day, after allowing the glue on the valve fitting to dry over night, I climbed down into the vault for one last time, or so I had hoped and turned the water line back on. There was the sound of rushing water within the pipes and soon it was silent. No further leaks or drips in the vault, all seemed well.

“So far so good,” I said under my breath, as I headed back down to the opposite end of the trail to check the valve for any signs of water; nothing, all clear.

“Not bad,” I smiled inwardly. “Time for a quick cup of coffee and then back to my compost pile,” my thoughts confirmed.

After my brief respite, I headed back out. The weather on the horizon looked daunting. Dark clouds were forming in the mountains and headed our way. The air had the feel of icy precipitation to it. There were already reports of snow in Asheville. As I rounded the corner of the building, my mind froze on the image before me. The vault, the main control room for the entire Trail was no overflowing with a river of water.

“It can’t be,” I thought, trying to force the image out of my consciousness. “The hiss, the water in the bottom, the signs were all there,” I thought as I ran back inside emptying my pockets as I ran. I reached the office door where my wife was working and yelled, “Quick, come with me, we’ve got an emergency.”

“What now she responded,” as she jumped up to follow.

We both raced outside and once again met the torrent pouring out of the underground vault.

“What in the world,” she screamed in disbelief. “How do we turn it off?”

“There is only one place I know of,” I replied, “down there,” I said pointing into the swirling, muddy abyss.

In many ways, it is easy to become dismayed and overwhelmed, drowning in our own self-doubt and anxiety. But when we meet the challenge without giving our actions a second thought, when we tackle the obstacle that is impeding our progress head on without reluctance, we overcome those insecurities and become one with our destiny.

So, without hesitation, I stepped down into the icy water. As I moved deeper into the frigid liquid, I prayed to God to give me strength and protection. It was as if I was suddenly enveloped in a protective layer of skin. I could sense the freezing water, I knew that time was of the essence, yet there was a certain calm.

Around me was a world of browns, grays and earth tones. Death was everywhere as the landscape had yet to come back to life from its winter slumber.

I reached for shutoff valves and their handles that were unfortunately beyond my grasp. They were deeper than I could reach while keeping my head above water. My breath was growing short and I could barely stand, let alone function much more. I had to emerge from the bitterly cold water and take a break before going any further.

As I stood gasping for breath while leaning against the wall of the building, tiny snowflakes began to fall around us. My body was numb as I watched the deluge of water continue unabated.

“Is there another place we can turn it off,” my concerned wife said, now frantic as she watched my body begin to shiver uncontrollably.

“No, this is it.”

I headed back toward the vault, “I’ve…got… to to try again,” I shuddered as I sank back down.

As I submerged back down and once more tried to find a valve within reach. The pressure of the intense cold water soon had me crawling back out.

Pausing, my mind raced back to the previous day and to the location of the pipe that had hissed at me. There below that point was the main valve, but it was nearly at the bottom of the vault.

I only had one choice at this point.

When I was in high school, we decided one day to dive in the old rock pits south of Ft. Myers. There was a hole so deep that when you swam over its untold depth, it was almost a blue-black. Many had tried to reach the bottom unsuccessfully. However, after a few days of practice, we had finally built up our courage and strength to feel that we might finally be able to achieve the impossible. I remember the four of us taking those last few breaths before going down.

None of us knew the dangers of deep water diving.

Not one of us had any clue as to what we faced.

So with that last hyperventilating gulp, we dove into the dark abyss. I can recall one by one, my friends peeled off and headed back up, unable to continue down. Unwavering in my quest, I continued to kick. My legs were strong and my lungs at their peak. Running countless miles had prepared my body for this moment.

“Go gentle into that good night,” my mind whispered as the darkness seemed endless. I reached my hand before me not knowing what lay ahead.

Just before reaching the bottom, my lungs began to quiver for air. There wasn’t much time left. It was then I hit the white sandy bottom. There have submerged in the sand was an ancient beer bottle. I turned, hit the bottom with my legs, and shoved off for the surface kicking with everything I had. Before breaking the surface, I had already begun to go into oxygen debt convulsions. It was just as I burst through the top that I had no choice but to suck in. Thanks be to God that it was air and not water.

Thankfully, whether we realized it or not that day, God was with us.

“To be strong and of courage, for He is with us always,” is often hard to remember when disaster faces us head on. So many years ago, there was no urgency in that day, there was no dire threat of impending doom, there was only a choice I had made to take a risk in order to explore a forbidden depth; a place we feared as much as we wondered about. Once again, unwelcome, dark water awaited me, but unlike before, this was no choice in this matter.

Back down into the black hole, I climbed. I looked to my wife once more and before going 20160303_132913under said, “Call someone if I don’t come back up.”

“Could something down there suck you under,” she questioned scared and frantic?

“I won’t’ know until I’m down there,” I replied and took one last breath then dove.

There have been times that I’ve snorkeled in muddy, disgusting water, but never had I been in water that was trying to suck the air out of my lungs through my body. As my hands frantically reached for the pipes and followed them like a blind person reading Braille, my mind worked out the image before me. Continuing to pray as I worked, there was a calmness about me I cannot explain.

20160303_132921Down, down I went, feeling pipes and valves as I along the way toward the ultimate goal, the main valve. The air in my chest didn’t seem to matter anymore as a special numbness began to overwhelm my consciousness.

 

“Go gentle into that good night,” my mind whispered once again, an echo from the past.

Water rushed past my frozen fingers; turned the handle.

Water still rushing.

Followed the pipe further; turned another handle; nothing.

My hands walked along the plumbing trying to make sense of the maze of fixtures. Somewhere a voice said, “Stop, there, now.” My nearly frozen digits had discovered a handle. “Turn it,” the voice said, and I did.

The water stopped flowing.

“Must find the surface.”

I don’t recall taking the first breath of air.

I don’t recall how I got my legs up and out of the hole in the metal plate that covered the vault.

All I can remember is crawling onto the cold, wet ground and collapsing. There was no cold, no numbness, only swirling white feathers falling down from heaven.

Slowly, my faculties returned, as did the pain of exposure to my limbs and digits. My wife and I worked quickly as a team to strip the wet clothing and to find towels enough to get my body dry and warm before hypothermia set in.

The numbers of all the things that had gone wrong seemed to disappear as warmth reclaimed my soul.

There are days that make impressions upon our minds that we will take with us the rest of our lives. There are places we once feared to tread, but nevermore shall we when we go fearlessly into that dark night.

Yes, rage, rage against the dying of the light, and go fearlessly into that dark night.

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” -Dylan Thomas

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by | March 2, 2016 · 10:01 pm

The End of Your Rope…

“But He knows the way that I take; When He has tested me, I shall come forth as gold. My foot has held fast to His steps; I have kept His way and not turned aside.”-Job 23:10-11

Tonight as I sat in the men’s Bible study group, I turned our book to a page with a scene of imagesG2YCTXXKcowboys driving cattle and the picture of a lareat in the top right-hand corner of the page. As I looked at the coiled rope, my mind drifted back to my farm. Once again, I could feel the rough strands of the formed rope, the heat from the threads as they slid through the grasp of my leather gloves as the 500 lb. bull began to run away from me. He escaped our pasture and was happily grazing in the neighbors green grass when I found him. In the past, he had little inclination to flee me and in fact seemed quite docile for an Angus. However, when the loop of the lasso landed perfectly around his neck, he suddenly turned into a raging beast hell bent on leaving me as far behind as quickly as possible. . The thought of him taking off and the fact that I wasn’t riding a horse or anything of greater mass hadn’t developed in my preparations to restrain him, sadly enough. In other words, “What was I thinking?”

As much as I tried to cinch the rope, there was no stopping the force on the other end of the rope. Equations of Physics flashed through my brain, F=ma, momentum of an opposite and greater force cannot be restrained by a lesser force and so on

In other words, I realized I was literally nearing the end of my rope.

Many people talk about their lives flashing before their eyes in the last seconds of a life threatening situation; mine only wanted to resolve how to not lose the calf on the other end of my tether. “For once he was free, there might not be any getting him back,” I thought to myself. As I fought for control of the vanishing line, my eyes scanned for anything of size, a tree, a stump, a rock, anything that might provide me something to leverage against the tempest in flight; nothing other than a sapling or two were nearby. The tree line was well beyond my reach. Fortunately, I had driven the old 77 Chevy to the top of the pasture. Digging the heels of my boots in as the rope continued to slip, I strained to work my body and bull toward the pickup.

Time was running out.

In life, we often find that we continue on with the same old day-after-day routines. Fearful of stepping out of our comfort zones, strapped by a mortgage, a car payment and many other bills that are a result of raising a family, we feel as if life is a raging bull at the end of our rope, pulling us helplessly along. Courage to begin digging in your heels against the beast is the first step. However, to fully halt the runaway train, you have to finally say, “No more,” and put an end to the madness. You have to tie it off and end the struggle.

To leave it all behind is one of the most difficult decisions in life I have ever had to make. I knew that if I had continued, the end would not have been pretty. So frequently was I waking up on the wrong side of the road driving home from working the night shift that I began to fear for others more than for myself. So I prayed the prayer that I knew God would answer, but couldn’t believe it would have been answered in the manner in which it was.

So we stepped out into our leap of faith.

Are there days I wonder if it was the right thing to do to my family? Yes.

Are there days I wonder if I can make it? Yes.

Are there days I have self-doubt? Yes.

Yet through it all, I try to remember the verse from Job, “My foot has held fast to His steps; I have kept His way and not turned aside.”

How far can we go? Are we at the end of our rope? How much time do we have left?

bullcalfA beast on the other end of my rope had given me the premonition of sage advice I seek tonight. Therein I realized, time was running out and there would only be so much of it left before it would be too late to change, too late to end the madness, too late to save the ones I loved.

With only inches to go before the lariat ran out, I found the back bumper of my old truck and wrapped enough of it around the metal to halt the rampage. From the other end of the rope came a violent jolt. The truck lurched backward but stopped.

We both stood panting.

I had barely made it, just barely.

The brief pause allowed me a sparse few more inches, enough to make one more wrap of the rope around the thick metal. Sweat ran into my eyes stinging and blurring my vision.

The world around us seems to continue to spiral out of control. So many are lost in sin, lost in their own realities of an imaginary world to the point they cannot seem to stop. We are running out of time to reach them. Yes, we are nearing the end of our rope. We must seek that concrete base to which we can tie off and hold fast, we must help them and those around us find that steel bumper of the old Chevy or that rock of faith; Jesus Christ.

Time is running out. What are you waiting for?

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by | February 29, 2016 · 8:44 pm

God is There; If Only We Would Pray…

When the impossible becomes possible, God is there.

Today I was reminded of how much in our daily lives we mistakingly take for granted. I don’t mean just the sensual things of this world, but rather, the big picture; the Godly vision. As I sat in fellowship with Pastor Patrick, we shared prayer experiences and how each had manifested into miraculous changes in not only our lives, but so many of those around us; all because of our prayers.

Last night as we watched the movie, “War Room,” the thoughts of past prayers came rushing back. Looking back, there was no possibility of knowing how they would be answered. All I knew was that for the request I had sent to God to be answered, there was nothing short of a miracle necessary. In Godly fashion, from that day forward, like the inching of the massive glaciers, God’s answer began to unfold.

Earth moving in gargantuan proportions with incremental precision, pieces of a complex puzzle turning, realigning themselves nano-particle by nano-particle, God’s hand was working the wonders beyond our human comprehensions.20160228_160511~2

As we sat on top of Table Rock Mountain yesterday, we could see as far as the eye could travel so clear was the air, pure and crisp. Beneath us, massive boulders shaped by eons of time and forces so great their scars are forever etched upon their faces lay cold and dormant. There in that place of heavenly fortitude, one could reflect on an ancient time meeting our own, the two worlds silently colliding; our own limited terrestrial existence compared to that of the earth from whence we came; “For dust you are, And to dust you shall return.” To the creator of this earth, this seemingly endless creation, we lift our voices often as cries of help, desperate pleas from a desperate people. For us to lift up our request and to expect immediate results are so naïve, it almost mirrors our unbelief in the impossible. Through Him, all things become possible. “But Jesus looked at them and said to them, “With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”-Matthew 19:26

20160228_155305~2So it is when we pray, that if it’s God’s will, even the most minute detail begins to alter. A multitude of lives, relationships, hardships and even mammoth corporations are not immune. Not even granite stone can withstand the touch of his hand. I’ve seen instances of complex variables so unrelated, so remotely disconnected become affected by a single thread of prayer that there was no mistaking the source, the divine nature of the alteration.

The truly amazing part, the one that keeps you sitting on the edge of your seat, is the fact that it’s not over.

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.”-Revelation 3:20

With each new prayer, with each new request or thanks to God, another door is opened, another heart is touched and even better, another soul is saved.

Yes, the more prayer warriors we enlist, the more those dynamic unrelated events begin to combine and become one, one faith, one 20160228_154502~2vision, one God. Slowly, ever so slowly, God is calling His people home and the darkness has everything to fear.

In all that we do, let us not to give thanks to our Creator for all that He has done in our lives. As we thank Him, may we also not fear to knock on the door, for if we do, then it shall be opened and we will be able to dine with the master, and He with us.

Are you ready to ready to dine with the master?

 

 

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by | February 22, 2016 · 9:08 pm

Can You Feel It?…

“But you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be witnesses to Me in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” -Acts 1:8

We awoke to a cold, gray, overcast sky. In the past, this would be another dreary Monday morning, one that felt so low, you dared notimagesS4F3AIJ4 sing the blues, but rather curse them. Days so bleak it felt as if time was passing through your veins like bitter sarcasm, you life was anything but hopeful. In those times past, I lived only for the sake of others, their livelihood, not my own. Yes, there were bright moments, blessings that I cherished through the pain. Yet, as I reached those segments of enlightenment, the valley floors came crashing, deeper and deeper. Then slowly the realization of a life not lived became a reality. Each morning as I drove home I would lose consciousness behind the wheel, each morning I knew the end was near unless something changed.

God had called me years earlier and in my stubbornness and regret, I had said no. How much more could I take? How much longer would I refuse Him?

Finally, at the end of my rope, I lifted up a prayer previously I would have felt to be selfish, but when you reach that lowest arc of the pendulum’s swing, you must act.

So I prayed as Pastor Thomas had said, “Know that your prayer will be answered if it’s God’s will, don’t be afraid to ask.”

So I did.

My life changed almost instantly.

There are those times when you can feel it, really feel it. Then there are days, those times in the lull of battle, you begin to wonder in self-doubt allowing Satan to sneak in the back door. But through the midst of struggle, there is always the light shining through the fog; the Holy Spirit leading.

Yes, today I awoke to a cold, gray, overcast sky. On the surface, it felt like another lifeless Monday, but instead of a week of dread and malcontent awaiting me at work, there was love and fellowship through God’s grace just around the corner. As I pulled into the drive of the Trail, the front gate was already open and brother Mahorney was ready and waiting for me. My heart had already begun to smile. Soon to follow were our visitors for the day, Pastor Rick Mercer and his lovely wife Cindy along with their special guest, and author, Mr. Hammer.

There would a time constraint placed on us due to Mr. Hammer having to meet his flight, but I never once felt quickened by the clock. There was a special peace floating over us. Something indescribable.untitled

Before starting upon the journey through the Trail we prayed and it was then I felt it, the Holy Spirit. However, like times before, when it would happen once and be gone. This morning was not a typical Monday morning.

Again and again, He was there unlike any time before.

Each time we gathered to pray, each time we lifted up His holy name, He was there.

Words cannot adequately describe the power of the Holy Spirit pulsating through every fiber of your being; yet, the only thing I can plausibly relate the feeling to which is of this earth is that of an electric current vibrating through your body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head any and all at once, not fleeting in an instance and gone, but continuing on and on until the final “Amen” was spoken.

Not once, but every-time-we-prayed!

Nothing can, nor will ever compare.

Nothing will ever replace the power of the Holy Spirit; no nothing.

We said our tearful goodbyes. Once more, like so many other somber goodbyes, I wondered if I would ever see Mr. Hammer again on this side of Glory, like anytime we meet our brothers and sisters in Christ for the first time. We shook hands once more and I lifted up prayers for his safe travels back to his home and family.

Yes, it was another cold, gray, overcast Monday. But through the midst of the shroud, there was a light shining above.

To God be the Glory.

Amen.

If you have had a similar or like experience, then comment and share with others. Let your testimony be a light unto the world!

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by | February 13, 2016 · 9:52 pm

A Bitter, Cold Walk…the Road to Emmaus…

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”

Looking back, I knew there would come a time that we would face the valley of the shadow, the darkest hour always being just before dawn. Although this is not the bottom, the possibilities of falling farther into the abyss are closer than one finds comforting to fathom.

Today has been one of those realizations.

The weather did not help with my anxiety, being too cold to get out and put some distance between us and this place that seems to become our prison, day-by-day. There is not enough money to allow us to take a trip, there isn’t enough money to allow us to splurge on a day of fun, no, there isn’t enough resources to allow us to escape other than a walk in the park, if only the weather would allow. The farm still sits waiting to be sold, tying up vital assets forcing us into a budget that is constantly in the red. Our buffer of cash nearly depleted, we are running on fumes.

Yet, I pray more loudly each day, knowing God is listening; it’s just His timing that I cannot understand.

Despite the single digit wind chill, I took a walk over to the Trail and back, just to retrieve some food products so that we didn’t have to go to the store and spend the last few dollars we have for the day’s budget. Walking past small, old mill homes, there was the feeling that this was a life that I had wanted to avoid, one of want and need. Here people lived on meager incomes in houses built over seventy years ago or more. Most are in disrepair, the owners obviously making due with the best they can. Dogs bark angrily as I pass, their demeanor of fearfulness of others that had done the same, others not so well meaning. These neighborhoods are where some turn to illicit activities to aid in the support of their families and their carnal desires. This is not the side of town you want to call home. I had spent years going to college in order to educate myself so that I wouldn’t have to be in this predicament, yet here I am, walking along a street where people are more suspect on foot than they are to be considered walking for their health.

Like those disciples on the road to Emmaus, I now find thoughts of doubt creeping into my mind, even when I know better. Yes, I have even begun to doubt my decision to follow my calling.roadtoEmmaus

As Cleopas and his friend walked, the stranger approached, joining them in their travel. He listened as they explained their pain and fear of having lost their leader, their savior. Jesus quickly rebuked them, “And He said to them, “What kind of conversation is this that you have with one another as you walk and are sad?” -Luke 24:17

It is hard to keep my humanness behind me. Satan knows if he can gain a foothold, he will win, so I keep the door closed and walk on.

There is so much yet to do in order to make the Trail into the thriving place of inspiration it can be. It will take time. The pace of the visitors is as expected this time of year, as frozen as the weather. There is plenty to doubt, but this is the time of planning and preparation. One cannot lose hope when there is so much fertile ground to plant. Yet, looking at the immediate situation of our own personal finances, there is much to despair. But I have the faith, “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things unseen…” When I look to those men on the road to Emmaus, I can easily imagine those that had lost their leader and now faced persecution, there had to be more than sadness. They too were in despair. The immediate situation for them looked worse than bleak. Even the body of Jesus had gone missing, and yet they still didn’t get it.

As Jesus joined the disciples, clearly, he was amazed their unbelief, after all, that he had told them would transpire, they still did not understand. It wasn’t until after they had heard him open the scriptures from the time of Moses, through all the prophets, about what would happen did their hearts burn for the Lord. “And they said to one another, “Did not our heart burn within us while He talked with us on the road, and while He opened the Scriptures to us?”-Luke 24:32 Still unaware, they invited him to stay with them for the night and only after He broke the bread at their table, were their eyes opened to whom their new friend really was, Jesus Christ.

roadtoEmmausBreadWhen I finally reached our tiny abode, thankful to have a warm house, a roof over my head and a place to rest, I set down my groceries and gave thanks to God for allowing me to continue on. As my numb fingers began to thaw, I reflected back on the past few month. I have been a witness to amazing things already in the short time I’ve been here doing His will. There has been life changing testimony, there have been prayers lifted up for many, there have been times the Holy Spirit has dwelt among us and much more. Many have beheld amazing testimony of their own as they have watched the Trail begin to breathe a new breath of life. However, we can’t do it on our own. Each day God is my teacher and each day, my studying of the scriptures and what it is to walk in His way continues to grow.

I’ve got so much to learn, but knowing that God’s time is not our own, there is a comfort in that feeling that He’s got it all under control; this I must reassure myself over and over.

Once more, I have to die to myself in order so that He may live through me more.

We must open our eyes and realize what has been set before us, what has been divulged to us even while we thought we were alone, and yet we were not. Let us walk our road to Emmaus with opened eyes and a joyful heart, lest we fail to realize the beauty of what lies before and within us.

“He maketh me lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside still waters, He restoreth my soul, He leadeth me down paths of righteousness for His namesake…”

There is so much to be done, the stone has been rolled away and He is Risen.

Yes, He is Risen indeed.

Thanks be to God

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by | January 11, 2016 · 8:34 pm

In Our Midst…

Another day of sharing, growing and belief in all that we do.jesus

There was barely time to reflect on the previous week when another one began. There is no greater joy in ministry than when you get time to fellowship with others of like minds. Yes, there are other times when you are helping others different than ourselves, those who need our help to know the way, the truth and the light; they are important. But then there are times when you can speak as freely and deeply as you want with others and for a few moments, life passes by more quickly than is necessary.

Today was another one of those.

However, before I can expound upon today, let me share with you something of note that happened last week, something that was yet another one of those God-moments.

We had planned on working as a group taking down Christmas lights early on in the week but due to weather and illnesses, most of our staff was unable to be there. As foul weather rolled in, we hunkered down and worked on the things we had put off until this time of year. Like the old time settlers, we turn our focus inward taking on tasks that make us grow mentally and prepare for the future. I had begun working on a proof paper, something that I could take and share with those who may question our ability to reference our Waldensian connection back to the time of the Apostles. The research and study are as much fun as they are challenging. Not only do I get to dig back into archives centuries old, but I also get to reference points in scripture that correlate to those ancient events; a win, win either way. The investigative research and study hours flew by and before I realized it, Thursday was staring us in the face.

Yes, it was time once more to get back to taking down and putting away the lights.

However, many of our volunteers were still down with ailments. So, when Thursday morning arrived, there was only going to be three of us able to perform the work necessary for at least four grown men. Desperate for help, a thought came to mind of a young man that had contacted me on FB about possibly being part of the Trail when he graduated college. Knowing he had just graduated and moved back to the area, I messaged him with a plea for assistance early Thursday morning and sent up a small prayer for help; I had nothing to lose.

We began our work and were just about to try to tackle the most difficult part with one man down when suddenly, into the drive pulled the new grad, Chilo. I thanked the Lord for answering prayer. As Chilo walked up, I thanked him for coming and shook his hand. He replied, “Good to see you once more.” We were in the heat of battle, so to speak, so I let the comment go without question as we rushed to our positions and began lowering the heavy towers. From there, we worked as a team, as if we had known one another for many years, and continued to fellowship as we went. Lunchtime arrived and our stomachs were yelling for attention, so Chilo and I took our reprieve at the local pizza parlor. As we sated our hunger, Chilo asked what brought me to the Trail of Faith. I asked had he not heard the testimony, “No,” he replied. So I began sharing the story of prayers answered, the trail of faith of my own, one that began with the spiritual awakening. As I watched the clock, I realized we would have to get back to the Trail, so we reconvened the story while we continued to work on bringing down more archways along the pathway of the Trail. There I began to share with him the point of the story where I had begun to evangelize through my book. In the back of my mind, I had still continued to search for the “why” or “how” of his initial statement of, “Glad to see you once more.” As if we needed confirmation, there suddenly in the parking lot looking lost was stood a young man. I paused our conversation and walked toward him to ask him if I might help him. He had not driven up, like I said, he had just appeared. As I approached him, he turned toward me and I somehow felt I knew him from someplace before. He said he was just looking around and thought he’d stop in. I asked him if we had met before. He looked at me with a puzzled face and then smiled, “Why yes,” he replied, “at the book signing you had at the library here in town two years ago.

My mind raced back and recalled the young man. He had asked many questions as if he was searching that day for something greater than just the story I shared. At this point, most people are asked to enter through the visitor center and encouraged to take the guided or self-guided tour. However, there was a feeling of this moment, this person, this exact time in my testimony he had appeared as if on cue.

God doesn’t mess around.

Knowing how the Trail has become a calling for many, some without knowing, I began to ask him if he had ever seen the inside of the church. As we all walked toward the temple, I began to ask him if he might need prayer today. He nodded that he might. I unlocked the doors and then began to share a bit of what the church and our ancient faith was about. We took our seats in the front of the church. I explained to him how there was something missing and asked him to look around and see what it might be. Both he and Chilo searched and then realized, there was no cross. I then began to explain what the most important thing to those ancient people of the valleys, yes, the very thing they lived and died to protect; the Word of God.

I then looked at our visitor and asked him if there was anything troubling him, anything in his life that might need prayer. He began to choke up as he began speaking in a hushed tone about his mother who was ailing. He had lost his job and was forced to move back in with his parents. It was obvious God had sent him for a purpose this day. We then combined together to say a prayer, all three of us, who a mere 24 hours before would have no idea we would be there in the church this day, praying together in unison.

We closed our prayer and walked out of the church, saying our goodbyes, but welcoming him back whenever he felt the need.

Suddenly the afternoon took on a whole new light.

It was then, the question of why Chilo had introduced himself as saying, “Good to see you once more,” came back to mind. I asked him, how he could say that and where we might have met. He replied that it was during the Waldensian festival three years ago when I had been evangelizing through my book.

Sometimes you know God is watching and then sometimes you know he is surely in our midst; yes, it was one of those moments. Both men had been with me at a point in my life exactly when we had been interrupted in my testimony, by not only one but two witnesses to my story.

Yes, we serve an awesome God!

From there on, it was if Chilo and I had found an ancient tie, one that distance, space or ancestry could not break; our faith in Jesus Christ. While we may not have agreed 100% on all things, we felt a common bond and by the end of the afternoon, I found I kept having to urge him to keep track of his time for fear he was forgetting as did I, for I had a doctor’s appointment that I nearly forgot had it not been for my dear wife calling to remind me.

Yes, time evaporated, leaving us with only memories of our existence with one another.

Today, the fellowship was the same. I met pastor McDevitt of Morganton First Church of God for lunch and it was one of those experiences where you become so wrapped in the conversation that the food’s importance in front of you diminishes to the point it becomes an obstacle. I love those times with brothers and sisters in Christ that allow your heart to open up and something is moved, ideas are formed and future bonds are created. It’s a walk I’ve come to be blessed with more and more.

Godly fellowship can make time disappear, yet our faith is emboldened and we grow together in our walk with God. I am eternally thankful for the position the Lord has placed me and know that time will pass, but as we grow and age, there are many things that build character and strengthen our faith; these are the things we must continue to embrace and lift up each day, sharing with those around us as much as our lives will allow.

Another day, another walk on the Trail.

Thanks be to God in all that we do.

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