Tag Archives: god

by | January 14, 2018 · 9:56 pm

Grass that Withereth…

“For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away: But the word of the Lord endureth for ever.”- 1 Peter 1:24-25

With so many things in life, something began to stand out to me the other day that hadn’t seemed so obvious before. It is sometimes stunning what we lost in a matter of just a few years of life. While inviting people to like the new page for my book, The Light in the Darkness, I kept running across pages of dear friends and loved ones that have passed away. All of them had been here when my first book had been published. They had all liked it, and as such, were some of the first ones to come up to be invited back to like the new page. In a matter of four years, we have lost so many. Each time I would go back in and look to invite more people, their names kept moving to the top of the uninvited; a solemn reminder that they were no longer with us.

I let it go, and as usual, tried to move on.

Tonight, while sitting in church listening to the sermon, the passage of 1 Peter spoke to me. So many friends and family, like those blades of grass in the field, hath withereth away. The thought of all those who had died came back again. I had been in prayer for two other friends, both facing incurable cancers, both looking toward the end of their life’s journey; both too young to leave this world with so much left undone.

There were just so many.

With each one that goes on, they leave behind a little bit of themselves with each of us. Their stories only kept alive by our own existence.

I can still see Randy Shumaker in his golf cart at the Bluegrass festival, up before all the others with his fishing rod in hand. The sun was just barely on the horizon of the cow pasture behind our campers. I caught him heading out to his favorite fishing hole at Denton. With that infectious smile, he called out to me, “Great is the day the Lord hath made.” Together, we finished, “Let us be glad and rejoice in it.” We had as much fun hanging out, cooking get-together meals, and just sharing stories as we did playing music at the festival. He left behind a loving family that still pain from his death and many friends that will never forget his memory.

Thanks to Carol McDuffie Photography

Then there was David Murph, the founder, and leader of the Gospel Plowboys. David and I had also met at Denton. Both he and Randy were brothers in Christ, both devoted to living the word. David would ask me to write a story that he had hoped would someday be published in the Our State Magazine. We had begun working on it while he and his band were at Denton, but one thing led to another, and we never finished it. As I was busy answering my calling to serve and moving a farm and family, I had one last phone call with him. He was still upbeat that things would get better for him medically. He longed for the time we’d be back together, not only to finish the piece we had started but to just revel in one another’s fellowship. Before we knew it, he had too left us for that home on high. One of the last songs the band recorded was “Welcome Home.” After David passed, I found the song and played it, over and over. The words touched my heart beyond measure. It was as if David was speaking to us from above, through the words in that very song. Again, another friend gone before his time, so much work had yet to be done.

Then there was the slow, painful story of Ronnie Joyce. He battled his brain cancer longer than any thought possible. He had become the calm, assuring principal to so many during his lifetime, both in the public schools and at Chatham Charter. I can recall one of the first times I met him, playing music in a pasture at Dwayne Hart’s bluegrass festival. He and several others, probably Bryan Goldston for one, were all there making beautiful harmonies. Ronnie shared with me his love of the mountains and the bluegrass group, IIIrd Tyme Out. He told me that they didn’t sing a bad song. Now, when I drive down some winding mountain backroad, and IIIrd Tyme Out comes on the radio, Ronnie crosses my mind. There were some that lead by example, but to me, Ronnie led by grace. He lived long enough to make it to his daughter’s wedding, but left us not long after, leaving behind a void that will take many years, if ever, to heal.

Duane Hart, a friend to so many, passed as well, and without him, the Hart’s Pumpkin Festival will never be the same. He was my neighbor for as many years as we owned our farm, but he was also someone that encouraged me to reach out in ways that I hadn’t ever thought possible. Sharing the love of music and teaching, we spoke to thousands of school children each fall when they would come out to his farm to tour the Pumpkin Farm and hear how the pumpkins grew. Each year, I would add another instrument to the barn show, until I eventually could play almost all the bluegrass instruments. Duane was not only an encouraging soul, he too was another brother in Christ. Meroney’s Church and the surrounding community will never be the same without him.

There are many more that have passed; some that I knew, while others were only acquaintances through friends of mine. Each of their stories caught a little piece of my heart and took it with them to their new home. With each painful loss, we turn again and again to find comfort in God’s word. There, we find the voice of Jesus, giving us hope and a future. We know that we can face tomorrow for we are not alone.

When my parents passed in these past four years, I was blessed to tell them both goodbye, knowing that they were about to leave us forever. Each one, in their own way, left behind a legacy.

For each one that leaves, those that remain have the burden to carry their torch, to share that story. Yes, it is up to each of us to carry on.

Yes, the grass withereth, the flowers will fall away, but the Word of the Lord will endure forever. Like those precious memories, the Word is with us always. He is our comforter in times of darkness and loss. We may be without those loved ones, but God gave us a gift that would never leave us lonely. Each of my friends and family mentioned here were all brothers and sisters in Christ, and each one had their own walk with Jesus. To this day, I know that someday, we shall meet again on that golden strand, on that far distant shore.

Hug the ones you are with and don’t let a day go by without telling them you love them.

Don’t wait until their face appears on your invitation list to remember that they are gone.

His love endureth forever, and even though they are gone, you are not alone.

Thanks be to God.

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by | January 8, 2018 · 8:49 pm

Somebody to Love

“Can anybody find me, somebody, to love….?”

The strains of the electric guitar were screaming to the wailing of Freddie Mercury’s nearly falsetto pitch. The singer with the one-of-a-kind voice echoed in my ears as he kept repeating the refrain, “Can anybody find me, someone, to love.” For something different for my run tonight, I picked a playlist a little outside of my norm; Queen was on the docket. Back when I began running in the late seventies, at the tender age of 15, they were one of my favorite rock bands. Naïve, I had no idea of their lifestyle. To me, they made music that was challenging and inspiring. My own musical talents were limited to the organ. The combination of opera with rock genres that Queen had become known for, resonated within my young being. It was all that mattered at that time. Besides, who didn’t remember listening to “We are the Champions” in at least one High School pep rally?

That was many years past, at a time when the words teen and trouble went hand in hand. Like so many youths of our world, then and now, who seek someone to love them, so it was in mine.

As ancient legs churned below my thoughts, my mind recalled those pathways so many years ago. Thousands of miles would pass beneath my feet before my running career would end. The body may forget, but the mind relinquishes the memories less. Slowly, the pace increased until there was a smooth cadence. My fingers pressed the speed button on the treadmill up until it felt this was the proper altitude for tonight’s flight.

Some call it the runner’s high when the body’s endorphins are released to protect our muscles from pain. Call it another one of God’s little miracles. When our muscles are torn in the process of exercising, the endorphins buffer the pain, allowing us to push ourselves farther than we might otherwise. The more we become physically fit, the greater the number of endorphins are released. Once we become one with our body, we can almost achieve a feeling of running on air. So it was this evening, at least for a few sparse moment, when I had finally found a rhythm that matched its pace and was back in the groove. It felt good, but I knew it wouldn’t last. The belt on the treadmill flowed beneath as the gray sky outside the fitness center faded away.

“I’ve got to get out of this prison cell,” Freddie sang. The image of this earthly body came to mind, and the day when we meet Jesus in the sky, in our new bodies, made whole and anew. “Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.”-1 Thess. 4:17

It felt as if I were being lifted beyond that cursory station in life, away from the toil of keeping that decaying shell fit. Before me was the image of the cross. His body, abused, flayed, and bloody, hung limp. It felt as if my approach was on hand and knees. Beyond me, the song continued, “Somebody, tooo, toooo, love.”

There before me hung that precious life, the Son of God. I had found him, somebody to love, and what was made all the more precious, He loved me more. As the ancient rock song played behind me, the love of Jesus began to wash oer my soul. His love flowed through my veins like a river of the Spirit descending from on high.

I was unworthy of such love.

There was no compassion on earth combined that could match the feeling that poured from the cross. My humble being crawled beneath his, looking up at the shattered human form, where once abode God in the flesh. Tears formed in my eyes as I looked upon his image.

“Come and see,” he would tell the disciples when they asked where he dwelt. Yet, He was no longer here. We could not go and abode with him on that day for he had begun his crossing of that great strand. He would fall into the depths of hell, and then rise from the dead and become the resurrected Christ. My mind could see the lifeless, blue-tinted foot hanging limp. Blood crusted upon the grayish image. The ground below him stained with his precious blood. His own life source that was to be used to wash away my darkness. He had given all so that my sins could be forgiven, so that someday we may abode with Him, not just for the tenth hour, but for all eternity.

My hand reached to touch him, but before there was contact, the voice of the song screamed again, “Find Me Somebody to Love.”

And I had.

He was there, He was always there. The guitar wailed, the strains flooding together until their voltage surged through me, uniting with the other from above until all was one. I received Him, wholly, without question, and he flooded my soul with the Holy Spirit.
Jesus was with me.

The black ribbon flowed underneath as the overwhelming feeling of God’s love warmed my entire being within. My heart panged for Freddie, for his lifestyle caused his death; AIDS. Had he come to know Christ before he passed this life? Had he found somebody to love? His memory lives on today in the form of music, a gift from God. But more importantly, had he received the most precious gift before dying?

Had he too received Christ?

“Someday I’m gonna be free,” his voice rang out, and yes, we will be, free of this earthly prison cell, called a human body.
I pray that Freddie did find somebody to love him more. Someday we shall find out the answer, but for now, I know for certain I had found Somebody to Love, and His name is Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God.

“Can anybody find me Somebody to Love?”

No, you’re not going crazy because everybody’s trying to put you down, you only have to believe. Once you find Him, you have found Somebody to Love, and in return, someone who will love you beyond your understanding. You will finally be free. Death will hold no sting.

Can anybody find me Somebody to Love?

Yes, I can Freddie, Yes, I can.

His name is Jesus Christ.

Thanks be to God, again and again.

Forever and ever, Amen.

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by | December 23, 2017 · 8:25 am

The Gift…

It is the season of giving.

Yet, in all of the giving, we have often heard, “It is better to give than to receive.” The receiving is where we often struggle, at least I do.

It had been a long week at school. The culmination of events and teaching was the delicious meal provided by Daniel Boone Inn to our faculty and staff. Once the students had all departed, we sat down, and for what had seemed like an eternity, came together as one body, fellowshipping, sharing, and breaking bread together. It was a precious ending to a challenging semester. Afterward, my plans for the day were simple; just do a little Christmas shopping, as much as my meager teacher’s salary would allow, and then later that evening meet with brothers to study God’s word.

As I pulled the door closed behind me and I walked away from my classroom, a thought, or more rather, a command came to mind, “Go spend time alone with Him.” The image of the Christian bookstore down the road instantly flashed in my head, the warm lights, the inviting cushioned chairs, and rows and rows of biblical writings: God. For months I had been hoping to acquire a copy of the 1560 Geneva Bible. But a growing need to have a Bible that allowed me to further study and research the Word in preparation for speaking was becoming more important. So, as I walked out of Watauga High School for the beginning of my Christmas break, my afternoon of relaxation began.

The darkness seemed to come quicker. It was the day before the winter solstice, and as such, nightfall was sooner than I had recalled in recent weeks, or was it more like I was passing time in a manner to which I was unaccustomed? As I pulled into the parking lot of the Cornerstone Christian Bookstore, the warm, glowing lights from within painted a picture of a Thomas Kincaid painting, welcoming me in. From having visited the store many times before, I knew exactly where I wanted to go, but just stepping inside the doors, it was as if I had been welcomed home.

From that point forward, time seemed to slow to a crawl and then stopped.

There was the 1560 Geneva Bible, but the need, or He, pushed me to another aisle, to go where was my purpose that called. There was literally a KJV row, all to its own. “Unbelievable,” I mused to myself. The ancient voices smiled in my heart. As I opened one Bible after another to compare, I made it a point to use the gospel of John; it was important to compare apples, to apples.  Like a kid in a candy store, I was surrounded by a plethora of choices, all good, all exciting. Like no other time in the history of what I knew, I could literally stand amongst stacks of God’s Word, all with same words, but all different in their format. Like the students in our classrooms, all different, but all special in their own way. Beautiful covers that protected the insides were as luxurious as were those precious letters within. He was all around me, and I was with Him.

One by one other shoppers passed. At first their presence didn’t break through my focus, but eventually, that voice once more said, “I send you out into the world not to keep my Word a secret, but share, yes, share.” Like a sleeper awakening from a deep sleep, I began trying to talk to those passing shoppers. Cordially they responded, and each began a conversation as if we had known one another for some time, each of us there as one, because of Him.

Time was not in my immediate thoughts, but aware in the back of my mind of my upcoming meeting, I pulled out my phone and checked the time. The display read something, but it didn’t click. There was no focus now for where or what was later. It was as if He was erasing everything beyond the walls of the store; He wanted me all to his own, like a selfish lover, just He and I.

Another shopper, another conversation on the Word before me and soon, I began spilling the truth like hot, fresh coffee for a welcome friend. The lady to whom I spoke last had a connection to one of the men with whom I was about to go meet. In fact, the similarities in our unknown paths quickly made the hair begin to stand up on the back of my neck, and the chill bumps rise on my flesh. Even now in this writing, I can feel that moment once more. It was as if God had placed us there to meet for His purpose. She too was interested in the exact same version that I was beginning to settle on. However, there was only one with tabs, something else that was quickly growing on me.

To understand the significance of this choice, I would have to go back a full year, but suffice it to say, that same man that I was meeting of whom I’ve already spoken, had suggested it one year before. Yet, in my

procrastination to buy it, the name had slipped my mind. Searching my device for the name, for which I knew I had taken note, I couldn’t find it anywhere. So, with a faint feeling of confirmation, it had become my focus. When the lady said that her husband would use it to preach, I demanded she take it, for there was none other like it on the shelf. She insisted no, that there would certainly be another one possibly in their back room. I acquiesced, but begrudgingly, after all, it seemed God had crossed our paths for a reason.

I placed the beautiful new Bible back in its box and in a dream-like manner and walked toward the check-out counter to pay. All of this time, the price of the book had not seemed to register. It was much more than I had available in my budget for a gift. Then there was this unobtrusive thought that had preceded my visit, “You need to get a gift for yourself a reward, if you will, for making it through another semester.” Yet, the unselfish part of me quipped, “It was a gift for me, from me?” Questions that would normally surface seemed to have vanished as I now faced the counter and placed it in the hands of the cashier.

“Can I get my name engraved,” I asked. Years earlier I had purchased another Bible here, and the purchase included name engravings.

“Certainly,” she smiled.

“Do you happen to have another copy like this one, with tabs in the back,” I continued, “There was a lady over there that wanted one for her husband, but this was the only one we saw on the shelf.”

“I can check,” she said and stepped away returning shortly, “No, that was the only one.”

“Okay,” I looked down at the floor, and the words from the lady returned, “It is God’s will that you have it.”

Before she began ringing it up, she asked how I would like my name spelled on the cover. After she wrote down my response, she then continued putting the purchase into the computer. I pulled out my wallet and decided upon the piece of plastic this would fit. That faint feeling of guilt began to surface.

“Should I really be doing this?”

Before my logical side could answer the voice behind the counter said something and began to walk away with the Bible to the back to get it engraved. The words she used didn’t make sense. I stood there unsure of what to do next. I looked back down at the credit card that was pulled out, then back at the counter where the empty box lay. The world in that moment seemed to stop, there was no sound, no music, nothing.

The voice repeated in my head, “It’s taken care of.”

“Did she mean it was rung up? But I don’t recall handing her my credit card, or did I?”

That feeling of losing control mused with one of fear, apprehension of not understanding, all spiraled around me while I stood there dumbfounded at what to do next. People in line at the other register continued on like their world had never changed. Soon enough she returned and was carrying the empty box to the gift as she reached to continue the transaction on the screen before her. I presented my credit card toward her, and she said, “It’s been taken care of.”

“It,..it what,” I stammered in an odd questioning tone?

Time passed, her demeanor changed, and she became that Kindergarten teacher trying to reach a child who just doesn’t get it.

“Sir, your Bible has been paid for.” She smiled, and my heart melted

It was as if the hand of God reached down and lifted me up at that moment. Years of struggle, the voices of those ancient martyrs, the dark valleys through which we have trod, all came rushing back. I felt myself wanting to fall to my knees, but something kept me upright. I stumbled toward the side of the counter. “I must reach a chair soon,” I thought to myself, “or else I’m going to make a scene.” Pausing at the opening to the check-out, I gurgled through welling eyes and choked throat to the cashier, “I’ve..got…to…go…sit….down.” Before I could reach the chairs by the fireplace, tears were streaming down my face faster than I could wipe them away.

“This is not happening.”

“I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy,” were the words that came again and again. The questions flowed like the river from my eyes, but there were no answers.

“Get it together,” I told myself, “Come on kid, you’ve got to receive, …you’ve got to receive.”

We hear of people paying it forward. Those lines in the drive-through where you go to pay and someone behind you or in front of you had already paid for your meal. But this time, this was much more than a meal. This was many more times the value of any Happy Meal. This was beyond the food for the body; but rather, food for the soul.

One of my pastor friends once told me, “In our walk, we must also learn to receive as well as to give. We become a blessing to others, as well as to ourselves.”

But then again, in our walk of becoming Christians, we must also learn that part of our salvation in Christ is that we receive Him.

The greatest gift of all is receiving Jesus Christ into your heart.

There I sat, weeping uncontrollably as He once more came into my life.

“Yes, thank you God,” I whispered, as the gift was given.

Eventually, I regained control of my emotions enough to stand and recompose myself at the water fountain. Not wanting to make eye contact with anyone, I looked at anything inanimate, trying to keep my mind off of this moment as much as possible.

“Come on, get it together,” I kept telling myself.

There was movement to the side of me, and here she came, the cashier with the Bible in her hand. She didn’t speak, but held it out before me, and looked up. It was then I could see her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, “Here it is.” She placed it into the box and put the lid on, then handed it to me.

She began sobbing.

Once more I lost control as tears began streaming down my cheeks. We hugged and began thanking God together.

“This will be a wonderful Christmas,” she whispered through her crying.

“Thanks be to the Lord,” I tried to reply.

As we walked to the door, it was all I could do to recompose myself enough to find the entrance. As we said our goodbyes, the last thing I can recall saying was, “This is truly a Godsend.”

She answered, “Amen.”

As I walked into the coming night, it was apparent why He had sent me to the bookstore. It was never meant to be a gift from me.

It was a gift from God.

Thanks be to God.

“And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us and we beheld his Glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. John bared witness and cried, saying, “This is He of whom I spaketh, “There is one who has come after me, he was preferred before me, for He was before me. And of his fullness have all we received, and grace for grace.”-John 1: 14-15

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by | December 17, 2017 · 6:20 pm

Who will Rise Up for Me…

By Timothy W. Tron

“Who will rise up for me against the evildoers? or who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity?”-Psalm 94:16

(Dedicated to all those who lost their lives in Sutherland Springs, Texas.)

We heard the loud bang in the vestibule, but we didn’t give it a second thought, at least not until the doors that separated us from the outer room became ajar. From where I sat, I could see the guard’s leg lying on the floor. His foot had pushed the door barely open; it was then I realized something was dreadfully wrong. Before the words could come from my mouth, a madman burst in the door of the sanctuary opposite from where we sat. He was screaming obscenities while waving his AR-15 back and forth at faces frozen in fear as he marched toward the pulpit yelling, “Where was the mother f*!@*!er that had been f*!*!g his wife?” My heartbeat in my ears as I peaked over the pew from where our row had taken cover. From there I began looking for an angle from where I could take him out. He was moving too quickly for me to get a clear shot. Before we knew it, another one of our security team had done the job, taking out the active shooter from behind a column before he could advance any further and begin firing.

Fortunately, this had only been a drill.

We were taking part in a seminar on how to prepare for one of the most unfortunate events of our times; church shootings.

Each day we seem to awaken to more and more darkness in our world.

Before we began the program, we met in a separate room where our facilitator for the day was introduced. The mood was solemn. Before the presenter spoke, our host, quoted Psalm 94:16, “Who will rise up for me against the evildoers? or who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity?” He briefly discussed the reason we were there, which we all were very aware. The most recent mass shootings at the church in Texas had awakened many to the need to begin, or further strengthen their worship service security measures. Our facilitator was then introduced, and he gave some background references that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck; this was the real deal. Having had some military training, one would understand, for those that have also been there, that you know when someone is capable of walking the walk, not just talking the talk, and so it was with our teacher this day.

My mind thought of those ancient primitive church leaders who were persecuted for preserving the Word of God. After seeing thousands of their own slaughtered in one massacre after another, they realized that to survive to carry on their legacy and to continue the true faith, they must do as the Word says in many places; the faithful must use what God hath given them; the knowledge, the ability, and the power to persevere. Their decision was based on their full understanding of the Word. In a time when it was a matter of life or death, once again, the Word of God spoke to them; time after time. For instance, we can find in Psalm 144:1, “Of David. Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle;” Then again in the New Testament, Romans 13:4, “For he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.”

Several times in between the days of the Apostles, until the great awakening began in Europe, men like Joshua Janavel would take a stand and protect the Word with their lives using the sword. The persecutions of these primitive churches would increase as mankind passed the first millennium. By time Janavel came along, there had already been two-hundred years of slaughter and resistance. Janavel would become known as one of the greatest military leaders to come out of the Waldensian Valleys in the 17th century. He would lead his people against insurmountable odds, again and again, simply because he knew if God was with them, then who could stand against them. Their adversary, or rather, persecutor, was the Church of Rome. The church-state wanted full control of mankind’s soul and would stop at nothing to annihilate anyone who stood in their way, including those few renegade heretics in their country’s northern valleys who had received the Word directly from the Apostles.

Many during Janavel’s time and centuries before had succumbed to believing in taking the passivist role, and for that, they died. Had they all done the same, we might have never had the Word in its pure form that we have today. But because Janavel knew his Bible as well as he knew those valleys, he would go on to lead a tiny guerilla force against entire armies and survive. He would write of his methods and share them with other Waldenses, who also would overcome unthinkable odds. To this day, his tactics are still shared with Cadets in our own military, at the Army War College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

Janavel also believed that by fighting, he was doing God’s will. If one of his men cursed, he would force them to attend a Council of War, whereby they would be warned, that if it happened again, they could be put to death. This was the extreme belief Janavel held, in that God was using him and his people as vessels through which they were to do His will, not their own. So, before each battle, he would have his forces kneel in prayer, to ask for forgiveness of the lives they would take, but to also ask that God watch over them and protect them if it be His will. Because of Janavel and men like him, we can share the true Word and faith of Jesus Christ, without any adulterations, or misguided interpretations as the Church of Rome would have it.

Once more, we find ourselves on the verge of facing persecutions like in times of old. Around the world, this has already begun, and unfortunately, with time it will begin here as well. Our enemies are many, but we have been given the ability to protect our flocks, and a such, we should do all we can.

From that point forward in the lecture, my mind was back in Basic Training mode. The instruction was purely from a militaristic point of view, as it needed to be. To provide some insight as to the seriousness of the program, we were first all asked to unarm ourselves before beginning the exercise. The leader said that when we began, the simulation might become so real, that there would be some that might revert to their former training. He had known people to black out, allowing that trained instinct to take over, and as such, we needed to take the precaution to remove all live fire from the exercise; save for one person who was selected to be the guard, just in case.

For the remainder of the morning, we practiced one scenario after another, talked of tactics to take, and discussed options when using deadly force. In all, it was very surreal. As we were wrapping up, the facilitator said something that really hit home when he was describing the security team members you would need. He said, “You want to be sure you pick people who are true Christians, people that know where they are going, and those that are willing to give their lives to save others.” It was then that the cross and Jesus came back to the moment. When we step into our faith and honestly believe, we should no longer fear death; which was the teacher’s intent. “Those who fear dying, you do not want protecting your congregation,” he reminded us.

Once more, the solemnness overwhelmed us. Many sat staring off into the distance once the exercises had completed. Their minds reflecting on all that we heard and saw, but what was more disturbing, what was to come. Yet, when we walk in faith, we know that as times continue to the end of days, we already know what to expect, as scripture says in Mark 13:7, “And when you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed. This must take place, but the end is not yet.”

When my son and I signed up for the program, we didn’t realize we were actually taking part in a live exercise. We were not disappointed. However, we gained valuable insight as to what to expect and what we must try to anticipate in a world that is increasingly falling away from organization into chaos. We must continue to be the light in a dark world, no matter the cost.

In the end, if we know He is with us, who can be against us.

Thanks be to God.

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by | December 12, 2017 · 7:04 pm

Lord Willing and the Creek Don’t Rise

Lord Willing and the Creek Don’t Rise

By Timothy W. Tron

“The expression “…the creek don’t rise” is an American slang expression implying strong intentions subject to complete frustration by uncommon but not unforeseeable events. It presumably evokes occasional and unpredictably extreme rainfall in Appalachia, that has historically isolated one rural neighborhood or another temporarily inaccessible on several or many occasions.” -Wikipedia definition for “The creek don’t rise.”

The rains fell heavy throughout the previous night. When he awoke to overcast skies, it was no surprise. Quietly he pondered over the morning scriptures. He poured the customary tankard of black brew that he carried with him. Once he crossed the divide, he recompensed upon the bench in front of the little town’s only store. His routine was not yet chiseled into time long enough to be considered a “tradition”, yet he was sticking to the pretense as closely as his busy schedule would allow. The weather apps on his device kept warning of areal flooding. In the back of his mind he knew this meant that his normal route for Sunday worship may be altered, but not if he could help it. The air was one of those moist, damp chills, the kind that sunk below the flesh and lingered in the bones. Donning his cap and grabbing his trusty walking stick, he set out, bare legged and sandals for the eventual challenge, the crossing of the river.

As he rounded the curve in the road toward the river’s edge, he could see the water was well above its normal course. “How much more so,” he thought to himself as he tried to find a marker, a log, anything that might convey the true depth. There at his usual crossing, the stone sand-bar was nonexistent. The greenish, brown fluid rolled angrily past as he vied for any familiarity; there was nothing. Knowing the vantage point from whence he usually sought, he stepped into the ice-cold brink. The bottom kept going as he began to sink deep into the mud. There seemed to be no bottom and before he could recover, he was chest deep. Stinging cold chased him back to the bank where he fought back his disgust. Looking back, the water seemed to laugh back at him. “I will not be turned away,” he silently told himself, “I can do all thing through Christ who strengthens me,” he spoke through his teeth as he charged back in, this time at the point where he knew the bottom was more solid, yet normally deeper. Contact to the stones below was a welcome relief compared to the episode second earlier; however, the battle against the roaring current of the torrent quickly ensued. Driving his walking stick into the river bed, each step carefully taken. The force of the water ripping at his legs, his body being pushed against its will. One foot, one planting of the cane, another step closer to that distant shore. The rhythm of his course began to match his heartbeat. The struggle was all his own, nothing more than the determination to prove nothing to no one. In his mind, there was a greater purpose for which he sought to serve, and someday, sometime, he might be called to answer that calling. This was his personal boot camp for the Lord; the preparation for what may be required someday to serve in the army of God. Nothing of this world that could render flesh numb could stop his progress as he finally reached the calm waters at the edge of the distant shore. Climbing out, he looked back at the raging torrent below. Another Sunday, another journey through the abyss that would not keep him from his worship.

They would amusingly question him, some in disbelief that anyone would be so detached from the normalcy of life to put themselves through something so arduous, but here he was once more, wading the river, even at near flood stage capacity.

His purpose, not for anyone other than himself and God, was slowly becoming a light to those around him. Around him the chatter of the moment was growing ever more lively, for there was something other than to focus their weekly attention on, other than their usual family calamities and concerns. There was something that captured their imaginations and ran with them, diving into that flowing abyss beyond the church.

Meanwhile, he sat on the bench, seeking the warmth inside that only God could provide. His mind drifted back to the hardship of climbing that mountain. Those mountain rivers in the Germanesca Valley that flowed so icily in the summer air would now be slicing, bitter cold, humanly impassable torrents. For these there would be a day, but not until this simple flow in which he had just crossed could be mastered.

The training would continue, one river, one step, one verse after another until the day the Master calls.

In His time, his will be done.

Thanks be to God.

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by | December 10, 2017 · 8:04 pm

I Am With You Always…

“Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: 20 Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen.”-Matthew 28:19-20

 

Arktos sat on the expanse of stone, his balcony to the world that opened below. High on the mountain range above the Germanesca Valley, he sat watching the clouds gather in the depths of the void below. The air blew steadily up here. He closed his eyes and tilted his face toward heavens. The warmth of the sun caressed his aged face, blending the deep ravines of time into one of wisdom. His long gray hair, speckled with white wafted against his shoulders. The white beard gave him an air of intellect. Beneath it, his tanned skin, taut against his chiseled chin, gave the look of, “You will pay if you cross me,” which belied his true gentle nature; the tender heart beneath the façade of an ancient warrior. This was his place of repose, his solitary corner of earth where he could commune with God. To obtain this height, one must have the strength of a bear and the agility of the mountain goat.  Up here, the world below seemed so distant, so unimportant compared with what lay ahead.

Here there was no sound of humanity. There was nothing but the sound of the distant waterfalls cascading into the abyss below. Their voices echoed off the granite walls of God’s fortress of granite that surrounded him.

He was lost in thought, one with the Father as the words came to mind, “And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”-Phil. 4:7

As life and time march onward, the realization of himself becoming the one that others looked to for guidance bothered him. True, he studied the Word relentlessly, but he never seemed to rise above who he saw in those crystal-clear pools from which he supped his handfuls of water. There beyond those sky-blue eyes, was the same man he had seen for all his life. Much of the world around him had changed, loved ones had gone on, and now, he was nearly alone save for the few that were left.

Earlier that morning, he and the others had met once more to study and worship. There was no set plan, just the Word to guide them. They were the remnants of their kind. Many had been lost; as many had perished from the mountain as had those who had died from the sword. They were the keepers of the Word, the bearers of Christ’s ministry. They had no name as of their own, but rather, were given only the name from whence they came, the Vaudois. These were the Vaudoisians, the Children of the Light, as they had also become known.

As they slowly gathered, one, then another, in that small but ancient stone building that had created so many before them, each one was welcomed with brotherly love. They were united as one centuries before, longer than even their elders could remember. The words they used to describe their beginning were simply, “Since time Immorium.” As they prepared to begin, each lit a candle or lamp from which to read. The ancient structure barely allowed the slightest amount of light to enter. While light was hard to find, in the deepest recesses of winter, the sturdy, meter-thick walls also kept the freezing cold without; thus, serving as the perfect sabbatical from the outer world during the long dark winter months. Yet, even in the early summer, as now, they met to refresh their scriptures before departing for their summer missions beyond these peaks.

Today had been especially rewarding. There was the initial joking and sharing of mental challenges, but eventually, as was usually the case, someone said something that yielded to a lesson from within the pages of that precious text, the one they had guarded with a millennium of lives. Immediately, they dove within the leaves of that ancient book seeking the trail upon which they felt obliged to follow. Their questions led to further searches, all following a path only their Lord would know. The older students merely closed their eyes and quoted the scripture from memory, so intense was their learning.

Sitting back and watching their education come to fruition, Arktos had been blessed beyond measure. He knew in time, they would be gone, leaving for their journeys.

Many would never return.

Time after time he had seen them grow, become one with the Word, then leave to serve their commission. Those that returned had a renewed vigor that only experience and life could teach. Each time, he saw the youth that had been present in the spring of life be torn away, leaving behind the shell of reality forced upon their tender souls. Those that never came back left a hole in his heart that could never be replaced.  He felt so inadequate for what he was there to do. There was so much he needed to learn himself, so much more he could share, if only there were more time.

He returned to the present when the cry of the raptor that pulled him back. Before he opened his eyes, he whispered softly, “God give me the strength, and the wisdom to do your will until I no longer have the breath left to live another day.”

Blinking to the light of day, he tilted his head forward. There soaring upon the currents before him was a beautiful Golden Eagle. Below, them both, the sun had broken through the clouds and the expanse of meadow falling away to the sharp blue-gray edges of the valley below opened up. The view was breathtaking, as the wild bird was in its grandeur; man and beast as one, above the spectacle of creation only few can imagine. The old man felt the presence of God as the bird remained in place, gliding along with little to no effort. Its piercing eyes sought him, and from within he could feel a voice resonate through his soul.

“You are not alone, for I am with you always, I will never leave you, nor forsake you.”

Arktos could not move. He tried to nod in agreement, but nothing would work; his head could not shake, his fingers could not even curl to feel the stone beneath where he sat. He was spellbound by those penetrating eyes and the omnipotent voice within.

Another searing cry from the eagle echoed off the nearby snow-covered peak, and immediately, the roar of the waterfalls returned. He blinked, and the beautiful bird was gone.

Had he dreamt the scene?

Had it been just another vision?

He reached for his weathered walking stick to prepare for the journey back down the mountain when he noticed it. There beneath its handle lay the reminder of the moment; a tail feather from a Golden Eagle.

He smiled, as he tucked away the keepsake into his backpack, and begin his slow descent into the world that awaited below.

He had nearly disappeared from that summit when the call of the great eagle echoed from a distant valley, and he smiled once more, for God was with him. Yes, God would be with him always.

Thanks be to God.

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by | November 2, 2017 · 8:57 pm

The Pre-Reformation Celebration…Lux Lucet in Tenebris

“But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light;” – 1 Peter 2:9

This morning’s scripture was heavy on my mind as my little blue car ascended the mountainside.

Just two days ago, the 500th Anniversary of the Reformation was celebrated. The tiny footnote of those that had gone on before that had made that day, 500 years ago possible was barely mentioned, if at all. For those to know the truth, the light must have been passed from the Apostolic times until that date, but by whom? The truth was made known in Peter’s writing which, if the rest of the story were known, would make perfect sense. For to know the truth, the Word of God becomes all that much more significant.

Where once inhabitants of the remote mountain valleys were known simply as barbarians, they eventually, by the grace of God, became known by another, which eventually made them targets for centuries to come. Their firm belief in the Word of God, their strict adherence to its every letter would lead them to be Apostolic in belief, but make them an object of aberration by the corrupted state Church because of their faith’s immovable tolerance for anything beyond the truth, the way, and the light of Jesus Christ. They would be sought for annihilation, purposeful extinction by the Church of Rome. In essence, theirs was the holocaust of the Alps.

The people of whom I speak are those of the Waldensian Valleys, located in the Cottien Region of the Alps situated in the northwest corner of Italy. They became a people, known as the “People of the Bible,” because of their memorization and preservation of its original content. Their families, generation after generation, would pass down these teachings until they would become one with them. In a sense, they would become a “holy nation” without borders, without a king, without a distinct leader. They would turn from pagan worship to that of the most ardent believers of Christianity; truly, they were called of the darkness and into the light, yes, the most marvelous light.

Although many shunned the spotlight of notoriety, they would become preachers, missionaries, and evangelists of the Word.  Their ordination was by God, a royal priesthood if any. Yes, they were chosen by God for a reason, for a purpose, for a time, and thanks be to God, I have been blessed to have been born into that lineage, to which I now try to uphold some substance, some modicum of forbearance of what those that gave their lives so vividly upheld in their time. We are called into a time such as this to carry on the truth, to shed light upon the world wherever we may go.

My fervent prayer is that I may be able to continue to be a light to those around me in all that I do, each, and every day until my last breath on this earth.

Lux Lucet in Tenebris, The Light Shine in the Darkness.

Thanks be to God.

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by | October 28, 2017 · 8:59 pm

In Memory: Mom, RDHW

The gray, overcast sky hung close to the mountain. The air held a damp chill that threatened to sink into one’s bones, yet he didn’t let it bother him. He stood off to the side, away from the crowd, away from the rest of his team members. The sound of the announcer introducing various dignitaries for the day’s event, the first annual High Country Run/Walk for Breast Cancer, was a distant echo. Like that of when you are about to fall asleep when all the world around you begins to fade. His mind was deep in prayer, for the reason he was really there was more personal than anyone knew.

The vision in his mind was as clear as the sunrise he had seen just minutes before. Her long golden hair floated in the breeze as she walked in the vast garden of vibrant yellow roses, her hands skimming their tops, like floating on the wind. She wore a white linen dress that flowed down to her bare feet; feet that barely touched the pathway upon which she danced. It was his mother in her youth, once again alive and vibrant. The chill in the air wisped across his bare neck, but inside, her warmth made him whole once more.

He remembered those last days, how she insisted they get her mailbox painted. He worked with her on just the right font and color of lettering to use, to the point she made him look through books of fonts she had set aside in some type of craft, but they never found them. He eventually sketched it out for her, and she was satisfied with the result. Then the last thing was to paint a yellow rose, her favorite, on each side. It would be the last thing they would ever do together before she passed. There was that feeling of being alone again, which he tried to push away. Yet, in a way, it felt like she was there.

He didn’t mean for the day to become this.

Moments earlier, inside the hosting facility, all manner of bright pink ribbons, balloons, and decorations brightened the gathering space. Cancer survivors and those participating in the day’s fundraiser warmly and graciously greeted one another. Understanding the nature of the event, he tried to elude the grasp of the thinking of her again, at least not here. As he turned to leave the room before emotion could grab him, there it was, the very thing he was trying to avoid. Near the exit was a wall where someone had placed a small hand-written sign, “In Memory Of.” Without thinking, he grabbed the fluorescent pink sticky note and wrote, “Mom, RDHW,” then peeled it free from the stack and stuck it to the wall. Stepping back and looking at those around it, his eyes couldn’t focus on anything but the one before him. Hurriedly, he walked out, trying not to make eye contact and soon found himself on that distant corner.

Although she had been gone nearly five years, it still seemed like yesterday.

As he sighed Amen in closing, he looked up to the floating pink archway covering the starting line. It had been over 25 years since he last stood at a race starting line. In fact, the year of that last race was the same year his mother had been first diagnosed with her cancer. Countless miles of water under the many bridges had passed since that day.  He thought of how it would feel once more, now that he was no longer the athlete he once was. In truth, he wasn’t really here to race. The real reason he thought he had come was to support the team from his High School, for the courageous fellow-teacher, whom with three children of her own, had been diagnosed with cancer just the year before, Elaine Bishop. The news of her story had struck him so hard, he found himself avoiding the empathy he so often could provide to others. It was someplace he couldn’t go, not yet. Elaine had become a survivor and an encourager to so many. The day she returned to school during their monthly faculty meeting and entered the auditorium he had fought back the tears of emotion; the sting of pain went to the core of his being; yet, here he was.

Moments later, the crowd had amassed at the starting line, and before he knew it, they were off. Before starting, one thing was apparent, he would be running this race for Mom.

“Every time the pain becomes too great,” he thought to himself, “remember the struggles she had endured for the twenty years she fought the disease.”

“When that knot in your stomach from that hill gets to be too great, remember the tumor that grew inside her, pushing aside her organs until the pain became too great to bear,” his mind recalled.

Again, and again, he pulled all that she had suffered into his mind to push away the aching of the moment. He had never raced up a mountain before today. The sting of his lungs pushed his mind to grasp again and again of those final days; the feeling of her slipping away before she had gone, but then she would battle until the end. Before long, he was numb and in agony at the same time.

As he struggled up the last hill toward the finish line, he could hear the screams of those encouraging the runners. The young lad that had passed him in the last half mile was within reach, but there was no sense in catching him. It wasn’t why he was here. In the blink of an eye, the scene of the pink floating balloons passed overhead, and he was done. Body bent double, he gasped for breath as his lungs burnt. “It wasn’t enough, she suffered far more, so much more,” he told himself as he stood there still reeling from the pain.

Gently, as a bird calls from the morning window sill, there was a whisper of voice from beyond, and he looked up to see who spoke. There ahead of him, on the edge of a manicured garden, amongst the myriad of greenery stood a single yellow rose.

For a moment, the warmth of a mother’s love washed over him.

He smiled and thanked the Lord. She had run a good race, she had fought the good fight, and now, her journey’s end was complete; and so was his.

Thanks be to God.

Donate Here Today for High Country Breast Cancer Foundation Support

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by | October 22, 2017 · 7:13 pm

A Light in the Forest

“For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light.” -Ephesians. 5:8

Sitting here in the ballroom “G” of the Hilton hotel, my mind wants to comfort my physical being by taking me to my bench in front of the store in Collettsville. It’s Sunday morning. There was no river to cross. There was no long walk. There was no weight of my backpack to weigh me down. Yet, there is a weight upon me, a burden that washes over me even now; the knowing that what must be done to make it back to those mountains; the long lonely drive. There will be time to think, time to reflect. How much have I gleaned from this weekend’s training, I’m not sure? There have been moments of frustration, feelings of patience being tested, and questions within myself of if this is really where I need to be. Yet, there have been awakenings of what must be done to carry on.

There have been inspirational moments, and as always, God-like moments.

A pastor and fellow teacher, with whom I will be meeting shortly, stood up to share how one of his roles in life was that of being a pastor to a church for the past 21 years and what that meant, with regard to commitment and him becoming an educator.

Then there was yesterday, in response to my question to the returning beginning teacher panel where I asked them to name what one thing that they would have asked their coach if they were given a virtual “Blank Check,” with regard to help. The first three were pretty much as expected, vague without detail, even though I had purposefully asked for detail; but then came the fourth speaker. The young lady that responded spoke in a calm, measured voice almost as if she was wise beyond her years. She began by referring to scripture from the Old Testament, how King Solomon was given a “Blank Check” by God when asked what he needed or wanted. In his wisdom, he responded with, “Knowledge.” It was an “aha” moment for me. In front of a room of a multitude of personalities and unknown backgrounds, this young lady spoke from the truth, from the Word of God, unashamed to speak her faith, and with that, testified to many.

We were all blessed in the moment. I was literally blown away.

In the darkness, in the chaos, there was light.

Just a few hours earlier on the day before, the scene was much different.

Through the darkness, I ran alone seeking the light, yet there was none.

It was long before dawn when my car reached the gates of Umstead Park. The barred gate was across the road stopping anyone from entering the park after hours. I was not the first car to arrive. Several others had already parked on the shoulder of the road and were preparing to disembark on their morning exercise. It had been a while since I had risen this early in the day to run, so my mental clock was off a bit, knowing that eventually, the dawn would come. The time on my device read 6:00 AM. The man in the car before me said they rarely opened the gate before 7:00 AM. “Too long for me to wait,” I mused silently. A couple of runners with headlamps took off before I was done preparing to leave my car. “Looks like I’ll be carrying my phone the entire time,” I told myself, “I’ll probably need it for the light at least.” For once, I engaged the running app on my phone and took off. Before long, the pitch-black forest enveloped me, and the light from the screen of the device was my only means of keeping on the road. For the next four miles, until the light of dawn began to slowly fade into view, the weak beacon led my path. Each footstep was measured, each stride was reduced for fear of twisting an ankle or cracking a shin into some unseen obstacle. Like our faith, when we stray from the truth, the light, we stumble and fall. We are forced to slow down for the fear that envelopes us. Step by step, we carry on, even when that light is barely visible for to stray from the path is to give in to the darkness.

Eventually, my route met the back gate of the park. Beyond it, quiet residences sat nestled deep in the forest beside the seldom-used paved road that led to the bridge which spanned I40. Several years ago, I took my children to one of my company picnics. After we ate and played a little music for the attendees, we took a bicycle ride this same path and ended up turning around after reaching the bridge. To commemorate the moment, I recall taking a picture with my flip phone. There they stood, in that picture and in my mind, along the side of the road on the bridge, straddling their little bikes while peering over the railing at the blustery traffic on the highway below. We quickly returned to the peace of the forest. This particular morning, the park gate was as far as I needed to venture. Part of me didn’t want to change my last memory of that bridge, but rather, wanted it to remain special, one of those Kodak moments, as we used to say. Another place in time to remain a keepsake forever.

Turning around, I began heading back. The light now beginning to grow, I tucked my device away and was able to start stretching out my stride to a more normal, comfortable pace. Soon enough, I began meeting other runners who had started out later or who had turned around before me and were also heading back. One of those was a sturdy fellow who I easily caught, but something about him made me slow down and match his pace. We began talking about how far we’d gone and the forest around us. It felt good to be able to run and talk. Finally, my legs were returning. We continued chatting about where we’d lived and our military backgrounds but then the most surprising conversation began to ensue. The man’s name was Rick Graves, and his father had been an Independent Baptist preacher in Minot North Dakota. He shared this with me because of my Air Force experience. From that point forward, the miles began to fly by as we traveled in time to places in our memories, pasts that formed who we were and how we got there. “God has a purpose in everything we do,” I said to him as we ran, knowing that our encounter although may seem as chance, was something beyond what we could grasp. Rick became a JAG for the Army and had actually used his faith to help perform his job. He told me he often had to reflect on those moral issues in cases that needed Christian values from which only then could they be grounded. He talked about how our whole society’s thread of moral character is based on those Biblical truths and without them, we would live in chaos. As we ran, my mind thought of the morning’s lesson I was learning, from a stranger I met while running in the forest. Eventually, we came to the fork in the road, the place where our united path finally diverged. We shook hands and repeated one another’s name before saying goodbye.

“I am the way, the truth, and the light,” Jesus told his disciples. “No one comes to the Father but through me,” and so it is.

After we separated, my pace quickened for a bit, but soon the old legs began to tire. I wasn’t certain, but my body was telling me today’s run was much farther than I had been used to in these recent weeks. When I finally reached the car, the device read ten miles. Although the pain from the long run was fresh, the feeling of accomplishment was worth it. The combined joy of meeting a fellow believer deep in the forest on a dark, misty morning made it even more complete.

As my mind returned to the moment at hand, the pastor walked in as several others had been gathering during my focus on the previous morning’s run and we were about to begin. We moved to make a large circle about our end of the ballroom. The other end, workers were preparing the morning buffet bar. The preacher began to speak about how the morning’s service came to be; how the Lord had spoken to me and then I to him. Before that, he had waited for confirmation, and through that meeting of ours, his command was confirmed. We opened with prayer, and then the pastor asked some of the ladies if they had something they had prepared for us to sing. They looked at each other and said, not really, but they immediately knew of something else, something better. With no church organ, no grand piano, simply the voices of the multitude, they began to sing an old-time spiritual. I closed my eyes and felt the presence of the Lord around us. There in the grand ballroom, chairs, and tables covered white tablecloths scattered about us, we came together as one people, believers in Christ, a multitude of backgrounds, races, and cultures gathered together as one, worshipping as one, believing in one true God.

The preacher went on to speak about how we had been led to this day by the hand of the Lord. His sermon was perfect for the day, as his pulpit was the table before us. His scripture for the sermon was Romans 8:28, “ And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”  He shared how as educators, we all are called to a higher purpose. The moment resonated with everyone in the room.

I knew from the way he spoke, he had many years of preaching experience. His eloquence was matched only by his deep devotion He then went on to share his personal testimony. The powerful story and his salvation, it’s anniversary the day after my own Birthday, October 13th, had just passed. The story of his salvation was as moving as any I had ever heard, and then again, I had heard so much in the past few hours, but this surpassed it all.

Before the closing prayer, the ladies led us in another uplifting spiritual number, another one I had never heard before this day, but another one I’m certain I’ll hear on that far distant shore. Pastor Michael prayed us on out as the assembly behind us had grown. There was silence in the room where many had now amassed, but in reverence to our group, had remained silent.

We had found one another in the darkness, in the deepest part of the forest, and united as one.

The truth once more was told, Christ was upon our lips, and the will of God was with us.

Strangers hugged tearful goodbyes as we wrapped up our meeting. We soon would join the growing numbers in the room to finish out our teacher conference but this morning, on this last day, one of the most memorable moments was had. We may forget the speaker’s names at the conference, we may forget some of the programs taught, but one thing those of us who met on the morning may never forget is that memorable service, unannounced, unplanned, but created by the Master’s hand.

Many times, in this life, we find the real reason behind the event we attend is something greater than we had planned, and in this manner, once again, the God was there.

Thanks be to God.

 

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by | · 2:19 pm

Sunday Devotion, Oct. 22, 2017

The full harvest moon reflected off the roadway as my car neared the peak in the road as I made my way through Blowing Rock. It was barely 5:30 AM. Thoughts of how magnificent the image was before me washed across my consciousness. Never mind the picture, for they never did justice to such a sight. No, these were the instances in life that you simply had to be there to understand all that was in that moment.

My week had been much like that.

The morning announcement voice came over the intercom as it had done daily since the beginning of school. Her slow, southern drawl was as timeless as sweet tea on those balmy Sunday evenings after everyone had gone for the day. We had come to anticipate her pledge, its slow cadence melodic and ageless. So, this day started like many others, but before she had finished, there was something new, an unexpected announcement. Something about how her journey was not over, just turning another page. That sweet, calm voice had a hint emotion we never detected on those other mornings. There arose a lump in my throat as I tried to make sense. A muffled, shuffling sound came next as the microphone had been given to a ROTC Cadet who followed with a solemn pledge.

Before I knew it, my feet were heading to the office area, if nothing else, to share some words with those ladies I so rarely got to see. As I rounded the corner, the hint of what we heard was confirmed. There was nothing left to do as I approached than to give her a hug of comforting compassion. The moment was as sincere as was the beauty of the moon just hours earlier. Nothing could be conveyed that would portray that moment as nary a dry eye was among us.

John 14:17-18 tells us, “Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. 18 I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.” When we walk in Christ, as we are in Him, He is in us, and so we share that faith with those around us no matter our circumstance, no matter our situation. As he comes to us to be our Comforter, allow us to do so in the coming week ahead to those with whom we encounter in our daily walk of faith.

Thanks be to God.

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