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Stumped…

For days, I had passed over it; the unobtrusive, worn maple stump.

The tires of my tractor occasionally bumped into the hard gray knob, but it was low enough that it didn’t impede the progress of the building site. Back and forth, pushing the soft, red dirt with the front-end loader of my tractor the land began to take shape. The ground was slowly beginning to resemble the start of a foundation for the future out-building.

This wasn’t my first.

I can still hear J.W. Parson’s voice telling me, as he grinned from ear to ear, “Boy, you’re married, right?” We had paused between me trying to play the song on my fiddle he had just shown me and the next few minutes when we would begin the painful process once more. The room in which we sat was lit by one weak bulb hanging down from the ceiling. The string that you pulled to turn it off and on with lay draped across its yellow luminance. Around us implements of killing hogs hung on the walls; saws, knives, and axes. Their clean, sharp edges glowed in the dim light. There was an air of reality in J.W.’s out-building that only aged blood on wooden floors can exude. Reno Sharpe and an elderly friend of mine who had tagged along for the evening’s entertainment sat on an empty upturned five-gallon bucket nearby smiling as he probably already knew what was coming.

“Yes sir,” I replied unsure of where this was going.

“You got you an outbuilding to play in?”

“No, not yet.”

He laughed and winked over at Reno.

“Well, you better git to building yourself one if you want to stay married,” which he followed up with a roaring laugh as he slapped his knee. Reno and I joined in, for it was apparent what he meant.

In a matter of speaking, the lack of having a place to practice as a beginning fiddler was my stump back then. Before I could really go further, that outbuilding had to be built. Yet, to become the fiddler I had hoped would take countless hours of isolated study and practice.

Nothing would come easy.

Not long following that evening’s lesson, I began constructing my studio in the barn where for several years my violin would eventually sound more like that of J.W.’s, but never entirely. In that isolated home-away-from-home, we would find a retreat from which music, art, and writing flowed. It was more than just an out-building; it became our sanctuary of sorts.

To begin, it was necessary to take a step back.

That was then, this is now.

Once more, we are beginning again; starting over; seeking to find that special place where we can feel the hand of our Lord reach and speak through us. What we hope to achieve will not be easy. Yet, there is so much for which to be thankful. In this journey of faith, we are constantly reminded of the world we left behind and how we are made anew.

So, once more, we begin again.

From the forest, the opening was carved. The aged, rotting maple seemed an easy target when the trees were selected to be cut. Its stump remained all through the clearing process, never presenting itself an obstacle other than the occasional bump under the tires. It wasn’t until the land was leveled and the string lines were pulled that it became obvious; the stump had to go. The very foundation could not be set without it being completely removed. What once seemed a trivial matter now halted the entire construction process. It seemed nothing more than a grayish-mud splattered annoyance that would be gone in a matter of minutes.

Then reality struck.

When the blade of the scoop began trying to find the outer edges of the root ball, it quickly became apparent, this was a much bigger problem than first imagined. In essence, I was going to have to take a step back even further than imagined in order to extract the now, unavoidable barrier.

Last week, working with the Christian club students, we found a similar reality check.

There again was the stump; one that at first seemed to have little if no consequence in what we were planning. But as we progressed in what we had hoped to achieve; evangelizing the Word of God to the rest of the student body, it became apparent that there was something daunting sitting in the path of our progress; an unavoidable root ball of sorts; fear.

When we began to do more than speak about what we should do as Christians, when we would actually go out and witness to others, it was then that we realized how ill-prepared we really were. The very act of approaching others in order to speak to them about Christ froze our students, stopping their very progression of growth. Like those students, when we try to evangelize to the world around us, some of us quickly find our shortcomings. We hear that voice in the back of our head reminding us, “You are not ready.” It is then obvious, like the tree stump, we must go back to the beginning and start over, learning what we must do to witness as those early disciples.
Digging deep into the earth surrounding the remains of the tree we would begin to hack away at the tenuous arms that held the once massive tree in place. Like membranes of bone, the ancient arms stretched in all directions. Like embedded fears from childhood, our inhibitions to speaking to others about our faith can only be overcome when we remove the restraints we put upon ourselves; our self-imposed root ball. With time, study, and trust in the Lord, our faith will grow until we understand there is no fear in serving Him; for He is with us in all that we do.

The back-breaking work was eventually rewarded this past weekend when the massive root ball gave way. It was an enormous relief. Once the obstruction was gone, the re-leveling of the building site took only a few minutes.
Likewise, the work with the students will take time. It won’t be easy, and at times it will seem as if we can’t win but in the end, the reward we will obtain will be far greater than that of removing even the most stubborn tree stump. Once they have found their confidence, their personal stumps will be gone, leaving the ground from which to build.

Bringing salvation to the lost will be something they, and each of us will never forget, and the heavenly reward will be for all eternity.

Thanks be to God.

“The preparations of the heart in man, and the answer of the tongue, is from the Lord. All the ways of a man are clean in his own eyes; but the Lord weigheth the spirits. Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established. …” – Proverbs 16

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Wings Like a Dove…

“And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.” -Psalm 55:6

Sometimes, these have to be told.

As I pulled my car into the Medical Center parking lot, the reason for the appointment wasn’t really on my mind. The modern brick façade was new enough to make you feel as if there was a certain level of unguaranteed trust, whether or not it was warranted. The entrance was as grand and intricately decorated as any five-star hotel. Lush vegetation covered detailed landscaped gardens that lined the building’s edges. As my eyes followed the beauty of the architecture and fauna, I suddenly spied an opening. There were several spots right up front, but it became clear most of them were handicap. Luckily, there was one just next to the last blue stenciled spot. My appointment was not for another hour, so I backed into the space and leaned the seat back; time for a quick nap.

The morning sun had just reached the top of the trees nearby, and soon I was gone.

It wasn’t long before the next thing I knew, I was on a plane returning from where I had come. The flight was overbooked, so finding a seat was difficult. This airline policy was simply, “First come, first served,” so if you find a seat, take it, no matter where it was on the plane. I pushed through the crowd and eventually found a seat near the front. The businessman seated next to me began to ask me questions about the purpose of my trip. Exhausted, I tried my best to give him my undivided attention but soon found myself drifting off once again. The hum of the jet engines melded with the man’s voice and became one.

Yet, once more, I found myself returning to the previous Medical Center parking lot, or at least I thought I was. This time, I reached the place where my car had been earlier, but now it was gone. An immediate slice of panic swept over my mind. “Had my car been towed,” I thought, trying to recall what had transpired since my last visit. There at the end of the marked spot were signs indicating Reserved Spaces, which only those specific numbered decals were allowed to be used. Again, the anxiety of not finding my car raced through my consciousness until the realization of what I was doing became apparent.

There would be no need for the car.

From that point on, I tried to find the elaborate entrance, but it too was missing. My flight path soon took me from one similarly decorated building after another. The complex all seemed to match as did many of the newer office parks these days. Eventually tired of sight-seeing, I glided into a European style restaurant with stucco rock walls, dark wood chair rails, and white tablecloths. The people dining didn’t’ seem to mind me hovering over the tables. Before long I found a waiter that gave me directions to the correct building. Assuring me that I was not totally lost, he said it was simply up the hill and around the corner. Carefully I turned and began floating toward the door. It was more challenging to fly in a restaurant than you might think. Your arms and legs have to be accounted for because they are now at table height instead of at your side or beneath you as when you walk. In my previous flights across fields and trees, there was no fear of bumping into something. Back in those days, it was simply a matter of maintaining altitude. Where your arms and legs were located mattered little. In fact, most of the time, in those days, I was flapping or kicking them to keep going. If one thing had changed, it was definitely the ability to control my aeronautical maneuvers. Never before would it have been possible to fly so steadily indoors, especially in a dining facility without knocking over a whole table of food. We often take for granted what we use in navigating our way through an eating establishment. It’s nice to have an appropriate aisle through which to walk, but flight paths rarely considered. In addition, you just can’t zip up to the ceiling and be on your way. No, there are ceiling fans with which care must also be taken. When I eventually found my way back outside, it was with a great sigh of relief that I quickly flew toward the correct building for which I had previously searched.

There it was, the grand entrance.

Carefully, I made my way through the automatic doors. The hiss of their opening seemed to pull me in; softly and silently. The foyer was as beautiful as the outside. A splendid chandelier hung over the marble floor. The sunlight through the surrounding glass walls gleamed off the floor making it seem almost like the sky opened up below me instead of above. A wide staircase flowed from an upper room down to the glowing floor, along which an intricately woven metal handrail stood.

“We’re so glad you made it back,” the doctor said as he walked down the stairs toward the bottom step. His voice was like many at once, yet saying nothing out loud.  I hadn’t noticed him when I first entered. He was wearing a typical white doctor’s smock that seemed to radiate with light.

I carefully alit in a standing position from my flying position upon the glass-like floor. In the back of my mind, something said, “That was a first.” Never before had I landed on my feet when having taken flight; at least not successfully without waking myself. Usually, there was an ugly near crash and then that moment when you awaken having shaken yourself out of the dream. Yet, this time was different.

Standing there in the glow of the Great Physician, there was a completeness about it all. Somehow, I didn’t fear what he was about to tell me nor did I seem to want for anything; it was as if all was well with anything and everything.

“You are healed,” He said.

A joy came over me like nothing I had ever known before.

The faint glow of the morning sun was just beginning to filter through the bedroom windows when I opened my eyes.

It was Saturday, and there was so much to do. I sat up on the edge of the bed and thought about what had just transpired. There was an incredible longing to return to that place, that feeling. Turning, I looked back at the softness of the pillow, then turned to face the day.

God would welcome me home, just not today.

Thanks be to God.

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The Rivers We Cross…

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by your name;
You are Mine.
2 When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned,
Nor shall the flame scorch you.
3 For I am the Lord your God,…” – Isaiah 48:1-3

Before me, the mountains lay shrouded in the mist.

Grandfather remains hidden under dark skies. He doesn’t want to be bothered today. The rain had cleared long enough for a short hike, so here I stand watching as clouds like waves on the ocean, crash against the shoreline. In calm, quiet, but formidable stealth, each one smashes against the bulwark of the peaks yet to be engulfed by the coming storms. Somewhere below the mist lay the sleepy little village of Collettsville. Along its main street lined with mill town houses the John’s River flows, clear and cold. Part of my walk had already taken me past its banks confirming that the water was once more, clear of the day’s rains. My mind thought of the recent journeys to church and how for three Sundays in a row I had crossed the river to reach the other side. It became part of my personal challenge. As I explained it to Pastor Joe, it made me appreciate being able to make it to church. In life, we often take for granted the ease with which we worship and all that has made that possible. This summer’s journey had made me more aware of this fact than ever before. So, as part of my weekly walk to Sunday morning preaching, fording the John’s River became my rite of passage, so to speak. Each time I encountered a new twist, a new challenge. Each time, there were the difficulties making it out of the river and up the steep bank on the town side of the water. It made me think of how we often cross our own rivers.

Both my mother and father have gone on. They have both crossed their River of Jordan to reach that far distant shore. Each passed in their own way, but it was my blessing to have had the opportunity to say goodbye to each of them before they stepped into the current and began their journey across; God made that possible. I was not there on the other side to welcome them home, but in some instance, I know they both had steep embankments up which they had to struggle; death did not come easy. So it is for many who have died, and for those times we pray that the Lord give them comfort in their time of crossing. We would want the same. As Christ suffered on the cross for our sins, he too felt the painful anguish of death’s sting, but he was not defeated by it. From life to death we all shall pass, but where we finish is up to us; a choice that must be made here on this side of that beautiful flowing strand.

“A decision many fail to make in time,” I thought to myself, standing there admiring God’s beauty even in the midst of an approaching storm.

The stillness was broken by a shrill snort. Behind me on a tree-covered peak beyond where I stood, a buck huffed irreverently at me; my presence had encroached upon his domain. One couldn’t help to think that perhaps he was as enamored with the scene as was I. The crickets spoke of the coming darkness, so I made my way back down the slope to home leaving the deer to his peace. My thoughts meandered back to the clear flowing waters. Tomorrow I would try once more to find myself wading the waters to reach the sanctuary, challenged but not diminished by what it took to reach that distant shore. The first step is always the hardest.

Likewise, when we decide to take our leap of faith and commit our lives to serving the Lord, the first step is the most difficult. Stepping from the safety of the shore into the unknown can be enough to cause us to reconsider our decision. We think it is all our doing, that we’ll have to make it on our own. What we often fail to realize is that once we begin our journey with Him, that is Him, God, that will be there to help make up the differences we cannot fathom. So when we finally realize that we are not alone, we can make that first step.

The freezing water at first is like burning fire, but with time, we become numb to its pain. As we learn to trust in Him, we are able to carry on, pushing forward, becoming numb to our previous fears. The current is strong, and it takes every ounce of strength to take each new step, yet we are not deterred. In our weakness, we become strong in Him. The reward we seek is far greater than the obstacles that try to dissuade us from reaching that distant shore. The cold has lessened the pains; still, we continue on regardless of what others might say or think. Once we find ourselves committed, standing on the brink of the rushing waters, we still struggle to make the crossing. They never said it would be easy. Trial and tribulation buffet us like the coming storms before me this night. Below the surface, rocks make each step painful as our bare feet seek to guide our way. Meanwhile, we are burdened down by the past life; financially and emotionally. The anchor of our self-inflicted burdens become unwanted drag against the current. Breaking free is in some ways as difficult as dying. In essence, we must die to our formers selves so that we made be made anew in Christ. As Paul said, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.” We tend to try to bring the past with us, and the problems therein. With persistence, we push on. One by one, we set our burdens free, lightening our load. As we learn to walk in our faith, those restraints that kept us shackled to the past are broken away, and we are set free.

With each step, we find a rhythm to the river’s bottom, and soon, we are beginning to find the nearing distant shore. We know we are on the right path for the current is against us, like those trials through which we persevere, the build our character, and with each one, we become stronger in our faith. Once we make landfall, we wearily climb up out of the river, careful not to slip and fall back in. Looking down from above, we can see from whence we came. There is peace in knowing that you have made it through the storm. There is peace in knowing that with Him, all things are possible, and because of Him, we have that distant shore for which we may strive.
The choice is ours.

Step into the water and begin your journey.

You’ll not turn back, for if it is His will, then it shall be done.

Thanks be to God.

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Day 3: Baziglia: A Day Unlike Any Other…

The coolness of the morning still lingered as they pulled into the parking lot. A small, unassuming building built partly of stone with stucco façade shouldered a small sign indicating it was the museum. The structure stood in the shadows of the granite walls nearby, its contents holding memories that were etched into the surrounding mountain. On a dark night, when the wind blows through the recesses of stone, if you listen close, you might hear the screams of the dying; martyrs whose blood became the seeds of the Reformation.

The doors and windows of the little heritage center were still shut, it was obviously closed. There was no disappointment. Nearby, the sound of the crashing water beckoned. History on gallery walls could wait, there was much to see today, much more. The four men spilled out of the van, grabbing their walking gear and backpacks in preparation for what lay ahead. Glancing back across the threshold of the valley, there in the right-hand bend of the river were familiar peaks; the Baziglia stood tallest.  The sun was just beginning to kiss its peak. The mountain’s history was well known to each of the four. They had all studied about the last stand made by Henri Arnaud during the Glorious Return, and the remnants of the thousand-strong fighting force that departed the shores of Lake Geneva on August 16th, 1689.

There on that peak the glowed with the morning sunrise, 300 of the surviving Waldensian warriors resisted the onrushing force of over 24,000 soldiers and Catholic mercenaries. Lasting through the winter on what God had provided when they found potatoes while digging trenches for their ramparts, they withstood an onslaught of firepower from cannons that had literally surrounded the summit. Obliterating their defenses, the soldiers prepared to scale the steep walls the next morning to claim their prize; capturing the heretics and ending their resistance, once and for all. That evening, Arnaud and his men prayed yet again for divine intervention. Within a few hours, a great fog fell upon the mountain top, obscuring the bonfires of the celebrating forces below. The amber glow of the hangman’s gallows faded as the shroud grew thicker, eventually totally erasing any sign of light from the valley beneath. The fog was so thick you could not see your hand in front of your face. Captain Paulat Tron, one of the ten original officers appointed by Arnaud when they left Switzerland, had grown up in the area. He came to Arnaud at that moment and said, “I can lead the men out of here, Lord willing. It was on this mountain that I first learned to walk, and here that God hath delivered me unto this day to save us if it be His will.” Later, that night, Arnaud and his men, led by Captain Tron, crawled on their hands and knees, blindly following the one before the other, as they slipped past the sleeping enemy. Their path was nothing more than goat trails carved into the rock, on precipices that fell thousands of feet away below. One slip would have meant certain death. By the grace of God, they survived, and when the next morning’s sunrise began to light the mountain peak, much like this day, Arnaud and his men were seen crawling along the opposite peak, like ants, safely escaping once again. This was the moment the Duke of Savoy finally realized that the hand of God was with the Waldensians, those people of the valleys that had felt his wrath for so long. It was then that the Duke sent his army to unite with the heretics and resist the Papal authority. It was then, at that moment, the persecutions finally ended, once and for all.

Freedom would come, slowly.

Like newborns learning to walk, they would eventually find a new world of unfettered faith, one that would allow them the freedom to make decisions meant to appeal to their Christian goodness, while forfeiting the strict tenants that had previously kept them separate from the world around them. Choices that seemed minor at the time would eventually affect their heritage for centuries to come. Sadly, their choices would be the very thing that would force many to leave, or give up their ancient faith.

Freedom wasn’t free.

As cramped legs were stretched and arrangements made for the rendezvous later that afternoon, one of the men paused on the bridge that crossed the raging torrent. His mind reflecting upon that memory of the past as he watched the sunrise slowly encompass the rest of the historic peak before him. He himself, another Tron, had only recently learned of his ancestor’s heroic legacy. Its revelation had been another miraculous moment in his life; one that had already been blessed beyond measure. But this day was not intent upon reliving the past, for it was a day of firsts, another day of discovery. United with two traveling companions, they continued their ascent into the Baziglia valley. Passing a fountain tank made of granite slabs, they saw bottles of wine and beer placed by others that had already started their hike earlier in the day; celebratory drinks for the return. Their reason for being there would become clear, but only later that day.

They passed through the small village of ancient stone cottages. Their construction could easily be placed within the first millennium. One might close his eyes and open them thinking he had been transported back to medieval times. Through narrow cart paths, the trail wound until they turned the switch back and quickly realized they had already climbed to a height above the small cluster of homes below. Stone roofs and tiny gardens with boxes of flowers of all colors hailed up at them from beneath. Dark figures of wood and rock made a picturesque background to the bouquet that seemed to grow in abundance wherever one looked. The trail was rocky but lined by tall grasses, some of which had been recently cut and lay upon the hard stone making it slippery in spots. As the foot slipped on stone, the body could feel the strain. The climb already starting to tax leg muscles that would need every ounce of strength this day. Heartbeats increased as did the breathing, each matching the excitement for wanting to see what stood around the next bend. The air was refreshing, even cool, but with the rigors of the climb, tiny beads of perspiration began to find their way along one’s hatband. One of the men that had been there the year before mentioned that they would soon reach a point where the ancient village of Col De Magne would appear as if out of nowhere. Sure enough, before there was time to consider the pace, they came upon a rise in the ground, and there it lay before them, the deserted remains of Col De Magne; an even more ancient village than the one through which they had already passed. It was now uninhabited save for a couple of buildings where shepherds claimed temporary shelter.

The rise in the ground was covered with all manner of wild flowers, interspersed amongst the native grasses. Above it all, the clear blue bird sky breathed life into everything beneath. The rush of the torrent down the hill echoed off the granite walls of Baziglia as the whispers of the past called between stone walls of the abandoned village. Like spirits inviting their guests, the open doors and windows seemed to call to them. They crossed a crystal-clear stream, treading lightly on rocks to keep their feet from getting wet, and walked down the hill in a setting so beautiful it almost seemed surreal. Once upon a time, there were children running along this path, chasing one another in play, enjoying the beauty of the moment, knowing that days like this were few and far between. Nearby, sheep would be grazing on the lush summer grasses. The icy grip of winter would leave them wanting more of the lazy days of plenty, and remind them of the harshness of the world in which they lived. They were well suited for this life, but one couldn’t help to think that once in a while, there was a respite for even the most ardent student of puritanism.

It was almost too much to pass, as the three men were inspired around each turn. The distance ahead seemed to be negligible, nor matter.

We find in life, we are much like this time as well. In our youth, we are intrigued by the beauty of the world. The nature that surrounds us is almost too appealing to deny its existence, so we chase one scenic vista after another, failing to realize as life passes by, we are taking in what lies on the surface without revealing the truth behind what is beneath. We linger in places momentarily when we should consider them with more resolution; instead, we admire them only in passing. If we were to look deeper, we would find what awaits us in those higher realms of consciousness are far greater than what we first consider the greatest spectacle in our time.

One of the men, realizing there was too much to dismiss, stayed behind to capture more of the lost village. Meanwhile, the other two continued on, pushed by something within. Like drifting leaves upon the wind, they passed the tiny hamlet to the next bend in the valley. Each traveling separate, they found themselves exploring one rock outpost after another. Seemingly, without trying, they found themselves reunited and began their climb together again. As they walked, they shared in the Glory of God on this day and how it was so inspiring to see all that they had already seen, not even thinking of what lay ahead.

As the pair crested a small ridge, the ice pack of the winter still lay frozen before them, like a giant glacier. Azure blue water swirled in a pool below the waterfall that flowed beneath the white layer of ice above. Beneath the still water, they took a drink, refreshing themselves with the bounty God had provided. The twenty-third Psalm came to mind, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside still waters…” They paused to drink from the pool, sipping from the life-giving fluid and refreshing their tiring bodies. They pushed on, for each new turn brought more amazing revelations.

Not long after, they closed in at the base of the last, and tallest climb, they gave pause. High above where they stood, tiny figures climbed toward the peak. “The bottles in the trough must be theirs,” one of the men said to the other. “Yep,” the other nodded in reply. As their eyes followed the trail between the climbing party above them and to where they stood, they reflected upon the daunting task. Looking high into the sky overhead they thought out loud, “Could they do it,” they asked each other? The waterfalls that now surrounded them whispered back, “Go tell it on the Mountain.”

“Yes, let’s do it,” they told one another.

When we finally awaken to what matters most in life, for some, it is too late. There are many that would never make it beyond the still water. There would be many that would never make it to the deserted village. So many become distracted and lost in life that they give up before they even get started. We see them wandering in a world in which they cannot escape. When we try to reach out to them, it is as if they can’t understand the words we say to them, so foreign is the concept of what awaits them in the eternal life, so caught up are they now in this worldly life. When Jesus found the two men on the road to Emmaus, he opened their minds so that they could comprehend all he had to tell them, and so it is with us.

When the men pushed onward, it is like when we are finally conscious of what we must do to reach that heavenly land we all seek to find in the life hereafter. The fortunate ones accept Christ and find that they too can become one with our maker, and when we do, the mountain top is only just the beginning. Climbing the ascent, their lungs ached for more breathe as their legs burnt like fire, but they pushed onward. No great triumph ever comes without a sacrifice, and so the same can be said of our salvation; each has a price to be paid. Christ gave all so that we might have life eternal, and so likewise, the men pushed on through the pain, knowing that what awaited would be worth the momentary strains that momentarily pressed upon their bodies.

Push, pant, pause, breath; push, pant, pause, breath; slowly, they ascend the mountain, slowly, the valley below grows more and more distant.

Yet, when the goal seemed so close, there was one last raging torrent. Unlike any seen before, this one’s ferocity seemed unmatched by the others. It roared within massive boulders seemingly uncut by the eroding forces of nature. Frothing through the gap between them and the reachable summit, there seemed no easy way. “Would they have to try to cross this maddening force?”

“There must be a way,” one of the men said to the other.

“If it’s the Lord’s will, then yes, there surely is,” replied the other.

“Let me descend this ridge and see, and I’ll let you know,” he said, disappearing below the other.

The man left behind watching his companion vanish below the brilliant pasture grasses. His legs were beginning to feel the strain of the climb. “There’s not much gas left in the tank,” he thought to himself. “If nothing else, we have already achieved more this day than I had ever asked. If it is God’s will, then we will find our way to that nearing summit, but if not, I’m content to end my journey here.” He breathed a sigh and leaned on his walking stick, drinking in the beauty that enveloped everything around him.

His thoughts were soon interrupted.

“There’s a bridge,” came the cry from below.

“Serious”

“Yeah, come on, we can make it.”

Finally, when there seems to be nothing left in the legs, they reach the peak, one last torrent crossed, they achingly climb that last ridge, and there before them a vista that seems to stretch to the ends of the earth. There were no words, no pictures that could capture what lay at their feet; all of God’s creation spread out before them.

Standing there in that place, they could only think of Jesus and the scene of Satan’s temptation on the mountain. “Then the devil, taking Him up on a high mountain, showed Him[d] all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time. 6 And the devil said to Him, “All this authority I will give You, and their glory; for this has been delivered to me, and I give it to whomever I wish. 7 Therefore, if You will worship before me, all will be Yours. 8 And Jesus answered and said to him, “Get behind Me, Satan![e] For[f] it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, and Him only you shall serve.’ ””” – Luke 4:5-8

There before them, lay all of God’s creation, a beautiful, magnificent display of the grandeur of our Heavenly Father; and only Him shall we worship.

The men sit and eat, as raptors soar before them, like dancers putting on a show for their guests. On the distant peaks, in snow covered shadows, mountain goats play, romping back and forth in the white and brown terrain. Not far from them, ferrets chase one another. The green grasses full of vibrant wild flowers laugh as the world up there seems so close to Heaven. The men feel the hand of God upon them and soon realize, their time there is nearly spent. The precious memory that this place would put upon their minds would be cherished for years to come. The inspiration alone would come back to them, again and again, whenever the world would seem too much.

For a just a few minutes that day, two men found themselves closer than ever before to God. If only for a brief moment, God had revealed to them the glory that awaits each of us when we reach our heavenly home.

A mere blink of an eye in the realm of eternal time, a glimpse of what can be ours when we choose the path of righteousness. A picnic with God for two sojourners who never imagined nor expected that they would find themselves on top of a mountain dining with their Heavenly Father that day, but yet, there they were.

And for just a few minutes, on a day unlike any other, they were all the more blessed.

Thanks be to God.

Watch a video of their experience by clicking here: God’s Grandeur

 

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An Unforgettable Sunrise…

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

We can no more know what will be in 20 years than we can know what tomorrow will bring; it is like being able to see what is not visible. We ourselves are like the mist, as scriptures tell us, “Whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.” Will my body be capable of traversing what my mind’s eye can see? Will there be the breath of life left within my soul? All of these things and more cannot be answered, nor should they. Our faith should sustain us through all that is, and all that will be to come.

One may project themselves mentally into that point beyond their horizon, that which tells of a distant time and place which none can know. From that place, they may reflect back upon all that might have transpired. From such appointed place we may see with more clarity what we should find of value; of meaning; of purpose. We can take away from our reflection in that distant horizon such  that, when our life’s journey has come to fruition, we all would like to say with assurance, “We have run the race well.”

To run that race well, there are a few moments which I hope to find, which many may find as their own: to see my children grow into adulthood, to see them become parents with successful careers; to hold that first grandchild in my arms; to see the end of a successful career of teaching; to see my wife and I gracefully grow old together; to see with mine own eyes, the bridge at Salbertrand; to see the sunrise from the top of the Chisone Valley as did those brave men on their march through the Glorious Return; and lastly, but not least of all, to lead others to Christ through the blessings God has bestowed upon me. These are but a few of all that I hope to find on that day, so far from now.

Yet, in the blink of an eye, it will be here.

Time is a precious commodity none of us can take for granted.

The bridge between now and the end of our time here on earth grows shorter with each passing day. We are aliens upon this earth, put here by our creator, and when we pass, we move on to the place He hath created for us; a home eternal. What we do with the time we have left is as much our choosing as is our choice of deciding if we want to live beyond this life, through the salvation Christ has given to all, should they choose.

When we stand on that future mountain top and look back, one should hope to see how they have lifted up others in their wake, being as Christ-like as possible. To become the light is all we should seek.

To get there from here, we must take one step at a time. Each new footprint, insignificant as each one may seem, leads us to the eventual destination if we can remain focused. In our hearts, we know the words, “Yeah though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff comfort me…” All around us, the dark peaks of struggle are pitched against us. The fog of doubt and uncertainty shroud our way. Yet, we push onward, one step at a time. We must not look back when the sorrows pull us down. We cannot relive what has gone on before us. We cannot return the dead to the living; we must push onward.

Closing my eyes, I drift off to that future time and place.

From that distant vantage point, my breath is labored. The height at which we have achieved to gain this point is substantial in altitude. The air is thin up here. In my mind, I’m standing upon the highland overlooking the Chisone Valley; the year is 1689. Darkness is before me, it is night. Behind me, I can hear men struggling up the side trying to reach the summit. We are nearest to Him on this imagined peak. What we left behind to obtain our position is a haunting reminder of how our lives have been shaped by perseverance. Like Arnaud, his men having fought past the bridge at Salbertrand, seeing the miracle of 600 men routing over 2,500, they are now the survivors of the ten days of forced march. They have avoided the main roads, taking the goat paths and cliff faces in their march. They have fought through one village after another. After this late day battle, they are now struggling through the night to reach the summit. Exhausted, they will fall asleep almost before their heads hit the ground. Arnaud stays awake well past what his body will allow making sure the few sentries he has posted remain awake. He doesn’t know I’m here, but together we watch as the coming dawn begins to lighten the eastern sky.

With trepidation, we await, as the sound of men scattered about us sleep in fitful slumber. The wounded moan as they turn to find comfort upon the hard ground; there is little to relieve their pain. The campfire is nearly gone, its embers glowing red, like the horizon that begins to hint of the coming day.

As the dawn broke before them on that glorious morning, the sunlight filtered into their homeland, those ancient valleys of granite and raging torrents. Their faith was at a zenith, they knew this was not the end. Before them lay the unknown. God had surely delivered them to this point for a reason. Yes, they had made it. Yet, the battle to reclaim their valleys had only begun. The dead that they had left behind, now almost half their number, cannot be forgotten; yet, they must not allow the darkness to consume their fate. Before them, the mountain falls away, revealing the Chisone. Some are eager to get down below; family homesteads occupied by the enemy burn in their minds. Liberation of their own farms begins to overwhelm them, but their leader, Pastor Arnaud, recognizes this inner strife and calms them once more with prayer.

“Men, let us bow our heads, ..God, your hand has been upon us each and every step of the way. We thank you for all that you have given us to this day, but Lord, you know better than we, that if it is your will, this place which you hath prepared for us in the beginning, will once more be returned to us again. We ask for the forgiveness of our sins, for taking another man’s life is something we do not dismiss easily from our hearts, but at the same time, we ask that you forgive those that seek to destroy us. For all we do, we do in servitude in our Holy name. For we thank you, God the Father, and ask that you continue to watch over us as we go forth, so that we may be allowed to restore the faith, truth, and the light back to the valleys from whence we hath come. Thank you for your son Jesus Christ, who died, was buried, and rose on the third day. His blood was shed for our sins, so that we may have life eternal. In all these things, we thank you, in God’s Holy Name,…Amen.”

Painfully, Arnaud and his men arose and began the ascent into the dark valley of the Chisone below to reclaim their homeland. There, hiding in their own homes, churches, and villages, the enemy awaited.

Painfully, in that distant time, we will continue on in our ascent into that dark valley below where the enemy awaits; Satan. There, hiding in our own homes, churches, and villages, he awaits our every move.

We must do all that we can to bring them back to the faith of our ancestors, to bring them the salvation for which they were once freely given.

Each faces an uncertain future.

Each knows from whence they came.

Each knows that the going forward will not be easy. Time is against us all, no matter when we face it, but with our faith, we can find our way is not alone. “We can do all things through Christ who strengthens us,” and in that, we can face tomorrow.

We know not what tomorrow may bring, but with faith, we can face tomorrow.

In all that we do, let us serve Him, and to never forget,

Thanks be to God.

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Day 1 Cont’d: Full Circle

“But we are not of those who draw back to perdition, but of those who believe to the saving of the soul.” -Jeremiah 10:39

Day 1: Full Circle

Through hardship, through strife, through centuries of life, we push on.

The night before: On our two-hour ride from the airport in Milan to our final destination for the day, Hotel Palavas, we searched the horizon for their approach; the Alps. Time was not on our side; the sun was quickly falling from the sky. We passed verdant green fields of rice, corn, and vineyards. Each of us fighting fatigue and heavy eyelids, watched with anticipation. Slowly, the horizon began to grow in height. Faintly, there began to appear something that one might construe as either clouds or mighty peaks, unbelievably high. Yet, before our eyes could obtain focus on those majestic altitudes, the sun fell below a nearby peak, and a shroud fell upon the light in the sky. Like Christmas Eve, the present would have to wait to be opened in the morning. Some of us drifted off to fitful naps as round-a-bouts and traffic tossed our heads to-and-fro. Before we knew it, our bus approached an Alpine-looking hotel on the outskirts of Villar Pellice, Hotel Palavas. The staff greeted the busload of weary travelers with open arms. They had a prepared a hearty supper in advance for us, even in the late hour. As darkness fell, we unloaded our bags and once more, hauled, lifted, and tugged them to our collective rooms. The bed called loudly, yet hunger made us leave the welcome repose to find ourselves in the community dining room which would serve as our breakfast and supper for the next week during our stay. Here, long tables made and “L” shape, and we seated ourselves wherever we felt comfortable. Most of the students from Andrew’s University collected at one end of the “L” while the rest of us, professors, staff, teachers, preachers, and guests made up the rest of the seating arrangement. In my own assignment, I felt the least of these. The fact that I was even here was still unbelievable. Trying to bring myself to accept that it was real, I looked around the room of this hotel that was well over 500 years of age. The walls were made of stone, covered over with a decorative plaster. The room was very much like one might find at any other Alpine Inn, wood panels below a chair rail, above which the white plaster covering the ancient stones.

Each evening, as was the first, we were served family style, where heaping platters of pasta, vegetables, and bread were brought out to us until we were pleasantly filled.

Our bellies full, and our bodies exhausted from the nearly twenty hours of being awake, we soon found our rooms once more and collapsed upon our beds, eager to find that present awaiting us at sunrise.

The first thing that I recall was the sound of birds singing outside our windows. We had been paired with other members of our group for room assignments, and my roommate was my dear friend, Pastor Barry Mahorney. He was still sleeping when, like that little child wanting to be the first one down to the tree on Christmas morning, I quietly as possible, slipped on my clothes, grabbed my sketchbook, pencils, and phone then headed downstairs and out the front door to greet the day.

As the large, dark wooden front door closed behind me, the chill struck me immediately. Prepared, I pulled the long sleeve shirt closer to my neck and headed off. Past the nearby rooftop, there was the shadow of either a mountain or a very dark cloud. It wasn’t until I passed through a nearby narrow alley and came out on a higher rail of a little back road that I finally got my first glimpse. There, standing taller than I could believe were the peaks of the nearby mountain range above Bobbio Pellice.

“Praise God,” I breathed into the air, as the fog from my breath steamed ahead.

Excited just being here, it all slowly began to unveil before me; the scenery, the miracle of my just being here, the ultimate experience I had yet to find; it was all so much to grasp.

The night before, the staff had eagerly handed me a letter that had been waiting for my arrival. It was an invitation to come to the Ancient Pathways Church on Saturday night. I was to call the Pastor Estaban Janavel when I arrived. But, since we were tired and it was late, I decided to wait until Friday; Day 1.

Below where I walked two men were working moving their irrigation equipment, so I found a spot on an ancient stone wall and began to sketch the world before me, trying to soak in every aspect as it unfolded. It soon became apparent that the arches of water from just two sprinklers, which each one stood about the height of your waist, could cover one of their pastures. In fact, it also became obvious that their cattle were extremely well-behaved compared to those that I once owned, for they only needed a string stretched like an electric wire about twenty-four inches above the ground to keep them contained. My cattle would have laughed at that, and ran across the road into the neighbor’s garden at first glance at such a meager contraption. Later that day, we would actually see farmers moving a herd from one tiny field to the next. This was certainly a different world.

When I finally got back to the hotel and had breakfast, I asked the proprietor to call Pastor Janavel for me and give him the message that we would meet him at noon in Torre Pellice by the statue of Henri Arnaud. The reason being, I didn’t speak enough Italian, and Esteban didn’t speak enough English; thankfully our host, Elmer, could do both very well. After the meeting was confirmed, I then was told of the wonderful surprise that awaited after our trip to Torre Pellice; a journey to the valley from which my ancestors left 320 years earlier. Conrad Demsky, one of my American hosts, was as excited about the day as was I.  Like an archaeological dig of sorts, we were going to the Chisone Valley to see what we might find if anything. We really didn’t have a plan other than to visit the cemetery, a place where many genealogical researchers begin. Conrad’s wife, the leader, and professor to the student’s, Professor Kathy Demsky, would be headed to town for the weekly street fair with her class. Meanwhile, brother Barry, Conrad, and I would ride in Conrad’s van off on our own little adventures, beginning with the trip to Torre Pellice.

While we drove and talked about the possibilities that awaited, a thought began to run through my mind of the significance of the names that were coming together at noon. Let alone that brother Barry knew of another tour group of people he had known in another conference of churches where he once worked that would be visiting the same town next week. There was excitement for everyone it seemed. Conrad was eager to see our reactions, for this was not his first visit. He and Professor Demsky had been making this trip each year with the Architecture School students for the past twenty years. To him, this was another way to see the valleys, through someone else’s eyes, who was witnessing inspiring events; one after another.

In my own mind, the noon meeting and the names connected in that meeting was beginning to grow in significance; the statue of Henri Arnaud; Esteban Janavel, a direct descendent of Joshua Janavel; and myself, Timothy Tron, a distant relative to Captain Tron-Paulette.

Henri Arnaud, who was a pastor turned military leader, led the Glorious Return in 1689. Before Arnaud, another Waldensian hero, Joshua Janavel, would lead a small group of men against unbelievable odds, battling and winning outpost after outpost until they became known as the “Invincibles.” Janavel was known to only accept pure, Christian fighters, so great was his faith. He believed that the body was a vessel and for God to continue to work through them, they had to be at their utmost. Janavel would go on to write instructions for Arnaud to follow on his battle to retake their homelands, the valleys. Janavel’s journal also included instructions on how to select his officers. For the 1,000 men who would leave the shore of Lake Geneva that August day, one of the ten Captains to lead 100 men would be Captain Tron-Paulette. Unbeknownst to me that morning, Captain Tron would become a folk hero, in that he would be attributed to helping save Arnaud and his men. When the French had obliterated their fortifications with cannon fire and were about to storm their position, Arnaud and his men prayed for divine intervention. They were about to meet their doom at the battle of the Balziglia. That evening, a cloud descended upon the mountain so thick, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. It was Captain Tron, that with the hand of God, led the surviving three hundred men out through the dense fog, in the dark, along perilous cliffs to freedom.

In essence, the descendants of Janavel and Tron would meet at the monument to Arnaud, which would bring together three of the namesakes that made the battles to return to their beloved valleys a reality, thanks be to God.

All of this raced through my mind as our van wound its way around twisty turn-a-bouts and tiny roads only wide enough for one car to pass at a time.

We still hadn’t made it to that fateful meeting with Pastor Janavel. We had yet to taste the sweet water that floweth from yonder fountain. Ahead, stood the Chisone Valley and the secrets she held close. Little did we know; dire warnings and miracles were yet to come.

The day was still young.

Thanks be to God.

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Day 1: The Sun Rise in Garnier

“The heart is deceitful above all things, And desperately wicked; Who can know it? I, the Lord, search the heart, I test the mind, Even to give every man according to his ways, According to the fruit of his doings.” -Jeremiah 17:9-10

Day 1: The Sun Rises on Garnier: Across a landscape, broken only by the stonework of ancient hands, they work in the coolness of the morning hour. Down the lower reaches of the valley toward Torre Pellice, the sun has not yet risen above the shoulder of yonder mountain. Wildflowers speckle the roadsides, their colors a delicate compliment of their domesticated cousins bountifully arrayed in gardens lining the narrow roadsides, each carefully placed in the precious soil of which there is so little. In the shadowed hour, men work carrying irrigation equipment, placing them where the previous circle of showers has missed. Here the crisp pre-dawn air, one can see their breath. The hayfields they grow have already had their first cutting. These are not expansive pastures as we know them in the U.S.; rather, they are smaller plots, divided up so that once the hay is cut, they become natural intensive grazing lands; everything having a purpose in time. In these Alpine valleys, the growing season is short, so every minute of every day is taken with consideration of the long winter that lay ahead.

The men move quickly, their bodies lean from years of difficult manual labor. Neither of the two I watch are young; one appears to be in his late thirties while the other is at least in his early sixties. They do not seem to tire as they move from one field to the next at a pace that would belie a younger man. In these narrow passages, with sharp precipices falling away below, there isn’t room for mechanized machinery from whence more can be done with less. Here, as in times dating back to antiquity, the work must be done with the toil of one’s back and the sweat of their brow.

From my vantage point, sitting on one of the low rock walls, they see me and smile, waving only briefly before pressing on to the next field. Pencil and paper in hand, my eyes try to convey what my hands cannot feel. Their energy seems to buoy up my own. The expected jet lag seems non existent. My hand races to draw the quickly changing scene. Part of me wants to don my old farm clothes and jump into the fray, yet, there is a realization that cannot be dismissed; they would find my strength and stamina far below what they take for granted. My help may be appreciated but would only slow them down. They have a method to their labor, something which more than a classroom can afford, theirs is a tradition handed down from one generation to the next; a multitude of lifetimes of lessons learned.

The irony of it all.

They willingly devote their lives to living off the land, knowing every nuance necessary to eke out the meager existence from this demanding countryside. In their labors, they take nothing for granted, for years of struggle and toil have taught them well. Yet, in their labor, the body, soul, and spirit are sometimes neglected for the sake of striving to make the reality of life work.

How blessed is the man that understands both; the ability to take nothing for granted, but to worship and fulfill God’s commandment as much as he toils upon the land from whence all creation was given; the internment of time. We reap what we sow. Yet, one can become so consumed with living in faith that he fails to tend to the soil upon which all life is sustained; it is a precarious balance that is not easily maintained. As it says in the Bible, “It rains on the just, and the unjust…”.

Many times, we wish it would just rain.

In our faith, we can be lean and agile in what we do. We can remain close to the Word, living out our lives in Christ-like manner. Striving to be a light to those around us, and in our daily walk alone, we can become a true representation of what it is to be a Christian. Yet, some find this life of daily devotion and devote worship far too difficult. Some even remark it is unrealistic to be so “religious.’ To these naysayers, they must see the results of mankind’s slow erosion of the truth. Around them churches seek to become the center of entertainment, filling the void each day with something, anything, just to get folks in the door. The cumbersome trappings of man’s desires only slow us down. When there aren’t enough reasons to hold a party, they invent meaningful tributes to bygone saints. Over time, well-meaning memorials become tiresome traditions. They weigh our souls and burden the truth with details that are without biblical basis. These become the distractions that often lead many into a world of despair and hopelessness. As Jesus warned, we are saved by Grace, not by the law.

The stone wall upon which I sit, built decades or maybe even centuries before, a testament to the labor of those gone on before. There are no names to remind us of their creator, only the stories passed down from one generation to the next. A legacy can only by as such, if the subsequent generations to come know of it’s history.

When all else falls away in life, when our bodies come to that final resting spot, it is then that those left behind finally take the time to reflect and take note of all that has transpired. The breath of life has left the one they loved, their spirit is gone. All that remains is the legacy of who they were. Those that survive are left wondering what was it all for? What had they done with a life in which they served only one master; themselves? There is nothing left to advance the hope of an eternal life for those that have passed. Yet, when the one that has gone served a higher calling, but still worked the land with regard to being the caretaker for God’s creation, it is then we realize that they had served the real Master. Their final journey not complete, for one day, they too will reach the right hand of God the Father, and then, when the trumpet sounds, they will have all eternity in which to take a respite of their previous life’s toil. When we see a culmination of a life well-served and a life well-lived, we can rejoice in seeing what it is to be one with Christ. In the knowing, there is a peace returned to our soul.

A cool breezed passes before my countenance as I return to the present.  The sprinklers pulsate in a syncopation while in the distance, the roar of the torrent can be heard. It’s a constant reminder of the abundance of refreshing, life-giving fluid that is necessary to sustain everything that lives. There is the feeling of an energy it exudes, just by the very sound of its distant, gentle white noise. An occasional songbird breaks the trance. Above the dark nearby hillsides, the glow of the sunrise begins to brighten the upper reaches of the still snow-covered peaks of the mountain tops. Above their majestic summits, the blue skies show no trace of clouds.

We know not what lies ahead. Nearby the rooster crows as the shadows slowly slip away. God’s creation stands before us and the day is young. What lies beyond the next bend in the road only time will tell.

A beautiful day awaits.

Thanks be to God.

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Misty Mountains…

“Land that drinks in the rain often falling on it and that produces a crop useful to those for whom it is farmed receive the blessing of God. But land that produces thorns and thistles is worthless and is in danger of being cursed. In the end it will be burned.” – Hebrews 6:7-8

This morning we awoke to a gentle rain falling outside our window. The birds call to one another as they bustle to and fro, carrying on as if nothing changes, their nests protected as they have built them to withstand far greater storms. The water, our life-giving source, soaks into the earth; grass and plants drinking in the coolness, their colors being revived.

Standing looking down at the reflection in the pools of water below the bridge, the clear blue sky of yesterday reflected back. Below the surface boulders, dark crevices, and fissures of time lay hidden. The medium, water, danced about, laughing against the rocks, its voice playing a melody to the ears, a chorus written by only the Master’s hand. Like the presence of God, water, our life source, can take may forms.

Our footsteps walked along well-worn paths, crisscrossed by a network of root, vines, and stones; constantly reaching upward, our climb was an ascent on a nearby peak. Walking in the surroundings of antiquity, time only passes to our awareness, a brief instant to our audience, the granite artifacts of eons gone by. Water has eroded their sharpness, smoothing them to a pleasing shape; soft and gentle. Along the stone surface, cracks and fissures are made; the footholds in time. Generations of life hath searched out the multitude of instances from which their web of limbs and root may find sustenance amongst the precious soil, so sparsely found here on the mountain.

Like those plants seeking life, we often find ourselves seeking the truth. Hidden amid the overload of worldly information, like the solid, formidable stone edifices we pass, our hands touching briefly the cool, firmness; a reality; a truth; we seek out this permanence in life. Yet, many cannot find their way. They have become blinded by the incessant tirade of the information with which we are flooded in each waking moment. The progress of mankind is measured by one’s ability to grasp the technology of the day. We place flat panels of information in every room. In the back of our minds, there has been placed a fear of losing touch, a fear of missing the headlines of the moment. We carry with us devices with which we can remain engaged, even when we cannot be near those screens of connectivity. Can we not live without this constant feeding of noise? Can we not leave it behind, and for once, return to the truth that lies before us since the creation? “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and I will bring you back from captivity…” “Knock, and the door shall be opened.”

Sitting upon the monolithic granite peak, we look out at the vastness that lay before us. In the nearby distance, the mountain they call Grandfather stands; close, dark, and vigilant. We can almost reach out and touch him, his closeness comforting. Before we can think, the scene before us begins to change. Around us, the void between fills with the fluidness of life. Clouds roll through, a mist of the life source we watched and listened to only minutes before now takes flight and passes us by; its destination unknown to us, directed by the Master’s touch. Wisps of whiteness, cool refreshing to our skin, blankets the world below. Closing your eyes, you can soak in the bliss. The whisper of sound surrounds us and tells us to release those burdens we have left behind. Blinkingly, we open our eyes to a new reality. Where once stood the solid image of Grandfather, there is nothingness; he is gone, obscured by the cloud in which we now sit. Surrounded by the whiteness of truth, we are closer to God’s face than before, treading where only Angels tread.

Sound, like the images before us, is gone.

Here there are no voices from man’s world to disrupt our blessing, only the closeness of Him.

There is only so much we can understand and which we can absorb through the senses with which we were given. Our comprehension is as it was intended. We are presented with the world from which we came, as ashes, we have been born, the breath of life given to us through our nostrils, the Spirit. We live as one with that which we are born to live, on God’s earth. Here we are only passing through so that someday, we shall share the heavenly abode with Him. Here, we are only temporary guests in a world in which He created.

In tiny glimpses, in what we can relate, we are shown the majesty of what awaits beyond. Moment by moment, we become more aware of what will await us in eternity, should we choose to do so. It is all up to us. We were given the free will with which to choose.

We can seek the truth, or allow the world to tell us what is granite stone and what is not.

The choice is ours.

Like water that can reflect a clear blue sky, or suddenly take the form of a white mist, shrouding even the most majestic mountain, His magnificence is beyond our human comprehension, as is our ability to know what lieth beyond heaven’s gates. We need not fear Him if we come to know Him, and in the end, it is up to us to choose.

Seek him with all your heart, knock and the door to eternity shall be opened.

Thanks be to God.

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God-Chance with the Wilderness Scouts

Once again, the crisp cool morning was a welcome respite. The weather has been quite welcoming these latter days of June, once more reminding me of the high altitude climate of those distant valleys of my recent travels. So it was this past Monday morning, when other than the Statistics classwork, the only other items on my to-do list were to meet a buyer for some of our furniture at the storage unit and to drop by some friends house to return a book and to share a new one. In the meantime, I thought it would be nice to drop by the Trail where the rest of the family was meeting for lunch, and spend some time together.

If nothing else, it was a beautiful day just to be out.

The early morning passed quickly, as did the chill that had been so refreshing. Soon I found myself on the road and focusing on the tasks at hand. Before long, my car pulled into the parking lot of the Trail to find a van full of students and teachers already unloaded and heading into the Visitor’s Center. The first thing that stood out was that they were dressed much like the rural people of the valleys from where I had just been, with the women wearing long skirts and head scarfs. It was nice to see something that crossed the decades of time and oceans which were a physical reminder of the past. Making my way into the office, past the bustling activity of the visitors preparing for their tour, I settled down for my meal. About that time my wife whispered in my ear, “Would you have time to give them a guided tour if they want to take one?” With almost no thought I replied, “Sure, I can make time.”

In the other room, the group decided to eat lunch first, so without knowing it, our timing would be in sync for what was to come. From the other room I overheard a marvelous tale. As they ate, one of the leaders read a story to the group of a young Waldensian girl and her mother. The story told of how Piedmontese soldiers showed up one day to search their house for any trace of a Bible. They had just been reading scriptures while mixing the dough for the daily bread. Owning or possessing a Bible during this timeframe was punishable by death. Knowing the dire circumstances, the woman had to act quickly. Before the child knew it, her mother had hidden the family Bible in the dough she had been kneading at the time of their arrival and shoved it into the hearth to bake. The mother answered the angry knocks at the door, allowing the men to enter and search as they wanted. Not soon enough, they left, as rudely and briskly as they had entered. They were none the wiser.

“Where did you hide our Bible,” asked the little girl?

“Soon you will see,” she smiled.

Not long after the mother pulled the finished bread from the oven. The mother smiled and nodded toward the loaf sitting before her. The child’s eyebrows raised at the thought.

“You put it in the bread,” she questioned, unbelievably?

“Yes, where else could I have put it?”

The story was a perfect preface for their visit. I hadn’t heard it before and wondered to myself where they had found it. My mental deliberations were momentarily broken when I heard my wife asking them if they might like a guided tour instead of just taking the self-guided tour, “We actually have one of our guides here today,” she was happy to convey. After a short discussion, the group leader replied, “Yes, we’d love to if it is possible.”

Quickly swallowing the last of my sandwich, I found an extra Trail T-Shirt in the closet and donned my uniform for the afternoon.

I was back at the Trail.

Like most tours, we started at the relief map, where we describe the valleys. However, something was much more real to me than before. Looking down at the man-made mountain tops, I now knew where and how these valleys flowed. Although one could spend a lifetime trying to learn every crag and valley path, my journey had allowed me a perspective unique to anything previously thought. As I pointed to the various places, I pulled out my device and opened the gallery, then with pictures displaying in hand, I waved above those points relative to the pictures to bring alive the crude landscape below; it was amazing.

“You need to make that part of the display,” exclaimed one of the leaders.

As we stood watching, one by one, we saw the valleys come to life even before we left the Visitor’s Center.

From there, my previous script for presenting the Trail began to change. The reality from which the exhibits on the Trail were created now had new meaning and purpose. Beyond what was before us, the story behind the story became more concrete, more vivid. From ages of third grade to adult, our tour group listened intently at each new scene before them. Their questions kept bringing to light, additional details that were too important to leave out. What once seemed relevant, and meaningful seemed to diminish in what really was at stake; sharing how the Word was protected, preserved, and evangelized so that all might come to know the one true, living God.

Having been in the real cave with a communion, I was worried that there would be a fakeness to the Trail’s cave which might deter feelings I had once experienced almost every tour. When the group began to sing “Holy, Holy, Holy,” the fear quickly disappeared. The tiny little voices mixed with those of the adults made a chorus that was heaven divine. My faith was restored once more.

As we passed through the doors of the church, my mind once more wondered how this too might change. Would it seem less than before? We would soon know.

While sharing the story of the Ciabas and the history behind it, everything seemed the same, up until one of the leaders asked how I had found out I was Waldensian. That’s when things changed once again.

Standing in front of little ones, I was worried about the length of time it might take to share my personal story. Yet, as I began, my eyes kept searching for signs of boredom, idleness, or sleep; there were none. It was as if they were rapt with the moment, so I kept going. Before long, my heart was overflowing as the Holy Spirit poured forth. As my eyes filled with tears of emotion, there was not much more one could say, other than, “Thanks be to God.”

On a beautiful, clear Carolina day, a sweet group of children and adults found their way to a place where a man once called his job, although it really wasn’t a job, because that is something you do for work. If you love what you do, you’ll never work another day; and so it was. But God had plans to push us further than we often think we can go, and usually more than we think we can handle. We may never know where and how He is using us. On this one particular day in June, God’s pathway put us together, where the Lord led us all to the Trail of Faith. He united a wonderful group called the “Wilderness Scouts,” with a former Director and tour guide, who now is simply a servant of the Lord. The result from this servant’s perspective was Godly.

“For we were once darkness, but now we are light, live as children of the light…”

As one of the leaders expressed as they were about to leave, “It was another God-chance.”

And to that, all one can say is, “Amen.”

Thanks be to God.

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Your Testimony may save a life…

“And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, and they did not love their lives to the death.” – Revelation 12:11

There was a refreshing coolness that greeted me at the door this morning when I stepped out onto the porch for my morning coffee and worship. It was hard not to think of being somewhere else. Sipping the dark brew from the cup, I closed my eyes and tried to stay, but that distant land called me back, once more.

“How was your trip,” they ask when meeting up with friends and acquaintance aware of the recent journey. A flood of words, scenes, and experiences overwhelm my ability to answer coherently, so most times, the answer is simply, “Great.” Inside my mind’s eye, there is a multitude of moments, vistas, and sheer splendor that would take more time than would be kind to the would-be inquisitor. Most often they seem to be waiting for more, but in honesty, there is too much to tell.

How does one put into words the dramatic landscape that is difficult even now to describe to myself, let alone someone else? How does one convey a deep connection to a place that they had never seen before, until a few days ago? How does one share the emotional roller coaster of a faith journey which reaches the very depths and peaks of comprehension, many times in the same day? How do you share a family’s journey that took three centuries to come full circle? How do you explain how ill prepared to you feel to answer their simple question because, in truth, you know the bottom line is that God had worked a miracle upon miracle for your very existence?

There is a gulf between the here and now; a chasm that separates this world from the one that was left behind. The void is something that only time can bridge. As the water flows over the rocks below the surface, time slips past, beneath the visible there exists those that have been there, since the beginning of creation. Their bones now buried with the stone upon where they once stood. When the torrent shifts, the surface dances exposing for an instant the rocks below. For a brief instant, the flash of what has been becomes known. We are able to perceive something beyond what we can describe, for before our capacity to understand can grasp what is evident, it is gone, hidden once more from view. As if taunting our mind’s ability for conceptualization, we are left with an impression of wanting more. Nothing would satisfy our intellect more than to be able to confirm what we can only now guess.

Soldiers return home from active duty and find themselves having to adjust their mental condition to a pace of life far different from where they had just left. In the worst cases, they have suffered battle scars that will never heal. They are trapped in a world that cannot understand the depths of hell from which they had survived; meanwhile, the reality of living must go on. The trip to the grocery store is no longer a forgettable routine. The images, sounds, and smells can trigger an instant replay of the carnage from which they have come, leaving them shaken and disoriented. As the heartbeat quickens, there is an instinct for survival that returns, and they act out in ways those they have known for a lifetime don’t recognize. These are their battle scars, the acronym known as PTSD.

Similarly, the missionary or peace worker that returns from a war-torn country, a disease riddled death zone, or a horrific life changing event, sometimes face similar, but most often, to a lesser degree, the same experience. There is a gulf created between the world they once knew and who they’ve become from the event. As they try to readjust to the normalcy they once knew, there is so much going on behind the façade they put forth. Deep inside, they are reliving what death and despair can become, while about them, others argue about the difficulty in choosing plain or peanut flavored M&M’s before they find their movie theater seats. In the grocery store, in the next aisle over, a child screams for their favorite Nutella flavored cereal. They blink, and the image of the body of an emaciated child they carried to the medical tent just the week before, sucks the air from their throat. They bite their lip and leave behind the shopping cart, racing for the exit of the store before they must explain to some stranger why tears are running down their cheeks.

In truth, if your journey was severe, if your trip was extremely uplifting, or in the rare case, it really didn’t to seem to change you, a mission trip can leave you feeling more than a little awkward once you return to the life you once had. There is an emotional gulf that cannot be explained to most, and in truth, many really don’t want to hear it. “It’s your choice to go, it was your choice to put yourself through that, so why do we have to hear all about it?” they say.  They may not say it to your face, but many times, they think it silently.

However, we cannot be dissuaded by calloused remarks; it is our duty to share. What our detractors may say and think is the darkness speaking. Satan using their fears of the unknown to keep them frozen in their comfortable lifestyles. As long as the lost can remain afloat in their feeble existence, savoring the brief moments of fleshly pleasures, Satan has won. They’ll never have a reason to change.

Your testimony may be the difference between someone accepting Christ into their lives, or at the very least, making them think twice about why they don’t believe.

When the battle was at hand, we called upon His name, our Father in Heaven. Once more, when we return, we cannot do it alone. To reach the mountaintop and return, there is more than is humanly conceivable one can do, and just like before, we must ask for our Father’s hand. As a disciple for Christ, He prepared you for the journey, and as that disciple returning home, He will prepare you once more.

Miracles made your journey possible, and many more await when your testimony becomes the path for many more to follow. Let your story be told, and with it, the Word be shared, so that others may find their way to the light.

Time is short.

“And do this, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep; for now our salvation is nearer than when we first believed. 12 The night is far spent, the day is at hand. Therefore let us cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armor of light.” – Romans 13:11-12

We must not delay.

And in all that we do, give thanks.

Thanks be to God.

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