Tag Archives: god

by | January 30, 2017 · 8:49 pm

Mission to R.I.D.E.

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

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

“Yes,” he had answered.

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

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

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

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

Thanks be to God.

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

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by | December 31, 2016 · 10:08 pm

Trust and Obey…

 

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

 

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

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

He never let me down.

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

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

Another blessing, another circumstance unexplained.

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

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

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

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

There inside was $40 cash.

God once more answered prayer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But alas, here we were.

Faith took on a whole new level of trust.

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks be to God.

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

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by | December 25, 2016 · 9:10 pm

The Tail of a Tale…

Along many trails and paths, I have crossed in my time. Along each trek, there is a special anticipation of what is just around the next bend, a longing to push onward. Someone once said to me that you could only see as far as the next point on the horizon, and once you make it to that point, you can see a little bit farther, to the next point if you will. Some days are like that, finding myself having reached a point that was once a distant speck from that far away vantage point. In that instance, seeing and knowing become one.

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Today, our family cat whom we call “Sky,” journeyed along with me on my walk. Unlike the day before, he was more reluctant than usual. Before we had come to the point of leaving the forest into the first opening of the trail he stopped and decided to stay behind. Knowing I was going at a faster pace than the previous day, I was fine with that and figured since I was returning on the same trail, that I would catch him on the way home.

Overhead, the clouds loomed low obscuring the distant peaks of Grandfather, shrouding him in a blanket of white. All around me, the drops of rain danced on the fallen leaves which abound on the forest floor. My breath was labored, and I soon found that I had not healed from the recent chest cold as my progress slowed to a crawl. It was much later than I had planned by the time I returned to the point Sky and I had parted ways.

He was nowhere to be found.

“He’s a cat,” I told myself, “and he will surely find his way back home.”

So I slowly and weakly made my way up the trail and back to the house, sweating and breathing much too heavily for what was my normal routine. Sitting heavily, but thankfully in the porch chair, I began to remove my boots, grateful to be back home. But there was someone missing; Sky was still not home.

“He’ll find his way,” again I reassured myself.

My thoughts flashed back to another time on a winter’s day. We had been blasted with a wave of blizzards in the Midwest. The landscape looked like the frozen tundra, not southern Indiana. It became an adventure just to go out and walk the fence rows, and ditch banks, places that were once of little interest took on a whole new image as giant fissures and massive snow banks turned a once boring landscape into a winter play land. On one such day, I took out with the family dog, Missy, on an afternoon exploration. We had gone over a mile along fence rows and ditches, exploring tunnels and all manner of ice formations when we happened upon a bubbling creek. Missy was a beautiful Collie-Shepherd mix that loved to explore as much as her owner, so we were having the time of our lives when suddenly are adventure took a turn for the worse. The snap of the steel on her leg scared me as much as it did her. I hadn’t realized the creek we were wading in was also the trapping line for the local farmer who was also collecting pelts to help subsidize his income. My dog’s screams and yelps tore through my heart as I raced to free her from the pain.

Again, my mind flashed back to another time in my life when I was much younger and caught in a similar predicament. It was the back alley of our little town of New Harmony. I had befriended a stray dog, and I was throwing a ball for him in the alleyway behind my grandparents family diner, The Heritage Trail Restaurant. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the dog began screaming for help. His back leg had gotten caught in the street drain. Unthinking, I reached for him wanting to help pull him out. The dog acted on instinct and reached for anything that he could use to leverage his body from the clutches of steel; my hand. The shredding of my pinky was instantaneous and blinding in pain. The dog bolted around the corner leaving me shaken and scared. Blood immediately began running down my arm as I tried to wrap it up in my sweatshirt. Fearful I would get in trouble for playing with a stray, I never told anyone. I snuck in the back door of the restaurant and cleaned up the wound in the abandoned dish sink. It was late afternoon, and everyone was on break and away from their posts, which is why I wasn’t found out. I was lucky I never contracted rabies or any other disease. God once again watched over me when I needed Him most.

All that flashed through my head as I headed toward Missy trying to soothe her before I reached to her with my hands, even if they were gloved. Fortunately, having learned my lesson, I first reached toward her with a stick. She was nothing like the stray and wanted only for me to help her leg as she stopped and stood still as if she knew what had to be done. Pulling the jaws of steel apart long enough for her to retract her injured limb, it was in the blink of an eye, and she was free. Sadly I watched as she limped on three legs, trying to hold the injured limb above the snow and hop. Knowing we had a long way to get back home, I couldn’t let her go on that way and picked her up. She weighed at least 50lbs. at the time. I wasn’t much more and maybe weighed all of 100lbs myself. Slowly and painfully, I carried that dog until my arms were like lead. We had traveled within 100 yards of the house when I finally collapsed from exhaustion. Missy sat for a minute with me in the snow, me panting and her curious. She licked my face and then much to my amazement, jumped up and ran the rest of the way back to the house ahead of me. There was no sign of any injury or hurt leg after all. I had been hornswoggled by a dog.

This evening, as darkness began to creep up the holler, there was still no Sky back at the house. Others became worried and urged me to please find him.

Fearful that he might not make it home before dark, I headed back down the trail calling for him as I went. The light of day was fading quickly. My path made it all the way to the stables and back, but still no cat. Slowly as I passed our initial point of separation, I began calling and listening. My mind remembered Missy and how I had been humorously tricked before but now it seemed the cat was truly missing. A few more steps and calling I saw the white blur in the darkness before me dash in my direction; it was Sky. My heart warmed at his sight.

He was still not far from where we had been earlier in the day, and he was more than happy to have me pick him up and hold him close.

I carried him all the way back to the house and gladly placed him on top of his little home on our porch.

We were both happy to be back.

I had seen once before and now, knew from the past what to expect. Yes, I had gone farther in many aspects, but knowing from whence we came is just as important. In all that we do, we are never alone; God is with certainly with us, watching and smiling.

As darkness surrounded our little home in the mountains, Sky gladly curled up in his house, and I in mine, safe and sound for another day.

Thanks be to God.

 

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by | November 30, 2016 · 9:54 pm

Just a Few Old Memories…

My little body could barely see over the dash of that ancient truck as we rattled across the pasture that cold frosty morning, checking the cows in my grandpa’s herd. Trees stood like stark skeletons along the fence lines guarding against the frozen winds. The ground was covered with a heavy frost that pitter pattered curious mounds of fluffiness from one edge of the field to the next. Below the dusting of white lay grass still green from the summer growing season. It was early winter, and several of the fall calves were struggling with the recent span of bitter weather we’d been having. Grandpa headed the nose of the old Ford slowly into the midst of the herd. As I peered through the side window by breath fogged up the glass causing the cattle beyond to appear as ghostlike images. We were surrounded. The tires made crunching noises on the frozen grass as we carefully pulled ahead. Fearing he might hit one of those massive red and white Hereford bodies, my little hands grabbed the dusty dash bracing myself. To my amazement, the cows parted like clouds passing the peak of a mountain, steady and sure. Mommas with babies in tow, all bemoaning their plight as they slowly moved aside, watched us as we passed. Awestruck with their size, it perplexed me how they could be so easily persuaded to move without any force. Unbeknownst to me, they knew my grandpa and his vehicle well enough that just the sound of him rumbling down the gravel road to the gate would be enough to draw them closer seeking sweet feed or hay. Now, in their midst, surrounding my the heavy breaths seen with each 20140501_181720puff, there was no fear on either side of our consciousness, their or ours.

The familiarity of each was comforting. Like old friends, we felt at ease with one another.

Inside the warm cab of the truck, the smell of leather, sweat, and accumulated oil-covered, diesel-laden rags made for a memory of its own. When the aroma of the cattle surrounded us, the two melded into one forming a panoramic odor unlike any other. The multitude of riches that embraced the senses were too wonderful to forget, the visual, aromatic, and audible.

Grandpa would point to this or that cow and tell me about them, as if quoting from a playbook of their lives and how he might have to do this or that to one of them, none of which made any sense to a four-year-old. All I could understand was that we were “Working the Cows,” as grandma would say, as she proudly shooed us out the back door of their farmhouse as she began to clean up from breakfast and then began preparing the day’s meals. “You men go work the cows, and I’ll have dinner ready for yuins when you get back.” She spoke “Wabash” as we said of folks in that area of southern Indiana. We would eventually return later in the day to rich, tasty smells of freshly baked bread and cakes, along with delectable foods that only now come back to my memory; blessings long passed.

When grandpa had planting or harvesting that would keep him in the fields for hours and days-on-end, grandma would find ways to entertain us. It wasn’t past her to dig up a few fishing worms, throw them into an old Folgers Coffee can, grab a cane pole and then tell me, “Son, let’s go fishing.” We’d walk together hand-in-hand down the lane in front of that old farmhouse to the big pond at the end of what seemed an endless trail. Together, we’d sit on that old wooden dock, bait the hooks, catch the fish, and then joyfully bring back the same coffee can full of bluegill.

One overly productive fishing expedition, Grandma, said we could eat the fish or feed them to the cats. Our coffee can was overflowing with our catch. I looked around at the plethora of cats. None of the feral beasts had ever allowed me to pet them nor to make friends with them. Now all of a sudden, they seemed so helpless. A voice inside me spoke, and immediately I felt the urge to provide for those poor old hungry barn cats, so we opted for feeding the needy instead of worrying about trying to filet the tiny fish. Before the fish hit the ground, the cats had emerged from their hiding spots, blanketing the catch of the day. Within a couple of minutes, the entire feast was devoured. Not one crumb or scale was left behind. My joy was in that moment, watching those cats savor the morsels we had brought home while having had the fun of catching them. Our work had a purpose, and each action was accounted for in the results that awaited.

Lesson after lesson of life played out before me on that farm.

Years later, on the other side of life’s fence, I can look back and see how God had prepared me for the journey. Each snapshot of those moments was special. They taught me everything from interactions with other beings to the frugality of existence. The sheer isolation made you appreciate anything that came to life either live or inanimate. From the round river rock pebbles that made the gravel road to the tall blades of grass in the pasture that grew like a forest in the summer, there was a world of exploration and fascination to keep a young boy entertained for days on end.

But the fondest of all were the times Grandma would read to my from her Bible, often in the evening after the meal was done. Those precious words and stories made me want to know more about this Son of Man called Jesus. I would beg for more, even as I was being tucked into bed for the night, as Grandma kissed me goodnight. There safe and sound in that warm feather bed, I’d drift off to sleep, like in the warmth of the cab of that truck with Grandpa, all cozy and warm. There was a feeling that God was wrapping his arms around me and that there was nothing at all in the world to fear.

Sleep came easily.

Thanks be to God.

 

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by | November 19, 2016 · 10:47 pm

What Paradise Lost, Heaven hath Gained…#singforSophie

Alone I walked, contemplating all that had transpired.

The canopy overhead was quickly changing from its autumn wardrobe to the haunting skeleton of winter. In the distance, a cold front approached. A sense of foreboding loomed, causing me to seek my daily walk sooner, than later. I pulled my collar up against the chill and hurried my pace.

A single leaf drifted toward my face as I walked, then danced ahead as if skipping along in thought. I stopped walking and watched the wondrous image to see where it might land. Its flight led my eyes to the rocky cliff along the trail. Granite boulders covered with moss and lichens formed the backdrop that towered far above where I stood. Intertwined in the rock were roots and vines, like the veins of a being, resting for time immemorial. “How long they had been there? How long would they be there after we are gone,” were the thoughts that passed through my head as I pondered at that moment.

Our lives often seem fleeting as the fallen leaves when compared to those of stone walls.

The Word tells us that we are nothing more than like the grass of the field, the flowers will fade away, and the grass will surely die. “…because, All flesh is as grass, And all the glory of man[b] as the flower of the grass. The grass withers, And its flower falls away,25 But the word of the Lord endures forever.” – 1Peter 1:24-25

The flowers of the field are a beauty to behold, but nothing can prepare us for when those precious blooms are picked before their prime.

Even though the distance is far, the thought is ever present of one such precious bloom being picked; a recent tragic loss of life.

Last week, an automobile accident in Indiana saw three generations of the one family perish. The Reinhart family, in one fatal night, lost their father David, grandmother, Ruth Ann, and daughter, Sophie. I had heard about this tragedy through my cousin Jeff, who had not only been friends with the father since childhood but likewise, his daughters had been close friends with Jeff’s. Sophie was a star of the Castle High School marching band and school choral group, “The Castle Sensations.” They had been returning late from a band competition in Indianapolis when the Reinhart’s car hit a deer. Fearing the car might not make it any farther, David pulled off the road to assess the damage. The next thing was the sound of squealing tires, lights, and the explosion of the impact.  A drunk driver crashed into their car, in what became a multi-car pileup on the interstate; a horrific tragedy, and an unbelievable loss to the small communities of Paradise, Newburgh and the surrounding area of Indiana.

We never want to hear the news, nor get that phone call of events like this, yet it happens.

Many ask, “Why does God allow things like this happen to good people?”

Often, the answer that sometimes helps is, “Because it strengthens those who are left behind.” But there are times when that answer just doesn’t seem justifiable, especially when there is one too young to carry the burden remaining.

When my cousin Mike passed, we had all gathered around grandma’s kitchen table and were struggling to make sense of it all. Mike had just turned 21 and was a more than just a towering figure to the rest of us kids, but he was also someone we looked up to as our leader, our rock to whom we could turn. Now, there we all sat, trying to understand the how and why of it all. Her hand emerged from behind the crowd surrounding that ancient kitchen table, leaning into the center and placed a yellow lily sitting in a clear glass of water into the middle. My cousin Peggy asked, “What is that for grandma?” We all turned to look at her. There was but a shimmer of a tear in her eyes as she replied solemnly, “When you walk into a field of flowers, don’t you always pick the prettiest one?”

“Yes,” Peggy replied, in a hesitant, wondering tone.

“God needed another beautiful flower for the Master’s bouquet.”

All of our eyes turned toward the new single centerpiece of that table and thought of all the fond memories of Michael. It was a moment I will never forget. It was as if she had asked God to speak to each of us, comforting us each by our own memories; peace enveloped that tiny kitchen so long ago as Jesus helped us through another dark time. Grandma prayed over us all as Jesus touched our hearts.

In all of the sorrow of that horrific wreck on that dark, lonely road in Indiana, there was a single shining light. One flicker of hope for the family that had in an instant suffered so greatly, a lone survivor. Dave’s other daughter who was riding with them miraculously endured the disaster with only minor injuries. In the coming days, weeks, and years, that young daughter’s faith, as well as the rest of the family, will be tested. They will have to learn what substance is hoped for, in the evidence of the things that cannot be seen. The surviving daughter will relive that night for the rest of her life, that night where in the blink of an eye, her world became a living nightmare. They will have to lean on the everlasting cross, for in Him, they will find the strength and comfort to carry on.

“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things unseen.”- Hebrews 11:1

All of this turns through my mind as my trail twists and turns through the ever-changing forest. “Why God, do you not let me walk in peace,” I asked, looking into the clear blue skies? A flurry of leaves swirl above me, then rush ahead disappearing into the darkness. 

A child, her sister, and their mother are left to carry on in a world that’s been altered from what seemed like the path that God had chosen. Ripped from its foundation, their very existence has been skewed so that now, they have to face a reality that seems anything but real.

My pathway passes the rapids on the Johns River where I stop to pause once more.

Then came the voice, “What Paradise has lost, Heaven has gained.”

God calls us home at the most unexpected times. Those that heard the beautiful, gracious young lady sing in person can easily see Sophie joining the angelic choir as her father and grandmother proudly look on; it has to be, it just does.

The heaviness for those mourning the loss of loved ones is felt in my heart as I watch the water pass over the rocks in gushing, white torrents.

Life is like the river.

Time is constantly passing like the current, with moments of upheaval and dire consequences when the world collides against those granite edifices creating chaos. In theses chaotic moments, we find our faith with both hands and embrace it tightly to our chests. When they slowly ebb back to normal, we return to the gentle currents where we seemingly pass from day-to-day unthinking; yet, constantly, time is passing on, like the current. Around a bend the water finds a swirling pool where the rush of life comes to a halt, peace and calmness follow. God’s purpose even in the time of great upheaval can find serenity and healing. Eventually, the water and life continue, time passing on, as the current flows onward.

What we lose on earth, heaven finds as a reward. We can find comfort in knowing that there is an even greater joy when we reach that golden shore. There waiting for us will be an angel dressed in white singing for all the ages.

These things we can only pray, for all those affected, for all those hurting; God is there for each of you.

These things we pray in God’s Holy Name,

Amen.

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. 2 In My Father’s house are many mansions;[a] if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.[b] 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. 4 And where I go you know, and the way you know.” -John 14:1-4

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by | November 15, 2016 · 9:33 pm

The Lamp of the Body…

img_20160229_185127“The lamp of the body is the eye. If therefore your eye is good, your whole body will be full of light.” – Matthew 6:22

The laser lowered closer to the eye, all the while, the doctor reassuring his patient everything was going well. “You’re doing great,” he calmly spoke in a second thought sort of tone, obviously focusing on the surgery at hand. Closer the beam of the green light came until there was contact, a brilliant light, and then complete, utter darkness.

Nothing but black, coal, nothingness.

In that moment of doubt, a world of questions flowed through that portal into the unknown abyss. Patterns danced about as my mind raced to understand how and why. It was as if the light in my soul had been extinguished, so permeating was the blackness before me. Streams of energy passed through the channel as I silently prayed. Scenes of childhood, patterns of imagery, and all manner of beautiful images played out before me as the void enveloped everything.

I prayed for calmness and the steady hand of the surgeon to do his work.

Then it was done.

The light re-emerged, fractured and confused.

“Close your eyes now and rest,” were the next words the doctor spoke. “We’re all done. You did great.”

“Amen,” I whispered.

For months, my right eye had nearly been blind, except for the blur of figures that I could discern through its milky covering. The vision was like looking through waxed paper. Driving in the dark was the hardest, as glare would blanket my eyesight, often causing me to whence with pain. The cataract had grown quickly; too quickly. Our previous Market Place Insurance premium was so high there was no way we could have afforded the surgery. In fact, that was why we had waited as long as we did; we just couldn’t afford it. But Jesus told us, “Ask and you shall receive, knock, and the door will be opened.” So I prayed, again and again.

Our prayers are often answered, but never in the manner in which he had imagined.

From one door closing to the next one opening, there was no thought as to where it would all end. The only guiding principal was that the Lord was leading us, and where He willed us, we would follow. Never understanding, even now, as to why He was leading us where He did, we kept following. Eventually, that next door found us in a place where the medical benefits would finally pay enough to allow us to afford the eye surgery.

Another prayer answered.

After weeks of waiting, preparation and scheduling, the day had come. After what seemed a lifetime, my surgery was complete. The worse of the two eyes was now repaired. There would be no immediate satisfaction. Knowing just how good the changes were would have to wait until the next day when the swelling and incision had time to heal. There was no lingering pain or side effects, only the question was, “How big a change would I experience?”

Exhausted and spent, I went to bed early that night. Although I was wearing an eye shield, sleep came easily and soundly.

The next morning, gray shades of the dawn began to creep into our bedroom. Unthinking, I arose from bed and dressed, making my way to the bathroom. I had forgotten to pick up my glasses. As I neared the light, something twinkled in my eye. I started to go back to retrieve my glasses to see better but stopped. There was something clearer that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Nearing the nightlight, I looked and could see bursts of clarity that took my breath. Suddenly, I felt like a child on Christmas morning, rising before the dawn to find the presents under the tree. My heart raced as I neared the mirror, slowly peeking at the shield. Underneath, my eye blinked and cleared away the sleep. I stared in disbelief at myself, looking through gauze and plastic, at a much clearer picture than before. Careful, according to the doctor’s orders, I removed the shield, inserted the prescribed drops and timidly made my way to the kitchen. Outside, the sunlight was just beginning to warm the treetops in the forest behind our home. The brilliant glow sparkled like a thousand stars. Up above, the sky formed a brilliant blue that seemed to leap from the air into my soul.

I pushed the button to start the coffee brewing then stepped into my house slippers and opened the front door. Like a newborn walking for the first time, I slowly stepped out into the vibrant world of colors that I had nearly forgotten. Everywhere I looked, things sparkled and shone like ripples on the surface of the water. There was no comparison. It was as if my eye was as clear and crisp as the morning air. Emotion began to overwhelm me when I thought about how we had come to this place and that now, God had once more answered prayer.

Again, and again, the impossible had been made possible.

Tears welled up in both my eyes and I looked toward the heavens. There up above, the most beautiful full moon still shone, in glorious detail. The light from within had once more found the light from without, and the two were one once more.

“Thanks be to God,” I breathed out loud, my breath emitting a fog in the frigid dawn, taking on a shimmering orange glow from the coming sunrise.

As I looked skyward, it was as if God filled my cup to overflowing, as tears began to flow down my cheeks.

There is no more greater gift than that of sight. For we were once blind, but now we see, that when we receive His glory, we can have eternal life.

If only we see.

Yes, the eye is the lamp of the body, and through it, we may seek Him. For to receive Christ into our lives, is to receive the light, and through the lamp, so doth the light flow.

Prayers were lifted, prayers were answered, and once more, the Glory of God shines for all to see.

Thanks be to God!

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by | November 12, 2016 · 8:51 pm

Finding Our Purpose…

20161111_162129“And the Lord appeared to him the same night and said, “I am the God of your father Abraham; do not fear, for I am with you. I will bless you and multiply your descendants for My servant Abraham’s sake.” – Genesis 26:24

It began in a land far, far away, in a time long before our existence was ever imagined; our purpose in this life.

On a rare family trip, one sunny November afternoon, we once more found ourselves exploring the beauty of our new home here in the mountains of North Carolina. As our footsteps tread upon the stones interlaced with roots like sinews of a sleeping leviathan, my thoughts wandered back to how wonderfully made was this world in which we live. For the short time we are here on earth, God prepares us each day for our heavenly home if only we stop and listen. Those spectacular, but brief, moments when we taste, see, or hear ecstasy on earth, it is but a moment in time compared to what awaits. For us to understand, is as if we might fathom our purpose here on earth.

The air upon the mountain top often allows for one to contemplate many things, but none so sobering as to why we are, and where we are, in our journey with God. To stand and span the vista surrounding you can easily impress upon you the vastness of all that surrounds us when few look beyond the four walls of their self-induced prison cell of existence.

It has been said to understand the will of God is to be one with God, something very few people ever come close to realizing. It is as if we spend out lifetime searching for that purpose by which we seek. The inspirational speakers of our day demand we set goals, both long term, and short term; yet, when we walk in His presence, these terrestrial benchmarks matter little. If we truly look back at our lives and wonder when we were fully in control of our destiny, we might be fooled into thinking we have been the master’s of our own ship, but that would certainly be, at least in my case, a ship of fools. Exacting our own gifts to do what we are capable of is to ignore our God given abilities, that alone, we are nothing. In our seeking to be independent of our dependence upon our Creator, we are lulled into an imaginary existence of superiority, being an equal to God; a deadly belief if there ever was one. Like a child wanting to be an adult, many think they can satisfy all their own needs by their own hand. Yet, all that they obtain is never enough. So, the cycle of want and desire become and endless loop, pulling the soul into an abyss from which there is no escape. It is as if we yearn to age before our time only to find ourselves seeking ways back to our youth; a never ending cycle of longing and desire for that which we had, but never fully appreciated.

Some stop in time to finally see the futility and ask, “Why?” If they are blessed to have heard and accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior, then the choice is clear.

There is but one true purpose.

When we awaken to that realization, of one true purpose, and that is to serve Him, then everything else pails in comparison. Those flash-in-the-pan inspirational speakers with their sound bites and tips on how to succeed are nothing but the sound of dry bones rattling in Ezekiel’s desert. All those goals and incremental steps to control our future are merely like the mist floating across the river, appearing for a time then vanishing with the wind.

In fact, long before we are born, God has already begun preparing our paths, making the multitude of variables that will seemingly fall into place on the very day you need them to occur, appear as if by some strange circumstance, your dream came true. For many, those prayers answered had begun before their knock was placed upon the door.

We might kid ourselves into thinking we understand our place and our purpose, but in reality, we are merely speculating.  Just when we think we’ve got it figured out, that door, the one that seemed so solid, so true, will close before your next breath and in the blink of an eye, the world you thought you were the master of becomes the past; a lesson learned.

As Isaac struggled to survive the famine and lead his family from one well to the next, God came to him, telling him that his purpose had been established long before he came into being. His very reason for living was already determined, but yet to be realized. Even so, he had to become the man God had intended him to be, regardless of his faults and shortcomings.

Walking back from our long hike in the thin, cool mountain air there was much for us to consider. For what we do is always on display for others to observe. If we are truly walking with Him on our journey, then we need only comprehend, even if we were to say nothing, that our walking along the narrow ledge of that mountain trail would be enough to speak volumes about who we are and for which we stand. When we stumble, He is there to catch us. When we fall, He is there to pick us up. When we allow his light shine for all to see, He is there to glorify all.

In all that we do, may our walk along life’s pathway be one that glorifies our heavenly Father, so that on that final day of visitation, we may pleasing in his eye.

One may never fully understand why God has placed them upon their path or their purpose in life, but if we accept that just our being there, walking that narrow trail, is simply enough, then we can better accept our fate, our lot in life.

Life on the mountain is a blessing each day.

In all that we do, give thanks to God.

Thanks be to God!

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by | October 11, 2016 · 8:30 pm

Another Door Opens…

“Truly my soul silently waits for God; From Him comes my salvation.” – Psalm 62:1

Sometimes it’s hard to know where to begin.

My footsteps echoed down the hallway as I made my way to the classroom. The sun had just begun to warm the horizon of the nearby mountain top as my key turned the lock to my new office; my home away from home. The thought rolled over in my mind like the key in the lock, “Could I have ever imagined being here a year ago?”

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Back then, my mindset was one of total commitment to the Trail in order to serve the Lord, acting as the Director at the Trail of Faith. It was more than a simple adjustment to a new career. It was a total change of life, giving it all over to God. Yet, doors open, and doors close; so it was with the Trail.

Sometimes we are called to serve, not once but again and again, like the refining of a precious metal.

God was not content for me to remain at the Trail, for it was only a stepping stone in this life’s journey.

Through the days of job searching, the scriptures kept reinforcing my faith. As I silently waited for God to answer prayer, I knew it was only a matter of time before His salvation would be at hand. The morning I received the scripture and message from brother Bill Neal reading, “Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.” -Psalm 34:19 and his timely word, “Your challenge is about to end,” it was clear, God was working diligently beyond what mere mortal eyes could see. That morning I prayed that if today was the day, let their be a sign, a message, anything that would confirm that mornings Word.

I prayed and patiently waited.

That same afternoon I received a phone call to be interviewed for the position of Math teacher at Watauga High School.

It was my first interview after nearly three weeks of searching.

One thing after another kept trying to derail the opportunity, but with each delay, there was the sense that God was working it out. In the end, nothing could stand in His way.

He never fails to provide for His children.

My workplace is now a room with 32 other desks, all facing mine. Every day, it is my job to educate over seventy students at Watauga High School in the fundamentals of Math. Each day I stand before over seventy young people who need more than just another adult telling them what to do; rather, they need a shining light to guide them through this difficult age. Yes, where one door closed, God had already planned another one to open. The Emergency Hire for my position was no coincidence, no happen-chance circumstance; God had a plan.

Each day before I begin, I pray that the Lord give not only myself but also all of the staff at our school, strength, guidance, and wisdom; in this, I am not alone.

Now, more than ever before, the image I present, not necessarily just the words I speak, are ever more significant. As we learn about the nuts and bolts of mathematics, I interject stories of life and lessons learned, hoping to add something much greater than just a lesson about numbers.

This is my new calling to continue to serve.

This is my new home.

Thanks be to God.

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by | October 7, 2016 · 9:18 pm

The Hand of the Lord Upon Us….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, the darkness crept closer still.

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

He was our late father.

My heart leaped.

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

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

Darkness, echoes and then silence.

Something inside me suddenly told me to go after them.

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

“What are you doing,” my sister screamed!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Panic was in the air.

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

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

“No, I’m not,” I calmly replied.

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

“It’s not coming this way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, it was perfectly clear now.

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

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

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by | September 12, 2016 · 9:34 pm

A Tree, A River, and the Word…

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““Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, And whose hope is the Lord. 8 For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, Which spreads out its roots by the river, And will not fear when heat comes; But its leaf will be green, And will not be anxious in the year of drought, Nor will cease from yielding fruit.”-Jeremiah 17:7-8

There are the long spells of time when all is well with my soul, and nothing seems to cause me to take pause. But then out of the blue, it’s as if I’ve been woken up from a long sleep, and suddenly there’s the sinking feeling that there is a looming appointment that’s been forgotten; panic and dread begin to well up inside like a cauldron of hopelessness. These anxious moments are my days and nights lately. Like a lone survivor of a shipwreck looking for the matches to light the signal fire, I scramble to find comfort in the Word. The Bible is closer now than ever before and the scriptures more significant. When those days of fighting between despair and trust come to a close, the trails near our new home have become my bastion of solitude.

There is a peacefulness to the forest.

I can recall my youth, growing up amongst the cornfields of Indiana, looking out my window knowing there was another place that beckoned; a place where mountains and dark wooded vistas wrapped themselves around clear flowing brooks. Back then I didn’t understand or know why I felt the calling. All I could see then was a sea of green cornstalks, occasionally broken by a tree line. The flatness was so apparent it now takes my breath away just to think of it. Sullenly, on my last visit for my father’s funeral, my heart ached as I watched the gray, dormant land pass by the windows of the car. There was an endless feeling of loss that panged me then, but it came not just from the loved one dying, but more than that, it was from knowing that I had spent a childhood amongst this. Part of me had known death before it was ever realized. A vast somber landscape that forces one to search for hope, and escape, any way you can to be saved from something so overpoweringly sad that it makes you wonder how you ever survived to this day. In that place, the most insignificant speck of color became the focus; your pleasure was measured by simple things. To that extent, you are made aware of beauty when it is placed before you, and you soaked it in like one drinking from the well for the first time.

From the somber landscape of Indiana to the mountains here in North Carolina, my life has been a journey I could have never imagined. This is my world now; beauty like Eden, so precious and stirring you cannot help to be moved. Yet, like the bends in the river, my life has taken a turn that we never expected once again.

We could dwell on the why, the how, or the what of it all. But like Lott and his family, the angels told them not to look back lest they become pillars of salt. So we force ourselves to go onward, measuring our steps ever so painfully. Again, reaching for the Word can provide comfort when there is none, allowing for the eyes to look up and see the world around instead of looking down and pondering our fate.

Making scripture come alive was something I had found so pleasing in this past year. So with that in mind, I sought the tree mentioned in Jeremiah, the one that stands beside the stream. My strength comes from Him, like the living water through which the tree survives even in the hardest times. Back to the forest and trails that have become my comforter, I returned once more.

On the days when nobody at home wants to go with me, I then seek out my friend and hiking buddy next door, Leroy. Like a child again, I wander up to the door of his house seeking out my brother in Christ. I knock and jokingly greet his wife Annette with, “Can Leroy come out to play?”

“Sure, ‘c’mon in and I’ll get them,” she replies with that big wide Texas grin as she swings the door open. “Yes, he can come out to play,” she laughs.

With a sheepish grin, he emerges around the corner grabbing his walking staff and hat, “Where too,” he quips?

“Wherever the good Lord takes us,” I smile in reply. “Today we have to hurry, I want to catch the river before the light is gone,” I say pointing to my sketchbook in hand. “I’ve got a tree in mind that matches scripture that has been on my mind a lot lately.”

“Great, let’s get going then,” he responds, and with that, we were off to the nearest trailhead as we wave goodbye to Annette.

As our feet find the path below, we quickly jump into the day’s events and happenings. Before we know it, we’re standing on the banks as the golden light of the sunset begins to paint the river a copper glow, as Leroy described it. The trees are standing firm overhead as the shadows start to overwhelm the forest beyond. Over and over again, the scripture from Jeremiah had been resurfacing in my mind as my recent job loss has created a turmoil in my life like never before.

As we scanned the scene before us, we both saw it at the same time and realized, there it is; the one that spreads its roots out by the river, the one that will not fear when the heat comes, the one whose leaves will remain green and not be anxious when the dry weather comes.

Two artists standing in admiration of God’s beauty, and knowing His word was with us, makes me even now feel blessed in so many ways. The Lord puts us in places with people for reasons we cannot fathom or understand. We are asked only to do His will and obey. When we do, we will be rewarded with innumerable sanctifications.

In awe and silence, I quickly sketched and captured as much of the image as possible before the light of day was gone. Leroy and I had shared once more the feeling of the Holy Spirit coming alive as the Word became truth before our eyes. We shall not be anxious in times of drought, for we will find sustenance in Him, and we will continue to be fruitful in all that we do.

Another walk, another trail, and the journey continues.

These are the Words of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

“I will lift up my eyes to the hills— From whence comes my help? My help comes from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.”-Psalm 121:1-2

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