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by | December 17, 2024 · 10:09 am

Dark Bondage (Part III)

Continued from last month’s story…

We find Stephen, a young man who has suffered his whole life with a chronic illness, seemingly lost in the wilderness. Yet, from the moment the vessel where he found comfort was released from the shore, it was as if Stephen was being released from the bondage that had held him captive. The battle with addictions has all but consumed his life, yet now he faces the greatest challenge of his existence: the battle for his mortal soul. In his journey, he is not alone. A force is leading him, guiding him, even though he doesn’t believe in such things.

Stephen has stumbled upon a remote stone cottage shrouded in early morning darkness. Before he arrives, we meet Sozu and his pet wolf, Aphiemi. Together, they form a curious bond. Yet, when Stephen eventually reaches the doorstep of the mysterious dwelling, he’s greeted not by the mountain man within but rather by someone he never expected – his late grandmother Mildred. Stunned beyond reason, Stephen is rocked to his core – physically, emotionally, and spiritually. In the process, he experiences an epiphany, a dramatic conversion to Christianity. Yet, when he awakens the next day, something is amiss. Has it all been a dream? Was the change real? He has so many questions, but the one he seeks is not who he thinks – there are just so many questions. Will this be the end of his journey or the beginning of something new?

That is for you to discover, seek, and ye shall find…

* * * *

“ The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain: And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it. The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field:  The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.”

– Isaiah 40: 3-8

The next morning, Stephen awoke to the smell of bacon frying. He smiled as he stretched beneath the covers. The usual pain that accompanied most mornings was gone. He felt fresh, renewed. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was inside someone else’s body, definitely not the one he had come to know in recent years. Then, he remembered the events of the previous day. “Could it be true?” he asked himself.

He eagerly arose, dressed, and started climbing down below to continue the wonderful dream come true. But as he grasped the top of the ladder to begin his descent, his heart froze. Something was wrong. Once more, he was about to find his preconceived notions of the world before him were about to be challenged in ways he could not know.

Seated at the hearth, before a suspended flat cast-iron griddle full of sizzling bacon over the fire, was what looked like a mountain man, attentively attending to the meal cooking before him.  Stephen turned, surveying the area below. The room had changed, and it was no longer the kitchen from his childhood; instead, it was an ancient hunting lodge. Near the fire, a wolf lay on a pallet, raising its head. Stephen, confused, began to withdraw in fear, his presence still undetected by the fierce warrior by the fire. But the wolf began to growl, a hushed warning to the man, who then turned, looking in the direction of the wolf’s gaze. Frightened for his safety, Stephen started withdrawing back to the bed for fear of the beast when the man spoke, “No need to fear Aphiemi, she’s as harmless as a dove,” he said, turning to face Stephen.

The stranger had a weathered face, covered by a long grayish-white beard that matched his full head of hair, which was pulled behind and kept with a leather tie. He wore pants and a shirt of matching buckskins embroidered with curious symbols Stephen didn’t understand.

“Who are you, and where’s my grandma?”

“She had to leave but told me to tell you that she loved being able to see you again and that she’ll see you again someday soon.”

“Where did she go? Did you do something to her?”

“No, of course not; I would never harm her. But where she went, that is a conversation for another time, my friend, but first, let me introduce myself; I am Suzo, your faithful servant of God.”

“Then, I’m assuming you are a friend of my grandmother?”

“Oh, yes, most definitely,” he said with a chuckle, turning back to the griddle and turning over a spatula full of bacon.

“Why should I believe you? You could have killed her and drug her body into the forest. What can you tell me that would make me believe you are her friend?”

Suzo turned, his face now seriously grave, “First of all, I’m a servant of God, and secondly, your grandmother knew you would have questions, so she gave me this.” From amongst the necklace of bearclaws around his neck, he fished out a tiny wooden cross and held it up in his direction. “Here, does this look familiar? You carved this for her when you were just a teenager living with her. It was probably the most loving thing you did for anyone besides yourself in your entire life.”

The stranger’s words cut to the core of his heart, and he knew what he said was true – that it was the only loving thing he had ever done for anyone else. His defensive posture was melted away as Sozu turned back to attend to the meal cooking before him.

“Okay, only she would have known that, and for her to tell you and for her to give you that cross would mean that she knew I would question who you were. So, yes, I’ll believe you for now. But why did she have to leave? And why are you here in her house?”

“Oh, my, you have so many questions,” he said, chuckling, still looking at the pan of frying meat before him. “I tell you what, you come down here so we can get better acquainted, and I’ll fill you in on everything?” At this last, he turned, smiling at Stephen, giving him a wink.

Stephen felt obliged and tentatively made his way down the ladder to the rough-hewn log table. His grandma’s kitchen chairs were replaced with hand-hewn wood chairs made from branches from the nearby forest. The wolf lay her head back down, momentarily suspending Stephen’s fear of his proximity to such a large, threatening wild animal.

After Stephen found a place at the table, he sat, turned to face the man and his wolf companion, and continued, “So, again, why are…”

Before he could finish, Sozu interrupted, “I’m here to serve God by searching for lost sheep, and in so doing, was summonsed to be here for one, such as yourself. Then you, unaware of what was leading you, found your way to this doorstep. Does that ring a bell?”

“Sheep, lost? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Have you not heard of when Jesus told his disciples that it was more important to leave the ninety-nine and to go save the one lost sheep than to remain with the ninety-nine?”

“Uh, maybe,” Stephen said, shrugging his shoulders, knowing full well that he had no idea what the man was saying, “But what does that have to do with me? Did my grandma tell you stuff about me before she left?

“Maybe, and maybe not,” Suzo turned back to the bacon, turning another group of slices over. The pan hissed angrily as the smoke from the griddle was drawn into the flu, along with the smoke from the fire below. The smell was driving Stephen’s stomach mad with hunger.

“So, did she tell you what happened to me yesterday, how I fell apart when I saw her?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that you fell apart; rather, I’d like to look at it as if you were falling together.”

Suzo turned from the fire and stood facing Stephen. He looked larger now that he stood up, indeed a mountain of a man. “My friend, and I hope you don’t mind me calling you that, but what you experienced yesterday was comparable to what the Apostle Paul experienced on the road to Damascus—a radical conversion, if you will.”

“So, she DID tell you about what happened!”

“Perhaps, but just because it happened yesterday doesn’t mean it isn’t still true today.”

“What?”

“Do you feel like you were in a dream yesterday?”

“Sort of…”

“Well, I can guarantee you that the Holy Spirit’s conviction that you experienced was the real thing.”

“How do you know that, and how will I know that? How will I know that it’s still true today as much as it felt yesterday? How will I know that I didn’t just dream it all,” Stephen began pulling his dirty blonde hair back from his face, trying to make sense of it all. His head began to swim,  “This is insane.”

“Salvation isn’t a feeling, Stephen; it’s a change of one’s heart and soul. The former things are passed away, and you become a new person. The things of old, those sinful things in your life that ruled your spirit, will become loathsome, turning your stomach. When you forget and mess up, and yes, that’s going to happen, you will become convicted by the Holy Spirit. Although those things wouldn’t have bothered you in the past, now they will, to the point you will become nauseated having done them, and in the future, you will learn to turn from them. Pleasing God will become the focal point of your life. Slowly, with time, you will become more sanctified, which is a fancy word for becoming more Christ-like.

Yes, sometimes, along with that salvation comes the healing of the body and the spirit. Case in point: When you awoke this morning, wasn’t there something different, …like how you physically felt?”

“Uhhh,…yes, but how did you know that?”

“How I know doesn’t matter. What matters is that because of the inward change, it has already affected your body. Like a light shining within, it has outwardly permeated that darkness from inside you. Most people don’t experience that aspect of their salvation until years later in their walk of faith, if ever. You were blessed in a remarkable way. The cleansing of your spirit has allowed your body to heal immediately. Like the man at the pool of Bethesda, Jesus said to him, ‘Take up your bed and walk,’ and immediately, the man was made whole. At that point, he believed the man before him was the Christ, the Son of God, and that He alone could make him whole. Being whole meant that he wasn’t only physically restored but spiritually as well. In that instance, the man who had been afflicted for thirty-eight years was immediately, inwardly, and outwardly made new.”

Stephen knew in his heart that everything Suzo was saying was true. It all seemed so simple, yet so complicated.

Suzo could see the struggle in Stephen’s eyebrows as he worked through the understanding of all that had transpired in the last few hours. “I tell you what,” Suzo spoke as he carefully removed the bacon from the fire placing it on a plate nearby, “Lets finish breakfast and then go for a walk. We can continue to talk about all this, you can ask any question you want, and maybe by the time were done, you will have less doubts and more confidence.”

Stephen nodded in agreement.

Later that morning, as Suzo and Stephen were walking along a stream that flowed just a few hundred yards from the cabin, Suzo paused. Beside them, the rocks created an eddy, making a pool of still water. “You’ve heard me speak all about the change in you, how you will now have a conviction, how God will not only be your focus but your guiding light, right,” Suzo said as he sat down leaning his walking stick against the rock upon which he sat. Stephen sat next to him, finding the coolness of the rock comforting. The wolf came near, quietly sitting by his side.

“Yes.”

“And you asked about how you know it’s true, and what does it mean, yes?”

“Correct, again.”

“But what if someone could show you what true love, agape love, the love of God was, would it help?”

“Yeah, sure. But what does that have to do with it?”

“Let’s see,” Suzo said, pointing to the water. There, amongst the reflection of white clouds nestled against the backdrop of a cornflower blue sky, a light beneath the surface began to show. Underneath, like thoughts dwelling within the distant portals of his mind, swam a cloud of swirling minnows, a scene began to unfold. Stephen could see his grandmother’s kitchen once again, where he had spent so many memorable moments of his childhood. There, at the bench at the end of the table, his spot, was the little boy. It was the same child he had seen the day before in the cottage. As Stephen watched the story, he watched as, time after time, people came and went in the child’s life, always leaving him behind. He had been essentially abandoned by his parents, leaving his grandparents to raise him. In the vision, Mildred cared for the child as her own, but with an even greater affection knowing that this poor little one had been unwanted, left to fend for himself in a scary, big world. She always tended to his needs, but as he came and went, it became apparent that she was there for more than to address his physical needs; she was there as a beacon of hope, of an unconditional love unlike any he had ever known. As Stephen watched the story play before him, he felt a knot in his stomach grow as he became painfully aware, the little boy was him. It was then that he not only remembered the love of his grandma, but he felt the love wash over him like the combination of a loving quilt, a fresh loaf of bread, or an endearing sunrise – all at once, and yet, even more. It was at that moment that Stephen realized, if only for a moment that he did know the love of God, that it had been there all along, emanating through his grandmother’s love. He had just never realized it.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sat watching the mirage, knowing in his heart that he was not alone. There was a father in his life, not the one that had left him abandoned, but one that had been with him all along. It was through the love of his grandmother that God spoke to him.

“Now, do you see, my friend?”

Stephen nodded, unable to speak. As he watched the story of his life play out in the depths of the water before him, he felt a nudge against his leg as Aphiemi leaned against his leg. Instinctively, he patted the top of the great animal’s head.

“You see Stephen, God commended his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from the wrath through him. For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life. This is the true love of God. That he loved us so much, that he would send his only Son to die for our us, so that we may have eternal life.”

“Yes, I get it, I really get it now,” Stephen said now, looking up from the vision in the pool. “But where do I go from here?”

“Ahh, yes, that’s the beauty of it all,” Suzo said, smiling broadly. “From here, seek Him daily in prayer, in study, and in the discernment of where you should go in everything that you do.”

“Can you show me how that all works?”

“Yes, my friend, I was only hoping you would ask.”

From that day forward, Stephen studied under Sozu, becoming more knowledgeable in the Lord, and growing in his faith. Eventually, Stephen would go into the nearby villages with Sozu, seeking the lost, afflicted, and troubled souls of the world. He never again doubted his faith, nor looked back to the desires of the world. He found his new life in Christ and wanted nothing less, forever more.

Thanks be to God.

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by | April 27, 2024 · 8:19 am

Dark Bondage – part I

There are days in our lives when the weather can match the mood so resplendently that one cannot discern one from the other. The gray, overcast somberness seems to creep into our very core, a darkening of the spirit, dissuading all that seeks to find joy in the sunbeams, happiness in the daylilies, or the enrichment of the sound of the songbird in the distance. Some feel continual pain for long periods of time or some for the entirety of their lives. Could it be more or less akin to dragging an anchor behind you, struggling to move, finding stairs, or ascending heights, a bewildering prospect? One must ask, is this it for the rest of my life? Is this my new norm?

Stephen sought every medical profession that would help him resolve this chronic debilitating disease. Each day, when he tried to rise, it was as if the core of his being was chained to the bed; bondage to an earthly prison had encompassed most of his adult life. If only he could break free. The doctors found one excuse after another to describe his condition, yet nobody had an answer. Early on, prescription opioids masked the unceasing pain. Still, he found it took more and more until there came a breaking point, a day of blind fury from the disconnect he forced upon himself, knowing that if he continued, he would die from the treatment rather than the crux of his demise. From there, the bottle became the agent of choice to which he sought relief if any could be found. Yet, that too, the well of utter hopelessness, kept him forever seeking another path, another way out of the day-to-day hell. One cancer led to another.

The rage that accompanied the agony spoke words he could not control; his mouth was as much a vile lesion upon his soul as the disease within.  Too often, he would see himself, a stranger within his own body, inflicting pain upon his loved ones and, one by one, watching them leave, never to return. The dark abyss to which his life spun, the whirlwind of depression upon whose waves his body was interred, carried him to depths of rejection and suffering no mortal man could stand, at least for any length of time. Yet, as much as one might believe a human capable of withstanding, Stephen could have easily given up and accepted death, but there awaited an eternity of anguish and pain. Instinctively, he knew that was not the answer. If only he could find peace in an eternal sleep. So, instead of giving in, he pressed on – something drove him onward. The costs were immeasurable, and the endurance with which he strived to stay alive when everything else said to lie down and end it all was incomprehensible. It was as if there was a being watching over him, even if he didn’t desire that protection or grace being bestowed upon him.

One day, distraught and hungry, Stephen sought refuge in the wilderness, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. Isolation from the world, from the pain itself, is an alluring deception to escape reality. He found himself walking along a riverbank, pondering everything and anything, not hoping, not denying, but merely existing, when he happened upon a dugout canoe tied to a small tree. Not seeing anyone around, he, more out of curiosity than of a criminal nature, slipped from the bank into the vessel, where he found a few loose animal pelts lying about. Not seeing any harm, he took the soft hides and wrapped himself in the bosom of a fur cocoon, falling fast asleep. With the added weight, the breeze gently rocked the boat and soon slipped the knot around the limb to which it was moored. Quietly and gently, the little boat began to follow the river’s current, winding beneath the patchwork of clouds and sky above while the occupant slept as deep a sleep as he had been able in many months. The day faded into twilight as the full moon soon began to crest the horizon. Long shadows crossed the river, yet the little craft continued unabated in its journey, its passenger unaware of the course to which he had befallen. Deep within the recesses of his mind, the pain had eased a touch, allowing the soothing sounds and comforting ripples of the water to lull him into a state of mind that had alluded him for many years. There, upon the gentle tides of the dream world, from a place of bliss, he saw himself sitting on the top of a knoll in a meadow in the shade of a large oak tree. It was an enchanted island in a sea of tall stalks with abundant heads of grain bending under the weight of their bounty. The breeze blew the weighty summer grasses all around him, turning color as the underside revealed a lighter shade, making mesmerizing undulating waves of grain that appeared to chase the shadows of the clouds above – a dance of splendor upon the landscape beneath an azure blue sky. The fields were ripe for harvest.

A redtail hawk cried in the distance as Stephen watched her glide upon the currents of the sky, floating with a sense of purpose, steady but graceful. It was then he sensed the feeling of a warm, loving blanket of comfort wash over his soul. Something dangling from a nearby low branch caught his eye, drawing his attention to a trinket hanging from a thin leather strand. Its image, suspended in the air, hung before the sun, blinding his vision and forcing him to shield his eyes with one hand while leaning against the tree trunk. “Could it be,” he thought to himself. Before him, the summer breeze gently buffeted a tiny hand-carved cross. It had been a gift to his grandmother when he was still in his teens.

The embodiment of hope welled up within his being, so much so that the impression became apparent as tears welled up in his eyes, temporarily obscuring the scene before him, washing together the colors until he couldn’t see the beauty before him. At that moment, he heard a voice, but no one was there. It was as if it came from nowhere and everywhere. “Son, don’t give up on this life, for you are loved more than you know.” There it was again, the voice of reason, of hope, someone he had not thought of in a long time, his grandmother Mildred. Her passing left a hole in his teenage heart that he never seemed to be able to fill. Her soothing tones would comfort his childhood mishaps with such loving care that nothing else mattered whenever she finished consoling his wounded pride. The voice continued, “Too soon many have turned from God’s loving arms, and too soon they have found themselves awash in hopelessness and despair. Take comfort in knowing that you are not alone, that He is with you, always. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbors, saying unto them, rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. Your life has a purpose, one that you may not see or understand, but someday soon, you will see what glory awaits. For now, press on towards the mark. Someday soon, you will be delivered.”

With that, a sudden bump awakened Stephen from his slumber as the bow of the tiny craft nudged the shoreline of the river, now many miles from whence it had departed. Unsure of himself, he looked about, still wrapped in the warmth of the hides he had stumbled upon. The voice from the dream still lingered upon his mind like the smoke from the chimney on a cold, windless night. Its vapor encircled the essence of his being, as the smoothing aroma of woodsmoke. He accepted his plight as one might look to the horizon of a distant shore, waiting for the moment their vessel would eventually make landfall.  Stephen looked about his tiny craft for a paddle to continue his nautical journey, but there was none. The old saying popped into his mind, “One can paddle every canoe except one’s own.”

The moonlight, still bright, lit the shoreline with a somber, blueish-white tint – dreamlike in nature. Stepping out of the canoe, keeping one of the furs wrapped about his shoulders to ward off the chill of the night, he found an animal trail from the water’s edge. He began to follow it, not knowing where he was nor where he was going, only that to continue forward felt important, as if something or someone was calling him – a beckoning from afar. It was a mountainous terrain upon which he had happened as his trek paralleled the water’s edge; the sound of rapids below consummated his footsteps as they found their way up a steep incline. His lungs began to labor at the toil unto which his legs carried him, continually climbing over and passing boulders that lay like sleeping giants along the trail’s ever-winding boundary. He continued in this manner for many hours, the moon eventually setting as the hint of a distant sunrise began to lighten the Eastern sky. His path eventually topped out at the crest of the mountain. The sky was a somber pink and blue, painting the mountain tops with a golden hue that spoke of an assurance he felt he should know, but something inside him purposely kept it at a distance – a chasm of doubt between the two. A single thread of smoke caught his eye, evidence of another human in this dreamlike realm. His eye followed it down until it came to its source: a stone cottage nestled in the cusp of the darkness, its windows glowing from lamplight within. To this end, there was a draw from which he could not discern, other than it felt as if there was a welcoming gesture in that humble abode to which he must go. So, without delay, he pulled the pelt closer to his chin and continued down, ascending into the depths of the night once more, as the morning sun had yet to penetrate the recesses of the valley below.

* * * *

The Sozo rose early that Sabbath morning, immediately slipping to the floor beside his bed, kneeling in prayer, something he did every day for as long as he could remember. His life was one with God, and each day, he was afforded the multitude of His blessings. As he lifted his voice to the Father, he received a brief but clear vision. In the scene, it was still dark, but just within the outer confines of the light from his lodge stood a small lamb calling for help. Its white coat was muddied from traveling many miles. While it continued to call, its breath was visible, as the chill of the night was still lingering. The little animal’s cries spoke of pain, something a farmer comes to know when working with animals, a sense of discomfort for which the beast can only comforted by its caregiver. The vision ended when he opened the door, and something else, something he understood from before, began to unfold. The Sozo arose from the floor, knowing God was at work, and before the day was out, He would reveal its mystery.

After stoking the fire in the hearth a few minutes later, he eased into his ancient, well-worn rocking chair while sipping the day’s first cup of coffee. As he poured over God’s word, he gently stroked the soft hair of Aphiemi, his pet wolf, the wild animal he had taken in as a pup so many years before. The elder had been returning from a day of searching for lost souls in the nearby village when he found the brutal scene of death. Hunters had killed Aphiemi’s mother and the rest of the litter. She had survived by hiding in a hollow log next to the den, where she was slowly dying of hunger. Wolves were a threat to the villagers in the area, often killing many of their young and threatening the safety of their livestock. From the villager’s perspective, it was the elimination of a pestilence. To Sozo, it was a heartless killing. Aware of the implications of taking in a wild animal, the old man felt in his heart that he could not allow the little puppy to die of starvation – thus, he and the baby wolf’s companionship began. With her by his side, he always felt even more protected from the worldly dangers that hearkened to the door of his obscure dwelling. In a way, it was as if God had provided him a protector, but instead of a weapon, it came in the form of a wolf.

In deep contemplation, he read over the ancient manuscript encased within the weathered, leather hand-bound volume; his eye followed the letters on the page from the Gospel of Luke, “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?  And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders  and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’7 I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.” He leaned back, taking another sip from the warm mug, thinking over these words and the vision he had received. “Coincidence or not,” he thought to himself, but before he could ponder further, Aphiemi raised her head and gave a low guttural growl.

There came the dull thud of the iron knocker wrapping at the chamber door. Aphiemi stood, hair bristling along her spine.

“Easy, girl.” Slowly rising from his rocker, Sozo headed toward the door.

“Let’s see what the Lord hath brought us today.”

* * * *

Standing at the outer edge of the realm of darkness, just beyond the emanating lamplight from within, Stephen considered his next move. The dwelling looked as if it had been built in an ancient time; the slate roof reflected the coming dawn as the glow from the windows painted the stone walls a buttery hue, a delicious glow that beckoned him all the more. Still, not knowing the demeanor of the inhabitants within, Stephen groveled deep within his soul – should he dare knock, or should he just go on? Like a man wrestling with a power greater than his own, he eventually succumbed to the pressure and moved forward. He stepped upon the stone porch and raised the heavy iron handle of the door knocker, pausing, questioning why he was even here and what he was about to do.

Then he dropped the metal handle, which fell with a loud thud on the massive wooden door.

The sounds of footsteps shuffling toward him could be heard from within – then a pause. Stephen swallowed a hard gulp of air momentarily, asking for protection in a silent thought – to whom he didn’t know.

Then, the creak of the lock.

When the door opened, a swoosh of warmth and a welcoming light from within flooded the porch, embracing Stephen. What he saw before him caused his heart to pause. For a moment, his senses could not contain the overwhelming tumult of thoughts that ran through his mind. He was speechless, yet he felt something he had not known in many years or possibly ever.

To be continued…

 

 

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by | March 29, 2024 · 10:32 am

The Seen and Unseen

“Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear.” – Hebrews 11:3

Oh, how much more beautiful are those things before us when we consider the hands that hath made them? To know that there is a loving creator, one who formed a Universe such that it would provide for our lives upon the tiny orb, the spec in the grand abyss of space, to which everything is set in perfect alignment so that we may have life, should give us a sense of comfort and awe simultaneously. Not only are we a magnificent work of the Father, but we are also part of the Master’s plan. As we commute to our daily labor, we should take notice of the world in which we live – the beauty, the grandeur, the utter magnificence of everything that unfolds before us – the visibly seen.

Yet, as much as appears, there is all the more that is unseen: the subatomic, the ethereal, and lastly, the spiritual. The more science uncovers in its inexhaustive search for the truth, the more we can see the hand of God. Time and time again, the revelations point to the supernatural, that which is beyond the measure of analytical approach. In the end, we are led to have all the more confidence in our faith in one that we have never seen, yet who we know exists.

However, as much as one considers all the proof, some find themselves doubting, even when they have once fully believed. How is this possible? From my limited but careful observation, I find that there are many reasons, but seemingly, in each, there is an element of sin, however small, that comes between knowing God and his will for our lives. Unlike the grain of sand in the oyster shell, which eventually becomes a pearl, this agitation is quite the opposite, resulting in a darkness that can consume its host. From relational disappointments to desires of the flesh, there are a multitude of methods in which the enemy can interject the seed of doubt, casting believers into a season of utter despair and misery.

But how do we cope with this season of doubt, of feeling lost? How does one crawl out from beneath the massive granite boulder of depression and guilt? There is no one set answer for all, but the underlying path is to seek God where you found him in the beginning if there was one. Where was that? Hopefully, it was in the Word, in prayer, in supplication, and in the fellowship of other believers. But if not, that would be a solid place to start.

“Yeah, ok, that sounds great and all, but how does that remove the doubt,” you ask? To eliminate that which draws you away from Him, you must first identify what it is that has made the separation. Then, once that cause has been identified, one should search for the reason that pulled you away from His divine nature. Was it church? Was it a concept? Was it a person? There are endless possibilities, but for the sake of time, let’s focus on one – the person.

Too often, we unknowingly put others on a pedestal, propping them up in our minds. The danger in this is that those other people are human too, capable of sin as easily as you are, no matter their stature or importance on the world stage. We’ve all heard of the demise of church leaders and evangelists. Their corruption becomes like a wave of disease that spreads across their congregations and followers. When they fall or fail to exhibit those Godly characteristics to which we were first attracted to them, we suddenly become hurt – it’s as if a piece of our heart has been deceived, leaving a hole within. In those instances, one can begin to question if they genuinely believed, having seen the one whom they held in such high esteem become a mere mortal once again. We ask ourselves, “Were their teachings truly espousing the Word of God, or was I deceived,” we might ask? “Can I trust my salvation if it were based upon someone who had secretly been sinning all along?” These questions are valid, yet should not be the final answer to where you leave your faith. One must press on, turning to the scriptures yourself, not waiting to be fed, seeking Him on your own. Then, once you have found Him once more, find a community that supports you, both spiritually and fundamentally. The restoration process can be long, but in the end, the results are so much more glorious, for then, you will have achieved a testimony of your own.

We live in a dark, sinister world that seeks to devour us and our faith. We must be ever vigilant, seeking Him in all things—both visible and invisible. We serve a mighty God.

If you have a testimony, share it with others. There are so many that are hurting, that have doubts, and those who just need someone to talk with who truly cares about them in a loving manner.

As you go forth today, be a light to the world around you and always know that whether we can see Him or not, He is with you always – until the end of time.

Thanks be to God.

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by | February 25, 2024 · 10:38 am

Squeezing the Essence of Life

“The value of the myth is that it takes all the things we know and restores to them the rich significance which has been hidden by “the veil of familiarity”. The child enjoys his gold meat (otherwise dull to him) by pretending it is buffalo, just killed with his own bow and arrow. And the child is wise. The real meat comes back to him more savoury for having been dipped in a story; you might say that only then is it the real meat. If you are tired of the real landscape, look at it in a mirror. By putting bread, gold, horse, apple, or the very roads into a myth, we do not retreat from reality: we rediscover it. As long as the story lingers in our mind, the real things are more themselves.” – C.S. Lewis[1]

Squeezing the essence out of life, clenching between our fists that material by which we are to be enriched, too often we fail to allow room for that which we cannot control by grasp and might to flow as it should. I’ve heard many times of Bible studies, the reading of the entire Bible in ninety days, as more of a corporal punishment than something by which one can be refreshed and filled with the Holy Spirit- rather, it becomes a monotonous lecture of words through which we tire, losing focus on what God is meaning to speak into our lives. We check off the box, saying how much we have accomplished, yet in the grand scheme of things, we’ve only spent time in the Word superficially, leaving the best morsels on the table, thinking that we have bettered ourselves when fooling ourselves was the only success obtained in the struggle.

Finding life in the every day things, the beauty of God’s creation is similar in aspect. When allowed, that which is beyond our comprehension comes into our thoughts as creative decorations, adorning the journal upon the table before us, presenting itself as something more than just a paper and pen, but a pathway into a magical journey through the mystical realm of the mind’s imagination. Squeezing the life of every waking minute of the day shouldn’t be one of tireless pursuit of money or labor to the point we become weary of living. Rather, we should embrace the breath of air in our lungs as another opportunity to find that secret cove beyond the next bend in the forest trail to which we seek – its magical discovery unfolding a world to which we have yet to discover, exhaling the very essence of the Spirit into our soul.

Last night, the dream began with something of a defensive posturing against something unseen, something dark and sinister. We were to dig large holes, much like one might find with a crawdad hole, albeit without the tower of mud, but more like the forty-five-degree angle of the hole in the ground the size that would capture an alligator or animal similar in size. These holes we dug were in water about waste deep. After setting up, we then pulled the craft in which we worked onto shore on a roughly paved landing. It looked like something someone would have done by hand, shaping the pavement in handfuls of tar-covered rocks, then smoothing them with the palm – lumpy, uneven, but useful, in that the traction gained was better than a smooth surface that would become slick with water.

Later, the old general store, or what was left of it, came to mind. From the darkness, I approached a dimly lit counter area. Nothing else was visible, like a beacon on the shoreline, it was all there was. Behind the counter, the shelves stocked with the normal old country store wares. Before the counter, under the shadow of the protruding edge, sat bags of beans and small barrels of smoked fish and crackers. There was a poorly constructed chicken coop built behind and around the counter as if it were the support structure for the loosely wound chicken wire. It appeared it had either been constructed in haste, or by someone ignorant in the methods of building a chicken coop. Predators were a major concern, either by myself or the proprietor in charge. During the day, the chickens were allowed to walk around, in and out the front door, around the store, or wherever they wanted to roam. But when dusk came, we hurriedly sought the poultry to put back into their cage of protection. This anxiety seemed to become the overriding theme of the dream in that when I awoke, there was a feeling of anxiousness – not being able to keep up with mortality induced by foxes, coons, and coyotes.

Knowing that the F3 group would be at Local Lion, which was my initial destination for the day, taking up the majority if not all of the parking spaces, my drive was intentionally slowed by my own intentions, giving the F3 gang time to disperse. Taking my time, the commute was much more enjoyable. Along the way, the concept of allowing the story to dwell within the reality before me added to the beauty of the coming dawn – giving life to those inanimate structures that we see day after day. Their stories allow for richer perceptions to flow, and with that, something greater than the superficial observation begins to surface. As Lewis put it, “the veil of familiarity,” when removed, allows for the richness of the essence of significance something once had to return to its former glory, penetrating through the persistent glaze of rust brought on by daily wear. Finding the will to perceive that concept is not easy. Alone, we are incapable of doing such, or at best, vaguely successful. Some turn to exterior inspiration in a drink or otherworldly narcotics that supposedly enlighten one’s soul. Yet, in the end, their reputation exceeds their benefit causing their partaker to faulter. Had they only found the source of true spiritual rejuvenation, they would have known that the world cannot save them nor provide for them in ways that seem to bring out the creativity they seek. It is only when we find Him, and imbibe of His Spirit, do we truly find the well from within that sates those inspirational draughts, reviving our spirit with His.

As long as the story, so to speak as Lewis wrote, dwells within us, those majestic peaks of that morning drive become even more supernatural. Their heights become legendary, and their impressive veil reflecting the coming sunrise only speak more of what we have in store that awaits, should we continue to keep Him in our heart. The day is young, and the story has yet to unfold; answer when he asks, “Whom shall I send,” with, “Send me,” and so it shall be.

The journey awaits.

[1] On Stories: And Other Essays on Literature. Copyright © 1982, 1966 by C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. All rights reserved. Used with permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

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by | July 11, 2023 · 6:12 am

Adrift at Sea

You never know what you will see or hear on campus. As I made my way to the car to drive home, several groups of high-school students made their way to the dining hall. The season of summer camps had begun. Each group, some the first time away from home, clung to their companionships like a drowning man to a remnant of wood that once was the ship from which they had been cast. Afloat now in a vast ocean of unknowns, their only hope was the meager breadth of wood to which they clung – those few people that had traveled with them from their beginning. It is no wonder that as they converse and carry on, they must adhere to something which gives them strength of spirit, an inner encouragement.

So, it was no surprise to hear a small group of young men repeating a saying that would repeat itself ad nauseam if said correctly. Now, I don’t keep up with the latest memes or gaming nuances – they themselves never end. Yet, whatever they were repeating was entertaining enough, and garnering them enough attention, that they loudly spoke as if orating a masterpiece of knowledge.

Passing by and hearing them made me wonder something, which in a sense, was a judgment but not one of intent. Instead, it made my heart sad that such brilliant minds might otherwise have memorized something which the world needed – something which contained a thought or phrase which, if spoken to the passerby, might give them a sense of hope. Yes, what if they had memorized a scripture long enough to challenge their mental faculties yet, spoke a message to the world that as they walked, they professed their belief in God? What if they merely quoted the twenty-third Psalm? Would those whom they randomly encountered be blessed all the more?

As their voices faded into the hum of the campus life, a butterfly drifted past me, landing on a flower, one amongst the many in the landscaped bed. How precious, yet, blessed was the sight, so much so that it caused me to stop and think. Did not those young voices mesmerized by their own abilities not give one a sense of hope. Like that butterfly finding that one flower amongst so many, could not one person reach one in that group, and through that one individual reach the others, giving them something to cling to? Like that piece of driftwood lost at sea, they could find something that would not only keep them afloat but save their life as well. For if one person speaking to one of them, could it not change the minds of more? If they can memorize that useless phrase, what if they someday met someone that gave them a different, uplifting passage that would not only allow them to show off their mental status but, more importantly, give light to the world about them? Have I not encountered the very thing Jesus espoused to his followers, “The fields are white ready to harvest, but the laborers are few?”

Think about those before you today, and speak as if God has given you a platform to share His message, not one of inane repetitiveness, but of truth and light. Be not of this world, but rather, seek Him first, and all else will fall into place.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 10, 2023 · 7:32 am

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread

On Saturday, my wife said that she had read on the Cove’s forum that blueberries were ready to pick down at the community garden and asked if I could pick some for her. Wanting to be a good husband and knowing from years of training that the two best words a man can utter are, “Yes, dear,” I replied that Sunday would be a better day to do her bidding.

So, yesterday, when time availed itself, my preparation for the good deed began. Looking for a container with which to retrieve the berries started out with the idea of an old plastic milk jug cut in half, knowing that there probably wouldn’t be many berries remaining. After all, the message had been sent to several hundred people. However, from not finding a suitable cutting tool to having no other small container available, it felt like I was being led to take something larger. Soon, after listening to that still small voice speak, a left-over dry-wall mud bucket was chosen. “Too large, but at least it would be easy to tote since it had a nice handle,” I said to myself.

After washing my new oversized carrying container under the outside hydrant, my journey began. Through the shade of the deep woods, over the trail that wound beside a gentle flowing stream, the pathway led. There was a cool breeze – quite a pleasant surprise, considering we are in the midst of the summer months. The birds were singing melodies quite pleasing to the ear, providing a serenade of peace that made the weary soul rejoice. Before I knew it, the forest gave way to the open field surrounded by the black wooden fencing where the gardens lay.

My suspicions from the initial thoughts of the number of blueberries available to be picked were soon confirmed – pickins’ were far and few between. Yet, knowing that even a couple handfuls would make my beloved happy, I began taking what few drops of heavenly sweetness would afford. After gleaning as many as possible, my large bucket seemed still wholly empty. The breeze wafted, causing the apple trees nearby to catch my eye. There, splendidly arrayed, were several trees with ripe apples of different varieties. “Well, since there’s plenty of room, why not,” the thought came. So, ambling in their direction, my hands eagerly picked some of the delectable choice morsels. “These would be wonderful treats and add a nice touch to my daily smoothies,” the thoughts cascaded into my head.

While I had been picking the bounty of fare, several different groups had arrived, either tending to their own gardens or just stopping by to view the plots therein. As I made my way to the gate to leave, one of those couples hailed me, “Hey, would you like some cucumbers or zucchini? We have plenty.”

“Sure, I would love some,” came my reply. “I work full-time, so I just don’t have time to plant a garden.”

“Well, we’d be happy to share. They’re just on the other side of the fence.”

“Ok, I was just headed that way.”

We met at the exit gate and exchanged greetings, shaking hands, the husband and wife. They looked to be around my age and very fit. Evidently, life had treated them well. We shared where we lived, each not knowing exactly where that was, seeing as the size and scope of the neighborhood.

We talked briefly about gardening as they pointed to the vegetables arrayed on the ground. I shared with them how much we missed growing a garden since leaving the farm back in Chatham County. They handed me one item after another until my bucket was nearly overflowing. It was then I realized what had happened. The Lord had shown again his ability to provide even when there was no thought nor request for sustenance. “Give us this day our daily bread” came to mind as they eagerly shared their hard work and graciousness. Before leaving, I thanked them repeatedly, ending with, “The Lord told me to bring a bigger bucket today. Now I know why.”

They smiled in return, and we said our goodbyes.

As I walked home along the trail of tranquility, the peace of Christ that passes all understanding blanketed my heart with sweet joys. The burning in my arms from carrying the great reward was a blessing, not only because of what was shared but knowing that God had again provided over and above all that was expected.

I was not worthy, yet he sent his Son to take the wrath for my sins on the cross so that a sinner like myself could have eternal life.

Yes, a prayer was answered even when it wasn’t mentioned.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 9, 2023 · 6:09 pm

Don’t Fall in the Ditch

 

There is something peaceful about a good night’s sleep. As we age, those precious occasions seem to grow less frequent. Last night was one of those rare opportunities to catch up on much-needed rest.

This morning, the temptation was there to rush off to the coffee shop to hang out and write. But knowing that it would cut into my morning devotion time and the fact that the last time I went there early on a Friday, a men’s group was just finishing – too large for the tiny establishment. When they concluded it was like a beehive had been struck, the fiery sound of a myriad of discussions ensued, overflowing the peace and calm, killing the intended mood and ambiance for which the location was sought. Agreeable to why they met, it was still a distraction that couldn’t be avoided.

So, withstanding the above encounter, I chose to remain at home this morning and sit listening to my preferred music while typing out these few lines. At least here, I’m saving time and money and still accomplishing some semblance of study and devotion.

One must ask, for if we do not, are we not guilty of assuming we are correct – am I doing all that is possible to draw closer to God? The scripture in Luke 6 warns of such assumptions, “And he spake a parable unto them, Can the blind lead the blind? shall they not both fall into the ditch?” Writing out the devotion, there were certain people I had in mind – those who could truly use those words spoken by our Lord and Savior. Yet, as I now write, it seems that the scripture found in Luke pertains ever more to myself in the aforementioned sense. How shall one be able to lead others if they have not done their homework, so to speak? Are we not susceptible to falling into the ditch, into temptation, into sin when we ourselves have not committed our lives, our every breath to seeking God? It is when we can look in the mirror and make the feeble determination, based on what we have learned to lean not on our own understanding but His that we then can be bold enough, when realizing if we are open to allowing Christ to work in us, then it will be Him that speaks through us. In this final realization, we become those who can guide others, not because of anything we do ourselves, but because He works in and through us. We are His vessels. We are the new temple; through that jar of clay, the Holy Spirit will shine through, speaking life into the dark world.

Do your homework, but don’t hide behind closed doors. Boldly go out into the world and be the light for someone in this dark world, sharing the Good News of Jesus Christ.

Thanks be to God.

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by | July 1, 2023 · 10:30 am

The Forest Before Me

 

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, 2 looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” – Hebrews 12:1-2

The air is fresh and clean, but a welcoming blanket of humidity greets us today. The thunderstorms that rolled through the area overnight left in their wake an overcast dawn. Outside, the forest before me likewise slowly awakens, reminding me of my home in the holler of the enchanted wood back in North Carolina. Unlike there, the chorus of birds here only before me, not surrounding me as in my wooded home. Here, it is as if a stage is set before me in some grand theater as I sit on the edge of the woods. Birds of all varieties perform their best songs, every one of them a perfect rendition of the voice their creator bestowed upon them. Here and there, in the sings of this great state, domesticated avian crow their morning greetings – the reminder that this performance hall sits amongst a conflicted countryside, torn between the bucolic world it once was to that of the coal mines and growing suburban retreats, each a necessity of the other. A gentle breeze passes by, caressing the hair on my arm, causing my writing to pause and allowing one the momentary respite – acknowledging again God’s refreshing reminder that we are not alone.

Going out each day, seeking those with whom we can share God’s word, should be as purposeful as setting significant goals in our life – those that affect our long-term existence on earth, for we are continually surrounded by, as Hebrews tells us, a great cloud of witnesses. The challenge is to find them that are willing to allow us into their personal space. It isn’t easy to talk to a total stranger regarding breaking through without inciting some sort of defensive barrier. In order to make such a connection, one has to be portrayed as someone that exudes a personality of a loving, compassionate soul. To this end, when we walk in our faith, not promoting self-righteousness, but rather a humble, kind humility, we can then bridge those gaps of suspicion, allowing the stranger to open up and bare their innermost thoughts.

However, it is never easy to walk as Christ, emanating that radiant light from within. There are burdens in our life that are often difficult to overcome – the weight of life that besets us. They become our stumbling blocks, so much so that they become excuses we easily fall back on when the challenge before us causes us to hesitate. This is the enemy’s desire that we should falter in our effort to reach others. Interjecting our love of self, the one that is the very thing we are warned about, we become fearful of tarnishing that self-image. Our pride then overwhelms our purpose, the sin that clings so closely, and we cave into the feeling of either embarrassment or, worse, the belief we are incapable of acting in such an honorable manner. But as Paul writes in Hebrews, we must run this race with endurance. Our work toward perfecting our life’s mission is neither easy nor a sprint. The sanctification is a marathon – lasting the rest of your life. There will be hills and valleys. There will be challenges and setbacks. But through it all, we are to place our eye upon the prize, Christ – the perfecter and finisher of our faith.

Today looks to be a very full day – my plate is full. Yet, even on such busy times as this, we should pray that the Lord gives us the discernment to know when to pause, and drink it all in, allowing us to set this moment in time into one’s collective memory. For someday, it will be that place to which your mind returns, to once more be comforted through God’s grace. Yes, step out into the forest, and welcome the song of the woods, for each gentle breeze is a story in life’s journey. Make today one that lasts for that lifetime.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 28, 2023 · 12:36 pm

The Good Life

“The idea of reaching “a good life” without Christ is based on a double error. Firstly, we cannot do it; and secondly, in setting up “a good life” as our final goal, we have missed the very point of our existence. Morality is a mountain that we cannot climb by our own efforts, and if we could, we should only perish in the ice and unbreathable air of the summit, lacking those wings with which the rest of the journey has to be accomplished, for it is from there that the real ascent begins. The ropes and axes are “done away,” and the rest is a matter of flying.”[1]

 

After reading Lewis’s writings this morning, the idea of the “good life” hit home. It is on this vacation of mine that many revelations of the past have come to life – some enlightening, while many are heartbreaking.

Visiting family, one encounters both extremes of the socioeconomic spectrum. From one end to the other, there is a common thread that is ever present – the impact of their choices in life or their own family’s choices, all impacting their ever-present position. To see the wealth of some, a portrayal of success for this world, only to hear of their tortuous relationships and loss of love begs the question, “Have they gained the world and lost their souls?” Some have succumbed under the weight of caring for others to the point that they are smothering beneath the daily load of supporting family beyond their own – piles upon piles of debris and belongings strewn about to the point there are few places to sit. Then some are so debilitated by health that they can barely function. Those who for years lived as if the poison they injected into their bodies was of no concern, only to, in the end, succumb to its dark, sinister destruction, cancer, and other diseases enriched by those foods containing unhealthy ingredients.

David Paul, one of my first cousins who had the nickname Deep, was probably the hardest one of the family to visit. In his youth, he was a rebellious, soul-searching hellion, always finding ways to provoke the world in which he lived. He eventually married and fathered a child with a woman much like him, yet one that seemed to tame his wild side. Her name was Suzi. She would eventually die of lung cancer, but not before Deep would take out a second mortgage on his home to pay for the experimental cancer treatments in Franklin, Tennessee. Before starting them, she was in a wheelchair and told she had maybe a year to live. After the stem cell treatments, Suzi went on to walk again and live another twelve years. For the last two, she was bedridden.

However, by then, Deep’s own throat cancer had cost him his ability to work full-time, and he was forced to stay home. The struggle became a blessing, as he told me that he was then able to spend the last two years at home with his dying bride. Through all of his pain and suffering, he found himself closer to God. Suzi’s ashes sit under the T.V. in a wooden box with a hummingbird carved on the outside. Deep now speaks through a throat tube because of his larynx being removed in order to save his life. He proudly told me he had been cancer free for over two years. When I offered to take him anywhere he wanted to go, he responded, “I don’t go anywhere.” What he was saying, without saying it, was that he struggled to go out in public with what he’s been reduced to. One can only imagine what embarrassment it is to have such a disability, yet, through it all, there is a testimony. His life has now changed to the point he knows that God is in him and that he longs for heaven. Yet, no one will ever know his story. For him to share, speaking as he does, would be painful not only for the audience but for him as well. What he doesn’t realize is that in their pain to hear, they would also be opened up to the understanding of how one, through their suffering, can be consoled even more by God. Sadly, it would take a miracle in itself to get him to share his testimony.

Deep’s hesitancy to share with the world is much like how we are likewise hesitant to speak about the Good News of Christ to those around us, whether they be family, friends, or acquaintances. Are we not just as guilty? What keeps us from doing such is as much as what’s wrong with our society as what’s right – our self-consciousness, defeating the fear of being embarrassed, thus, protecting the sensibilities of our self-image. Why is self so important? Why do we fear opening up ourselves to allowing the world to see who we are? Is it our insecurities? And what drives these? The answer is the fear of people seeing who we really are, hiding the sin we bear within ourselves. The solution to this problem is to seek the cleansing that can only come from receiving Christ into our lives. When we come to realize that when Christ is in us, we have nothing to hide, our lives become the light in a dark world, and our inhibitions fall away, allowing us to become a testimony to others.

As you go about your day today, consider your juxtaposition with God. Are you close enough to Him that everything else falls away? Can you overlook your inhibitions to become a beacon of hope to others? Try to put those things of this world behind you and let the light of Christ shine through you in all you do. And lastly, always say, “Thanks be to God.”

[1] God in the Dock. Copyright © 1970 by The Trustees of the Estate of C. S. Lewis. All rights reserved. Used with permission of HarperCollins Publishers. A Mind Awake: An Anthology of C. S. Lewis. Copyright © 1968 by C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. All rights reserved. Used with permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

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by | January 5, 2023 · 7:52 am

Strings of Soul

In a corner of the Spiritual Retreat is an instrument wall – a place where my stringed instruments hang from hooks made specifically for each type of instrument. They are kept there for ease of access, for one never knows when the “mood” might strike when that feeling of creativity and inspiration combine into a single thread wanting to intertwine into a melody.

While these pieces of wood and wire are built to make beautiful music, my budget for said devices has never been of the highest priority. That being said, they are worth far more in sentimental value than anything else. One does one’s best to maintain them though, but with time, things age and dry out. So, it was the other day that that “mood” had struck and as the fiddle was taken down it quickly became apparent that the strings had loosened. With a violin, that is to be expected. Of all the instruments, it is held together by opposing forces. The tension of the strings holds up the bridge, which is supported from within by the sound post. If one of these components weakens and gives out, the entire function of the devices is compromised. In this alone, there is a lesson, but for another day.

So, as I looked over the old “Ole Bull” it was quickly discovered to have all but one string was greatly out of tune. Working through the pattern J.W. Parsons taught me so long ago, I began to tighten each of the four strings. When it came to the “G” string, the lowest of the four, the tuning peg made an odd sound as it was being turned. The wooden peg began to crack and disintegrate as it was turned, literally crumbling in my fingertips – it was gone, useless to hold a string taunt. Distraught but not overwhelmed, my original song of inspiration had long ago escaped my thoughts. Now, there was a new challenge. What songs could be played on only three strings? From there, the fiddle and I walked down memory lane discovering what could and could not be found upon the limited number of wire strands. My fingertips were forced to find comforting notes in places they had seldom touched. It wasn’t pretty.

This morning, as my mind reflected back upon yesterday’s encounter, it occurred to me how life and aging emulate the strings on my old violin.

The aging aspect comes from the memory of that entry-level Electrical Engineering class I took back at the University of Florida so many years ago. Dr. O’Malley, a tall, thin white-haired elderly gentleman, then well past retirement age, walked in and began the first day’s intro quite unlike any that I had heard heretofore. “You will start today with 100 points,” he told the class looking over his wire glasses at a lecture hall full of beginning students. “From this point on, you will only lose points, it is up to you how many you lose. You will never gain them back,” he continued. In his eyes, you could almost tell there was more he wanted to say. Something about time, about a life lived. His words really hit hard. It was a thought that was truthful yet profound, and like it, life in the natural world was so much a parallel.

There are many times in this journey that we find we are faced with a potential game-ending dilemma – either give up or adapt. Sometimes these are forces that are not of our doing. Illness, age, or accidents just to name a few can take away our ability to function as we once were capable. Like that fiddle with now only three strings, we learn that if we are to go on, we must learn new ways to play that old song. Those finger positions once foreign we are now forced to learn. A broken arm or hand of your favored limb makes writing almost impossible. But almost always, those who suffer learn to adapt and begin writing, albeit barely legible at first, and overcome their setback.

Likewise, when we step out of our comfort zone in faith, going to places or mission fields that we once thought foreign, test our ability to adapt and grow.  Jesus never told his disciples to stay put in Capernaum and make each other feel good. No, he told them to go out and spread the good news. “and he sent them out to preach the kingdom of God and to heal the sick. He told them: “Take nothing for the journey–no staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra tunic. Whatever house you enter, stay there until you leave that town.”[1] It was painful. Not only were they trying to cope without bringing bedding and food, they also suddenly had to remember what they had, in some cases, only recently learned. Jesus knew this would test them, but in the end, it would force them to grow stronger in their faith. Scripture tells us that through life’s trials we will only become stronger and persevere, “My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.”[2] “…But we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope…”[3]

There are those who once they’ve learned to play beautifully on just the three strings suddenly find that another is taken away, leaving only two. It is then, the more challenged we become, the more we must not lean on our own understanding. Many give in to the feeling of being overwhelmed. They never knew Jesus as their Savior, so life, when it becomes unbearable, feels hopelessly lost. They seek answers in the life around them, but there is nothing that can ease that feeling of emptiness and despair that is of this world – no bottle is deep enough, no drug strong enough, and no emotional escape capable of breaking that spiral of death. It is only when the distraught and lost truly seek God is when they find hope.

Eventually, in some cases, those broken strings are restored. After that soul had learned to dance upon the instrument with fewer strings finds that restored octave or more, their appreciation for what once was becomes all the greater. So, it is with those who are reborn in Christ Jesus – their appreciation for things of God’s creation is from a new perspective.  Their soul is restored. They learned in that absence, in that trial, through the fires of tribulation how much more they were capable. Their strength and faith is renewed. They become a new creature. “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”[4] What was once uncomfortable, or unknown becomes possible all because there was something that caused us to have to lean not on our own understanding.

Many return from mission fields, whether abroad or local, and find something about the world around them is not the same. Call it an awakening, or a new awareness. Either way, when we learn to seek Him, we too find these peeling away of layer, after layer of blindness to what we once could not see. We are able to understand something about God a little more. With each step, we learn. With each blunder or mistake, we learn. It is through those painful endeavors that we feel we cannot survive, when we find we grow the most.

When the mood strikes, seek for that thing which allows you to revel in your soul’s ability to thank God. When you find that a string is missing, press on toward the mark and let it not hinder your pursuit of the way, the truth, and the life.

Thanks be to God.

[1] Luke 9 NIV

[2] James 1:2-4 KJV

[3] Romans 5:3-4 KJV

[4] 2 Corinthians 5:17 KJV

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