Tag Archives: holler

by | May 5, 2019 · 7:47 pm

What the Heart Can See…

I watched the river flow past through the raindrops on the windshield. It was one of those chilly Sunday mornings where you wanted to curl up by a fire and drink your bitter brew of choice. From inside the car, you knew it was the river, but from within the dry confines of the vehicle, it made a curious movement of Van Gogh-ish swirls across the glass; blue-greens, washed here and there by hints of sparkling white. There was confusion of the eye such that one could not discern fluidness from the earth. To one who knew better, it was merely the light through the raindrops creating a titillating joyous pattern of life upon the window pane. To the unbelieving, it made no sense. “…By hearing ye shall hear, and shall not understand; and seeing ye shall see, and shall not perceive:” -Mt.13:14

The pitter-patter soon became a heavy downpour. The comforting sound of rain hitting the car’s metal roof took me back to another time, another place.

The old metal roof of my paternal grandparent’s home was one of the most comforting places on earth. This time of year, the sounds of the afternoon rains would drift across the garden leaves that had just begun to sprout, and dance upon the tin roof. From inside, curled up on your favorite arm of the bedsheet covered old couch, you found your warmth from within. There was a precious ambiance of its own; the safety from without and the soothing wholesomeness of a home surrounded in the love of Christ that flowed within.

Like looking upon a vast landscape, the likes of a view afforded from the mountain top; one can only look upon the breathtaking vastness before you become weary from its expanse. Before long, the intimacy of the holler upon which the Retreat now sits calls, the comfort of that arm of the old bedsheet covered couch in grandma’s front parlor, a humbleness of view and spirit all its own returns; warming, softly caressing. To understand this perspective doesn’t require a formal education, it doesn’t require the memorization of scriptures, it doesn’t take any practiced ritual of faith; it only takes a view from a pure heart; a heart that walks with God.

“For this people’s heart is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes they have closed; lest at any time they should see with their eyes and hear with their ears, and should understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them. But blessed are your eyes, for they see: and your ears, for they hear.”-Mt. 13:15-16

Each day the believer walks in a world that is not his own. Around them, those who live for the here, the now, force their way into our conversation, our conscious, and our lives. They live non-stop practicing sin; unforgiven, uncaring, and most often, boastful of their earthly accomplishments. One motivational speaker, I recall from college, a man, speaking from his worldly experiences, once told our Electrical Engineering class, “Good things come to those who wait, rather, success is measured by what is left behind by those who hustle.” His point; take it all and leave the spoils to the losers. When we focus on that lifestyle, of hard-driven, climbing the ladder of success, we lose sight of what is most important. From the faith perspective, it is easy to see. As Jesus taught, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to get into heaven. This mindset can often lead to the blindness, “eyes they have closed,” to which Jesus referred in the scripture. Their hearts become hardened like stone, and soon, they can no longer afford to comprehend sayings of faith and belief. It becomes like a foreign language, one that they cannot comprehend. The world becomes tainted by their hearts that have waxed grossed.

They-the believers in Christ Jesus- see this world through eternal eyes, those that see with a purpose, unlike our sister and brethren who live for the mere existence from day to day. It is not a braggadocious offering, rather, an objective view. The mere existence of tactile images, visions of grandeur, splendid beauty that eyes pure of heart can conceive; these are just a few of the blessings that come with the heart that follows Jesus.

“But these things are seen by the unbeliever just as well,” you might say.

Yes, they may be seen in a certain light, but the believer, the one who truly walks by faith, sees these from the perspective as coming from the hand of God. A creation seen by our eyes that more than speaks to us visually, but also reaches inside us and strikes a chord to our spirit, enriching our being in such a way that we come closer to Him; the Father. Through this means, the Holy Spirit indwells in us, and we become one with Him. Those who don’t know have closed their eyes to the truth, and as such, are merely hollow vessels, constantly trying to fill their void with whatever great, new concept sweeping the globe. This emptiness haunts them until they pass into eternity, lost in their sin, forever seeking what they will never find.

Yet, it is there for all for the asking.

This morning, as my eyes were inspired by the collage of colors sweeping across my simple windshield, in my heart, God was playing an orchestra of thoughts and emotions. To explain this to the one with a waxen heart is merely to express the words of detail, but to the believer, the conceptualization of the moment whispers of their own fruitful living and a time when they too might have felt a common connection.

Jesus told his disciples when they sought to understand his parables, “For verily I say unto you, That many prophets and righteous men have desired to see those things which ye see, and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them.”

We can walk in this world, but we may never see this world as those who are of this world. It is our responsibility as Christ-followers to share the truth, and allow those who are lost to find Him.

Those who chose to ignore the truth face grave consequences. As Jesus once more explained to his disciples after the sharing of the parables, “So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, And shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.”- Mt. 13:49-50.

Seek the Master’s hand, confess your sins at the foot of the cross, and invite Him into your heart.

You will be forever changed.

Thanks be to God. o

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by | October 7, 2018 · 9:02 pm

Let the Cool Winds Blow

The wild turkeys met me on my walk down to the Retreat this evening. Trying not to disturb them to the point of flight, I slowed my pace and gave them plenty of time to meander up the opposite side of the holler from where I stood. Their darks back glistened in the warmth of the overly warm October evening. The sunlight was merely filtering through the shadowy wood. They reminded me of my Angus cattle standing in the July sun, their backs gleaming as healthy, shiny black. “Your cattle are mighty fat and slick,” Uncle John would say, enduring me with one of the kindest compliments anyone had ever said or noticed about my farming. Like the vestiges of beings from another place and time, the flock ascended out of sight; slowly, stealthily. Not one of them called out. Silently, like soldiers retreating to safety away from a larger enemy force. Once they had passed, I continued the descent down to the site of many days of toil this past summer. At times, the shade made the sweltering days bearable, but just barely. Back then, it was July. It was supposed to be hot.

This evening, all but a hint of coolness yet escaped these early fall days. The elders speak of frost has usually come by the tenth, but at this point, there will be doubtful anything close to that this coming week. The streams and river seem to bemoan the fact that autumn has stayed away; an extended vacation from us that we all wish she would end. Leaves, wanting to show their true colors, yet cling to the production of chlorophyll, gasping for a break, their edges turning brown for want of rest.

From within, there beckons a break from the sultry weather. My soul seeks the chill of the brisk morning air; yet, there is none to be had. My physical body thirsts but cannot be quenched.

Thirsty, I turn to the only well from which a soul can find sustenance; the Word.

In my search for something to quench my thirst, He spoke to me before the sunrise this morning. “Prepare,” were His words. Opening the pages to my Bible, I turned first to Luke 12:12, “For the Holy Ghost shall teach you in the same hour what ye ought to say.”

“Okay,” I thought, “that’s not far from what I almost always ask before standing in front of a room full of High School students.” Not giving it too much thought, I set out on my weekly walk to church. The sky was overcast, and the air was still. The thermometer on the porch read 72 degrees. “Arrgh,” I moaned to myself, “when will it end?”

Not long after, when I arrived at the General Store, Scott was just finishing opening. “I thought Jennifer was working today,” I asked. He smiled, then looked at the calendar, “Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be off today.” Then he laughed and turned back, “I’m leaving as soon as she gets here,” he smiled. We talked a bit more about how she was doing. She had asked that I lift her up in prayer a few weeks ago, so it was with concern for her that we spoke. Not long after, she came in. Her foot still in the boot. She had broken it a about a week or so ago. Scott was about to leave and said, “It shouldn’t be busy today,”

“Oh great,” she replied, “you just jinxed me.”

My mind flew back to the nights in Emergency Recovery, and how we would fear the onslaught of calls if anyone would use the “Q” word, we called it. “Quiet,” of course was what we were referring too since it never failed if someone said it, we would be overwhelmed with outages the remainder of the evening. After she finished getting settled in, I shared with her the reminiscence of that statement. And then she asked the question, “What made you leave your engineering career behind.”

It was then as if God had opened up the opportunity to share my testimony, I began to tell her the story of how I had answered the call to serve. Being mindful as we talked, to watch for customers, step after step was revealed. Each turn of events I kept reminding her, that God was in it. Each new twist had God’s purpose in mind. By the time I had caught her up to the present, the first customer finally appeared. Call it God’s timing, call it divine intervention, I left Jennifer this morning with my usual, “Have a Blessed day,” as she answered back, “You too,” as she attended to the needs of another customer.

As I sat down at the picnic table to study my scripture before departing off on the rest of my walk to church, the thought came to me, “The next time you speak at a church, you should share your testimony instead of telling about the history of your people.”

But then, the next verse came, 1 Timothy, chapter 1, “Neither give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which minister questions, rather than godly edifying which is in faith: so do.”

It was as if God had set me down into the well, as my head began to swim with a new perception of what could be said, should the opportunity present itself someday. “You should use this verse to clarify the fact that what you share about your ancient Waldensian ancestors is not to be the focus; the genealogy of your people,” He said. “Rather, you should direct their attention to how these people were used as an instrument of God. Because of them, the way, truth, and the light are here with you today.”

“Of course,” my thoughts echoed.

Because of their dedication and faith, the Ancient Waldensian people were able to preserve the Word of God. Their impact made it possible such that even today, miracles can be made manifest when we seek the only source of water that can quench the unquenchable thirst, the Word of God. Although we certainly appreciate their martyrdom, we should not allow it to hinder our real intent. Through the blood of countless martyrs over centuries that would turn into a millennium, their memorization, faith, and dedication became the signature of who they were. They themselves would come to plant the seeds of the Reformation through the blood of their own sacrifice. Like the early Apostles, they realized that they too had to spread the gospel. In the end, it’s not about the endless genealogies, rather, it is about the edification of faith in Jesus Christ that we want to receive. His word is the vessel through which we can be endued with the Holy Spirit. This precious gift, this Comforter which He hath sent, is with us even now, if only we would embrace Him and open the cover from which his word is bound. For some, it is within; memorized for safe keeping in the heart. While others have never had a Bible to read. Our eternal life rests upon our realization that through this precious word, we can understand what it is, and what must be done to receive eternal life. We cannot bring someone to Christ, but rather, through our witnessing, through our actions, and through our sharing of His Word, we can bring to fruition what He started so long ago. Jesus told his disciples, “My meat is to do the will of the Father,” and so it should be with each of us who calls him or herself a Christian.

I know not when, or where my next destiny shall be to stand before others to share the gospels. In some manner of speaking, I still do not know what will be said, but I know without a doubt, at that time, he will provide me with the words with which to speak.

The well of water will rise from within, and with it, the thirst of many shall hopefully be quenched. Salvation is our only key to eternal life, and through the blood of Christ, we have that hope.

Let not the heat of the season deter us from continuing in our quest to save those who are lost. We have one life to live. Let us not live it in vain.

When a brother or sister receives that gift of life, salvation through Jesus, it is as if the Holy Spirit will become a cool breeze unto our soul. Once more we can breathe deeply that refreshing, satisfying water of life.

Let the cool winds blow Lord, let them blow once more.

Thanks be to God.

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by | January 28, 2017 · 9:43 pm

Sitting On a Step Watching Life…

Today God took me to the front porch of the little convenient store in the town of Colletsville. There, as I sat on the steps of the modern day general store watching the world go by, I waited. The voice had told me to go there and wait for someone, whom I did not know. So there I sat. One person after another got out of their cars, and either went inside the store or pulled up to the gas pumps to fill up their vehicle. My destination began with speaking to the workers inside asking if they went to any local churches; neither did. I asked if they lived in the area, and they said yes, just up the road. It was then I realized there was part of the reason I had been sent. Pouring myself a cup a coffee, I then retired to the front steps where my story began and waited.

It didn’t take long, but soon an older man, scruffily dressed in overalls, pulled up in his pick-up truck and got out, calling out to me as he shut the door. “Fine day we’re having,” he nearly shouted from across the parking lot. I took another sip of the hot brew and nodded, “Yes, it certainly is,” I answered.


He stepped on the first step and started to climb but paused when I said, “It’s not quite as bad as it was last night, though.” The rough-hewn mountain man looked down at me, “Yea, that wind can cut right through you.”

 The previous night had been a bitter cold sixteen degrees with winds gusting to thirty miles an hour. The chill was still in my bones; thus the hot coffee well after dinner. I took another sip as I nodded in agreement. I removed my sunglasses so as not to seem unfriendly and asked. “Do you know of any good churches in the area?”

“What kinda church you looking for,” he answered as he stepped backward off the step so that he now stood in front of me.

“One that preaches the Word of God,” I answered solemnly.

“Thems the best kind. That’s what I like,” he squinted as he checked me out. It was at that moment, that silent split second when you feel a connection to someone; someone you had never met before, but there in the moment, there was something that tied you together far beyond the mere seconds in which you stood. “Well, there’s the couple we have here in Colletsville,” he tilted his head in the direction of the two churches I had just driven past a few minutes earlier when I was checking out their starting times and denominational affiliations. “The Advent Church was started nearly over a hundred years ago when their preacher rode down from the mountains on a mule.”

“Wow,” I exclaimed.

“They’re all good folks.”

“I noticed they were pretty close together, the churches that is.”

“Yeah, the one used to sit facing the road but the flood spun it around on the foundation, and they just left it there after it was repaired.”

“The flood that took out the railroad tracks?”

“Yep, that’s the one.” He then stepped forward and introduced himself, “I’m Cecil Byrd.”

I reached out my hand and shook his firmly, “Tim Tron,” I answered, smiling back at him. I followed with, “You have the same name as one of my favorite uncles.” To that, he smiled extra wide.

“Yep, I guess it ain’t a very common name.”

“You take my brother, for example, his name is Daniel Boone Byrd. You’da thought they would’ve called me Davie Crockett Byrd, but no, they called me Cecil.”

 “No, I guess not. Did they name you after a family member?”

 “No, they told me my daddy worked for a man that he didn’t like. His name was Cecil.”

“Hmm,” I said biting my lip in curiosity.

“It don’t make any sense, but then sometimes that’s just the way life is.”

When I asked if there was anyone around that made string music, he told me, no, but his mother used to play the banjo.

“She was quite musical you might say. She played the banjo, guitar, and even the piano.” The pride in his voice was evident, but as he spoke, he seemed to drift off almost as if he was still listening to those ancient tones come back to life. In the distance, I could almost hear that relic of clawhammer sound echo off the mountain walls near us.

As our conversation continued on, Cecil would welcome or call out to almost everyone that was coming and going in and out of the store. It was obvious he was the unofficial town Mayor. Some he would ask how they’d been or some would ask about a job he had just finished, which was putting a new roof on another church just down the road, not either of the two we had talked about earlier. He was a roofer by trade, putting on roofs for the past forty years. His father had taught him before he passed when Cecil was only twenty years old. I shared with Cecil my calling and how God had brought me here. He shared with me more of his family history and how he had lost some of his siblings throughout his life. Soon a large black Ford 2500 Diesel pulled up which commanded all of  Cecil’s attention. It had just pulled out of the school parking lot which was across the street from the store.

“Nice rig,” I remarked admiringly.

“Sure is,” he grinned, “That’s my boy.”

Cecil then left me and walked over to visit with his grandchildren who began pouring out of the massive, fully-loaded pickup, complete with a heavy duty electric winch fastened on the aftermarket painted black metal, Texas brush bumper.

I waited for the appropriate time so as not to interrupt, tossed my empty coffee cup into the garbage nearby as I headed for my car.

“Talk to you later Cecil,” I said, waving goodbye.

“You too,” he called back, waving in my direction. “Good talkin’ to ya.”

Behind the store, the Johns River silently flowed past as time and mankind came and went. Somewhere in the farthest reaches of a holler nearby sits a banjo covered in dust whose memory begs to come to life. Somewhere those memories are still alive, a  heartbeat away.

Welcome to my new home.

Thanks be to God.

 

 

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