Tag Archives: Hope

by | December 16, 2025 · 10:57 am

Vulnerability

“There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death.” – Romans 8:1-2

The sheer release, the omnifying conceptualization of the totality of the semester, arrived and, without fanfare or pomposity, passed as a perishable snowflake falling before you – a stark reminder of the beauty and the frailty of the reality that surrounds life. In the moment, you realize that your senses had almost become numb from the constant toil, and you scramble to collect your thoughts, to pull from the void that which keeps your life pursuant to the will of God. With clinched hands, nails dug into the meat of that which is about to be lost, you hold on for fear of losing all that is of value. One by one, you grab them, a snow globe of thoughts shaken, recollecting them, trying to embrace that which had seemingly vanished, and return to their former place. Yet, amid the storm, relevance and positioning had been rearranged as if by chance. But we know better.

To lose oneself in the pursuit of an agenda placed before us – a goal, a resolution, a tacit requirement; whatever it might be, it requires a level of focus that consumes our lives that pushes out everything we call living. Everything but the granite, the resolve that resides within, the flicker of hope, for without, we would be lost, is all that remains. This is how we often find ourselves at the conclusion of a season, a semester, a portion of life that was more than a grind. It was from this shadow that I had recently crawled, beaten, worn, but unfettered to carry on. But once we become free of that which had held us in bondage, we realize that the blessing of life is still there, the purest morning dew, sparkling like a diamond upon the cusp of the precious rose. It is a realization that He is faithful never to leave us, nor forsake us.

Emerging from beneath this boulder, it felt as if I had taken my first breath of life in a long time. And before I knew it, the Lord had placed before me a delectable portion, a reminder of why we do what we do in the service of ministry on a college campus. “The table is set before us in the presence of our enemies. He anointed my head with oil. My cup runneth over.”[1]

But to understand how all this unfolded, we must go back a day or so.

A few moments later, after my final exam, I found myself meeting with a young man who had unexpectedly come into my radar a few days earlier. But to appreciate this meeting, one had to go back to when the story really began.

It happened to be Friday night, one of those evenings when the time was usually taken up by a weekly meeting of the Ratio Christi Leadership team. Ratio Christi (RC), which means “Reason for Christ” in Latin, is a global apologetics organization that meets weekly on campus. On that particular night, the semester ended the day before. The students were embroiled in the first day of finals and preparation for the coming week’s exams. So, without fanfare and with a vague hope of finding at least one student with whom we might have a conversation, an RC colleague and I made our way to the campus dining facility, “Central,” as it’s known by the student body.

Upon landing at a table near the entrance, close to 6 pm, we surveyed the area. It was still early by student standards – they typically eat supper around nine. Settling in, it wasn’t long before we were joined by one of the Ratio Christi student leaders, Josh. Discussions started around plans for the break and the remaining finals. There was a certain feeling of renewed freedom in the air, like a fresh snowfall, an eagerness to partake in the unblemished beauty of that which promised excitement and escape from the tedium. A few minutes later, another leader named Great showed up, and not long after him, two more members joined. Before we knew it, we had a lively discussion underway. God had truly delivered.

But the best was yet to come.

Out of the corner of my eye, Elias sat not far away. Elias, a tall, thin, very well-mannered young man, was an undergrad who had been on our periphery the entire semester. He was the kind of student who always asked challenging questions but kept accepting Christ into his life at arm’s length. Motioning for him to join us, Elias came over, accepting the invitation, but said that he was with his roommate. “Well, invite him over, you both are certainly welcome,” I responded with a sincere gesture. He smiled and nodded, agreeing, and returned shortly with a trim, neat young man named Brent.

The group welcomed Brent, and the common communal questioning began: where are you from, what’s your major, what year are you, and so on. Since he was Elias’s roommate, we all had to know, “Do you have the same reservations as Elias about accepting Christ into your life?” Someone asked the elephant in the room question out loud, perhaps it was me, and Brent quickly responded that yes, he was a believer. There was a collective sigh from the spontaneous gathering. Elias grinned broadly but kept quiet. Then, curious and with some intention of wanting Elias’s itch to be scratched, I asked the young man, now sitting directly across from me, if he had any questions about faith that he might like to ask the group. Hey, we were apologists; we needed a good Friday night challenge. So, in true Godly fashion, he asked a question that more than caught my attention: “How can I become more vulnerable to God?”

He was looking directly at me, his lips twisted in a half-smile, half-grimace, but his eyes never wandered nor wavered in their intensity.

There was dead silence as a momentary lull fell over the table. Behind smiling faces, everyone was scrambling, trying to consider the source and intention of what he said. After what seemed an eternity, someone asked a clarifying question, to which he responded, “How can you become more vulnerable to God?”

From that point forward, the other students jumped in, eager to swim in the river of theological discussions. We had just walked through a semester in a mostly arid, academic desert; there were no more apologetic club meetings, and now, thanks to a more than thought-provoking question, we found ourselves standing on the shore of a beautiful, crystal-clear river flowing with life and love. One by one, we dove in and swam with all our might. The water was more than refreshing – it was exhilarating, the current swift. It felt like it had been an eternity.

Later that night, during prayer, Brent came to mind. The still, small voice said there was a need: someone crying out for help but hesitant to ask. Sometimes thoughts become more than ethereal contemplations, making us say, as Johan Wolfgang von Goethe’s Faust, “Verweile doch, du bist so schoene,” meaning, “Stay for a while, you are so beautiful.” But as fleeting as the snowflakes fall upon one’s lips, they are gone before we can savor their meaning for our lives. However, once in a while, God whispers a gentle reminder, pulling back that ethereal consciousness into the moment, making us aware of the obvious, allowing one to hear the cry for help in a busy world. Like a hand reaching out from the depths of an avalanche, smothered by life, we find them, and thanks be to God, we grab onto that desperate soul who wants to cling to life but heretofore didn’t know how.

Looking back, God’s voice was anything but still. There was a particular urgency to it, so much so that it forced me to immediately reach out to him. Being late on a Friday evening, one might be lucky to get a response from a student on social media by the following Monday, if then. But to my surprise, he quickly responded. It was an obvious sign: a hand reaching up from an avalanche in the snow, grasping for air, for survival, the cry to live.

A weekend and one final later, we sat down, and we quickly got to the heart of the matter – my instincts, and God’s nudge were correct, it was far beyond being vulnerable. It was even beyond the next question, how one could turn away from the sin in their life. As we dug into the answer to question after question, more layers of a life of depravity and isolation emerged, offering insight into the life of a young man who was near a breaking point.

That still small voice turned out to be a megaphone.

We read through Romans 8, and I reassured him that the scripture clearly says there is no condemnation for those who truly follow after Him. Then, feeling as if he needed to know that God was with him, even when he least realized it, we turned to Psalm 139, where I asked him to read it through slowly and methodically, with great care. As I patiently watched and waited, he read the entire Psalm. When he finished, he looked up at me and, with a look of somber reflection, said, “Wow. I never thought of it like that. He’s really with us no matter where we go, no matter how hard we try to flee from him. He is there.”

“Yes, and Amen,” I replied. “Do you think it was just a coincidence that we met in the dining hall Friday night? Do you realize that since Ratio Christi didn’t have a meeting, it was more likely for me to go home than to hang out on campus?”

His smile grew when he said, “Yeah, and I don’t often go with Elias to Central either. That’s crazy!”

“Ain’t it? You know, Brent, God is already there with you, waiting for you to open the door. You being vulnerable is not the question; rather, because of who He is, you can’t help but be vulnerable. All you have to do is open the door.”

We continued to discuss how it is no coincidence that God is ever-present in our lives; we only have to open our eyes and acknowledge his presence. “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten, full of grace and truth.”[2] Beholding him, realizing that He is there, the creator of the universe watching over us – truly, there is no greater sense of vulnerability one might have. If that’s not enough, we only need to turn to the Psalm, “O Lord, You have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up…Where shall I go from Your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from Your presence? If I ascend to heaven, You are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!…even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me.”[3]

As the time passed, we talked about many other topics, and Brent shared his life’s story, and it quickly became apparent that we needed many more of these sit-downs. As a measure of recompense, earlier in the week, I had mentioned to several people the need to regain focus on discipling next semester. And before I knew it, there sitting before me was a young man who badly needed just that. Unbeknownst to me, before we ever sat down, my prayers for God to help me find direction in discipling were answered; God had already had a name for my ever-growing list.

In The Princess and the Goblin, George MacDonald wrote, “the fire did not hurt him; it only purified him,” referring to the character Curdie’s experience of a purifying transformation. Similarly, the trials of life become our spiritual formation, building character, refining us into the person God intends. Once we emerge from those trials of life, the fire, we find the weight lifted, our lives given back to us, but now, the purpose for which we had sought to strive shifted, and suddenly, we find ourselves standing before a great treasure – the opportunity to begin anew.

As a fleeting glimpse of a golden, mythical sunrise passes, so do those occasions when we are afforded the chance to pour into the life of someone who came close to the precipice of life’s edge. When we ourselves have been refreshed through the purifying fires, gleaning away all that is superfluous, the essence of life becomes much clearer. We become an asset, whether we know it or not, to those around us who need caring voices to guide their lives. If only we would listen to that still small voice.

In this season of new beginnings, listen to those voices around you and be ready to throw a lifeline to someone in need. Pull up your sleeves and get ready.

The fields are truly white with harvest, but the laborers are few.

 

[1] Psalm 23, KJV Bible

[2] John 1:14 KJV Bible

[3] Psalm 139 KJV Bible

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by | May 29, 2025 · 8:17 am

Hope in Tomorrow

“But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear.”  – 1 Peter 3:15

Rereading this favorite passage this morning, the word hope stood out. Hope, the very thing that our salvation provides, can be compared to many earthly things, all of which fall short of its eternal implication. One might find a slight semblance of the divine nature of this word to that of the days leading up to a vacation or journey far from home. While we may know most of the details of our trip, there are those tantalizing, mysterious aspects that bring upon us an eagerness to be surprised. In all this jovial apprehension, hope percolates up to the top of our emotional cauldron, providing us with a purpose to undergo whatever hardships we may encounter in our struggle to reach that new destination. Most often, our preconceived notions of what is to come either fall short, or are never comparable to what we imagine. To that latter, the hope of life eternal, in the presence of God, can only be fathomed in the slimmest of margins with what we will actually experience. To know Him is to know love. To be fully surrounded by that agape, that blissful envelopment of God’s omnipotent being can bring a sense of power in the hope that it provides.

Today as you go about your day, think about hope. Do you have it? Do you want it? Can just the image of a beautiful bouquet of flowers ignite the passion within to seek it? Seek Him first, and all things will flow from Him. #thanksbetoGod #seekHimFirst #faith #hope #love

 

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by | March 10, 2025 · 8:35 am

Breathless Etchings of the Soul

When it all comes down to the realization of the evidence to which we have been afforded over possibly a very lengthy portion of our lives, there comes a time to accept or at least to earnestly consider, that a gift, or a multitude of gifts, by which we have been blessed are our purpose through which God expects us to use to His glory. Like the finger upon the keyboard, on a single tap, a note fills the air, and suddenly, our thoughts become transformed into a flowing stream of unending scenes of waterfalls, mountain meadows, and all manner of beautification to which we are drawn by the Spirit into an undulating dance of rapturous bliss and joy. Ann Lamott put it best: “Inspiration comes like a train moving through the landscape. You see it approaching while you’re hanging laundry or doing something mundane, and you have to race inside to catch it before the last car—the caboose—disappears.”[1]

But how does such inspiration manifest itself? Could it be that when we allow ourselves to imbibe of such wonders, we are, as a child, being led by the hand of the Father down a sparsely lit path through a dark and foreboding forest, where alone we would shudder with terror? Yet, as now, the sense of protection, that wall of impenetrable love, envelopes us, for where there is perfect love, there can be no fear and in such a place, we are free to find something planted deep inside; something when acted upon, seems to derive is source from someplace beyond our own conscription of creativity, someplace beyond logic and reason. When the world’s inhibitions are removed, it’s like finding that crystal stream gurgling through the rocks worn smooth with an eternity of time, some laden with the glowing greenness of soft, downy moss – our soul becomes refreshed and renewed, overflowing with more than we can contain. Bursting forth in a flood of breathless etchings, the ethereal becomes substantial as we strive to quickly put it on paper, play it through the keyboard, or splash its essence upon the canvas of life. How fleeting they are, those gracious seconds when in visions the Lord sets before us of His marvelous works slip beyond our grasp.

Today, seek to find that precious gift God has placed inside you, and find a place where you can hear the still, small voice. Give breath to that which begs to come forth, and glorify Him in the process. #thanksbetoGod

[1] Lamott, Anne. 1994. Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. New York: Anchor Books.

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by | December 31, 2024 · 2:46 pm

Live as it is to Dream

Arising in the morning, as if being cast out into life from beneath the warm covers of shielded dreams, one may find oneself struggling to clear one’s mind through the fog of slumber in a cold, foreign landscape. Yet, to consider one’s salvation and the journey to such a promised land, we can draw a direct correlation between the gentle demeanor of being conspicuously conscious or morbidly asleep; the distinction between the two is a determinate as to how aware we are of our soul’s mortality, whether to live is to die, or to die to oneself is to live. The discernment comes from realizing the truth and awakening to its sunrise of hope for one’s life therein.

“All the days of my appointed time will I wait, till my change come.” – Job 14:14

Struggling through the day-to-day hardships of one’s daily toil, it can seem as if we are on a never-ending merry-go-round, the escape only seen as a demise of career or character. The screenshots flicker as if watching some ancient film projected in black-and-white upon a roughly plastered wall, the cracks and crevices adding to the tumultuous torment. Seen from the future in which we inhabit later in life, we realize that the scope of our focus had been all for naught, had we only strove for those secular things of the world, trying to achieve but never reaching the highest pinnacle of success, waging a war against something we could alone, never defeat. Time, the master of all, eventually sees its victims succumb to the gravity of mortal existence. Meanwhile, each night, we seek to escape through those sparsely recalled dreams in which we fly into other worlds, void of the bondage upon which we have inflicted of our own desires.

How ironic then it is that when we reach the threshold of life’s journey, the sunset begins to shed light upon our pathway, and in reflection, we seek those dreams, to recall them forward in an effort to relieve the peace with which they brought; yet, never granted. In waking, we find that the eternal life we neglected now faces us head-on, a glaring prospect for which we have little preparation. Suddenly, we are not only confounded by our previous stupidity but rather sickened by our neglect of the consideration that was before us all along. We begin to awaken only to see that the eternity we face is the dream in which we shall forever embody, to the point it becomes reality. To seek that which we cannot see, but that which we accept on faith, is in a sense, dreaming while conscious, having hope in something that transcends what we can logically conceive. Herein is the meaning behind what George MacDonald wrote, “It may be notwithstanding, that when most awake, I am only dreaming the more!”[1]

To bring it back to something more perceptible, consider the phrase and what it means, “To live the American Dream.” Herein, we find the earthly essence of finding that perfect career, the perfect home, wife, and children, all in a sweet little package that we can envelop within the comprehension of our minds. To have a life free of persecution, torment, or strife, to not know suffering or pain, these are the idyllic visions we often are taught to impose upon ourselves in this life. Yet, there was never a promise as such granted by anyone or anything. Becoming a Christian does not take away the suffering or pain, nor does it guarantee a life void of persecution. If nothing else, it only promises that those torments will only be assured. If one were to consider the vision aspect, this perception would be more likely to be considered a nightmare than a dream.

Yet, we have drifted away from what it is to dream, meaning that the realities of living the “Dream” aren’t necessarily what we would accept as dreaming any more than one might consider holding one’s breath underwater and consider it breathing as a fish. To awaken from one’s sleep is to come to consciousness – knowing that the world you inhabit is one of concrete realities. But to awaken from the perception of something beyond this world is to awaken into something without form, void of the physical, and herein, we find ourselves awake while dreaming. As Novalis wrote, “Our life is no dream, but it should and will perhaps become one.”[2]

Herein lies the ultimate truth.

To consciously seek that which cannot be seen nor terrestrially found is to live in a state beyond the reality of now and to find hope in something beyond the natural, the eternal. By seeking context in the meaning, we can better understand the purpose of this discussion in the simple word “Salvation.” To know that God became flesh so that he might live as we live, to know the pain and sufferings of this conscious life, then to die an earthly death, to know the torment and anguish, taking upon himself the sins of the world, the one that knew no sin, so that we might be freed of our sin, our secular fleshly desires, if we confess our sins and accept Him into our hearts – that is what it is to awaken from the slumber of discontented pleasures, to understand who He was, and still is. God came to make it known to us that in the state of what may be considered to be dreaming, we, too, can find something beyond what our earthly existence would have us know.

Once finding salvation in the hope of life eternal, we can finally realize what it is to realize we are most awake when we are dreaming all the more.

Thanks be to God.

[1] George MacDonald, Lilith (London: Walter Scott Publishing, 1895)

[2] Novalis, Philosophical Writings, trans. Maurice B. Cramer (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1997)

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by | December 17, 2024 · 10:44 am

When Thyme is Not Enough (Part II)

By Timothy W. Tron, December, 2024

“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” – Psalm 90:12

[We continue our story from Part I, where we met Griffin, a young twenty-something vibrant young man, and his family, the MacRae clan, living in the Scottish Highlands in the late twelfth century. News of the call for a Third Crusade rallies his clan, among many others, to join the fight. Griffin heeds the call, but not before preemptively marrying his childhood sweetheart, Katelyn Wallace. The tearful scene that follows concluded the previous edition, where we will now begin so that the reader may fully appreciate the costs to which many gave their lives. May your heart be blessed by the story that follows, and may you consider how time, a most precious gift, is spent in your own life.]

As Griffin sat astride his mount, waiting for the orders to move out, he watched as the entire entourage of the MacRae clan came out to bid them farewell – wives, children, and their beloved mother. It was a bitterly cold day, and the first snow of winter had begun to fall. Katelyn rushed to his side, one last kiss, one last tearful goodbye. As she looked up, snowflakes fell on her eyelashes, endearing the angelic face that looked up to him from below. Buoyed by the thought of serving God in striking down the enemy of darkness, Griffin was more composed, but not by much. Trembling with trepidation, Katelyn handed him a small cloth-bound sachet with a leather string attached.

“For you, my love. Wear it and think of me as often as you will.”

“What is it,” he said, bending down to receive the hand-made treasure.

“It’s a locket of love, containing Thyme to make you courageous, no matter where the journey leads, and a strand of my locks to remind you that I will wait for you, as long as it takes.”

He moved the reigns to his other hand and gently, with as much care, received the lasting gift of love from his dearest. Holding the reigns in his teeth, he tied the keepsake securely around his neck with both hands, tucking it into his tunic for safekeeping. He then bent down and kissed her one last time, a long, deep embrace, one that would have to last thousands of miles and what would seem an eternity.  When he pulled away, tears welled in both their eyes – it was almost too much to bear.

As the contingent moved out, Griffin looked back as long as it was feasible before his mother, his beloved, and the rest of the MacRae clan finally disappeared from view – the last embrace, the locket, and her final farewell; images that would have to last him what would seem and might be forever. His heart ached as he had never known, torn between duty and love. The latter gave strength to the former, knowing that this was a voyage for the sake of existence, both physically and spiritually. In the recesses of his heart, he wanted time to stop at that moment, never to advance another measure, but the hoof beats continued, one step in front of the other; as the heart beats for one’s love, there could never be another.

 

The MacRae clan and many other highland clans eventually joined King Richard the Lion-Hearted in the Third Crusades, battling their way back into Jerusalem. In some of the heaviest fighting, Griffin found himself side-by-side with his father and brothers. Each time they encountered the enemy swarms, they would hold their own. It wasn’t until one of the war’s final engagements, where they were battling against overwhelming odds, that the eventual tragedy occurred.

It was under heavy duress, as swords continued to cut through armor, flesh, and bone that they were inundated with a massive barrage of arrows. Angus was struck through the neck as he continued the arc of his blade as it swung, cutting the demon before him in half. Griffin heard the gurgle of the familiar voice as Angus fell, knowing that his heart sank with the man by his side. Yet, he couldn’t afford to turn to look, for at that moment, two assailants were coming at him with battle axes. He adeptly took them down with one swing of this mighty broadsword, only to receive one of the falling blades of death from the sky through the slightest opening in his heavy leather armor, striking a blow from his collarbone to deep inside his chest. As it sliced through flesh and bone, it pierced the string of his beloved locket, severing its tie to his neck. As blood began to flow from the ghastly wound, the precious keepsake fell to the earth with the stains of crimson.

Griffin felt the world fading away as the pain tried to pull him into eternal blackness, but his brother nearby reached for him, lifting him. He continued to fight through the horrific pain until the Islamic forces, even with their superior numbers, were reduced to only a few living beings. Knowing they were defeated, they fled, along with their leaders, across the sea of dunes from whence they came, as a dragon retreating to his lair to recuperate before the next onslaught.

When they finally had time to search for the living among the fallen, all that was left alive of the MacRae clan was Griffin and two of his eldest brothers. Their father and four others had perished in the battle. Griffin was suffering greatly, for the arrow that struck had found its way deep into his chest, settling next to his heart so that there was no way to remove it lest he bleed out. Knowing that time was against them, the remaining brothers buried all but their father, whose last request through his dying breath was to be taken back to the land from whence he came to rest there in eternal repose. So, with heavy hearts and a brother hanging on for dear life, the remnants of the MacRae clan began the long, grim journey back to their beloved Scotland.

Many weeks and miles later, the three men, pulling the litter containing their deceased father, finally reached the lower reaches of their beloved Highlands. Griffin was a shadow of himself; the wound deep inside had only worsened, and the fever that ensued only ensured that the infection was taking a fatal hold. Against the battlefield doctor’s orders, he insisted upon returning. It had been three years since they had left their homeland, and now, it was all he could do to stay in the saddle as they ascended those rocky crags that separated the sparse grasslands known as home.

Before they had sighted the family compound, a shrill blast from the ancient ram’s horn was heard – the signal that riders approaching were friendly. Within a minute or two, heads could be seen bouncing above the distant horizon, running in their direction. Most of the entire MacRae clan descended upon them in a mass of welcoming tears of joy and shouts of glee. They were quickly surrounded and nearly pulled from their mounts as their beloved sought them out, yet there was an immediate change in the demeanor of the group’s celebration when the sled behind the riders became visible. It was then they realized that only three horsemen were returning, and a body lay upon the sled behind. Jubilation turned into mourning as they all learned the cost of the war had been horrific. Their mother’s face told the tale as she eventually caught up with the entourage and stood beside the litter carrying her dear Angus. The weathered lines on her face spoke of worry and strain for all these long years they had been gone – now this.

Throughout the solemn reception, Griffin had kept a vigilant eye out for his dearest Katelyn, but there was no sign. His already wounded heart began to pang for her when someone said she was busy back at the lodge finishing the afternoon meal with a few others. As painful as it was, Griffin spurred his horse ahead of the throng and soon found himself pulling alongside the grand old MacRae lodge. Once more, the exertion took its toll as he nearly passed out, the tunnel of blackness closing in. Leaning forward to push back against losing consciousness, he didn’t see the young woman exit the side door and come up behind him.

With his sunken, gaunt face and beard that had grown long, along with his unkept hair, Katelyn was unsure of whom she looked upon as she hesitantly approached the injured rider. It wasn’t until she heard him hoarsely whispering her name that she finally realized it was her beloved Griffin. She dropped the axe she had brought for protection and quickly began calling his name, “Griffin, my dearest, Griffin, is that you?”

It seemed as if he had descended into a dream as her voice sounded more real than any of the recent fitful, fever-laden dreams he had succumbed to upon their return journey. Fading in strength, he slid from the saddle and fell to the ground, landing on his back. The shock sent a tremor through his body as the pain was renewed, the arrow driving itself closer to its mark. With tearful eyes, he looked up into the angelic face and whispered, “I’m home, I’m home.” Before day faded to night, the last thing he remembered was the tiny face that came into view, joining Katelyn’s. What seemed to be a spirit stood there, her beautiful little blonde curls hanging down upon her tiny shoulders, the face of an angel—a miniature Katelyn.

“She’s your baby, sweetheart. She’s our baby.”

It was then the pain overwhelmed him, and he slid into that deep abyss, but as he fell, there was a warmth that overtook the depths of despair, one of hope for a future beyond what this time would allow. It was then Griffin realized he was home at last.

Through all the battles and death, even though the tiny locket of love and Thyme was there to protect him, Griffin found that the only thing that truly brought him peace was knowing that God was at his side.

It was never so true when he finally awoke to the smell of bread baking in the lodge oven that he realized he was still on this earth. In the few days that followed, they provided Griffin with as much comfort as his mortal wound would allow. He came to know his precious baby girl, Lillith, whom he never knew, and as much as his debilitated state would allow, played with her sparingly. The more he encompassed in his return, the greater the dread of his inevitable departure fell upon his demeanor. He shared as much of the stories of their journey as his breath would allow until he succumbed to the grave injury, forcing him to remain in bed as the wound slowly took its toll.

The amber afternoon sun gently shone through a nearby window, offering a tribute to the fallen warrior and father as Katelyn, his mother, and others had gathered around Griffin’s bed. Partly through the delirium of the fever and partly through the pain, Griffin began to speak,  “How precious is the little bit of time we have here on earth? As Father once read from the treasured Bible he brought from his own first crusade, he told us, “I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but time and chance happened to them all. For man also knoweth not his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare; so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falleth suddenly upon them.”

We didn’t know it then, but he was prophetically telling us what had happened to him and what would happen to us in that quest to rid the Holy Lands of the scourge that had been placed upon her.” Here, he paused, asking for a cool drink of water before continuing, his strength fading.

“One of the most precious gifts we are given,” closing his eyes now, as if speaking from a dream, Katelyn laid her head upon his shoulder as he continued, “We often treat it as if we can, by some miraculous power, create it of our own accord. When we are caught up in the moment, it flies past. When we reflect upon all that we’ve been through, we can see a correlation to when the past begins to fade, the feeling that time is slipping away, like the grains of sand between our outstretched fingertips.

As if reacting to this feeling, we clench our fists to abate the flow. Still, the time cataract continues to run until there are but a few specks of the multitude remaining. Tiny crystals sparkle back at us as we look at our opened palm – the remnants of what was once an abundance. We are left with mere fragments. In the sudden realization of the truth, it is then that we, with utter, catastrophic horror, find there is no way to recover all that has transpired. Only those few precious memories, the singular grains, are all that linger. With fervent passion, we cling to that which remains, finally succumbing to the understanding of what was taken for granted all along.

Now, I realize that those tiny grains become crystals of great value—my precious Lillith, my dearest Katelyn, they are all the world to me. But even more remarkable than these is that God is with us to comfort us even in our darkest hour, deepest despair, and most sorrowful woes. For when He is with us, we are never alone. We can be together with him in eternity.

While my locket of Thyme, which I so greatly cherished, was lost on the battlefield, it wasn’t the time I truly desired. I will cherish this final memory of all of you.” Pausing this last, he said through squinted eyelids, the moisture gathering in tiny beads as it ran down his cheeks, and with a weakened breath, “As long as my soul will hold its vision, for on this earth, there is never enough time. To the land of the living in eternity is now where I go. Meet me there if you will…”

His mother and many of the wives of the fallen brothers assisted Katelyn, trying to make Griffin’s final days as comfortable as possible. He never spoke again after those final words. Eventually, the wound that pierced his armor that fateful day would finally take his life.

They laid him to rest on the grassy knoll that overlooked their compound next to his father. Their eternal rest was assured, for as the Father knew Christ, so did the son. Together, they found their new home on the other side of Glory.

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by | · 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 | · 9:48 am

Dark Bondage (Part II)

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 had 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 claims not to believe in such things.

Our story resumes as Stephen happens upon a stone cottage still shrouded in early morning darkness. Inside, an old soul and his pet wolf have long prepared for such a day. They are there for a purpose, but for what?

That is for you to discover…

* * * *

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 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.

From within, the sounds of footsteps shuffling toward him could be heard – then a pause. Stephen momentarily swallowed a hard gulp of air, 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. He stepped backward, catching the edge of the step with the toe of his boot, nearly tumbling to the ground before he caught himself.

The light emanating from behind the figure made it difficult to see clearly, but it was enough of the image for Stephen to recognize the familiar shape and dress of his dear grandma, Mildred. With one hand, she held the door open while the other was gently sitting on top of a small child’s head, a little boy, perhaps four or five years of age.

“Stephen, is that you?”

He tried to speak, but the words could not get past the lump of emotion in his throat.

She opened the door a little wider, allowing more of the lamplight to shine upon her countenance, absolving all doubt. To further remove any uncertainty, around her neck hung his gift from so long ago: the tiny wooden cross—”first the tree in the meadow, now this?”

Breaking the trance, Mildred welcoming called out to him, “Come on in here before you catch a chill.”

Still unsure if he was dreaming or if this was real, he couldn’t resist the call to join his beloved grandmother once again. He stepped back up on the porch and walked past the threshold of the stone walls. Immediately, once inside, he felt a powerful emotion come over him. The familiar smells of his childhood enveloped his senses, wrapping around his heart like a comforting blanket. As she closed the door behind him, she continued, “We’re so glad you have finally come home. We’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

Those words, “You have finally come home,” resounded like thunderclaps in his heart. It had been many years since he last saw his grandmother and the thought that he was always welcome in her home touched the essence of his soul. Yet, this feeling was more than that—something unearthly in the welcoming—something far more eternal.

As he stepped past her, she reached for his coat of fur, “Let me help you with that,” she said, gently removing his outer garment and hanging it behind the door on a hook. “Now, come here, and let me give you a hug.” She then wrapped her loving arms around him, embracing him as only his grandma could. Then, as if wanting to size him up, she held him at arm’s length, looking him over. Her long silver hair was braided and pulled back behind her head in the customary bun Stephen had always known. She proudly exclaimed, “We had almost given up on you, child.” The words pierced his heart of stone, resonating deep within.

Suddenly, Stephen was overcome with a sense of guilt for the sin in his life that percolated to the surface – there was no hiding. It was as if she could see through him and into his very soul. Unclean, he wanted to be free of it all, shed the past, erase the memory of addiction, the hate, and the vile mouth that had hurt so many. He saw himself as he was and was disgusted beyond reproach.  A spirit of repentance came over Stephen, unlike anything he had ever known nor sought to know. It was like the power of a mighty waterfall, crashing into the depths of his blackened soul, began to engulf his being. The years of suffering, pain, and anguish all seemed to be suddenly washed away. Falling to his knees, he couldn’t stop the tsunami of regret; Stephen began weeping uncontrollably, gasping for air through the torrent of recompense. The little child sat at his side as Mildred came near him, kneeling and lovingly placing her arm across his shoulders, not speaking, just comforting as only a grandmother could.

Streams of tears and mucus ran from his nose in embarrassing pools upon the floor beneath where he knelt. He tried to speak, but the only words that would escape his convulsing lungs were, “Please forgive me.” All the while, the love of the one who knew him best poured into his emptying soul. Faster than the evil could leave, the agape poured within.

Time stood still as the young man, in the presence of something greater than himself, began to slowly regain control of his bodily emotions. Each time he looked up at the one knelt beside him, the tears would well up into his eyes. Each time, that loving face would embrace him again and whisper in his ear, “You were never alone, my son; you were never alone.” Stephen looked in the other direction, and there, the little child sat cross-legged on the floor, smiling ear-to-ear, acknowledging the triumph of the Spirit before him. The child never said a word, but his face, one that seemed oddly familiar, spoke volumes.

When he had finally collected himself, Mildred helped him over to the kitchen table, where a freshly cooked apple pie, his favorite, awaited. Stephen felt different; something was missing. He couldn’t put his finger on it but was distracted when the little boy joined them, sitting at the end of the table on one end of a well-worn bench. Suddenly, Stephen realized something that shook him to his core. That bench, that spot where the child now sat, had once been his favorite in his grandma’s kitchen. His head began to spin again, yet the well was dry; there was no more emotion from which to claim.

Finally, sometime later, when he was once more able to regain his composure, he timidly said, “Can I ask a question, Grandma? And please, please, don’t think me rude, for I would not trade this experience for anything in the world. But why am I here? Where are we? Is this a dream?”

“That sounds like more than one question, my dear,” she said with that old familiar mischievous twinkle in her eye. She went to the cupboard, pulled out three small plates and forks, and reached beneath the sink to grab three tin cups, setting them all on the table.

Stephen laughed, “Okay, okay, yes, I did ask too many questions, but you have to understand this,” he pointed to the room and then to his grandma, “This is just all so much for me to take in. You do understand, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, my son, yes, I get it.” She was now carefully, while continuing to listen, began setting the table with the meager tableware.

“But I heard your voice in the dream when I was still in the canoe and thought that that would have been wonderful enough. But now this, here with you,” he had to pause for the knot in his throat was growing again. “And to feel love like I had never remembered, or possibly ever known. It’s as if something has removed all the darkness from inside me, as if…” Again, he had to pause, waiting for the chorus of heartbeats to abate in his ears, “How is any of this possible?”

While he spoke, Mildred cut the pie and placed a slice on each plate, then put them before each of them, Stephen and the little boy, and the last for herself.

“You are asking a lot of outstanding questions.” She took her place at the head of the table nearest the wood stove, slowly sitting into the well-worn kitchen chair. “But to answer your questions, we first must ask, what is it you seek?” She paused as she was about to take a bite of the pie, “What have you sought but never found the answer?”

Stephen thought back to the last few years and the hopelessness of his life – the chronic pain, the prescription drugs, the alcohol, and then the emptiness it all left within his soul. He knew there was something else, but he had forgotten the things she had taught him as a child. As he pondered over these bewildering memories, one returned, like the welcoming dawn of a new day after the darkest storm – it was Jesus.

The color washed from Stephen’s face as he sat in stunned silence. “How could he have forgotten,” he thought silently. His mind raced back to the convulsions of rebirth just moments before, and the image of Christ on the cross came to mind, dying for his sins, the anguish, pain, and suffering – the bleeding drops of red falling from his Savior’s body onto the earth below, the ground crying out to the heavens above. Unlike Cain slaying Able, the scene at Calvary was to become a victory over death so that by Jesus’ sacrifice, we might have eternal life. Again, a flood of emotion, of thankfulness, enveloped his mind as he fought back the tears.

Then, out of the blue, another revelation came, “There’s no more pain,” he said under his breath.

“I see from the look on your face that you do remember something?”

Stephen nodded his head, yes, still unable to speak as the mixed emotions spun around in his head, the snow globe of memory, redemption, and turmoil all spinning out of control.

“My son, when you seek Him, Jesus, to come into your heart, you will become a new man. The old will die away, and you will be made new. The old man is gone. Your sins have been forgiven. As you have just experienced, the sins of this world, those lusts of your flesh, have been washed away. You have been healed by the power of the Holy Spirit, and by Christ’s sacrifice on the cross, you are now given a new spirit, an eternal life with Him.”

Stephen sat dumbfounded. It was true. He had just realized the significance of the moment, yet he could not understand how he got here or where “here” actually was. His head spun with the relevance of all that was happening.

“Now eat up, Stephen, your pie is getting cold.”

He smiled and obliged, tasting the succulence of his favorite dessert melt in his mouth. They continued talking for a long time, sharing memories – of faith and hope. The child eventually got up and went to lie on a pallet by the fireplace, falling asleep. As the day turned to night, Stephen’s eyelids grew heavy.

“My son, you are tired, and the day has been long. You need to rest.”

Stephen nodded, barely able to hold up his head.

“I’ve prepared a place for you in the loft,” she said, pointing to the room above the kitchen. Climb up the ladder there, and you’ll find everything you need. We’ll continue our conversation in the morning.”

Happy to rest, Stephen found his way up to the loft, where he fell asleep before his head touched the downy softness of the pillow on his grandma’s feather bed.

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 and renewed. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was inside a new 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 arose, got dressed, and started to climb down below to continue to the beautiful dream. But as he grasped the top of the ladder to begin his descent, his heart froze. 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.

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 | 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 | March 26, 2023 · 8:15 pm

Buried with Hope

It had all happened so suddenly, without warning. The sound of a mighty force inhaling all the air around you, then with one tremendous breath, exhaling – all that was once became naught. The last thing he remembered was the earth disappearing beneath his snowshoes and then nothing. For a long while, he lay trapped beneath the tomb of white, unaware of what had happened. When he awoke, he suddenly realized he was imprisoned by a force beyond his strength to overcome.

For as long as Benjamin Perrou could remember, he had heard tales of men caught up in avalanches and never seen again. That Alpine region was known for its precarious winter dangers. Snow, as beautiful as it appears, can be just as dangerous. Benjamin had seen the evidence of snow slides firsthand. One of the many gorges up in the Germanesca valley had been destroyed by one. Like a mighty hand, the forest, and everything in its path had been erased. Trees as big around as six men holding hands could reach had been snapped off at the root, like a twig on a branch. The earth, rocks, and timber had become one giant wall of death. The snow that engulfed it all concealed the extent of the damage until the spring thaws came. It was then that everyone saw how powerful, how dangerous the word “Avalanche” could mean. Trees looked like grass mown down and then strewn in patterns that looked like water flowing down the mountain.

Benjamin could feel his arms and legs, but something heavy, if it could be called that, was holding them locked in place. There was a sharp pain in his lower back that felt like fire when he tried to move. A small air pocket, space enough before his face, afforded him time. “Maybe enough air to live until they find me?” But then again, he had left his house in the little village of Balziglia before dawn. His wife, Maria, and newborn son were still asleep. His goal was to reach the upper shepherd’s hut and return home by noon. He and his cousin Markus had to flee the upper pastures because of an early winter storm leaving behind precious rations of food they had stored up over the summer.

Christmas was now past; the winter months were now pressing upon them. It was a new year, 1510, yet it didn’t feel like anything new worth celebrating. The cellar shelves were getting bare. Working with sheep wasn’t keeping his family fed. He desperately needed to travel back to the shepherd’s hut to retrieve the much-needed supplies. When he mentioned the trip to Maria, she only became angry because of the danger of traveling up to the higher elevations during this time of year. She had begged him to go into the lower valleys and maybe find a job in Pinerolo, where her Uncle had a leatherworking shop. During the grazing months, Benjamin and his cousin would go to the higher elevations to graze their herds for weeks on end. It was the family tradition. The separation was painful for Maria – her heart longed for her Benji. She often said she didn’t know what she would do without him. She had no idea he was leaving that morning. So, when Maria awoke to feed the baby, she realized Benjamin had gone – her heart sank. Fearing the worse, she began to wonder if he would ever return.

Meanwhile, Benjamin began to wonder if the life of his ancestors was no longer possible. There were still those from the Waldensian Valleys studying in the Barbi College, going out in pairs across Europe sharing the gospel, and facing death and persecution. But Benjamin had not felt that calling. He had grown lazy. It had been weeks since he sat down and went through the daily practice of putting the Word of God to memory. It felt like God was a distant thought as the fear of his family going hungry began to gnaw at his soul. The urgency to act had hit him in the night, and it was foremost on his mind when the coming dawn was still a distant thought. He was already several miles up the mountain when the sun kissed the edge of Mount Piatasse. The sled tied to his waist had made a curious trail behind him in the freshly fallen snow, weaving in and out of his ski trail. He was alone, save for his faithful traveling companion and sheepdog, Jacques. If anyone knew his whereabouts, it was Jacques. But for all Benjamin knew, he too, was buried alive and dead.

Benjamin’s heart was racing as the thoughts continued out of control, fighting for the remnants of any sanity that was left. He fought the fear to panic, but there it was, on the edge of the precipice, waiting to dive into his soul.

“What will it be like to die a slow, painful death – buried alive? Would he ever see Maria and Jacob again?”

“Where is God when you need him?”

It was this last thread of mental torment that finally grabbed his attention. In all his worry and despair, he had failed to notice the one thing that meant the most to him and his family – God. Then he again thought to himself, “But truly, was this God’s will – to bury him alive? Was there anything even He could do?”

Feeling the end approaching, he began speaking out loud, “I know that if nothing else, I will go to my grave praying for my dear Maria and my newborn son, Jacob.” Around him, the weight of the snow, rocks, and trees began to creak as it settled farther, sealing his tomb all the tighter. Hearing his fate becoming more profound, Benjamin began to pray to God. “Dear Lord, if it is your will to rescue me, I would be forever grateful. But I’m not afraid to die, for I know in my heart, mind, and soul that you will be with me. There is no place that I don’t carry you, nor is there any place that I can turn that you are not there. Please take care of my family should you call me home. They are so young and helpless. My cousins and neighbors can fulfill their earthly needs, but I fear that their hearts will be forever plagued by my absence. Please fill that void with your love.” Tears began to choke off his words as he paused. “Dear God, I love Maria as I love you….” A loud crack above him and another weight seem to be added to the load already upon his chest. He could barely breathe but continued, “Lord, I don’t make many new year’s resolutions, but this one thing I say, that if I survive this, by some miracle, I will seek to serve you in any capacity, in whatever way you choose. My soul is yours, take it and do as you wish. In Jesus’s name I pray,” and at that, the tears welled up in his throat as the air became nearly too thick to breathe, “Amen.”

The frozen mass around him began to seep into his body, and soon even the pain dissipated. Finally, there was no more feeling in his frame. Numb from the cold, he began to drift off into a peaceful sleep.

Before Benjamin stood a marble staircase gleaming white in a brilliant light. The weight upon his body was so great that he could only crawl, so he did, slowly up, one marble step at a time. Above him, he could see a shadowed translucent figure lit by a brilliant light from behind. Slowly Benjamin approached the shadowy being. The closer he came, the more fearful of the being he became until suddenly, there was a voice like thunder that echoed into his very core, “The just shall live by faith! Get up and walk like a man.” Afraid not to do as the angelic being demanded, he tried to stand, but there was a weight upon his body that held him bound.

“I, I can’t get up.”

“The just shall live by faith! You have made your own bondage. The Grace of God that will set you free.”

“But, my body…it is as if I am tied to the earth.” He strained with all his might, yet, he could barely move enough to twitch a toe. “Help me; that’s all I ask. Please, tell God I need Him.”

Somewhere beyond the Angel atop the staircase came the distant sounds of a dog barking. His mind tried to understand as the stairway dissolved into a cascading waterfall surrounded by a crystal clear pool of water at the bottom, into which it plummeted. Summer grasses, rich and succulent, fed the pearl white sheep that surrounded the oasis. From behind the herd came Jacques racing toward him. For a moment, his heart was overjoyed, and a warmth filled his aching soul.

And then there was nothing.

The sound of barking once more. Scratching. Barking.

Benjamin began to cry; the feeling of suffocation overwhelmed him. He realized he might never see his Maria again. Then something warm brushed away the tear. The hand of God?

Again a bark, the brush from the wings of an Angel, a warm tongue across his cheek.

Blinking, unable to focus, Benjamin slowly realized it was Jacques, and it wasn’t a dream. The faithful dog had dug down to where he was trapped and was now trying to free his master. The fresh air felt alive on his face. Jacques kept digging and soon had enough snow and rocks removed that Benjamin’s face was entirely free. He gasped in large mouthfuls of air but realized there was no way alone that Jacques could lift him out of the twisted maze of limbs and ice which entangled his body.

“Go get help, boy,” Benjamin begged of the dog. But he wasn’t leaving his master. The dog sat and stared blankly, ears tilting at the sound of Benjamin’s voice coming from the hole in the snow. He barked in return and would go back to digging and licking Benjamin’s face. But as the day wore on, so did Benjamin’s patience. He realized this was not the answer and that he might still die a slow death.

He again turned to prayer and once more sought God with every fiber of his being. There was nothing God couldn’t do; this he knew in his heart. As he finished in the silence, with Jacques patiently looking on, a cloud passed over, totally obscuring the setting sun, and for a moment, the pair, Benjamin and Jacques, disappeared in its mist. When it cleared, there stood before them a stranger.

“Guten tag.”

Benjamin blinked, “Huh, hello.” At the sound of a voice. From where he lay beneath the snow, he couldn’t see the man. Jacques began to growl, the hair standing up on his neck. He quickly ran and stood between Benjamin and the outsider.

“It’s ok boy, the stranger said.” Benjamin could hear his footsteps crunching in the snow nearby as he approached. Jacques’s protective stance quickly dissipated. There was something about the man the dog trusted. Benjamin knew Jacques well enough to know this was a good sign.

“I see an extreme misfortune you have had.”

“Yes,” Benjamin could barely feel his mouth move. The numbness was growing, and soon, he would no longer be able to speak if something wasn’t done.

“It seems God has me here just in time placed.”

“Thanks be to God,” Benjamin breathed out.

The stranger dropped his pack, removing a small saber, fell to his knees, and quickly began carefully digging around Benjamin. Jacques joined in, and within an hour, they had freed him from his frozen prison. The stranger started a fire and soon began setting Benjamin’s broken legs with wood splints. Afterward, he quickly wrapped him up in a warm blanket with a cup of some hot, dark warm liquid. As he sipped, the feeling began to return to his broken legs, as did the pain. There was a shallow puncture to his back from a stick, but the stranger had wrapped his midsection in cloth to stop the bleeding. As bad as it was, Benjamin knew it could have ended much worse.

“Did you believe God had abandoned you?”

The words brought Benjamin back to the moment. He shook his head, yes, his hand shivering as he slowly lifted the drink to his lips. The bitter brew flowed down his throat, warming his entire being from within, dulling the pain in his legs. A sense of something greater than the moment began to grow inside. He felt it a first like a slight breeze, one that you can ignore if you choose, but he didn’t. Instead, he welcomed it, and it grew. There was also something strange about his liberator. His language seemed foreign, possibly from Germanic regions to the north, but he wasn’t sure. The man before him asked where he was from, and Benjamin pointed to the valley, “There, down below us in the village of Balziglia.”

The man smiled.

“Who are you and where are you, you…. from,” Benjamin replied.

“Oh, not too far from this place,” he smiled. “But I must return to start a new life.”

“Sounds familiar,” Benjamin said, even more curious. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” he smiled again.

“I’m Benjamin.”

“Nice you to meet Benjamin, Brother Martin I am, just a simple monk.”

“Where is home, Martin?”

“Oh, over the mountains in the village of Erfurt. I was from my pilgrimage to Rome returning. Many things in my life must now I change. My life’s goal a priest to become was.”

“Oh,” for Benjamin’s family for centuries had been persecuted by the Roman Catholic church, so priests were people that his family tried to avoid. Yet, here he was now, having been literally saved by one. The least he could do was to hear him out.

“What makes you say, ‘was’ to become a priest?”

“Something to me in Rome happened. Something Godly. Let’s just say I now with new eyes can see.”

“What about you, Benjamin? Do you with new eyes see? You were trapped and near death. Surely you had to God prayed?”

Benjamin began to remember the dream and, without thinking, began sharing, “Yes, you can trust I prayed. And yes, I was indeed blessed with a gift from God. Just a few days ago, I felt like my life was nothing, that I was losing my soul to the world. The scripture, “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?[1]” kept repeating in my head. Then I was buried in the avalanche and feared I would die. In desperation, I prayed to God. Then an Angel of the Lord spoke to me in a vision while I was climbing a beautiful marble staircase. He said that I needed to stand up, that the just shall live by faith.”

Martin, seated across the fire from Benjamin and Jacques, stood up immediately, dropping his mug of liquid and spilling it across the snow-covered ground. His face, almost in shock at the words, scared Jacques enough that he let out a sharp bark. He looked at Benjamin as if he, too, had seen the Angel of the Lord

“What did you say?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” he paused, hands outstretched as if he was trying to keep from falling, “ What was the last thing you just said, the thing that God said to you?”

“That the just shall live by faith?”

Martin stared blankly, looking at something beyond Benjamin, something he could not see. It was a minute or two before Martin recovered and could speak. Finally, he answered in a grave, measured tone, “You have spoken words that can only be confirmation to my soul. God has indeed spoken.

Benjamin Perrou, I don’t know who you are or what is going on in your life right now, but if it is possible if you will allow God to lead your life, I want you with me back to Erfurt to return. There is something special about you that I must learn more about.”

“But I have a wife and child.”

“Great, then them you must bring. We wonderful schools for your child have, and I will help you to become a man of God, a preacher, or at the very least, an evangelist. This your calling is, brother Benjamin!”

Tears began streaming down Benjamin’s face as he realized this was the answer to his prayer, the one he had made when he realized his life might end. God had answered him, but in a way he never imagined. He didn’t know this Martin, but there was something about him that he trusted, something special that he knew had to be correct. That day, Benjamin felt like David being called from the field by Samuel to be anointed, King.

Later that night, Maria had barely drifted off, having cried herself to sleep when she heard the gentle rapping at the door. Fearful and with much trepidation, she held the lantern in one hand as she peered through the ajar door. There she saw a stranger holding onto a rope tied to a sled upon which lay a man covered in a blanket.

“Are you Frau Perrou,” the stranger asked.

“Ya, yes…,” she said, still too scared to open the door beyond a crack. Then out of the darkness bounded Jacques, barking, tail wagging, bounding at the door. Maria, forgetting her fear, swung the door open as Jacques leaped into her outstretched arms, licking her face uncontrollably.

“Maria?”

The voice came from the blanket as Benjamin realized he was finally home, raised up enough to see Maria’s light.

“Benji,” she screamed and ran to him, dropping the lantern at her side and throwing her arms around his neck.

“Careful,” the stranger beckoned, removing the blanket revealing Benjamin’s broken limbs.

“Benji,” she gasped.

“Yes, I was buried by an avalanche, but God sent a couple of angels to deliver me. Let us go inside, and I will tell you the rest of the story over some hot stew and a good piece of your delicious bread for our guest.”

It was then Maria realized her prayer had been answered – her Benji was alive. She would continue to weep with joy as he would introduce her to his new friend and explain to her how their life had been changed by a prayer made in desperation. From that day forward they never had need or want. Benjamin would take his little family to Erfurt, where he would study with Martin, Eventually. They would return to the valleys of his homeland where he would preach the Word of God.

Martin would go on to make even greater history when he would eventually nail his disagreements with the Roman Catholic Church to the door of the church in Wurms. You know the rest of that story, a little something called the Reformation.

But more importantly, two men, once strangers brought together miraculously, would never forget the words of God that changed their lives forever when He said – “The just shall live by faith.”

For Benjamin’s calling became more than a New Year’s resolution – it became his promise to God.

Thanks be to God.

 

[1] Matthew 16:26 KJV

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