Tag Archives: Jesus Christ

by | September 4, 2016 · 10:30 pm

Saying Goodbye…

“This is what the Lord says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls….” – Jeremiah 6:1620160228_154502~2

If you haven’t heard by now, I was released from the Trail of Faith this past week. They said that the board had decided to take a different direction for the Trail and as a result, eliminated the Director position

My heart sank.

Selling the farm, the animals, the constant moving for the past year, first from the farm to Valdese and then from the storage to the temporary house, then from the temporary house into the new house; a year of moving that has yet to be completed.

We had yet to settle down when the news came.

Standing at another crossroads in my life, I can choose to look back, or I can choose to look forward, the choice is mine. I can turn to my left or right, but in whatever decision I make, there is one thing that must remain constant, one thing that I must not forget; the very reason for where I am at today; my faith in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Had we known then what we know now would have made the same choice to take that leap of faith? Would we have sold everything to follow the calling? Should we have asked those who had dealt with the Trail what their track record was for turnover? We can look back and ask those questions which seem obvious in answer, but the truth is, when we are compelled to answer the call, it matters little what the outcome of our journey becomes. More importantly, our eyes should be fixed on the ultimate goal, the heavenly victory.

Does it hurt?

Of course, it does; yet if we think of it as a stepping stone; just another piece of the puzzle in God’s big plan, then the reward that awaits behind the door that has yet to be revealed will be far greater than the one that just closed. Our most significant triumphs have yet to be revealed as we continue to follow the path He has chosen for us.

Yet the pain continues. What bothers me most is not the hurt inside, but rather, the pain is for all those that I had shared my testimony with; those that I had truly divulged my heart and soul, assuring them that when they visited the Trail, they would indeed be blessed as we would share the Word of God with them through the story of the people of the valleys. Now, in the midst of this painful loss, I will not be able to guarantee their receiving what I had so fervently promised. Many will only receive the same old history lesson as before, while a few might get lucky and get one of our more passionate guides, like brother Barry. Yet, I know in his mind he might be missing me as much as I will be missing him in my absence. We had become brothers in arms, so to speak. Barry and many more have been hurt by the decision, but like true Christian soldiers, we all will carry on one way or another.

What I will miss most is hard to say.

There were countless moments of the Holy Spirit coming down upon us at any point in a tour. There were the prayers over those in need, those hurting and wanting healing, and many other inspirational stories that continued flowing like a beautiful, sweet river of love from our Heavenly Father. Gone will be those moments when you saw the look in the eyes of your guest as they understood the sacrifices of those gone before and how God had sent them to hear the story for the first time. Many would go away with a greater appreciation for the Word, and that was my greatest wish of all; that each person regardless of denomination, background or heritage, would leave the Trail knowing that “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory…”

As much as I wanted to call it my mission, God obviously has other ideas. To Him, this was just part of the plan for which I was called.

My journey has just begun.

Once more I find myself on my knees praying for peace, wisdom, guidance and strength.

Where will I be in a month from now; Heavenly only knows?

As the Bible tells us, when God closes a door, He has another one opened and waiting for us. Our job is to find that door and walk through it. I’ve been given one month’s severance pay; hopefully, time enough to figure where that other door awaits.

As brother Patrick told me this week with regard to the next door, “The greatest triumph is yet to come.”

Yes, the future is uncertain in human terms, but in Godly perspective, the best is yet to come.

In all I do, I will always continue to say, “Thanks be to God.”

For if it is God’s will, then it shall be done, and so here is a link to my resume in case you know of someone hiring….link to resume

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by | August 21, 2016 · 10:12 pm

Morning Mist…

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A lifetime; that’s how long it took to get to this point.

The aches and breath were laborious.

Nothing felt good other than just the knowing that I was out once again exercising my body in order to retain some sort of muscle tone. The past three weeks have been a blur of moving, back-breaking lifting, sweating, and blood. In fact, we have constantly been moving something from somewhere for most of this year, so the opportunity to find myself running along a clear, flowing mountain river was a blessing in and of itself. Below my path, the water of the Johns River cascaded over rocks, sending a chorus of soft voices upward. Their song touched my soul, and my spirit was renewed.

The sun had yet to rise as I ran in the cloud that encompassed the world around me. Massive oaks towered overhead; sentinels in this part of the small valley that cupped the river into its palm and channeled it along its winding route. Those dark anthems disappeared into the mist appearing as if they might be pillars holding up the sky.

The world was slowly awakening.

Before long, my mind was free of the physicality of my toil as one curve in the road led to another. God’s beauty lay all around. Birds called to one another as the breeze gently swayed branches over the rippling waters that ran beside me. Like in another lifetime, when thoroughbreds would race me along their pristine pastures in Ocala, I now ran with another, one whose flow was even smoother than those gentle beasts. Together, side by side, we traveled; one the essence of life, while the other dependent upon that which flowed.

Sometimes, when my day is done, I can sit upon the rocks and watch the water flow, like the clouds passing overhead. To know there is a purpose in it all would only require one to admit that there is also a God. The incalculable variables that are necessary for one object to depend upon another cannot be fathomed once one begins to try to explain in human terms what this is all about. A lifetime of wasted energy could be spent only to find in the end, the solitude of sitting on the edge of a secluded mountain stream can answer those unending questions. In our youth, we believe there is no end to time, so we go forth without plan or purpose, living for the moment, planning on a whim what tomorrow might bring. As life progresses we realize, sometimes too late, there is a finality, a purpose we must seek. Sadly, many are never afforded that chance to realize that they have fallen short of seeking Him. Those who do choose Christ as their savior, find they have been given the most precious gift of all, thanks to His sacrifice for our sins so that we may have life eternal.

As I wiped the towel across my forehead mopping of the sweat off my brow, there was the feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction in knowing that I had started my day on a good note. Steam rose from my coffee mug as I peered thankfully down at the pages of my Bible. The morning sunrise was just beginning to burn through the fog around the porch where I sat, turning the pages into a golden hue.

“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory…”

The Word spoke to me again and once more my life is blessed.

Somewhere off in the distance in the dark woods a dove cooed.

Yes, this would be another beautiful day.

Thanks be to God.

 

 

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by | July 11, 2016 · 9:33 pm

What is your life?…

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

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Dark vestiges of time lie dormant below the mist that forms above them. Silently the satin wisps pass from one peak to the next, vanishing before our eyes as we watch in awe the scenery before us which no cinematography could hope to capture. I silently pray that God will allow my mind’s eye to see this beautiful picture before me as long as I live, never ceasing to remember. It is too precious to lose. Alive and breathing, the earth savors the coming darkness. The day has been complete, now it is time for mankind to sleep, retiring to his safe abode as the beasts of the night come to life, devouring their prey and completing the circle of life.

We are but a moment in this story; a fraction of a segment in time, we are but more than a vapor that appears then silently fades into oblivion before it can be recognized. As fleeting as the clouds that pass overhead, so does the fog caresses the mountain peaks below, each separated by nothing, yet so far apart, they cannot touch. As the evening turns to darkness, layer upon layer the earth’s breath rises until showers of flying dew drops kiss our faces as they shoot up the face of the mountain, rising to meet their sisters above, becoming one in a dance of majesty and spiritual joy. Our fragile flesh desperately tries to understand all that passes before it until our minds become numb with the exhilaration of the moment at hand. We lick our lips and cherish the taste of wetness of clouds that have come to ask us to dance.

The ethereal visions before us are fleeting at best. The ground upon which we trod may appear as solid as the granite, but it too will someday pass away and become nothing. We are only the dust from which we have come and will return. Our ashes will scatter upon the winds, becoming one with the fluid shapes that swirl around us as we sat watching those fallen clouds once more rise to meet their heavenly brethren. Likewise, someday, we too will meet our Father in heaven, when we rise upon His coming, as the dead in Christ will rise first. In our sin, we all have fallen, but when we become one with Jesus, we are then able to ride those unseen currents that will take us one day to walk with our Lord. As he gave His life for our transgressions, He ascended to sit at the right hand of the Father where he awaits.

As our spirits become wisps of air, our bodies will be made whole, and our reunion with those gone on before will become complete.

The clouds may pass away, as will we too someday, but when we know Christ, our reunion will be no less glorious, and that will be the everlasting, everlasting that no human securities can fathom; our Heavenly home above.

None of us know what will happen tomorrow, our life is more fleeting than a vapor, yet we can trust that if we know Him, we shall someday walk at His side in Glory.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 27, 2016 · 10:07 pm

Deliverance Through Prayer…

The prisoners had succumbed to the elements long before their hope for survival began to diminish. As hundreds of men died daily, their guards watched in vain as the extreme drought in their region of Georgia dried up all creeks and wells. Livestock were being set free to keep them alive in hopes that they would find some source of sustenance on their own. The war between the states was far away, yet in Andersonville, hell on earth was real. As Union soldiers lay dying, calling out in their last breaths for mother, a few firm believers gathered to seek God in prayer. They asked for His deliverance from the torture and despair, they had nothing left to lose except life itself. In the distance, sounds of what many thoughtprovidencespring were cannons began to rumble later that night. The winds started whipping the sparse flaps of the tent city within the crude walls of the Confederate prison as the rogue storm cell passed over. Suddenly, a crash and roar of thunder rolled many out of their pallets shaking the ground as the bolt of lightning struck just inside the outer prison wall, just inside no-man’s land. At that moment, water began gurgling forth from the ground and by morning, the trickle had become a flowing stream. There as the sunrise began to make a glow on the horizon, grown men sat by the brook crying as they held their withered, parched hands below the life giving fluid and raised it to their blistered lips, soaking in the blessing one gulp at a time.

Many never lived to see that sunrise.

The other evening, I saw where a former colleague of mine had a birthday. Curious as to how he was doing, I reached out to him. He replied and we began catching up. As time passed and we began to share our feelings on life and where we were in our walk with God, I could quickly feel my old self come back through the description of my friend’s words. Trapped in the prison we had created of our own doing, he was as once was I held captive. His chains were a mortgage and a company that literally kept you from escaping from one shift to another; his was as was mine, the dreaded third shift. The fear of leaving it all behind holds you within that cell until eventually you either are terminated against your will or you die without experiencing the life you always wanted to live; his and mine were to serve the Lord. To many, termination was an answer to prayer. Others would find their freedom and escape but at a cost. Many had chosen a journey deeper into the secular world, the price they would pay would be severe. Yet, some would awaken to the fact that the life they were living was void of faith or prevented them from serving God. It was these few who would eventually say, “Enough is enough,” and begin to pray to God for deliverance, as did those prisoners in Andersonville. Miraculously, those prayers would be answered, time and time again.

In the Bible Jesus told us, “For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”

As every veteran knows, no matter the branch of the military in which you serve, the object of the Drill Sergeant is to break each recruit down, strip them of their identity until they are a shell of a human. Then, once they have stripped them of “who” they are, they begin to refill the void with the soldier they want you to be. In other words, you are programmed to perform in the way in which supports that branch of the military. When we truly give our lives to Christ, we essentially must do the same thing as those young recruits; stripping away our former selves until there is nothing left of our previous inequities to keep us from following him with every ounce of our being.

An elderly man sat next to me in the Paddock Mall one day, back in 1982. We were both waiting for our wives to finish shopping and like most guys, we would rather sit and wait outside the store than stand idly inside. He told me his name was Roy, and before I knew it, he began telling me the story of his survival in a Korean prisoner of war camp. Roy told of how they would strip them naked in the dead of winter and put them in cages like animals and then hose them down with fire hoses. He said there were many times he didn’t remember being dragged from the cell; wet, cold, frozen. Roy talked about how he survived life-threatening injuries. They would put rats in the window sills in order to grow maggots. Once the gruesome larvae were the right size, they would place them into the gaping wound of their fellow prisoners so that they could eat away the dead flesh before gangrene could set in. Roy rolled up his pant leg to show me the indentation from the wound, where once muscle had been before the injury. He continued to share with me how he survived to see their liberation, but barely. He was released from the Army and given all his back pay that had accrued while being a POW. Roy was told by the Army doctor’s that he only had a few months to live, so depleted was his body from the lack of nutrition and injuries. Figuring he was going to die, he left for Florida, bought an old barge and began drifting from one island to the next in the Marathon chain. Roy looked at me and said, “It was then that I talked to God and asked him toimagesE0DYW4ZT do with me what he would. I didn’t care if He called me home or not. Each day I would wake up and catch fish or shrimp and each day I would thank Him for another day.” Roy then shared how eventually, after a year or so, he realized he wasn’t going to die. The day he walked in the front door of the supply shack at the marina instead of the back door where he had always gone before, he knew his life was going to change. The old man that had always waited on him through the rear entry didn’t recognize him at all. Roy had shaved his beard and cut his long hair before stepping inside; he was a new man. God would take Roy down many roads, but there we sat that day as he shared his testimony.

When we turn our lives over to God, all things are possible; we too can become new men and women. Roy realized that he had nothing left to lose, giving all he had was easy. Unlike my friend, Roy’s life was at what he thought was its end. The soldier’s in Andersonville also had their backs against the wall to where they too had nothing left to lose, but to seek God. However, when we have so much, so many worldly possessions, it becomes hard for many to seek Him. In that instance, we can find it even harder to walk away from it all. Satan wants us to cling onto the things of this world so our choices become difficult if not impossible; cars, TV’s, houses, beach-front-condos, club memberships, hefty mortgages, and so on become our chains.

As people age, we begin to look around us and ask ourselves what we can offer those we love most when we’re gone. Those things of this world tarnish, age, and rot. The things that matter most are those that continue on long after we’re gone. Those everlasting impressions we make on our children, grand-children, and fellow Christians are what matter most. Those impressions can become the wake-up call so many need to hear, so that someday, they too may make that choice to serve God. Hopefully, they won’t wait until their backs are against the wall.

The Union Army prisoners held in Andersonville prison would name the water from the spring that saved their lives, Providence Springs. The water still flows today inside the memorial park in Andersonville, Georgia; a testament to what is possible when we give it all over to Him.

When we are stripped of everything, either by force or by choice, we can then be free to make the decision that can change our lives and make us new, “For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”

Today chose to lose your life for His sake, and the life you will find will be eternal.

Do so today, there may not be a tomorrow.

Thanks be to God.

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by | May 1, 2016 · 7:25 pm

A Walk in the Garden…

Last Sunday, after a morning of worship, I took an afternoon off to bask in the warm sunshine and walk in the garden. The rows of lettuce, cabbage, radish, and potatoes were doing quite well considering we had little rain in recent weeks. In fact, the taters were doing so well that they really needed some dirt mounded up around them. In the wanderlust of leaving the house on such a beautiful, heaven-sent day, I had forgotten to grab my garden hoe. Regardless, I plopped down upon my knees and began to scoop handfuls of loose soil about the dark green sprouts. The warmth of the earth trickled over my palms flooding my head with precious memories of grandma and dad working on Sunday afternoon in their gardens.

“There is something about working in the dirt with your hands,” father would tell me as he showed me how to cultivate the rich, dark soil of the fertile lands along the Wabash River. “You don’t need a hoe, dirtyhandsjust use your hands,” he said as he held up his dirt ladened palms. The black earth had worked its way underneath his nails so that he honestly looked as if he had been living as a barbarian for some time.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to use a hoe,” I asked, not understanding the message.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “How you gonna feel the earth with a hoe,” he responded.

So, there is sat, hands covered in dirt as I pulled heaping piles of rich, dark red dirt up around my taters thinking of those sweet days gone by. The garden and springtime were essential to our families. Grandma always canned as if she were feeding a multitude, which generally she was. You never left her house without some canned goodie or baked something or other. The root cellar always had the essential to last us through the year. The only time I recall going to the grocery for her was the time Deep and I got in trouble with the supposed pet skunk, but then that’s another story. The trip to the grocery in that circumstance was in order to air us out on our half-mile journey to and from the store. If you pulled up to grandpa and grandma’s and couldn’t find anyone at the house, you knew they were either in the kitchen garden just behind the house or across the field in the big garden behind Mrs. Wolf’s house. You would know to be careful when you reached the small pasture gate. It was maybe fifty yards across to the garden gate, but it might as well have been a mile when one of K.D.’s bulls was in there. So, with great caution, you always were certain to look both ways before crossing to see what manner of livestock might be grazing nearby.

From time to time, even when I didn’t have a place to call my own, like now, I found a way to have a garden. When my wife and I were stationed at Warner Robbins AFB, in Warner Robbins Georgia, I found that airmen were allowed garden lots. All you had to do was sign up at the MWR Center, and they would assign you your very own plot. There in that foreign soil, mostly sand and clay, I found another crop of vegetables soon filling our produce baskets to overflowing. It was there that I also learned how to grow peanuts, something I had never imagined. But once more, armed with just a hoe and a tater fork, I turned the soil the old-fashioned way, by hand. Grandma would tell me, “The connection to the earth and the land make us one with our maker.” She would then gently remind me the passage from the book of Genesis, “In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread Till you return to the ground, For out of it you were taken; For dust you are, And to dust you shall return.”

So many lessons learned, many while working in the garden, so many memories made. Those are seeds of faith planted which are to be harvested throughout our lives.

I don’t guess it’s any wonder that one of my favorite old time gospel hymns is “In the Garden.”

The day that Ms. Frankie and I sang it in the church was another special day in my life. Ms. Frankie had suffered from Alzheimers for some time. At that point in her life, the illness had progressed to the point she could no longer read or write. But when we would sing together, she remembered more lyrics than I did to many songs; all you had to do was get her started. That morning, there in Goldston United Methodist Church, we made beautiful music together and memories to last a lifetime.

Ms. Frankie passed a couple years after that, and they played the video from that day at her funeral. The tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened with bowed head to the sound of her singing once more, knowing that she was watching us all from heaven that day, singing along while holding her husband John’s hand. She was indeed walking in His garden that day as well.

Here is the video of that wonderful day.

Sometimes, my hands in the earth are all I need to make my day complete.

We came from the earth and to the earth, we shall return. There we will become one with the soil and add to the abundant life everlasting of those who come afterward. “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and man became a living being.” – Genesis 2:7

Yes, walk in the garden and feel the presence of our Lord. Your life will never be the same.

Thanks be to God.

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by | April 30, 2016 · 8:39 pm

The Weight of the Mind…

“When wisdom enters your heart, And knowledge is pleasant to your soul, 11 Discretion will preserve you; Understanding will keep you, 12 To deliver you from the way of evil…”

– Proverbs 2:10-12booksbooksbooks

Sweat drained down my face as each arm carried the burden down three flights of stairs. Their weight was not as exhausting as was the repeated climb to-and-from the attic as I slowly emptied years of accumulation into the moving trailer. My current load was books that at one time occupied my library. They had been stored away for safe keeping until the day came that my study would once again be restored; that day had not yet come. They varied from works of fiction to technical manuals. The piles had been placed as they had been evacuated from their respective shelves, into shopping bags which I now used to transport them once again. “How many more times will I continue to move books that are already in my head,” I thought to myself as I panted down the steps.

The intrepid fear of losing memory instantly came to mind as my excuse. We spend more and more money in this modern day and time to backup our precious pictures, documents, and writings; memories. The mere thought of losing one’s lifelong collection of photos is enough to cause a shudder to run up and down your spine. A friend of mine once exclaimed how they had lost everything in a house fire when she was young. They, the family, had all survived, but she said of all the worldly things they lost and missed the most were their family photos; something that could never be replaced. It is no wonder that the ambiguous cloud is one of the fastest growing industries today and has become a sanctuary of safe keeping.

“Never fear, keep your memory safe and back it up to the cloud,” adds tell us as they promise safe and secure storage for all manner of devices and computers. But how much is enough and what do we really need to keep?

“Can I afford to toss some of these antiquated manuals and books from college,” I thought out silently. Several years and thousands of dollars were spent studying in several of those books that allowed me to invest 23 years of my life into the telecom industry. Then there was the box of notes with which were used to study; many more hours of time spent pouring over equation after equation in order to train my mind to think a certain way. “No, I cannot,” I told myself, “besides,” my mind continued to reason, “one day my children might find it interesting or at least entertaining to see what I went through to build the world in which they lived for their first 15 years of their lives.”

So, I trudged on carrying the heavy load. “Be real,” I told myself, “you’re just carrying this boat anchor around. When are you going to realize it and set yourself free?”

As I strained, my mind continued to wrap around the recent understanding of a Biblical principal I had so long overlooked; our soul and what it encompassed. One aspect of our soul is our minds, our ability to learn, reason and understand. Proverbs 2:10-12 describes how we gain wisdom, and it pleases our soul. The thoughts continued to swirl around in my head as I thought of my ancestors and their ability to memorize so much of the Bible. Their physical burdens of that precious text were small since so much of it was within, deep inside their soul. They had learned that the only safe place was inside their hearts, not on their backs, nor in the cloud of today’s world. Instead, their cloud was a place beyond the limitations of mankind, far above our terrestrial abode. Their storage capacity was limited only by their ability to take it in, as is ours today. They used their God-given gifts to increase their storage capacity until it is nearly beyond our belief today.

I placed the cargo inside the trailer and looked down at the accumulating pile of books. So many stories that had led me to this point in my life. Tales of death and mourning, stories of adventure and might and whimsical journeys of fantasy, all fun yet seldom endeavoring to affect the person I was to become. Had I studied the Bible to the degree that I had poured over these countless volumes, how much more different my life might have already been. Yet, God has a plan, and it is not for us to try to understand.

“You must learn to let go,” the voice said, “be free.”

As I slowly closed the door, I realized that there was still so much to learn. My arms trembled from exhaustion. I sat down on the porch and took a long drink from the water bottle, realizing my clothes were drenched with sweat. I could feel my heartbeat in my temples as I closed my eyes to find coolness in the air around me. My heart was finding a new pathway to walk, a new way to think.

There was so much to consider.

The cloud might protect my writings, but my real sanctuary lay within Jesus Christ. When we truly can turn it all over to Him, our spirit within becomes fed from the Holy Spirit so that our soul can then reach its potential we never imagined. We then become capable of doing things we never realized were possible.

Letting go is never easy.

All we have to do is release our burdens to Him and accept him into our hearts.

Once we are set free, moving never became so easy.

Thanks be to God.

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by | April 26, 2016 · 9:47 pm

You Never Know…

They come for many reasons.20160426_084100

Their paths are as varied as there are stars in the night sky.

He passed me as I walked along the road, picking up debris and clutter. It was early afternoon on a crystal clear April day, warmer than usual. He sat up high in his navy-blue Jeep Cherokee, a master of his vessel. The bulk of belongings stowed upon his roof where hidden from view by the royal blue tarp that flapped in the wind catching my attention as he drove by. Something said to me there was a story there; the voice couldn’t have been more prophetic.

As I rounded the corner and began my descent down the stairs to the Visitor Center, I heard the car door shut. From where I was walking, I didn’t see anyone pull in. “It has to be him,” the voice said. Sure enough, by the time I got to the bottom of the stairs and the corner of the building, he was almost at the front door. His small, stout body topped with a thick head of creamy white hair was eager to get started.

“Are you open,” he asked, smiling broadly as we approached the front door.

“Why sure,” I replied, opening the door to invite him in.

“Well, you’re about the only one in town, he joked, “must be a Monday thing around here.”

“Yes, it does seem to be that way sometimes,” I chuckled, thinking of the two places that came to mind.

He began his introduction by telling me his name, Fred Greene. He told me how he had just been through Greensboro and how his great grandfather was part of its founding, although they hadn’t used the “E” at the end of the town’s name in so doing. “They at least had a Greene Street,” he continued, “with the “E” on the end.”

I nodded and waited. I could tell there was more to come; there was something about him that looked weathered and traveled. His skin was deeply tanned from countless hours exposed to the sun. His vessel, the jeep, was just about as dry and aged in its appearance. There had been a day wax once existed on its paint, but that was a distant memory.

“I was traveling down the interstate on my way from Greensboro and saw your sign. I had never heard of the Trail of Faith, so I thought I would stop and see what you were all about.”

“That’s great,” I quickly replied.

“God leads me every day, and I never know where I will end up.”

I soon learned that he didn’t want to tour the Trail, but only wanted to hear what we were about; a scouting mission of sorts. I began to share with him a brief introduction to hopefully entice him into further discussion. He drank in everything I had to say and was wholefully accepting of every word.

We hadn’t gone far into the story of the Waldensian people when I could tell nature was calling.

“Is there a bathroom here I could use?”

“Sure, down the hall and to the left,” I pointed.

“Great, I’ll be right back,” he said before scurrying off.

Seconds later I could hear the door shut and knew he had found his immediate relief. Thinking he might be thirsty, I poured us a couple of cups of water, one for each of us. Not long after he emerged from the restroom. I offered him his cup of cold water, but he declined to say he had water in the jeep.

It had been a slow day, to say the least. There was enough time for me to begin touching up the sign at the entrance that morning. So when we sat down at the table, seated so I could keep watch of any incoming visitors, Fred began to share with me who he was and what he was about. I was interested to hear the rest of his story.

Every day at the Trail there seems to be another tale of life and inspiration that seems to find its way to us.

As he spoke, the elderly man before me could have easily stepped out of the Bible. His knowledge of scriptures was unbelievable as was his delivery. He used the words I had just spoke to tie in his own beliefs, and his endeavor to win people to Christ. As we talked about how the world had strayed from the truths within the Word, he continued to bring up a certain preacher, someone I had never heard of before. I kept listening and marveling at his ability to quote from memory, long passages of the Bible, feeding his story, one that at times felt somewhat practiced as if he had told many more people than just myself.

Later that day, I would speak to a pastor friend of mine about the visit and he reminded me that we can never be sure that we don’t entertain angels unaware, regardless if they appear sane or not.

When we finally got to the point of his delivery that I was supposed to be moved by the Holy Spirit, something seemed to fall flat. It was then he handed me the cards that displayed the face of the man he had been referring, over and over again, Reverend William Brandham. For a moment, my heart plummeted, like the free falling rock from the cliff’s edge as one’s foot slips. For a split second, your heart races and fear shoots through you to the point your breath is taken away. This was different, in that my heart was sickened at the same pace. Here was a man, knowledgeable, wise and every bit a Biblical scholar who followed someone that was to him, the prophet Elijah incarnate.

My wife would later tell me that maybe that was how those ancient Jews felt when they heard Jesus speak about another way to believe, a gospel they had never heard. It was beyond their ability to grasp this revolutionary way of thinking.

Fred went on to tell me about the miraculous healings and prophecies of Brandham during his lifetime. Later, after I was finally able to peel myself away from Fred, I would learn more about Brandham and his movement that eventually would become a near cult following. Brandham would die in a car crash in 1965 at the age of 56.

For some reason, I don’t think he saw that coming. Of course, I could be wrong.

Now don’t get me wrong, there could have been some truth in all of those wonderful healings that Brandham was purportedly performed. There may have been truth to some of the prophecies he would be attributed to having told. Yet, standing there that day and listening to Fred show me a picture of what was supposed to have been seven angels descending from heaven as reported in Time magazine, I couldn’t help feel a loss for someone that could have totally blown me away had he stuck to the truth, the true Word of God.

I didn’t need healing, prophecies nor miraculous performances by a long passed preacher to bring me to Christ. All I needed to hear were the words that Jesus spoke so long ago, “Knock and the door shall be opened, …ask and ye shall receive.”

Fred was another one of the blessings God sends to me every day at the Trail; one of those sweets from God’s box of chocolates. He may not have shared with me the gospel in the context in which I was accustomed, but he also taught me more valuable lessons than I could have ever found on my own.

This morning, at dawn, I went out looking for Fred. He had left the Trail yesterday heading down toward the falls to find a place to stay for the night. I found him parked by the Valdese Fire Department dispatch tower sound asleep. I felt bad that I had no place to offer him to stay. I wasn’t far from living in a jeep myself. When I found him, sleeping like a baby, I quietly placed a note on his windshield to join us for our Tuesday morning prayer breakfast at McDonalds.

Fred never showed.

Later in the day I saw him parked at McDonalds, seated outside at a table sharing his story and gospel with a couple of ladies.

Fred continues to follow God sharing his gospel the only way he knows. I can appreciate his servitude and am thankful to have crossed his path in life. Fred showed me what genuine commitment to giving it all away and following Christ really means, and for that I am thankful.

Fred was inspired long ago by a man many felt was a modern day prophet. So great was Fred’s conviction, he gave his life to serving as a fellow Christian; for that I am grateful.

In all we do, let us not forget, Thanks be to God.

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by | April 10, 2016 · 9:55 pm

Wood, Rocks and Faith…It Started With a Tree

It was in the fourth grade that I can first recall my life changing with regard to something said to me byIMG_20140422_101933 Mrs. Bradshaw our Art teacher. We had been working on drawing landscapes and for some reason trees began to grab my attention. The particular tree that most interested me at the time was the oak, with its twisting, turning bark and ever-reaching limbs. Mrs. Bradshaw became an inspiration in my life and an encourager for bringing out the gift in so many children.

As she peered over my shoulder, the words that stuck with me even unto today were simply, “You know Tim, drawing trees are a lot like drawing people. They are unique in their own way. If you can draw trees, you can certainly draw people.” Those words mystified my young mind.

Today, as I sat preparing to speak before the Faith Community Church about the “Go and Do Day,” I asked God to send me something, a word, a thought, an image; yes, anything that would help me start my presentation. The vision of the tree and Mrs. Bradshaw were the words He spoke to me.

The majestic oak, spreading its great limbs broadly across the landscape; a home to countless birds and animals was a lot like what Jesus described to the disciples as he foretold of his death. “In my Father’s house, there are many mansions…I go there to prepare a place for you.” The great oak, a house of so many mansions, yet its roots growing deep into the soil, curving and wrapping around all manner of dirt and rocks. Eventually, the tree is cut down and the wood is made into boards, beams and timbers. The stones are dug up and made into walls and walkways. Each piece becoming a structure, an inanimate object until that structure begins to come alive with a story. In a way, the tree and rocks live on. Like Adam whom God made from the dust and then breathed life into his nostrils, on the Trail, these structures come alive when we share the Word of God through the story of the Waldensian people, the people of the valleys.

The journey for each visitor to the Trail is personal. They each come for their own reasons.

As distinct as the tree is unto itself, so are the lives and twists of fate that lead them to seek the Trail. Like those branches that spread out across the landscape, like those roots meandering among the rocks in the soil, so do the events that lead them here. One lady said it would be difficult for her to explain all that had transpired to bring her to the Trail. She said the journey had begun literally years before and it was an amazing, and unbelievable tale. I then said, “Here at the Trail, we aren’t afraid to call those miracles.” She smiled and wiped away another tear and said, “yes, they were definitely miracles.” In fact, they had not called in advance but arrived miraculously on a day when we were able to provide them a guided tour. There had been an extra loaf of bread, the staff was all still there from the previous two tours and there was enough time; yes, yet another Godly moment.

Once more, out of the wood-fired oven made of rocks and wood, we shared bread and the Holy Spirit moved through us. Once more, through the rocks and wood placed one upon the other, the faith of our founders who held the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things unseen to be their vision, now allowed us to bring those seeking hope, faith and love a little closer to being one with the Father.

Through the structures on the Trail, the trees and rocks live on. Through the Trail of Faith, the story of conviction and perseverance lives on. Through our testimony of the Waldensians, we can then share the Word of God so that through the trees, the wood, and the witnessing the faith of Jesus Christ becomes possible.

The master’s hand continues to lead us on.

God had prepared a place and through His will, it all…shall ….be …..done.

Thanks be to God.

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by | April 7, 2016 · 9:12 pm

Drink Up…

“Jesus answered and said to her, “Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, 14 but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.”-John 4:13-14
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The spring of the year seems to heighten our awareness of the world around us in so many ways. Walking outside the door this morning after the night’s rain, there was a freshness to the crisp air that brushed past the tiny pink blossoms of the bushes blooming in the front yard. The birds were welcoming as well as the dawning of the day had yet to reach its horizon. There was a sense of urgency, a sense of something to come; everything being so vibrant and alive, at least to those who are in the frame of mind to recognize it. If you have sipped of the well of everlasting life, there is something special about days like this. Please don’t take this sort of rejoicing as someone trying to sound overly righteous, it is simply an exhaltation of the glory of the Father.

“Oh, magnify the Lord with me, And let us exalt His name together.”-Psalms 34-3

Sadly, many will not care or will not bother to take the time to notice. Their minds are clouded with the frusttrations and worries facing them in the coming days as they madly dash for the car, expecting it to start and be on their way before the ignition switch is even turned. They continually drink from the resevoir of the secular world where the water jug is never big enough to hold all the fluid to sustain their family. They continally try to seek ways to bring bigger and stronger storage jugs to the well in which to carry back the fluid that only provides momentary satisfaction, then it is gone as quickly as it passes their lips. There is never any sweetness to their life. They seek to fill the void with one worldy substitute after another. Some turn to addictions that never produce the peace they seek until they ultimately find their life lost to the very thing they used to replace God; their worldly obsessions.

We all fall short of the glory of God, but we can become one with the Father if we only seek to drink from the well of His sustenance.

The water from the well analogy is purposeful in that we often seek what cannot sate our insatiable desires.

Once we choose to drink from the water of life everlasting, suddenly the world in which we live takes on an entirely new meaning. Our eyes become opened to untold beauty we beforehand had hurridly passed in the race to achieve more,… day-after-day. It when we begin to drink in the nectar of life as God had intended. Glimpses of heaven on earth begin to tug at our heart strings. We cannot share the pictures before us quickly enough before they are gone; the fleeting clouds rimmed with sunlight so brilliant, it is as if angels are standing behind them praising at the very foot of God almighty; sweet moments of the song bird, serenading in a chorus of blissful melodies at the break of dawn; skies so blue, their very essence substantiates the presence of God watching over us all.

Yes, there is a dipper of liquid so refreshing you will never need another sip, for the rest of your life.

It is up to us to choose to take it.

Knock and the door will be opened.

Seek and yea shall find.

Choose Jesus.

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by | March 31, 2016 · 9:22 pm

The World Outside the Box…

If we were to turn to our own way, He would have died in vain. Yet, he did not, for we must instead turn away from these bondages 20160325_194419~2of sin that drag us down.

Tonight I sat in a meeting next to a man that had lost his entire family in the span of 22 months. “I’m the last of my family,” he said somberly.

The words hit me hard. To some people, this would have been enough to make them give up, not the man sitting next to me. He went on to create a successful cleaning company and now stays busier than he wants to be some days.

Many people spend a lifetime seeking, searching, and living in a world they cannot understand. Unable to rise above their environment, they give up and succumb to what weighs them down. If we are to stand for something in our lifetime, we must struggle through the pain and apathy that kill so many dreams.

One by one, we lose those loved ones until one day, we too are no more.

Someone once said that we are nothing but two dates separated by a dash; it is all that remains.

Yet, to me and so many others, the dash in between is where all the living exists. It may be a short, straight line, but if we truly become who God made us to be, the line will be anything but straight and short. To live outside the box of your environmental boundaries, to set break free of the bondages that hold you and keep you from becoming all that God intended you to be, is what living is all about.

“How is that possible,” you ask?

The prophet Isaiah gave us the blueprint for salvation so many centuries before Christ arrived. All that is required is for us to believe in Him, confess with our mouths that Jesus Christ is the one true Son of God and that He died for our sins, on the third day arose and sits at the right hand of God the Father.

“How is that setting me free of my bondages, my addictions?”

Once you truly accept Jesus into your life, your body, mind and soul begin to change in ways that you had never before thought possible. For some, it’s instantaneous. But for most, it takes years for the transformation to be complete. Slowly, day by day, you will find the more precious gifts in life have no price tag: The morning dew on the blooming flower at sunrise: The call of the whippoorwill at dusk, as the fireflies begin their dance across the pasture: The brilliant sunset against a sky of clouds arranged such that their golden seat of God’s heavenly throne is all but complete.

My world is now anything but inside the box. I have chosen not to turn my own way, but His.

I now live in the world solely outside the box, walking in His pathway.

The dash is not a sprint, it’s a lifelong journey and living for God has a whole new meaning.

Yes, each day is another exciting spiritual journey that you never know where it will end.

Thanks be to God.

“But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, And by His stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; We have turned, every one, to his own way; And the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” -Isaiah 53:5-6

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