Tag Archives: Jesus

by | November 30, 2015 · 9:41 pm

He Who Endures…Shall Be Saved…

“Then they will deliver you up to tribulation and kill you, and you will be hated by all nations for My name’s sake.  10 And then many will be offended, will betray one another, and will hate one another.  11 Then many false prophets will rise up and deceive many.  12 And because lawlessness will abound, the love of many will grow cold.  13 But he who endures to the end shall be saved.  14 And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in all the world as a witness to all the nations, and then the end will come.” – Matthew 24:11-14

I step out, no longer hiding behind the façade of a life that kept me in the shadows. Now, all will know what and who I serve. There is no shame in who I serve, nor why I do this, but there are many that will seek to destroy all we do. Today I took another step closer to the mission for which I was called. One more step toward the evangelistic journey that God continues to lead me toward. From here, I cannot see the future. From here, I cannot tell whether I will walk or crawl to the finish if I’m to ever make it. The only comfort I can find, in this walk toward a darkness that seems to grow deeper with each passing day is that I am not alone. Those of us who seek the truth do so with united purpose. If we hold on until the end, salvation awaits. What we do, we do for Him, so that all the world will know the truth; the whole truth.

This was my first night off in almost a week. The rest was welcome.

In this time repose, I was able to watch a possible distant relative, Valeria Tron, perform on videos recorded in her home country of Italy. A missionary friend had introduced us on FB knowing that we were likely related since she was from the same valley as my ancestors. She had recently awarded a very prestigious honor, none of which I could understand. So, tonight I took some much needed time to watch her perform. There is such a passion and intensity to her singing, although I cannot understand the words, her music is beautiful. I noticed she had like our Tron Family Band page, and then I wondered how he and my own family might sound someday if we were ever able to make music together. From what little I watched, it appears she sings the mournful, soulful traditional folk ballads like I would prefer, even though their rhythm is something new to me; another distant delight to find someday.

I was about to quit out of FB when I noticed our dear friend Jessica Lang had posted a new video of her picking out Salt Creek with some beta strings from D’Addairio. As I watched the talented young lady pick out the melody perfectly, adding her own breaks within the song, I couldn’t be prouder of how much she has grown musically and blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

Yes, time marches on.

Outside a cold rain falls.

It’s that time of year for the Trail where we are open until 9 pm each night thru 12241337_999839180055337_6872093815838088611_nChristmas. We are manning the Christmas Lights at the Trail with help from volunteers, some of which are there now allowing me the time to regroup and fulfill some of my own wishes; to write. There are times I wonder if I will ever pick up a paint brush again. Musically, I’ve been able to add a moment here and there to the schedule. In all, there is little time for the creative juices to flow. Times like these I have to hope there is a reservoir filling, saving up for when there is time to flow.

And time marches on.

The darkness envelopes the world around us as the drops of water fall from the sky, the abyss from above.

As the evening draws to a close, we prepare for tomorrow. Another day, we know not what awaits but we can prepare as we read the Word. For in this book, we can find truth when the world around us seeks to sway us away from the goal, the finish line.

We seek the finish, for, in the end, we know our salvation awaits.

For now, we must take one cherished moment whenever we find them.

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by | November 2, 2015 · 9:32 pm

Just A Trim Please…

“But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light” – 1 Peter 2:9

Many days I walk onward not knowing the absolution of what is to come any more than where the next raindrop will fall. Many seek answers to questions they cannot. Yet, as we may, we must remain steadfast and true, forsaking all the distractions that pull us away from our course.

Today, as I sat in Sain’s barber shop watching as my son received a much-needed hair cut, I gently picked out a song on the mandolin theysains keep hanging on the wall for just such an occasion. “Leaning On the Everlasting Arms” was somehow fitting for the day. Outside, men shuffled in and out of the shop from the chilly rain, each shaking off the weather as they entered. Across from me four barbers were busy working, a sight not often seen in many places I’ve been. Many barbershops barely have one active chair, let alone two, so the feeling of being alive was a welcomed sight. Not long after the first few stanzas of “Leaning”, another good old standby began to work its way from within, “I”’ll Fly Away” came drifting softly from within. From the distant corner, some talk show was in progress on the large screen TV that occupied the space. Most gave it no attention as voices from the chairs both those waiting and those in the progress of getting their trims conversed.

imagesF86VDAT8The memories of Max’s barber shop came back. The little building out behind his house where he cut hair on Thursday nights. Many from the area of Bear Creek would stop by for their $5 haircuts. There were many stories shared and news passed on in that little place. Seldom would you enter without learning something of either the neighborhood or the history of that neck of the woods. Max eventually got a TV with satellite hooked up which most of the time was on but without the sound turned up; talk was much more important. Then there was Reid’s shop, down in Siler City, where Dennis and Ried cut hair, another duo, where most of the time it was just Dennis. It was a step up from Max’s place, but not by far. There were no fancy TVs hanging on the wall, no mandolin’s to pick, but again, there was often intense conversations that would both enlighten and inspire. In all of these places, there were the same familiar smells of the old-timey barber shop. In each of these, the hot lather would follow the cut, the welcome end to the buzzing and clipping all so close to the ears. Hot, warm lather soothing the skin, to be scraped away with the fine edge of the straight razor. The cleanliness that followed was like a breath of fresh air; akin to new ground being planted, waiting for the seed.

As the sounds and smells around me blended together, I momentarily closed my eyes and watched the notes drift across the span of time, barberthinking of all the places a mandolin and I have met. This was another first, but for my time, it was nothing more than something to keep me occupied while I waited. I opened my eyes in time to see one barber motioning for me to take my turn in the chair, but I shook my head “no” since I had just been there the week before. The next customer looked to me for approval as I nodded, keeping time to the strings that continued to move beneath the pick, the one the lead barber had offered me to borrow. It was comforting to see the honor system was alive and well here too, another confirmation.

Before I knew it, my son was up, shaking off the loose hairs, looking much better than before. Somehow he had aged before my eyes. That shaggy scruff was gone and a sharp looking young man stood before me. Another song moved into my head, but there was no time now. I stood to pay and thanked the barber for the use of his pick. He, in turn, thanked me for the music and asked for us to return again.

As we walked from the barber shop back out into the drizzle the strains of “Blessed Assurance”, returned and I couldn’t help think how blessed I truly was.

There are days where we cannot help ourselves to wonder if all that we do is enough. Have we offered hope to those who seek affirmation from beyond their own front doors? Have we provided the path to salvation that many need, yet we wander in our own shadows, following the winds of change as they blow us from our destination, our goals, our calling.

Today, so many places that were in the past came calling again and we met, together in one place and walked out welcome to be one with Him. Once again called out of the dark into the light, I was once more reassured of that path, yes, the one less traveled.

It was a good day.

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by | October 19, 2015 · 8:49 pm

Living Water…

water“On the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. 38 He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.”-John 7:37-38

To see the water flow from the parched lips of the fountains spout was like a man lost in the desert coming over a dune to find an oasis spread before him; so it was today, another day, another first at the Trail.

In Jesus ministry, it was apparent that the Jews and religious leaders of his time could not fathom the story he was sharing when he said, ““I shall be with you a little while longer, and then I go to Him who sent Me. 34 You will seek Me and not find Me, and where I am you cannot come.” As Jesus tried to unveil the true purpose of his ministry, the concept was beyond their ability to grasp its concept. So, after the feast, he tried to put it in perspective such that they might be able to understand when he spoke about the “Living Water.” In their world, they were starving for a drink from the fountain of the Holy Spirit. Even as badly as Jesus wanted to give them this, he still would not be able to do so until his glorification while on the cross. Thus, the reason Jesus told his disciples to go to Jerusalem and wait for the Holy Spirit to come down before going out to preach to all nations.

In the time of darkness, when the Roman Catholic church tried to extinguish the flame of truth, the true Word of God, it was this “Living Water” that kept flowing through the hearts and minds of those who had received his glory from the beginning. Those who came and drank from His well, his living water, never thirsted again. These were the faithful that carried on in times of darkest persecution, the Waldensians.

Against all odds, against all forces of evil, the truth of the Word prevailed so that today, we can behold his Glory of our own accord, without an intercessory directing our thoughts and prayers. Through the darkest hour, the “Living Water” flowed from the valleys of the Cottien Mountains, serving those whose way had been lost, whose spiritual lips were parched and dying for the refreshment of the life-giving Word.

Today, as never before, there is a growing thirst in our land, a parched body of souls, ever-more growing in number who seek for this life-sustaining sustenance and are looking for a fountain from which to drink.

Today, the fountain which symbolized the gift from King Carlos Alberto to the Waldensian people in 1845, came alive. The water finally began to flow. Today, as we watched the fountain come to life, we recalled the scripture in the book of John. It was at that moment that I wondered if the ancient King understood the significance of his gift. I wondered how much he understood that these people of the valleys, those who made His word their primary goal in life, became that “Living Water,” of which Jesus spoke?

Our world increasingly seeks for an answer to the growing despair and darkness that seems to be unabated. How much more today do we need sources of “Living Water”; like never before? As we walk the Trail of Faith, we can once more reflect back on Jesus’ words and seek Him so that we too may become these fountains from which living waters may flow.

May your heart become a river, this I pray.

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by | July 11, 2015 · 10:13 pm

A Dove-ly Vision…

doveJesusAs time passes, many things become clearer while others seem to slip farther away.

I know in all of this, God is working, planning and arranging life in such a way that the journey he has prepared will unfold, in all due time.

The white dove flew past me before I realized what it was. As I turned to look out my side window of the truck, I saw it fly over the Trail of Faith, toward the Ciabas Church. As it flew, its flight path took it directly over the part of the church where there would have been a steeple in a normal church, but this, of course, was not a normal church. In the blink of an eye, the dove vanished.

Days later, the vision came to me once again, but not in the same fashion, but the dove had called me closer to another time, another event, much closer to Jesus.

I was floating in clear, bluish tinted water as I watched the body of a man who was standing in the waist deep fluid before me. His clothing was made of animal hides whose hairs lifted and swayed in the gentle current about us. The white sand below reflected the sky above, yet there was no sound. Then, suddenly another person appeared as he began walking into the water from the opposite shoreline, his white robe wrapped around his legs as he strode slowly into the coolness that engulfed the scene. The man in fur waited with outstretched arms, speaking to the one entering, his voice was muffled to me below the surface. The only sounds were that of the water rippling from the man’s wake and my own heartbeat in my ears.

As the one in white entered, I felt a warmth overcome me, one of overwhelming comfort; as if I had been made anew and all the past life was forgotten; I was a child once more.

The man in furs grasped the Godly being in his arms, speaking yet again and as he did, he let the one in white fall backwards into the water, his entire body falling below the surface. The bubbles from his submersion floated skyward, tickling my ears with sound. For an instance, he turned looking in my direction. Our eyes met and I was instantly numb with fear, excitement and joy. No words nor thoughts could enter my mind, none except for those that told me the one I was watching was not of this earth, but of a greater place; one I had yet to know but would someday come to know. Before I knew it, he was lifted back up, but not before he smiled and briefly nodded as if he knew I understood. The man in furs spoke again and then a brilliant light exploded above the water, high in the sky, as a spirit in the form of a dove gently landed on the man in white’s forehead. and then a voice boomed through the air above, coursing through the waves and into my body, a magnificant voice saying, ““This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”

The water around me then began to swirl and boil with excitement as everything seemed to explode with brilliance of the moment, every molecule of life was extending itself to the utmost glory of which it had been created. My whole being began to pulsate and my mind was overwhelmed with blinding light.

I awoke realizing the dream had passed and the ceiling above me was another place, another shelter from the elements that God had provided. The lingering affects of the dream were still with me, the euphoric happiness of seeing God’s son and knowing that He lives. My life is now one turn of events after another where I know not what the next day or moment will bring.

Like that being in the water, I’m floating in time, following the current of life as He has provided and where it will take me I can’t nor will I know until it happens. I know what my humaness tells me to do, but how and when it will happen I cannot know.

In all this I pray that God will continue to lead me, wisely, patiently and fruitfully.

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by | April 20, 2015 · 9:02 am

Flipping Your Town…in the name of Jesus!

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A gray, overcast, soggy morning greets us today; a writer’s comforting quilt of reflection washes over me.

Yesterday as I spoke to the congregation at Cumnock UMC, there was a sense of urgency to what I was saying, something that led me to want to push my fellow Christians farther than they’ve ever gone before, to boldly go forth and espouse the Word of God. Part of me knew, that as soon as many left that front door, stepping into the world beyond, that message would fade and when confronted with the “real” world, interactions with others would face the everyday scrutiny of social adaptation we all face, myself included. However, there were many reflections as I drove to Greensboro to take Mary out for dinner in order to celebrate her 14th birthday (yes, that is another blog, about where the time goes and how blessed we are by this beautiful, smart young woman we are watching grow before our eyes.).

Today when I checked the latest happenings with the world around us via the social media devices, I found a refreshing and boldly innovative initiative being undertaken by a church in Valdese, NC.; The River of Life. I saw where they have started a ministry to the local community called, “Flipping Valdese” #flippingValdese . It made me think back to the part of my sermon yesterday where I tried to convey how hard it is to go out into the world that we are most familiar and witness to others. I believe it is much easier to go to another country and spread much needed food and clothing to less fortunate populations and then witness to them, nearly a captive audience. But try to go out into a world that has their basic needs met, who choose to turn from the Word for one reason or another, and you will find the true test of your faith. Now, I am not condemning the work done by our many missionary teams and persons, these are all valuable and desperately needed, but few dare to go where the person we speak to is of our own kind, like minded in some aspects, to those who have all they need and turn from the Word of God because of their own worldly desires. For Jesus came into the world, and the world was made through him, but the world did not know Him.

We as Christians face many challenges in a world that grows closer to the darkness each day. To arm ourselves with the Word and to go out into the world is a bold move that many will shrink from the challenge. It takes someone with deep devotional fortitude to go out and witness to those who can just as easily tell you where to go, literally and figuratively. It is not going to get any easier with each day we are being invaded by those that want to take away our religious freedoms, our faith and our Lord. I applaud the River of Life Church and their pastoral staff led by Pastor Allen King for doing the unthinkable, the most avoidable and the most needed, witnessing to our fellow brethren.

Join with me as we lift their ministry up in prayer and think about starting your own “Flipping _____” where you fill in the blank with your town, city or community. We cannot sit back and wait. Darkness seeks to destroy us all and we can only sit back on our laurels so long before it’s too late.

Flip your community and see what miracles the Lord can do for you.

Please keep our friends, family and community in prayer as many are needing help, healing and condolences for loss.

Have a blessed week.

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by | April 17, 2015 · 4:30 am

Springtime on the Farm

 

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Springtime on the Farm: A view from the porch

The air is alive with the sounds of life, the smells of blossoms and the motion of the living earth all around us on our farm. The earth has exploded from its winter slumber and it seems as if every living being is fervently making up for lost time. The hum of activity is broken by the sound of rolling thunder in the distance as dark clouds loom over the horizon, just over the tree line of the barn, the direction of most summertime storms. Soon, lightning flashes and large drops of rain began to splash playfully into the Koi pond just off the front porch. Not long after the rumbling stops, the heavens open up and the sky and terrestrial world become one. Moisture rolls in waves as water wash layers of yellow pollen down tiny tributaries of happy colors, flowing, rollicking along as birds dance in their wake.

The cherry blossoms hang heavy with the thankful moisture, like gluttonous bulbs of lust, burgeoning from their drink, their weight pulling tiny limbs downward appearing as if they might break at any moment from their toil. In the distance, geese shout for joy at the top of their lungs from the farm ponds as their watery playground is enveloped in the storm. The water splashing about them as their wings and waves unite in the ballet of the tempest refrain.

Frogs begin to join in the chorus, their syncopated melody unites with the drops of water and my soul is refreshed through and through. There is such unity in this rhythm, such a multitude of complex interaction that moves as a melody, it can only come from God. Happenchance circumstance could not have created this beautiful orchestra that wafts about me, a full 360, all angles of dimensions become as one and we are made whole.

Our earthly existence is only a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. What has been, shall be long after our life meets its end, but we can rest assured if we have prepared properly, our heavenly home will be all this and more, if only we ask, we shall receive Him. The momentary glimpses of these surreptitious moments are just a prelude to life eternal.

“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us and we beheld His Glory, in the Glory as of the only begotten of the father, full of grace and truth.” – John 1:14

We can be saved by this Grace if in Him we believe. Amen.

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by | March 29, 2015 · 8:54 am

The Formal Dining Room

IMG_20131229_215919Most of my adult life existed without owning a formal dining room. However, once we knew we were going to build our dream home, there was no question about it having to include the “Formal Dining” room. We seemed to go for quite some time after building our house to actually have a use for that fancy room that sat just off the kitchen, overlooking the front gardens and the creek outside the large picture glass window.

It was the Thanksgiving that we had my late grandmother, Wilma Pryor, visiting when we first used the room for its intended purpose. Back then, before children, we had lots of time to entertain and visit with neighbors in the area. This particular Thanksgiving, we had our neighbor friends from up off the main road (the main road was the paved road that passed our gravel road), Harry and Katherine Robertson. Grandma Wilma seemed to enjoy visiting with Harry and Katherine, so we took the opportunity to include our neighbors in our holiday meal and to celebrate the use of our very own dining room.

We had met Harry and Katherine by an accidental encounter or excuse, however you prefer to look at it, through the tale of a little dog I called “Buddy.” Of course, the tale of Buddy is another story for another time. Katherine was a retired nurse but still and always will in my mind, a concert pianist. On one of my very first unannounced visits to their home up on the main road, I stopped in only to have her husband Harry meet me at the door with his index finger pushed across his lips in the “Shhh” position and then motion me to follow him. As I stepped through the opened screened door, I could hear the sounds of a record playing beautiful classical piano melodies. I followed Harry through their kitchen and into their formal dining room, only to find the sounds of the music growing louder as we progressed. The farther we traveled the more it became obvious that this was not a recording but rather, live music. Harry had built his home such that the formal dining room was open into a hallway that separated it from the drawing room. As we neared the drawing room, it became perfectly clear that the woman seated at the full blown grand piano was his wife, Katherine, and that the music emanating from therein was from her and not the recording I had first thought. This was just the first of many wonderful discoveries we had with the wonderful and entertaining elderly couple. Harry was also himself a very talented portrait artist and learned individual, so that any visit with the Robertsons was never a short visit.

That Thanksgiving, with Grandma Wilma, Harry and Katherine, seemed to be the perfect initiation for our new formal dining room. Sheryl, my wife, and Wilma had worked hard to prepare the perfect meal which was quite distinguished. We sat around with our plates full, discussing various topics as the meal progressed. I can remember sitting there and thinking to myself how this was how people that had “Made It” lived. However, part of me knew I was much more comfortable on that bench at the end of grandma Tron’s kitchen table. There in that humble farmhouse back in Indiana, there was no room for a formal dining room. The kitchen table was the central location for all things in life, from Morning Prayer, grand reunions or mourning the loss of loved ones, it all happened at grandma’s kitchen table. That Thanksgiving, as I reflected back to those days gone by while seated at one of the most lavish Thanksgiving Dinners I had ever known, I was thankful not only for our beautiful dining room and family and friends that were there with us that day, but also for all that had made me who I am and for that, I was most thankful of all.

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by | March 26, 2015 · 7:31 am

Front Porch Swing

54e293e70378156e690004c0One can never look beyond the vantage point afforded by the front porch swing and not feel at peace with the world.
Our front porch swing hangs at the southernmost end of our front porch, which now overlooks the gurgling waterfall of the Koi pond. It has always been my refuge in times of strife and weariness. Early summer mornings can find me slowly sitting and swinging watching the cattle graze in the pasture beyond the front yard and listening to the sounds of the earth come alive. Evenings are often spent watching the gentle sunsets over the hill beyond the tree line as the shadows soften the blaring rays of the hot sun. I’ve often set the swing in motion on such balmy summer evenings and then lay down exhausted, soon finding myself waking up on a still swing. The only thing moving is the sound of water dancing down the rocks of the waterfall before me.

Yes, the porch swing is near and dear to my heart.

As a child, we spent many a long hour rocking ever so gently with Grandma Tron in her swing. A large sycamore provided shade for most of the tiny front porch, giving it an extra sense of coolness on long hot summer days. We would lose the tree in m later years to a direct lightning strike which would be another story for another time. The smell of the bare earth beneath the tree mixed with the distant aroma of coal smoke residue gave the old homestead a smell that I can still recall today. Grandma’s easy going cadence was so slow and careful you could almost fall asleep and not realize you were still rocking. She would often snap beans in her lap while sitting there as she whistled melodies so beautifully you had to wonder where the sound was emanating. From that swing we caught up on family news and heard grandpa spin long tales from his lawn chair across the porch. Once in a while a car or truck would pass by breaking the spell and we might go back to the thread of conversation or turn into a completely different line of thought.

Time moved slowly back then.

When the time came to build my own farm house, I knew I had to have the eight foot wide porches with a swing at the end, just like the one grandpa and grandma had. I didn’t realize the fullness of enjoyment in that swing until my children were born. I found rocking an infant to sleep in your arms in the fresh country air was one of the most rewarding and beautiful things in life. The slow cadence of grandma’s gentle push would return and babies would silently glide into peaceful slumber. Although my children will never remember those days, I can fondly look back to a simpler time when that slow cadence swinging and the whistling of some loving gospel hymn would slowly drift back into my memory and once again, all was right with the world; at least from my front porch swing.

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by | September 10, 2014 · 3:03 am

Nap of Ascension

Have you ever awakened from a dream, feeling remorse, feeling a loss for something that was so wonderful, so beautiful angelicduring the vision that you had wished it could have continued forever?

That was the case for me today.

After waking up from my nap, I had the feeling that I was visited by an angelic being and when she left me, I literally felt a loss. I say she, only because I felt comforted as if from a motherly figure; warm, compassionate, loving. Her true image I could not recall, having never caught a glimpse of the being’s true form; most of the time she was nothing more than a vapor, a whisper of a body that floated nearby.

In the course of the dream, she visited me several times, teaching me, leading me into a world that was parallel to my own, yet far beyond the reaches of normal consciousness. Each visit I learned and watched as she taught me about true love and how compassion triumphs over all darkness. We watched and observed sight unseen as people dealt with heart wrenching dilemmas, each one a lesson for our ethereal classroom. I can’t explain the feelings or scenes I witnessed, other than after each one I felt both pulled to the depths of despair for what I saw but at the same time uplifted to a higher spiritual plain from what eventually transpired, as if God had directed the people through hell and back. Each lesson built upon the former. After each visit I was returned back to my former self, back where I was still within my own body, but knowing I had returned from beyond. Each time I was brought home, I yearned more and more for the next time she would return until I was worried my anticipation was becoming real. Those around me in my dream realized there was a change taking place, but they did not know its source; they only appreciated the metamorphosis and welcomed it. The change was obviously a good thing. Their acknowledgement was nothing more than an indirect observation; something they could sense but like looking straight ahead while driving down a road, they could see if from their peripheral vision, yet its focus wasn’t clear, so it they disregarded it.

My final contact was bittersweet as emotions flowed from each of us, knowing this was the end of our journey together. I felt guilty about the time we spent together although I had not broken any vows or been unfaithful in any manner; yet, it was the knowing that my soul had been uplifted by another whose spiritual embrace had left me changed that ultimately left me with the feeling of culpability. Like dew on the leaf in the early morning light, the tender touch of the heavenly breath had remained, if only fleeting but real.

ascensionI awoke feeling as if there had been a death, as if the angelic being had died, yet I wasn’t sad. There had been something gained from the experience so rewarding that the loss was insignificant to the warmth of memory left behind. The scene of the disciples in their final hour with Jesus before he ascended into heaven for the last time came to mind. They too were saddened by his ascension, but the joy of knowing and experiencing their time with the son of God overshadowed any self-pity for his physical departure.

“And He led them out as far as Bethany, and He lifted up His hands and blessed them. Now it came to pass, while He blessed them, that He was parted from them and carried up into heaven. And they worshiped Him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and were continually in the temple praising and[j] blessing God. Amen.” – Luke 24:50-53

One can only imagine the glory that flowed that day as the disciples returned to the temple praising and blessing God. If only we could reach our brethren today in the same manner such that all Christians might be so uplifted that they walk down the street praising and blessing God out loud; glory, hallelujah what a day that would be!

I may never know who or what it was that I met in my dream today but I can honestly say I won’t be upset to meet him or her once again. Grace received is grace embraced and for this we can only be uplifted to His righteousness.

Peace and Grace to all.

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by | September 7, 2014 · 8:03 pm

A Shadow in the Mist

images281A76P4What I am about to tell you is totally true, beyond a shadow of a doubt and undeniably without any thread of exaggeration.

I was on the last leg of my Sunday morning run; the sun had just managed to reach the horizon while I had still yet to see its morning glow. The air was thick with humidity and any trace of coolness had long ago evaporated into the sweat that now poured off my tiring body. I turned the last corner of the gravel road, the last mile of my run and was about to head into the thickest part of the forest which made the road upon which I ran a living tunnel. Overhead trees draped across the lane, blotting out the sky above. The recesses of the darkness seemed to go on forever, the air cooler, whispered voices of beings therein. I was well within this domain when the thought of coyotes came to mind. Just as the thought entered a small dark figure of a squirrel raced across the road ahead of me, momentarily causing my heart to jump. I went back to the idea of the wolf-like creature and wondered how I might have reacted had the carnivorous being I had imagined actually passed before me. “Where they watching me even now,” I asked myself, my eyes searching as I ran the inner depths of the forest that lay to my left. The blur of vegetation passed as a movie as my body moved forward, one foot plodding before the other, the taste of salt on my lips. Not long afterward, I turned my focus forward again as I emerged from the wooded section of the road and came out into the growing brightness of the morning, running past the pond and up the last hill of my run, soon to put the images of primeval forest behind me.

After my brief cool down, I found myself on the back porch, looking out upon the pond and road from which I had just emerged. My glass of water in hand, I sat down upon the rocking chair and allowed my bare feet to breath in the cool morning air. I leaned back and closed my eyes, the air, my body becoming one with the world around me, drinking in the moment, blood pumping, my breathing relaxed, all was good.

The sounds of the earth serenaded my soul.wolfinmist

Then suddenly, from the depths of the darkness came the bark and howl of a lone coyote: its voice so close, so clear; so haunting.

My eyes flashed open and noticed the horses standing below where I sat on the porch, their images visible in the gray pasture shadows. Their actions confirming the sound I had just heard; their ears perked and alert as they turned to face the dark woods from which I had just passed moments earlier on my run.

Something from a repressed memory of an ancient time reached my consciousness, something unbelievably real, yet unbelieving in its existence.

“Had I known of their presence while through yonder dark woods I hath traveled,” came the voice in my head? “Surely it was just coincidence,” I replied, “or was it?”

I waited to see if there were another call but none came; only the sounds of predawn chorus continued.

My eyes scanned the lower horizon, watching for any signs of movement, but there was nothing.

The padded paw left no trace, its breath a mist upon the morning air and then vanished like the beast from whence it came; nothing left behind but the memory of its passing. A shadow in the mist.

Then I began to wonder to myself, “Was this the way we suppress so many other things in our world, things we recognize but then dismiss when they our outside the realm of our belief?” If nothing more than a physical image can be brushed aside, then what else is there that we understand as truth yet knowingly pass on its belief until we form the space in which we can comfortably exist, one we know and are familiar with, yet one that scares the hell out of us should we venture beyond its borders; the howl of the wolf, the connection to a world beyond our control, one where we are no longer the masters. The padded paw of silence follows us waiting for our minds to stray from the path, ready to pounce upon our unbelieving weaknesses and use them against us before we recover and scamper back to the safety of our predefined borders. How many without faith find themselves in this predicament everyday as they succumb to the evils of the world in which we live, finding themselves trapped in a darkness they cannot control or emerge; lost to the clutches of its demonic fanged breath.

Without the armor of light to protect us, the Word of God, we are mere babes in the woods. It is up to those of us who know better to prepare those who are without; salvation through God’s grace and thus become children of the light. Otherwise, we leave them to become prey to the claws of the world’s clutches.

How many only wish it were just a dream from which they could emerge, or a morning’s run through the early morning mist? How many can we reach before the fangs of this world pull them asunder?

What will you do to escape, what will you do?

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