Tag Archives: Life

by | April 16, 2018 · 9:21 pm

Living Water…

All around me the soft, gentle foliage blanketed the shoreline of the turbulent river below. The setting sun cast an orange hue into the water, such that the folds of rushing waters against the rocks made a metallic sheen of golden tones. Like ancient Aztec gold flowing down the steps of the might pyramids, the waters below me churned in molten swathes of lava-like folds, one over the other.

For a moment, my thoughts raced back to the tour of the chocolate factory in Hershey Pennsylvania in my youth. Before the trip, I didn’t like chocolate. In fact, I purposely sought food without it, such was my disdain. However, that day we walked through the factory watching swathes of liquid chocolate flow past us in unspeakable volumes, the air became aromatically filled with the rich fragrance of the dark brown substance. By the time you exited the tour, your mind was craving chocolate to the point, you had to taste it now, even if you really didn’t like it before. There, in the massive atrium of the Hershey courtyard, I asked the unspeakable that day, “Yes, please order me a hot fudge Sundae, with chocolate on top.” To this day, it was the freshest, most precious tasting substance I had yet to savor at that point in life. There was nothing that had compared before. All other chocolate had been stale compared to the taste of something this fresh; or at least in my mind’s eye, that was the reasoning at that moment.

As the waters twisted and turned, before me this evening, the sweet taste of chocolate no longer tempted my taste buds. The beauty of that scene was far more savoring than anything that could be eaten. Instead, my eyes drank in the colors which wrapped through the fluid source of life below and brought surreal enlightenment to all the surrounding imagery. It was as if God was beaming through the waters of the John’s River straight into my soul.

Weary from his journey, he came near the parcel of land that Jacob had given Joseph. There, he sat upon the well thus, for his disciples had gone into town to buy meat. It was a very warm, especially since it was nearing noon. It was then that Samarian women came seeking water. Momentarily surprised to find a Jew sitting on the edge of the well, she paused and looked upon the stranger unsure of how to proceed. Jesus, having been looking down at his dirty feet, dusty and tired from the day’s journey, felt her presence and looked up and said, “Give me to drink.”

Startled and confused at the request, she replied, “How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria? For the Jews have nothing to do with the Samaritans.”

He repeated himself again, saying, “Give me to drink, woman.”

Perplexed, she only stood, again unsure how to respond. Jesus then continued, “If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.”

 The woman then saith unto him, “Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence then hast thou that living water? Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle?”

Jesus did not hesitate but answered and said unto her, “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst, but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”

The woman, now feeling the Holy Spirit coming unto her, saith unto him, “Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw.”

As I sat watching the turbid waters boil, the essence of his living water rose in my heart. There must have been no greater joy in this world than to hear Christ Jesus stand before you and tell you, face to face, “The water that I shall give you will be like a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”

Then, as now, although we cannot draw these mighty forces of fluidness with a mere bucket, they can be as powerful as those waters that Elisha caused to raise the axe head from below its depths. As his servant had been working cutting the wood as we are told in 2 Kings 6:5, the head of the axe had sheared, causing the valuable metal end to fly into the midst of the river. Fearing the wrath of the man from whom he borrowed the tool, he immediately begged Elisha to help. The prophet walked calmly to the water’s edge. There, he stooped over and picked up a simple stick and began to turn it into the clear spring below. Before their eyes, the waters began to boil, and within a minute, the axe head was floating before them, raised from its watery grave, to once again be present before their very eyes. Pulled from the midst of the lost to the saved, the servant was overjoyed to have the valuable piece of equipment returned.

Like the lost Samarian woman, she too had been like the axe head, lost in a watery grave, forever toiling to return from the well with yet another bucket to provide sustenance for her family; yet, it was never enough. It could never satisfy their cravings. Without help from something beyond this world, she would forever be looking for that which she could not find. Yet, why would this Jew help her, a Samaritan, for they had no dealings with her kind?

That night, as I slept, there came to me in a dream, the same scene of the river.

However, as I was watching myself from a distance, I could see myself paddling down the stream, away from where I sat, in the direction that it became narrower and narrower. With time, the world around the river became more developed. By the end of the vision, the entire landscape had been replaced with concrete barriers, stone walls, and all manner of man-made edifices. Gone were the pure, natural settings that God had created. In their place, man had made the world in his image; to his desires. The only remnant left of what was before, was the simple stream, still flowing, still reflecting the golden skyline of the setting sun.

In that image, I paddled away from where my vision was fixed, slowly fading away toward the sunset in the tiny canal of water. Sadly, this was all that was left of the beautiful scene upon which I had sat earlier. The water, having seemed to be the most bold and metallic substance before me, now had become the softest, must subtle of all images within the dark world. The water reflecting the sun was the only light to the otherwise sullen, sinful gray landscape. What once seemed powerful and mighty, now seemed silken and serene; a precious commodity.

All that had been was now gone, and all there was of hope, was the tiny thread of light.

Buoyed by the thread, one, who was filled from within by its essence, kept afloat and continued his search to help those that could still be saved.

To the ends of the earth we should go to find them, and when we do, give them Him to drink.

Drink of the living water and yea shall never thirst no more.

He is the water of life, and in Him, you shall be saved.

In all these things we do, we do for Him.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Nature, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | December 16, 2017 · 10:20 pm

A Mind Numbing Run…

It’s funny how when you are running, the thoughts of past runs or events of those times come back to mind. As it was this evening, as the faint light of winter played through the barren canopy overhead, my thoughts rambled back to another winter, another time. Then, the John’s river wasn’t flowing along my pathway as it was tonight, but rather the busy four-lane road going into Milton Florida.

I had been blessed by the company I worked for, to be able to work remotely for a couple weeks while I stayed with my mother who was in the final stages of terminal cancer. Although my job consisted of working nights, it was a time that gave me moments to sit with her when either I had come in from those long, brutal 3rd shift hours or was preparing to head off for another night. The in-between times, when there was strength, I would go for runs, for no other reason than to clear my head and think. In between runs, we spent her waking moments talking, working on her mailbox (the last project we ever worked on together), and watching Hallmark movies. It was bittersweet. The shell of the vibrant woman I had known all my life was nearly gone, her body withered to almost nothing, the skeletal remains were apparent, but within her the desire to live another day kept her going; that and her unending faith.

Seeing her like that made me want to work on my own physical being, as much as my spiritual. So, when she was sleeping, and I had enough sleep of my own, I would go for a run.

Many years before, when my life was at a different stage, I was allowed to train as a walk-on with the UF Cross Country team. Their training regimen was far more intense than I eventually could manage as a full-time engineering student and part-time lightning research technician. However, those few months that I was afforded the opportunity, I learned and experienced many new things; one of which was the cold bath treatment following those brutal speed workouts. After beating your body to a pulp, when the legs were like lead weights, you went into the bath or sauna room. There large pools of either hot or cold water awaited. The medical intent was to slow the hemorrhaging of your muscles so that they could heal more quickly after being torn to shreds; thus, allowing the recovery to ensue more quickly. This method of alternating between hot and cold pools was an amazing natural treatment.

Yet, in the real world, we rarely, if ever, find such an oasis of specific working out apparatus. At my mother’s home, there was only the winterized swimming pool, which was not heated. However, that winter, my mind was sometimes as numb as my legs following those runs. Again, they weren’t to train for any race or goal, they became my way to cope with what I was witnessing; seeing a parent leave you, one breath at a time. Yet, while it was surely a blessing to be with my mother as she prepared to pass from this life to the next, it was hard, and as such, the pain became the motivation to push my body harder during the runs. Afterward, shattered, tired and worn, I would wade into the nearly frozen pool and relive those college days of the cold tub; the body below my waist would chill to the point I could no longer feel anything. It was as if that part of my body had died, but was still with me. It was then that God was speaking to me, even though I didn’t realize it at the time, that he was telling me this was where I was headed; the separation of the previous life.

In scripture, we find Jesus telling his disciples, over and over again, that to truly follow him, we must leave everything behind. Paul reminded us of this fact when he said that we must die to our former selves, become numb to that previous life. “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”-2 Corinthians 5:17 After we have repented and received Him, we find things begin to change in our lives. As we progress in the faith, we find that things of this world begin to lose their splendor. The feel, touch, and senses begin to need less. Our desire to satisfy the flesh no longer drives who we are, rather, we are driven by the Holy Spirit within, the one that beckons us to a new life.

If we were to wade into a nearly frozen river, the sting of the icy water around our flesh would at first present our physical being with a shock, but with time, the flesh would numb to the touch, and we would no longer feel the world in which we stood. Much like our walk in faith, as we find our sanctification through Christ, we learn to experience the world in the same manner. The sensual feelings are still there, but they no longer drive us, they no longer determine our path, but rather, our path is determined by Him. We can enjoy those earthly pleasures, but only to the point that we appreciate them being God’s blessing to us, for they are only momentary glimpses of what is to come. C.S Lewis described God’s natural blessings, the world around us, as mere snowdrops of miracles when compared to all that would and could occur in our Christian walk, knowing that someday, we will experience Heaven. In comparing, he wrote about Jesus walking on the water being of the New Creation, “That momentary glimpse was a snowdrop of a miracle. The snowdrops show that we have turned the corner of the year. Summer is coming. But it is a long way off, and snowdrops do not last long.”[1]

Mother is gone now, no longer with us here on earth. Her new home is that of the New Creation, Heaven above, a place where walking on water is allowed, and the senses are awakened to another reality we have yet to know.

My life changed dramatically following that winter. I too would leave everything behind to follow Him. Those nearly frozen, numb legs would be the beginning of my awakening. Eventually, all of me would feel that sensation of no longer needing the satisfaction of this world as my walk with Christ would become a way of life. There would be journeys to places I had never envisioned, experiences that only God could create, and new comprehensions of an ever-changing journey upon which I have chosen. Eventually, my full immersion would occur in that river along which I ran tonight, as I was Baptized in the faith. The circle had been made complete.

It’s odd how running can take you so many places when you really only set out to run just a couple of miles, and you wind up traveling much, much more; through time.

The river continues to flow, as time continues to march on. Each day we are one heartbeat closer to eternity. The questions I must ask, “Are you ready?” “Have you accepted Christ as your Savior?” To find that New Creation, that eternal home on high, we must, “Repent, Receive, and Regenerate into a new being,” as George Whitefield so famously preached, regarding being born again.

It’s not too late, do not wait another day. You never know when today may be your last.

Run while you can, life is short, and eternity with Him awaits.

Thanks be to God.

“Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”-Romans 6:4

[1] C.S. Lewis, “Miracles”, A Preliminary Study, 1947, Harper Collins.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | May 21, 2017 · 4:20 pm

Every Mountain has Two Sides…

“His foundation is in the holy mountains.” -Psalm 87:1

For every mountain has two sides, like every story has two tales.

He stood looking as the sunset washed against the granite walls making the monolith perpetuate itself against an azure sky. Long shadows cast about where he stood as the nearby peaks already beckoned the coming night. He had not seen Grandfather from this angle before, facing east. Heretofore, his sunsets were always on his eastern side facing west. Tonight, he was on the other side, in more ways than one.

A few feet from where the man stood, the entrance sign to the Hugh Chapman Center began to flicker, attempting to illuminate the letters. The beautiful YMCA facility set against the backdrop of Grandfather Mountain was a picture postcard scene, one which all of Avery County could be proud. A chill began to blow across the collar of his sports coat reminding him that he had not dressed for the duty to which he was now assigned; standing guard at the entrance of the High School Prom. As the temperature dropped and the sun slid behind distant peaks, his mind began to wander.

Ironically, even after all these years, this would be his first Prom…ever.

Across the many miles of life, the soul hath traveled.

In his youth, he sought to climb the mountain before him, the beast in his mind’s eye, the obstacle in his path which prevented him from becoming what he thought he was meant to be. There were so many unknowns. The mountain before him in his youth was shadowed from the sun, dark and ominous; he seemed to face another uphill battle around every corner he turned. The child fought against himself as much as he clashed against the world around him. Many had sought to help him along his way, and as such, he was no stranger to the Word. Even in the midst of all the struggles, he heard the preacher tell his congregation one Sunday that if you wanted to find a home in eternity, you needed to find the Lord; and at the tender age of 13,  he was saved. Yet, like those finding salvation in their youth, he seemed to lose his way. As a teen, he continued to try to run from God, making bad choice after bad choice, while many times being saved only by the grace of God. However, with time, and the prayers of those who loved him, he eventually found his path, the one that leads to the top; success would eventually be within his grasp.

Accolade after another began to pour in when he finally made something of his life. From nothing to something, this was his story; the world was in his pocket, or so he thought.

One day, after having achieved the summit, the man realized he was still bound to his earthly domain, stuck in a rut from which there was little escape. What once seemed to be the prize had now become his prison. Distraught with denial he had chosen incorrectly, he began to question where he now stood in life. His thoughts turned to his salvation and what it all had meant.

Still the prayers were lifted on his behalf, and at last, his own were added to the chorus.

“Many are called, but few are chosen…”

When the realization of who he had become, and who he served, the man realized the truth; he had been following the wrong master, for God was not the center of his life. Seeking answers from the only place he knew, the man turned to the Word of God. In the corner of the bookshelf, he found the dust covered volume he had so long neglected. When he opened it, there seemed to be a voice speak from within, “I AM with you.” Page after page, the light began to shine upon where he must go and what he must do. He was finally awakening to what God had called him to be; following Him, the creator of all, God the Father.

A new world began to open before the man, and with the new world, he found new friends and a new beginning. The prison in which he thought he had been trapped suddenly released him and the mountain of debt was dissolved; the shackles of his life had been removed like Paul and Silas’s; God had set him free.

But where do you go when you are finally freed from someplace you never thought you would escape, let alone survive?

You must begin life anew.

Once the man set out upon his new journey in life, he soon realized, he was now back in the deepest, darkest valley, far below that distant mountain top. He was starting over, like a babe in the woods. Yet, he feared no evil, he feared no darkness, for the Lord was with him. When he tired, he rested, when he thirsted, the Lord provided him nutriment. Step by step, he learned how to survive in this new world. Unlike the struggles he had found in his former life when trying to reach the summit, these new obstacles didn’t dissuade him from his path. Instead of becoming distraught, he sought answers in prayer. When he was overwhelmed with trials, he sought the Lord in prayer. Every new challenge he found he was never alone.

One day, after several months of hiking, he looked up. There before him stood the same mountain as before, but now, he looked upon it from the other side. Unlike before, he could now see the beauty in its splendor for the sunset was no longer shadowed in its path. Alit in a miraculous glow, the glory of the Father beckoned him onward, and upward, calling him to the summit above.

As the night air swirled around him, he pulled his collar up a little tighter. He stamped his slowly numbing feet to keep the up the circulation. However, the elements bothered him little. He was here for a purpose. Deep in his heart, he knew the decision was right; he had finally chosen wisely.

Yes, he had never been to a Prom before, but oh how beautiful it was now that he had finally made it.

The day we step into our Heavenly home, will be the greatest day of all, and then, we shall all rejoice in His glory, the Prom of all Proms.

Thanks be to God.

 

 

Leave a Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Uncategorized

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | November 12, 2016 · 8:51 pm

Finding Our Purpose…

20161111_162129“And the Lord appeared to him the same night and said, “I am the God of your father Abraham; do not fear, for I am with you. I will bless you and multiply your descendants for My servant Abraham’s sake.” – Genesis 26:24

It began in a land far, far away, in a time long before our existence was ever imagined; our purpose in this life.

On a rare family trip, one sunny November afternoon, we once more found ourselves exploring the beauty of our new home here in the mountains of North Carolina. As our footsteps tread upon the stones interlaced with roots like sinews of a sleeping leviathan, my thoughts wandered back to how wonderfully made was this world in which we live. For the short time we are here on earth, God prepares us each day for our heavenly home if only we stop and listen. Those spectacular, but brief, moments when we taste, see, or hear ecstasy on earth, it is but a moment in time compared to what awaits. For us to understand, is as if we might fathom our purpose here on earth.

The air upon the mountain top often allows for one to contemplate many things, but none so sobering as to why we are, and where we are, in our journey with God. To stand and span the vista surrounding you can easily impress upon you the vastness of all that surrounds us when few look beyond the four walls of their self-induced prison cell of existence.

It has been said to understand the will of God is to be one with God, something very few people ever come close to realizing. It is as if we spend out lifetime searching for that purpose by which we seek. The inspirational speakers of our day demand we set goals, both long term, and short term; yet, when we walk in His presence, these terrestrial benchmarks matter little. If we truly look back at our lives and wonder when we were fully in control of our destiny, we might be fooled into thinking we have been the master’s of our own ship, but that would certainly be, at least in my case, a ship of fools. Exacting our own gifts to do what we are capable of is to ignore our God given abilities, that alone, we are nothing. In our seeking to be independent of our dependence upon our Creator, we are lulled into an imaginary existence of superiority, being an equal to God; a deadly belief if there ever was one. Like a child wanting to be an adult, many think they can satisfy all their own needs by their own hand. Yet, all that they obtain is never enough. So, the cycle of want and desire become and endless loop, pulling the soul into an abyss from which there is no escape. It is as if we yearn to age before our time only to find ourselves seeking ways back to our youth; a never ending cycle of longing and desire for that which we had, but never fully appreciated.

Some stop in time to finally see the futility and ask, “Why?” If they are blessed to have heard and accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior, then the choice is clear.

There is but one true purpose.

When we awaken to that realization, of one true purpose, and that is to serve Him, then everything else pails in comparison. Those flash-in-the-pan inspirational speakers with their sound bites and tips on how to succeed are nothing but the sound of dry bones rattling in Ezekiel’s desert. All those goals and incremental steps to control our future are merely like the mist floating across the river, appearing for a time then vanishing with the wind.

In fact, long before we are born, God has already begun preparing our paths, making the multitude of variables that will seemingly fall into place on the very day you need them to occur, appear as if by some strange circumstance, your dream came true. For many, those prayers answered had begun before their knock was placed upon the door.

We might kid ourselves into thinking we understand our place and our purpose, but in reality, we are merely speculating.  Just when we think we’ve got it figured out, that door, the one that seemed so solid, so true, will close before your next breath and in the blink of an eye, the world you thought you were the master of becomes the past; a lesson learned.

As Isaac struggled to survive the famine and lead his family from one well to the next, God came to him, telling him that his purpose had been established long before he came into being. His very reason for living was already determined, but yet to be realized. Even so, he had to become the man God had intended him to be, regardless of his faults and shortcomings.

Walking back from our long hike in the thin, cool mountain air there was much for us to consider. For what we do is always on display for others to observe. If we are truly walking with Him on our journey, then we need only comprehend, even if we were to say nothing, that our walking along the narrow ledge of that mountain trail would be enough to speak volumes about who we are and for which we stand. When we stumble, He is there to catch us. When we fall, He is there to pick us up. When we allow his light shine for all to see, He is there to glorify all.

In all that we do, may our walk along life’s pathway be one that glorifies our heavenly Father, so that on that final day of visitation, we may pleasing in his eye.

One may never fully understand why God has placed them upon their path or their purpose in life, but if we accept that just our being there, walking that narrow trail, is simply enough, then we can better accept our fate, our lot in life.

Life on the mountain is a blessing each day.

In all that we do, give thanks to God.

Thanks be to God!

1 Comment

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , ,

by | September 12, 2016 · 9:34 pm

A Tree, A River, and the Word…

treebyriver

““Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, And whose hope is the Lord. 8 For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, Which spreads out its roots by the river, And will not fear when heat comes; But its leaf will be green, And will not be anxious in the year of drought, Nor will cease from yielding fruit.”-Jeremiah 17:7-8

There are the long spells of time when all is well with my soul, and nothing seems to cause me to take pause. But then out of the blue, it’s as if I’ve been woken up from a long sleep, and suddenly there’s the sinking feeling that there is a looming appointment that’s been forgotten; panic and dread begin to well up inside like a cauldron of hopelessness. These anxious moments are my days and nights lately. Like a lone survivor of a shipwreck looking for the matches to light the signal fire, I scramble to find comfort in the Word. The Bible is closer now than ever before and the scriptures more significant. When those days of fighting between despair and trust come to a close, the trails near our new home have become my bastion of solitude.

There is a peacefulness to the forest.

I can recall my youth, growing up amongst the cornfields of Indiana, looking out my window knowing there was another place that beckoned; a place where mountains and dark wooded vistas wrapped themselves around clear flowing brooks. Back then I didn’t understand or know why I felt the calling. All I could see then was a sea of green cornstalks, occasionally broken by a tree line. The flatness was so apparent it now takes my breath away just to think of it. Sullenly, on my last visit for my father’s funeral, my heart ached as I watched the gray, dormant land pass by the windows of the car. There was an endless feeling of loss that panged me then, but it came not just from the loved one dying, but more than that, it was from knowing that I had spent a childhood amongst this. Part of me had known death before it was ever realized. A vast somber landscape that forces one to search for hope, and escape, any way you can to be saved from something so overpoweringly sad that it makes you wonder how you ever survived to this day. In that place, the most insignificant speck of color became the focus; your pleasure was measured by simple things. To that extent, you are made aware of beauty when it is placed before you, and you soaked it in like one drinking from the well for the first time.

From the somber landscape of Indiana to the mountains here in North Carolina, my life has been a journey I could have never imagined. This is my world now; beauty like Eden, so precious and stirring you cannot help to be moved. Yet, like the bends in the river, my life has taken a turn that we never expected once again.

We could dwell on the why, the how, or the what of it all. But like Lott and his family, the angels told them not to look back lest they become pillars of salt. So we force ourselves to go onward, measuring our steps ever so painfully. Again, reaching for the Word can provide comfort when there is none, allowing for the eyes to look up and see the world around instead of looking down and pondering our fate.

Making scripture come alive was something I had found so pleasing in this past year. So with that in mind, I sought the tree mentioned in Jeremiah, the one that stands beside the stream. My strength comes from Him, like the living water through which the tree survives even in the hardest times. Back to the forest and trails that have become my comforter, I returned once more.

On the days when nobody at home wants to go with me, I then seek out my friend and hiking buddy next door, Leroy. Like a child again, I wander up to the door of his house seeking out my brother in Christ. I knock and jokingly greet his wife Annette with, “Can Leroy come out to play?”

“Sure, ‘c’mon in and I’ll get them,” she replies with that big wide Texas grin as she swings the door open. “Yes, he can come out to play,” she laughs.

With a sheepish grin, he emerges around the corner grabbing his walking staff and hat, “Where too,” he quips?

“Wherever the good Lord takes us,” I smile in reply. “Today we have to hurry, I want to catch the river before the light is gone,” I say pointing to my sketchbook in hand. “I’ve got a tree in mind that matches scripture that has been on my mind a lot lately.”

“Great, let’s get going then,” he responds, and with that, we were off to the nearest trailhead as we wave goodbye to Annette.

As our feet find the path below, we quickly jump into the day’s events and happenings. Before we know it, we’re standing on the banks as the golden light of the sunset begins to paint the river a copper glow, as Leroy described it. The trees are standing firm overhead as the shadows start to overwhelm the forest beyond. Over and over again, the scripture from Jeremiah had been resurfacing in my mind as my recent job loss has created a turmoil in my life like never before.

As we scanned the scene before us, we both saw it at the same time and realized, there it is; the one that spreads its roots out by the river, the one that will not fear when the heat comes, the one whose leaves will remain green and not be anxious when the dry weather comes.

Two artists standing in admiration of God’s beauty, and knowing His word was with us, makes me even now feel blessed in so many ways. The Lord puts us in places with people for reasons we cannot fathom or understand. We are asked only to do His will and obey. When we do, we will be rewarded with innumerable sanctifications.

In awe and silence, I quickly sketched and captured as much of the image as possible before the light of day was gone. Leroy and I had shared once more the feeling of the Holy Spirit coming alive as the Word became truth before our eyes. We shall not be anxious in times of drought, for we will find sustenance in Him, and we will continue to be fruitful in all that we do.

Another walk, another trail, and the journey continues.

These are the Words of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

“I will lift up my eyes to the hills— From whence comes my help? My help comes from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.”-Psalm 121:1-2

2 Comments

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | July 25, 2016 · 9:45 pm

The Sound of Silence…

“…A time to keep silence, And a time to speak;…” – Ecclesiastes 3:7

The words hit me like the stark, blank-pastel green wall of the hospital room opposite my bed. It was 1963, and my bedroom was the ICU unit of the Deaconess Hospital. My playground was underneath the shelter of the clear plastic oxygen tent, reserved for children with pneumonia; mine the second in as many years as I was old. Later I would learn of my near death encounters with double pneumonia. There was no fear in my life back then. The concerns on the faces of the adults who came to see me only lit up when they saw my smile from behind the veiled curtain of fractured light. Even at that tender age, there was a lesson in leaving as my heart would break each time the goodbyes came. I didn’t understand why so often my visitor’s would leave, turning their heads, wiping something from their faces as they left my room, always as I watched their backsides leave through the door, my heart would sink.

The silence would return; silence that would feel like the weight of the world held it shut.

From the foot of my bed, the pump of the oxygen tank hissed, the only reminder of life beyond my own body. There was a lot of time for my toddler mind to wander, yet there was always a presence there with me; call him my guardian angel. He would sit with me and warm me when the room would turn bitter cold, he would dry the tears from my eyes as I often recalled those faces from my short span of life that would come to mind. Again and again, I would try to replay the sunshine and laughter from what little memories life had taught me to this point. He would console me without words, but just the loving grace of God that would flow about us, like the words from the Bible floating in and around us, kissing our lips and blessing our spirits. There would come an awareness of beauty, one that I still cherish to this day, one that would inspire.

The silence became my teacher.

Many a long, lonely isolated day was spend in my early youth on the farms in and around New Harmony. The pastures, cows, hogs, and chickens became my companions since there were no other children around. Extended periods of solitary exploration taught my mind to create a world that would entertain me. We would speak to the animals and in a sense, they would understand. From that came an instinctual connection from which farming would become my second nature. My youthful heart ached for other children. On days there was an announcement of someone coming to visit, I would sit by the window facing the gravel road for hours at a time, waiting,…watching,…looking for the dust cloud to boil as a car or truck might approach. My heart would race as a vehicle would appear, and I would then dart for the back porch, running as fast as my little legs would carry me to the edge of the front yard, lined by the might oaks. There as the old farm truck would rumble past, a hand would shoot up from within the dark cab, waving hello. There my slim, tiny figure would stand like a statue, numb to the emptiness that filled my life. Sadly, I would only watch as the dust cloud would envelop my minuscule frame, turning my body one color; ashen. Grandma would call me back inside, realizing I had once more left the house. She was my caretaker, my keeper. Having survived Tuberculosis, she understood my condition required time to heal. So, back inside, back into the safety of the house; at least until I could find a way to slip past her watchful eye and back out into the barnyard.

Silence would return, and my soul would ache.

In all of that time of waiting and listening, a vast sea of words continued to grow within. Like a silo of summer grain filled to the brim, I desperately wanted to speak, yet it was not my time.

Grandma Mary had an old manual typewriter sitting in her spare bedroom. Occasionally, I would hear her pecking typewriteraway on it. Her experience working as a secretary at IBM made her an expert so that the sound was intoxicating to my musical ear. One day, after my begging her to put paper in it so I could learn to type real words too, she finally obliged me. After a very short lesson on where to place my hands, I began. Happily, my fingers started to type the syncopated rhythm I had heard her perform. Certain of my masterpiece, I then pleaded with her to read what I had written. Being the loving lady she was, she happily attempted to translate what a three-year old’s random, incomprehensible attempt to type might say. If there had been such a thing as video in that day, it surely would have made it viral as we rolled on the floor at the words that came from her mouth; precious memories.

There on that farm, beyond the reaches of anything human, other than my maternal grandparents, my world was formed. The companion from my hospital bed would walk with me and together, we would explore the world. The fresh air and countless hours of playing outside allowed my weak lungs to strengthen. Bit by bit, my color returned until one day, my grandmother would remark at how much better I looked. The comment returns to me even now, as if she was amazed at the turn around from the sickly, near-death child, to the vibrant, healthy, young lad that I was slowly becoming. There must have been enough doubt in her mind that she was amazed by what she saw. God was surely with us.

It wasn’t much longer after that, when I felt alive and full of spirit, that my friend, the guardian angel, left. Now I don’t mean he fully left, but rather, the feeling of his presence weakened to the point, that I knew he had gone. He would be there, time and again, when there would be a breach in my soul or some other near tragedy would affect my life. No longer would we walk together on the sunny pastures, but it was okay. I knew I wasn’t alone.

The silence had taught me well.

Someday, it would be my time to speak. Yes, someday there would be a time and place.

“A time to gain,     And a time to lose; A time to keep,     And a time to throw away; 7 A time to tear,     And a time to sew; A time to keep silence,     And a time to speak; 8 A time to love,     And a time to hate; A time of war,     And a time of peace”- Ecclesiastes 3:6-8

Thanks be to God.

1 Comment

Filed under Farming, Inspirational

Tagged as , , , , , , ,

by | June 18, 2016 · 9:36 pm

Front Porch of Life…

“ For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. 12 Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. 13 And you will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart”-Jeremiah 29:11-1320160612_180149

After the day’s toil has passed, the supper dishes have been put away, and the dirt washed from our bodies, we often found ourselves poised on the precipice of our world, watching the final touches of God’s hand paint the western sky with a beauty so bold, no mortal brushstroke will ever compare, from comfort of our humble front porch.

Upon the boards that I nailed into place with my own hands, we looked out upon years of sacrifice and labor. From nothingness, we had created a home. From the wilderness, we had built a homestead. Often armed with nothing more than a shovel and hammer, we built what we thought would be our dream home. Beyond the gurgling waterfall of the Koi pond, lay the greenery in summer of the front yard that ran over across the drive into the fenced pasture. There, grazing lazily in the setting rays of the sun, our beef cattle would stand as if posing for the Master’s hand. Just knowing they were there to call upon should we have a time of need or food was a comfort. I can still hear my Uncle John exclaim the day we sat on the swing looking out upon the vista, “Timmy, your cows are looking mighty fat and slick,” which was one of ultimate praise in cattlemen’s terms. My Uncle John and I shared the love of being in the country as did many other guests who came to see us.

There were many more visits from family that often culminated at the end of long days there on that front porch. Many times we would talk long past sunset, gently swaying back in forth in the rockers or swing. There we would reminisce and share stories of long ago. Memories would flood our minds, and those of other such places would surface. My grandma Tron’s favorite sharing place was also in her swing. There on the edge of the quaint little town of New Harmony, with a pace so slow you could barely feel the motion, we would sit and solve life’s mysteries or struggles. There sitting across from grandpa, who had more often than not, fallen off to sleep, we’d learn about stories in the Bible and lessons learned in life. There from her swing we could look out past the great sycamore trees into the pasture next door where dairy cows would graze. It was where I learned that the pace of life doesn’t have to drive you crazy if only you would allow yourself the time to slow down and experience God’s blessings that were all around you.

Of course, we weren’t the only ones that had enjoyed the view from our front porch. There were the odd visitor or intruder. From the geese that had chased the children up from the pond to the kittens that would pounce and roll, to the ponies that decided grass wasn’t as much fun to romp and play on as the wood of the front porch. Just imagine the clatter of hooves resonating from within the house compared to that of little children scampering in play. It was any wonder I could sleep on those days while working the night shift, yet I sometimes found a way.

As the years went by, we added more landscaping and walkways which only increased the feeling of being more of an estate than a farm. Yet, in the coolness of the evenings, that space became our sanctuary in the wilderness where we could reflect on all that we had done and what was to come. Beyond the dark western tree line was the unknown; the future. On that porch, I had watched my children grow. Many late evenings or early mornings I would find comfort in the swing, as I would wrap their tiny bodies in blankets and rock them gently while singing hymns, often falling asleep myself as we became one with the world around us. I would awaken with a start to the motionless swing and realize we were at peace. Those are moments I will always cherish.

There on the outdoor abode my children played and viewed the world around them from the safety of that gentle loft, high above the terrestrial surface below. There they would be emboldened to go out and explore finding all sorts of bugs, toads, and critters that they would unearth in their daily forays into the unknown and bring back to their home base, the porch. As time progressed, we watched them grow into the young adults; the once daunting height of that porch had become little more than a mere step to them. In my mind, I had figured that eventually I would even be watching my own life’s sunset from that place, but it was not meant to be. God had another plan.

What I had created within the boundaries of my own mind was nothing in that of the Master’s plan, it was only a stepping stone. Two days ago, at 3:59 pm, the place that I had built to last our lifetime became someone else’s dream home. Two days ago, the step we had taken to answer the calling from God became a reality.

Today, I awoke to the feeling of being somewhere between the Red Sea and the River Jordan. We have left all we have known and worked for in our previous life behind. We have died to our former selves in order to answer the call. Now, we wait to see where He has us to go. Where will our promised land be? Where is our river to cross?

These and many more questions face us each day, but each day, I open the pages to the only place I know where the answer can be found; my Bible.

Seek and ye shall find, knock, and the door will be opened.

All we have to do is leave our porch and answer Him.

Thanks be to God.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Farming, Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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.

2 Comments

Filed under Farming, Inspirational

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | January 26, 2016 · 9:55 pm

Seek and You Will Find…

In the distance, the mountains call.

“Seek and you will find…”imagesQ53ZSJ8P

The fluid movement of the gulf stream pushes against my will. Below me, the sands swirl in undulating patterns, to and fro, as the current continues to empty the back bay. My air is nearly depleted, but I push on, stretching the limits of my endurance until the forbearance of life thrusts me up, bursting through the surface just as my lungs explode in a forceful exhalation of water and breath, then immediately sucking life back through my snorkel.

I lay there, floating, drifting on the current, waiting.

In the distance, the mountains call.

“Knock and it will be opened unto you…”

Replenished, I dive, driving my fins against the current until I glide along the bottom. The world around me is foreign yet intriguing. In the back of my mind, I keep watch for danger; sharks, rays and jellyfish that constantly appear and then disappear like spirits in the night. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, as my heart beats in my ears. There, over in the next bend lies the conch shell I’ve been searching. Just as my fingers grasp the treasure, the pains return. Too soon, the air is gone once again and I must return to the other place.

images0VGE58ZGA silence of beauty awaits me back on the surface. The bounty nestled safely in my dive pouch. Nearby a small tiger shark appears, approaching in a curious manner, then darts away. My hand reaches for the knife strapped to my thigh, more of a comfort than anything, the feeling of the cold hard steel is assuring. I try to relax again.

Drifting effortlessly once more, my breathing is measured but calm. Off in the distance, the sound of a boat motor tilling through waves reaches my ears. The alien noise does not belong. Like myself, we’re intruders in this realm, yet we’ve come nonetheless.

In the distance, the mountains call.

“For everyone who asks, receives…”

379274_4161269401680_615774015_nBelow, the clouds obscure the lower reaches of the valleys. From my vantage point, I can see snow capped peaks, jagged, unapproachable and daunting. The air is pure and clean up here. There is no want of breath, no self-depleting pangs of oxygen other than those that consume the body at altitudes beyond your own physical abilities. I look around and my eyes cannot believe the grandeur of this place. My time here is limited, like that below the surface of the Gulf, yet something draws me; a destiny I cannot explain.

The treasure is not below as I once believed; no, it is above.

Somewhere, a mountain calls, somewhere I must go.

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.” – Matthew 7:7-8

 

Leave a Comment

Filed under Nature, Religion

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

by | April 3, 2014 · 1:52 am

Premonition of Forelorn…

goldenshore

The beckoned flight, My soul doth seek,

Yet spirited wings, Are clipped beneath.

The journey’s path, Mere footsteps trod,

While Heaven’s gate, O’re yonder calls.

Each day we breathe, A breath once more,

And exhale our last, On God’s golden shore.

– T. Tron

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , ,