Tag Archives: Math

by | December 15, 2020 · 9:30 pm

This Little Light of Mine

by Timothy W. Tron, Dec. 2020

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” – Matthew 5:16

Tonight, as I pray for all those people in my life, both within reach, and those distant, it is as if there is a never-ending list. Yet, as countless as the stars are in the sky, the Lord knows each of them by name. For each soul that finds its way onto my finite list, there are so many more that our Savior knows, and his grace emanates forth like one star shining onto the next until his list to us appears infinite.  And in this manner, we are found like the newborn foal in the dewy morning grass, helpless, ambling into an unknown future. Our ship’s sails may be full, but the rudder, the part with which we steer, seems inadequate for the vessel for which we have been endowed. The greater the berth, the more we are expected to manage – yet, even in the best of times, we can be overwhelmed with the blessings upon which we have been bestowed. The cargo for which we carry is that of being someone to whom others can turn, the light which shineth forth as does the natural world, also attracts that of the spiritual. Those with darkened hearts, those with diminished souls cling to us like a life support. We become the flame to the moth, so to speak. We know deep inside this shell of humanity that we are not worthy, and if we are even more abound in our faith, we know that it is He that worketh through us whom they seek.

Night Sky – by Timothy W. Tron, 2020

On a dark night, over 2,000 years ago, the stars above played an integral part of our Messiah’s birth. As part of our Men’s Connection Bible study, this morning we watched the very well written and presented movie, “The Star of Bethlehem.”[1] As we marveled at the details with which the show’s presenter depicted his case, in the back of my mind, there was a little voice wondering about all the other brilliance and imagery to which he did not mention. While science and mathematics can depict with uncanny accuracy the actual account of how the star of Bethlehem came to be, there is another side of the story where man’s intuition can never reach – that of the un-natural, the spiritual, and the Godly. For as Jesus told the Pharisees, “How can ye believe, which receive honour one of another, and seek not the honour that cometh from God only.”[2] There in that night sky, not only was the star of Bethlehem showing the way, but there was another phenomenon taking place. As the shepherds stood with their flocks, there was, as they put it, a multitude of angels that illuminated the sky beyond their ability to describe in human terms. “And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.”[3] As those men in the field would later testify to Luke, not alone, but several eyewitnesses would attest, a luminescence far beyond that of what said star was already providing shone about them. It was so brilliant that it literally wrought their hearts with fear and trembling. We can see this again throughout scripture when man finds himself in the presence of an Almighty being, be it an Angel of the Lord or God himself.  But Luke goes on to reveal how much more these shepherds were afforded that precious night. As if heaven had taken pause and the entirety of heaven ascended to earth to witness the birth of God in the flesh, the multitude of angels filled the sky. “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men. And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven,”[4] As those lowly shepherds stook quaking in amidst their flocks, in awe of the presence of something no one before, nor anyone since had ever witnessed, they were given the message of “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men.”

If you lived the rest of your life after such an event, that moment, that place in time and those words would surely never leave you. Had those ancient Jews been more mindful of the scriptures and voices of the prophets, they too would have been standing alongside those men in the fields. But alas, as God would intend it to be, their hearts would be hardened, and the image of the Almighty in the form of a helpless child, not the conquering King they had imagined would be the order for all time.

While we often find comfort in science and numerical evidence when it can back up those words that are encased within the covers of the book with the inscription, “Bible,” we must be reminded that this is only a minutia of detail to which we are afforded. The natural order and what man can fully understand are, but an infinitesimal part of all that God can do and provide. When we seek out those stories of old and find the infinite being allowing himself to become finite, the flesh, we for a moment can comprehend what he speaks. But as those Jews of old discovered, there was much more to that earthly mission than what humankind had anticipated.

There amongst those beautiful deep space nebulae from which the Hubble Space Telescope can provide to our vast array of scientific academia, we can find tiny lights that appear to be stars. They are, in fact, billions of other galaxies with billions more stars within them. There seems to be no end to what God’s creation can and will reveal. When we take the time to study the word to which we were given, the Comforter as Jesus told his disciples, we can find traces, vague footprints of angelic beings for which there is no understanding, no mathematical equation that can explain within the scope of human interpretation. It is then, when we realize the limits of our own being that someday our soul may inhabit a place we cannot begin to imagine, that we start to fathom the endless capacity of God. It is then that we understand how faith really works.

He must increase that we may decrease. And when we finally come to understand this, we will then begin to open our eyes to a new realization – we are nothing without Him.

Give thanks for all that you have, my friend, and pray for those whom you know and for those who don’t. From our little lights, we emanate out to others until we eventually become a greater light that makes all the difference in this world. So that someday, we too shall be one with the light of the world.

“For we were once darkness, but now we are light, live as children of the light.”[5]

Thanks be to God.

[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6OaVLA27V0s, ITN Movies, 2007, From Producer Stephen   McEveety (The Passion of the Christ)

[2] John 5:44 KJV

[3] Luke 2:9 KJV

[4] Luke 2:13-15 KJV

[5] Eph. 5:8 KJV

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by | May 26, 2020 · 8:21 pm

They Could Not Walk, so I did.

They could not walk, so I did.

WHS Class of 2020

The rain was lightly falling today when I happened upon the display of the 2020 WHS graduating class posted in front of the Boone Post Office. In my mind, I had made a promise that if I found them displayed, that I would go see them one last time. As is often the case, God answered my prayer before I knew I had prayed.

One placard after the other, faces of the students who had become part of my life, now part of this virtual graduation. Part of me wanted to cry, while another wanted to laugh. One after another their smiling, proud photos brought back hundreds of memories. In many of the Professional Developments (PD), they teach and encourage new teachers to get to know the person behind the desk. For me, it was the only way to understand how a child was relating to the material. As a Math teacher, you quickly come to understand that most of your pupils are only there because they are required to take the class. So, for the most part, you must know where they are coming from in order to better reach them, and in that hope, plant the seeds of education for what curriculum you represent. I took it to heart.

In my journey, learning the person behind the face not only became part of my job, it became part of my mission. Each day during the pledge of Allegiance, at the end of the short ceremony, I would breathe the silent prayer, “Lord give me strength, guidance, and wisdom.” Each time, when I would open my eyes, there before me was the purpose behind the path upon which God had placed me.

There were all manner of days to deal with, from the unforgettable, to the horrific. From the jokesters, who at times stretched my patience beyond boundaries I knew existed, to the sweetest personalities that could melt a heart of stone, they were all there. This was not the first class of graduating seniors who had passed through my classroom. But these were the first that seemed like we never got to say goodbye, for more reasons than one. In essence, their moment of shining before all to see had been taken away thanks to an unseen enemy. Now, without them knowing, we were saying goodbye in a one-way tribute.

Sweet Ms. Carol Brown told me before my first day of teaching at Watauga, that I would find a different kind of student on the mountain, any unlike I had met before. She and her late husband Horace had grandchildren up in that area. They were never more right. Ironically, before learning that I would become a Math teacher, I had read the story of Crossnore and how Dr. Sloop and his wife, Dr. Mary Martin Sloop, had struggled with the indigenous peoples, particularly with keeping them in class when they were needed on the farm. The stories Mrs. Sloop recalled gave one an insight into the mind of those mountain families who inhabited the deep hollars of the Blueridge. From their work, the Crossnore Children’s home would come to be. And yes, eventually my life’s pathway would lead through there as well, but another story for another time.

My life’s journey had taken a detour from Watauga before this year’s classes began. God’s plan is never our own. And wherever he says to go, I must follow. So as painful as it was, I was able to tell those who had me on the last semester goodbye in 2019. But today, with the pictures of them in their graduation robes and hats, it seemed more final. Here before me was the entire class of 2020. For a year, I had not seen them, and most were still the same, those faces of innocence only the parent of teens can appreciate. While others had changed so much that it was not until my second pass that I realized who they were. As my feet traveled down the damp sidewalk, it was as if God was allowing me to review those three years, as if to say, “It was all worth it.” There were some who made me laugh out loud, while others made me stop and say, “Thanks be to God, they made it.” There were those who had made an impact on me in ways that were never expected. One day, on my way to the school, a song came on the radio by Casting Crown, “Only Jesus.” In it, the lyrics remind us that our life should not be about us, but rather, should point toward Christ. We shouldn’t strive to leave a legacy about us, but instead, point all we are to Him. From that day forward, my purpose became to have them not remember me, but only Him. So, in all that I did, I tried to be someone that would bring the light into their life, even if they didn’t realize it.

One can only hope that we plant the seeds of hope, and the truth for their generation instead of taking it away. A virus may have ended their “true” senior year before it was allowed to culminate, but my prayer is that they will make something of themselves far beyond what the limitations of this physical world will bring.

Yes, today I walked for them because they could not.

They will forever be in my heart.

Congratulations class of 2020 everywhere.

Thanks be to God.

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by | January 7, 2020 · 9:31 pm

The Open Door

Once more, my life has returned to the open door, once discovered nearly half a century ago.

It was an unexpected, but welcome visit from one of our department’s professors. He had stopped by merely to say hello; a cordial inclusion if you will. Since starting my new position in life, many of my colleagues, with whom I serve, have had little time for fellowship with the end of the semester and then the Christmas break all occurring so quickly it seemed. Since we are still now in the stretch of time that precedes a new semester, there is finally time to learn about one another. There are no students, no final grades due, just a few staff members and faculty preparing for the coming days. The professor who had dropped in, who for now I will call Dr. Mo, seemed to be as curious about me as I was him. Our conversation traversed from pleasantries of the recent holidays to that of teaching, and life. 

After I shared with him my recent application to Graduate School, we began to talk more in-depth about how classes in the Computer Science Department are structured. Before long, we were comparing various instructional methods, albeit his from a much higher plane of learning than what I had been accustomed. It was about this point when he asked me a very profound question, one that seemed vaguely familiar. “How do you explain to a student that programming a small piece of code or project is important?”

The question in fact, reminded of something one of my former High School students might say. It could easily be considered the bane of thought that all High School Math teachers hated to hear, probably the most irritating question heard, “When am I ever going to use this?”  We knew that the question originated at home, because our students often told us that their parents were of the same mindset. So, the disdain for learning something that has apparently no useful value in life is not simply a secondary level education problem, from what I was hearing. It was something that permeates our culture no matter the level or institution. 

Dr. Mo then asked, “How would you tell them it matters?”

The answer swirled around in my head amongst a hundred examples, all of which seemed to point to the obvious – sometimes the big picture is difficult to see when you are in the middle of the forest. Yes, the answer was there, but something else was speaking to me at the same time. “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.[1]

Suddenly, in my mind, that ancient door opened and I stood up. 

We had so badly wanted to go see what all the ruckus had been about. For a couple days, machines and men had been working on the demolition of the now deceased widow Mrs. Wolfe’s home. Her husband, the late Dr. Wolfe, had died long before I was born, so we never knew much about who he was or how he came to be a Doctor. To us, his legacy was simply the sweet, old Mrs. Wolfe, who too, was now gone forever. One by one, the elders of our little farming community of New Harmony, Indiana were disappearing, and with them a way of life.

Word was that the historical society had purchased her home and that they were going to knock the stately old house down and rebuild something in the style of the rest of the other historic homes in town. The historical society and the common townspeople always seemed to be at odds. The former with their sophisticated overbearance of wanting to create a “Shangri La”, if you will, where people could come from far and wide to escape the stresses of life. Here in this Midwest utopia, they could learn of the Rappites, a failed social concept, and how they too merely meant to find a place where work and God could comingle. In the end, their demise became the inspiration for the more recent history seeking philanthropists’ desires. Meanwhile, the farmers of the area merely sought to feed their families. Slowly, we watched as our little agricultural town was gutted, the elitists eroding what once had been a thriving farming community. The destruction of Mrs. Wolfe’s home was simply another casualty in the unspoken class war.

Just the summer or so before, Mrs. Wolfe had asked my grandma if any of her grandchildren might be able to cut her grass. My grandma had quietly pulled me aside one afternoon asked me if I could help out her elderly neighbor. You see, to us grandkids, it was an honor to have grandma pull you aside to ask you to do anything for her. So, I was beside myself when I learned that grandma wanted me to help out her dear elderly neighbor. It was a sunny summer day when I pulled the aged push mower across the pasture. We never had a lot of contact with Mrs. Wolfe, but what little we did, we always came away feeling blessed. That particular day was no different. After the last strip of grass was mowed, I shut down the mower and went back to pick up the can of gasoline near the front porch. Mrs. Wolfe had come to the door and motioned me to come over. I peevishly walked up to her as she leaned out the heavy wooden front door. “Come here now,” she said smiling sweetly. “You take this,” she motioned waving the paper money at me. 

“No m’aam,” I responded, “I didn’t’ do it for that.”

She wouldn’t have any of my righteous posturing, and her eyebrows furrowed, “Now you come here and take this,” she said, in a sterner voice. “You can take some of your cousins to town and get a treat at least.” 

She knew my weakness, doing for others, and with that, I apprehensively walked up and took the money. It shocked me to see the entire $5.00 bill in my hand. It seemed like the most money I had ever seen at one time, and in those days, probably was. Shocked, I backed away, thanking her profusely as she closed the door smiling broadly. 

“You tell your grandmother thank you for me,” she said loudly through the glass of the door. 

“Yes m’aam,” I quipped, as I raced off to show grandma the newfound wealth. Grandma wasn’t happy about the money, but she eventually softened to our pleading, and we made that little jaunt to the dime store in town later that day for a sweet treat. 

Now, just a couple years removed, our pleading convinced grandma to let us have our way once more, and we soon found ourselves exploring the piles of debris among what little was left of the former Wolfe estate. Nothing much remained, but save for piles of wood and one single door frame. As we found our way into what had one time been the living room, the one from which Mrs. Wolfe had handed me that vast sum of money, my heart became sad. Here our proud neighbors had once lived, content and stately in their home. They hadn’t imparted their societal wishes upon us, but rather chose to live in harmony with us, accepting us for who we were, and likewise, us them. 

Slowly, I walked up to the remaining door frame, with door still intact. One of my cousins called from behind, “Be careful,” as my tender, young hand reached for the door knob. Slowly, I opened the barely standing door and from within what once was the coat closet, now sat a pile of rubble. We began to pick a few chards of wood and brick off the top and much to my surprise, below the soot and dust was a pile of brown, tweed cloth covered books. We began to look through them, like archeologists in an Egyptian burial tomb, shaking our heads at the hieroglyphic shapes on the pages. The writing inside books was a mystery. There were some recognizable words, but the majority of the book was written in some alien language, complete with crazy symbols and letters we had never seen before. We each grabbed a book and raced back to our humble farmhouse to show grandma. There, we reconvened as was common, around the worn Formica covered kitchen table. We even turned on the overhead light and with studious awe, and our best intellect, tried to decipher the ancient code. 

We were as lost as a ball in high weeds. 

Grandma was even at a loss for words. She simply said, “Maybe one of you someday can figure it out,” and she left it at that. It was at that moment she had planted the seed, knowingly or not. Later that day, I would vow to my cousins that someday I was going to learn how to read that book, no matter how long in life it would take.

“You do that,” my cousin Peggy replied sarcastically with her mischievous grin.

As I stood up from my chair, Dr. Mo watched as I walked over to the bookshelf. My weathered hand reached into the array of books and pulled out a single, tweed cloth covered book titled, “Applied Mechanics.”

“You see Dr. Mo,” I said to my guest as I slowly opened the book, “sometimes the answer takes a lifetime to learn.” 

There, written inside the front cover in his own hand were the words, “property of John Wolfe.” I then shared with the professor of finding the book as a child and how I had taken the vow to someday learn how to read the funny writings inside. Those questions as to, “Why would we ever need this,” echoed in my mind as I spoke. Then, to show him the significance of the moment, I turned to the back of the book. There, carefully placed over 100 years earlier, Dr. Wolfe had placed something that was to encourage not only himself, but a young neighbor farm boy many decades later; a manually typed page, neatly folded in half, containing his test and quiz scores from the class for which the book was intended. The faded, barely visible date read, 1916-1917.

Turning to my new friend, I continued, “When we can show someone the significance of something in context, how it fits into the big picture, we can then begin to appreciate the little steps that it takes to get there.”

Dr. Mo smiled and nodded in confirmation. 

I continued, “We may not be able to explain what we see at any given point in time. Sometimes, our experience is beyond what we are capable of describing.  But with time, God provides us the wisdom to achieve a new level of comprehension. Like the prophet Ezekiel trying to describe the visions of Angels that some say more describe that of alien spaceships, he too could only use a language of which he was capable of understanding.”

I handed Dr. Mo the book so he could look at it more closely. He smiled and said, “This book is more than just a book.I t has a singular significance beyond all other books like it because of this personalization.”

“Yes,” I nodded, “indeed it does.”

And so, once more in life, I returned to that barely standing open door of the Wolfe’s ancient home. Grasping the handle, I opened it wide, without fear, for God was with me. There were no cries from leery cousins to warn me of the dangers, only the voice of God beckoning me on. “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”[2]

Step in with me Dr. Mo, step on in and let the light shine within.

Thanks be to God.

[1] James 1:5

[2] Romans 12:2

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by | November 30, 2019 · 9:57 pm

Are You Blessed?

 “Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed”-John 20:29

We stood in a circle. Our right hands made into fists as our arms were extended into the middle of the circle, like the hub of a human wheel, one placed upon the other as each of us bowed our heads in prayer. The boys like to call the configuration the “popcorn prayer,” a term they coined on their own. With the first of the young men that began, the next would continue the prayer until it came around the circle to the last person.

Crossnore Children’s Home

In the past, we would have had a morning devotional before going to breakfast, followed by a closing prayer. But this day was different, it was late Sunday afternoon. Unlike the times before, today they asked that we all pray together before we said our final goodbyes. In unison, they asked that I close us out by saying the last prayer.

It was one of the most poignant moments of my life, humbling to the core; it was their last request.

I had come to say goodbye, a goodwill gesture that was sincerely from the heart. It had been a tumultuous month, one that had left me more than tired. Several weeks earlier, when I had shared with my supervisor that God was leading my life’s journey away from Crossnore, I also asked that if they needed any extra help, I told him that I would be willing to fill in if needed. He thanked me for that offer.

At Crossnore, there is always a need.

And so, after many sleep-deprived and beleaguered days, my footsteps carried me one last time from one end of the Crossnore campus to the other. Those young men had left an undeniable mark upon my heart. For many of the children at Crossnore, their pasts are much like our own, better left behind. Many are at the home because of no fault of their own, and with that, you immediately seek to find the source of the mindset that acts out in ways that are not normal; because if anything, the trauma through which they have survived are anything but normal. It was because of this and much more that I couldn’t leave without at least letting them know that I would miss them.

Along my path that somber Sunday afternoon, the majestic oaks that had at one time provided comforting shade during the hotter months, had now given way to become barren, twisted towering bones, reaching to the azure blue sky above. They too, showed empathy for my departure, like elders who had seen so many come and go, telling me in their own way that they would forever be with me. The chilly winds blew leaves across my path as I made it to the all teen boy’s cottage. Many would prefer another assignment than to have to deal with young men at their age.

My own experience was quite different.

From the outset, once they realized I wasn’t going to be a push-over, we began to connect. One might wonder if it had been the many years of working with the Scouts that allowed me to understand them? Perhaps you might ask, was it because of the time spent working with the Junior Appalachian Musician program? Or, maybe, you might conjecture, it was teaching High School math to teens their age that helped me cope? Whatever the reason one might attribute my connection to those boys, I believe it was the hand of the Lord who had put me there for that season, as short as it may have been. The reason I felt it was God, was because it wasn’t until I asked to share the devotional with them that I could see something new; a change in their demeanor toward my presence. It was when one of the young men-(the one that had been there the longest, over 6 years to be exact)- opened up to me, that their reactions began to make me take notice. They said that because of his years of tenure at the home, he had become so hardened that he would purposely keep you at bay, knowing that before long, you too would fall by the wayside.

Who could blame him?

He had seen so many come and go. And up to that point, he could have just as well said the same thing about me. But when he would purposely make it a point to greet me or go out of his way to tell me to have a nice day, it became apparent that God had moved him, through me, in spite of who I was. All of these thoughts swirled around in my head like the fallen leaves upon the ground that cold, blustery afternoon.

There had been so much to contemplate. For if the walk had been days, there would have been enough recent memories and experiences to occupy my thoughts the full breadth of the journey.

Recently, one of my new colleagues at the college asked, “How are you today?”

I replied, as I so often do these days, “I am blessed, I hope you are?”

He then later asked what I had meant by the word “Blessed.”

The question stopped me in my tracks.

My mind flashed back to the beginning of the summer and the terrible drought, and trials that my life had encountered. Through the loss of a job, loss of income, loss of medical coverage, to the near-fatal illness, to the days of unanswered prayers. The doubts and troubles piled up like logs against the bridge when the river rises. One by one, their pressure building until they either burst through or until they are swept over the bridge by higher waters. My life had become that bridge, inundated by the flooding trials that seemed to come, one after the other, each one building upon the other. At one point, the bad news had become so common that it became laughable. “Just how much more could one take and still survive,” I began to ask? My life began to feel a little like Job in the struggles, and a lot like Joseph at the bottom of the dry well; there was nowhere to go but up.

Then, like once before in my life when it seemed as if all hope was lost, God answered. I don’t recall the exact day or time, but there was a sense that only a few may know or understand. Like a warm wave cascading over your soul, the feeling of things that are about to change washes over you, and it is then that you know deep in your heart that it is going to be okay. It’s moments like that when Hebrews 11:1 makes perfect sense, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

My sweet co-teacher, Mrs. Rush, said it best last year when she was trying to comfort me about having to leave the school when she said, “God is going to answer your prayers in a way that is going to be far greater than your wildest expectations.” She continued, “The answer won’t come soon, but rather, it will probably be at the last moment when you feel like all hope is gone. It is then that He will finally give you an answer.”

She was as prophetic as anyone I have ever known. Was God speaking through her? I don’t know, but to this day, I have to believe he was.

To answer my colleague, my mind dug through those countless days of anguish and despair, and the words began to form. They had to pass through the filter of that prayer with those boys in the Cottage as we all stood around in the circle and prayed. The memory of what happened during that prayer still lingered in my soul.

From the bottom of my feet, the sensation began. As God poured the words through my lips, the Holy Spirit began to fill my body like a pitcher is filled from the bottom up. The electricity began to rise through my legs, torso, and eventually put my arm into the pile of hands. The words continued to speak as my entire body began to tremble. Attempting to retain my composure, I pressed on, asking God for this moment to never end. “They have to feel this,” my mind reflected while scriptures began to flow from my heart and out my mouth. The warmth of tears streaming down my face began to mix with the emotions in my voice until we finally said, “Amen.”

As I stepped back, wiping the tears from my eyes, the emotional toll was not just my own, for it was apparent in their eyes as well. My head was spinning as I tried to find a way to say goodbye. Once more, there was yet another reason to never forget, as they asked for a hug. In my heart, the pain of saying goodbye was a burden that must have shown. One of the boys raced to his room and brought out one of his most cherished items, a UNC flag. In the spur of the moment, I asked if we could have them all sign it, “As a memento,” I said. They all happily agreed, and each one took great care to make sure their name was visible. In a way, it was as if they wanted to make that indelible mark upon my heart; one, like the permanent marker upon the flag, that would never fade away.

Those multitudes of thoughts swirled around in my head as my colleague must have wondered why it was so difficult to answer a simple question about what I meant by being ‘Blessed.’ It was as Jesus had said to Thomas at that moment when he finally realized that he as standing in the presence of our risen Savoir. After putting his hand through the hole in Jesus’ side, his head suddenly became faint. The room began to spin. Stepping back, trying to regain his balance, he stared in awe at Son of Man, God in the flesh, who had now defeated death. He was speechless. Jesus said to him, “Because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.”

Yes, blessed are we that have not seen and yet have believed. But this was only one part of being blessed to which Christ spoke The sermon on the mount was full of blessings, enough to know that when we walk with Him, when we realize we have found our path only because He has led us upon it, it is then we truly know that we are blessed.

To my colleague, I finally said that one should be thankful for being in a place to which they had never realized they would be in life, by no cause or fault of their own.

He respectfully nodded in response.

To live or die is gain, and to know Him, Christ, our Savior, is to be blessed beyond measure.

To all things we should be grateful, and most importantly,

Thanks be to God.

“And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him:

And he opened his mouth, and taught them, saying,

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.”-Matthew 5:1-11

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by | December 31, 2017 · 10:39 pm

“The Light in the Darkness” finally reaches the light of day.

It began back in 2013 and but was put on hold when we answered the Call to serve. This past week, the Lord placed it upon my heart to reopen the old friend and revisit those within. Once the cover was cracked, there was no turning back.

Needless to say, there have been many positive changes to the publishing world since my last venture. So much so, that now I feel comfortable using Amazon KDP. The tireless ordeal of writing literary agents and publishers is just outside my available time as a High School teacher, so for now, this will have to do.

In the next few days, both the E-book ($4.99) and a Paperback version will be available through Amazon.

This work was more than twice the size of the first book. My beta readers found the story line twice as compelling. Overall, the paperback will be 702 pages, for $19.95, which should be twice the savings. Hopefully by now, you guessed it, I hope you find it twice as good.

The release date shows March, but as soon as I get the reference information loaded, it should be available later this week.

Please let me know what you think. Most of all, I hope you find yourself seeking the Word of God, and hopefully your walk with Him will become closer after reading the story within.

Lux Lucet in Tenebris, The Light Shines in the Darkness

Here is the link to the E-book.

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by | December 12, 2017 · 8:22 pm

The Unlikely Professor

The Unlikely Professor

By Timothy W. Tron

                        “And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience;”-Romans 5:3

The river is swollen this morning to the point it presents itself as a formidable obstacle. Recent memory and pain still linger in my mind like a cold, damp cloth from a previous washing; too long lingered wet beyond what one would consider normal. A frigid, deep penetrating cold that one could feel beneath their bones chilled my body that day. There was a haunting feeling of earthen sod becoming my eternal blanket of repose; a time when we face a life eternal, hell or heaven; an existence based on belief in God the Father. Such thoughts make me appreciate the warmth of my car as I sit facing the John’s River from the Church parking lot.

Like the water in the river before me, my mind drifts back to the encounter from the day before.

Yesterday morning, while sitting in the waiting room of the tire store, a young man, thin and wiry, walked in. His face was covered by a short, unkempt beard, the kind that grows on the neck and beyond, like weeds overtaking a garden. His clothes were dirty and worn, matching the generic cap on his head that covered his angry brown hair that pushed out beyond his ears. His hands were roughhewn like the logs he probably hauled daily. My attention was toward the page before me, not on him. My thoughts were of the rain outside and the comfort knowing I was here getting something accomplished off my to-do list. Yet, in the background, I could hear the young mountaineer discussing in detail the issues for which he was bringing in his vehicle. Having checked everything out within his mechanical tool capacity, he was bringing it in for those with the technology to resolve his problem. He knew what had to be done and asked if the person that would be performing said task was competent, by saying, “He’s done this kind of work before, right?” The man behind the counter assured him that it would be fixed properly. Satisfied, he then looked toward the seats. It was about that time another customer walked in, a lady in clothes more fitting for a shopping trip than a morning at the tire store. She walked to the counter hurriedly as the young man was preparing to sit down.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he picked a chair one seat away from me and commented on seeing me working in my journal and asked, “What ya writin’?”

I looked up and thought as to how I should answer, but not wanting to delay, my reply was simply, “Just some random thoughts,” I smiled in return. He nodded but didn’t seem like that had really answered his question from the look on his face. The vagueness seemed to spur him on, so he spoke again, “I do some writing sometimes too.”

Now he had my attention.

“What kind of things do you write,” I replied, partly out of courtesy, partly out of sheer curiosity.

“Philosophical kind-a stuff,” he quipped, and smiled a mountain grin, and continued, “Math related.”

I nearly fell out of my chair.

“Did he say what I thought he said,” were the words that came to mind?

As far as I could tell, after a quick mental and visual survey of my person, there was nothing on me that said I was a Math teacher, no school clothing, no ID badge, nothing anywhere that would indicate I dealt with Math on a daily basis.

To be certain I wasn’t confused or hearing things, I followed with another question, “What sort of Math things?”

“You know, like Fourier and such.”

I nodded.

“You know who I’m talking about?

“Sure,” I smiled, and that was his queue to begin.

The young man went on to discuss theories of Mathematical, historical figures; people and concepts. He talked about Euclid, Fourier, and Fibonacci like they were his extended family. I was captivated. Yet, the more I listened, the more there became apparent something trying to break my focus.

To add to his unpredictable lecture, the overdressed woman at the counter was now apparently having some sort of distressful, life-changing car issues. As such, she was having a meltdown in the background. She paced the floor behind the scene of the professor lecturing his student, blowing, and fuming out loud. I tried not to look at her for fear he might disengage.

Meanwhile, the mountain genius spoke more intensely with each new historical figure he uncovered. As his intensity increased so did hers. It felt as if I was caught between two parallel universes, one expanding, one contracting. About the time the lady appeared on the verge of having a mental a stroke, we began delving into Quantum Physics and Einsteinian Relativity. My mind was awhirl, my comfort zone was beyond invaded. Meanwhile, there was another being in the room about to lose her mind for all intensive purposes, over her car. She seemed to feed off the energy that the young man exuded, but from the negative side. The mountain mathematician was the positive charge, she the negative, and in the middle, me; the neutron. Part of me was fully engaged in the lecture, while the other part was praying that these two worlds would not collide. I didn’t need a Large Hadron Collider to create another God particle, at least not here in the tire store.

As bewildering as that moment was in time, looking back, it seemed as if God had put me in that room between those two opposite forces, one to challenge what I knew intellectually, the other to test my ability to withstand adversity in the face of taking on a mental challenge. To some, this would have been the epitome of multi-tasking-to-the-extrema. In life, when we step into our journey of faith, we often find that God will test us with trials and tribulations. As it says in Romans, “And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience;.” We never know what our purpose might be at any given time. Nor, when we are being used to reach someone. This particular day was my Math exam from the most unlikely of people in the most unlikely of places.

The lady was now leaning against the wall by the front door of the store, her phone was appearing to add to her frustration. Again, I tried not to look in her direction as the young man then continued on with his presentation. He took a perplexing twist when he began a tirade of attacks on some of the figures he had yet to name, one being Sir Isaac Newton. My woodsman professor claimed that Newton had ripped off the German Mathematician Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz and that Einstein was an idiot for his theory on the Speed of Light, since it had been disproven (something I had once heard in some realms of conspiracy theorists). In fact, my Physics teacher and I, back at Macon College worked out his famous E=mc2 equation to the point it was obvious, the mass would expand (or explode) at the speed of light, and as such, light travel as far as we would know it was impossible. Part of me knew he was on to something, but where was he going?

As I listened, I kept telling myself not to judge. Who was I to say that God was not also laughing at these supposed historical, scientific heroes? For, in reality, their findings could all easily be invalid when we someday find dimensions beyond what we can truly only grasp in our earthly bodies. Einstein did prove that light could be bent by gravity, but I dared not speak it to the man with a mission. He was well within his own right to speak about what he wanted, even if it only further frustrated the poor woman only feet from where we sat. The lady, who by now appeared about to collapse from disbelief of her car’s problems. She acted as if it were causing her life to fall apart, or at least that is what it sounded like from where I sat. Truth be known, she was probably a Science and Math teacher from a nearby college who had about all she could take from this young man’s rant.

What did I know?

When the young man began asking me to question whether the arm of the chair I sat in was actually even there, I thought we were about to spin into another dimension. The lady nearby appeared on the verge of weeping.

“You take the arm of that chair, for example,” he said pointing where my arm was leaning, “You only know it’s there because you feel it, and see it, but who’s to say that it’s really even there at all, because if you look deep enough, it’s just a bunch of tiny particles floating around in space.”

I don’t know if it scared me more that I understood where he was coming from or the fact that he was scaring the life out of the woman who now seemed to be trying to call 911 on her phone, with no luck. Either way, my mind began to go past the young man, the bewildered woman, and far above where we sat. There was a calm to the hysterics in that it was as if God wanted me to understand, that no matter how much I knew, there would always be more to learn.

In my heart, I wanted to somehow find a way to slow down this rollercoaster ride. The only thing that would come to mind was to bring it back to faith.

As we swept through the realm of reality and beyond, I began gently asking the mountain mathematician theologically related leads that might allow him to reveal his spiritual basis; or rather, if he believed in God. In the end, it was apparent, that he wanted to prove to me that zero could not be nothing. He was convinced that even if we called something nothing, there would always be something.

“Genesis and the creation,” I blurted out loud.

“You can’t make something from nothing,” he said, pounding his fist inside his other hand’s outstretched palm.

I wasn’t sure if he got what I said, so I repeated it to be certain, “Like the book in the Bible, Genesis,…the creation?”

“Exactly,” he replied, smiling broadly.

“You can’t make something from nothing,” he smiled that broad Appalachian grin once more, satisfied that he had accomplished his mission.

It was then I had my answer.

“Amen,” I replied.

In the background, the troubled women, nearly in tears, whispered out loud, “THANK YOU JESUS!”

It was then our ride ended, and we came back to the platform from whence we had entered. “Exit the ride to your left,” I could almost hear the attendant saying.

“Mr. Tron, your car’s ready,” came the voice from the counter. I got up to pay, and as I turned to leave, I nodded in passing, “Good talking to you,”

“Likewise,” he said.

In the end, my tires were replaced, nothing was written in my journal, and the distraught woman left with a man that came in to escort her, by the arm, to a waiting car.

As I drove away, I realized he never gave me his name. My mind thought of how much more I needed to study, not just Math, but my Bible as well. It was as if God had sent a messenger that morning to show me how much more needed to be learned and how much more there was to understand.

Someday, when we reach Heaven’s golden shore, we shall finally know it all. Until then, we must realize as the messenger said, “Nothing is ever as it seems, but then again, you can’t make something from nothing.”

Thanks be to God.

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by | January 17, 2017 · 7:33 pm

The Sleeping Beast…

Each morning, long before the sun begins to brighten the horizon, my day begins. There ahead of me awaits the sleeping giant, repose and silent as it slumbers. To stir the beast before one is ready to do battle is to invite defeat and untold injury upon the soul. So I begin each day well in advance of my first class, so that I may prepare as best I can with what little time is available.sleepingdragon

A certain dread of uncertainty fills the void within me when I enter the doors of the school, like the lair of the sleeping leviathan. When there is no time to prepare, as is often the case for the Lateral Entry Teacher, one must breach the entrance with honest trepidation. Often, a lateral entry person enters the fray in the midst of an ongoing semester. It’s much akin to parachuting into a “hot zone” in military terms, in the fray of battle. There has been little time to formulate a lesson, let alone a syllabus from which a basis for all manner of conduct and instruction can be grounded. Ill-conceived lesson plans are like thin shields against the blast of the fiery breath of the beast. One must rely on the stealth and agility of having battled circumstances from the distant past when there is no time to garner a defense. The weaponry we wield are countless moments and events in our own history that shaped and formed us into the warriors and the potential educators we have become. The ability to think on our feet and pull from our mental resources become our best ally. Meanwhile, our intellect is our sword, something we must learn to sharpen each day; without it, we have little chance of surviving future struggles. Our culmination of a lifetime of education suddenly is called upon to serve us as we serve them whom we teach.

As the exterior door of the school silently closes behind me, the sound of ventilation system can be heard; the giant breathes in peaceful slumber. My footsteps echo in the halls. There is less fear of each new day, less angst for what lies ahead. My peers reassure me again and again, “It gets better.” Yet, there is that fear of the unknown that nags at your unconscious thoughts, like the drip of a faucet in the other room; it is there. Rather than allowing that trickle of negativity to consume you, one must turn it into a positive.  For me, the anticipation of the unexpected now becomes the adventure. Those things which still create the uneasiness are focused into an energy that propels us harder into the task at hand.

I didn’t always think this way.

It was Summer Camp, only my second as a Boy Scout. We had heard the horror stories well in advance of the annual summer event of the dreaded Mile Swim, one of the requirements for the Swimming Merit Badge. For some, it had become a rite of passage. This particular summer I was scheduled to take the Swimming Merit Badge class, one that was required in order to earn the prestigious rank of Eagle. None of the other requirements mile-swim-bsa-patch-boy-scoutsbothered me as much as that long distance endurance test. The participants who took part in the marathon swim followed closely behind a rowboat where two adults watched the small pack of boys trail behind. At the first sign of struggles, the endangered youth would be hauled into the boat where they would safely ride until they could be taken to shore. The part that we feared most was swimming out into the depths of that black bottomed lake. The darkness of the water allowed our boyhood imaginations to create all manner of monsters whose abodes lay below in the seemingly endless pit; a verifiable abyss. When I told my fears to my father, he shared with me this thought that stayed with me for the rest of my life. He explained to me that he would be scared to swim out in that lake too, but sometimes when we feared something, we should learn to use that fear to drive us harder; make it our impetus to be better than we ever imagined. Later in life, I would tell my music students before taking the stage, “Take your butterflies and teach them to fly in formation.” So with all of my fear urging me onward, little Rick Anderson and I swam our first mile without stopping that summer, following closely behind his father and my Scoutmaster, the late Tom Anderson. Tom was one of the best Scoutmasters a group of youth could have ever had. His commitment to us boys was never faltering. He was to me a “John Wayne” of Scoutmasters. Rick and I never feared we never faltered that day, for we had all the assurance with us we thought we needed sitting right in front of us, his dad. He gave us the encouragement and courage to do more than we thought possible. Mark Twain once said, “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear,”[1] and so it was that summer day so long ago.

Once more, the recollection of the past strengthens the present, and my fortitude is re-energized. Those pillars of our past lives become the supports for our character, the very thing that makes us the leaders of today. They may have gone on, but in essence, they are always with us. Their lessons of encouragement become the very tools from which we now can draw upon.

The keys rattle in my hand as I approach my door in the dimly lit hallway. As the lock turns and the click of the door opens, I can hear the beast within draw its breath.

Time to awaken this Math beast and let the day begin.

“Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us,…” -Eph. 3:20

[1] BrainyQuote.com, https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/m/marktwain138540.html

 

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by | December 31, 2016 · 10:08 pm

Trust and Obey…

 

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“Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea And a path through the mighty waters, “Do not remember the former things, Nor consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing, Now it shall spring forth; Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness And rivers in the desert.” – Isaiah 43:16,18-19

 

“Trust and obey, there’s no other way,” goes the old hymn. The word “Trust,” is something that is probably the more difficult of the two commands mentioned in the song. Its definition, “reliance on the veracity, integrity, or other virtues of someone or something; religious faith,” from Old Norse traust “help, confidence, protection, support.”[1] Trust is a word that confides in our ability to depend upon something greater than ourselves, and as such, is often difficult to understand or appreciate when it comes to fruition.

In the last year, I have been witness to everything from loss of loved ones to the utterly inexplicable. I’ve felt the presence and heard the voice of heavenly beings, more than once. In that timeframe, the path upon which seemed to be my true calling suddenly took an unexpected turn, altering the course of everything I had come to know and trust, into a wilderness where only faith could sustain a being. Again and again, I sought protection and support from the only place I knew; the Word of God.

He never let me down.

Living between one’s past and the future allows for reflection and projection, something else I experienced in the span of 2016. While still moving a farm from one place to another, we continued to settle into the life that was new, serving at the Trail of Faith. There at the Trail I found more and more calling to help those in need, those seeking God, and guidance from a place that was so aptly named. There I learned how to pray over those making their pilgrimages to a place they had only read about. Some had studied up to the point they came wanting to gain a better perspective, to walk the literal trail of faith. Each time, each new visitor, I found God teaching and leading me in ways I had never thought possible. There were the discoveries of new friendships and with those, a new feeling of trust in knowing that serving Him was the right path.

Then in the midst of what seemed to be the perfect path, my father became gravely ill. Once again I was reminded of those Godly circumstances that provided me the ability to see him before he passed. There is no greater gift than knowing God had given you the chance to hug your mother one last time, or to kiss your father goodbye, but each step of the way, that was my blessing. As I walked out of that hospital room, I knew we’d not see each other until we reach that Glory land above, and so it was. On our way home from the funeral, my sister and I received confirmation that all was right when we saw the most unbelievable, color-filled, double rainbow like none we had ever seen before in our lives.

Another blessing, another circumstance unexplained.

Even while those daily life lessons were being served, both good and sorrowful, He was at work on the next road into a wilderness not yet imagined. Every time my family would ask questions as to how, when, and where, I would ask them to patient and wait, for in time, all of their concerns would be answered. It was in these moments, soon after their questions, I found myself alone with Him, praying and listening for more.

There were times of darkness that filled us with doubt. In the waiting, there was learning. It was all part of the path that was chosen; each subject to the other.

Yet, each time He spoke, I listened. Each time I asked, He answered.

There were was the day we didn’t have enough money to buy food until the next paycheck, and with only a half-a-gallon of milk left in the fridge at the house, I silently asked God for help as I went to the Trail to open up that morning. There was nobody else that new our dire straits; nobody else had been told how close we were to going hungry; nobody. As I opened the door, there sitting on the podium as I walked in was a single white envelope with my name scratched on it, almost illegible. I picked it up, curiously and opened it. Tears filled my eyes as I dropped to my knees.

There inside was $40 cash.

God once more answered prayer.

“Knock and the door will be opened, ask and yea shall receive.”

This was just one of many Godsends that we experienced as we learned to trust and obey. Brothers and sisters from all over came to our time aid in our time of need, again and again. This in itself was difficult to understand and accept. We had to learn a whole new paradigm of life, how to receive.

Continually each day, prayers would be lifted up for guidance. One specific prayer that seemed to go unanswered was for Him to find someone to buy our old farmstead. But like all things asked for, one must consider God’s time. For us, in what seemed an eternity but in reality was blinding speed, our home of over twenty years finally sold. It was a bittersweet memory, even now. Looking back, it was when things began to move faster than one could conceive; at God-speed.

In a blinding fury, we cleaned, mowed, and moved the last vestiges of a lifetime in a matter of two weeks. We had moved from the reflection to the immediate. As things began to move along, we still didn’t know where we would finally end up living.

Prayers continued to be lifted up, for we still were housed in a temporary shelter, we affectionately called, “The Shack.”

Then one day we found ourselves driving toward the area of West Lenoir, I wondered why. Deep inside it felt right even though it didn’t seem logical at the time. After all, we had been through; I knew it was a God thing. Again, His will would be done in time. There, through one unbelievable circumstance after another, we found a new home that would soon be our next step in the journey. There too we found new friends that would someday become our neighbors, as well as a brother and sister in Christ.

Something else I learned through the course of the year, unbelievable circumstances are more easily called “Miracles.” In all honesty, we are afraid to use the “M” word for fear of non-believers accusing us of believing in fantasy. “If they could only see what I’ve seen,” I think to myself, “then it wouldn’t be such a stretch of the imagination.”

After the sale of our farm and the purchase of our new home, we had moved from the reflection into the projection of time.

Then came the closing of the door we never saw coming. The loss of funding for my position at the Trail, and then the search for the next “What.” For nearly ten years of my last 23 years at Nortel/Genband, I had feared losing my job and to have to find a new one. We never thought it would happen after we had given everything up to live for our new life.

But alas, here we were.

Faith took on a whole new level of trust.

Once more, when it seemed like all would be lost, the unbelievable transpired. After three weeks of looking for jobs, filling out an untold number of applications, there had not been one phone call, not one interview. One morning I awoke to scripture that read, “Today will be the end of your suffering, your trials will cease today.” That afternoon came the first phone call. Then in a matter of 24 hours, God speed once again took over. Before I knew it, I had two job offers and was quickly hired as a High School Math Teacher in Boone, NC. His plan had been fulfilled.  The realization dawned on me that the move to our new home’s location allowed for a commute to the new job that was manageable instead of inconceivable. God’s hand was in it every step of the way.

In the beginning, the story seemed like I was moving to a place where I could share God’s word from the mountain; the mountain being the Trail. Before I knew it, I was serving Him from the mountain top, but in a way, I had never imagined.  

Every day, new doors open to places I never saw coming. Each day I pray for strength, guidance, and wisdom. Every day God answers prayer.

God will make rivers through the deserts and roads through the wilderness if only we trust in Him.

It has been a year of untold highs and lows, but in the end, it has been a year of serving our Lord, and for that, I couldn’t ask for more.

Thanks be to God.

[1] “Online Etymology Dictionary – http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=trust

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by | October 11, 2016 · 8:30 pm

Another Door Opens…

“Truly my soul silently waits for God; From Him comes my salvation.” – Psalm 62:1

Sometimes it’s hard to know where to begin.

My footsteps echoed down the hallway as I made my way to the classroom. The sun had just begun to warm the horizon of the nearby mountain top as my key turned the lock to my new office; my home away from home. The thought rolled over in my mind like the key in the lock, “Could I have ever imagined being here a year ago?”

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Back then, my mindset was one of total commitment to the Trail in order to serve the Lord, acting as the Director at the Trail of Faith. It was more than a simple adjustment to a new career. It was a total change of life, giving it all over to God. Yet, doors open, and doors close; so it was with the Trail.

Sometimes we are called to serve, not once but again and again, like the refining of a precious metal.

God was not content for me to remain at the Trail, for it was only a stepping stone in this life’s journey.

Through the days of job searching, the scriptures kept reinforcing my faith. As I silently waited for God to answer prayer, I knew it was only a matter of time before His salvation would be at hand. The morning I received the scripture and message from brother Bill Neal reading, “Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.” -Psalm 34:19 and his timely word, “Your challenge is about to end,” it was clear, God was working diligently beyond what mere mortal eyes could see. That morning I prayed that if today was the day, let their be a sign, a message, anything that would confirm that mornings Word.

I prayed and patiently waited.

That same afternoon I received a phone call to be interviewed for the position of Math teacher at Watauga High School.

It was my first interview after nearly three weeks of searching.

One thing after another kept trying to derail the opportunity, but with each delay, there was the sense that God was working it out. In the end, nothing could stand in His way.

He never fails to provide for His children.

My workplace is now a room with 32 other desks, all facing mine. Every day, it is my job to educate over seventy students at Watauga High School in the fundamentals of Math. Each day I stand before over seventy young people who need more than just another adult telling them what to do; rather, they need a shining light to guide them through this difficult age. Yes, where one door closed, God had already planned another one to open. The Emergency Hire for my position was no coincidence, no happen-chance circumstance; God had a plan.

Each day before I begin, I pray that the Lord give not only myself but also all of the staff at our school, strength, guidance, and wisdom; in this, I am not alone.

Now, more than ever before, the image I present, not necessarily just the words I speak, are ever more significant. As we learn about the nuts and bolts of mathematics, I interject stories of life and lessons learned, hoping to add something much greater than just a lesson about numbers.

This is my new calling to continue to serve.

This is my new home.

Thanks be to God.

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