Tag Archives: Matthew

by | May 19, 2022 · 9:57 pm

Only Not to be Lonely

by Timothy W. Tron, May, 2022

A petite young boy, barely four years old, stood just within the entrance to the pasture. His tiny frame had easily crawled between the bars of the tube gate that was shut to keep the herd of cattle confined within. The firmament overhead was an azure blue, clear as far as the eye could see. Before him stood stalks of green, as tall as trees. The sun felt warm on his demure frame. He was smaller than most children his age. To know him, one would understand why. He was lucky to be alive.

For two years, at the tender age of one and then again, at two, he had contracted double pneumonia. Each time, he barely survived extended stays in the hospital, camping beneath a clear plastic tent as oxygen was pumped into its confines. Many prayed for and over the child. Most feared that he would succumb to the illness, but God had other plans. Like the countless stalks before him, a multitude of prayers had been lifted up in his name, supporting, strengthening, abiding in one another until they found their mark. He eventually healed, but his body suffered the ravages, growing more slowly than other children his age. So, as the sap began to flow in the trees, he felt a renewed strength start to flow through his veins. There seemed to be something that beckoned him to leave the old farmhouse and to wander out behind the tractor shed. Something beyond those palisades of fencing and outbuildings – an openness that smelled of freedom from the bondage of death.

 The white cotton shirt beneath the little overalls wasn’t enough to remove the chill of the breeze that wafted the tops of the grasses that swayed before him. A deep, rich aroma permeated the air – it spoke of earth and nature. Earlier that morning, he heard his grandmother speak of prayers being answered for him and how God was great. She went on to share how millions of prayers were being lifted up for their country, seeing as something called the Vietnam conflict was being fought. He didn’t understand the words “prayer” or “war” or what a “world away” meant. It sounded scary. She saw his countenance drop and quickly comforting saying, “nothing to be bothered with, my son. It’s far, far away.” She explained that prayers were people’s way of speaking to God, “like you and I talking now.” But the word “million” made no sense at all. Like the blades of grass before him, too numerous to count, a million was a number that was beyond his comprehension. It was only an entity unto itself, like a living organism, something through which he could only understand if it was tactile. The boy wandered deeper into the tall grass.

A childlike faith, dread of nothing, guided his path as he made his way through the forest of green. Cows making their way had unknowingly prepared his path. A baby cannot know sin, just as there is no reason to Baptize such. So, it is with fear. The child only felt the hand of the comforter. It wasn’t a stranger to him. He had been with him before – like the long empty days when he was held captive in the hospital bed. There were times when he would look to the foot of his bed and see the shadow of one that watched over him, and those suffocating feelings of abandonment would drift away – a love unseen would flood his soul, and sleep would come once more. He was there now, the comforter, walking, holding his hand, watching over him once more. They continued on. The boy followed wherever the trail of grasses led. Surviving the illness had instilled in him a sense of hope, knowing that with each new day, each fresh breath of life, there was always something to look forward to. The Apostle Paul put it like this, “And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”[1]

To understand a faith like this, one must erase all the preconceived notions that cling to us as we traverse through life. It takes an unfettered faith, one that clings to God as a drowning man does to the one trying to save him. As Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”[2] This faith, the belief in something unknown, but yet, it was known, that guided the little child. For each new turn, every new wrinkle of light gave hope, a tantalizing offer of something else to come. For a child, heaven is as believable as the friend that talks to them when no one is there. Anything is possible when you can dispense with what we come to know as the natural realm of reality. Matthew describes Jesus calling the little children unto him, saying, “He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”[3]  This faith, this pure belief, guided the little farm boy past the herd of gentle Herefords to the small brook that ran past the farm.

The breeze gently blew the leaves overhead as the little one found his way to the gurgling waters. Before him flowed a small tree-lined creek. Large river birches and pin oaks shaded the oasis below. The bank was worn away where the cows had trod to reach the life-giving sustenance. The little boy sat down on a rock, resting as he wondered about the beasts that soon followed him to the watering hole. He was at home with the herd of cattle as he was with being alone. The animals sensed a purity, a being so gentle, they couldn’t help to wonder. They didn’t speak but gathered, at first hesitantly, realizing the child wasn’t a threat. Then, one by one, they meandered on down to the water and began to drink. Calves followed their mothers, some sniffing at the little boy, their muzzles tickling his neck, causing him to laugh aloud with a cherub-like voice. The sound would cause them to jump, skittering a step away, but continuing on as accepting the tiny human’s presence. He did not know how long they gathered, only that as they departed, he followed like one of the herd. A rumble within his tummy soon reminded him that the grass that the cows were eating wouldn’t suffice, that he needed to return to grandma’s kitchen where the pleasant aroma of something good cooking surely awaited.

Like an old friend, he motioned goodbye to his newfound friends, the cows, and climbed back through the gate’s bars. Somewhere off in the distance, a Redwing chirped as it headed to the pond nearby. A tiny puff of a cloud whisked past as the little boy kicked at a dirt clod in the trail leading back to the house. The dust drifted onward, like his feelings, from one happy sugar cube of thought to the next. His days were filled with what some might call loneliness, but to him, it was just another day in the life he had been given. It was there, alone in those oceans of grass that loneliness and isolation were supplanted by imagination. It would become a voice within that would carry him through all the days of his life. There was nothing for which to compare, and as it was, he was glad to be alive.

Thanks be to God.

[1] Romans 5:5 KJV

[2] Matthew 19:14 NIV

[3] Matthew 18:2-3 NIV

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by | March 22, 2022 · 6:01 am

The Blood of the Martyrs

“For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places. All these are the beginning of sorrows. Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you: and ye shall be hated of all nations for my name’s sake. And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another. And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many. And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold. But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come.” – Mt. 24:7-14

Visar Kryeziu/APVisar Kryeziu/AP
A father hugs his daughter as the family reunite after fleeing conflict in Ukraine, at the Medyka border crossing, in Poland, Feb. 27, 2022.

What you are about to read is based on a true story. The name of the mission and its members have been changed or omitted for safeties sake. May the Lord speak to you through this message.

The men walked with their families, wives, children, and the elderly. Some held hands with their loved ones. Others carried babes in arms, cherishing the last moments that would forever be etched into their hearts. As they approached the border crossing into Poland, they could see up ahead the checkpoints created to secure those passages to freedom, to safety, a place beyond the horror of war that they had just escaped. Yosef could feel the lump in his throat grow as he watched those with him become ever more anxious. Everyone knew that when they reached the border, Yosef would have to return to their village, leaving them, possibly forever.

Each able body man was asked to return from escorting their family to the border to fight for their country, their freedom, their lives. Yosef was no different. He knew that he could not escape with the women and children, that he and the other survivors of his village would do all they could to defend their country, their homeland, and their faith. Standing up for what is right was easy back in their town when they still had a home. But now, the shelling and destruction forced them to abandon all they knew and loved. It seemed that all they had left of their former life was their faith, for everything else had been stripped away.

Yosef and his brother Caleb had both worked with missionaries from America, training to become evangelists in Ukraine. Their work was to seek out others and share the gospel of Jesus Christ. Although they had worked regular jobs during the day, their eventual goal was to become full-time evangelists traveling around their country and becoming missionaries in their own way. But weeks before Russia attacked Ukraine, the American mission teams were asked to leave for safety’s sake. The missionary leaders and their families were as heartbroken as were their trainees, but everyone knew it was for the best. Besides, it would just be a precaution, and they would all be back together continuing their ministry before they knew it.

That was over a month ago. For Yosef, it seemed like an eternity.

It was Friday morning, the day before Sabbath, and Yosef could remember getting ready to go to work. The small hospital where he and his brother worked continued treating patients even though the attack on their country had begun. Yosef and Caleb were only orderlies, but due to the recent influx of war injuries, they were asked to help bandage and care for the less severe wounds. He was just about to go out the door when his daughter rushed up to him and begged him to come back and help her put on her boots for school. “Mommy’s busy with little brother,” she said, pointing to the back room of their small but modest home, “I need you to help me, Papa.” Yosef knew his wife, Evette, was busy with their newborn son, so he was happy to oblige.

“It’s okay, baby. Papa’s got you covered.”

She smiled as he knelt down to the ground, pulling the boots up as she pressed her little feet into the pink unicorn galoshes. Her hand rested on his back, and he could feel the tender touch of her sweet disposition, warming him through and through. When he finished, he lifted her up and gave her a big hug as she wrapped her little arms around his neck, returning the embrace.

“Now, I am off to do God’s work. You be a good little girl and have fun at school. You hear me?”

“Yes, Papa,” she smiled ear to ear, waving as he turned to walk out the door. Across the street, near the newly constructed apartment complex, Caleb waited in his car. He and Yosef always rode together, and today was like any other. Although Caleb was always there, always on time, he hated being late. So, when he saw Yosef emerging a second time from the house, he waved toward him as if to say, “C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

Yosef smiled and waved back. It was all too funny. His brother could never relax, even when they were witnessing to others. He seemed to never be content with just learning the verses their mentors had asked them to memorize. No, Caleb had to push himself, learning entire chapters that contained those verses. He was always driven to give his all. It was just who he was. It was this thought of his dear brother that remained when the flash of light suddenly erupted before him.

Out of nowhere, a sound like thunder ripped through the air. The ground folded under itself as the rumble of the earth shook Yosef to his core. One minute, Yosef was waving at Caleb, the next, he was blown backward, his feet trailing behind him as he watched his body being lifted up by the force of the blast. All Yosef could see was the image of his brother, smiling and waving, and then it was as if the screen on the television had gone blank, and the silhouette of the ghostly image of Caleb remained. His brother’s soul was burnt into his eyes.

Clouds of smoke, dust, and debris began raining down. The light was broken, and darkness had prevailed. Somewhere a dog barked as car alarms started blaring. Yosef didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, nor where he was, when he finally sat up. People ran before him in all directions. There was no sound in this landscape of destruction, just the images running through the fog of silence, interspersed with mouths that had no voice. Across the street, the entire structure of the apartment complex that once stood was now gone. The road beside it was a crater. The cars there were now either blown to pieces or burning embers. Yosef realized that Caleb would not be waiting anymore.

Painfully, he turned to look at his own house. The entire front of his home and all the others on their side of the street were caved in. People poured out, frantic, screaming, yet their lips were muted by the searing pain that shot through Yosef’s head. It was as if the world had gone insane, and nothing made sense. Softly, and gently, from behind him, he felt the touch of a little hand. He turned to see his daughter, still wearing her little pink unicorn boots. Her eyes were rimmed with fear as tears fell down her rosy cheeks.

“Papa, papa,” she sobbed. Yosef’s hearing began to return like a wave of emotion as he reached for his baby girl wrapping her in his arms as she sat on his lap. Soon, Evette emerged with their son in her arms, weeping and crying. There they sat amid the rubble as the world around them spun out of control. It was then Yosef realized he only had one thing left he could do and began to pray. His heart poured out to the Lord as the tears fell down his face.

From that day forward, their lives were never the same. It seemed that each day, more lives were lost, more arbitrary destruction, none of it made sense. Finally, when the shelling became so dire, they realized to stay would mean certain death for everyone, so Yosef did what all the others in their village had decided, to take the women, children, and elderly to the border then return to fight, until the end.

Yet, each day, since they had begun their painful march to exile, they felt the hand of God on them, protecting them, delivering them from harm. Yosef knew that had he not listened to the voice of his daughter that fateful morning when Caleb was killed in the bombing that he too would have died. It was as if God had spared his life for a reason. God had spoken through a child to save his life. How much more could he do to return the favor? Each day, Yosef could feel the faith inside him growing. Evette seemed to sense it as well and encouraged him by reading from their tiny Bible she had brought along. The scriptures spoke to them more and more each day.

Reaching the crossing, Yosef turned and embraced Evette. He didn’t want to let go, for he knew when he did, it would be the last time. “Yosef, you will make a difference. Don’t forget who you are, and take this,” she passed the little Bible into his palm as she leaned into him; close now, face to face, “You’re going to need this more than ever before,” she whispered as they kissed goodbye.

Down by his side, he could feel the tiny hands holding onto his pant leg. As he bent down, his heart began to melt. The tears filled his eyes, and he realized this would be their last time.

 “Papa, you are going to do God’s work, right,” the little voice said, sincerely and without fear?

“Yes baby, yes, papa will…,” and he stopped, choking back the flood of emotion.

He hugged one last time and turned to leave.

It was his time. This would be the end.

He would not look back.

The Bible in his hand reminded him that this was all that made sense. So, mustering every ounce of strength he could find in his weeping soul, Yosef silently began to pray. As his voice lifted up to the heavens, a tingling sensation began to rise from the earth, pouring through his legs, up through his spine, until it reached the top of his head. It was an energy that made him want to shout, Amen! It was a sense of urgency, a sense of purpose. It was something that finally made sense.

It was time to do God’s work.

Unexpectedly, those strained, war-weary faces became the pulpit, their souls became the fields white ready to harvest, and his voice began speaking words of faith and encouragement. The voice of God began speaking through Yosef like a runaway freight train. He was a man on fire for the Lord. If he were to die, he would go out doing what he was meant to do. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain.

From the corner of his eye, as he made his way through the crowd, loving, praying, and finally evangelizing like he always hoped he and his brother would do someday, the flash of a familiar color caught his eye. A tiny flame of hope. The diminutive form in the bright pink unicorn boots was waving her encouragement from the top of the steps of the train station.

Like a man in the middle of battle, he paused, and he returned the motion. The little face smiled and gave a thumbs-up gesture and turned to leave. His heart melted in two. In the pause of the moment, Yosef heard a voice from somewhere up above saying, “It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing: the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.”

And onward he pressed…until the end.

Pray for Ukraine, Pray for the World.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 3, 2021 · 8:48 am

Alone – but Not Alone

My dear friend Richard’s wife, Ann Ruffin, passed away a couple of days ago. We all knew it was coming. Her terminal illness had been prolonged by Richard’s total commitment to her well-being. He had told me that being her primary caregiver was his mission in life.

Richard Hines Jr., Dennis Tracy, and I at Hebron Falls, 2021

In this time of mourning, part of me wants to reach out to my friend, to seek to help in this time of loss. Yet, another part of me tells myself, “What can you do? Richard is 86 years old. What can you do for him that he can’t already do for himself?”

Then the voice inside says, “Sometimes, all someone needs is just another person to be in the room with them, silent, but aware, saying nothing at all.”

When C.S. Lewis was grieving the loss of his wife, whom he called H., he wrote these lines, “At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.”[1]

From those last few words, “If only they would talk to one another and not to me,” my feeling of wanting to go sit and be with my friend, saying no words, just being in his presence, impress upon my thoughts.

Likewise, we often misunderstand the Holy Spirit. As Lewis wrote in another article, “The real thing is the gift of the Holy Spirit which can’t usually be—perhaps not ever—experienced as a sensation or emotion. The sensations are merely the response of your nervous system. Don’t depend on them. Otherwise, when they go and you are once more emotionally flat (as you certainly will be quite soon), you might think that the real thing had gone too. But it won’t. It will be there when you can’t feel it. May even be most operative when you can feel it least.”[2]

God knows infinitely more than we will ever begin to understand. “And I will pray the Father, and He shall give you another Comforter, that He may abide with you for ever.”[3] So it is that when he sends the Comforter to us, it will be in ways and in our presence that we comprehend the least. It will be like a silent friend sitting with you in a room with the air as still as a morgue. The only evidence of life is the faint sound of the wall clock ticking in the next room. Time passing, as we too shall someday.

If we genuinely seek to be like God, to walk with Christ, then we too shall understand how sometimes fewer words, or no words, speak volumes more than some of the greatest speeches presented in all of humanity. Our nature is to seek the companionship of others. Mistakenly, we sometimes think we have to spew empty clichés when wanting to console our friends and loved ones in their time of loss. But we are only speaking the reflection of our own empathetic prose. When we find ourselves alone without another being in our presence, it is then, in this void of humanness, that we find we are truly not alone. If we believe in God and know Him, we find that we need others less. Yet, we also find that when other believers are with us, His presence increases. Does Jesus not say in scripture, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them?”[4]

As C.S. Lewis wrote in the grasp of his grieving, he was shaken to his core because of the loss of his dear H. Through his words, we can find a Christian in pain, seeking consolation. Howbeit he, Lewis, being an intellect, it must have been evident to him, either then or later in life, how much more he needed God’s comforting hands upon him. We can read how he sought others in those lines of text, yet he didn’t want their words, only their bodily presence. In this light, we can feel how Lewis, either knowingly or unknowingly, craved the Holy Spirit to come into his life. Yet, there is a part of me that says he might not have fully comprehended the complexity to which his grief had confounded his thoughts, to the point, he sought that which had gone, but in truth, was only passed from this life to the next.

We are but vapors in this life, here for a moment. We will someday spend the rest of this life in eternity. Where we spend it is up to us. When a loved one passes on, if we know of their faith in Christ, if they had received the gift of salvation by the Grace of God, we can then be more than assured, yes, we can be sure that they are there in the presence of the Lord and the host of angels waiting for the day when we arrive.

Pray for my dear friend and his family in their time of loss, but let us also praise God for bringing home another daughter in Christ.

In all these ways, let us say, “Thanks be to God.”

[1] A Grief Observed. Copyright © 1961 by N. W. Clerk, restored 1996 C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. Preface by Douglas H. Gresham copyright © 1994 by Douglas H. Gresham. All rights reserved.

[2] The Collected Letters of C. S. Lewis, Volume III: Narnia, Cambridge, and Joy 1950-1963. Copyright © 2007 by C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. All rights reserved. 

[3] John 14:16 KJV

[4] Matthew 18:20 KJV

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by | May 5, 2019 · 7:47 pm

What the Heart Can See…

I watched the river flow past through the raindrops on the windshield. It was one of those chilly Sunday mornings where you wanted to curl up by a fire and drink your bitter brew of choice. From inside the car, you knew it was the river, but from within the dry confines of the vehicle, it made a curious movement of Van Gogh-ish swirls across the glass; blue-greens, washed here and there by hints of sparkling white. There was confusion of the eye such that one could not discern fluidness from the earth. To one who knew better, it was merely the light through the raindrops creating a titillating joyous pattern of life upon the window pane. To the unbelieving, it made no sense. “…By hearing ye shall hear, and shall not understand; and seeing ye shall see, and shall not perceive:” -Mt.13:14

The pitter-patter soon became a heavy downpour. The comforting sound of rain hitting the car’s metal roof took me back to another time, another place.

The old metal roof of my paternal grandparent’s home was one of the most comforting places on earth. This time of year, the sounds of the afternoon rains would drift across the garden leaves that had just begun to sprout, and dance upon the tin roof. From inside, curled up on your favorite arm of the bedsheet covered old couch, you found your warmth from within. There was a precious ambiance of its own; the safety from without and the soothing wholesomeness of a home surrounded in the love of Christ that flowed within.

Like looking upon a vast landscape, the likes of a view afforded from the mountain top; one can only look upon the breathtaking vastness before you become weary from its expanse. Before long, the intimacy of the holler upon which the Retreat now sits calls, the comfort of that arm of the old bedsheet covered couch in grandma’s front parlor, a humbleness of view and spirit all its own returns; warming, softly caressing. To understand this perspective doesn’t require a formal education, it doesn’t require the memorization of scriptures, it doesn’t take any practiced ritual of faith; it only takes a view from a pure heart; a heart that walks with God.

“For this people’s heart is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes they have closed; lest at any time they should see with their eyes and hear with their ears, and should understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them. But blessed are your eyes, for they see: and your ears, for they hear.”-Mt. 13:15-16

Each day the believer walks in a world that is not his own. Around them, those who live for the here, the now, force their way into our conversation, our conscious, and our lives. They live non-stop practicing sin; unforgiven, uncaring, and most often, boastful of their earthly accomplishments. One motivational speaker, I recall from college, a man, speaking from his worldly experiences, once told our Electrical Engineering class, “Good things come to those who wait, rather, success is measured by what is left behind by those who hustle.” His point; take it all and leave the spoils to the losers. When we focus on that lifestyle, of hard-driven, climbing the ladder of success, we lose sight of what is most important. From the faith perspective, it is easy to see. As Jesus taught, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to get into heaven. This mindset can often lead to the blindness, “eyes they have closed,” to which Jesus referred in the scripture. Their hearts become hardened like stone, and soon, they can no longer afford to comprehend sayings of faith and belief. It becomes like a foreign language, one that they cannot comprehend. The world becomes tainted by their hearts that have waxed grossed.

They-the believers in Christ Jesus- see this world through eternal eyes, those that see with a purpose, unlike our sister and brethren who live for the mere existence from day to day. It is not a braggadocious offering, rather, an objective view. The mere existence of tactile images, visions of grandeur, splendid beauty that eyes pure of heart can conceive; these are just a few of the blessings that come with the heart that follows Jesus.

“But these things are seen by the unbeliever just as well,” you might say.

Yes, they may be seen in a certain light, but the believer, the one who truly walks by faith, sees these from the perspective as coming from the hand of God. A creation seen by our eyes that more than speaks to us visually, but also reaches inside us and strikes a chord to our spirit, enriching our being in such a way that we come closer to Him; the Father. Through this means, the Holy Spirit indwells in us, and we become one with Him. Those who don’t know have closed their eyes to the truth, and as such, are merely hollow vessels, constantly trying to fill their void with whatever great, new concept sweeping the globe. This emptiness haunts them until they pass into eternity, lost in their sin, forever seeking what they will never find.

Yet, it is there for all for the asking.

This morning, as my eyes were inspired by the collage of colors sweeping across my simple windshield, in my heart, God was playing an orchestra of thoughts and emotions. To explain this to the one with a waxen heart is merely to express the words of detail, but to the believer, the conceptualization of the moment whispers of their own fruitful living and a time when they too might have felt a common connection.

Jesus told his disciples when they sought to understand his parables, “For verily I say unto you, That many prophets and righteous men have desired to see those things which ye see, and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them.”

We can walk in this world, but we may never see this world as those who are of this world. It is our responsibility as Christ-followers to share the truth, and allow those who are lost to find Him.

Those who chose to ignore the truth face grave consequences. As Jesus once more explained to his disciples after the sharing of the parables, “So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, And shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.”- Mt. 13:49-50.

Seek the Master’s hand, confess your sins at the foot of the cross, and invite Him into your heart.

You will be forever changed.

Thanks be to God. o

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by | December 10, 2017 · 8:04 pm

I Am With You Always…

“Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: 20 Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen.”-Matthew 28:19-20

 

Arktos sat on the expanse of stone, his balcony to the world that opened below. High on the mountain range above the Germanesca Valley, he sat watching the clouds gather in the depths of the void below. The air blew steadily up here. He closed his eyes and tilted his face toward heavens. The warmth of the sun caressed his aged face, blending the deep ravines of time into one of wisdom. His long gray hair, speckled with white wafted against his shoulders. The white beard gave him an air of intellect. Beneath it, his tanned skin, taut against his chiseled chin, gave the look of, “You will pay if you cross me,” which belied his true gentle nature; the tender heart beneath the façade of an ancient warrior. This was his place of repose, his solitary corner of earth where he could commune with God. To obtain this height, one must have the strength of a bear and the agility of the mountain goat.  Up here, the world below seemed so distant, so unimportant compared with what lay ahead.

Here there was no sound of humanity. There was nothing but the sound of the distant waterfalls cascading into the abyss below. Their voices echoed off the granite walls of God’s fortress of granite that surrounded him.

He was lost in thought, one with the Father as the words came to mind, “And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”-Phil. 4:7

As life and time march onward, the realization of himself becoming the one that others looked to for guidance bothered him. True, he studied the Word relentlessly, but he never seemed to rise above who he saw in those crystal-clear pools from which he supped his handfuls of water. There beyond those sky-blue eyes, was the same man he had seen for all his life. Much of the world around him had changed, loved ones had gone on, and now, he was nearly alone save for the few that were left.

Earlier that morning, he and the others had met once more to study and worship. There was no set plan, just the Word to guide them. They were the remnants of their kind. Many had been lost; as many had perished from the mountain as had those who had died from the sword. They were the keepers of the Word, the bearers of Christ’s ministry. They had no name as of their own, but rather, were given only the name from whence they came, the Vaudois. These were the Vaudoisians, the Children of the Light, as they had also become known.

As they slowly gathered, one, then another, in that small but ancient stone building that had created so many before them, each one was welcomed with brotherly love. They were united as one centuries before, longer than even their elders could remember. The words they used to describe their beginning were simply, “Since time Immorium.” As they prepared to begin, each lit a candle or lamp from which to read. The ancient structure barely allowed the slightest amount of light to enter. While light was hard to find, in the deepest recesses of winter, the sturdy, meter-thick walls also kept the freezing cold without; thus, serving as the perfect sabbatical from the outer world during the long dark winter months. Yet, even in the early summer, as now, they met to refresh their scriptures before departing for their summer missions beyond these peaks.

Today had been especially rewarding. There was the initial joking and sharing of mental challenges, but eventually, as was usually the case, someone said something that yielded to a lesson from within the pages of that precious text, the one they had guarded with a millennium of lives. Immediately, they dove within the leaves of that ancient book seeking the trail upon which they felt obliged to follow. Their questions led to further searches, all following a path only their Lord would know. The older students merely closed their eyes and quoted the scripture from memory, so intense was their learning.

Sitting back and watching their education come to fruition, Arktos had been blessed beyond measure. He knew in time, they would be gone, leaving for their journeys.

Many would never return.

Time after time he had seen them grow, become one with the Word, then leave to serve their commission. Those that returned had a renewed vigor that only experience and life could teach. Each time, he saw the youth that had been present in the spring of life be torn away, leaving behind the shell of reality forced upon their tender souls. Those that never came back left a hole in his heart that could never be replaced.  He felt so inadequate for what he was there to do. There was so much he needed to learn himself, so much more he could share, if only there were more time.

He returned to the present when the cry of the raptor that pulled him back. Before he opened his eyes, he whispered softly, “God give me the strength, and the wisdom to do your will until I no longer have the breath left to live another day.”

Blinking to the light of day, he tilted his head forward. There soaring upon the currents before him was a beautiful Golden Eagle. Below, them both, the sun had broken through the clouds and the expanse of meadow falling away to the sharp blue-gray edges of the valley below opened up. The view was breathtaking, as the wild bird was in its grandeur; man and beast as one, above the spectacle of creation only few can imagine. The old man felt the presence of God as the bird remained in place, gliding along with little to no effort. Its piercing eyes sought him, and from within he could feel a voice resonate through his soul.

“You are not alone, for I am with you always, I will never leave you, nor forsake you.”

Arktos could not move. He tried to nod in agreement, but nothing would work; his head could not shake, his fingers could not even curl to feel the stone beneath where he sat. He was spellbound by those penetrating eyes and the omnipotent voice within.

Another searing cry from the eagle echoed off the nearby snow-covered peak, and immediately, the roar of the waterfalls returned. He blinked, and the beautiful bird was gone.

Had he dreamt the scene?

Had it been just another vision?

He reached for his weathered walking stick to prepare for the journey back down the mountain when he noticed it. There beneath its handle lay the reminder of the moment; a tail feather from a Golden Eagle.

He smiled, as he tucked away the keepsake into his backpack, and begin his slow descent into the world that awaited below.

He had nearly disappeared from that summit when the call of the great eagle echoed from a distant valley, and he smiled once more, for God was with him. Yes, God would be with him always.

Thanks be to God.

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by | December 10, 2016 · 11:59 pm

Every Season has a Meaning…

“He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for My sake will find it.”-Matt 10:39

The mountains are shrouded by a thick blanket of clouds today. Grandfather remains hidden like an ancient being wrapped up in his winter blankets; protected from all harm, safe but unseen. Water drips from the leaves as the river now runs with fully bodied spirit over the rapids that just a few weeks ago barely made a trickling sound.

Shards of dark earth lie in rows of the fields of upturned soil. The gentle rain flows deep into the crevices, soothing the parched earth that seldom finds the touch of rain. All around us somber earth tones match the mood of the sky above; winter is now upon us in full season.

sod

In my mind’s eye, I’m standing down the hill from the old farmhouse, looking back up the hill from whence I came. Images that were never apparent until now suddenly reveal themselves. Unlike the front of the home, from behind we can see all of the genuineness of the life of those who live within; the clothesline where the wash will be hung, the burning barrel where the trash will be burnt, and finally the back porch where everything from the deep freezer to the canning table sits, awaiting the next growing season. Here, the real work of life goes on, out of sight. Like the soil, until the blade of the bottom plow chisels into the

The Old Farmhouse outside New Harmony, Indiana, 1965.

The Old Farmhouse outside New Harmony, Indiana, 1965.

earth, causing an upheaval of sediment, the true work of the earth cannot be seen. The dirt folds over like the corners of the grandma’s quilt on the bed, rolling up the root-side of the dirt, exposing it to the elements. Meanwhile, the sod below begins to decay adding nutrients and building more compost for the future.

One layer must die so that the other may live.

We too are like these things, the soil and the farmhouse. What truly makes us who we are is what we are within; the part of us that cannot be seen from the outside. To reveal ourselves is to have the bottom plow cut us deep within and fold over our barriers we have created. Many fear revealing their true nature and only do so in short burst of often uncomfortable circumstances that they wish they could have prevented. Sin makes this possible, and since we are all sinners, each of us has this inner being with which we battle daily.  In essence, we are comprised of a triune being; body, soul, and spirit. (1Thess.5:23) The world and Satan try to affect us from the outside in, while God works on us from the inside out. He infuses us through our spirit. From the inside out we are changed when we truly accept Jesus Christ into our lives. Like the back of the farm house where the real work takes place, out of sight, inside us is where the actual work has to start. We have to choose to allow the Holy Spirit to come into our lives, so that from within, we will be filled with a new light, which then will begin to permeate into our soul, and eventually our body. The longer we walk with Christ, the more our whole being changes; our tastes, our likes, and how we physically seek pleasures in this world, knowing what is to come is even greater. One is never finished in this manner, as we are always a work in progress.

Like the soil, we must die to our former selves in order to live for Him. “He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for My sake will find it.”-Matt 10:39 We cannot have the sinful pleasures of this world and still try to obtain sanctification. One cannot stand with one foot in sin and one in Christ. He is a jealous God and wants us all or nothing. So, we continually battle an enemy that never stops trying to make us fall. Hopefully, in time or by chance someone shares the opportunity to find and accept Christ into your life, it is then that you will come into the season of change.

For every season there is meaning and purpose.

The prayers we lifted for the life-giving rain have been answered. The fires are all out, and once more the forest begins to heal. Like the sod that has been turned for preparation for the next year’s growing season, we too have to decide in that season when to begin the life we lead.

Are you ready to get to work?

Eternity awaits your decision.

Thanks be to God.

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by | February 29, 2016 · 8:44 pm

God is There; If Only We Would Pray…

When the impossible becomes possible, God is there.

Today I was reminded of how much in our daily lives we mistakingly take for granted. I don’t mean just the sensual things of this world, but rather, the big picture; the Godly vision. As I sat in fellowship with Pastor Patrick, we shared prayer experiences and how each had manifested into miraculous changes in not only our lives, but so many of those around us; all because of our prayers.

Last night as we watched the movie, “War Room,” the thoughts of past prayers came rushing back. Looking back, there was no possibility of knowing how they would be answered. All I knew was that for the request I had sent to God to be answered, there was nothing short of a miracle necessary. In Godly fashion, from that day forward, like the inching of the massive glaciers, God’s answer began to unfold.

Earth moving in gargantuan proportions with incremental precision, pieces of a complex puzzle turning, realigning themselves nano-particle by nano-particle, God’s hand was working the wonders beyond our human comprehensions.20160228_160511~2

As we sat on top of Table Rock Mountain yesterday, we could see as far as the eye could travel so clear was the air, pure and crisp. Beneath us, massive boulders shaped by eons of time and forces so great their scars are forever etched upon their faces lay cold and dormant. There in that place of heavenly fortitude, one could reflect on an ancient time meeting our own, the two worlds silently colliding; our own limited terrestrial existence compared to that of the earth from whence we came; “For dust you are, And to dust you shall return.” To the creator of this earth, this seemingly endless creation, we lift our voices often as cries of help, desperate pleas from a desperate people. For us to lift up our request and to expect immediate results are so naïve, it almost mirrors our unbelief in the impossible. Through Him, all things become possible. “But Jesus looked at them and said to them, “With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”-Matthew 19:26

20160228_155305~2So it is when we pray, that if it’s God’s will, even the most minute detail begins to alter. A multitude of lives, relationships, hardships and even mammoth corporations are not immune. Not even granite stone can withstand the touch of his hand. I’ve seen instances of complex variables so unrelated, so remotely disconnected become affected by a single thread of prayer that there was no mistaking the source, the divine nature of the alteration.

The truly amazing part, the one that keeps you sitting on the edge of your seat, is the fact that it’s not over.

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.”-Revelation 3:20

With each new prayer, with each new request or thanks to God, another door is opened, another heart is touched and even better, another soul is saved.

Yes, the more prayer warriors we enlist, the more those dynamic unrelated events begin to combine and become one, one faith, one 20160228_154502~2vision, one God. Slowly, ever so slowly, God is calling His people home and the darkness has everything to fear.

In all that we do, let us not to give thanks to our Creator for all that He has done in our lives. As we thank Him, may we also not fear to knock on the door, for if we do, then it shall be opened and we will be able to dine with the master, and He with us.

Are you ready to ready to dine with the master?

 

 

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by | December 29, 2015 · 9:10 pm

More than a Place…We Need a Cause…

As each day passes, there is an image that is beginning to take form before me. swordofGodSometimes I see it in my dreams, vaguely, shrouded in a mist, hidden from full view. I awaken and it is gone before I can write it down. Yet, day by day, ever so slowly I hear a voice saying, “People need the Trail to be more than just a history lesson, people are looking for a Trail of FAITH!” The letters we receive asking for prayer, the people asking for more than just a history lesson and those who show up at the Trail seeking spiritual guidance. Yes, slowly, I can see the Trail of Faith more than just a place, yes, something more.

Then today, as I drove back once more from Chatham County, I was blessed to hear an interview with a young couple who were literally on the front lines of the war against Satan. They were serving  in Iraq as counselors to children who had been ravaged by the war on ISIS. As they spoke it was clear they were living in the moment of what many, including myself, only feeblly attempt to grasp on Sunday morning, the true meaning of discipleship. In all that they said, they were also very humble in their faith and realized that God was with them, because had He not been, there were many times that they narrowly escaped death. When asked what they needed most, they promptly responded with, “Prayer.” They knew that thousands of prayers lifted up daily were part of the reason they were able to do what they do. Their mission was definitely not without cause. Yes, that was it; the missionary’s whose work gives them a purpose, a Cause.

Then it hit me.

The Trail of Faith is begging to become a Cause of its own, a Mission that people seek today.

Why, how is that possible you ask? Don’t we have to go to third world countries to go on a mission?

Week after week I see the same pattern unfold. The same old church story, the same old routine of attending the place with the same old people, is losing its flavor. The world is turning away and leaving behind its youth, we must find more relevant ways to engage them; they are demanding a cause without knowing it. In order to keep them engaged and away from the distractions, there has to be a concerted effort to pull them into something that they can feel taking shape, something that they can be a part of and something that they can make a difference in the world through. Yes, we have to find a path through which these brilliant minds of our next generation can be more than just good, they have to become brilliant icons of our hope for tomorrow.

There is so much work to do in order to prepare.

One cannot go into battle with a dull sword. One cannot walk into the fray without ammunition, yet if we simply tell them to go and do, they will be shredded by the enemy. Darkness will consume their light before they have started, so we must work diligently to create the next wave of disciples for Christ, an army of evangelizing fanatics who want nothing more than to share the love of Christ across the face of our planet, bringing hope to the downtrodden and those left for emotional dead.

Where do we start?

Just as the Trail of Faith was built for those that could not travel to the valleys to see first-hand the place where the birth of the Church in the Wilderness began, we also have to provide our novice evangelists a place to practice before they go into the greater world. Here at the Trail, we can build more than a base of educated Christians; rather, we can build a host of believers who are empowered to go out and be more than just those who sit within a four-walled institution and wait for their Word to be fed to them each Sunday. We must create those who must feed themselves daily on the bread of life so that they are encouraged to inspire others to do likewise. Through their sharing of the Word at the Trail through the story of the people of the valleys, they will gain confidence. With each step they will become stronger until the boundaries that kept them shackled will be loosed.

Each day God sends opportunities to the Trail and each day, when we don’t engage them, they are lost forever. We have many times prayed over those hurting, those needing healing and those who have found themselves intimately closer to God. You see, we are being pulled to lead and where He goes, we must follow.

Yes, there is much to do, and we can begin now. The enemy will not wait and the longer we delay, the greater the challenge we face. Darkness believes the battle is won, but we have not yet begun to fight. Oh wake up sleeping nation and arise, for the battle is at hand, victory awaits.

There is victory in Jesus, and for that we must all strive to bring into our everyday mantra; to live in Christ, to die in Christ, either way, is gain.

Go forth and prepare, the time is now; we must because, there must be a cause greater than our own and He is the way, the truth, and the light forever more.

“ Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Amen.” – Matthew 28:19-20

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by | December 28, 2015 · 7:36 pm

In Memory of the Herd…

The newborn calf lay before me, its body still wet from its mother licking her, doing 1013088_10201316525421013_897357306_nanything she could to revive the nearly dead infant. The heat was oppressive as I wiped the sweat from my eyes, trying to figure out what to do next. Something was dreadfully wrong. Colleen, the calf’s mother, had never had problems calving and was one of my best and oldest brood cows. Yet, she was stressed to her breaking point and the stretch of hottest days this summer didn’t help. I had been away from the farm during her birth and was just now coming upon the scene. The neighbors had called to alert me to the fact there was something wrong; the growing flock of buzzards was their omen. As I approached the baby, buzzards advanced with me setting Colleen into a frenzy of protective moves trying her best to keep them at bay. As I knelt to pet the calf and feel for life, there was still warmth to the body, just barely. As I examined her, the problem became painfully obvious; she was blind. The eyes were clouded over with a milky film which had prevented her from being able to leave the shelter of the scrub brush in which she was trapped.

The death birds had an uncanny ability to sense death’s door even before it opened. They were sometimes known to assist the animal’s end by beginning to dig out the soft pockets of flesh, a torment of unrealistic thought, something Satan himself might prescribe. Thus, as I tried to help bring the calf to safety, the vultures tried to impede our progress by lurching within reach of the precious cargo I tried to carry through the thick underbrush. Thankfully, Colleen was nearby and provided the additional protection we needed in order to escape. It was then I realized her lower udders had been ripped from some ancient barbed wire that was in the thicket from where we had just emerged; another problem and probable cause to the calf not nursing. Time was not on our side; I had multiple problems and things were not getting any easier.

Looking back, it was a touch and go prospect from the very beginning. The lack of colostrum in the calf’s system was the first and immediate setback, not to mention the extreme dehydration that had nearly killed it. Then the fact that the triple digit heat was wearing us all thin, physically and emotionally. I immediately prepared a mixture of colostrum and Gatorade to feed her, hoping to quickly replace her lost fluids, it was all we could do at that point. Nearby in the pasture, Colleen paced back and forth on the fence line trying to keep an eye on her newborn.

Had this happened a few years before, I certainly would have lost her. However, the good Lord prepares with each step along the way, teaching, strengthening and guiding us so that we may become who we need to be at the right moment in time. This was most certainly the case because it took every bit of animal husbandry I had learned, every ounce of stamina and all the faith I could muster to believe in what I knew. I would give her every vitamin shot, antibiotic, and extra energy supplements I could find in addition to helping feed her since her mother was still wounded and in pain from the fencing injury. Meanwhile, I had to try to doctor Colleen’s ripped udder sack. So many problems persisted that I could have just easily given up, walked away and let nature takes its course, but that wasn’t my way. I scoured every incident I could find online and spoke to fellow farmers and vets who knew of similar cases. She had evidently been born while either she or her mother had a fever, possibly from a flu-like illness, thus the blindness. After the virus had passed, it was a matter of keeping infection at bay. The good news was that sometimes the blindness was only temporary. To help heal her eyes, I would rub the antibiotic directly into them, like washing away the clouds.

More than once I would go out to where I had penned mother and calf to find a near lifeless body and once more, vultures close enough to take the precious being before her time. Each time I would chase them off and to my best to doctor the needs of the young animal. Toward the end of the third day of round the clock care, I had done everything that could possibly be done for her. By then I had named her Helen, after the other famous blind person I had learned about so many years before. It was then I realized I had done all I could do and God would have to take it from here. Early the next morning on the fourth day, I checked on mother and calf to find she had finally nursed on her own; thank you, Lord! The wounds on Colleen had finally healed enough so that she could feed her baby.

From then on, both calf and cow improved and before long, it was just a distant memory.

936431_10201386352046635_1598802811_nHelen grew to be a fine brood cow in her own right, taking after her mother. Her eyesight eventually returned to normal and you would have never known she had once been blind. Colleen would have other calves after that summer without any problems. Some might say it was time for her to go to the sale, “Put wheels on her,” they would add. When you raise a herd from the beginning and know the animals like the back of your hand, there are times you know deep down that there is more to the story than meets the eye; as was the case that beleaguered summer of Helen’s birth.

I’ve been around cattle most of my life. Growing up in southern Indiana, both my paternal and maternal grandparents had cows; dairy and beef, respectively. So it was nothing new when my dad raised one or two for sustenance. However, when the size of the herd gets smaller, the contact becomes more personal, almost too personal. I can recall the time my dad described taking the steer we named “Bull” off to market. As he looked back in the rearview mirror, he could see an animal that had been nothing but trouble. Bull was always getting into some sort of mischief or another. One time, in particular, I can vividly remember seeing him walk up below me as I sat on the roof of the barn, nailing on the new tin. He picked up a bag of roofing nails I had left on the ground and began to shake them like a dog shakes a toy. Nails flew from one end of the barnyard to the other. Yet, through all that, you might think my father would be glad to take him to slaughter, yet here he was looking back with tears in his eyes. That’s the moment you realize the animal you raise is more than just another meal, but a member of the family.

So, this past summer when I had to sell off my herd, it was more than just simply cattle in bloomstaking animals to market; it was saying goodbye to a family that I had grown for the past 18 years. Each momma cow had her own characteristics, traits and look that I knew without having to use numbers or brands. Their calving seasons were as predictable as the coming dawn. There was a comfort knowing that if all else failed, we still would have a reserve of food and resources if needed; yes, my cattle were in a sense, my farm bank, my life’s work.

There was recently a sign that was going around for a Christmas gift that said something like, “Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy cows, and that’s pretty much the same thing.”

Many won’t get it, but for those few who’ve ever owned cattle, we do.

“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” –Matthew 11:28

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by | March 23, 2014 · 11:19 pm

Like a Polar Bear at the Beach…

polarbearbeachEarly this morning I awoke to the thought that I had forgotten to fix a section of fence the cows had knocked down. I had found the broken board the day before and propped it back up temporarily until I could get back to it with hammer and nails. It was a crucial middle board in a three rail fence, so if it were not fixed soon, there would be cows running loose; a picture that could rouse a near death farmer to his feet. Knowing how my mind works, I knew it was senseless to try to get back to sleep since all I would do was toss and turn with the possibility of cows getting loose; so I got up in the predawn darkness to mend what needed mending. It was during this time, while I was feeding the cows after having fixed the broken fence, I realized something quite obvious, but yet profound, “Feeding black angus cattle in total darkness is akin to trying to find a polar bear in a blackangusblizzard; dangerous and unpredictable.”

It’s during times like this that analogies to life come to mind, and this morning was no different.

I realized that as Christians, we often find ourselves one with those around us, not standing out but finding comfort in being with those like ourselves, “The black angus cow in the darkness.” It’s not until the light of dawn that we can clearly see the dark bovine and distinguish it from the night, so it is with our walk in faith; we cannot be seen until we step out of the safe confines of our sanctuaries and expose ourselves to the light of the world. In other words, who’s going to know what we are preaching until we go out into the world and seek out those who need to hear the Word of God, sometimes for the first time. Staying in the comfortable settings of our beloved congregation is great for personal moral, but fails to reach those who are most lacking in what we are all called to do as Christians, go out and tell the story of Christ, sharing his love and plan of salvation to the ends of the earth. From the scripture of Matthew, this is the road less traveled, the narrow way. We must find a way to break free of our often self-imposed restriction and tempt fate, and allow ourselves to set loose our beliefs. However, the thought of evangelizing to others is as frightening to many as it is to those who find it difficult to attend church, having either been gone for a long time or never having gone in the first place; a daunting prospect where we feel out of our element. This is exactly what Jesus was preaching to his disciples that day when he told them, the road less traveled would not be easy, for if it were, it would be more traveled. I have found it personally challenging to go into the secular world in settings that we tend to shy away from sharing the Word; those places where scripture is usually the last thing to come to mind. There are those around us, people in our own community, who have that talent, that innate ability to boldly go to places they’ve never known. Men like Chance Walters who leads Chance Walters Ministries and Steve Gaines with Blits Worldwide, blitsboth great evangelist and missionaries who lead others in urban ghettos and remote villages in South America, respectively. They take with them the knowledge of faith and you can see from their travels that they become stronger from God’s Grace. There are men like Darrin Locklear, brave enough to step into ministry full time, giving the reigns of life completely to God and finding himself leading a church in a place he had never known until called. These are just a few examples of those around us that have taken the call and done more than attend their Sunday services, awakening to the dawning of a faith upon the pastures of countless souls needing their sustenance and message of salvation and eternal life.

Yet, we aren’t all made from the same cloth and to those who’ve never preached a word of the Bible, this could be akin to a polar bear going to the beach. We too must go to places that challenge our faith and make us realize what we should focus on in our daily walk of life with Christ. Our focus becomes sharpened when we realize what we are missing. I’ve personally found myself feeling inadequate in the face of people who spend their entire lives living on the outside of faith, practicing their sins without restraint day in and day out. These hardened hearts are the ones that are the toughest to reach; the ones that have their physical needs met, yet are spiritually lost. These are the people many fear when stepping out from the pew and going into the broad daylight of the world around us.

Yet, God gives each of us talents, gifts that we are to use to reach those whom make us feel uncomfortable. These are the bridges we must build to reach out to those hardened hearts, breaking through until there becomes a shimmer of light from which hope can begin to grow. It is up to us to recognize these blessings and to then boldly go where we dare not, becoming the polar bear on the beach, the black angus in the bright sun, each visible, each no longer hidden from sight but now out in the world for all to see.

This is our mission as Christians.

As Paul said, what causes us pain, only makes the blessings from God stronger, and so it is. We must take with us the knowledge that to make a difference, we have to be brave enough to go where the spirit leads and the good Lord will take us.

What is your calling? Have you dared to step out into the light or are you waiting for someone to lead you?

13 “Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. 14 Because[a] narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.” – Matthew 7: 13-14

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