Tag Archives: memory

Choose Wisely

by Timothy W. Tron, Nov. 2020

A winding mountain road is the life I live. If living were a straight road, with nary a curve, never a hill, nor a bump what a sorrowful experience it would have been. With each twist, the unexpected arrives – some good, many challenging, and some sorrowful. From breathtaking vistas to cattle grazing in verdant green pastures, there is never a bend in the road that doesn’t reveal another blessing to be alive. All make living one of not our own doing, but in that regard, give testimony to our Creator. By the guiding hand of God, we are kept between the lines. When trials come, they mold our character, develop our patience, and gather our soul into that which becomes better for the perils through which we survived.

Much like the barren, time-worn tree that stands on an outcropping of rocks on a high mountain peak, it too tells a story of a life well-lived. The harshness of existence created a cracked and foreboding skin, that with each crevice is a wrinkle in the tale of its life. Its weathered continence exudes the wisdom within. Whether the twisting road of life or the desolate, weary tree, we are the product of the tribulations which formed us in the fire.

As the seasons change, so do those of our own. From our youth to the nearing of the end of one’s time, and all those many seasons in between, there are countless moments when we could have stopped and considered the moment for what it was. Too often, we allow that fleeting opportunity to give thanks to pass us by before we are chasing the next falling leaf from the tree above. If only we had the peace of mind to stop and cherish those brief respites. Instead, the foliage spirals down into the bed of so many other fallen leaves before it, they all form a collection of memories upon a pallet of life. Their myriad of color, the complexities of those moments in time, each connected through the thread of our being. If one were to connect these, as one might think a pathway is built, their course would intertwine, fold upon one another, and intersect into a countless number of likelihoods. An image of such would look like what scientists have concluded our own immutable DNA resembles. Memory, our collective past, intertwined like the branches of a forest, is the only lasting reward, or curse, that one can carry with them in this world, no matter your position in life. Those memories are a culmination of life’s choices to that which we have been afforded – they can be our heaven or hell.

As C.S. Lewis wrote, “Every choice reduces a little one’s freedom to choose the next time. There therefore comes a time when the creature is fully built, irrevocably attached either to God or to itself. This irrevocableness is what we call Heaven or Hell. Every conscious agent is finally committed in the long run: i.e., it rises above freedom into willed, but henceforth unalterable, union with God, or else sinks below freedom into the black fire of self-imprisonment.”[1]

From the beginning, man was allowed choices, also known as free will. It was in this context that sin came into the world, not necessarily as a choice to do evil, for there was no evil in the world at that point, but rather was as a decision to make himself equal or greater than God. In essence, it was pride that brought the fall of man, not evil. “The highway of the upright is to depart from evil: he that keepeth his way preserveth his soul. Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.[2] Satan used man’s own pride to sequester his thoughts into a path that took him to the darkness of man’s soul.

Choices led Judas Iscariot to sell his Savior’s identity for thirty pieces of silver which ultimately led to the trial, and crucifixion of Christ. Choices led David to invite Bathsheba into his bed-chamber, which led to the death of the resultant child and his sons. Choices led Moses to strike the rock in anger which led to his being excluded from being allowed to enter the Holy Land. Time and time again, we see how erred judgment on the part of man resulted in predicaments that could have been avoided had they chose wisely. Each time we allow Satan to enter into our decision making, our minds are contorted into the culpability of choosing on the side of this terrestrial being, rather than on the side of how it affects our life eternal.

As much as we have the ability to choose wrong, we have the same capability to choose right. Though our life’s journey need not be a long course of bad memories, there are hopefully more of the singular instances of hope and light that permeate through the fog of reminiscence than the former. As those thoughts allow us to build upon the past, we must realize that going forward, we have the foresight to become greater than of ourselves, again, if we choose wisely. A life eternal is in the balance. To be tied to an earthly being or to be one with a risen Savior, that guarantees life eternal – this is the only choice in this life that really matters. You can go on living as one that perceives there is “no tomorrow,” or you can start to live a life in preparation for one eternal – the choice is yours.

Some believe they are too far gone. They feel they are beyond the grasp of God’s forgiveness of sins. Many feel their sin is greater than Christ’s ability to forgive – but they couldn’t be more wrong. We serve a risen Savior that died for our sins, even before we existed so that all that come to him might be saved. It is never too late to seek Him.

While we chase after those swirling entities that entice us to forget the thankfulness and forget that we can be forgiven, we must force ourselves to take pause and know that, “God hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pastures.[3] Like those winding country roads that passeth through the highlands of the Blueridge, we cannot know what lies ahead. The afternoon shadows pass upon the landscape, one that passes from autumn into winter. The seasons change regardless if we are ready for them to do so or not. In time, we realize our helplessness in that we cannot control all those things that in our youth we believed were within our command. The decisions which we hath made, we must now live with until our road’s end. No matter how bad they were, they can be forgiven. When you ask Christ to come into your life, your journey’s end on earth is only the beginning of the rest of your life. It is this destination that should help you decide how you will travel the remainder of the journey in time that remains.

Choose wisely, your soul’s eternal life depends on it.

Thanks be to God.


[1] Words to Live By: A Guide for the Merely Christian. Copyright © 2007 by C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. All rights reserved. Used with permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

[2] Proverbs 16:17-8 KJV

[3] Psalm 100:3

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To Vance my Buddy, Regardless…

So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”-Psalm 90:12

Outside the Retreat, the pitter-patter of raindrops falls gently upon the rooftop. The sound is soothing to one’s soul and adds a sense of tranquility to the ambiance within. Inside, the fire warms my body, removing the damp chill from the outside. Reflectively, I sip on the hot drink while peering into the red-hot coals. The flames dance around in their anguished throttled roar while the occasional pop and hiss remind you that the scene before you is real. My mind drifts, like the puffs of smoke up the chimney, thinking of friends and colleagues of my former days.

Many faces come and go in the swirl of steam up the chimney, like their lives, several now gone, passed on. Each individual remains with me, each with their own story, each with a remnant of who they were left behind with my own being.  My good friend, Vance Dunn, who recently passed, came to mind, as he so often does. He would have dearly loved the opportunity to sit with me by the fire and discuss the many thoughts that would bounce into our heads as we supped on our warm brews. On one particular road trip, whereby we were headed to training as part of our Junior Appalachian Musicians (JAM) affiliation, we spent the several hour drive to the mountains doing just that; talking in-depth about everything and anything that popped into the stream of our conscious thought. One specific conversation that returned to me this morning was our animated discussion about vocabulary and the word “regardless” versus “irregardless.”

Vance loved to latch onto something and then to pull it back into the conversation, again and again. His observation, and probably the meaning behind the reason for which the word that percolated to the top of our discussion that day, was how many in the world of academia often try to sound more important than they are by the use of grammar that is either incorrect or absurdly unnecessary; thus, the word “irregardless.”  Many scholars maintain there is no such word as irregardless because regardless already means “without regard.”[1] Vance had an extreme disdain for professors or teachers who spoke down to their students.

The Apostle Paul would write, “For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself.[2] Paul’s intention was to say more simply, “Don’t try to pretend to be something you’re not.”

Now Vance had every right with which to speak in such terms. Having been a scientist at NASA, he dealt with and helped train many of their engineers and researchers over the years. He had worked with many a person that felt their position in life was enough to warrant them respect simply by their title. Yet, he would share with me that those who walked humbly in that regard had far more impact on those with whom they dealt than the former. Vance’s intellect was far beyond what I could hope to ever achieve. In essence, he was, at least to me, a true genius. He never tried to be superior when we talked, but rather, would humor me in meaningful terms so that we would traverse life from one end of the spectrum to the other, regardless of who was listening. Once we started, when time allowed, we would literally carry on with our own geekish comical relief, much to the disdain of those that were within earshot, for hours. He conveyed to me on this day how “irregardless” wasn’t really a real word, but rather something people would utter when they wanted to sound more intellectual. So, in our effectual dialogue, we would carry on with statements like “Regardless of how irregardless something truly is, you still can’t say irregardless unless you’re holding something up to be something it isn’t, regardless of its actual meaning,” and then we would roll with laughter until tears would fill our eyes.

Paul would go on to write, “But let every man prove his own work and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another.”[3]

Vance proved his merit by serving his country both in the Army and then working for the Aeronautical Space Agency. He would spend his career working for NASA and eventually retire with his family to Chatham County, North Carolina, where he and I would eventually meet. He often substitute taught in the school system, filling in for those roles many would pass. Vance’s favorite predicament was walking into a High School Calculus class and picking up wherever the teacher left off. Mind you, this was years after he had touched a mathematical formula. He would always tell me, “You can always solve anything if you work it back to the root.” After studying for and eventually passing the NC High School Math Praxis myself, his words would come back to me, again and again, regardless if we hadn’t seen each other in years.

During our conversations of faith, I never quite understood where Vance stood exactly. As with most intellects, he preferred to remain aloof about his belief in God. Yet, when it came down to it, I had the sense that he honestly believed but was more skeptical of religion as a whole. As Ravi Zacharias put it, “We are not Christians because of the abominations or denominations we belong to, but whether you know Jesus Christ in your heart.” It was in these theological interactions that I sometimes felt as if Vance was questioning me not only for something to pursue intellectually but that he was actually becoming aware of seeing someone moved by the Holy Spirit. In our walk of faith, we should never fear witnessing to anyone regardless of their station in life. As Paul would convey, “Let him that is taught in the word communicate unto him that teacheth in all good things.”[4]

A few months ago, before the wheels fell off my life, I was to speak at a church back in Chatham County. It was a wonderful blessing in and of itself, to be asked to share a sermon with the Cumnock Union Church, but was equally rewarding in seeing so many brother and sisters in Christ once more. It was during this trip that God spoke to me and said that I should stop by and see my friend Vance and his family before heading home.  So, after sharing fellowship with the brethren at Cumnock, I then turned off the highway and found myself winding through the little streets of Goldston, and eventually pulling into the driveway of Vance’s family’s farm. There, one last time I sat with my old friend and shared in past experiences. Denise, his daughter, brought him out to the couch to sit and visit with me and it was then that I was struck with the reality of what time and illness had done to my friend. He had suffered in his last years from advancing Dementia and Alzheimer’s diseases. We tried to revive a minuscule portion of days gone by, but in the end, faith in God was all that remained, for my dear friend was not the man he once was. The horrific disease had taken a brilliant mind away from the shell of the man that sat before me. Inside, my heart was sobbing, but outwardly, I was thanking God for this short time together. We said goodbye, and part of me realized that this may be the last.

There had been plans to return for some other possible speaking engagements, but once the trials and afflictions began, there was nothing to do but try to survive, and as such, those events fell by the wayside.

Not long ago, I saw Denise’s post of Vance’s passing, and with it, my heart dropped. Gone was the last chance to say one more goodbye. Gone was that last chance to jokingly poke fun of so many that held themselves in such high regard, regardless if they deserved it or not. But in the end, I know that Vance found God as inspiring as he had hoped, for in the end, when he crossed into that eternal home, he found intellect beyond his own and enough time to laugh and share with those minds that would match his own.

Tonight, I am thankful for all the lives that have crossed my path in life, and especially people like my friend Vance. May we never forget them and let us pray that we carry their legacy with us, sharing with all a part of who they were for others to carry on.

Thanks be to God.

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.”-James 1:5


[1]https://www.dictionary.com  is-irregardless-a-word

[2] Galations 6:3

[3] Galations 6:4

[4] Galations 6:5

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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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