Tag Archives: Missionary
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Filed under Inspirational
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/APA 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.
Filed under Inspirational
Faithful Servant…
“Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up.” – James 4:10
Another faithful servant has passed. Another long life well lived. She was gone before there was a chance for me to meet her and learn from her, something she had already done
with so many. This past Tuesday, Ms. Betsy Cranford went to be with her husband, Fred, and son Eric who awaited with open arms as Jesus stood welcoming her home.
As time passes, as the days turn to night and the new dawn awaits, with each passing moment, the more keeping time seems to matter little. The moments are filled with so many wonderful things to experience, to learn and to do. There are challenging days, some that seem so bleak and dark that it would seem the mountain had fallen down; yet, in these moments, a voice speaks telling me to hold on, that there is another blessing waiting to unfold.
God has planted the seeds that now lie germinating all around us and within.
Ms. Cranford was one of those sowers of the seed. She taught, inspired and touched so many lives while living her own. Her depths of remorse could not have been lower, in losing a son and husband, but with each loss, her witnesses saw her grow stronger.
The great blacksmith above was folding her sword, again and again, each time making it stronger; each time making it capable of holding a sharper edge.
Although Ms. Cranford was held in such high esteem in the community, she always put others before her, as Jesus had commanded, “So the last will be first, and the first last. For many are called, but few chosen.” She was certainly chosen by God and truly humbled herself before Him as well for she was a faithful servant, both as a teacher and in her community.
Since Friday, my world became a blur again, moving from one moment serving the Lord to the next. It wasn’t until late that evening that we received word of Mrs. Cranford’s passing. Suddenly, there was another place to visit Saturday in an already full day.
I awoke long before dawn Saturday morning, with a thought rising within my head. It was as if God speaking to me. In order to share the story of our mission at home and abroad, there needed to be a flier created, the voice said, something to hand out at the day’s coffee event. At first, I tried to dismiss it, but we all know what happens when you try to ignore the voice of God. The problem was that I had only had a couple hours to gather the information and images with which to create the paper. The more I tried to dismiss it, the louder God continued to speak until finally, I had to give in. I reached out to my missionary friends, Jeffrey, and Gloria Canada. In fact, I worked through breakfast while they were conversing with me over lunch; yes, we were on nearly opposite sides of the planet, yet we were working for one cause, serving the Lord.
A quick jaunt over to the Trail to print out the fliers and I was then off to my next destination, the Valdese Heritage Art Center to prepare for our first ever Trail of Faith Coffee Tasting. My goal was to be there before Bert Sigmon, our musician entertainer for the day, arrived. However, as I pulled up, he was already there beginning to unload. From then, until I later found myself at the funeral for Ms. Cranford, the rest of the day was one special moment after another.
In fact, the first time I was finally able to sit and rest was when I found my seat in the back of the packed sanctuary of the First Baptist Church of Drexel.
As I sat down and exhaled a long sigh of relief, satisfaction, and thankfulness, I was quickly greeted by familiar faces and handshakes.
Somehow, I knew people in a place that less than six months earlier, I would have felt like a total stranger. God is leading us each day. With each passing day, I find the more I seek him and humble myself before Him, the greater the blessings I find.
Although I never got to meet Ms. Cranford on this side of glory, I heard wonderful, compassionate stories of a woman that was a genuine Saint to all those who knew her. One speaker after another painted the picture of a caring, serving lady who was the symbol of what it is to be a true Christian. She was definitely someone you would have loved to have called a friend.
And yes, even to one who only wished he had.
God bless you Ms. Cranford and may your reunion with Fred and Eric be a special day, while you are all wrapped in the loving arms of Jesus himself.
Godspeed.
Filed under Inspirational, Religion, Religious Experience
A Life Rejoiced…
They had gathered to honor her memory, to celebrate a life well lived. Before they all returned to their homes, distant places far from the elder who remained, they decided to visit a place that would give them comfort and inspiration; possibly in order to take their minds off of their recent loss. Either way, they came to find solace and hope that their remaining parent would be blessed; after all, it was his wish for them to come.
I knew in advance of their upcoming tour. Unfortunately, our retired pastor, whom would have been a perfect match for this group, was unavailable, leaving only myself to lead them. Before they arrived, I prayed for guidance, strength and God’s will to speak through me in spite of myself; something I seem to do more often that naught. When they arrived, the man to whom needed their sympathy most, seemed to beam brightly as he led them into the visitor center. I soon found that their faith had allowed them to say goodbye to their mother, grandmother, and wife, but knowing that she would be with them in Glory allowed them to almost celebrate her final victory.
This was going to be another blessed day.
We began the introduction as we normally do, at the map. I had given them some of my personal testimony but was planning to deliver the remainder of it as we traveled further upon our journey. In the back of my mind, I wanted to share with them the story about the new ax we had received as a donation from Bill Bradshaw but for some reason, it just didn’t feel right at this point. Part of me felt as if I had already shared too much and we needed to move on. Also, I still had Ms. Regina’s message in mind about discernment, and how that we should be able to know if God wants us to do something or not, if we have matured enough in our faith; so I resolved that if it was God’s will, He would let me know if it needed to be told. We were about to walk into the movie room when suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I caught the glimpse of our realtor from ProTrust Realty, Christi, standing at the door waiting to enter. Christi lives in Cary, nearly three hours’ drive away. We had been in contact via email the past week as we continue to find another way to get our farm sold. All of a sudden, she was here, out of the blue.
Another Godly moment, another chance to feel his Holy Spirit.
It was at this point that I shared with the family in my tour who Christi was and the amazing moment I was experiencing with her being here. It was then I realized, I had to share the rest of the story with them, and include the ax as Christi and her family joined our ongoing tour group.
Now, I must back up at this point and share another miracle that had transpired this week, which would become very relevant at this point.
As I wrote earlier, Bill Bradshaw had donated an ax to the Trail of Faith. Bill’s father, Dwight E. Bradshaw received the ax from an old Waldensian in Valdese, possibly a Refour family member. The head of the ax had an imprint, “Italy” stamped on it. Bill had shared with me how he had wanted to donate it to the museum, but it had just never felt right; not until he met me. Bill had taken the old head to a handle expert in the mountains nearby in order to get the old missing handle replaced. The handle luthier explained to Bill how this required a “special” handle, not one many people would know. As I held the beautiful antique in my hands, I couldn’t help feel deeply honored to accept this gift on behalf of the Trail. Later that evening, as I walked out into the dark, a street lamp lit my way and as I walked I could see the “Italy” stamp clearly marked, but the odd angle of the light also provided another engraving I had missed earlier. Carefully, I tilted the ax at different angles toward the streetlight and could make out the letters, “OURE,” with the “O” partially worn off. Instantly, the name of my ancestor’s village in the Chisone valley popped into my head, “ROURE?”
Could this ax head have been from Roure, in the Chisone valley?
How profound, if that was the case, for this ax to make into the hands of someone in Valdese who would have ties to this exact village, especially when the inhabitants of Valdese all came from the neighboring valleys! It wasn’t until later the next day that I was able to confirm, the second stamp was undoubtedly the “Roure” as I had expected, and quickly put it into our display case for safe keeping. This was another Godly moment that was going to take time to sink in.
So, as Christi joined our tour, I shared with the tour family of God’s confirmation once again. To this they replied, “as it is His will.”
I would later find out that the patriarch of the family was going to be celebrating his 90th birthday this Tuesday. He had been a missionary for 60 years, traveling the globe, serving the Lord, he and his late wife. As we stood at the foot of the path to exile, one of the exhibits on the Trail, I stood next to him and felt a special moment pass as he looked up at his family climbing the pathway to the platform overhead; his pride of bringing them all to this point, his love going onto Glory, and this beautiful day to share with is family. We stood for a moment in silence and took it all in, he and I. It was then he turned to me and said that he would be celebrating his 90th. I exclaimed to him how amazing he looked for a man of his years, his appearance being nothing more that someone in their late 60s at best. He smiled broadly, thanking me for the bad judgment of age.
We turned to join the others as they returned and continued on our journey.
It was then that it struck me. Here was a man nearing the end of his mission and me just beginning, both of us walking together at this moment, but soon we would part. Although our time together is brief, we shall walk together again someday on the other side of glory, and then, we can share the many tales of our times here on earth once more, those many missions, those lives touched.
Yes, it was just another Saturday, a day to revel in life lived and just one more to remember for eternity.
To God be the Glory!
Filed under Inspirational, Religion, Religious Experience
Flipping Your Town…in the name of Jesus!
A gray, overcast, soggy morning greets us today; a writer’s comforting quilt of reflection washes over me.
Yesterday as I spoke to the congregation at Cumnock UMC, there was a sense of urgency to what I was saying, something that led me to want to push my fellow Christians farther than they’ve ever gone before, to boldly go forth and espouse the Word of God. Part of me knew, that as soon as many left that front door, stepping into the world beyond, that message would fade and when confronted with the “real” world, interactions with others would face the everyday scrutiny of social adaptation we all face, myself included. However, there were many reflections as I drove to Greensboro to take Mary out for dinner in order to celebrate her 14th birthday (yes, that is another blog, about where the time goes and how blessed we are by this beautiful, smart young woman we are watching grow before our eyes.).
Today when I checked the latest happenings with the world around us via the social media devices, I found a refreshing and boldly innovative initiative being undertaken by a church in Valdese, NC.; The River of Life. I saw where they have started a ministry to the local community called, “Flipping Valdese” #flippingValdese . It made me think back to the part of my sermon yesterday where I tried to convey how hard it is to go out into the world that we are most familiar and witness to others. I believe it is much easier to go to another country and spread much needed food and clothing to less fortunate populations and then witness to them, nearly a captive audience. But try to go out into a world that has their basic needs met, who choose to turn from the Word for one reason or another, and you will find the true test of your faith. Now, I am not condemning the work done by our many missionary teams and persons, these are all valuable and desperately needed, but few dare to go where the person we speak to is of our own kind, like minded in some aspects, to those who have all they need and turn from the Word of God because of their own worldly desires. For Jesus came into the world, and the world was made through him, but the world did not know Him.
We as Christians face many challenges in a world that grows closer to the darkness each day. To arm ourselves with the Word and to go out into the world is a bold move that many will shrink from the challenge. It takes someone with deep devotional fortitude to go out and witness to those who can just as easily tell you where to go, literally and figuratively. It is not going to get any easier with each day we are being invaded by those that want to take away our religious freedoms, our faith and our Lord. I applaud the River of Life Church and their pastoral staff led by Pastor Allen King for doing the unthinkable, the most avoidable and the most needed, witnessing to our fellow brethren.
Join with me as we lift their ministry up in prayer and think about starting your own “Flipping _____” where you fill in the blank with your town, city or community. We cannot sit back and wait. Darkness seeks to destroy us all and we can only sit back on our laurels so long before it’s too late.
Flip your community and see what miracles the Lord can do for you.
Please keep our friends, family and community in prayer as many are needing help, healing and condolences for loss.
Have a blessed week.
Filed under Inspirational, Religion, Religious Experience
Up and Down the Mountain…
It occurred to me this past weekend as I watched my children repeatedly ski down the mountain how much we try to intentionally incorporate the unknown into our lives of normalcy. We purposely pay others to allow us to throw ourselves into chaotic circumstances from whence we knowingly might emerge unharmed; yet possibly not, thus the thrill.
Sitting in the ski lodge watching people come and go, it soon became apparent as the day wore on, that the flushed haggard faces were from people who had taken risks, forced themselves into the momentary windswept thrill of racing headlong down a mountain, all for the sake of fun; nothing more. There was no reason for their plight, nothing gained, only the momentary pleasure that the rush of adrenaline created. Had it been another place and time, the faces could have easily been of those victims of the many global conflicts, who might have barely escaped being captured by enemy combatants in a war torn region of the world. Or, they could have been people who narrowly escaped death from the onrushing Tsunami that engulfed their home, now running for their lives to higher ground. Or, they could have been people fleeing for their lives from wild fires that had engulfed entire communities this past summer in one of the worst wildfire summers in recent history.
But no, these were weekend warriors; folks who were simply out for the fun of that feeling of whisking along with nothing between you and danger other than your ability to remain upright and the skill it takes to maneuver through a myriad of skiers and collective snowboarders scattered down the mountainside.
I know, I’ve been there too.
Yes, I have to confess; last year I tried my hand at skiing for the first time ever. Up until the point the slopes became too icy for safety’s sake, I was actually having fun tempting fate. I was there to escort my children, who were pretty much escorting me by the end of the night; it was their first time too. However, late into the night with the progressively worsening conditions, I decided to take one last shot down the double black diamond called the “Orchard Run” I realized my luck could have easily run out.
The slopes that night had become increasingly icy and with time, had become more and more difficult to stop. In fact, even the easier slopes were becoming so “fast” that you had to snowplow (turning both toes inward in order to stop your progress downhill) all the way down just to maintain a manageable speed. For some reason, my son and I decided, even with the knowledge of the ice, that we would try one of the most difficult runs at the ski resort we were visiting. We had already successfully made it down this run before, but now unbeknownst to us, it was nothing but a pure sheet of ice. Regardless, we were there to tempt fate, and so we took off from the ski lift with the anticipation of one more adventure; one last run.
The initial section was pretty much as it had been before. My son took a slight spill just after leaving the ski lift, which should have been a sign. Still, we continued on. It was not far from there on the first curve heading down the mountain that I realized I was already going too fast. It was one of those times when you think to yourself, “Now what was I thinking?” It quickly became quite obvious, this was a mistake. As all attempts to halt the increasing speed became apparent, I felt my legs doing everything they could to maintain control and not buckle under the increased force that the speed of flight was creating. The moment I became airborne off of one of the little jumps that I had managed to miss the first time, but due to the increased speed, could not this time, I knew the end was near. As my body prepared for impact, I knew that nothing good was going to come of this. I tried to imagine the pain I would encounter as bone, tendon and muscle became ripped apart from the fateful impact that was about to take place. The first thing that hit was my face, as the rest of my body quickly followed. It was a blinding tumultuous crash that ensued as gravity, speed and ice all combined to continue my unmanned flight down the mountainside, at nearly the same speed I had managed to obtain at the peak of my airborne flight. Seconds later, I lay in a motionless pile of snow, ice and anticipation. I hesitantly began feeling for that first impulse of pain that would lead to the trip to the emergency room; nothing came. I felt my face where I took the initial impact, no blood? As I slowly took inventory as I regained my senses, it became apparent, I had been spared.
I slowly got to my feet and regained my footing, repositioned my helmet and goggles, and with as much dignity as I could manage, headed down the remainder of the slope. My ski trip had just officially ended, and I was thankful to be able to walk away, in one piece. I met up with my son at the bottom of the slope shortly afterward. He made it safely down without incident but was concerned for my well being. He was relieved to see me again, as I was him; both of us none the worse for wear.
As I reflect back on that uneventful plight, I realized that the risk I took was not the kind of enjoyment in life I really wanted. There was no gain, no measure of significant advancement that might cause lasting joy or memory other than knowing I had survived something which wasn’t necessary to survive to start with.
I know what it is to have fun, but then again, I know what it is to take foolish chances.
Yet, every day somewhere in the world, someone is performing mission work or preaching the Word where it is forbidden, taking chances to go places to serve others all in the name of God our Father. For these risks, one can be justified in knowing that, “He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.” – 1 John 4:4 Perhaps, as weekend warriors, we also prepare the path for the day we are called to do greater works, so that we will fear less because of what we have already faced on our own.
I think with age, we come to realize what is more important in life. The fun things become more spiritual in nature, living the thrills to our youth. The old adage, “You’re only as young as you feel,” should have an appendage attached from wisdom that says, “As long as you’ve got feeling left in your body.” No need to risk losing mobility when there is much more life to live.
I believe from now on I’ll take the slow lane; just the ski lift please…nothing more.
.
Filed under Inspirational