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Tagged as ax, Baptist, cancer, cervical, Charlotte, church, god, miracle, NC., New Jersey, outdoor oven, Refour House, Satan, Trail of Faith

by Timothy | March 5, 2016 · 10:01 pm

Go Gentle Into the Frozen Abyss…

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”-Joshua 1:9

There are days in our lives that have a way of becoming memorable. Those days that make an indelible impression upon our beings; building character and proving to ourselves just what is possible when we are pushed to a point of no return.

Yesterday was one of those days that it seemed as if everything that could go wrong did.

It began early on when I found that the bitterly cold weather we had a few weeks back had weakened a below-ground valve behind the Refour House. As I rounded the corner of the building, water was shooting three feet out of the recessed fixture into the yard. “Great,” I thought, “so much for spreading the new pile of compost today.”

That was number one: the leaking valve.

I eventually found the main valve for the leaking line in the large underground control vault. There, nearly six feet below the surface were a myriad of valves and pipes, none of which were labeled. In addition, there was nearly a foot of water already in the bottom of the vault. “Odd,” I questioned, “hopefully this isn’t a sign of something else.” Next, it was a matter of finding out which valve shut off the line to the leak. So, methodically I began turning off one valve after another. Whether it was a premonition of things to come or not, the handle of the first valve I grabbed crumbled in by grasp. It had corroded into red, rusty dust. It was not a good feeling. As I continued working my way down the maze of plumbing one of the main line brass fixtures hissed and squirted water, but then stopped. “Oh great, what else could go wrong,” I silently mused to myself. I cautiously continued on until I happened upon the correct valve and turned off the water to the leaking line. In order to speed up things, I figured I’d jump on the golf cart and zip down to the far end of the Trail. When I opened up the garage and turned on the golf cart, I noticed the battery level was nearly dead. Knowing I had put it on the charger the night before, there was definitely something wrong. I plugged the charger back into the slot on the cart; nothing.

Great, this would be number two: the golf cart was not charging.

A few hours later after returning from the hardware store where I found everything I needed to fix the water issue, my wife arrived, “This must be the day for bad news,” she chuckled.

“Great, what now,” I said, my shoulders sinking as I felt the weight of the day growing.

“We’ve had a death or two at the chicken coop,” she replied in a solemn tone, “possibly as many as three.”

I shook my head and headed out for the valve issue, “One thing at a time,” I silently said beneath my breath.

We were now up to bad thing number three; dead chickens.

“Bad things come in threes, right,” my mind concluded as I began repairing the broken water line.

Well, one thing and then another and soon I had a water line repaired. The battery charger confirmed good at the golf cart shop. Finally, some confidence began to return. However, life had taught me many lessons and one very important lesson was that one should never become too over confident. Call it Lutheranism, call it Midwestern, I almost felt a little guilty at my slight joy of success.

Lessons are often learned for a reason.

The next day, after allowing the glue on the valve fitting to dry over night, I climbed down into the vault for one last time, or so I had hoped and turned the water line back on. There was the sound of rushing water within the pipes and soon it was silent. No further leaks or drips in the vault, all seemed well.

“So far so good,” I said under my breath, as I headed back down to the opposite end of the trail to check the valve for any signs of water; nothing, all clear.

“Not bad,” I smiled inwardly. “Time for a quick cup of coffee and then back to my compost pile,” my thoughts confirmed.

After my brief respite, I headed back out. The weather on the horizon looked daunting. Dark clouds were forming in the mountains and headed our way. The air had the feel of icy precipitation to it. There were already reports of snow in Asheville. As I rounded the corner of the building, my mind froze on the image before me. The vault, the main control room for the entire Trail was no overflowing with a river of water.

“It can’t be,” I thought, trying to force the image out of my consciousness. “The hiss, the water in the bottom, the signs were all there,” I thought as I ran back inside emptying my pockets as I ran. I reached the office door where my wife was working and yelled, “Quick, come with me, we’ve got an emergency.”

“What now she responded,” as she jumped up to follow.

We both raced outside and once again met the torrent pouring out of the underground vault.

“What in the world,” she screamed in disbelief. “How do we turn it off?”

“There is only one place I know of,” I replied, “down there,” I said pointing into the swirling, muddy abyss.

In many ways, it is easy to become dismayed and overwhelmed, drowning in our own self-doubt and anxiety. But when we meet the challenge without giving our actions a second thought, when we tackle the obstacle that is impeding our progress head on without reluctance, we overcome those insecurities and become one with our destiny.

So, without hesitation, I stepped down into the icy water. As I moved deeper into the frigid liquid, I prayed to God to give me strength and protection. It was as if I was suddenly enveloped in a protective layer of skin. I could sense the freezing water, I knew that time was of the essence, yet there was a certain calm.

Around me was a world of browns, grays and earth tones. Death was everywhere as the landscape had yet to come back to life from its winter slumber.

I reached for shutoff valves and their handles that were unfortunately beyond my grasp. They were deeper than I could reach while keeping my head above water. My breath was growing short and I could barely stand, let alone function much more. I had to emerge from the bitterly cold water and take a break before going any further.

As I stood gasping for breath while leaning against the wall of the building, tiny snowflakes began to fall around us. My body was numb as I watched the deluge of water continue unabated.

“Is there another place we can turn it off,” my concerned wife said, now frantic as she watched my body begin to shiver uncontrollably.

“No, this is it.”

I headed back toward the vault, “I’ve…got… to to try again,” I shuddered as I sank back down.

As I submerged back down and once more tried to find a valve within reach. The pressure of the intense cold water soon had me crawling back out.

Pausing, my mind raced back to the previous day and to the location of the pipe that had hissed at me. There below that point was the main valve, but it was nearly at the bottom of the vault.

I only had one choice at this point.

When I was in high school, we decided one day to dive in the old rock pits south of Ft. Myers. There was a hole so deep that when you swam over its untold depth, it was almost a blue-black. Many had tried to reach the bottom unsuccessfully. However, after a few days of practice, we had finally built up our courage and strength to feel that we might finally be able to achieve the impossible. I remember the four of us taking those last few breaths before going down.

None of us knew the dangers of deep water diving.

Not one of us had any clue as to what we faced.

So with that last hyperventilating gulp, we dove into the dark abyss. I can recall one by one, my friends peeled off and headed back up, unable to continue down. Unwavering in my quest, I continued to kick. My legs were strong and my lungs at their peak. Running countless miles had prepared my body for this moment.

“Go gentle into that good night,” my mind whispered as the darkness seemed endless. I reached my hand before me not knowing what lay ahead.

Just before reaching the bottom, my lungs began to quiver for air. There wasn’t much time left. It was then I hit the white sandy bottom. There have submerged in the sand was an ancient beer bottle. I turned, hit the bottom with my legs, and shoved off for the surface kicking with everything I had. Before breaking the surface, I had already begun to go into oxygen debt convulsions. It was just as I burst through the top that I had no choice but to suck in. Thanks be to God that it was air and not water.

Thankfully, whether we realized it or not that day, God was with us.

“To be strong and of courage, for He is with us always,” is often hard to remember when disaster faces us head on. So many years ago, there was no urgency in that day, there was no dire threat of impending doom, there was only a choice I had made to take a risk in order to explore a forbidden depth; a place we feared as much as we wondered about. Once again, unwelcome, dark water awaited me, but unlike before, this was no choice in this matter.

Back down into the black hole, I climbed. I looked to my wife once more and before going under said, “Call someone if I don’t come back up.”

“Could something down there suck you under,” she questioned scared and frantic?

“I won’t’ know until I’m down there,” I replied and took one last breath then dove.

There have been times that I’ve snorkeled in muddy, disgusting water, but never had I been in water that was trying to suck the air out of my lungs through my body. As my hands frantically reached for the pipes and followed them like a blind person reading Braille, my mind worked out the image before me. Continuing to pray as I worked, there was a calmness about me I cannot explain.

Down, down I went, feeling pipes and valves as I along the way toward the ultimate goal, the main valve. The air in my chest didn’t seem to matter anymore as a special numbness began to overwhelm my consciousness.

“Go gentle into that good night,” my mind whispered once again, an echo from the past.

Water rushed past my frozen fingers; turned the handle.

Water still rushing.

Followed the pipe further; turned another handle; nothing.

My hands walked along the plumbing trying to make sense of the maze of fixtures. Somewhere a voice said, “Stop, there, now.” My nearly frozen digits had discovered a handle. “Turn it,” the voice said, and I did.

The water stopped flowing.

“Must find the surface.”

I don’t recall taking the first breath of air.

I don’t recall how I got my legs up and out of the hole in the metal plate that covered the vault.

All I can remember is crawling onto the cold, wet ground and collapsing. There was no cold, no numbness, only swirling white feathers falling down from heaven.

Slowly, my faculties returned, as did the pain of exposure to my limbs and digits. My wife and I worked quickly as a team to strip the wet clothing and to find towels enough to get my body dry and warm before hypothermia set in.

The numbers of all the things that had gone wrong seemed to disappear as warmth reclaimed my soul.

There are days that make impressions upon our minds that we will take with us the rest of our lives. There are places we once feared to tread, but nevermore shall we when we go fearlessly into that dark night.

Yes, rage, rage against the dying of the light, and go fearlessly into that dark night.

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” -Dylan Thomas

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Tagged as abyss, Asheville, chicken coop, death, deep water diving, Dylan Thomas, faith, freezing water, Ft. Myers, god, golf cart, ice, icy, Joshua, Lutheranism, Midwestern, NC., plumbing, polar bear plunge, Refour House, snow, Trail of Faith, Valdese, valve, vault, water

by Timothy | February 22, 2016 · 9:08 pm

Can You Feel It?…

“But you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be witnesses to Me in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” -Acts 1:8

We awoke to a cold, gray, overcast sky. In the past, this would be another dreary Monday morning, one that felt so low, you dared not sing the blues, but rather curse them. Days so bleak it felt as if time was passing through your veins like bitter sarcasm, you life was anything but hopeful. In those times past, I lived only for the sake of others, their livelihood, not my own. Yes, there were bright moments, blessings that I cherished through the pain. Yet, as I reached those segments of enlightenment, the valley floors came crashing, deeper and deeper. Then slowly the realization of a life not lived became a reality. Each morning as I drove home I would lose consciousness behind the wheel, each morning I knew the end was near unless something changed.

God had called me years earlier and in my stubbornness and regret, I had said no. How much more could I take? How much longer would I refuse Him?

Finally, at the end of my rope, I lifted up a prayer previously I would have felt to be selfish, but when you reach that lowest arc of the pendulum’s swing, you must act.

So I prayed as Pastor Thomas had said, “Know that your prayer will be answered if it’s God’s will, don’t be afraid to ask.”

So I did.

My life changed almost instantly.

There are those times when you can feel it, really feel it. Then there are days, those times in the lull of battle, you begin to wonder in self-doubt allowing Satan to sneak in the back door. But through the midst of struggle, there is always the light shining through the fog; the Holy Spirit leading.

Yes, today I awoke to a cold, gray, overcast sky. On the surface, it felt like another lifeless Monday, but instead of a week of dread and malcontent awaiting me at work, there was love and fellowship through God’s grace just around the corner. As I pulled into the drive of the Trail, the front gate was already open and brother Mahorney was ready and waiting for me. My heart had already begun to smile. Soon to follow were our visitors for the day, Pastor Rick Mercer and his lovely wife Cindy along with their special guest, and author, Mr. Hammer.

There would a time constraint placed on us due to Mr. Hammer having to meet his flight, but I never once felt quickened by the clock. There was a special peace floating over us. Something indescribable.

Before starting upon the journey through the Trail we prayed and it was then I felt it, the Holy Spirit. However, like times before, when it would happen once and be gone. This morning was not a typical Monday morning.

Again and again, He was there unlike any time before.

Each time we gathered to pray, each time we lifted up His holy name, He was there.

Words cannot adequately describe the power of the Holy Spirit pulsating through every fiber of your being; yet, the only thing I can plausibly relate the feeling to which is of this earth is that of an electric current vibrating through your body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head any and all at once, not fleeting in an instance and gone, but continuing on and on until the final “Amen” was spoken.

Not once, but every-time-we-prayed!

Nothing can, nor will ever compare.

Nothing will ever replace the power of the Holy Spirit; no nothing.

We said our tearful goodbyes. Once more, like so many other somber goodbyes, I wondered if I would ever see Mr. Hammer again on this side of Glory, like anytime we meet our brothers and sisters in Christ for the first time. We shook hands once more and I lifted up prayers for his safe travels back to his home and family.

Yes, it was another cold, gray, overcast Monday. But through the midst of the shroud, there was a light shining above.

To God be the Glory.

Amen.

If you have had a similar or like experience, then comment and share with others. Let your testimony be a light unto the world!

Filed under Inspirational, Religious Experience

Tagged as battle, Cindy Duncan Mercer, electricity, faith, god, holiness, Holy Spirit, NC., Pastor Barry Mahorney, Pastor Rick Mercer, prayer, praying, strength, testimony, Trail of Faith, Valdese, witness

by Timothy | 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. Sometimes 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, ²⁰teaching 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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Filed under Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as boring, Burke County, Cause, Chatham County, dream, four walls, god, Inspirational, Iraq, ISIS, Jesus Christ, love, Matthew, Missions, NC., routine, Trail of Faith, Valdese, youth

by Timothy | December 26, 2015 · 11:01 pm

Swirling Water…

The muddy waters of the Catawba river swirled beneath us, traveling in inundating pools of ferocity, twisting and turning past trees never before submerged, now victims of the flood; torrential rains having overrun the banks of the river, now consuming all in its path. Massive logs lay helpless against bridge abutments, caught, unable to escape the pressure from the onslaught. Above, we watch the mighty power of untold strength battling mammoth structures of nature, each winning in their own way; some immediately while others eroding those of greater magnitude until they too become victim to the constant force. As we ride along the pathway, safe above the brown waters below, my mind drifts back to another time, another flood; more brown swirling waters.

My tiny feet couldn’t reach the water below, yet it called to me. “Down” I would say in my mind to my father has he held me safely above the darkness below us. The banks of the Wabash had once again overflowed near our hometown of New Harmony. For some reason, even though I was not yet two I can still recall the memory. Eventually, I would squirm and fight enough to allow him to let me wade in the cold darkness. The chill would run through my body and soon afterward, the fever would begin. They say that memories which last far into our past are those etched into our core through trauma. Soon after, I would come down with double pneumonia. Later I would learn of having the sickness both at one and two years of age, seemingly a year apart. This was probably the latter since the hospital memories correspond with what I would have experienced as mobility, or the lack thereof. The most difficult time would have nothing to do with the illness, but rather the solitary isolation; loneliness.

Hours upon hours, I could recall sitting in the subdued green hospital room in my oxygen tent, waiting; waiting for anyone to walk in and speak to me. In between waking and sleeping, the time seemed to crawl. The most vivid memory I have from that experience was that one day a nurse must have felt sorry for me and took me from the room and into the common room where there was one black and white TV playing. Folks were sitting around watching the TV when I was rolled into the room in my wheelchair. “Now you stay here and watch some TV and don’t get out of this chair,” she said ever so sweetly. I was beside myself; free from that room and around other people. I must have seemed overjoyed. The nurse had evidently tied me in with a towel or sheet, because when she left the room, another little boy nearby came and asked if I wanted to play with him on the floor. I must have smiled broadly at this request because before I knew it he disappeared behind my chair and I was suddenly set free. We were on the floor playing with his toys when I heard the voice of the nurse, “How in the world did you get out of that chair,” she would ask, the sweetness had evaporated from her voice and sterness I feared was in its place. Knowing the culprit was likely my new found friend, she quickly placed me back in my wheelchair and I was rolled back to my room, back to the confines of the clear plastic prison. “Life has to be better than this,” I must have thought. Back into the realm of dreams and fantastic tales I would be forced to go, as the artist in me was painfully being born. By the grace of God, I would survive.

Years later, my wife and friends would find ourselves swimming in Ginny Springs, near High Falls Florida. The water in the individual springs was crystal clear and beautiful to experience. However, in order to save time from getting from one spring to another, we chose to float down the Santa Fe River. What we didn’t realize at the time was that the river was above flood stage. In that part of Florida, the water takes on an almost coffee color from the tannic acid it extracts from the trees it passes through. As we swam into the flow of the Santa Fe, we literally couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces. The current was too strong to turn back once we had entered the flow, so we stuck to the surface for safety, allowing the current to carry us along. These waters were also home to alligators, so our fears were not without merit. We soon reached the entry point of the next spring and quickly crossed the barrier which helped keep the darkness out of the crystal clear spring waters. Looking back, it might have been foolish to take such a risk, but it was something you didn’t think about until it was over. Thankfully, none of us on that journey were injured or maimed for life. Thankfully we had a brief encounter with the unknown, the darkness beyond the safety of our realm of existence. This time, there was no detrimental consequences; nothing more than a distant memory of wading in dirty water as a kid. However, like those experiences as a child, one innocent event leads to another until we are forever changed by the results of our actions, either immediately or slowly, painfully afterward.

Today as we rode along the muddy, raging torrent below, I was thankful yet again for the chance to be alive to see God’s hand at work, either immediately or slowly.

His time; God’s time, is not our own. The mysteries of His universe we will never know, but we can be thankful for what we do know and how he has molded us into the person we are today; either immediately or painfully slow.

Thanks be to God.

“And He said, “To you it has been given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God, but to the rest it is given in parables, that ‘Seeing they may not see, And hearing they may not understand.’” – Luke 8:10

Filed under Inspirational, Nature, Religious Experience

Tagged as alligato, alligator, Burke County, death, flood, Ginny Springs, god, loneliness, Luke, Morganton, NC., pnemonia, Santa Fe River

by Timothy | November 2, 2015 · 9:32 pm

Just A Trim Please…

“But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light” – 1 Peter 2:9

Many days I walk onward not knowing the absolution of what is to come any more than where the next raindrop will fall. Many seek answers to questions they cannot. Yet, as we may, we must remain steadfast and true, forsaking all the distractions that pull us away from our course.

Today, as I sat in Sain’s barber shop watching as my son received a much-needed hair cut, I gently picked out a song on the mandolin they keep hanging on the wall for just such an occasion. “Leaning On the Everlasting Arms” was somehow fitting for the day. Outside, men shuffled in and out of the shop from the chilly rain, each shaking off the weather as they entered. Across from me four barbers were busy working, a sight not often seen in many places I’ve been. Many barbershops barely have one active chair, let alone two, so the feeling of being alive was a welcomed sight. Not long after the first few stanzas of “Leaning”, another good old standby began to work its way from within, “I”’ll Fly Away” came drifting softly from within. From the distant corner, some talk show was in progress on the large screen TV that occupied the space. Most gave it no attention as voices from the chairs both those waiting and those in the progress of getting their trims conversed.

The memories of Max’s barber shop came back. The little building out behind his house where he cut hair on Thursday nights. Many from the area of Bear Creek would stop by for their $5 haircuts. There were many stories shared and news passed on in that little place. Seldom would you enter without learning something of either the neighborhood or the history of that neck of the woods. Max eventually got a TV with satellite hooked up which most of the time was on but without the sound turned up; talk was much more important. Then there was Reid’s shop, down in Siler City, where Dennis and Ried cut hair, another duo, where most of the time it was just Dennis. It was a step up from Max’s place, but not by far. There were no fancy TVs hanging on the wall, no mandolin’s to pick, but again, there was often intense conversations that would both enlighten and inspire. In all of these places, there were the same familiar smells of the old-timey barber shop. In each of these, the hot lather would follow the cut, the welcome end to the buzzing and clipping all so close to the ears. Hot, warm lather soothing the skin, to be scraped away with the fine edge of the straight razor. The cleanliness that followed was like a breath of fresh air; akin to new ground being planted, waiting for the seed.

As the sounds and smells around me blended together, I momentarily closed my eyes and watched the notes drift across the span of time, thinking of all the places a mandolin and I have met. This was another first, but for my time, it was nothing more than something to keep me occupied while I waited. I opened my eyes in time to see one barber motioning for me to take my turn in the chair, but I shook my head “no” since I had just been there the week before. The next customer looked to me for approval as I nodded, keeping time to the strings that continued to move beneath the pick, the one the lead barber had offered me to borrow. It was comforting to see the honor system was alive and well here too, another confirmation.

Before I knew it, my son was up, shaking off the loose hairs, looking much better than before. Somehow he had aged before my eyes. That shaggy scruff was gone and a sharp looking young man stood before me. Another song moved into my head, but there was no time now. I stood to pay and thanked the barber for the use of his pick. He, in turn, thanked me for the music and asked for us to return again.

As we walked from the barber shop back out into the drizzle the strains of “Blessed Assurance”, returned and I couldn’t help think how blessed I truly was.

There are days where we cannot help ourselves to wonder if all that we do is enough. Have we offered hope to those who seek affirmation from beyond their own front doors? Have we provided the path to salvation that many need, yet we wander in our own shadows, following the winds of change as they blow us from our destination, our goals, our calling.

Today, so many places that were in the past came calling again and we met, together in one place and walked out welcome to be one with Him. Once again called out of the dark into the light, I was once more reassured of that path, yes, the one less traveled.

It was a good day.

Filed under Inspirational, Religion

Tagged as Barber, Bear Creek, Blessed Assurance, faith, god, hair, Him, Jesus, lather, Leaning on the Everlasting Arms, mandolin, Morganton, NC., Sain's Barber Shop, shave, Siler City, straight razor, trim

by Timothy | October 25, 2015 · 11:04 pm

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 90^th 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 90^th. 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

Tagged as ax, Chisone Valley, god, Italy, mission, Missionary, NC., Roure, Trail of Faith, Valdese

by Timothy | October 19, 2015 · 8:49 pm

Living Water…

“On the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. ³⁸He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.”-John 7:37-38

To see the water flow from the parched lips of the fountains spout was like a man lost in the desert coming over a dune to find an oasis spread before him; so it was today, another day, another first at the Trail.

In Jesus ministry, it was apparent that the Jews and religious leaders of his time could not fathom the story he was sharing when he said, ““I shall be with you a little while longer, and then I go to Him who sent Me. ³⁴You will seek Me and not find Me, and where I am you cannot come.” As Jesus tried to unveil the true purpose of his ministry, the concept was beyond their ability to grasp its concept. So, after the feast, he tried to put it in perspective such that they might be able to understand when he spoke about the “Living Water.” In their world, they were starving for a drink from the fountain of the Holy Spirit. Even as badly as Jesus wanted to give them this, he still would not be able to do so until his glorification while on the cross. Thus, the reason Jesus told his disciples to go to Jerusalem and wait for the Holy Spirit to come down before going out to preach to all nations.

In the time of darkness, when the Roman Catholic church tried to extinguish the flame of truth, the true Word of God, it was this “Living Water” that kept flowing through the hearts and minds of those who had received his glory from the beginning. Those who came and drank from His well, his living water, never thirsted again. These were the faithful that carried on in times of darkest persecution, the Waldensians.

Against all odds, against all forces of evil, the truth of the Word prevailed so that today, we can behold his Glory of our own accord, without an intercessory directing our thoughts and prayers. Through the darkest hour, the “Living Water” flowed from the valleys of the Cottien Mountains, serving those whose way had been lost, whose spiritual lips were parched and dying for the refreshment of the life-giving Word.

Today, as never before, there is a growing thirst in our land, a parched body of souls, ever-more growing in number who seek for this life-sustaining sustenance and are looking for a fountain from which to drink.

Today, the fountain which symbolized the gift from King Carlos Alberto to the Waldensian people in 1845, came alive. The water finally began to flow. Today, as we watched the fountain come to life, we recalled the scripture in the book of John. It was at that moment that I wondered if the ancient King understood the significance of his gift. I wondered how much he understood that these people of the valleys, those who made His word their primary goal in life, became that “Living Water,” of which Jesus spoke?

Our world increasingly seeks for an answer to the growing despair and darkness that seems to be unabated. How much more today do we need sources of “Living Water”; like never before? As we walk the Trail of Faith, we can once more reflect back on Jesus’ words and seek Him so that we too may become these fountains from which living waters may flow.

May your heart become a river, this I pray.

Filed under Inspirational, Religion, Religious Experience

Tagged as bible, Cottien Alps, fountain, glorification, god, Holy Spirit, Jesus, John 7, King Carlos Alberto, living water, mouth, NC., river, spout, trail, Trail of Faith, Valdese, Waldensian, water

by Timothy | October 18, 2015 · 10:02 pm

Power of Prayer…

“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart Be acceptable in Your sight, O Lord, my strength and my Redeemer.” –Psalm 19:14

Prayer connects us to God in ways we as mere mortals beings may never understand.

Each day I find God only tests us with what he knows we can handle; this week was no different.

First thing Monday morning we had our first visitors, a walk-in family of four who were there or a self-guided tour. As I began introducing them to the Trail, I felt led to share with them more than the basic story and soon found myself sharing my testimony. Their children were very attentive and extremely well educated in Christianity; knowing more scriptures than many adults I’ve met. Later we would find that they were home schooled which explained their advanced Biblical knowledge. I specifically recalled the point where it hit me that this was another “God Moment,” as I’ve been calling them lately. That moment came after they had watched our introduction movie and had turned around to ask questions. For some reason, I can’t recall the details, they mentioned something about being from Durham. Perhaps I had shared with them the farm and the fact that we hadn’t yet sold ours back in Chatham County and then they said how they were looking to get out of Durham and move out into the country. It was then the image of God smiling, looking down on us all came to mind. I know God has a sense of humor; knowing all the struggles, showings and lack of getting our house to move at all. Could this be the family that only He could have found and sent to us to start the ball rolling?

As I took them on more of a guided tour than a self-guided tour while I was able, as long as another guest didn’t arrive we can spend more time with our guests, I was able to share with them in more detail the whole story. When we give tours, we can often tell when the Holy Spirit begins to work in our visitors and this particular morning, He was definitely with us. I learned that the mother’s maiden name was “Barba,” as the name of those who taught and led the student’s at the college in the valleys. I encouraged her to seek out more of her family tree, especially since she knew she was of Italian ancestry. Although I don’t need a miracle to believe, there are some who do and what another amazing story it would be if this was the family.

Oddly enough, when we tried to show them our farm that was for sale on the MLS listing, it hit me, that we had taken it off the market temporarily and that it wasn’t available to show them. Instead, we gave them contact information for our realtor and the address, just in case. It was almost as if we weren’t allowed to go too far that day, but just enough.

In God’s time, we shall see.

Then, as if we needed another gear switched, we had a totally different perspective arrive on Wednesday when Ron Long and his wife Donell arrived from New Mexico. For Ron’s birthday, Donell arranged to bring him to Valdese to visit the town from where his grandfather had come. Before finding us at the Trail, they had already gone to the museum downtown. They had also studied the Waldensians somewhat so that I was able to jump right into my testimony and share with them my own spiritual journey. As I did, we soon found our ancestral ties, since Ron’s family tree also included Trons. As their self-guided tour turned into a guided tour, while I was once again able, we found so many connections and similarities in our own journey that we literally could not find enough words to share the moment. Family reunions like this, set apart by centuries of time, require nearly an eternity to allow us all the time needed to pass from one to the other the stories of who, what, where and why. I can only imagine that day when Christ returns and we shall all be called to that eternal heavenly home, to share with all our family gone on before. Eternity awaits, for it will be needed in order to hear every last word of every last tale that each of us has to share.

Ron and Donell felt such a strong desire to be part of the journey that they openly expressed how they wished that God might find a way to move them here someday. I offered them my prayers that it might come to pass.

Before Ron and Donell left, we shared our contact information and let the know about the evening meal at the Waldensian Church later that evening. We hugged goodbye not knowing if we would ever meet again. As fate would have it, we met them at the Church dinner later. They were there along with Marilynn from the museum, who had given them their tour earlier in the day enjoying the wonderful Wednesday evening meal. We had another great visit and soon found ourselves hugging goodbye more than once; family whom you know you might never see again is very hard to see go away, especially after you’ve just met. God only knows!

As if the week hadn’t already been moving enough, then came Thursday.

An older couple came walking in later that Thursday morning. I began the introduction to the Trail for their self-guided tour and it was during that brief intro that I felt something speak to me, to tell me to go on, so I did. As I gave my testimony, I felt myself being drawn closer to God in a way that I had never felt before. Before I knew it, the lady to whom I was speaking began to cry and then said to me that she had cancer. I could feel her need for fervent prayer and I opened my arms, embracing her and her husband at the same time, praying over them, asking God for healing and strength; it was a first for me here at the Trail. It was then that I shared with her how my own mother had fought and battled cancer for over 20 years before passing a couple years ago, and that with faith, anything was possible. From that point on, until I could go no further due to other arriving guests, I stayed with them and felt a connection unlike any other. We didn’t have to be blood relatives to feel a bond, we were brothers and sisters in Christ. Later when they came back in, we hugged goodbye and I prayed a silent prayer for them as they drove away. We may never meet again on this side of Glory, but oh what a glorious day it will be when we do.

And then came Friday.

Suffice it to say, we had our challenges but our staff and volunteers worked like seasoned professionals, meeting every obstacle with undaunted determination. In the end, we served nearly 100 guests who were all able to hear our story, our testimony, smell the wood being cut on the sawmill, taste the fresh baked bread and even allowed to roll a few bocci balls. Yes, Friday was as beautiful as it was blessed, with its azure blue skies and crisp fall air.

We had made it through one of our best weeks to date and survived. My 4:30 AM start date that Friday morning wore on me pretty hard by the time 11:00 PM rolled around at the youth center, but I was quite thankful to be able to go home and have a wonderful night’s sleep.

Prayers had been answered more than once, and some we may never know.

Later that weekend my sister called to let me know my brother-in-law had found a job. I shared with her that after the last time we spoke, about a month earlier, I began making a conscious effort to pray for him to find a job. That had been nearly three weeks ago. I asked her when he found the job, she then paused and said, “It was about three weeks ago.” He had been about to take a job far, far away where he might have to move to temporarily and work making an extreme hardship on him and the family but suddenly before he packed to leave, another company called an offered him a job locally, for more money. That was the job he now had. It was then that we thanked God for prayers answered on both ends of the phone.

As Allen King, the pastor of River of Life Church, continues the prayer revival, we too return to prayer more and more. As we do, amazing Godly things begin to transpire, transforming our reality into answered prayers.

All we have to do is believe, and pray.

Filed under Inspirational, Religion, Religious Experience

Tagged as amen, Barbas, cancer, Chatham County, Durham, MLS listing, NC., pastor, prayer, River of Life Church, Trail of Faith, Tron, Valdese, Waldensian

by Timothy | October 11, 2015 · 10:09 pm

Are You Alone…?

“Then he said to me, “Do not fear, Daniel, for from the first day that you set your heart to understand and to humble yourself before your God, your words were heard; and I have come because of your words. 13 But the prince of the kingdom of Persia withstood me twenty-one days; and behold, Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me, for I had been left alone there with the kings of Persia. 14 Now I have come to make you understand what will happen to your people in the latter days, for the vision refers to many days yet to come.”” –Daniel 10:12-14

I often ask God for strength lately, it’s just something I need now more than ever. However, when I ask that he help me to remain humble before the sight of God and others, I rarely expect to see Michael appear, as did Daniel. But when you pray, you never know for sure how your prayers might be answered, and so it goes.

It had been another grueling, physically challenging week. I had pushed my body beyond anything I could have imagined once again. Up before dawn each day, working well past dark until the late hour of each night trying to do all humanly possible to take the old farm to a level comparable to which it is worthy in order to be sold. Squeezing all this into a week already packed with an upturn in events at the Trail made for a culmination of exhaustion that could be felt down in my bones by early Saturday afternoon.

The day before, Friday, we had our first large school group, in which we had two new tour guides and several new volunteers joining our ranks along with a volunteer cancellation which left me to run the sawmill instead of being able to solely supervise as I had hoped. It was also the first time we had served bread to a large tour, so we literally had all hands on deck. There was a special satisfaction at the end of their tour, seeing so many children playing bocci, munching on fresh hot bread from the community oven, playing games on the field and just enjoying life. Everyone had performed exceedingly well; it was a moment to be proud of.

It was as if a new spirit was being reborn at the Trail.

However, I could feel a physical strain by the end of the day Friday. Yet, we had our first ever yard sale planned for Saturday, so I had to set my alarm for 4:30 am to wake up in time to get everything in order. Needless to say, the alarm never went off since I was awake well beforehand. Even though it was a light rain all morning, we still set up our sale, moving everything inside the Trail’s visitor center. All of our vendors that had planned to sell cancelled leaving only us as the sole provider. Even so, we still had lots of visitors and first-time guests at the Trail which allowed us to share our story with many that would have never stopped; another day, another first at the Trail.

As we began cleaning up, there were more souvenir blocks to be cut, so one of the volunteers and myself drove to the gas station to get more fuel for the sawmill. On the way, I could feel a weariness wash over me that drove a sensation utterly to my bones. I felt that I was only minutes away from needing to collapse on my bed or else lose consciousness. About that time my phone rang. It was my wife telling me there was a special group of visitors at the Trail and that I might want to hurry back and consider giving them a guided tour. I replied, “I can’t give a tour, I’m physically unable…I’m just too exhausted.” She replied, “I know, I know, but you’ve got to meet these people and try, you might not know what will come of it.” I groaned back into the phone and said I’d do my best, and hung up. I knew that she would have not suggested this unless there was indeed something special about them, so we obtained our petrol and rushed back, unaware of what we were about to encounter.

As I drove back, I said a prayer under my breath, asking God for strength. From past experience, I knew that being physically tired put a horrible strain on my presentation and that to do justice to any tour, I needed as much of my stamina in place as possible; this was going to need more than I had to give. “God, please be with me, and speak through me in spite of myself,” I prayed, “and Lord, be with us as I do your will.”

There are times when we reach levels of spiritual comprehension that appear to us in forms we cannot understand; angels unaware if you will.

As I walked into the visitor’s center, it was obvious immediately that she had been correct in calling me back. There I met a former Burke County high school teacher and his family, who were all visiting and having a reunion of sorts, having not seen one another for over 40 years. I learned that he was fluent in all European languages and had once worked with the late Fred Cranford’s wife, Betsy, at Freedom High School. We had an immediate connection as he spoke German to me and I understood every word. He then began to speak French to me and oddly enough, I understood most of what he was saying even though I had not taken French. My mind began to wonder if the exhaustion was playing tricks on my brain, and quickly dismissed it. As we moved past our introductions, we moved into the beginning phase of the tour, but not after getting a hot cup of coffee; I was going to need every bit of help I could find.

As the tour began, it seemed to take a while to start warming up to the guests but as we moved from one exhibit to the next, something began to change them; the Trail does that to many. It wasn’t until after we had left the cave that I noticed we lost a member of our group. He later joined us but seemed transformed. We contined on, but there was something beginning to work on our group, something I couldn’t comprehend, something beyond my understanding. As we moved further along the tour, something again was working among my tour guests. It was then that the gentlemen that had stayed behind revealed to me the growing presence of another was with us, one that he had witnessed while standing in the cave. He showed me a video he had taken and there before my eyes I saw something did not make sense, something that words could not adequately describe.

A saying the Waldensians use is “Lux Lucet in Tenebris”, “The Light Shines in the Darkness”.

There in the video, before my unbelieving eyes, I watched sources of light move about, in front of the camera screen, as if angels had interceded on our behalf and were either fighting off demons to protect us or were simply there to dance and behold His glory before us, so that this little group would be changed. The gentlemen had confirmed his test to make sure there were no insects before the camera and no dust particles that could have been affecting the video, taking it over and over again with the same result.

We continued on the tour, the thought of not being alone nagging at the back of our minds, the shadow of light we couldn’t understand eating at our rational understanding of reality.

I worked the sawmill for them, showing them how we had cut the wood to build the first homes in Valdese, and again, the spirit moved through us as more connections were made. An elderly lady was made young again as she shared about growing up across the street from a sawmill where her family worked and she carried water to them for five cents a day. I watched as her eyes lit up and she was child-like once more.

We next moved into the Refour house, a part of the tour that is a testament to the beautiful Alpine-like homes first built in Valdese. Here in the Refour House, we rarely do nothing more than observe the wonderful furnished décor and upgrade in housing from the first homes. But this was already an uncommon tour and was about to take another unexpected turn.

Usually guests stay on the first level of the living quarters but this group wanted to look upstairs also, which was perfectly fine. After a short pause, the teacher came back down and asked that I go upstairs where the gentlemen with the video camera was filming; they had something else for me to see. As I approached, he began by telling me he didn’t believe in heaven or hell, but that he did believe in spirits and that there was something alive in this place, like we had witnessed in the cave, but now he was shaking. As we again watched the video, there were once more light sources moving about, as if angelic beings were there with us, drifting around us in the room.

It was then, there in the dusk of the day that I noticed he was having trouble trying to speak.

He began to weep as he described what they meant to him. It was a moving moment for us both. I then said I believed there was indeed a heaven and a hell and that there had to be angels in heaven who had come to be with us. I can’t explain the rush of spirituality that came over us as I witnessed to him the salvation that awaits us all when Christ becomes part our lives. As we stood there, reveling in their glory, I couldn’t help think that without their help, this tour would have never reached this point; I was unable alone, yet we weren’t.

We ended the tour becoming so moved by our experience that we all knew God had worked in our lives.

The mere fact that the teacher had been by this place so many times and never stopped. The fact that I was even available to lead instead of home sleeping which I had so badly wanted to do, to the fact that we weren’t alone during the tour, that someone had intervend on our behalf. There were so many coincideces about this day that in total, it was impossible to believe that they were anything of the sort.

God is with us, if only we ask, we shall receive.

A revival is coming, are you ready?