“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, 2 looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” – Hebrews 12:1-2
The air is fresh and clean, but a welcoming blanket of humidity greets us today. The thunderstorms that rolled through the area overnight left in their wake an overcast dawn. Outside, the forest before me likewise slowly awakens, reminding me of my home in the holler of the enchanted wood back in North Carolina. Unlike there, the chorus of birds here only before me, not surrounding me as in my wooded home. Here, it is as if a stage is set before me in some grand theater as I sit on the edge of the woods. Birds of all varieties perform their best songs, every one of them a perfect rendition of the voice their creator bestowed upon them. Here and there, in the sings of this great state, domesticated avian crow their morning greetings – the reminder that this performance hall sits amongst a conflicted countryside, torn between the bucolic world it once was to that of the coal mines and growing suburban retreats, each a necessity of the other. A gentle breeze passes by, caressing the hair on my arm, causing my writing to pause and allowing one the momentary respite – acknowledging again God’s refreshing reminder that we are not alone.
Going out each day, seeking those with whom we can share God’s word, should be as purposeful as setting significant goals in our life – those that affect our long-term existence on earth, for we are continually surrounded by, as Hebrews tells us, a great cloud of witnesses. The challenge is to find them that are willing to allow us into their personal space. It isn’t easy to talk to a total stranger regarding breaking through without inciting some sort of defensive barrier. In order to make such a connection, one has to be portrayed as someone that exudes a personality of a loving, compassionate soul. To this end, when we walk in our faith, not promoting self-righteousness, but rather a humble, kind humility, we can then bridge those gaps of suspicion, allowing the stranger to open up and bare their innermost thoughts.
However, it is never easy to walk as Christ, emanating that radiant light from within. There are burdens in our life that are often difficult to overcome – the weight of life that besets us. They become our stumbling blocks, so much so that they become excuses we easily fall back on when the challenge before us causes us to hesitate. This is the enemy’s desire that we should falter in our effort to reach others. Interjecting our love of self, the one that is the very thing we are warned about, we become fearful of tarnishing that self-image. Our pride then overwhelms our purpose, the sin that clings so closely, and we cave into the feeling of either embarrassment or, worse, the belief we are incapable of acting in such an honorable manner. But as Paul writes in Hebrews, we must run this race with endurance. Our work toward perfecting our life’s mission is neither easy nor a sprint. The sanctification is a marathon – lasting the rest of your life. There will be hills and valleys. There will be challenges and setbacks. But through it all, we are to place our eye upon the prize, Christ – the perfecter and finisher of our faith.
Today looks to be a very full day – my plate is full. Yet, even on such busy times as this, we should pray that the Lord gives us the discernment to know when to pause, and drink it all in, allowing us to set this moment in time into one’s collective memory. For someday, it will be that place to which your mind returns, to once more be comforted through God’s grace. Yes, step out into the forest, and welcome the song of the woods, for each gentle breeze is a story in life’s journey. Make today one that lasts for that lifetime.
It was no surprise. The forecast had been for 100% rain for the next twenty-four hours. The pitter-patter of raindrops in the darkness on my bedroom window as I awoke confirmed what had already been known – today’s long run would be a test of faith and perseverance. All through the drive up the mountain in those predawn minutes there was ample time to ponder what one was doing out in this weather. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the downpour while the car fought to find traction through the countless areas of standing water on the roadway. There was no doubt that this would not be one of those morning where the butterflies flitted about through the dancing rays of sunbeams peeking over the mountain as the sun slowly rose in the morning sky.
As my car pulled into the parking lot of Moses Cone Manor Memorial Park, my suspicions were confirmed – I was either the only insane person here or the only one committed to my beliefs enough to endure this dreadful weather. Golden Sycamore and Poplar leaves covered the pavement to the point, it was nearly impossible to discern where the marked spaces to park were located. Even in the torrential downpour, there was a melancholy beauty in that gray light of dawn. Turning of the engine, the sound of raindrops on the roof of the car seemed to lessen. The storm had finally lightened up and was now a residual heavy mist – “God was surely smiling down on me,” my thoughts reflected as the car door shut behind me and I made my way down to the start of the trail. “Think of yourself as a little boy again splashing your way through the puddles,” my heart mused.
All was fine with that until the trail came to the underpass beneath the Blueridge Parkway. There before me ran a small river several inches deep that flowed beneath the stone archway above. Like a window into some distant time, I ran toward the light. Passing beneath the roadway above that would wind through countless forest of color and beauty, my path was merely to find a way up and down an ancient carriage trail – it’s peak landing upon the summit of Rich Mountain. Almost beyond the tiny river, my last footstep went up to my ankle in water as the splash fully emersed my lower body in a very awakening spray of bone, chilling coldness.
Later that same morning, unbeknownst to me, our preacher would talk about what motivates people. He used an illustration of Michael Jordan as shown in the documentary, “The Last Dance.” Jordan would find insignificant incidents in his life that others wouldn’t know to bring forth an ire in his mind that he would then use to drive me to greater heights. Likewise, the Apostle Paul used his detriments in life not to dissuade him from his ministry, but rather, to find silver linings in even the most horrific circumstances.
Likewise, before having heard the sermon that would come later, I too found inspiration in something that may have stopped some and caused them to turn around. A wet foot at the beginning of a very long run, especially up a mountain, was something less than ideal. Yet, the incident neither discouraged nor stopped my progress, but rather, gave me just the motivation I needed to push me onward. Like a cold slap in the face, it reminded me that nothing worth having in life was easy – and so I pushed onward.
Usually on this particular run, my challenge to quote scripture begins when I cross over the bridge that lies on the dam at the end of Trout Lake. However, today was anything but typical, so instead of waiting, I began working on the lines to the farthest passages that were yet to be fully burnt into my mind – those in John 5. As my mind began to weakly recall those verses, the most amazing things began to occur. Slowly, the rain began to diminish. The puddles no longer danced with reflections of precipitation. In time, the bitter cold numbness of that initial onslaught of icy water would begin to subside. The sky brightened ever so slightly and soon; the cattle were my only companions as my journey passed through their pastures along the upper reaches of Rich Mountain. What had seemed what might be one of the most dreadful morning runs in quite some time, had finally turned out to be one of a soulful rejuvenation.
The rain-soaked pastures stretch out across those upper tables of mountainside like blankets of comforting greenery. It is a time of ease for these herds. Even with the rain, it is a time when there are pastures of plenty. Soon, the season will change. Running past the grazing cattle, the aroma of their wet hides drifted into my awareness – a pungent richness only a farmer can appreciate. By then, my voice called out the beginning passages of the Gospel of John as the cows eyed me with little care. Calves would stop their nursing and move to the opposite side of momma, eyeing me with curiosity as I passed. Just then a gust of chilly wind reminded me that this was the mountains and weather was forever changing. Before long, these pathways will be covered in blankets of snow.
A young Hereford calf stood just beyond my path and the herds of my maternal grandfather’s memory returned. It had been a harsh winter and he had taken me along in the truck to check the cattle that morning. The snow was deep enough across the pastures that there wasn’t a blade of grass showing. We drove to where the cattle were gathered and soon found a calf that had not made it through the night. Evidently it was a newborn, and as is often the case, the cow had given birth during the night in the midst of the storm. It always seemed that they would calve in the worst weather, and so it was that specific morning. The frozen body of that little baby cow forever stayed with me.
Image provided by AllTrails.com
Soon, these highlands will be likewise buffeted with the harsh, cold winter winds and with them, the blankets of snow will cover the plethora of green grass that they now enjoy. But do the cattle worry? Do they stress about what is tomorrow? Even with the most severe weather, their births occur, and yes, even sometimes a death happens, but they push on through the storms of life. This reminder of my youth and of cattle was only possible because of the events that transpired to this point of this morning. Had I stopped at the underpass in the cold pool of water, these things may have never found their way into my thoughts.
Unlike previous jaunts up this mountain, this morning I was all alone. It was as if God had reserved the property just for me. In so doing, it gave me plenty of time to study His word and to reflect upon so many things in my life. While time passes, we seldom take the time to spend it giving thanks to all that our Creator had done for us in this life. Praying as I ran, the many people whom he had placed into my life came to mind. One by one, their needs were lifted, and one by one, my voice asked God to watch out for them and to help them in their times of need. As my journey soon found the downward pathways easier, the strain became less and ever so slowly, the pains began to fall away.
The words of Jesus from the Gospel of John, chapter 5, seemed to return to me when he spoke to the impotent man at the pool in Bethesda, “Wilt thou be made whole?”
As my journey in this story has shown, when we persevere, pressing on toward the mark, as Paul would say, we often find God is with us. Through it all, He reminds us that we are not alone. If we stay true to our faith, He will eventually take those things which seem insurmountable, those things which might feel like they are going to end your relationships, those things that seem like they will never heal, and he finds a way to brighten that sky and stop the rain. God can make you whole even if your entire life has been an infirmity.
Don’t give up, for He is with you always, even to the end of time.
It becomes obvious, as my mind reflects on what to write
about this morning, that I have unintentionally surrounded myself in the
comfort of rocky, and coarse elements from nature. Sitting in the Retreat and
listening to the birds of the morning, my eye wanders to the things that are
near. From the roughhewn lumber sawn at the local sawmill to the river rock
that encompasses the fireplace in the Retreat, there is a sense of “raw” earth
which exudes from this place. The trees were harvested from where the building
now sits and were masterfully sawed by Tony Moretz. The rocks were provided by
the Gragg family’s section of the John’s River. Through all the harvesting and
collection, there was the journey of life and interaction with those that
helped to obtain the resources to make it all possible. Each one a story of
their own. While the building is not the polished brass or pure, waxed floors
of the highest cathedrals, the Retreat is a place of humble submission. In my
heart, I like to think that it’s a place not far removed from God’s creation.
Here, in this forest abode, there is a deeper connection with the One above,
less of the man-made interferences we so often seek. It is in this vein that this
story begins to unfold.
The scripture from Matthew struck a chord with me earlier
this week, “He causes his sun to rise on the evil
and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust.”
A long time ago, in the other life, we were
walking through an antique store in Cameron, NC. I overheard some folks cutting
up and enjoying one another’s fellowship when they mentioned the scripture from
Matthew. It had been a time during a lengthy drought. My pastures were dying
and the cattle were beginning to suffer. The garden had nearly all but dried
up. It was during a time such as that when the comment struck a chord with me.
One man said to the others, “You know the Bible says that it rains on the just
and the unjust?” The others murmured their agreement, knowing where this was
probably headed, when he continued, “I wish it would JUST rain.” At which
point, the others joined in laughing and continuing to have a good time.
As the memories of that dry-spell comment rang
in my head, the weather outside was still wet. It was the fourth day in a row
of heavy downpours. It was obviously the opposite extreme to that faded memory.
Yet, the words of the scripture echoed once more, “It rains on the just and
the unjust.” It was then that I stopped and thought about the verse and
what it meant to our times under the Quarantine-life of COVID-19. In this time,
so many find that their lives have been centered on the things of this world.
Their idols, albeit justified in their minds, however, they wish, from sports
stars to music entertainers, had all been taken away. Now, in the vacuum, many
find their lives empty, void of meaning. All along, they had been living a life
of earthly treasures but hadn’t stopped to take notice until now. The suicide
hotlines are flooded and reports of suicides during the last four weeks have
equaled that of a year’s worth of deaths previously. Sadly, some preachers even
go as far to find wisdom in the data of the Corona Virus media reports instead
of their Bibles. In so doing, they purposely prevent their parishioners from
receiving the very thing that they need most; the Spiritual interactions of
fellowship and worship; the very thing people need most at times like this. I
could go on speaking of negativity, but the tragedy remains the same, many seek
what can never bring them true happiness. The question came to mind, “Do I allow
myself to be brought down by the long, cloudy days, or do I make the best of
what I have?”
One such day last week fit the bill – pouring rain
with dark overcast skies. Through the course of the day, as the hard, driving
rain continued to fall outside, inside I continued to work from home at my
new-found career. The position at App State is a blessing in and of itself, and
in that, there is a testimony that can be shared. But, in addition, there were
the peripheral things of the day that made it bright. That day’s evening meal
was one of comfort food. Again, like those materials that comprise the
structure of the Retreat, the food that brings a sigh to my spirit is that of
good ‘ole’ country food. That evening the family and I sat down to a big pot of
ham and beans, greens, and cornbread. For dessert, I had also baked oatmeal
cookies from scratch. In a sense, I had returned to my roots; the things in
life that make us who we are.
I was blessed in life to be raised by
depression-era family members. Again, I could dwell on the negativity of my
life, but to be able to look back and be thankful for the journey, regardless
of how difficult or challenging it might have been, allows me the vision to
look ahead with gratitude. Being reared by those who had little gave me the
appreciation for those “roughhewn” things of life. While I’ve never had the
“Best Things” of this world, I certainly have been blessed beyond measure in
other things, those that mean the most; God and family. My faith is not
polished and practiced of that of a seminary student, but rather that from
which I have gleaned from the pages of the Word itself. Like those cornfields
of my youth, when we would walk row after row behind the trailer being pulled
by Grandpa’s tractor, gleaning missed cobs, I have studied the Bible for truth.
It is in God’s word that one can find comfort and solace even in the lengthiest
rain spell, or as now, the longest time of forced isolation known to our
generation.
As a farmer, I can tell you that there is a
breath of relief, a sigh of thanks that goes up when the rain begins to fall
after the fields have been properly dressed with fertilizer, when the rows of
corn are safely in the ground. Through the replenishing of the earth’s moisture
it as if the farmer’s soul is also renewed. As it says in the 23rd Psalm,
“My cup runneth over,” is an expression best displayed by the overflow
pipes of a farm pond and the satisfaction within the farmer’s heart. Yes, even
when the rain falls, there is a sense of reward and comfort on the farm where
others find dread and gloom. It is a mindset that many fail to notice in the modern
world. A connection to nature, and to our Creator, has been lost by so many in
the pursuit to make life “better.”
Should we sit and dwell on wondering if we are
the just or the unjust, or should we press onward as the Apostle Paul would
say? In my heart, and my prayer for those in this world who are hurting, is
that we would seek to press on. To find God, to bring him close and to find
beauty in even those things that matter little to the world. In the coming day,
try to spend time with a friend or family member that you haven’t heard from in
a while. Reach out to those who continue to find need to self-quarantine. The
worst thing we can do is to leave someone alone who might be feeling lost and
hopeless when we ourselves have been blessed. Even if our own worlds are
nothing but stones and roughhewn logs, we can still be a comfort to those
around us if we choose to do so. It is up to each of us to be the light in a
dark world.
While our blessings may be worthless by the
world’s standards, they are priceless in the kingdom above.
Embrace love to thy neighbor and be thankful for
the rain, just or unjust.
Thanks be to God.
“But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute
you, that you may be
children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil
and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” – Mt, 5:44-45
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply
our hearts unto wisdom.”-Psalm 90:12
Outside the Retreat, the pitter-patter of raindrops falls
gently upon the rooftop. The sound is soothing to one’s soul and adds a sense
of tranquility to the ambiance within. Inside, the fire warms my body, removing
the damp chill from the outside. Reflectively, I sip on the hot drink while peering
into the red-hot coals. The flames dance around in their anguished throttled
roar while the occasional pop and hiss remind you that the scene before you is
real. My mind drifts, like the puffs of smoke up the chimney, thinking of friends
and colleagues of my former days.
Many faces come and go in the swirl of steam up the chimney,
like their lives, several now gone, passed on. Each individual remains with me,
each with their own story, each with a remnant of who they were left behind
with my own being. My good friend, Vance
Dunn, who recently passed, came to mind, as he so often does. He would have
dearly loved the opportunity to sit with me by the fire and discuss the many
thoughts that would bounce into our heads as we supped on our warm brews. On
one particular road trip, whereby we were headed to training as part of our Junior
Appalachian Musicians (JAM) affiliation, we spent the several hour drive to the
mountains doing just that; talking in-depth about everything and anything that
popped into the stream of our conscious thought. One specific conversation that
returned to me this morning was our animated discussion about vocabulary and
the word “regardless” versus “irregardless.”
Vance loved to latch onto something and then to pull it back
into the conversation, again and again. His observation, and probably the
meaning behind the reason for which the word that percolated to the top of our
discussion that day, was how many in the world of academia often try to sound
more important than they are by the use of grammar that is either incorrect or
absurdly unnecessary; thus, the word “irregardless.” Many
scholars maintain there is no such word as irregardless because regardless already means “without
regard.”[1]
Vance had an extreme disdain for professors or teachers who spoke down to their
students.
The Apostle Paul would write, “For if a man think himself
to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself.”[2]
Paul’s intention was to say more simply, “Don’t try to pretend to be something
you’re not.”
Now Vance had
every right with which to speak in such terms. Having been a scientist at NASA,
he dealt with and helped train many of their engineers and researchers over the
years. He had worked with many a person that felt their position in life was
enough to warrant them respect simply by their title. Yet, he would share with
me that those who walked humbly in that regard had far more impact on those
with whom they dealt than the former. Vance’s intellect was far beyond what I
could hope to ever achieve. In essence, he was, at least to me, a true genius.
He never tried to be superior when we talked, but rather, would humor me in
meaningful terms so that we would traverse life from one end of the spectrum to
the other, regardless of who was listening. Once we started, when time allowed,
we would literally carry on with our own geekish comical relief, much to the
disdain of those that were within earshot, for hours. He conveyed to me on this
day how “irregardless” wasn’t really a real word, but rather something people
would utter when they wanted to sound more intellectual. So, in our effectual
dialogue, we would carry on with statements like “Regardless of how
irregardless something truly is, you still can’t say irregardless unless you’re
holding something up to be something it isn’t, regardless of its actual
meaning,” and then we would roll with laughter until tears would fill our eyes.
Paul would go on
to write, “But let every man prove his own work and then shall he have
rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another.”[3]
Vance proved his
merit by serving his country both in the Army and then working for the
Aeronautical Space Agency. He would spend his career working for NASA and
eventually retire with his family to Chatham County, North Carolina, where he
and I would eventually meet. He often substitute taught in the school system,
filling in for those roles many would pass. Vance’s favorite predicament was
walking into a High School Calculus class and picking up wherever the teacher
left off. Mind you, this was years after he had touched a mathematical formula.
He would always tell me, “You can always solve anything if you work it back to
the root.” After studying for and eventually passing the NC High School Math
Praxis myself, his words would come back to me, again and again, regardless if
we hadn’t seen each other in years.
During our
conversations of faith, I never quite understood where Vance stood exactly. As
with most intellects, he preferred to remain aloof about his belief in God.
Yet, when it came down to it, I had the sense that he honestly believed but was
more skeptical of religion as a whole. As Ravi Zacharias put it, “We are not
Christians because of the abominations or denominations we belong to, but
whether you know Jesus Christ in your heart.” It was in these
theological interactions that I sometimes felt as if Vance was questioning me
not only for something to pursue intellectually but that he was actually
becoming aware of seeing someone moved by the Holy Spirit. In our walk of
faith, we should never fear witnessing to anyone regardless of their station in
life. As Paul would convey, “Let him that is taught in the word communicate
unto him that teacheth in all good things.”[4]
A few months ago,
before the wheels fell off my life, I was to speak at a church back in Chatham
County. It was a wonderful blessing in and of itself, to be asked to share a
sermon with the Cumnock Union Church, but was equally rewarding in seeing so
many brother and sisters in Christ once more. It was during this trip that God
spoke to me and said that I should stop by and see my friend Vance and his
family before heading home. So, after
sharing fellowship with the brethren at Cumnock, I then turned off the highway
and found myself winding through the little streets of Goldston, and eventually
pulling into the driveway of Vance’s family’s farm. There, one last time I sat
with my old friend and shared in past experiences. Denise, his daughter,
brought him out to the couch to sit and visit with me and it was then that I
was struck with the reality of what time and illness had done to my friend. He
had suffered in his last years from advancing Dementia and Alzheimer’s
diseases. We tried to revive a minuscule portion of days gone by, but in the
end, faith in God was all that remained, for my dear friend was not the man he
once was. The horrific disease had taken a brilliant mind away from the shell
of the man that sat before me. Inside, my heart was sobbing, but outwardly, I
was thanking God for this short time together. We said goodbye, and part of me
realized that this may be the last.
There had been
plans to return for some other possible speaking engagements, but once the
trials and afflictions began, there was nothing to do but try to survive, and
as such, those events fell by the wayside.
Not long ago, I
saw Denise’s post of Vance’s passing, and with it, my heart dropped. Gone was
the last chance to say one more goodbye. Gone was that last chance to jokingly
poke fun of so many that held themselves in such high regard, regardless if
they deserved it or not. But in the end, I know that Vance found God as
inspiring as he had hoped, for in the end, when he crossed into that eternal
home, he found intellect beyond his own and enough time to laugh and share with
those minds that would match his own.
Tonight, I am
thankful for all the lives that have crossed my path in life, and especially people
like my friend Vance. May we never forget them and let us pray that we carry
their legacy with us, sharing with all a part of who they were for others to
carry on.
Thanks be to God.
“If any of you
lack wisdom,
let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and
it shall be given him.”-James 1:5
“For our light affliction,
which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal
weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the
things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the
things which are not seen are eternal.”- 2 Cor.4:17-18
The afternoon storms brought
blinding rain, blowing in gales of white sheets of water, tossing the canopy of
the forest like waves upon the ocean. From my vantage point on the porch, the
sounds of drops of water from that storm still find their path to the forest
floor, one leaf after another; a continuous soothing sound of liquid falling in
soft echoes. The remnants of the storm that had preceded this evenings chorus, the
tumult long ago swept away by the currents in the sky, now are only a mere
shadow of its former self. The fearful tempest had given way to the calming
collections of water cascading from the treetops in a never-ending cycle of
life. What once was a frightening scene had given way to one of peace.
Our lives can be much like this
very scene; the incomprehensible tempest that eventually gives way to a calm in
its wake. We try to wrap our minds around how out of control our lives can seem
at one moment, and then within a few hours or days, it is as if nothing ever
happened.
This past couple of weeks, my life
has been very much like today’s thunderstorm; a physically debilitating illness
so severe that there was no leaving the bed for several days for the sake of
the pain. Then afterward, a slow, wayward climb back to normalcy; a calming
effect of what life had once been; the new norm.
Sometimes our afflictions seem
anything but light.
The fever that began a couple Saturdays ago
was unusual in that there were no other signs of infection; no lymph nodes
swollen, no rashes, nothing to indicate a cause. Everyone suggested Rocky
Mountain Spotted fever, or even perhaps Lyme Disease. The doctors searched, one
blood test after another; nothing gave any indications other than the obvious
facts of white blood cell counts falling daily, and blood platelets
disappearing faster than my weary body could produce them. Finally, the Oncologists
provided insight as he stood before me with a medical chart in hand. Before he
began, my thoughts flashed to my friend and brother in Christ, and the battle
he still fights daily. Not long ago, that friend sat in an office much like the
one I was in at the time and heard the heart-wrenching news of finding out he
had Leukemia. He and his wife are always in my prayers, and Leukemia was something
that had definitely been on my mind. So, as I sat there listening, the doctor
was nearly giddy with the news, as he conveyed that my results did not indicate
cancer. We both smiled. The bad news was that the illness was pointing to some
type of insect-borne disease; the results of tests that would identify the
source wouldn’t be available for several more weeks. What friends and family
had suggested had yet to be ruled out. So, finally, with a prescription for an
antibiotic, I went home and began to recover within 24 hours of the first dose.
It had been a mere precaution from the Oncologists but proved to be precisely
what was needed; as the Oncologist would say later, there definitely been some
type of infection.
Tonight, as the calming sounds of
the raindrops comfort my weary body, the thought of the verse in Corinthians
makes more sense. The light afflictions of our daily lives, unlike those that
Christ suffered for our sake, are mere stepping stones to what our Savior has
waiting for us in eternity. Even the extreme fevers, which may only be for a
moment in time, when compared with the extent of our earthly life, are just
another trial through which we persevere. Sometimes we survive the tempest to
reach the evening that follows of complicit temperatures and pleasant sounds of
soothing raindrops softly falling in the forest. When we battle through the
spiritual wars in our life, much like the ferocity of thunderstorms, we are
left wondering if our boat will capsize and all will be lost. It is in these
tempests that we learn to lean on Him.
Day after day, we must remind
ourselves that we are not alone, nor does He want us to go it alone. As Paul
wrote, “When I am weakest, it is then He, my God, is the strongest.” For
myself, the most difficult part is remembering to lean on Him. So often we
allow our human nature to take over, and we strive to “make it happen.”
I hear friends tell me that they sometimes don’t think they can go another day,
that their job is just too demanding, that the workload is more than they can bear.
It is then that I ask, “Have you asked Him for help? Are you leaning on your
Savior, or are you trying to do it all alone?” I know from my own perspective,
I’m guilty of forgetting to ask Him for help and then finding out I’m once
again trying to do it on my own.
The old gospel song, “Learning to
Lean,” is a perfect example of how we must remind ourselves that we are not
alone, and it is our Savior’s desire that we reach out to him and ask for help.
What parent has not had their heart melt when a child reaches up to them with
open and arms and asks, “Can you help me?” God, our Father, is the same; loving
each of us unconditionally, regardless of our faults, our sins, and our past.
We are forgiven. All we have to do is confess our sins and ask Him to come into
our lives. With childlike faith, we must have a heart that is willing to lean
on Him. We battle against powers, principalities, and dark forces that are not
of this world, so why would you think you can do it by yourself?
Leaning trees on the John’s River, near Collettsville, NC. in the Blueridge Mountains.
As a teacher, you spend countless
hours during the course of the school year, foregoing sleep, family, and often
personal time for yourself. It is during the few weeks of the summer that
teachers can catch up and find time for themselves. Unlike what I might have
wanted or envisioned, this summer has been anything but relaxing. I’m not
complaining, for it has been a season of growth; finding my walk with God
becoming closer than ever before. It has been a time of finding a level of
patience that heretofore I didn’t know existed. In the waiting, searching for
the next door to open, I found a sense of peace within that was only possible
because of the grace that God had provided.
Were there moments when the
thought of no medical insurance, no job, and no hint of future employment would
crash into my mind and mentally take my breath away?
Yes, of course.
Did I allow those thoughts to drown me in depression and sorrow, feeling pity
for myself?
No, I didn’t.
Each time those fears surfaced, I
remembered what the Word had taught me, and I would take a deep breath and feel
the hand of God upon me. He builds a hedge of protection before and behind us
in all that we do. The scripture says, “If God is for us, who can be against
us?” When we truly walk with our Savior each and every day, we learn to
think of him being by our side. It is then that I have found that we find we
are never alone. People look at the Retreat and are often impressed by the magnitude
of a simple little building built by me; me a mere whisper of a man, barely
150lbs soaking wet. It is then that I remind them that I haven’t done it alone.
Other than the occasional help from friends and my son, the majority of it was
accomplished by just the two of us; God and me.
Now I know, and often when I say
this, I can see the skeptical look of most people arise, as you might be
thinking at this point. But let me give you just one moment when I learned
early on that He was with me.
The floor of the foundation was
covered with the first layer of plywood, and I had begun to put up the outer
walls. Before starting to build them, I first engineered a system of cables,
and pulleys such that I could use my tractor to help raise the enormous weight
of a wall. At this point, I can most assuredly tell you that God had given me
the insight on how to do this because alone, I would have never figured it out.
But that’s not the testimony I wanted to share; that is yet to come.
Once everything was in place, I
boldly built the first wall. It consisted of ten-foot-tall 2×6’s complete with
a front door and two windows, all consisting of full headers above each. The
headers alone probably weighed 300 lbs. When it was time to lift the wall, I
attempted to wedge a crowbar under the top plate in order to put the chain
around it. There was no budging it. Feeling defeated, I sat down on the far
corner and viewed the monstrosity of workmanship.
“Would it have to be taken apart
and done one piece at a time,” my mind questioned.
Then I remembered the most
important part of all that I was doing: “I hadn’t asked God for help.”
At that moment, I went to Him in
prayer, thanking him for all that we had done up to this point. There had been
so many other times when He gave me strength, wisdom, and encouragement. Like
never before, I needed him now. As my prayer was lifted up, there was that
feeling of energy flowing through my weary limbs, as I had felt so many times
before. I said “Amen,” and stood up, walked over to the wall and jammed the
crowbar underneath the top plate, as I had attempted to do before, but now was
successful. Quickly, I snaked the log chain around the top plate and then
connected its hook around the other part of the chain.
It was ready to lift.
Once more, knowing what had just
transpired, I asked God for his help in this, and that he help me get the wall
standing before the end of the day.
A few minutes later, the twenty-foot long wall was standing at a 45-degree angle. It spanned the entire length of the front of the building. As I had learned in construction many years ago, I had placed braces to keep it up, even though the chain held it, but in my excitement, I had missed that the block and tackle had jammed into the chain at the top. There was no more the tractor and cable system could do. Now it was up to me to inch the wall up vertically using the two braces, each held in place by a single nail. It was at this point that with every breath I prayed. Every inch, the wall began to rise. Because the block and tackle were preventing the wall from going any further up, it had to be disconnected. Now, not only was there nearly a ton of wall looming over my head, but there was nothing to keep it from crashing down on me; nothing but the hand of God. Feverishly I worked, praying, sweating, and putting all that my small frame could humanly muster, all the while, the power of the Holy Spirit flowed through my veins.
Suddenly, before I knew it, she
was standing tall.
I stepped back and looked. There
before me, the entire twenty-foot wall stood perfectly in place, perfectly
erect. The two braces were holding tight. To make sure it was finished, I
walked over and took the level to make sure it was right.
It was perfectly level.
I leaned the level against the
wall and stepped back.
“Amazing,” I breathed, “I can’t
believe I did that,” I thought to myself.
Did you hear it? Did you hear when
I once more allowed the natural man within, that fleshly part of our being that
wants to take all the credit? It’s so easy to forget. But there is always an
answer in the word for our stumbling blocks. James wrote, “Humble yourselves
in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up.”
Yet, for a split second, the
natural man resurfaced and entered the self-gratification he so often seeks. In
my haste, not only had I forgotten that “I” hadn’t done anything, but rather,
God had done it through me. The verse, “I can do all things through Christ
who strengtheneth me,” never rang so true at that moment. In my exuberance,
the thrill of seeing what we had done together, I had forgotten to nail the braces
to the floor to keep the wall from going any farther in the direction I had
been pushing it.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a breeze stirred the top of the trees. My sweat-stained shirt felt the coolness, which was a relief in the autumn heat. The leaves swirled slightly at the foot of the building and then in horror, I watched as the wall eerily, like a slow-motion film, began to tilt the opposite direction. It quickly picked up the speed until it became a crescendo of crashing lumber falling off the front of the building, crashing into the tractor and support structures below.
The once impressive display of
engineering was now a broken pile of wood and nails.
In that brief instant, I realized
what the error of my ways. In my moment of self-elation, I had merely thought
that it was “I” that had done something, rather than giving God the credit. In
the blink of an eye, it was all taken away. The testimony at that moment was no
longer about the success of the project, but rather, now it was about my failure;
yes, my affliction.
How many times has something gone
wrong in your life that you’ve had to start over? How many times has what
seemed a disaster eventually became a blessing? Time and time again, what
seemed to be a failure only allowed another door to open, and with it,
something more precious and valuable arose. It is then the line in the verse, “our
light affliction, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight
of glory,” comes into focus.
It took three days, and two more
men to help me correct the disaster and to redo what God and I had done in just
a few minutes. By reaching out to those other men for help, it allowed them to become
part of the Retreat construction, and in so doing, also gave them the
opportunity to feel God with us. From that point forward, the sharing of the
labor of love began to grow, and many more would eventually come to help when
time allowed.
In the end, what seemed a
momentary affliction worked a greater glory, one that wasn’t visible from the
start, but in the end, was something that would go deeper than the temporal; an
eternal blessing. Once more, I learned to lean a little more on my Savior.
When the storms of this world crash
into your life, hold on tight and pray. Yes, my friend, pray that God is with
you. No matter how dark the night, no matter how painful the fever, there is
always a dawning of a new day, and with it, the opportunity to rise from the
ashes. There is no sin too great that God cannot forgive. Christ died for all
men, even those who knew him not, so that we all, yes, all of us could have the
hope of eternal salvation.
The tiny droplets continue to fall;
one precious leaf after another until their weight gently caresses the forest
floor. The mist begins to cover the lower reaches of the valleys below. From
the mountain, the vastness of God’s creation exceeds our ability to comprehend,
but for a moment, we can inhale the beauty for which we have been created.
Let not the evil of this world encircle
you so tightly that there is no light from which you can reach too for help. The
pain will pass, the storm will give way, and in its wake, a peaceful assurance
will be waiting; your confirmation that God is with you, for now, and evermore.
All around are the sounds of the gentle hush of raindrops
falling on the multitude of leaves. Each tiny patter whispers a secret to its
hearer. It is as if God is soothing the recent sharp edges of life that have
cut to my very soul; tween bone and marrow. Only He knows the passionate
struggles with which the past months had presented themselves. It is not
lightly nor without conviction that these memories now torment the heart of one
who gave his all to hold onto the belief that this was his calling.
There were choices; there always are.
Like the tale of two roads diverging in the yellow wood, as
Frost would write, “I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all
the difference.”
There is not one day, no not one – even those that made you
wonder why you ever chose to teach- that I would give back. Their pain made the
creases in our soul; etchings of love emblazoned upon our inner being, never
gone, never forgotten.
Yes, it is only from the heart that I write this story.
Each day that we walk in faith, we know not where the path
will lead. That first day that those keys turned the lock in the door, it felt
as if I had entered the den of a sleeping dragon. There was the overwhelming
feeling of a darkness present. As the door opened, the emptiness of room 3212
would echo silent cries; a foreboding of things to come. Eventually, that room
would become the classroom from which many stories would unfold, both good and
bad. I could never imagine how it would have ended. As we are only human, we can
never fully comprehend what God has in store for us. When we walk in that
journey in which He hath prepared, we are refined by the fires of trials and
tribulations. When the love that we share is genuine, it becomes even more
painful when a door closes.
The sound of the swollen creek reverberates the feeling of
how my cup had runneth over these past few weeks; the culmination of seeds
planted long ago had come to fruition; some still waiting; some may never grow;
yet, in all, the thoughts of the students left behind return. The image of the
expansive whiteboard in room 3212 returns. On it, in its entirety, drawn with
dry-erase markers, from one end to the other, is the picture of a red dragon
breathing fire on a sword inscribed with one word, “Mathematics.”
It will be the last dragon.
Each semester, from the first to this one, God gave me the
message of sharing my gifts through the telling my students of the parallels of
the dragon and their fear of Math, the class that I would be called to teach.
The first few days of each semester would find the dragon begin, always with
the eye. From there, the image would slowly, during the course of the entire
semester, grow into the final piece of artwork. To think of this as simply the
entirety of this story would diminish the truth from all that there is to
convey. It is more than just a picture, but a story of heartache, struggle, and
a multitude of life’s blessings to which one may never fully know.
Behind the scenes, Satan would attack, lying in wait ready
to strike another blow. When it seemed there couldn’t be any more things that
could pummel my life further into the ground, there would be another twist that
would sink my life into deeper darkness. Each time, from my knees, my cries
would resonate to heaven; each time, God would give me renewed strength to
carry on. Each time I drew closer to Him.
Just as I told my students not to fear Math (the dragon), so
must we not fear the devil; for whom shall we fear if we have God? Yet, we
should not be ignorant of his power and deceitful nature. “For we wrestle
not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers,
against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness
in high places.”-Eph. 5:12
Whenever there was doubt about the effectiveness of the
light within, God would send a confirmation. These would be the moments that will
be cherished.
One of the many beautiful memories was when one of my
students finished his end of semester review package we called, Dragon Flippers.
The purpose was to tie in all the units of the semester into a flip-review
package and to also allow students who might not have been as mathematically
inclined to shine through their artwork, which was required on the cover. It
was part of our end of semester review. Before the student handed his in, he
pulled me aside to tell me something that will forever be with me. He told of
how he had struggled with his own demons, and that through the light God had
allowed to shine through me, he found a new purpose, a new reason to live. If
you had known this young man, you would have never guessed that he would have
such inner turmoil. He was the model student; always on time with his work, an “A”
student, and as gracious as they come.
He then handed me his project. As I fought to regain my
composure, I looked upon the picture of a young man facing a mirror. In the
reflection was an angry dragon looking back. Inside the package, he showed a
pictorial description of Ephesians 6:14-17, and how he had used the armor of
God to battle this demon. He then continued. He said that he would not be
returning to High School but would finish his studies at home since his family
felt the public school environment was not healthy for his wellbeing. He went
on to share how he had read many of my devotionals and that because of those
writings, he knew that God wanted him to do in life. “Mr. Tron, I want to thank
you for helping me to see the demon within me and to show me how to defeat him.
You have been the best teacher I have ever known.” The flood gates opened as I
watched him leave room 3212 through tear stained eyes, never to return.
The reason God sent me to Watauga High School would never
leave my thoughts. Each day, after the pledge of allegiance, I would pray to
God for guidance, strength, and wisdom. Behind me, a legion of His angels was
there to protect and comfort me. For if it were not true, I would have never made
it. Today, as the rains fall all around, it is as if those same angels were
crying, knowing that the place to which I had been called has found a way to
push me out. In their mourning, my soul is once again warmed; their compassion,
a representation of God’s unending love, soothes the rough edges of my broken
heart. No longer will I be able to stand before all those troubled teens to
convey to them God’s love, through my own, by trying to help them in their
life’s journey.
Early before school began during the last week of school
when the morning sky had yet to awaken, another touching moment occurred. One
of our EC teachers pulled me aside and shared what one of my students had said
to her when he had heard the news of my leaving Watauga. In his words, she
said, he couldn’t understand why they would be getting rid of Mr. Tron, when I
was the only reason, he (the student) made it through Math 2. She continued to
tell me that the young man was considering dropping out of school. But once he
began to do well in Math, he realized that if he could do that, then he could
handle anything else that was required to graduate. She then said what touched
her the most, when he said, “We need more teachers like Mr. Tron,” he told her
in a very solemn tone. Once more, the tears began to flow as my heart knew the
struggles the young man had faced, both in the classroom and at home.
Stories like this one and the countless others made the door
closing all the more painful. We are but of the flesh, and with that, we are
weak. To know that our Savior has prepared for us a new path is comforting, but
it doesn’t make it hurt any less. When a door slams on your finger, the
momentary pain is almost blinding; when a door slams on your heart, it bemoans
your spirit to the core, driving you to your knees. It is from there, kneeling
on the floor that we must seek Him most.
Like those dry-erase markers with which the dragon had been
drawn, the image could have easily been erased. So too are we here for a short
time, as a mere wisp of smoke, here for a moment in time and then gone. “Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what
is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then
vanisheth away.”-James 4:14. To
those we encounter we have but one chance to share with them the purpose for
which we are called. Many times, we are unaware of the role or the effect we’ve
had, as God is working through us, such that on the rare occasion we are told
of these influences, then we too know of how much we are needed in this dark
world.
Another heart-wrenching moment was when the students were
saying goodbye after I had shared with them the rest of the story behind the
dragon; how that I was sent there by God and that God was now leading me on.
The young man told of how he had been in a deep dark pit, and because of what I
had said to him, beyond the limitations of the state’s standards for Math, he
had been saved. Quickly I reminded him that it wasn’t me, but rather, God
speaking through me.
I remember the day of which he spoke vividly.
He was one of those students who had extreme anxiety for
courses in which he struggled; Math was the worst. On one of the days in which
not only was Math causing him to question himself, he had also been going
through a spiritual battle. When my co-teacher came to the room and beckoned me
to the hallway, I was more than a little concerned. She then shared with me how
he had called for me and how he had told her he was lost without hope. As my
footsteps carried me to the room where he lay, I prayed to God to give me the
words to speak; there was no manual, there was no guidance for this sort of
thing; yet, all I could think was simply to rely on God, His Holy Word, and that
He would speak through me. As those prayers were lifted, a surge of what felt
like electrical energy pulsated from my head to my toes.
Looking back, I know in my heart that the Holy Spirit was
with us that day.
When I opened the door, the young man was lying in the fetal
position. His cheeks were stained from tears. As I walked in, he slowly sat up
and thanked me for coming. I don’t remember the words that were said, I don’t
know all that God had worked through me, all I know is that from that day
forward, there was an obvious change in the young man’s demeanor in my
classroom. From that day forward, it was as if he had been born again.
It was just one of many stories that transpired over the
past three years.
One cannot look back and move forward.
In the end, the dragon stood for more than a parallel to
Math. As we learn in Revelations 12, the red dragon represents Satan, who
chases the woman (the church), who has a child (Jesus). The dragon tried to
kill the woman and her child, but the earth protected her. God becomes our
protector in all things should we choose to believe. “And when the dragon
saw that he was cast unto the earth, he persecuted the woman which brought
forth the man child. And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle,
that she might fly into the wilderness, into her place, where she is nourished
for a time, and times, and half a time, from the face of the serpent. And the
serpent cast out of his mouth water as a flood after the woman, that he might cause
her to be carried away of the flood.And the earth
helped the woman, and the earth opened her mouth, and swallowed up the flood
which the dragon cast out of his mouth. And the dragon was wroth with the
woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the
commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ.”-Rev. 12:13-17
For many of my students, they realized that the dragon also
stood for their ability to conquer any fear, including that of Satan. Their
belief or unbelief was never questioned, rather, the light was present for all
to see. In our walk, we can either to simply follow the law, or we can provide
more than being the shell of a being living in a world of flesh; we can choose
to be the light.
So it is, with this journey upon which I trod, answering His
call to march onward, seeking that new shore. Yes, this may be the last dragon,
but the story doesn’t end. When this path began nearly five years ago, those
fateful words continue to ring in my ears today, “Wherever you say to go, Lord,
I will follow.”
When it is your time to answer the call, choose your words
carefully, for God will surely lead you to places you never dreamed and because
of Him working through you, you will achieve things you never imagine. It will
not be easy. There will be moments of incomprehensible pain, just as there will
be times of unspeakable joy.
“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, evidence of
things unseen,” and in that, we will always find comfort.
Let us not dwell on things of the past any more than with
which to inspire us toward a better path in the future.
Keep all those in prayer who have had their journey’s door
close and now are awaiting the next one to open; for in the waiting, there will
be learning and hope.
Tonight, as I rested by the waterfall listening to God, the world around me began to weep. The raindrops fell upon the canopy high above where I sat. There was such serenity in that place, communing with God that I couldn’t leave. As the storms clouds gathered and the thunder began to roll, it was apparent that I should return home, but I couldn’t make myself go. Jesus’s love had surrounded me, wrapping me in His arms, that omnipotent, all-knowing, unconditional love like no other. A brilliant light lit the sky above, and the sound of the thunderbolt striking nearby rattled the rocks upon which I sat. It was then that it felt as if our time together would be ended.
There was a flashback to the days when my father would drive me back to my mother’s house. They had been separated since my first Birthday, so it was nothing new. Yet, each time when we rolled into that driveway, a sick, feeling of despair would flood over my soul. As my earthly father and I would say our goodbyes, I would try not to look at him for fear that I would see the teardrops in his eyes, and then I too would begin to cry.
It never got any easier.
The years passed by and we drifted apart, both my earthly father and my heavenly Father. Neither stopped loving me, no matter how far I strayed.
He lay upon the hospital bed, weary and nearly gone. Miraculously he had rebounded the day before when we had received the phone call to all of the family to gather one last time. It was our last goodbye, one last chance to say to my father on this side of glory what we could. He had come to know the Lord in tremendous ways the last two years of his life. God had given him a second chance. That in itself is a story alone. But that day, as he lay there nearly motionless, trying to fight with every ounce of his being to stay awake one more minute, I knew in my heart that he would be with God soon. So, when it was time to leave, we didn’t turn into that driveway like so many times before. Instead, I bent over with tears in my eyes, and whispered in his ear, “I know that someday will meet on that far distant shore. If you get there before I do, give them all a hug for me. When it’s my time, I’ll meet you at the Eastern Gate. Know that when I walk out of here, I can never look back, but know that I will love you forever and ever.”
I slowly kissed him on the forehead goodbye, and then stood up, turned and walked out, not looking back for fear that I wouldn’t be able to leave.
Tonight, that was the feeling that had returned once more.
At that moment, it was as if heavens Angels began to weep. As each tiny droplet eventually rolled off of the leaf it first landed upon, it then cascaded down finally reaching the forest floor below. The sound of them falling, caressing the woods made a gentle, soothing sound. Before me the pool of water below the falls was silent, its deep shadows showing no sign of life. Then, one raindrop fell into the crystal, clear water, and it was stirred, as if by the toe of some angelic being.
At that moment, it was as if God had spoken and the scripture of the impotent man lying by the pool burst into my mind. The Greek word for “impotent” is akratés, which means lacking self-control, powerless, inclined to excess. Our fleshly bodies are so often consumed by the earthly desires that we are made powerless by them. We become obsessed to the point, we fall away from God’s graces; yet, He never loves us less. When we finally awaken to this fact, it is as if we have risen from a deep slumber, we are groggy and unsure of our next step. When we accept Christ into our lives, we are made anew, dying to our former selves, and those lusts of this world begin to lose their flavor, as salt loses its taste. We cast aside those addictions and soon find that we, like the man by the pool, are told to, “Rise, take up thy bed and walk.” When we stand, we realize that we are made whole. It is up to use to walk in His way, in His light from that point forward. Suddenly, the cobwebs are cleared from our heads and like never before, we can see more clearly.
The awakening has begun.
We have been spiritually healed. As Jesus said to the man by the pool, “Wilt thou be made whole?”
With each day, though we may never reach full sanctification, we can seek him. With each new day, when we fill ourselves with God, dying to our former selves, we find new tastes, brighter colors, and voices in the world around us we never heard before. It is those miniature glimpses of the new world in which we will be made one with God, heaven on earth, we find a new love for Him. We become so enamored with His love that we desire it. As the Apostle Paul wrote, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”
As the deluge fell from the sky above, I begrudgingly made my way back home, leaving that place where God had enveloped me in his love. Unlike before, there was not a final farewell. For someday, when we are all called home, it shall be not a day of sorrow, but a day of glorious rejoicing. It is this, the greatest commandment, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.”
The raindrops fell upon the pathway before me as I waded past the deep undergrowth of ferns. The cool, dampness upon my shirt did not dissuade me the least. My lungs drank in the rich, moist air with one lungful after another as the Holy Spirit soared within my soul. The rain was merely teardrops of ecstasy as the Angels in heaven rejoiced.
His love for us all is cause for celebration, on earth as in heaven.
Seek Him with all your heart, your mind, and soul, and you will be filled with his eternal love.
Thanks be to God.
“The impotent man answered him, Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool: but while I am coming, another steppeth down before me. Jesus saith unto him, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk. And immediately the man was made whole, and took up his bed, and walked: and on the same day was the Sabbath.”-John 5:7-9
The ice cold, gray rain fell in sheets. Water gathered in pools forming tiny rivulets of motion on the black tar of the parking lot that reflected the gray skies above. I continued to work, my hands wet and numb now, my breath visible in the chill of the air. My jacket had long ago soaked through, but at least, my feet were still dry. Inside me, there burnt a drive to finally put this seemingly endless task away; dismantling the Christmas lights and storing them for the year.
I had never intended to work in the rain but merely to get as much done before the storms came this early Friday morning. So, when the first few drops began to fall, I was taking apart the towers and thought, “I’ll just finish this and stop before it becomes a downpour.” As I finished taking apart the last tower, there was just one more thing, then one more and before I knew it, the sky opened up and I continued on.
There was a fire within that drove me onward; to labor in His will.
A distant memory bounced into my head about that time, another memory from the long forgotten past bubbled up, another wet, soggy day like this, only much warmer.
My step-mother always enjoyed buying matching outfits for everyone in the family, whether we were going on vacation, to my father’s work picnic, or just for a special occasion, she liked all our clothing to be the same, including mine. It had to be some inner desire of hers to hear someone exclaim when they noticed, “Hey, look, they’re all dressed the same. They must be a family!”
So one overcast, balmy afternoon following one of those such occasions, we showed up at one of my dad’s friend’s house to visit. We had been somewhere else and had “Dressed” for the occasion, all of us in white shorts with matching button up shirts. One thing led to another, and we soon found ourselves fishing in the friend’s stocked ponds. My family never missed an opportunity to go fishing. Before heading out with fishing poles and tackle in hand, I can still hear my step-mother’s last words, “Don’t get those shorts dirty.”
Yeah right!
We had just barely got our lines cast into the dark, mysterious deep when the rain began. We might have stopped had it not been for a quick hit or two. Once my father got a nibble on his line, we could rest assure we wouldn’t leave until we had a fish in hand, and so it was this particular day. At first, it was a light, touching rain, one that you could easily ignore for the sake of watching your bobber. However, this rain soon began a deluge that began to create streams of water that found the curvature of your spine and then followed it down, down, down into places you’d rather not find cold water running.
The longer we fought the urge to run for cover, the wetter we became. There reaches a point in life when you are so consumed by the heat of the moment that the world around you doesn’t matter; it’s as if your body is put on hold. Soaked to the bone, we were helplessly giddy with our moment under the falling skies. Meanwhile, the banks of the lake had become slick and that’s when we began to fall, one after another. First one of my sisters slid on her bottom while reaching for a hung line, then myself then pretty soon there wasn’t one of us that had not smeared mud, fish entrails, worm guts or grass stains on those pretty white shorts. To make matters worse, we were soaked through and through, from head to toe; nothing was spared of moisture.
I don’t recall how we were received other than the fact it was not a happy reunion when we got back to the house.
So when my friend Heather pulled up and tentatively rolled her window down, squinting against the pouring rain, I realized I had worked past a point of normalcy. It hadn’t hit me until I paused to talk to her just how cold my legs had become. My knees were as numb as my hands, and to stand still while talking made them feel as if they would lock up at any time. In order to keep from falling down I had to shift back and forth to try to regain some sense of circulation in my lower extremities.
After she left, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel with regard to being finished.
“Should I stop or go on,” I thought to myself?
“If you quit now, you’ll go inside and realize how cold, wet and tired you are and you won’t get anything else done the rest of the day,” I answered. So, I pushed onward.
Later, another friend, Dwayne, arrived just as I was struggling with some of the larger pieces; his timing was impeccable. He jumped out of his dry truck and dug right in. I explained to him how I hadn’t intended on working in the rain, but that I was close to finishing. Now, I had someone to talk with as we worked; the time flew by more quickly as the rain continued to fall.
It’s funny how moments in time appear in your thoughts when you are going through difficult times; flashbacks of your own history, times not forgotten.
Yes, there was another cold rainy day, but for some reason, the one from my past seemed much colder.
We were building our first home in Chatham County. We wanted to get as much wired pulled as we could one particular day when it began to pour a cold, hard rain. We worked through the chill as our clothing became soaked. Unfortunately, I didn’t have adequate shoes of jacket that day and my feet were as numb as my hands; I was frozen down to my core. When we finally stopped, I could literally force water to gush out of my clothes as they were wrung out when we reached the safety of the tiny cabin. There we lay our soaked outer garments on the woodstove. The air was filled with the hiss of instant steam as the clothes boiled at the touch of the red hot stove. The radiant heat from the fire, the steam and the beans cooking on the stove made a special ambiance one cannot appropriately describe; it was special coziness to that tiny abode that felt ancient and good. We sat on the bed, loft and few chairs warming ourselves and eating ham and beans that had awaited us on the cooktop, warming us back up, reinvigorating our bodies and souls.
Yes, my stomach was starting to remind me the pre-dawn breakfast was long gone.
We pushed as far as hunger pangs and freezing cold would allow. Later, from the shelter inside the visitor center, I could look out the windows and see with satisfaction how much that had been accomplished this frigid, raw morning. It would have been easy to write it off and postpone the work until another day; yet, now the task was almost complete.
The temperature outside had been barely 38 degrees for the high and the rain lasted the remainder of the day.
The sense of accomplishment inside overshadowed the bluish hue of my nearly frozen skin. After changing into some dry clothing and eating lunch, the warmth and fullness allowed exhaustion to finally reach me.
I know there are harder days ahead, but knowing from where we’ve come can sometimes make what we are going through more bearable, if nothing else, just by the sheer knowing, “If we could live through that, then we can do this too.’
So, it goes. Another day passes and another unthinkable challenge has passed, with success and with having learned a little more about ourselves. Our labor can be His will, and in that we can rejoice.
“I know that nothing is better for them than to rejoice, and to do good in their lives, 13 and also that every man should eat and drink and enjoy the good of all his labor—it is the gift of God.
14 I know that whatever God does, It shall be forever. Nothing can be added to it, And nothing taken from it. God does it, that men should fear before Him. 15 That which is has already been, And what is to be has already been; And God requires an account of what is past.” Eccl. 3:12-15
The circle of life spins around us, our world never ceasing to exist, yet we remain unaware until we are shaken from our slumber.
Rain pelted the pavement outside in cold sheets as we sat inside looking out at the gray blanket that covered our world. It had rained for days already, so what was one more. As I sat visiting with Jeannette and Ray, the little silver car pulled up quickly into the parking lot and two ladies hurriedly made their way into the visitor’s center out of the unwelcome atmosphere outside. I welcomed them and as I began checking them in for a self-guided tour, I heard the words, “Walldorf Germany” and knew we were going to have an interesting visit.
As we edged our way over to the map, I began to hear more familiar words; Posey county, southern Indiana and again, Walldorf. It was then I began to realize our visitors were more than people who happened off the street, more than the occasional curious passerby; these people had a vested interest in being here, like my own. Little did I know I was about to come face-to-face with someone that had made my journey to this point possible by something she had done nearly forty years earlier. Standing before me was the descendant of the Jourdan family, members related to my own, people that had survived some of the same ordeals and trials as my own family, yet like me, they had yet to hear the rest of the story.
The name Jourdan was more than a familiarity to me. It had been the name of one of the major characters in my book, taking the name of Albert Jourdan. Not only had these people been part of my families history in reality, but the name had also lived with me in the fictional world. Now, standing there in front of the map of the Cottien Alps, was another family member waiting to hear the rest of the story, the one we had never known or been told.
Like our lives in that quiet end-of-the-world place known as southern Indiana, we had lived in total obscurity to how and why we were even alive; survivors of a holocaust most will never know. Yet, we had been drawn to a place by the same power, the same faith to which we held dear. Now, far, far away from the Midwestern place, we were once again together, again drawn by that same presence, force and story. As I shared with them, I kept finding us being drawn from the history into the story of our own lives, each intertwined with the threads of finding out who and what we were. Each time, we kept pulling ourselves back to the story of the Trail, each time digressing into another thread of what and how we had learned of the truth.
Time passed without us knowing it. As we shared our story, we went to the beginning, the genealogy research that Barbara had started when she was a tender-aged thirteen years. I later found she lost her father when he passed from this world, far too young, at 46 years of age. I had to wonder later if that what drove her to research the family history at such a young age. Regardless, her high-school aged trip to Walldorf in the late seventies proved to be a valuable asset to the research that Jeanne Miller would later create, the same work from which my Aunt June would draw in order to create the genealogy gift she would later give me in 1995, the same one that would lead me to start my own journey to Walldorf Germany, totally unaware of what or who it was to be called, “Waldensian”. There on page 79 of Jeanne’s self-published, invaluable work read the words that gave credit to Barbara Norman (of the Jourdan family) and noting her valuable contribution to Jeanne’s own research. I had read this volume many times and never realized of the additional contributor, nor did I even realize there had been someone to Walldorf, from Posey county prior to Jeanne’s own trip. Yet, here she was, standing with me, showing me the exact pages, turning to them as if she knew exactly where they were to be found, which she did.
Looking back at the pictures we quickly snapped, I didn’t realize the tears of joy that had been shed. I knew myself, more than once, I had to fight back emotions as I shared with them the stories of the journey of our people and my own.
There are few rewards in one’s life greater than the fulfillment of finding others that have unknowing joined your cause, your mission or your journey. Who am I to not think that it may just have been as rewarding for her to realize that someone was so influenced by her work that they followed a calling from the history she too helped write. In other words, the beauty of the story can be seen from both sides of the river of life. The view from one shore to the other can be the same, the reflections in the water are of the same mountain peaks beyond, the only difference is the people we see on the opposite shore.
Again and again, we found confirmation in growing up not knowing, but yet sensing there was another influence in our lives greater than our own. We both sensed a gravity of faith so profound, so solid, so real that we honestly felt our elders had a belief grounded somewhere beyond what our communities around us would allow; yet we knew nothing. Growing up feeling these emotions yet unable to confirm them led us to want to go beyond the horizon, searching “what else”, “what for” and “why” far beyond those comfortable confines of our little towns.
I don’t know if we will ever meet again. I felt as if in one single morning I found a new family, yet ancient family, one that I could easily revisit and explore for a much longer time than today’s short visit allowed. Before she left, I asked her to search for a couple of key things; The village from where we came and why, yes, why we were never told that we were Waldensian. She replied the former would be possible, the latter she doubted. We both knew that for all we had learned, there was yet something we might never know.
God often prepares us and sends things into our lives for which we are not expecting; today was no exception. I don’t know if we will ever know the “why” but we can come closer to the where today. What does it all mean, if anything? I don’t know.
This journey began with the question as to, “Why?”
Sometimes, we have to succumb to the realization that there are some things that we may never fully understand with concrete proof; these are the things for which we have to have faith. In many instances, the statement, “Our Faith is All We Had,” is never more true. Today, faith in knowing from where we came, faith in who we are and faith is what brought us to this point is all that we know.
I yearn to return to Jakob, Arktos, Jean Paul, Marik, Kristoff and many others. The world in which they live is one that seems to grow closer to mine with each passing day. Their struggles are much greater than those I face, yet through them, I can see with eyes that would otherwise know nothing about how it would feel to suffer to that extent. I don’t say this in hopes to feel that level of pain, rather, I say this for the simple fact that this helps me to learn, to grow and to prepare for what may lie ahead.
Outside, the rain continues to fall in the darkness as night has fallen.
Each day I pray for strength, guidance and God’s will to work in our lives; today was no different.
Each day, the Lord shows me another way and another path I had never envisioned.
As a raindrop falls from the sky, it doesn’t know where it will land, yet it has no other recourse than to fall, pulled by the gravity of the earth, a force known only to God. When the drop of moisture finally impacts the surface below, its force alone is negligible, yet with time, many others falling upon the same location can become a factor so great, so mighty that mountains can literally be moved, oceans created and entire populations erased. The same can be said for our lives and how we choose to use them in this world. We can be that tiny droplet, landing harmlessly and evaporating before it has a chance to be followed by others, causing no change other than the tell-tale sign of moisture, or we can be an impact on something greater than ourselves, falling where those who have gone before, creating at first, a trickle of truth that slowly turns into a flowing stream which continues to grow with time until it becomes a raging torrent rushing headlong to the sea, an ocean of change for which we have combined with the forces before us until we are something to be reckoned.
This is who we must be, regarding our past as something more than an oddity to be admired with precipitous contempt, but rather, learn and grow adding to the flow so that those lives given for the cause are not lost, give up in vain as the lone droplet, but rather, as those culminated drops of precipitation that combine repeatedly until there is something unmistakably greater than anything anyone being could have ever imagined.
This is why I continue on, without knowing …why.
“Thus says the Lord: “Behold, waters rise out of the north, And shall be an overflowing flood; They shall overflow the land and all that is in it, The city and those who dwell within; Then the men shall cry, And all the inhabitants of the land shall wail.” -Jeremiah 47:2
The air is alive with the sounds of life, the smells of blossoms and the motion of the living earth all around us on our farm. The earth has exploded from its winter slumber and it seems as if every living being is fervently making up for lost time. The hum of activity is broken by the sound of rolling thunder in the distance as dark clouds loom over the horizon, just over the tree line of the barn, the direction of most summertime storms. Soon, lightning flashes and large drops of rain began to splash playfully into the Koi pond just off the front porch. Not long after the rumbling stops, the heavens open up and the sky and terrestrial world become one. Moisture rolls in waves as water wash layers of yellow pollen down tiny tributaries of happy colors, flowing, rollicking along as birds dance in their wake.
The cherry blossoms hang heavy with the thankful moisture, like gluttonous bulbs of lust, burgeoning from their drink, their weight pulling tiny limbs downward appearing as if they might break at any moment from their toil. In the distance, geese shout for joy at the top of their lungs from the farm ponds as their watery playground is enveloped in the storm. The water splashing about them as their wings and waves unite in the ballet of the tempest refrain.
Frogs begin to join in the chorus, their syncopated melody unites with the drops of water and my soul is refreshed through and through. There is such unity in this rhythm, such a multitude of complex interaction that moves as a melody, it can only come from God. Happenchance circumstance could not have created this beautiful orchestra that wafts about me, a full 360, all angles of dimensions become as one and we are made whole.
Our earthly existence is only a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. What has been, shall be long after our life meets its end, but we can rest assured if we have prepared properly, our heavenly home will be all this and more, if only we ask, we shall receive Him. The momentary glimpses of these surreptitious moments are just a prelude to life eternal.
“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us and we beheld His Glory, in the Glory as of the only begotten of the father, full of grace and truth.” – John 1:14
We can be saved by this Grace if in Him we believe. Amen.
The air is fresh and clean, but a welcoming blanket of humidity greets us today. The thunderstorms that rolled through the area overnight left in their wake an overcast dawn. Outside, the forest before me likewise slowly awakens, reminding me of my home in the holler of the enchanted wood back in North Carolina. Unlike there, the chorus of birds here only before me, not surrounding me as in my wooded home. Here, it is as if a stage is set before me in some grand theater as I sit on the edge of the woods. Birds of all varieties perform their best songs, every one of them a perfect rendition of the voice their creator bestowed upon them. Here and there, in the sings of this great state, domesticated avian crow their morning greetings – the reminder that this performance hall sits amongst a conflicted countryside, torn between the bucolic world it once was to that of the coal mines and growing suburban retreats, each a necessity of the other. A gentle breeze passes by, caressing the hair on my arm, causing my writing to pause and allowing one the momentary respite – acknowledging again God’s refreshing reminder that we are not alone.
