Tag Archives: running

by | June 13, 2021 · 8:46 am

An Unexpected Friend

“The brain is considered to be the primary generator and regulator of emotions; however, afferent signals originating throughout the body are detected by the autonomic nervous system (ANS) and brainstem, and, in turn, can modulate emotional processes.”[1]

There were blue patches between the clouds as the sunrise sought to find a hole through which to shine. As my footsteps reached the landing behind Anne-Belk Hall to start my morning run, raindrops began to fall. The warmth of the season was still distant, but the air, humid and close, was welcoming, so the sparse rainfall was likewise a comfort.

Belk Library – Appalachian State University

Running on campus is not one of my favorite locations. It is much more visually rewarding and inspiring to find oneself on those trails leading up our nearby mountains. Yet, today was a short day, so the pavement and sidewalks of the urban jungle were my forests this morning. As is my new tradition, I began quoting the Gospel of John as my legs began to propel me forward. Yesterday’s run was still lingering in these old joints, but the joy of finding oneself welcoming the dawn while in the Word is something to behold. So, pushing on, the words began to overwhelm the pain, and soon it was more of an emotion, the spirit, if you will, carrying me onward.

The sentences laced together like a vine weaving its way up a majestic oak until these words escaped my lips, “Then said the Jews, Forty and six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it up in three days? But he spake of the temple of his body.”[2] At that moment, just before me, was a young man running in my direction, smiling broadly. At first, it appeared that he might know me, so welcoming was his smile. My eyes searched the face but could not place it. As he drew close, he said, “Mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all,” was my reply. We were just opposite the street from Stick Boy Bakery.

He turned around and began running alongside me on the sidewalk. I quickly introduced myself, and he said his name was Max. I mentioned to him that he caught me in chapter 2, and so I repeated the verse in which he had suddenly appeared. When I got to the line, “But he spake of the temple of his body,” my new friend literally leaped as if he had just hurdled over a log in the path. “Wow, I was just meditating on just such a philosophical aspect of training; how the body and the mind are connected. Keeping the body fit helps the mind remain active, alert, and able to grow.” He looked at me with wild eyes in amazement at the confirmation and the rarity of occasion that someone had spoken of something upon which he too had been thinking.

Likewise, as he spoke, my mind was trying once more to wrap around the Godly coincidence to which I had been afforded. “Where does that come from,” my new friend asked, with regard to the scripture.

“Chapter 2 of the Gospel of John,” came my measured breath as we made our way up the hill toward Daniel Boone Inn.

“What’s that,” he asked?

In my mind, the words, “OH MY LORD,” were screaming, followed by, “Thank you, Jesus, for sending me someone to whom I could share this morning.”

At this point, I want to stop and make a point.

No matter where we go, no matter what our course of trajectory the day’s plans take us, we should always be ready to give an account of the Gospel. 1 Peter 3:15, “But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear.” Earlier in the week, it became apparent that I was going through one of those despondent episodes of sanctification; whereby, you find it challenging to remain in the spirit, and God seems to be ignoring you. This sense of being alone seemed to convey something I recently read about what C.S. Lewis wrote, “The real thing is the gift of the Holy Spirit which can’t usually be—perhaps not ever—experienced as a sensation or emotion. The sensations are merely the response of your nervous system. Don’t depend on them. Otherwise, when they go, and you are once more emotionally flat (as you certainly will be quite soon), you might think that the real thing had gone too. But it won’t. It will be there when you can’t feel it. May even be most operative when you can feel it least.”[3]

And so, as my new friend began to chime in with his interpretations, it became apparent that God had created the calm before the storm. How much more remarkable is the dramatic production when there is a sequence of acts in which little to nothing happens before the climaxing scene? For in these moments, the tension slowly builds so that it has a greater impact upon the senses when the dramatic conclusion erupts. The same was the case on this particular day so that as the sun was slowly rising above the distant mountainside, in the dusk of those shadowed roadways, a day full of fellowship, sharing, and evangelism had just begun.

As we continued our way up King Street, heading south, Max mentioned how Rappers, with all of their gold jewelry, were saying that, yes, all of this was nothing compared to being here and now, to the legitimacy of life regardless of wealth and pleasure. Some of the things he related to scripture were very strange, and repeatedly I had to ask him what he meant. He would then reword his comments until they were along the same lines of language that I could follow, for it seemed as if we were from different planets regarding how he spoke and to what I could comprehend. The voice of today’s youth, imparted upon by the worldly attributes of music, social media, and video, lends to another realm of interpretation that I never cease to stop learning – it is ever-changing. To reach this generation, we must learn to speak in their voice, as strange and foreign as it may sound.

The farther we ran, the more it sounded as if my new friend was speaking from a background of faith, but it was difficult to fully know, so relegated were his words in that alternate word speak of his. When he got to the point where he mentioned how we were like beings surrounded by dark forces, it triggered my thoughts, and from my mouth, like a well springing up into eternal life, the scriptures of John 1 began to flow, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.” Max remarked how what he just heard was so powerful and true. He went on to continue to speak in his own words the scripture he had just received. Knowing that this was his way of comprehending, I remained mostly silent and listened, correcting by suggestion only when he had completely fallen off track.

By now, we were making our way back to my office, moving up Howard Street toward Peacock Hall, the School of Business. Our conversation was moving along faster, especially since that stretch of roadway went downhill, affording my lungs the extra space with which to literally gasp for air. Max continued to seek more of what he had heard, and as time would allow, we continued to cover as much as possible. But before we knew it, we were standing back at the base of Ann-Belk Hall. It seemed as if our train had abruptly pulled into the station, and for a moment, we stood staring at one another, wondering if we wanted to get off or not. Feeling like this was one of those moments where Jesus had said, “Herein is not the saying true, one soweth and another reapeth,” it was difficult to say goodbye so soon. God had provided an opportunity, and it was in that instance of time that He allowed me to share with one that was ready to receive.

So often, when we feel as if nothing is happening in our spiritual lives, God is there, working out something in the background. In times of isolation and quiet, we must remind ourselves that He is preparing a way even when we feel like we are disconnected. When those periods of isolation seem to be a deafening roar of silence, focus on what you can control; like your own being. Like the temple of the body to which Jesus had meant, we must remain mindful of how we treat this vessel. Not only should we think in the manner of things to which we ingest, both materially and spiritually, but how we care for in our physical strength. Not only should our bodies be kept whole through consumption but also through activity. If we care for what God has endowed us with, how much greater will be our ability to focus on Him because of a strong mind and body?

Lastly, keep in mind that seeds are planted at the times we least suspect.

Remember to always carry your parcel of seeds with you, for you never know when God will break the ground and ready the soil for planting.

Continue always in prayer and supplication for that day when the time is right, when those prayers are answered or when you are asked to step up and speak His word.

Thanks be to God.

[1] Jerath R, Crawford MW. How Does the Body Affect the Mind? Role of Cardiorespiratory Coherence in the Spectrum of Emotions. Adv Mind Body Med. 2015 Fall;29(4):4-16. PMID: 26535473.

[2] John 2:20-21 KJV

[3] The Collected Letters of C. S. Lewis, Volume III: Narnia, Cambridge, and Joy 1950-1963. Copyright © 2007 by C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. All rights reserved. Used with permission of HarperCollins Publishers. Words to Live By: A Guide for the Merely Christian. Copyright © 2007 by C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. All rights reserved.

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by | December 13, 2020 · 7:16 pm

Don’t Live to Regret It

by Timothy W. Tron, Dec. 2020

An old cliché came to me this morning through the words of a song, “You’ll live to regret it…”

Many will look back on 2020 and realize it was more than the year of unprecedented events, but sadly for many, will become a year of regret. Then there is the introspective thought, “How many things have we passed through in this life to only live long enough to regret them?”

Meriam-Webster defines regret as the following: re·​gret | \ ri-ˈgret  \ 1a: to mourn the loss or death of, b: to miss very much,  sorrow aroused by circumstances beyond one’s control or power to repair, an expression of distressing emotion (such as sorrow).[1]

The corner of studio’s past, when God was not the center of my life. – Chatham County Farm circa. 1999

The longer I ponder on this line, the more corollary aspects of it come into play. For it can mean more than not having appreciated someone or something; can it not? Life is a never-ending journey of choices, and with them, we often face missing an opportunity, albeit good or bad. Like a fork in the road, there is always more than one path that we may take. As the saying goes, the one less traveled is often the one that will enrich our soul all the more. I once had a phrase back in my youth when my ambitions were to pursue the lusts of the flesh, that I was the “Unluckiest, lucky man alive.” In other words, God was watching over me even when I wasn’t seeking him. As much as I tried to run from him, I soon found out there was no place to hide. My life was as the psalmist wrote, “Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.”[2]

The studio that God built – no regrets.
Thanks be to God.

Time and time again, when my path should have led to utter destruction, there was another miraculous occurrence that delivered me safely out of the jaws of the lion. In those many narrow escapes of a poor choice, it was as if I could feel the prayers of my family’s spiritual leaders blanketing me when I was woefully unworthy.  They would pray that those early teachings they had sown would someday blossom. Thankfully, those seeds of faith my elders had planted in me took root, and once they began to germinate, God’s plan for me began to come to fruition. But it would take many years and many knocks upon my proverbial door before my hard head would allow him in.

As Christians, is not our pathway more judicious than those who wander like ships tossed upon the sea? “Commit thy way unto the LORD; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass.”[3] While we might ponder those many missed opportunities, we should not live in regret. For there was and always is a purpose in the next step we take. While it may seem as if a choice were a mistake when the longer journey reveals the road traveled, when we look back over the dawn of time, we can almost, if not always, see how that passage through which we endured was one in which there could not have been a more perfect plan provided. These are the moments, when we allow them, that magnify the essence of God. “And he shall bring forth they righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noonday. Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass.“[4]

Take, for instance, just a couple of nights ago, a decision to remain in Boone and run a couple of errands before heading down the mountain cost me in time but could have cost me much more.

Why do I say this? Allow me to explain.

My own “plan,” if you will, was to leave work a little early and run while the snow was still falling. Besides the novelty of running in the snow, there was the hope that I would be able to capture images for future use in devotional postings to social media. The trails that crisscross the Moses Cone Memorial park offer a never-ending vista of God’s creation. With each changing season, so do those familiar spots where the camera’s eye catches one’s attention.

Moses Cone Manor Trail, Dec. 2020

The run was challenging in that the bitterly cold wind bit into my exposed flesh. But as is most often the case, as I continued quoting scriptures, the pain of the outer body diminished until the point it was only a mild nuisance. Thankfully, there were several good scenes from which to choose. The falling snow’s pace was merely a flurry at best by the end of the run, so it didn’t seem unwise to go ahead and stop by a local store to pick up another Christmas gift. While I was in the spirit of getting things done, I also decided to go ahead and run to Lowe’s for a couple of things on my list. While in the store, hunger began to gnaw at my insides. One who has trained long enough or worked in a physical capacity for an extended time knows the difference between a little hunger pang and one of greater magnitude, for that latter one was one that hit me while picking up those supplies. Seeing that there was a greater need than a want, I decided to go ahead and grab an early supper as well. The hot soup and sandwich hit the spot as I sat in the parking lot of Chik-Fil-A and dined alone. Outside the car, the flurries continued as the last vestiges of light faded from the sky. Street lights seemed hazy in the falling snow, but there was nothing at this point that created any sense of dread. The thermometer on the car’s display read 23 degrees.

Driving out of Boone and eventually into Blowing Rock, there was still nothing to indicate that this was nothing more than a beautiful end to a snowy day on the mountain. Christmas lights were already hung in several stores and homes. Their ambiance warming the soul within as my car drove past. Then, as the curve past the last light in Blowing Rock began to fall behind me, there ahead were the seemingly endless line of red tail-lights. An unending line of cars wrapped around the curve ahead and far below the mountain.

There would be no usual drive home that night.

Later, I would find out that a tractor-trailer had jack-knifed one of the icy curves. With it, several cars were also wrecked and maligned across the roadway. So, for the remainder of the evening, for over an hour or so, there I sat.

Looking back, my first thoughts were of regret for having stopped and run those errands. As the evening wore on, sitting there in my little car, thoughts of thanks began to percolate into my head. Earlier that morning, I had stopped for gas; the car was on full. The heater was working well, even though outside it was a frigid 23 degrees; I was warm and dry. My body had forced me to eat supper early, so I was fed. The longer I sat, the more I realized how lucky it was that my drive home was paused in the manner it was, for my fate could have been much different; either crashed or worse, injured – to the point of death.

The night following, Pastor Greer led us through the study of Romans 10 and, in so doing, mentioned the Roman Road to salvation. The term is often used to describe the scriptures in the book of Romans, which are often used to lead someone to Christ. Along this virtual road, one can find eternal salvation if they so choose to make the drive. As some choices in life afford one the ability to know the result ahead of time, and so it is when one takes this route – the Roman road. Eternal life, one in which you would inevitably be able to live long enough to see if there were any regrets, would ironically allow you also to know that there couldn’t have genuinely been any regrets, for the path you took was the one in which God would have planned.

 However, if we live being regretful, is this not as bad or worse than not forgiving?

Worse yet, think of what the utmost regret might be? If you think of life in terms of eternity, then you are on the right track. In this vein of thought, one would have to say that the utmost remorse would undoubtedly be dying without choosing the gift of eternal life through Jesus Christ. This choice would culminate after one’s physical life on earth has ended only to only wake up in hell, realizing that, and eternally regretting not having believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.

There is no going back.

For in the gospel of Luke, the account of the rich man that died and was suddenly thrust into the midst of hell paints a vivid picture of someone who realized too late that he had made the wrong choices. “There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day: And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores, And desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table: moreover the dogs came and licked his sores. And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham’s bosom: the rich man also died, and was buried; And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame. But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented…Then he said, I pray thee therefore, father, that thou wouldest send him to my father’s house: For I have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment. Abraham saith unto him, They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them. And he said, Nay, father Abraham: but if one went unto them from the dead, they will repent. And he said unto him, If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.”[5]

While it may not be evident to some, the Lazarus in this story is not the same one that Jesus raised from the dead. Yet, the name “Lazarus” is appropriately used in this passage, for in the Hebrew tongue, it translates to, “God has helped.” As the beggar Lazarus suffered his earthly life, God knew his heart. Those Pharisees to whom Jesus spoke had hearts hardened like the rich man. They knew the writings of Moses, they knew the law, and they knew the prophets’ teachings, yet they could not be persuaded. And the last sentence, as in typical Godly-poetic-justice, Jesus says, “though one rose from the dead.” Here he analogizes the Lazarus I this story with the one to whom he raised from the dead. Though the beggar Lazarus had died, he was alive in eternity, as though he had risen from the dead.

Lazarus had no regrets, for his reward was everlasting life, unlike the rich man who now felt the full weight of his errors. Wanting to prevent his own family from the same fate, he begged for Abraham to send Lazarus, for him to return from the dead and go to his house to warn his brothers not to fall to the same fate. Like him, Abraham responded that they already knew the answers, but they too were hardened to the truth.

Friend, be not so consumed with your own knowledge that you miss the truth of this story. As Jesus told the Pharisees, “Search the scriptures, for in them ye think ye find eternal life. For they are they which speak of me.” In other words, the answer is in Christ. Seek him, and you will find eternal life.

Let the only regrets in your life be those of the past; whereby, you didn’t spend enough time with loved ones, or you didn’t appreciate those who prayed over you, or that you didn’t stop and pause long enough along the journey to appreciate all that God has done for you. Yes, let those regrets be of the past. Going forward, willingly receive Christ in your life and leave all your future regrets behind.

You only have one earthly life to live. Make it count.

Thanks be to God.

[1] Meriam-Webster Dictionary, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/regret

[2] Psalm 139:7-10 KJV

[3] Psalm 37:5 KJV

[4] Psalm 37:6-7 KJV

[5][5] Luke 16:19-31 KJV

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by | October 25, 2020 · 7:14 pm

What Seek Ye

by Timothy W. Tron, October, 2020

As the sunrise was slowly trying to find a crease through the shroud of clouds upon the mountain, my mind was searching the scriptures for inspiration. To my left, a momentary shaft of light found its way to the earth. There, on a distant peak, among the multitude of gray skies, the golden illuminance caused the lingering fall foliage to burst forth into a breathtaking radiance. In a monotone sea of dreariness, it was as if God had created a bonfire of hope. In that instance, a brief line of scripture erupted into my mind, as if Jesus had said them himself, “What seek ye?”

Rich Mountain, Blowing Rock, NC.

So great was their meaning at that scene and moment, that I shouted out loud, “What seek ye?”

No sooner than I had released the thought from my lips, the voice echoed back across the valleys below. There was no one there to hear- nothing but the mist of the morning air, floating across the trail before me, wrapping itself between the trees, flowing into the pastures above. Like the fog, the words floated into my thoughts, until one had to ask themselves, “What is it thou truly seekest in this life?”

Images of all the possibilities wavered in my mind. What was it in the physical training that made me get up before dawn to pursue climbing a mountain? What was it in my daily work that drove me to rise above expectations? What was it that made me feel lost without starting my day with scripture? Yes, what was in all these things that were being sought? In all, the answer for me had become Colossians 3:23-24, “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.”

Although, there was what seemed to be a simple answer for myself. It wasn’t always the case. It took many hardships and trials in my life before the realization of what needed to change became apparent. All of those past failed paths, like the dark crevices that linger beneath the caves of the mountains, their memory never seems to fade.  In my misinterpreted gains, when I felt that a work was of my own doing, when it was something that I had accomplished, there was the misbelief of it being my own doing.  Back then, the goals in life were to obtain as much as possible before time ran out. I was truly lost.

An inspirational speaker, and alumnus, once visited one of my college engineering classes at the University of Florida. To us college students, he was the “Real Deal,” someone that had been in the corporate world and had succeeded. In truth, he was probably a significant donor to the department in which I attended classes. Nonetheless, he was a gifted speaker. In all of his inspiring words, the line that he said which stuck with me the most was a quote from Abraham Lincoln that he had altered to fit his persona, “Good things are left to those who wait, …which were left behind by those who hustle.” Sadly, that egotistic mindset was what drove me from that time foreword and for many years afterward.   Unfortunately, with misaligned goals, one’s foundation cannot be properly created. Wealth without purpose becomes a greater burden than having nothing at all. These were the many variations of the doomed concept of mankind’s’ success that had been hammered into my head throughout the collegiate engineering studies. It would take many years of God’s presence in my life to slowly change them and to awaken me to what matters most. But before the transformation could begin, I had to realize there was something on my end that had to be done.

I had to seek him.

But no sooner had the answer to my situation had come, the thought of others around me surfaced. How did others seek Him? How were my colleagues, my friends, and those whom I knew that were still lost, how did they all seek God, or did they?

All around us, there are so many that seek what can never fulfill. From well-meaning goals and rewards to fleshly desires and momentary earthly satisfactions, there are a multitude of choices that can easily go wrong. Sadly, these ambitions and addictions are based on worldly values. While they may perceive that they are climbing the corporate ladder, or satisfying a desire within, what they are leaving behind, and worse yet, what they are not realizing, is that while these attributes provide for wealth and immediate satisfaction, their treasures and thrills are only temporary. For what they sacrifice in the gain of “success and pleasure” they lose in the grand scheme of things eternal.

Either through curiosity or from hearing someone that has planted a seed, when we begin to search for Christ, our real journey begins. John’s disciples found that out when they too sought to find out why their master had called this man that approached them, “The Lamb of God.”

“Again the next day after John stood, and two of his disciples; And looking upon Jesus as he walked, he saith, Behold the Lamb of God! And the two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus. Then Jesus turned, and saw them following, and saith unto them, What seek ye?”[1]

In this memorable passage of the gospel of John, we see Jesus approaching John the next day, meaning the day following the baptism. John greets him with the same words as to when he first saw him just before the baptism. Yet, this time, he (Jesus) has come to visit his cousin, John. Yet, we must be mindful that John wouldn’t have been alone either, for he too had built up a following. As his account attests, “Ye sent unto John, and he bare witness unto the truth…He was a burning and a shining light: and ye were willing for a season to rejoice in his light.”[2] In other words, John and his disciples were having the honor of receiving Christ into their presence.

We can guess, that from John’s record and witness of Jesus, that at the moment in which he voiced his exclamation, “Behold, the lamb of God,”[3] he had already baptized the Christ. In that dramatic scene, many would witness the anointing of the Son of Man, as the only begotten son of God. They would have seen the Spirit descend from heaven like a dove and abode upon him. Then, the voice that emanated from on high spoke, and said, “This is my son, in whom I am well pleased.”[4] In that inspired crowd stood John’s disciples as well. Whether out of curiosity or reverence, two of John’s disciples heard him speak of the lamb of God, and they began to trail behind Jesus.

When Jesus turned and saw them following, his next words were pivotal – “What seek ye[5]?”

It is here that the two men could have dismissed being caught as an accident. They could have said, “Oh nothing, we were just headed this way already.” But they didn’t, they responded with the honorary phrase of “Master,” which was by interpretation, “Rabbi,” a term used only for the most respected scholars and teachers of their time. Then in true Christ manner, he answered with the most endearing reply, “Come and see.”

When we finally seek him, it is then he graciously invites us in. On that fateful day, the two disciples not only came and saw where he dwelt, but they remained with him the rest of the day, and he within them, the rest of their lives.

 Like most who seek God and find him, when they receive him into their lives, they dwell with him and are forever changed. That very concept is what Paul tells us in Romans, when he says, “That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation. For the scripture saith, Whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed. … For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.”[6]

Jesus shared with us his answer to seeking as well. When the Pharisees persecuted Jesus and sought to kill him simply because he had healed a crippled man on the Sabbath day, he rebuked them and shared with them the concept of his ministry when he said, “I can of mine own self do nothing: as I hear, I judge: and my judgment is just; because I seek not mine own will, but the will of the Father which hath sent me.” Christ knew that God had sent him to do his work, and to finish it. In so doing, he was bearing witness of himself and to the fact that he was indeed sent by God.

He went further to show them, that as Moses had written, the answer was already before them, “Search the scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify of me.”[7] In other words, if they had sought him, as the writings had foretold, and believed, then they would know he was indeed the Christ, the Savior of the world.

Unlike John’s disciples, we cannot physically dwell with Jesus. Yet, through his Grace, we can find salvation, and then when we accept Him into our lives, he dwells within us. It is then, we have sought the truth, that we finally begin to live a full and fruitful life. As the first Psalm tells us, when we delight in God’s word, we become like a tree planted by the rivers of water, bringing forth our fruit in our season. Even the most insignificant things in our lives, as the leaves on the tree, shall not diminish or wither. Whatever we do, shall prosper, as the psalmist writes.

Of course, all will not be sunshine and pretty mountain flowers. There are dark valleys between each glorious peak. We will have to walk through our own valleys in the shadow of death, but we can take comfort in knowing that we are not alone.

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.”[8]

Tonight, look into the mirror and ask with a heart of knowing that there is a God that loves you no matter who you are, what you’ve done, nor where you’ve come from, “What seek ye?”

In the end, what you receive will be a reward far greater than anything of this earth.

Thanks be to God.

[1] John 1:37-38 KJV

[2] John 5:33, 35 KJV

[3] John 1:36 KJV

[4] Matthew 3:17 KJV

[5] John 1:38 KJV

[6] Romans 10:9-13 KJV

[7] John 5:39 KJV

[8] Matthew 7:7-8 KJV

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by | October 11, 2020 · 9:02 pm

Cold Rain on the Mountain

by Timothy W. Tron, Oct. 2020

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.

Thanks be to God.

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by | August 1, 2020 · 9:13 pm

A Soul in the Middle of Nowhere

They once called it “Nowhere” mountain. Today it’s known to the rest of the world as “Rich” mountain. The slow gradual climb slowly wears at your body, walking or running. The deceptive incline slowly takes you to a secluded overlook. There only the stone remnants of an ancient house’s foundation are all that exist. Leftover from another time, a bygone century. For a moment, above the distant mountain peaks, above the wayward meadows there is a feeling of freedom. The cattle in the fields dispersed amongst the shaded oaks and hemlocks, lowing in the fresh mountain air. Their voices bellow across the ridge. Once this was all that there was of a pioneer outpost, a home in the wilderness. It eventually became the property of the Cone’s. Today, it’s a place where one can go and find themselves a few moments of seclusion from a world that seems to fall out of control a little more each day.

photo by: Sweetwilder

A few days ago, I had found myself atop of Nowhere. Therein lies the story – it was part of my run.

Before I continue, let me say that this is not meant to be any shape or form of bragging. There are times that we must share something in our life that has become a testimony; thus, the sharing with you of how running (or the semblance thereof) has become part of my spiritual journey. Besides, my sister, a practicing Cardiac Nurse, recommended it would help strengthen my heart. Something with which my Cardiologist wholeheartedly agreed. Truly, if you saw me in action, you would know there was nothing to brag about.

Several weeks ago, the Lord convicted me to start running again. At the time, it was as if something inside me wanted to be done with this life. Between the never-ending accusations of our society from one extreme to the other, to the seemingly never-ending pandemic, fueled by every political conspiracy theory you can imagine, one begins to look with joy toward the next life. In a sense, pushing my body to the extremes will either make me a healthier warrior for the Lord or it will take me home to be with him quicker. The options are Pauline in nature, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”[1] Herein lies the rub: many have not, nor have no idea what that “next life” is. They live day-to-day, battling from sunup to sundown without hope. Their lives have little to no direction. For them to find the way to life eternal on their own would be like finding a needle in a haystack. While we want to help them as much as possible, we can only plant the seeds. It is by God’s Grace that we are saved. As Jesus told his disciples, “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also: and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him.”[2] Sadly, there are greater numbers of lost in our world than those who are awakened to God’s plan of salvation. For those who know Him, and have asked Him into their lives, there is that hope of life eternal. Jesus said, “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: but whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall save it.”[3]

I don’t know the exact mileage of each week. I don’t keep track of the miles that my body has been pushed these recent days, but this much I can tell, there is a renewing of the soul. Slowly, my body shifts from the unhealthy cravings as before to now, those of wholesome, natural foods beckon my taste buds. As I had experienced once before, the feeling of how the body changes when it is exercised to the extreme is not new to me. Yet, the reserve with which I can now control my diet and temptations to imbibe in things that only go against not only your body’s health, but the spirit within – these have become the things to which I am now drawn, those things which enrich the body, soul, and spirit.

This journey is not about becoming the fastest. The goal these days is to merely push this terrestrial body to become the best it is capable of being, only so that my soul has a better home. I heard Ravi Zacharias mention a quote from the 19-century writer, George McDonald a couple of days ago. McDonald said in a roundabout way, that we do not “have” a soul, but rather, we are a soul.  “We have a body,” he said, “but we are a soul.” Genesis says it best, “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul.”[4]  This new perspective has really made me rethink the way in which I had been approaching life. 

In the act of pushing my body, I am then making a better dwelling place for my soul to live within. The nicer the home, the better the soul can feel. As Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, “ What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?”[5] The more features the temple has, the more possibilities there are for the soul to flourish, and with it, the spirit. When our spirit is awakened, it then is able to welcome the Holy Spirit to dwell within us. Then, as we might prepare for an esteemed guest, we would too want our temple to be the most glorious that it can be. It is in this vein that my pursuit of the new day’s dawn, from the time, that the sun hits the horizon until long past its setting – my days are thus filled to serving Him.

Pain in this life is a constant reminder that we live in a fallen world. There is not a run that I take that I don’t have pain. My dad used to say, “The day that I wake up and feel no pain is the day that I know that I’ve died.” Today he no longer suffers. His body was healed when his soul was welcomed into that home above.

In my youth, I longed to train in the mountains; something I was never afforded. Now, in my advanced age, here I am, training in the mountains. There is no pain like that of running up a continual climb at elevations over 3,500 feet. To try to lessen the suffering, I learned a long time ago in those early training years, that if you could talk while you were running, then it would keep you at a pace that was optimal for practice runs. In that vein, my journey has brought me full circle. Since I run alone most days, there is only myself with whom to converse. As I’ve mentioned many times in other writings, today I work as unto the Lord, not unto man, and so it is with my exercise. So now, as I run up those steep grades, my practice of memorizing scripture is put to work, quoting out loud as I run. It is nothing spectacular. A word here, a breath there, and maybe after a few hundred feet a sentence is finished. This is how it goes.

The other day, as my practice of speaking scriptures as I ran continued, I happened past an older lady. She too was out enjoying the beautiful day before the afternoon storms came. As I passed her on my ascent up the mountain, she and I exchanged the usual pleasantry of, “Good morning.” On my way back down, she said something that gave me pause. Before I passed her, she smiled and said toward me, “Thank you for using your gifts.” All I could eke out was a simple, “Amen.” As I was still pondering her words in the back of my mind, I continued through my versus. Just as I was finishing John 1, I rounded a curve and broke out into a meadow filled with a plethora of golden wildflowers. My voice still trailed, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man.”[6] Suddenly before me above the field of gold, the sky around me was like a throng of white stallions waiting to stampede, yet were held at bay by a mighty hand. In the center of those towering billows of white, was a crystal clear, azure blue sky reaching to the heavens. Yes, the heavens had opened and my eyes searched those ever-changing Cumulus formations for angels ascending and descending. It was at that moment I could feel the power of the Holy Spirit dwell within my soul. For a moment, there was no ground beneath my weary legs, there was no pain, there was only the glory of God.

photo by: Michael Kight

Being afflicted through the sufferings of our daily life, and yes, in our daily exercise, are all part of how God shapes us. As Peter wrote, “But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.”[7] In our youth, our bodies recover more quickly so that there is little time to dwell on the struggles through which we face. As we age, it takes longer to recover and to overcome those once trivial obstacles. Through the tribulations of life, our soul is refined as the sword in the fire. Through these trials, we are made stronger when we learn to lean on Him, and in so doing, find hope for tomorrow. “By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God. And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope…”[8]

This morning, the water was still dripping from the trees. The abundance of storms had passed in the night leaving the air fresh, new, and alive.  The sound of the bountiful life-giving fluid made it feel as if I was surrounded by a tropical rain forest. The effect it had upon my body felt good. Like a blanket of comfort, its warmth enveloped my being. My mind drifted back to the Garden of Eden and how it must have felt for Adam and Eve before their sin. It was at that moment that I realized that while we are affected by the world through our flesh (our body), it isn’t always negative. There are moments, as in that instance, where we are blessed by God through his marvelous creation. Through those beautiful sunrises, to the smile of a newborn child, we are given glimpses into his love and majesty; thereby, enriching our soul, allowing the spirit to be lifted. Yes, even when we happen onto the edge of a golden meadow while His words parse through our lips we are blessed. When we are one with Christ, we are then afforded to allow the Holy Ghost to dwell within, and in so doing, find beauty in places heretofore there was only sadness and despair. These precious moments in time uplift our soul, and like the afflictions, strengthen it. 

Not all growth has to be painful, for, at the top of Nowhere, one can be afforded the most gratifying reward – to look upon the distant mountains and valleys and rejoice in God’s glory. As the air slowly returns to our weary lungs, as the heart beats blood to those body parts that are fatigued and ailing, we can be blessed by more than what this world of man will allow. It is up to us to sometimes go to the middle of nowhere and call upon His name.

“And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”[9]

“He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”[10]

“And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.”[11]

 As you go through each day, beware of the effects the world has upon you through your body. Live each day as if your soul depends on it. 

Eternity is forever.

Thanks be to God.

[1] Philippians 1:21 KJV

[2]  John 14:6-7 KJV

[3] Luke 9:24 KJV

[4] Genesis 2:7 KJV

[5] 1 Corinthians 6:19 KJV

[6] John 1:51 KJV

[7] 1 Peter 5:10 KJV

[8] Romands 5:2-4 KJV

[9] Luke 11:9 KJV

[10] Psalm 23:3 KJV

[11] 1 Thessalonians 5:23 KJV

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by | January 8, 2018 · 8:49 pm

Somebody to Love

“Can anybody find me, somebody, to love….?”

The strains of the electric guitar were screaming to the wailing of Freddie Mercury’s nearly falsetto pitch. The singer with the one-of-a-kind voice echoed in my ears as he kept repeating the refrain, “Can anybody find me, someone, to love.” For something different for my run tonight, I picked a playlist a little outside of my norm; Queen was on the docket. Back when I began running in the late seventies, at the tender age of 15, they were one of my favorite rock bands. Naïve, I had no idea of their lifestyle. To me, they made music that was challenging and inspiring. My own musical talents were limited to the organ. The combination of opera with rock genres that Queen had become known for, resonated within my young being. It was all that mattered at that time. Besides, who didn’t remember listening to “We are the Champions” in at least one High School pep rally?

That was many years past, at a time when the words teen and trouble went hand in hand. Like so many youths of our world, then and now, who seek someone to love them, so it was in mine.

As ancient legs churned below my thoughts, my mind recalled those pathways so many years ago. Thousands of miles would pass beneath my feet before my running career would end. The body may forget, but the mind relinquishes the memories less. Slowly, the pace increased until there was a smooth cadence. My fingers pressed the speed button on the treadmill up until it felt this was the proper altitude for tonight’s flight.

Some call it the runner’s high when the body’s endorphins are released to protect our muscles from pain. Call it another one of God’s little miracles. When our muscles are torn in the process of exercising, the endorphins buffer the pain, allowing us to push ourselves farther than we might otherwise. The more we become physically fit, the greater the number of endorphins are released. Once we become one with our body, we can almost achieve a feeling of running on air. So it was this evening, at least for a few sparse moment, when I had finally found a rhythm that matched its pace and was back in the groove. It felt good, but I knew it wouldn’t last. The belt on the treadmill flowed beneath as the gray sky outside the fitness center faded away.

“I’ve got to get out of this prison cell,” Freddie sang. The image of this earthly body came to mind, and the day when we meet Jesus in the sky, in our new bodies, made whole and anew. “Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.”-1 Thess. 4:17

It felt as if I were being lifted beyond that cursory station in life, away from the toil of keeping that decaying shell fit. Before me was the image of the cross. His body, abused, flayed, and bloody, hung limp. It felt as if my approach was on hand and knees. Beyond me, the song continued, “Somebody, tooo, toooo, love.”

There before me hung that precious life, the Son of God. I had found him, somebody to love, and what was made all the more precious, He loved me more. As the ancient rock song played behind me, the love of Jesus began to wash oer my soul. His love flowed through my veins like a river of the Spirit descending from on high.

I was unworthy of such love.

There was no compassion on earth combined that could match the feeling that poured from the cross. My humble being crawled beneath his, looking up at the shattered human form, where once abode God in the flesh. Tears formed in my eyes as I looked upon his image.

“Come and see,” he would tell the disciples when they asked where he dwelt. Yet, He was no longer here. We could not go and abode with him on that day for he had begun his crossing of that great strand. He would fall into the depths of hell, and then rise from the dead and become the resurrected Christ. My mind could see the lifeless, blue-tinted foot hanging limp. Blood crusted upon the grayish image. The ground below him stained with his precious blood. His own life source that was to be used to wash away my darkness. He had given all so that my sins could be forgiven, so that someday we may abode with Him, not just for the tenth hour, but for all eternity.

My hand reached to touch him, but before there was contact, the voice of the song screamed again, “Find Me Somebody to Love.”

And I had.

He was there, He was always there. The guitar wailed, the strains flooding together until their voltage surged through me, uniting with the other from above until all was one. I received Him, wholly, without question, and he flooded my soul with the Holy Spirit.
Jesus was with me.

The black ribbon flowed underneath as the overwhelming feeling of God’s love warmed my entire being within. My heart panged for Freddie, for his lifestyle caused his death; AIDS. Had he come to know Christ before he passed this life? Had he found somebody to love? His memory lives on today in the form of music, a gift from God. But more importantly, had he received the most precious gift before dying?

Had he too received Christ?

“Someday I’m gonna be free,” his voice rang out, and yes, we will be, free of this earthly prison cell, called a human body.
I pray that Freddie did find somebody to love him more. Someday we shall find out the answer, but for now, I know for certain I had found Somebody to Love, and His name is Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God.

“Can anybody find me Somebody to Love?”

No, you’re not going crazy because everybody’s trying to put you down, you only have to believe. Once you find Him, you have found Somebody to Love, and in return, someone who will love you beyond your understanding. You will finally be free. Death will hold no sting.

Can anybody find me Somebody to Love?

Yes, I can Freddie, Yes, I can.

His name is Jesus Christ.

Thanks be to God, again and again.

Forever and ever, Amen.

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by | December 16, 2017 · 10:20 pm

A Mind Numbing Run…

It’s funny how when you are running, the thoughts of past runs or events of those times come back to mind. As it was this evening, as the faint light of winter played through the barren canopy overhead, my thoughts rambled back to another winter, another time. Then, the John’s river wasn’t flowing along my pathway as it was tonight, but rather the busy four-lane road going into Milton Florida.

I had been blessed by the company I worked for, to be able to work remotely for a couple weeks while I stayed with my mother who was in the final stages of terminal cancer. Although my job consisted of working nights, it was a time that gave me moments to sit with her when either I had come in from those long, brutal 3rd shift hours or was preparing to head off for another night. The in-between times, when there was strength, I would go for runs, for no other reason than to clear my head and think. In between runs, we spent her waking moments talking, working on her mailbox (the last project we ever worked on together), and watching Hallmark movies. It was bittersweet. The shell of the vibrant woman I had known all my life was nearly gone, her body withered to almost nothing, the skeletal remains were apparent, but within her the desire to live another day kept her going; that and her unending faith.

Seeing her like that made me want to work on my own physical being, as much as my spiritual. So, when she was sleeping, and I had enough sleep of my own, I would go for a run.

Many years before, when my life was at a different stage, I was allowed to train as a walk-on with the UF Cross Country team. Their training regimen was far more intense than I eventually could manage as a full-time engineering student and part-time lightning research technician. However, those few months that I was afforded the opportunity, I learned and experienced many new things; one of which was the cold bath treatment following those brutal speed workouts. After beating your body to a pulp, when the legs were like lead weights, you went into the bath or sauna room. There large pools of either hot or cold water awaited. The medical intent was to slow the hemorrhaging of your muscles so that they could heal more quickly after being torn to shreds; thus, allowing the recovery to ensue more quickly. This method of alternating between hot and cold pools was an amazing natural treatment.

Yet, in the real world, we rarely, if ever, find such an oasis of specific working out apparatus. At my mother’s home, there was only the winterized swimming pool, which was not heated. However, that winter, my mind was sometimes as numb as my legs following those runs. Again, they weren’t to train for any race or goal, they became my way to cope with what I was witnessing; seeing a parent leave you, one breath at a time. Yet, while it was surely a blessing to be with my mother as she prepared to pass from this life to the next, it was hard, and as such, the pain became the motivation to push my body harder during the runs. Afterward, shattered, tired and worn, I would wade into the nearly frozen pool and relive those college days of the cold tub; the body below my waist would chill to the point I could no longer feel anything. It was as if that part of my body had died, but was still with me. It was then that God was speaking to me, even though I didn’t realize it at the time, that he was telling me this was where I was headed; the separation of the previous life.

In scripture, we find Jesus telling his disciples, over and over again, that to truly follow him, we must leave everything behind. Paul reminded us of this fact when he said that we must die to our former selves, become numb to that previous life. “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”-2 Corinthians 5:17 After we have repented and received Him, we find things begin to change in our lives. As we progress in the faith, we find that things of this world begin to lose their splendor. The feel, touch, and senses begin to need less. Our desire to satisfy the flesh no longer drives who we are, rather, we are driven by the Holy Spirit within, the one that beckons us to a new life.

If we were to wade into a nearly frozen river, the sting of the icy water around our flesh would at first present our physical being with a shock, but with time, the flesh would numb to the touch, and we would no longer feel the world in which we stood. Much like our walk in faith, as we find our sanctification through Christ, we learn to experience the world in the same manner. The sensual feelings are still there, but they no longer drive us, they no longer determine our path, but rather, our path is determined by Him. We can enjoy those earthly pleasures, but only to the point that we appreciate them being God’s blessing to us, for they are only momentary glimpses of what is to come. C.S Lewis described God’s natural blessings, the world around us, as mere snowdrops of miracles when compared to all that would and could occur in our Christian walk, knowing that someday, we will experience Heaven. In comparing, he wrote about Jesus walking on the water being of the New Creation, “That momentary glimpse was a snowdrop of a miracle. The snowdrops show that we have turned the corner of the year. Summer is coming. But it is a long way off, and snowdrops do not last long.”[1]

Mother is gone now, no longer with us here on earth. Her new home is that of the New Creation, Heaven above, a place where walking on water is allowed, and the senses are awakened to another reality we have yet to know.

My life changed dramatically following that winter. I too would leave everything behind to follow Him. Those nearly frozen, numb legs would be the beginning of my awakening. Eventually, all of me would feel that sensation of no longer needing the satisfaction of this world as my walk with Christ would become a way of life. There would be journeys to places I had never envisioned, experiences that only God could create, and new comprehensions of an ever-changing journey upon which I have chosen. Eventually, my full immersion would occur in that river along which I ran tonight, as I was Baptized in the faith. The circle had been made complete.

It’s odd how running can take you so many places when you really only set out to run just a couple of miles, and you wind up traveling much, much more; through time.

The river continues to flow, as time continues to march on. Each day we are one heartbeat closer to eternity. The questions I must ask, “Are you ready?” “Have you accepted Christ as your Savior?” To find that New Creation, that eternal home on high, we must, “Repent, Receive, and Regenerate into a new being,” as George Whitefield so famously preached, regarding being born again.

It’s not too late, do not wait another day. You never know when today may be your last.

Run while you can, life is short, and eternity with Him awaits.

Thanks be to God.

“Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”-Romans 6:4

[1] C.S. Lewis, “Miracles”, A Preliminary Study, 1947, Harper Collins.

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by | October 28, 2017 · 8:59 pm

In Memory: Mom, RDHW

The gray, overcast sky hung close to the mountain. The air held a damp chill that threatened to sink into one’s bones, yet he didn’t let it bother him. He stood off to the side, away from the crowd, away from the rest of his team members. The sound of the announcer introducing various dignitaries for the day’s event, the first annual High Country Run/Walk for Breast Cancer, was a distant echo. Like that of when you are about to fall asleep when all the world around you begins to fade. His mind was deep in prayer, for the reason he was really there was more personal than anyone knew.

The vision in his mind was as clear as the sunrise he had seen just minutes before. Her long golden hair floated in the breeze as she walked in the vast garden of vibrant yellow roses, her hands skimming their tops, like floating on the wind. She wore a white linen dress that flowed down to her bare feet; feet that barely touched the pathway upon which she danced. It was his mother in her youth, once again alive and vibrant. The chill in the air wisped across his bare neck, but inside, her warmth made him whole once more.

He remembered those last days, how she insisted they get her mailbox painted. He worked with her on just the right font and color of lettering to use, to the point she made him look through books of fonts she had set aside in some type of craft, but they never found them. He eventually sketched it out for her, and she was satisfied with the result. Then the last thing was to paint a yellow rose, her favorite, on each side. It would be the last thing they would ever do together before she passed. There was that feeling of being alone again, which he tried to push away. Yet, in a way, it felt like she was there.

He didn’t mean for the day to become this.

Moments earlier, inside the hosting facility, all manner of bright pink ribbons, balloons, and decorations brightened the gathering space. Cancer survivors and those participating in the day’s fundraiser warmly and graciously greeted one another. Understanding the nature of the event, he tried to elude the grasp of the thinking of her again, at least not here. As he turned to leave the room before emotion could grab him, there it was, the very thing he was trying to avoid. Near the exit was a wall where someone had placed a small hand-written sign, “In Memory Of.” Without thinking, he grabbed the fluorescent pink sticky note and wrote, “Mom, RDHW,” then peeled it free from the stack and stuck it to the wall. Stepping back and looking at those around it, his eyes couldn’t focus on anything but the one before him. Hurriedly, he walked out, trying not to make eye contact and soon found himself on that distant corner.

Although she had been gone nearly five years, it still seemed like yesterday.

As he sighed Amen in closing, he looked up to the floating pink archway covering the starting line. It had been over 25 years since he last stood at a race starting line. In fact, the year of that last race was the same year his mother had been first diagnosed with her cancer. Countless miles of water under the many bridges had passed since that day.  He thought of how it would feel once more, now that he was no longer the athlete he once was. In truth, he wasn’t really here to race. The real reason he thought he had come was to support the team from his High School, for the courageous fellow-teacher, whom with three children of her own, had been diagnosed with cancer just the year before, Elaine Bishop. The news of her story had struck him so hard, he found himself avoiding the empathy he so often could provide to others. It was someplace he couldn’t go, not yet. Elaine had become a survivor and an encourager to so many. The day she returned to school during their monthly faculty meeting and entered the auditorium he had fought back the tears of emotion; the sting of pain went to the core of his being; yet, here he was.

Moments later, the crowd had amassed at the starting line, and before he knew it, they were off. Before starting, one thing was apparent, he would be running this race for Mom.

“Every time the pain becomes too great,” he thought to himself, “remember the struggles she had endured for the twenty years she fought the disease.”

“When that knot in your stomach from that hill gets to be too great, remember the tumor that grew inside her, pushing aside her organs until the pain became too great to bear,” his mind recalled.

Again, and again, he pulled all that she had suffered into his mind to push away the aching of the moment. He had never raced up a mountain before today. The sting of his lungs pushed his mind to grasp again and again of those final days; the feeling of her slipping away before she had gone, but then she would battle until the end. Before long, he was numb and in agony at the same time.

As he struggled up the last hill toward the finish line, he could hear the screams of those encouraging the runners. The young lad that had passed him in the last half mile was within reach, but there was no sense in catching him. It wasn’t why he was here. In the blink of an eye, the scene of the pink floating balloons passed overhead, and he was done. Body bent double, he gasped for breath as his lungs burnt. “It wasn’t enough, she suffered far more, so much more,” he told himself as he stood there still reeling from the pain.

Gently, as a bird calls from the morning window sill, there was a whisper of voice from beyond, and he looked up to see who spoke. There ahead of him, on the edge of a manicured garden, amongst the myriad of greenery stood a single yellow rose.

For a moment, the warmth of a mother’s love washed over him.

He smiled and thanked the Lord. She had run a good race, she had fought the good fight, and now, her journey’s end was complete; and so was his.

Thanks be to God.

Donate Here Today for High Country Breast Cancer Foundation Support

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by | October 22, 2017 · 7:13 pm

A Light in the Forest

“For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light.” -Ephesians. 5:8

Sitting here in the ballroom “G” of the Hilton hotel, my mind wants to comfort my physical being by taking me to my bench in front of the store in Collettsville. It’s Sunday morning. There was no river to cross. There was no long walk. There was no weight of my backpack to weigh me down. Yet, there is a weight upon me, a burden that washes over me even now; the knowing that what must be done to make it back to those mountains; the long lonely drive. There will be time to think, time to reflect. How much have I gleaned from this weekend’s training, I’m not sure? There have been moments of frustration, feelings of patience being tested, and questions within myself of if this is really where I need to be. Yet, there have been awakenings of what must be done to carry on.

There have been inspirational moments, and as always, God-like moments.

A pastor and fellow teacher, with whom I will be meeting shortly, stood up to share how one of his roles in life was that of being a pastor to a church for the past 21 years and what that meant, with regard to commitment and him becoming an educator.

Then there was yesterday, in response to my question to the returning beginning teacher panel where I asked them to name what one thing that they would have asked their coach if they were given a virtual “Blank Check,” with regard to help. The first three were pretty much as expected, vague without detail, even though I had purposefully asked for detail; but then came the fourth speaker. The young lady that responded spoke in a calm, measured voice almost as if she was wise beyond her years. She began by referring to scripture from the Old Testament, how King Solomon was given a “Blank Check” by God when asked what he needed or wanted. In his wisdom, he responded with, “Knowledge.” It was an “aha” moment for me. In front of a room of a multitude of personalities and unknown backgrounds, this young lady spoke from the truth, from the Word of God, unashamed to speak her faith, and with that, testified to many.

We were all blessed in the moment. I was literally blown away.

In the darkness, in the chaos, there was light.

Just a few hours earlier on the day before, the scene was much different.

Through the darkness, I ran alone seeking the light, yet there was none.

It was long before dawn when my car reached the gates of Umstead Park. The barred gate was across the road stopping anyone from entering the park after hours. I was not the first car to arrive. Several others had already parked on the shoulder of the road and were preparing to disembark on their morning exercise. It had been a while since I had risen this early in the day to run, so my mental clock was off a bit, knowing that eventually, the dawn would come. The time on my device read 6:00 AM. The man in the car before me said they rarely opened the gate before 7:00 AM. “Too long for me to wait,” I mused silently. A couple of runners with headlamps took off before I was done preparing to leave my car. “Looks like I’ll be carrying my phone the entire time,” I told myself, “I’ll probably need it for the light at least.” For once, I engaged the running app on my phone and took off. Before long, the pitch-black forest enveloped me, and the light from the screen of the device was my only means of keeping on the road. For the next four miles, until the light of dawn began to slowly fade into view, the weak beacon led my path. Each footstep was measured, each stride was reduced for fear of twisting an ankle or cracking a shin into some unseen obstacle. Like our faith, when we stray from the truth, the light, we stumble and fall. We are forced to slow down for the fear that envelopes us. Step by step, we carry on, even when that light is barely visible for to stray from the path is to give in to the darkness.

Eventually, my route met the back gate of the park. Beyond it, quiet residences sat nestled deep in the forest beside the seldom-used paved road that led to the bridge which spanned I40. Several years ago, I took my children to one of my company picnics. After we ate and played a little music for the attendees, we took a bicycle ride this same path and ended up turning around after reaching the bridge. To commemorate the moment, I recall taking a picture with my flip phone. There they stood, in that picture and in my mind, along the side of the road on the bridge, straddling their little bikes while peering over the railing at the blustery traffic on the highway below. We quickly returned to the peace of the forest. This particular morning, the park gate was as far as I needed to venture. Part of me didn’t want to change my last memory of that bridge, but rather, wanted it to remain special, one of those Kodak moments, as we used to say. Another place in time to remain a keepsake forever.

Turning around, I began heading back. The light now beginning to grow, I tucked my device away and was able to start stretching out my stride to a more normal, comfortable pace. Soon enough, I began meeting other runners who had started out later or who had turned around before me and were also heading back. One of those was a sturdy fellow who I easily caught, but something about him made me slow down and match his pace. We began talking about how far we’d gone and the forest around us. It felt good to be able to run and talk. Finally, my legs were returning. We continued chatting about where we’d lived and our military backgrounds but then the most surprising conversation began to ensue. The man’s name was Rick Graves, and his father had been an Independent Baptist preacher in Minot North Dakota. He shared this with me because of my Air Force experience. From that point forward, the miles began to fly by as we traveled in time to places in our memories, pasts that formed who we were and how we got there. “God has a purpose in everything we do,” I said to him as we ran, knowing that our encounter although may seem as chance, was something beyond what we could grasp. Rick became a JAG for the Army and had actually used his faith to help perform his job. He told me he often had to reflect on those moral issues in cases that needed Christian values from which only then could they be grounded. He talked about how our whole society’s thread of moral character is based on those Biblical truths and without them, we would live in chaos. As we ran, my mind thought of the morning’s lesson I was learning, from a stranger I met while running in the forest. Eventually, we came to the fork in the road, the place where our united path finally diverged. We shook hands and repeated one another’s name before saying goodbye.

“I am the way, the truth, and the light,” Jesus told his disciples. “No one comes to the Father but through me,” and so it is.

After we separated, my pace quickened for a bit, but soon the old legs began to tire. I wasn’t certain, but my body was telling me today’s run was much farther than I had been used to in these recent weeks. When I finally reached the car, the device read ten miles. Although the pain from the long run was fresh, the feeling of accomplishment was worth it. The combined joy of meeting a fellow believer deep in the forest on a dark, misty morning made it even more complete.

As my mind returned to the moment at hand, the pastor walked in as several others had been gathering during my focus on the previous morning’s run and we were about to begin. We moved to make a large circle about our end of the ballroom. The other end, workers were preparing the morning buffet bar. The preacher began to speak about how the morning’s service came to be; how the Lord had spoken to me and then I to him. Before that, he had waited for confirmation, and through that meeting of ours, his command was confirmed. We opened with prayer, and then the pastor asked some of the ladies if they had something they had prepared for us to sing. They looked at each other and said, not really, but they immediately knew of something else, something better. With no church organ, no grand piano, simply the voices of the multitude, they began to sing an old-time spiritual. I closed my eyes and felt the presence of the Lord around us. There in the grand ballroom, chairs, and tables covered white tablecloths scattered about us, we came together as one people, believers in Christ, a multitude of backgrounds, races, and cultures gathered together as one, worshipping as one, believing in one true God.

The preacher went on to speak about how we had been led to this day by the hand of the Lord. His sermon was perfect for the day, as his pulpit was the table before us. His scripture for the sermon was Romans 8:28, “ And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”  He shared how as educators, we all are called to a higher purpose. The moment resonated with everyone in the room.

I knew from the way he spoke, he had many years of preaching experience. His eloquence was matched only by his deep devotion He then went on to share his personal testimony. The powerful story and his salvation, it’s anniversary the day after my own Birthday, October 13th, had just passed. The story of his salvation was as moving as any I had ever heard, and then again, I had heard so much in the past few hours, but this surpassed it all.

Before the closing prayer, the ladies led us in another uplifting spiritual number, another one I had never heard before this day, but another one I’m certain I’ll hear on that far distant shore. Pastor Michael prayed us on out as the assembly behind us had grown. There was silence in the room where many had now amassed, but in reverence to our group, had remained silent.

We had found one another in the darkness, in the deepest part of the forest, and united as one.

The truth once more was told, Christ was upon our lips, and the will of God was with us.

Strangers hugged tearful goodbyes as we wrapped up our meeting. We soon would join the growing numbers in the room to finish out our teacher conference but this morning, on this last day, one of the most memorable moments was had. We may forget the speaker’s names at the conference, we may forget some of the programs taught, but one thing those of us who met on the morning may never forget is that memorable service, unannounced, unplanned, but created by the Master’s hand.

Many times, in this life, we find the real reason behind the event we attend is something greater than we had planned, and in this manner, once again, the God was there.

Thanks be to God.

 

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by | August 21, 2016 · 10:12 pm

Morning Mist…

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A lifetime; that’s how long it took to get to this point.

The aches and breath were laborious.

Nothing felt good other than just the knowing that I was out once again exercising my body in order to retain some sort of muscle tone. The past three weeks have been a blur of moving, back-breaking lifting, sweating, and blood. In fact, we have constantly been moving something from somewhere for most of this year, so the opportunity to find myself running along a clear, flowing mountain river was a blessing in and of itself. Below my path, the water of the Johns River cascaded over rocks, sending a chorus of soft voices upward. Their song touched my soul, and my spirit was renewed.

The sun had yet to rise as I ran in the cloud that encompassed the world around me. Massive oaks towered overhead; sentinels in this part of the small valley that cupped the river into its palm and channeled it along its winding route. Those dark anthems disappeared into the mist appearing as if they might be pillars holding up the sky.

The world was slowly awakening.

Before long, my mind was free of the physicality of my toil as one curve in the road led to another. God’s beauty lay all around. Birds called to one another as the breeze gently swayed branches over the rippling waters that ran beside me. Like in another lifetime, when thoroughbreds would race me along their pristine pastures in Ocala, I now ran with another, one whose flow was even smoother than those gentle beasts. Together, side by side, we traveled; one the essence of life, while the other dependent upon that which flowed.

Sometimes, when my day is done, I can sit upon the rocks and watch the water flow, like the clouds passing overhead. To know there is a purpose in it all would only require one to admit that there is also a God. The incalculable variables that are necessary for one object to depend upon another cannot be fathomed once one begins to try to explain in human terms what this is all about. A lifetime of wasted energy could be spent only to find in the end, the solitude of sitting on the edge of a secluded mountain stream can answer those unending questions. In our youth, we believe there is no end to time, so we go forth without plan or purpose, living for the moment, planning on a whim what tomorrow might bring. As life progresses we realize, sometimes too late, there is a finality, a purpose we must seek. Sadly, many are never afforded that chance to realize that they have fallen short of seeking Him. Those who do choose Christ as their savior, find they have been given the most precious gift of all, thanks to His sacrifice for our sins so that we may have life eternal.

As I wiped the towel across my forehead mopping of the sweat off my brow, there was the feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction in knowing that I had started my day on a good note. Steam rose from my coffee mug as I peered thankfully down at the pages of my Bible. The morning sunrise was just beginning to burn through the fog around the porch where I sat, turning the pages into a golden hue.

“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory…”

The Word spoke to me again and once more my life is blessed.

Somewhere off in the distance in the dark woods a dove cooed.

Yes, this would be another beautiful day.

Thanks be to God.

 

 

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