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A Cold Mountain River

by Timothy W. Tron

It was late September in the highlands. We were camping on the banks of the Johns River. While the leaves had yet to fully change, there were the tale-tale signs of imminent transformation on the horizon. As my feet slid underneath the surface of the cold mountain water, a formidable repercussion burst through my soul. Deeper I waded in until it was a matter of now or never; an immediate submersion momentarily took my breath away. It was my evening bath in the John’s river, yet another first in my life.

Johns River, Collettsville, NC. – photo by Timothy W. Tron

As the due course of washing ensued, the greatly diminished bar of soap I was using slipped from my fingertips and into the brink below. In an instance, there was a fear that gripped my heart. “Oh no, now I won’t be able to get clean,” were the thoughts that raced in my head. “Does it float,” came the question? Before the unspoken whisper was even done, the tiny little bar popped back up. Quickly, my hand scooped it up and cradled it carefully. “No more losing you,” I mused at the careless soap. Looking down the course of the waterway to where that tiny sliver of could have traveled, a shimmering image caught my eye. The rapids below me sparkled in the setting sun. A thousand diamonds reflected the vast spectrum of light back towards me and a radiance illuminated the bend in the river about me. It was as if the Lord had suddenly appeared. The thought of that momentary fear of losing the bar of soap returned and how it made me think of what it might feel like to lose one’s Bible, or even worse, God. For me, in that instance of time, it would have meant that I would be unable to physically cleanse my body. But like the Word, it helps us to cleanse our soul. Through Christ’s sacrifice on the cross, our sins were literally washed away. Like that grime from my flesh, it was purged clean and taken away with the never ending current. Suddenly, standing as I stood in an indescribable realm of illuminated river, a revelation began to form in my being.

By this time, my body had nearly lost feeling. My head fully lathered, I dipped beneath the surface once more. The frigid waters rushed around me and all sound ceased from the surface. There was nothing more than the sound of gurgling flow pulsating past my being. A faint heartbeat sounded in the distant, like a bodhran keeping time to a Celtic song, ancient tomes for which the voices had long since faded into obscurity. My mind flashed to that of the river Jordan and the Apostle John standing over Jesus, who at the moment was also beneath the surface. As Christ looked upward from beneath the cleansing waters of Baptism, he could see the heavens open and the Spirit of the Lord descending. At that moment, John lifted him up. The cold water fell away from his body, his face flush with the exertion of that same shock, now beaming as the multitude of God’s love imbued his being. John saw it appear above Christ’s head, and it slowly fluttered until it appeared to light upon the crown of his head, like a dove descending from heaven.

Likewise, as I rose from beneath the veil of frigid flow, the sky opened above me to a clearness that seemed to take away one’s breath. The feeling of a newness unlike before overwhelmed my soul. Though my body was immersed in the freezing mountain waters, my soul was enveloped in an indescribable comforting warmth.

Through that momentary elation, the question returned, “How sorrowful would it be to have known God, and then to lose Him?” Simply asking the question to myself made me appreciate what I had all the more. One who has never known the love of God cannot comprehend what it is to imagine losing him. Like that inanimate bar of soap, while it is easily replaced, how unlike it is to the spirit within us. Once we receive Christ into our lives, there is a newness of living. Like emerging from those frozen depths of the mountain river, we are torn free from those previous fleshly burdens. We are given the greatest gift of all; freedom from sin. We are washed clean by the proverbial, never-ending bar of soap; the blood Jesus shed for all mankind on the cross.

Still yet, the profound symbolism of losing that bar for but a second, and the feeling of that lost translated into miniscule slice of what it might be like to lose one’s faith. So too, we who believe, would find ourselves in a despair unrivaled with any known heretofore if we were to knowingly lose our faith – to have it torn asunder like a child from a mother’s bosom. There could be no greater loss of hope, freedom, and truth. Yet, throughout history, people have been tortured because of their faith, and many times told to escape the torture or death, that they must abjure their faith – to give it up. Many died for this faith. Untold numbers were tortured through some of the most unimaginable gruesome deaths. Yet, there were a few that gave in. Sadly, their torture would have been less to have died, for the remainder of their lives, they would be haunted in a life of anguish knowing that they had turned their backs on the one thing that gave them hope, gave them life eternal – their faith.

We are living in some of the most distressing times in our country. While we are facing a growing evil, there is and always will be hope. It is now that we, those who are called, must boldly wade into that torrent of bone-chilling water of life and reach out to those who drowning in the depths of despair and heartache. Like the bar of soap, they are tossed about, unable save themselves. Without a hand to reach out and lift it up, it would have certainly been taken away downstream. Likewise, without God, we too are lost. But we can be the lifeline through which the giver of eternal life can reach them. As the gospel hymn goes, “When my Savior reached down for me, I was lost and undone without God or His Son. When He reached down His hand for me. [1]

You may not be able to immediately see those who need your help. But stay the course, and continue to walk in the light. In time, they will come to you, or their presence will be made known. It is then, that you can save them from falling beneath the rushing waters of this world’s darkness and lift them up. You were made for a time such as this. “The fields are white ready to harvest,” Jesus told his disciples. “One reapeth and another soweth, I sent yea to reap wherein yea bestowed no labor. Others labored and yea entered into their labors.”[2]

There will always be a Comforter there by our side. Step into the water, and the Lord will take you the rest of the way.

Thanks be to God.


[1] Source: Musixmatch, Songwriters: G. E. E. Wright, When He Reached Down lyrics © Bridge Building Music

[2] John 4:35 KJV

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Changed by the Storms of Life

And whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effectual in the enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer: or whether we be comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation.”-2 Cor. 1:6

The morning brought about overcast skies; something that hadn’t been part of yesterday’s plan. Contemplations of getting up and finding new subjects to capture to use for future inspirational messages were quickly shrouded over by the gray skies above. From my vantage point, sitting on the picnic table at the Collettsville General store, I sat in humble submission to all that God was trying to reveal to my simple mind. Even knowing what I know about my walk in the Lord, it was evident, His plans were not my own, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.”-Isa. 55:8

Blueridge Mountains, Collettsville, NC.

The clouds loomed so closely that one might have perceived it to be dusk; the birds flitting to and fro cared little. Cars going by, crossing the bridge, had their headlights on. For late June, it was a pleasantly cool morning. The John’s River flowing past echoed a constant gentle whisper. Its voice was the blank canvas for all other voices, bemoaning a solitude to any that might listen; a respite from the worldly nature of mankind. If only one could sit each waking hour by such a place, how much more complete would their earthly life be? If the curse had not been placed upon the world, how much more awe-inspiring would this appear?

While contemplating all that was before me, the thought of how much more this might mean to one that had known struggles, darkness, and sorrow came to mind. Many of my friends, colleagues, and even myself included are facing all manner of persecution and trials. To this end, my thoughts began to reflect upon how much I wish each of them were here with me to see what I can see. But even in our afflictions, we must keep mindful of how our Savior is using this to mold us, make us stronger in our faith. As the Apostle Paul wrote, “And whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effectual in the enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer: or whether we be comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation.”

Like a soldier having survived the atrocities of war, perhaps even death by his own hands, to then return into the normal society; he cannot help but be changed, forever altered in his perception of the fine line between civility and cruelty. For a moment he can be in the real world, and a split second later, he’s back in the hell from whence his world was forever altered; blood, gore, and mayhem the likes many of us may never know, nor shall we want too. Likewise, a person can return from the depths of struggle and despair so great, that once they do, they too are forever changed, never to look again upon a normal life without understanding how many divine circumstances have attributed to that fragile thread of what is deemed normalcy. Each one of us is so close to the edge of the abyss of having nothing; ever so close to losing it all, yet we doubtfully are aware. Those who comprehend this perilous precipice have the perception of both edges of the double sword. They are keenly aware and feel the sense of urgency unbeknownst to those around them. This difference makes them often seem either distant – when they choose to remain silent for fear of distancing those with whom they wished to be with – or that they appear overzealous in their beliefs to the point they unintentionally ostracize those they love. In essence, they push away those very people who they seek to reach.

When we accept Christ into our lives, when we turn away from the old ways and take on the new, we are also forever changed. “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”-2 Cor. 5:17 All of those things in the past are forgotten; those old ways of sin, those old habits of which kept us in bondage are gone. We are set free. At that moment, in that embrace of total immersion into following Christ, we too can become separated from those around us who either never realized our change, or who have yet to come to know Him as we have come to know Him. Either way, we become a different person, one in which we have died to our former selves, and being such, we no longer rely on the old ways.

In that moment, when we are saved, we become a new being. When we do, we face the same circumstances as those who have either lived through traumatic life events or circumstances. We must be mindful of our presence among those non-believers or even those who think they are Christian but are not.

It is a precarious path we walk when we are changed.

Not only that, but our perception of this fallen world changes as well. The world around us takes on a new light. Things once unseen for the sake of chasing after the natural things of this world are now visible. Our senses are like that of a babe, freshly receiving inputs from old receptors but are now seen through new eyes. Gone are those filters of addiction and worldly influences. We are cleansed by His blood, washed white as snow.

Wherefore, he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.”-Eph.5:14 When we awaken from that death, we open the door as if to a freshly fallen snowscape; pristine as it had been from the beginning. In our sin, we were too lost to see what was before us all along.

Lastly, when we become one with our Father, we no longer have to question our ability to speak with Him. We know that he listens to all that we lift up in prayer.  Even in our weakness, God will intercede for us in prayer, “Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God. 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.”-Rom.8:26-28

We understand that even on the darkest of days, those in which thunder clouds are looming on the horizon, there is still even reason to rejoice. Even when those countless prayers we have lifted up go unanswered, we still know that He is listening. “I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.”-Ps. 27:13-14

In the waiting, there is learning…and always hope.

When we feel downtrodden in that waiting, take heed and remember, He sends us his helper, the Comforter, “But when the Comforter is come, whom I will send unto you from the Father, even the Spirit of truth, which proceedeth from the Father, he shall testify of me.”-Jn 15:26

Yes, even on those days when you expected sunshine and God sends showers, rejoice in all that is given. We only have one earthly life to live. Let us not waste this time in despair, but rather, share the gift of salvation to all those who will hear. Be mindful of your audience and be not anxious. Some are meant to plant while others will reap; often will we see both. The fields are ripe for harvest. Now is the time.

Let your light shine for all to see.

Thanks be to God.

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No Retreat…

“And whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it? Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, Saying, This man began to build, and was not able to finish.”-Luke 14:27-30

When I read this scripture, I often think of the old cliché, “Don’t change horses in mid-stream,” meaning don’t change your mind in the middle of an event or process that has already begun.

In this passage of scripture, recorded by Luke, Jesus is explaining to the crowds that desire to follow him, that unless they give their whole heart, mind, and spirit to him, they cannot truly be one of his disciples. In other words, “you have to be ALL in or nothing at all.” Once you commit, you cannot turn back. Doing so can only be detrimental to yourself, but to those around you as well.

As my own life’s journey and construction of the Spiritual Retreat continue, this scripture really struck a chord with my heart.

First, this journey began with a commitment to follow Christ. It wasn’t a decision that was taken lightly, nor undertaken half-heartedly. It began with a 100% vow to boldly follow wherever the Lord shall lead. That pledge has taken not only me but my family as well, along this path upon which would have never imagined.

There is no turning back.

Even as this is written, we continue to unpack from a move that began five years ago. We are literally still in transition. But even as this is written, the pathway is changing. The future is as unclear as it was in the first few days of that fateful decision. The difference is that now, after those arduous five years, we have seen the power of God working in our daily lives, answering prayer, and working miracles. Yes, in the deepest valleys, He is with us. On the highest mountain tops, He is with us. No matter how far we run, no matter how far we roam, our Lord and Savior is with us, he will never leave nor forsake us. There is comfort in the knowing, for as we face an unknown future, we can take solace in knowing that we are not alone.

As with the continued construction of the Spiritual Retreat, the path has altered somewhat. There had never been a bank account full of money from which to draw to pay for the materials for which it was to be built. Although it was thought out, as far as rough floor plans, the financial side was lifted up to the Lord to provide. And as such, each step of the way, He has provided. Like the parable for which Jesus was describing, a man does not set out to start a project unless he knows he has the means for which it is to be funded, lest he be mocked by his neighbors. Although the literal meaning could apply in my own case, it was with a purposeful choice that we began knowing that in faith, the funds would come. And in faith, the project has only been slowed, not by lacking the means to pay for the building supplies, but rather because of either illness or other commitments which took precedence at the time. In other words, the providential funds of faith have provided all that we have needed.

Like the choice to serve, and like the decision to begin construction without financial backing, each took a level of faith not easily obtained. Through observation of others on their journey, we might feel uncomfortable with taking on that level of commitment. It is only natural. You should never take the leap of faith unless you are willing to suffer for Christ’s sake. It is never easy, nor should it be.

Christ died for our sins.

Let me say that again, Christ DIED for our sins. He suffered a death none of us could nor would want to imagine. He even forewarned that his followers would suffer likewise, because, “If they hate me, they will hate you as well,” he told his disciples.

As the disciples followed Jesus, he took a band of men with backgrounds as diverse and opposed as any could imagine. Along the way, he changed who they were and taught them a new way to believe. Their minds were opened to an understanding never heard before. Men that had never been able to read were now recording his teachings. As this metamorphosis took place, they became the future bearers of Christ. In so doing, their attention had to be laser-focused, and pinpoint sharp as any modern-day recording device. Yet, they lived in a world of parchment and crude writing implements. One might imagine at the end of a day, they would stop and recap what all had taken place.

Visualize this one day happened to be the day in which the woman, who had sought many physicians, and yet after 18 years, had never been healed. Then, when she had heard that Jesus was to come to her town, she did, like so many others, found her way to a place that might afford her a chance to speak to him, or if nothing else, just to see him pass by. As it happened, she reached out and touched the hem of his garment. At that moment, she was healed.

She had to reach out and touch him, just as we must ask Him to come into our lives. The opening comment about changing horses in mid-stream is a comment made about what happens once you have received Christ and are now ready to act upon whatever calling He has given you. Once you have been saved by grace, your life will change. To fully receive Him is to no longer seek the old ways, but rather, the new.

Yes, the woman touching his garment and being healed spoke volumes as to who Jesus actually was; God and man. As Jesus shared this with his disciples that evening, imagine now, if you will, that the multitude that had been gathered had more than once touched his garment. We are only familiar with the one story, but think of the comment at the end of the gospel of John, where he says, “And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written. Amen.” What if there had been numerous healings? What if after the first story, your hand is now starting to get numb. You can no longer keep up as he continues to tell you moment upon moment of people touching his garment that singular day and the testimonies behind each healing. How blown would your mind be at that point? Your head would be spinning as the untold amount of disbelief mixed with faith rattled around in your brain until your head felt as if it might explode.

There could be no distractions. There could be no turning back. You would literally have to hate your old life and be immersed in your walk with Christ to handle the brutal commitment to serve.

There was no lukewarm faith allowed.

You were either all in or nothing.

No retreat, no surrender.

Like each choice, both require an oath of servitude that cannot be stopped once it is started. To stop in the middle can not only be disastrous financially, but it can also be morally repugnant. How many times have you heard of a preacher or pastor quitting the ministry or falling from grace, and at the same time, felt your heart sink knowing that another soldier for Christ as fallen? Not only can it be a demeaning choice, to turn back, but it can affect others as well. Like those other little boats on the Sea of Galilee, all watched as the boat that Jesus was on was being tossed in the storm. What if Jesus’ boat had turned back? What if he never caused the raging seas to cease? How much less would the scriptures had been impacted?

As I already stated, my future is unclear. While one door closes, somewhere God is opening another door. Like that choice to start laying the foundation for the Spiritual Retreat, so is that foundation of the future being poured. While I cannot see the door, nor what path it is He has chosen, I can trust that like those funds that have found their way into our lives to continue the Retreat’s own construction; likewise, so will He provide for us in the future.

As many have asked, “Can I pray for you to find a job?”

“No,” is my response, “for J O B is a book in the Bible.”

Then I humbly reply, “Rather, please pray that God brings me to a door where I may serve Him fully.”

In the end, faith is not only the substance of things hoped for, but there is actual evidence in things unseen from which we can trust. These foundations of faith continue to build, one upon the other as we grow closer to Christ. We may have questions. We may have doubts. These are our natural tendencies. When we trust in Him, these quickly fade away as we remind ourselves of how those stories in the Bible, of blind faith being rewarded, have come true in our own lives. We may not have the funds to continue the path, but if it is the door through which God has chosen, in the end, we shall find that God will provide.

Never make a choice in faith-based upon what is seen, for if it is truly a God-given path, He will provide.

So remember, don’t change your horse in the middle of the stream, keep the faith.

Accept Christ into your life, and the journey will have just begun.

Thanks be to God.

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What Could Be…

We’ve often heard or used the phrase, “Dead-end job.” Whereby, we are referring to an occupation that has no future; no room for growth or lateral movement. Stairs that lead to nowhere are a lot like that. A normal flight of stairs are meant to take us from one level of a building to the next. This past weekend, after cutting and placing stringers for the Spiritual Retreat in place, and then setting the treads down, I sat at the top of the newly erected staircase and looked out at the vast, empty space that awaited on the second floor. My thoughts reflected back to when I had harvested the trees on this very spot a year ago. The stringers from which the stairs are made came from one of those tall pines, some of which still stand tall nearby. That was just one step of many to get to this point. There have been buckets of sweat, copious amounts of blood, and many a restless night’s sleep due to pain between then and now. For the moment, there is no money for flooring for either the lower or upper levels. The wood that had been cut has mostly been used or will be used on other framing aspects. It does not bother me for I know that in time, He will provide. Therefore, my perch only afforded me a vantage point of “What Could Be.”

Sitting at a desk behind stacks of papers to grade or bent over working on the engine of a car as sweat pours into our eyes stinging our vision, we often find ourselves asking the question, “Is this all there is in life?” Or perhaps another, “Where can we go from here?” Likewise, our spiritual life can come to a similar crossroads. All our lives we have spent laboring to build a comfortable world around us; acquiring material wealth, pleasant homes, fancy cars, all to find in the end, we often need very little of all that we have spent a lifetime to amass. In time of solitude, we are often left in moments of recollection, finding that memories are probably the most cherished possession we own. When we look back, we cannot see where we are going. In reflection, we find ourselves sorrowed in that moment. To look back is to see only where we’ve been, not where we are headed, there is a sense of loss; a passing of time that we cannot recover.

Time; once it is gone, it is gone forever.

However, living in the past can only bring sorrow and regret. To turn around and face the future brings new life, a chance to start over for some. Yes, there is a place for which we all should strive to reach, an obtainable goal that was made possible to each of by the most precious sacrifice ever known to mankind: Jesus Christ. We cannot know the Father until we come to know the Son, Jesus. “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.,” Jesus told his disciples (John 14:6). To gain the glories of heaven, we must first accept Christ into our lives; there is no other way.

Too often, we imagine that we have properly prepared for what is to come. You know the person I’m speaking of, the one who can tell you that they have spent their entire life going to church, they believe they have achieved salvation simply by being in the building, by going through all the rituals necessary; following the letter of the law. When asked further how they know they are going to heaven, you find the wheels begin to fall off their spiritual wagon. Just because you park your vehicle in the garage doesn’t mean it’s a car. Doing deeds or works to obtain heaven is not how we receive His amazing Grace. No, my friend, that is not salvation, that is religion. Religion cannot get you into Heaven, only by the Grace of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ can you be saved and obtain salvation from your sins. By the water and the Spirit, we are saved, and those who receive Him shall have eternal life.

In Genesis 11, mankind built a city and a tower known as Babel. The people were extremely proud of their accomplishment, so much so, that God came down to observe their amazing feat. What he found was that man had believed himself to become an equal with God. They had literally built what they believed was a stairway to heaven. God immediately realize the error of their ways, “and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.” Not only was this a false foundation of achievement, but it was also a structure dedicated to idolatrous worship. The offspring of Noah had once again, as the wicked before the flood, fallen away, taking up the worship of idols, even to the point of dedicating the massive building to a multitude of gods. The peak of the monument was capped with an altar dedicated to the god Bel-Merodach, along with all the signs of the Zodiac.

Many Man-Caves are places men often build in their homes or in outbuildings where they can escape from the world, or as some say, “Get away,” from the rest of the family. Here, they decorate the walls and surroundings with all manner of icons that make them feel happy or comfortable; neon beer signs, sports team logos, and many more images that portray that to which they have become a fan. To become a fan, one must follow a team or sports figure to the point you become “fanatical” about them, hence the term fan. If we look at it from the perspective of the tower of Babel, they have essentially erected their own altar to Bel-Merodach. In essence, their decorations become their worship to other gods as did those in Babel.

Thankfully, the focus of my building, even though someone recently asked if it were to become my Man-Cave, is not of things of this world; rather, it is “What is to come.” As I sat atop the stairs to nowhere, it was apparent that they were only the precursor to, “What will be.” From this point forward, one cannot say what is next other than I know in my heart that from here, my purpose is to serve Him in all that I do. Even in the construction, this mindset has enveloped my every action. Someone asked, “Did you build it all by yourself.” Other than my son and Leroy stopping by occasionally to give me a hand, for the most part, literally the answer would be yes. But in truth, all along, He has been here with me. Even now, as I sit in the twilight hours of day typing by the temporary lights hanging on nails, His Spirit is with me. So, no, truly I’ve never been alone.

The dead-end job for me ended five years ago when I chose to leave everything behind and step into the journey of serving the Lord. That was the first step on the stairway. Since then I have lifted many an often-weary foot upon the next tread. Each time, my view came from a high plane than before.

You must be careful when ascending the flight of stairs. One wrong step can send you tumbling to the bottom or worse, end up in serious harm. Just as physical injury can result from a fall; likewise, if our footsteps in faith are not grounded in the Word of God, we can find ourselves falling away, succumbing to the secular desires of the flesh. It is only with only one sure step at a time that we can advance safely. As my friend Jimmy Clark said today, “God will only give us so much insight, knowledge into the future at a time.” Those footsteps upon the stairwell are very much one in the same.

And you may ask, “Where would that insight, that knowledge come from?”

There is mainly one place that I can direct anyone to answer that question, and that is, “The Bible.” Yes, He may speak to us at times or give us visions, but most assuredly, the most definite place to find guidance from the Father is in the Word of God.

One word at a time.

One step at a time.

Let not your stairway lead to nowhere my friend.

Heaven awaits.

All you have to do is repent of your sins, confess with your mouth, and believe with your heart, and then simply ask, and ye shall receive.

Don’t hesitate.

Tomorrow is too late.

All I can do is share with you how. The rest is up to you and Jesus.

Don’t delay.

My prayer is that everyone who reads this will find Jesus if you have not already done so, and in the end, receive their salvation.

I love you, as the Father hath loved me.

Thanks be to God.

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Pitter-Patter of Raindrops…

The pitter-patter of raindrops on the deck outside the porch called to me. Donning my camouflage rubber boots, rain vest, and all-weather wide-brimmed hat, I grabbed my walking staff and headed for the woods. The skies were dark even in the middle of the day. All around us the radar indicated dark green, the sign of heavy rain. The remnants of Hurricane Florence were finally upon us.

The worst was yet to come.

East of us folks had already dealt with this storm for over two days. Massive flooding and torrential rains were continuing. Here in the mountains, we were just getting started.

As my footsteps carried me deeper into the forest, overhead the canopy gave me shelter. Large drops would occasionally splatter on my brim bringing a refreshing sprinkle to my chin. The creek was already swollen but not remarkedly so. The treetops swayed by winds gusting sporadically, which would yield another gentle shower.

My footsteps carried me on, like the water flowing past. My mind became adrift.

Those early memories began to flood my mind.

The rain had been falling for days. The Wabash was up again, and for some reason, our family had decided to go exploring the ever-mysterious “Battle Ground,” as we had always known it. As kids, we never knew the truth of its name. The stories that had been handed down over the centuries were from stories created by artifacts found when grandpa had plowed the field for planting. It was when the bottom plow pulled up broken shards of pottery and spear points, the sounds of those ancient tribesmen footsteps could be heard once more. It was a low land piece of pasture that bordered the banks of the Wabash River in Posey County on the edge of the farm where we called home. The swollen river had claimed much of the lower reaches along its estuaries, so the family simply wanted to see if it too were under water.

When we arrived, the water was a milky, brown. It swirled about the trees like ancient warriors seeking a hiding spot from which to shoot their arrows. My father had me safely perched upon his shoulders. From my vantage point, I could see the rest of the family. They waded about in the murky water as if seeking something they had lost; yet, nothing was found. The ground they had known was now engulfed by flood waters, taking with them anything which was exposed. My little body squirmed as my legs burned to seek that spinning fluidness.

“Let me walk,” my mind can recall me saying to my father.

“No, it’s too deep,” he would answer.

The torment upon his weary shoulders must have caused him to give in, because the next thing I remember, I was walking in the coldness. The water sent shivers up my spine. His hand firmly grasping my own. The few steps taken had been enough to quench my desire, for not long after, I was back up on top of my father’s shoulders. Inside, a sick, chill lingered. At that point, all I could think about was being back inside Grandma’s kitchen by the warm wood stove.

Not many days after that walk, my little body would succumb to pneumonia. It was then I learned about solitariness. Alone in the plastic oxygen tent in the children’s ward of Deaconess Hospital my frail, child body would slowly battle that near-fatal illness. There alone for what seemed like days, I would yearn for anyone to come speak to me. The tears of loneliness often were what cried me to sleep. Early one morning or evening, I know not which, only that the light of day was fading, there appeared a figure at the foot of my bed. I never made out his form through the unclear plastic, only that someone was with me. In his presence, the emptiness that had been before seemed to evaporate. A warmth of love washed over my soul as if another spirit had enveloped my little being. From that point forward, I never felt alone again.

Since that time, back when I was barely two years old, He has comforted me in my darkest hours again, and again. Even when I tried my best to run from Him, He never left my side.

The feeling of the Holy Spirit had wrapped his arms around me, and once more, this evening on my walk, I was reminded of that special time in my life.

Many people walk through their entire lives and never find comfort. They seek what they cannot find in places which cannot fill their void of emptiness. It is as if they continue to flounder in a fluidness from whence they cannot escape. Like water, we can either choose to sink or swim. It is our choice. Our spiritual life is no different; we have a choice.

Jesus told his disciples, “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. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.”

My friends, take the life-line he has given you. Don’t think you can go it alone. Everyone that asketh shall receive, if only you will ask.

Water is an amazing property. When we drink it, we are made well. Too much of it and we can drown. Spiritually, we can be Baptized in it and made anew, once we have found salvation in Jesus Christ. There is no other substance on earth that can compare or replace what it can do for us. Like Jesus, there is nothing to which can compare or replace Him.

This evening, the pitter patter of raindrops fall around me, and once more I am made whole.

Come what may, even tonight should the tempest unfold upon us, His mercy shall give us comfort; even in our darkest hour.

Thanks be to God.

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Wisdom from a Tree…

There is a lot to be learned from a tree.

A long time ago, my fourth grade Art teacher, Mrs. Bradshaw, encouraged my choice of subject matter by saying, “Drawing people and trees have a lot in common.” She would go on to nurture my yet to blossom talent into something that, as of yet, may someday come to honor God more fully. But beyond that intended encouragement, her words would stay with me for decades to cross into other patterns of thought.

This past Sunday morning, as part of my weekly walking to church ritual, I stopped once again at the Collettsville General store to pause and take in God’s word. A gentle breeze blew across the picnic table before me, rustling the pages of the Bible, “Whispers of the Holy Spirit,” my mind mused. The unseen hand turned the thin paper until it landed upon a scripture in the gospel of Matthew. Glancing at the words before me, I read, “Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles? Even so, every good tree bringeth forth good fruit but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire.”

No sooner had those lines entered my mind, to my left, the cries of a forlorn hawk echoed off the mountain walls. Turning to see from whence he called, my attention was drawn to a majestic old tree. In the upper reaches of that giant oak sat the raptor. He glanced in my direction as if to say, Good Morning,” Below him, my artistic mind began to trace the tree down to its curious, twisting trunk whereby was entwined about by a massive vine. Its strength is drawn partly from the earth, but ever more, it sucked the life from its host, the oak. Alone, the vine would have weighed more than several men could lift, yet the tree seemed unphased by its presence; healthy and vibrant were its limbs and branches.

How much greater would this tree have been had it not been encumbered by such a growth,” were the thoughts that rang in my head? “Or better yet, had this vine somehow created the curious twist and turns of that shape that lone it might have never known?”

Now two thoughts were churning about in my mind; the fruit of a tree and the trials of such a growth prohibiting what might be considered a normal existence for said tree.

All our lives, we toil and labor to obtain what is good and right. As we age, we find that what was once important no longer matters. When we come to Christ and are saved, we become a new person, and all that once was gold no longer glitters. We become changed, and with those changes, we can see how the fruits of those once labors of a lost being were misdirected. Now, with a new heart and soul, we can focus on producing fruit that is beneficial not only for our immediate family and friends but far beyond our horizons. We become that good tree of which Jesus spoke.

Yet, many suffer from ailments, both physical and mental, through which they must battle. Their lives are less than perfect. For some, the sin to which they are chained seems as if they may never break free. The vine of Satan’s grasp has them in its hold. They might walk each day in the world appearing to others as if they are quite normal, but beneath the surface, they are in utter turmoil. Their branches may appear healthy, strong, and abundant. Beneath the soil of their flesh, they fight to maintain their integrity. When they go home each night, it seems as if the world around them falls into greater chaos, an entropy if you will. The only fruit they produce only causes strife and ill will to others. With all their might, they strive to make things right, but alone, they cannot right the wrongs. “An evil tree cannot bear good fruit.” Some give up and end their struggles the only way they know how; by escape through alcohol or drugs, or worse, by taking their own life. That evil tree is cast into the fire, and with it, the life that once was is no longer. Sadly, many in our world face this dire ending.

But there is an answer. There is a cure for this darkness.

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.”

Jesus Christ is the answer.

Like a lumberjack, he comes to our call when we ask, wielding a mighty chainsaw, cutting us free from our bonds of sin and strife. “The truth shall set you free,” says the scripture, and like the spinning teeth of the chainsaw blade, the Holy Spirit enters our soul, cutting to the very marrow of our existence, splitting us asunder from that corruption which once held us captive.

When we accept Christ into our lives, we are made a new person. That evil tree is cut down and cast into the fire, but unlike with those that are lost, in the place of this once evil tree, a new tree is planted, one that is good. From henceforth, it begins to grow, unencumbered by the clutches of Satan’s vines of addiction, it begins to flourish. The fruit grows ripe and sweet. The world around them can witness the change, and to them, this metamorphosis becomes a testimony in and of itself.

The breeze turned the page before me one last time. The conclusion became apparent. There before me, God spoke once again.

Wherefore by their fruits, ye shall know them.”

Jesus told us that it would be obvious to see those who had received Him by how their actions and labors would appear. The twist and turns of that ancient tree would become ever more glorious in that their story, their testimony, would produce a heavenly fruit; the sweet nectar of the Holy Spirit.

Although that massive oak makes a beautiful image with the vine that intertwines amongst its gentle limbs, how much greater might it be should a woodsman happen by with his chainsaw someday and cut it loose? As you go through your work week, watch and listen to those around you. They may appear the picture-perfect co-worker or friend, but don’t be afraid to wield your chainsaw, the Word of God, and be ready to set them free from the vines of this world.

In the end, they will thank you.

And in all we do, let us be thankful for his Holy Word.

Thanks be to God.

Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire. Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.” – Matthew 7:16-20

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One Soweth, and Another Reapeth…

Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest? behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest. And he that reapeth receiveth wages, and gathereth fruit unto life eternal: that both he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice together. And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and another reapeth. I sent you to reap that whereon ye bestowed no labour: other men laboured, and ye are entered into their labours.” – John 4:35-38

 

It had been a long day at school, so it was not by choice that I sat waiting for the salesperson to work on our order at the wireless store. I tried to remain positive and tell myself that God had put me there for a purpose. At that present time, it wasn’t obvious; at least not yet.

We had put off switching to a new wireless carrier for some time, but it had finally gotten to the point if we wanted to communicate as needed, we were going to have to use the service that provided the best coverage for the area in which we lived and worked.  The young man that waited on me was very kind and extremely courteous. As he began the process of transferring data from one device to the other, we started talking about where I worked and found that we had mutual connections. It wasn’t long before it became apparent, he was a believer too. In fact, after we shared some personal testimony, he told me that he had given his two weeks’ notice just moments before I stepped foot in the door to answer his calling to become a youth pastor at a nearby church.

It was then I began to feel the presence of the Holy Spirit ripple across my forearms.

Suddenly, his phone rang, and he had to excuse himself from our conversation.

About that time message appeared on my old phone which we had not yet ported over to the new service. The news was from a distant relative, one that I’ve never met in person. A few years back, I had shared with him part of our Waldensian ancestry and how we came to be. He seemed interested, but not beyond just wanting to hear about those ancient names. The story beyond, from whence we came didn’t seem to intrigue him; at least not from my vantage point. Once I provided him the information, we only remained in contact through shared “likes” on social media.  However, from what I saw from his posts, his life once was devoured by pleasures of the flesh. He found his comfort at the end of a bottle, so the pictures said. But the message at that moment that came to me as I sat in the cell phone store in Boone was that God had found a way to reach him.

As I read with eyes of joy, he told a friend who had inquired about his post, “I haven’t touched a drop in over a year.” He then went on to say how he was regularly attending a church in his community. My heart leaped for joy, and I stood up, rejoicing out loud. The questions raced through my mind, “Had I somehow planted a seed?” “Did God use that seemingly insignificant contact years ago to begin working on my distant cousin?” Those and many more rushed through my mind as my new friend got off the phone smiling at my exuberant demeanor.

“I guess that was good news,” he said pointing at my phone.

“Oh, yes, more than I can explain,” pausing to gain understanding of what had all just transpired.

Then the words of Jesus came rushing in, “And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and another reapeth.”

In all things, no matter how small, nor how insignificant, God has a purpose. As I stood there in that small store, I had found another soul that had recently taken another leap of faith. As we talked the thought of another time and place when my just being somewhere was God using me, and again, it felt the same. Yet, now as I stood there, another soul had found something greater than that which is in the world.

With each tiny seed we plant, we may not reap the harvest, but it is God that will bring the crop to fruition. It is not us that will change that being. It is not our doing that will cause another to turn to Christ; it is God, and God alone.

In all that we do, there is a purpose.

Last Saturday, as we sat watching the Western Piedmont Community College graduates ascend the short stairway to the stage, the feeling of a proud parent swelled our chests. In what seemed like yesterday, I was holding him in my arms for the first time, watching the helpless lifeform, totally dependent upon his mother and father to survive. Our son now stood in his graduation regalia receiving his diploma, then leaving the stage, returned to his seat. His independence is a culmination of 18 years of love, care, and patience. What God hath given life unto us, we have taken that responsibility and nurtured him into adulthood. “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required,” reads Luke 12:48 And so with eyes brimming with moisture, we know that soon he will leave us. It is only natural.

We had planted the seed. It is up to him to continue to allow it to grow. But the seed had begun to ripen much earlier.

For those many years of his life, we have taught him how to live in faith. At the tender age of 10 years, he found Christ. His salvation came in a little model Church at the Denton Bluegrass Festival. Every year, Doyle Lawson would offer those who wanted to attend, a church service at the close of his festival. One of his good friends, brother Dale Tilley, would most often be the preacher. And so it was this Mother’s Day weekend when we sat in the row just behind Doyle’s band, that we heard brother Tilley bring another spirit-filled sermon to a weary group of bluegrass campers. After brother Dale Tilley had nearly finished his altar call, my weekend was just about to get even better. Without any idea what was about to happen, my boy leaned over to me and whispered the words into my ear that I will never forget, “I want to be saved.”

My heart leaped for joy.

Upon his request to wait until everyone had left, I motioned to brother Tilley that we needed to talk, and as everyone ushered themselves out, the door closed and we were alone. Brother Tilley directed us through the process as we knelt in prayer and supplication. There on that ancient wooden floor of the little white clapboard country church, my son spoke the words and prayed the prayer to ask Christ to come into his life. With tears in my eyes, we stood up to leave. It was just brother Tilley, my son and I. As we reached the back doors of the church, we opened them to find that we were not alone. There under a clear, blue Carolina sky stood Doyle Lawson and his entire band.  The entire entourage was still standing in a row on the steps of the church, they had paused from their busy schedule, waiting to celebrate my son’s decision.

The tears ran down my cheeks as I watched entertainers turned Christians welcome another one into their fold.

It is a day I will never forget.

The seed had been planted, but another reaped the harvest, but we rejoiced together.

God has a purpose in everything we do. What will become of the young man at the cell phone store? I may never know, but it really doesn’t matter; God knows.

One day, when we reach that far distant shore, there will be a welcoming into the fold. We’ll find the angels of the Lord standing in a row, pausing for each of us, ushering us into those heavenly gates. On that day, the answers to the questions we never knew will become obvious.

What a day it will be.

Thanks be to God.

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Living Water…

All around me the soft, gentle foliage blanketed the shoreline of the turbulent river below. The setting sun cast an orange hue into the water, such that the folds of rushing waters against the rocks made a metallic sheen of golden tones. Like ancient Aztec gold flowing down the steps of the might pyramids, the waters below me churned in molten swathes of lava-like folds, one over the other.

For a moment, my thoughts raced back to the tour of the chocolate factory in Hershey Pennsylvania in my youth. Before the trip, I didn’t like chocolate. In fact, I purposely sought food without it, such was my disdain. However, that day we walked through the factory watching swathes of liquid chocolate flow past us in unspeakable volumes, the air became aromatically filled with the rich fragrance of the dark brown substance. By the time you exited the tour, your mind was craving chocolate to the point, you had to taste it now, even if you really didn’t like it before. There, in the massive atrium of the Hershey courtyard, I asked the unspeakable that day, “Yes, please order me a hot fudge Sundae, with chocolate on top.” To this day, it was the freshest, most precious tasting substance I had yet to savor at that point in life. There was nothing that had compared before. All other chocolate had been stale compared to the taste of something this fresh; or at least in my mind’s eye, that was the reasoning at that moment.

As the waters twisted and turned, before me this evening, the sweet taste of chocolate no longer tempted my taste buds. The beauty of that scene was far more savoring than anything that could be eaten. Instead, my eyes drank in the colors which wrapped through the fluid source of life below and brought surreal enlightenment to all the surrounding imagery. It was as if God was beaming through the waters of the John’s River straight into my soul.

Weary from his journey, he came near the parcel of land that Jacob had given Joseph. There, he sat upon the well thus, for his disciples had gone into town to buy meat. It was a very warm, especially since it was nearing noon. It was then that Samarian women came seeking water. Momentarily surprised to find a Jew sitting on the edge of the well, she paused and looked upon the stranger unsure of how to proceed. Jesus, having been looking down at his dirty feet, dusty and tired from the day’s journey, felt her presence and looked up and said, “Give me to drink.”

Startled and confused at the request, she replied, “How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria? For the Jews have nothing to do with the Samaritans.”

He repeated himself again, saying, “Give me to drink, woman.”

Perplexed, she only stood, again unsure how to respond. Jesus then continued, “If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.”

 The woman then saith unto him, “Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence then hast thou that living water? Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle?”

Jesus did not hesitate but answered and said unto her, “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst, but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”

The woman, now feeling the Holy Spirit coming unto her, saith unto him, “Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw.”

As I sat watching the turbid waters boil, the essence of his living water rose in my heart. There must have been no greater joy in this world than to hear Christ Jesus stand before you and tell you, face to face, “The water that I shall give you will be like a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”

Then, as now, although we cannot draw these mighty forces of fluidness with a mere bucket, they can be as powerful as those waters that Elisha caused to raise the axe head from below its depths. As his servant had been working cutting the wood as we are told in 2 Kings 6:5, the head of the axe had sheared, causing the valuable metal end to fly into the midst of the river. Fearing the wrath of the man from whom he borrowed the tool, he immediately begged Elisha to help. The prophet walked calmly to the water’s edge. There, he stooped over and picked up a simple stick and began to turn it into the clear spring below. Before their eyes, the waters began to boil, and within a minute, the axe head was floating before them, raised from its watery grave, to once again be present before their very eyes. Pulled from the midst of the lost to the saved, the servant was overjoyed to have the valuable piece of equipment returned.

Like the lost Samarian woman, she too had been like the axe head, lost in a watery grave, forever toiling to return from the well with yet another bucket to provide sustenance for her family; yet, it was never enough. It could never satisfy their cravings. Without help from something beyond this world, she would forever be looking for that which she could not find. Yet, why would this Jew help her, a Samaritan, for they had no dealings with her kind?

That night, as I slept, there came to me in a dream, the same scene of the river.

However, as I was watching myself from a distance, I could see myself paddling down the stream, away from where I sat, in the direction that it became narrower and narrower. With time, the world around the river became more developed. By the end of the vision, the entire landscape had been replaced with concrete barriers, stone walls, and all manner of man-made edifices. Gone were the pure, natural settings that God had created. In their place, man had made the world in his image; to his desires. The only remnant left of what was before, was the simple stream, still flowing, still reflecting the golden skyline of the setting sun.

In that image, I paddled away from where my vision was fixed, slowly fading away toward the sunset in the tiny canal of water. Sadly, this was all that was left of the beautiful scene upon which I had sat earlier. The water, having seemed to be the most bold and metallic substance before me, now had become the softest, must subtle of all images within the dark world. The water reflecting the sun was the only light to the otherwise sullen, sinful gray landscape. What once seemed powerful and mighty, now seemed silken and serene; a precious commodity.

All that had been was now gone, and all there was of hope, was the tiny thread of light.

Buoyed by the thread, one, who was filled from within by its essence, kept afloat and continued his search to help those that could still be saved.

To the ends of the earth we should go to find them, and when we do, give them Him to drink.

Drink of the living water and yea shall never thirst no more.

He is the water of life, and in Him, you shall be saved.

In all these things we do, we do for Him.

Thanks be to God.

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A Silver Lining…

A Silver Lining

by Timothy W. Tron

But the meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace.”-Psalm 37:11

For all that we do, we should seek to share the light within, so that someday we may stand before our creator and answer to what we did with our purpose in life. Somedays there are never-ending, uphill battles. We find ourselves consumed by seeming floods of overwhelming tasks, lists that are never completed, or papers that didn’t get graded. And then one day, out of nowhere, there comes that still small voice with a heart of gold that speaks to you, melting away everything else that has gone on before until it is the barest of essence, the beauty of the truth before you. It is in that instance, you realize God had placed you where you need to be.

It had been the end of a long week. Exams had finally taken place after countless delays due to inclement weather. As my footsteps took me back to my classroom, my mind was still reflecting on the unexpected witnessing that had just transpired. It was another memory for another line of keepsakes to collect, to place upon that shelf of life’s precious moments we someday will take down and hold carefully in the palms of our hands, turning over and over, exploring all the grace it had to offer. Nearing my classroom door, I realized my students had yet to be released after having taken their final exam. They instantly saw me and began telling me how each of them felt they did on the test. We were all relieved to have it over. Before we could finish saying goodbye, the bell rang and the instinct to flee set in. Before I knew it, the room had been fully evacuated save for a few stragglers. We said brief goodbyes, as my focus was on their last assignment to be turned in, one that I had futility reminded them as they barged for the exits, “Don’t forget to turn in your Dragon Flippers.” Part of our final review was a project we called, Dragon Flippers. Each student was given a chance to earn extra credit points toward their grade by completing the flip-page style folder, where we had the theme of the dreaded Math Dragon as part of the cover. The rubric required the cover of the review packet to have the image of a dragon and the words, “Math 2”. The artwork alone was the largest part of the points of the rubric, allowing my more artistic students a chance to finally shine.

Staring down at the small pile, it was obvious many of them hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to add more points this semester. There had been that long delay between when we started the review, and many had told me they had literally lost their packet. Yet, the ones that were in my “Turn-in” box were encouraging. Picking them up, it was then I realized I was not alone. Looking up ever so slightly out of the corner of my eye I noticed one last student who had remained behind. My eyes, still looking down at the completed projects in my own hand, followed their image to another one, but in the young man’s hands who now stood next to me.

“Oh, hello,” I said to him, a little surprised at him still being here. He had been one of the bright students from my fourth block class. He often would lag behind the others, never in a hurry, always with a pleasant goodbye. He was one of those whom we always think of when we speak of the ones that can make your day. The hallway was now that empty calm that follows the evacuation of students from school.

“I hope you did well on the exam?”

“Yes, Mr. Tron,” his hands were nervously holding his Dragon Flipper, “me too.” He smiled, looking down at what he held. He then presented his project to me and continued. His demeanor did not depict a sense of joy. There was a troubling mood that seemed to be covering something he wanted to say but was unsure of how to say it out loud. Before I could ask if something were wrong he quietly said it a serious tone, “I wanted to write you a letter, but I didn’t get time.” He handed over the work. Before me was the image of a young man standing with his back to you, looking into a mirror on a dresser before him. In the reflection of the mirror was the picture of the dragon, cleverly drawn looking back at the boy. His artwork was exceptional. As I admired his skill, he continued.

“I wanted to tell you what this meant,” he said, nodding toward the piece of work now in my hands. “You see, you taught me a lot more than math in your class this semester. I learned about life and about myself.”

At that moment, the sounds outside my room diminished to nothing. The world around us seemed to stand still. My eyesight found his staring back at me. As I fought back the rising surge of emotion in my throat he continued, “I followed your writings outside of class and was inspired by all that you said. You helped me understand that I was living not like I should and that the dragon was me.”

Inside, my heart was pounding. I could hear the words he said, but it didn’t make sense. Before me stood the meekest, quietest student, I had ever taught. He worked hard and only spoke up in class when he had questions. His work was never late, and he nearly had an A before he took the final exam, so how could anyone so seemingly perfect on the outside struggle so within? It didn’t add up. At some point, I had handed the packet back to him to explain. He then opened the cover and began to show me how and why. There before me at the top of the page, my eyes instantly fell upon the Bible verse, “Ephesians 6:10-18

Can this get any more precious,” were the thoughts that raced through my head?

“You see, the dragon was me, and I had to learn how to control the beast within.”

In complete awe, my eyes took in the beautiful artwork the young man had carefully created.

There drawn as the rubric had asked, were the various armaments described in the scripture passage of Ephesians, “The breastplate of righteousness, the helmet of salvation, the shield of faith, the sword of the Word (or Spirit as he had written), and the belt of truth.” To him, these were all the implements of war that he had used to rage against the demon within his own being. Through my tear-rimmed eyes, he shared with me the remainder of the project. There was little I could add, nor could say at the moment, so choked up was I with compassion for the young man. In many respects, he was me at his age; yet, he seemed so much more advanced and in control of his destiny than I had been. The questions still poured out of my head faster than I could grasp.

“I also wanted to tell you goodbye. I will not be returning to school next semester. My family will be leaving the area, so this will be the last time I see you.”

I was speechless. The dragon within, the scripture of Ephesians, he had been inspired beyond my classroom; it was all so much to take in. I could feel the hand of God upon us both at that moment.

The meek surely shall inherit the earth, for peace is upon his soul,” came the words to my mind.

Through my choked voice, all I could squeak out was, “You’ll have to stay in touch, you’ll just have to stay in touch.”

He pulled his backpack closer around his shoulders, then reached out his hand. We shook goodbye, and he walked out the door of room 3212 for the last time. With him, my prayers followed.

My mind was numb with the grace of God.

In teaching, we yearn for those, too few, precious moments when it has all come to fruition; those tender scenes when we receive thanks in ways we had never imagined. Knowing that as with any position of servitude, we aren’t here for the monetary gains. With each day that passes, we seek to find that cloud with the silver lining in a world of ever-increasing clouds.

Somedays, we find that perfect cloud, and like those fleeing images above, for a moment we find God’s grace among us.

In all that we do, may we continue to give God thanks.

Thanks be to God.

Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God: Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints; And for me, that utterance may be given unto me, that I may open my mouth boldly, to make known the mystery of the gospel,
”-Ephesians 6:13-19

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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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